The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2) (19 page)

Patting his hand where he still held her, Nika slipped from his hold—before she gave in and took him into her arms to comfort him when he didn’t want that from her. She led the way to the bathroom.

She entered the room and stood to the side of the mirror as Vincente’s boots thudded on the floor behind her. She took in the sight of all that bare skin, the lines inked into it making shivers feather over her. When he turned, obviously intending to look at the sutures, her eyes were drawn to a beautifully done portrait proudly displayed on his right pec. Unthinking, so intent on how the artist had captured the joy in the girl’s eyes, Nika raised her hand and brushed the pads of her fingers down the image’s cheek.

Vincente’s sharp jerk and harshly indrawn breath had her snatching her hand back so fast she cracked her elbow on the cabinet behind the toilet.

“Sorry,” she murmured, meeting his eyes quickly in the mirror before dropping her gaze to the floor as she rubbed her funny bone. “Sorry. It’s just lovely.”

He was silent for a beat. “S’okay,” he said curtly. “That’s Sophia.”

Of course.
Her throat clogged with emotion.

God, she needed some sleep.

Or some sex.

Her strangled laugh had Vincente’s eyes flashing to hers.

“Sorry, just ignore me.” She hid her face behind her hands and rubbed at her hot skin.

“Like that’s possible,” she thought she heard him mutter, but it was too quiet for her to be sure.

He shifted to the side and lifted his arm again so he could look at the stitches. Her gaze landed on the bottle of soap on the side of the sink, and then the clean glass next to it, her toothbrush that she’d used earlier and the towels on the rack, the gleaming stainless-steel faucets . . . anywhere but at his tight, rolling muscles.

Vincente’s low whistle grabbed her attention, and she glanced up to see a crooked smile had turned up his lips. Her breath caught, and she realized, sadly, that she’d never seen him do that before. Never seen him smile. Really smile. And she was overwhelmed by the masculine beauty of him.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you knew what you were doing. Tegan’s gonna be impressed when she sees this.”

Tegan?
Why would he care what the doctor thought?

He shifted and looked her right in the eye. “Thank you. They’re perfect.”

So are you.
“Is she yours?”
Oh, God. How humiliating.

“What?”

Oh well. Now that it’s out there.
“Is Tegan your girlfriend?” She held her breath as she waited for an answer.

His chuckle was deep, and the damned thing burrowed right into her bones. “No. Tegan belongs to no one but Tegan.”

“Do you have one? A girlfriend, I mean?”

“No.”

Relief. Sweet, muscle-melting relief hit her. Along with a rush of tears because she didn’t know why she was asking him something that shouldn’t matter to her.

She nodded again and turned quickly, heading out the door, mumbling about cleaning up as she fled back to the kitchen.

“You’re so
stupid
,” she castigated herself in a near-silent mutter as she went for the table. “He doesn’t want you anyway. If he did, he would have done something by—”

“You okay, Red?”

She jerked wildly when Vincente’s voice came from right behind her. She spun and nearly dropped the tape and scissors in her hands. “Er, yeah. So, now that you’re patched up”—she rushed out, stepping around his half-naked body to put the things on the counter—“I’m going to bed.”

Keeping her head down, she went back to the table and snatched the gauze wrapper, dirty cloths, and the bowl of water, making sure to give him a wide berth as she went to the sink.

He cleared his throat. “I meant what I said. Thank you for this. We usually call T when we need something. Or Maks. Or just do it ourselves if we can reach. But I guess I’m lucky you were here.”

Yeah. Lucky.
She turned on the water and squirted some dish soap into the bowl, scrubbing it so hard she was surprised she didn’t put a hole through it. “You’re welcome.” How in the shitting hell was she supposed to sleep now?

She heard him move away as she rinsed the cloths as best she could before turning the water off. She took a second to hang her head, hoping he wouldn’t come back and catch her—

“What’s the matter, babe?”

Her heart banged into her breastbone, and she whirled to find him directly behind her again. “Vincente! I thought you—”

“What’s the matter?” he repeated more firmly.

His eyebrows were low, hooding the dark, dark chocolate of his eyes. Why did she feel this overwhelming need for
him
? For a man who clearly didn’t even want her? A man
she
shouldn’t want. A man who seemed to be as emotionally damaged as she was and could ruin all her plans for her new life by drawing her in. Vincente was so dangerous to her cause, because he made everything she craved fade into the background. When he was around, nothing existed but him. Not a new start, a good job, friends, a nice place of her own. Just him.

That shriveled thing in her chest—her pride, she was pretty sure—had shrunk even more at his reaction to her reaching out to him in the bedroom earlier. It had become even smaller when she’d heard the odd sound he’d made when she’d brushed her fingers over his tattoo in the bathroom just now. Almost like her touch had pained him.

“It’s nothing,” she finally replied. “I’m just tired. Sleep well, ’kay?”

She swiped her finger over the Power button to shut off the music as she went by and left him standing in the kitchen. She went down the hall and closed the bedroom door behind her before climbing back into the bed, robe and all.

Moving like a haggard old woman, Nika rolled onto her side and put her head on the lemony-fresh pillowcase. She hugged the other pillow to her chest and forced her suddenly wet eyes closed, feeling lonelier than she ever had in her life.

CHAPTER 12

He led the redhead down the alley; the click of her heels was muffled as she waded through old newspapers and trash of all sorts. The minute they were deep enough that he felt safe from prying eyes, he had her up against the wall, his mouth roughly kissing her, his teeth biting at her neck, his hands grabbing at her tits so hard she shoved at his shoulders.

“Slow down, horndog,” she snapped. “You didn’t gimme me my money yet.”

Kevin’s simmering rage reignited at the bitch’s attitude, and he clamped his fingers around her throat. The instant fear in her eyes as they clashed with his, the mad scramble, the claw of her fingers on his wrist . . . was fuckin’ beautiful. Too soon but still beautiful. He usually played with them a little longer.

“You think you can fuck me over, you cunt,” he whispered, blinking as the whore’s face mutated, slowly becoming his wife’s lying, cheating features staring up at him. “You don’t think I’ll find you. I’ll never give up. I’m going to kill you, you stupid bitch,” he hissed. “Where are you? Who are you with? Caleb’s friend? The one I saw tonight? Is he fucking you right now? Is he inside this body that belongs to me?” Kevin swallowed the shit that made his throat feel swollen. His rage, he thought. “How could you, Niki? How could you betray me, you whore?” he whispered as he grasped his wife when she would have fallen to the ground. “I’m close. You don’t know how close.”

He frowned when her head lolled on her shoulders. Her fear was gone, so was the panic. Her mouth now hung open, her eyes not quite closed, but not open either.

“Niki?”

He shook her.
Shit.
She was out. Like she’d been lots of times before. He smiled a little and laid her down, and then he did what he’d always done when he’d put her in this unconscious state after hitting her too hard. He started touching. Everywhere he could reach. Roughly. Her breasts, stomach, hips, thighs.

Why the fuck was she wearing this cheap, dirty shit? he wondered in confusion as he ripped the tattered gray underwear out of his way.

As he went into his pocket for his knife, Kevin glanced up to make sure she was still out and stalled as, yet again, the now-lifeless face of a stranger registered.

Twenty-four hours later, Nika took a steadying breath as she studied her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror and wiped at the makeup smudged under her eyes. She blinked. Blinked a little harder to focus. Squared her shoulders. Tipped her chin up and was proud when she didn’t weave as she left the nightclub’s restroom and carefully made her way down the long mirrored corridor toward the door leading back to the bar.

She’d spent last night tossing and turning with embarrassment and subsequent anger because she was allowing Vincente so much control over her emotions
and
body. She’d even dreamed of him. He’d come into the bedroom, slid his hand beneath her nape to half lift her from the mattress, and then he’d kissed her so deeply and so thoroughly she was pretty sure she’d moaned and reached for him in her sleep. But then Kevin had stormed in, warping the erotic movie into a nightmare of violence and maniacal shouts about how much he would make it hurt when he killed her. She’d woken soaked in sweat, her face wet with tears. And the worst part? She’d been more upset that she and Vincente had been interrupted than afraid of who’d done the interrupting!

Absurd.

She’d finally given up on sleep around six thirty and stomped from the bedroom to find the apartment quiet and empty. Feeling ridiculously abandoned, she’d nodded, lips pursed, thinking,
Fine
. He could dismiss her that easily? Not even a note to say bye? She’d do the same, and she’d kicked him right out of her head. She’d gotten dressed and headed for the subway. The bustling mode of transport had done its job bringing her into Manhattan, and she’d spent the better part of the day wandering through the incredible rooms at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Something she’d always wanted to do.

Too bad the experience had been ruined for her.

Vincente had ruined it. By being in her mind and under her skin.

She didn’t like that. Wished he’d get out. The damned man was making it difficult for her to concentrate on her life plan, part two of which was now in motion. She’d been thrilled when Eva had texted this morning that her interview at TarMor was set for Wednesday with a woman named Natalie. Eva had added that Gabriel had told her the interview was a mere formality, necessary in order to find out exactly what Nika’s skills were so she could best be placed.

Nika smiled, realizing right then that she might be a little in love with her best friend’s husband. He was so generous. Kind. For real. Eva was so lucky to have someone like Gabriel. He was the boss.

She snickered. He
was
the boss.

And Vincente was his underboss. Nika wanted to be under the underboss that was under her skin.

She groaned.
Back to that again?

The low heels of her new boots skidded on the floor as she screeched to a halt to avoid being run over by a couple making goo-goo eyes at each other as they passed her. Probably going to have sex in a bathroom stall, she thought mulishly, jealously, through the alcohol haze clouding her brain.

She could have sex.

With Vincente.

But he didn’t want her.

Why was she mooning over being with a man who didn’t even want her? And why was that? Was she unattractive? She’d always thought she was average in looks. Not a great beauty like Eva, but not yucky either. Did she smell? She brought her chin to her chest and sniffed, and then ran her tongue over her teeth. She was all right. But even Kevin hadn’t been attracted to her enough to get an erection—thankfully, but still.

She was frowning as she made her way back to the bar and slid onto her still-vacant stool, her head now spinning. She took out her phone and pretended to text—was probably erasing her contact list for all the attention she paid. What was she doing here? She should call Eva. She should have called her this afternoon and spent the day bellyaching to her best friend. Instead she’d wandered the museum alone, sat in Central Park having a hot dog—something she’d actually enjoyed—alone, and now here she was, drinking in a nightclub called Pant that an overly friendly cabdriver had recommended.

Still alone.

God, she really was a loser. Maybe Kevin was right—

Stop it!

Her shoulders slouched.
Fine.
She might not be a loser, but being here by herself was irresponsible considering the circumstances. Sure, Kevin could be as far away as Mexico by now. But he could also still be in New York somewhere. How he’d find her here at this specific place, she didn’t know, but still. She should call Caleb. Ask him to come get her. Or she could just take a cab home and stop drowning her sorrows in a bottle of tequila.

Swallowing the lump that formed in her throat at the thought of walking into that echoing, empty apartment . . . Maybe she should find that corner everyone expected her to end up in anyway.

Sliding her phone onto the bar, the throb in her head worsening, she looked up at all the jagged, distorted reflections in the hundreds of mirrors mounted on the walls. The strobe lights bouncing around had her blinking and squinting to focus on way too many people; the swinging arcs made her dizzier than ever.

The bartender appeared and placed a fresh drink in front of her.

“Oh, no, no. I didn’t order that,” she said with a wave of her hand. In fact, she was done. Time to go home.

I haven’t had a real home since Dad died.

She disregarded the depressing thought and focused on the bartender, who said, “Guys down the bar wanted you to have it.”

She looked to where he was pointing and saw two guys shoot her the peace sign. “I don’t want it,” she said quickly.

“It’s already paid for, doll. Just leave it here, and I’ll dump it when they get distracted.”

She nodded her thanks. No sooner had he walked away when she felt two bodies sidle up beside her.
Shit.

“How the hell is someone who looks like you alone in a place like this?”

Wishing she could just ignore them, but knowing that would probably make them turn mean, she swiveled on her stool. Two average-looking drink buyers. No bikers here. No mafia goons either. They looked as though they worked for UPS or something.

“Not sure,” she said, skating the line on friendliness. “But I was just leaving.”

The one who’d asked the lame question laughed. He had a pleasant smile. “I hope we didn’t scare you off.”

“We waited as long as we dared, and no one came around so we thought we’d try our luck,” the other one piped up, his smile not so pleasant. It reminded her of the one Kevin used to give her right before he hit her.

“Nothing to do with you,” she said around a shudder, her chest tightening with anxiety. The muscles in her back seized up, making her want to stretch them out. She should have gone straight back to the apartment. It wasn’t safe out here on her own.

“. . . here before. I would have remembered you,” the guy with the yucky smile was saying.

She completely ignored him—no matter how angry they got that she was walking away, they couldn’t hit her in front of all these people, right?—and grabbed her purse off the bar, sliding the strap over her head as his friend tried again.

“We were going to head somewhere quieter, too. It’s about a block over. You wanna—”

“Red.”

Her alcohol-fueled brain oohed and aahed at the deep voice. The sound represented safety, and she’d never been so grateful to hear it as she was just then. She swung her heavy head to the side, and her jellylike body tried to follow. She had to plant her boot before she performed a free dive to the floor.

“What
the hell
are you doing? Where’s Caleb?”

Skin tingling, heart thumping, she took in the fierce lines of Vincente’s face surrounded by all that fistable hair falling around his deliciously wide shoulders.

Fistable?

God, she must be drunk. Because she also wasn’t mad anymore that he’d rudely ditched her this morning.

“You’re so beautiful, Vincente.” She came up short.
Did I just say that out loud?

Judging by the flaring of that chocolate gaze, she was pretty sure she had.

She cringed in embarrassment, closing her eyes. But when she felt the pull of gravity, she jerked them back open and had to throw out a hand to steady herself. Her palm slapped onto his rolling abs, which were covered by a thin black cottony material.
No give beneath it. What. So. Ever.

“Soft shirt. Wonder what kind of laundry soap Samnang uses.”
To wash the clothes that cover this gorgeous body I thought about all effing night and day.
She froze and glanced up, hoping she hadn’t said that last bit out loud. She didn’t think she had.

Wow.
He must look pretty scary to the people standing around them. She sighed, taking in all that sexy rage radiating from him. Funny how she couldn’t see where his hair ended and the black leather of his long coat began.
God, his shoulders are wide, and those thick legs of his, mmm . . .

Her gaze slid back up, and she forgot about the menace rolling off him when she saw he was looking at her. “Sorry,” she apologized for her blatant eye-fuck. “Oh, uh, and I’d introduce, but I don’t know who they are.” Why were the two cling-ons still hanging around now that her hero had arrived?

“I’m Paul, and that’s Darren,” one of them supplied.

“Oh. Well, there you go,” she murmured, not really caring. Her gaze remained glued to Vincente.

“Well, Paul and Darren.” The quiet menace in Vincente’s voice carried over the music. He leveled each of them with a glare that probably made their balls hurt. “It’s time you boys headed out.”

Why weren’t his lips moving when he talked? And why did him taking over and running the show make her feel so warm and squishy? Shouldn’t she be angry? She could take care of herself.

You were scared.

Yes. I was
, she admitted to that part of her brain that had called her out. But she’d have gotten past it. Wouldn’t she?

She glanced over to see Mr. Yucky-Smile staring at her, eyes excited. “The lady was just coming with . . .”

Vincente stepped closer to her, his size blocking out the dizzying lights that were doing their best to make her want to throw up. She wasn’t going
anywhere
with them, she thought, burrowing her hands under that soft black cotton to find nothing but smooth skin. Maybe if they thought she was into Vincente, they’d go away without a fuss.

Leaning farther into him, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes as her forehead came to rest on his chest. “God, I love the way you smell.”
And the way you feel and sound and look.

She could have gone on, but she was afraid she might start voicing the list for all to hear rather than just thinking it. And Vincente didn’t need to be bothered with her nonsense.

Man, she really needed to go to sleep.

Before she completely self-destructed.