Mastered (The Enforcers #1) (8 page)

Not to say that he was still not an extremely alpha badass man who could probably mow down an entire crowd of men without suffering a single injury. But then all the men at Impulse, even the freaking bartender, looked like they were former special forces. Or navy SEALs or some equally ferocious military unit she'd never heard of. Where on earth had Drake found a veritable army of men who were built like concrete buildings? She'd be willing to bet that bullets bounced right off them and that even a grenade wouldn't slow them down. Much.

She reined in her crazy, hysterical thoughts before she got
too
carried away and forced herself back to the matter at hand.

“I am sorry that you were frightened,” he said gently. “That was never mine or Drake's intention. Drake . . .” He paused a moment as if to say exactly the words that wouldn't further petrify her. “Drake is a law unto himself and he is well used to compliance. He built an entire empire and amassed his fortune by hard work and never backing down. No one gave him anything. He was on his own at a very young age and learned the hard way that life is what you make it, and if you stand around waiting for a handout or for someone to give you anything, then you'll never get anywhere.”

He paused, grimacing, as if what he was telling her was top secret, classified military information and that if Drake knew all he was telling her, Drake would probably have his balls.

“He is a very private man,” he continued, confirming Evangeline's suspicion that Maddox divulging anything remotely personal was a cardinal sin. “He didn't get to where he is by being soft or tolerating insubordination.”

Evangeline's eyes narrowed and she held up a hand to stop Maddox, something he was likely unused to judging by his narrowed eyes, but at the moment, she didn't care.

“That's all well and fine when it comes to his business and his employees,” she said acidly. “How he conducts his business is of no concern of mine, and if his employees are willing to tolerate working for a dictator, that is their business. But I am not his employee. I do not work for him. I am nothing to him, and as such, I find his actions—his arrogant assumption that I have to fall in line and obey him or acquiesce to his demands—quite frankly absurd. It's the height of arrogance. He can play God in his little corner of the universe all he wants, but I am not part of that universe and he is completely crossing the line with his actions.”

Maddox sighed and looked like he wanted nothing more than to stop the car and toss her out. No doubt any number of women Drake had sent him to “summon” had flattened Maddox to get to Drake as fast as they could. But she'd also learned, in their very brief acquaintance, that Drake's employees were obviously very well trained and loyal to a fault, so no matter how much of a pain in the ass Evangeline was for Maddox, he wasn't going to show up and face his boss empty-handed. Which meant she had to resign herself to her fate and hope to hell Maddox was telling the truth when he said no one would harm her.

Evangeline made a turtle look like a speed demon as she navigated the hallway to the now-closed club where her apparent meeting with Drake was to take place. Maddox simmered with impatience, but he reined it in and walked with her, one hand at the small of her back, the other stretched across his midsection to grasp her trembling arm. He likely thought if he didn't have a firm grasp on her, she'd face-plant, and, well, he wasn't wrong.

When they'd pulled into a reserved parking space at the rear of the club she'd sat rigid in her seat like a statue, her jaw clenched tight to prevent her teeth from clattering. The club? Really? At this hour? Had he been waiting for her here all night only growing more annoyed when she didn't make an appearance? Or did he simply work late and tend to business matters while his employees announced last call and cleared the place so cleanup could commence?

Maddox had walked around to her side and opened the door and then stood there several long minutes before sighing and looking very much like he wanted to throttle her. Finally, he'd taken matters into his own hands and simply reached in, slid one arm beneath her thighs and the other around her back and plucked her from the seat and up against his chest as effortlessly as if she were an infant.

That had put a stop to her stillness and refusal to move. She smacked and shoved at his chest, demanding he put her down. She'd be damned if he had to carry her into the club like an unwilling captive. Even if that was precisely what she was.

Only when they'd gotten just inside the doorway had Maddox relinquished his hold on her and carefully set her back on her feet, both hands grasping her shoulders until she was steady enough to walk.

More than once during the interminable walk to the elevator she heard him mutter something about “damn shoes” and “you're going to break your damn neck.”

By the time they were in the elevator and it began its ascent to Drake's office, Evangeline's chest was so tight she couldn't breathe. When she unsuccessfully tried to gasp and suck air into her starving lungs, panic completely took over and she began to shake violently.

Beside her, Maddox swore viciously and then firmly grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. He lowered his head until their eyes met, and his gaze was fierce.

“Breathe, damn it. Don't you dare pass out on me. Pull it together. You've stood up to your asshole ex, me
and
Drake and didn't back down despite your repeated claims that we could snap you like a twig, so don't go soft on me now, for fuck's sake. You have far too much pride to walk into Drake's office like this.”

Then he broke off, shaking his head.

“Forget that. You have too much pride for me to have to
carry
you into Drake's office, which is precisely what's going to happen if you don't snap out of it and calm down.”

His voice was whiplike and had the same effect as if someone had cracked one over her skin. Suddenly heat bloomed in her cold cheeks and her throat relaxed, air rushing into and filling her lungs.

She was weak with relief and fast approaching her wall after being carried this far by fear-induced adrenaline. Her knees wobbled and
threatened to buckle, but she shoved off Maddox's attempts to steady her, opting instead to distance herself from him and prop herself up against the far side of the elevator.

How freaking long did it take for the damn thing to rise what couldn't be more than a few floors? But then her meltdown and Maddox's sharp reprimand had lasted mere seconds, though it felt like an eternity.

She was feeling so claustrophobic and humiliated by her ridiculous display of cowardice that she sighed in relief when the elevator halted and the doors swooshed open. And then she realized that she would now be facing a man far more scary and intimidating than Maddox, and after what little Maddox had divulged about his boss, Evangeline knew that Drake would not be pleased to have been kept waiting for over nine hours now.

Maddox had herded her from her position in the back of the elevator, but when she reached the threshold of Drake's office, she halted abruptly and tried to take a step back, only to collide with Maddox's massive chest. It took every ounce of pride and discipline she possessed not to groan out loud or do something even more humiliating like burst into tears or have another epic meltdown and pass out at Maddox's feet.

She took a steadying breath and then steeled herself, her spine going rigid. Her chin thrust upward in defiance and she searched angrily for Drake's location, determined not to be cowed when their gazes eventually found each other.

She reached back instinctively, before she could stop herself, seeking the reassurance of Maddox's body with her hand and found . . . air. Damn it! The man was a veritable escape artist. This was the second time he'd “escorted” her up to Drake's lair and then disappeared into thin air. She hadn't even registered the elevator doors closing. And now she was trapped with a man Maddox had flat-out told her did not like to be kept waiting and expected absolute compliance with his every order.

Well, hell. She closed her eyes, giving up on the idea of boldly
seeking out Drake—wherever he was lurking—and refusing to back down from his stare.

•   •   •

“You're late,” Drake said, allowing his displeasure to sound in his statement.

But even as he issued the admonishment, he took in her appearance and the fact that she was obviously exhausted and dead on her feet. She could barely remain upright in those ridiculous heels and looked like she'd take a header at any second.

He knew well why she hadn't been at her apartment at seven as he'd instructed. She'd gone to work in a damn pub and been on her feet for hours in shoes that amounted to an accident waiting to happen. She was pale, and fatigue was etched in every facet of her face.

With a muttered curse, he stalked to her, gently took her arm and then promptly guided her to the couch. He planted both hands on her shoulders and pushed her downward so she had no choice but to sit.

“Lie back and relax,” he said tersely.

Then he went to one bended knee and removed her shoes, swearing again when he saw how swollen her feet were. She looked utterly bewildered, her eyes wide as though this were the last thing she'd expected. But then he hadn't exactly done much to convince her he wasn't a heartless, cold bastard, some kind of monster who'd pounce on her at the first opportunity.

Without a word, he began to massage one foot, taking care not to hurt her or cause her discomfort.

She emitted a soft moan and for a moment, her eyes closed and she sagged, some of the tension evaporating from her body. He worked on the first foot, covering every inch and paying special attention to her tender arches. Then he turned his focus to the other, giving it equal care.

He watched her intently, absorbing every reaction and the sheer
pleasure reflected on her face. She was so fucking responsive. Absolutely honest, no faking. She was genuine to her toes and so damn beautiful his balls ached.

Last night had given him a hard-on he'd carried the entire night, making sleep impossible because every time he closed his eyes, he tasted her, smelled her, could hear her soft cries of ecstasy, and he replayed having her spread out before him on his desk like a goddess being offered up as the most priceless of treasures. Certainly nothing money could buy and nothing a man with his power could produce on command, and that was something rare and precious indeed. Something worth a thing he wasn't used to demonstrating. Patience.

It had taken every ounce of his restraint not to tear his pants down and plunge so deeply into her that she would feel him to her soul. He still wondered why he hadn't. Only the nagging warning in the back of his mind telling him he had to tread carefully with her and not push her too hard, too fast, had kept him from slaking his hunger without regard for whether he scared the holy hell out of her. She'd been freaked out enough by him going down on her. It was equally obvious that her only lover—her dickhead ex—hadn't given her anything. He'd just taken. Her ex had let go of something most men would kill for, but Drake didn't spare an ounce of pity for the idiot. His loss was Drake's gain, and he intended to move in, take over and make damn sure that from now on she was in his bed, under his command. And by God, she'd never go without anything in his power to provide her.

He let his hands slide leisurely from her foot and she murmured a light sound of protest.

“Why the hell are you working yourself to death in that shithole bar every night?” he asked bluntly.

She made a huffing noise and glared at him.

“You could at least continue the fabulous foot massage if you're going to interrogate me,” she said in a disgruntled voice.

He nearly laughed before he caught himself. He didn't laugh often, and when he did, it wasn't usually out of amusement. People tended to get nervous when he laughed. Nor did he smile. But he was amused by her show of bravado. She was intimidated, and uncertainty was evident in her body language, but she was damned if she was going to show it. Good. The last thing he wanted was a meek doormat. Yes, he demanded obedience and submission, but that didn't equate to his woman being a mindless robot, programmed to do his bidding with no thoughts or opinions of her own. He liked her fire. And her pride. He liked that most of all because it was a trait he was intimately familiar with and respected.

He closed his palms around the other foot and resumed his gentle ministrations.

“You going to answer my question now?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone.

Sudden alarm replaced the look of languid pleasure and her body went rigid when just moments earlier, as soon as he'd begun massaging her feet, she'd melted bonelessly against the back of the sofa. She bolted upright, her feet dropping from his hands to the floor with a thud.

He cursed, his already fraying patience threatening to completely unravel along with his anger.

“What the hell is wrong now?” he demanded, his narrowed gaze aimed at her.

If he thought the not-so-subtle reprimand would make her back down, he was wrong. She stared up at him with wide eyes that were laced with worry and he was seized by the need to allay any fear she had. Goddamn it, he didn't want her to be afraid with him, but she wasn't exactly making it very easy for him.

“My girlfriends,” she stammered out. “Oh my God. They're probably out of their minds with worry. They may have even already called the police! I was already late getting off work and then I was dragged into a car by your henchman and brought here. What time is it, anyway?”

Drake sighed and managed to rein in his simmering temper. Barely. He didn't give a rat's ass what her roommates thought, but he did care that Evangeline was in obvious distress, and he did care that the police could already be involved. If questioned, Evangeline would no doubt have any cop convinced that Drake
had
abducted her and was even now holding her against her will.

Something he planned to rectify immediately. She would stay. There was no doubt about that. But it would certainly not be against her will. He was never going to get to that point, however, because of the incessant interruptions. He not only despised interruptions and inconveniences, he simply didn't tolerate either. So why the hell was he suddenly doing just that when it came to one infuriating, exasperating, stubborn woman?

Because you want her as you've never wanted another woman.

There was that. Even though the admission didn't sit well with him at all. Evangeline was a complication he didn't need. But damn if he didn't want her. Complications, frustration, inconveniences and all. He almost shook his head. Hell of a thing to find himself in this predicament over an unwilling woman. His men—those closest to him, men he called brothers in every sense of the word—would laugh themselves silly if they even had a hint of the turmoil one small, fragile, infuriating female was causing him.

“Can't you text them?” he asked mildly, even as he registered that she was frantically digging for her cell in her purse.

Her gaze lifted and she bit into her lip. “Yeah, I'm going to text them right now. I should have texted them the second your goon made me get into the car with him, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight at the moment. And to be honest, if I tell them where I am and why, me texting them isn't going to do any good. They'll definitely call the police and haul ass down here themselves.”

As she spoke, she was typing away on a very small, hopelessly outdated cell phone, murmuring each of the recipients' names as she added them to the group text.

Drake shrugged. “So tell them you're somewhere else. You don't owe them an explanation, nor do you answer to them for your actions.”

She huffed impatiently. “Look, Drake. They know all about what happened here last night. They also know I am not the type of person to be ‘somewhere else' at almost five o'clock in the morning after working a long shift and being dead on my feet. I'm not a party girl nor do I have men lining up to take me out on dates, so no matter what I tell them, they're going to smell a rat, and they're smart. They'll put two and two together, and here will be the very first place they'll look for me. Whether I text them or not. Whether I tell them I'm perfectly okay and not to worry. Because that's what friends do. They have each other's backs and they worry about each other, and they're especially protective of me because they know I'm a naïve twit who's incapable of recognizing a predator when I see one.”