Without Regret (Devil's Playground #1) (9 page)

21

With Courtney’s hand in his, Max Adorite walked into Isaiah’s office, briefly scanning the room. His beautiful wife released his hand and went straight for the attractive redhead standing on Isaiah’s left.

“Courtney Adorite,” she greeted the other woman.

“Cassidy Owens,” the redhead replied. “So nice to meet you.”

Courtney smiled but then offered the woman a quick hug.

Max watched the interaction, shaking his head. He’d never understand how two women—two complete strangers—could hug one another as though they were long-lost friends.

He then turned his attention to his club manager, who had gotten to his feet as soon as they’d walked in. Isaiah headed toward him, holding out his hand, and Max shook it.

“Things handled?” Max inquired, speaking softly.

“Yes, sir. Our guest is waiting to speak with you. From there, he’s got an appointment.”

Max knew how to translate, and he appreciated Isaiah’s discretion. Then again, the man had always been that way. Very professional, very understanding of the way things worked within his organization. It was the reason Max valued Isaiah, paid him a handsome amount for his loyalty.

“When can I speak with him?” Max inquired.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Courtney,” Max said, turning toward his wife. “I need to talk to Isaiah about business. Privately.”

His wife nodded, understanding in her gaze. “Cassidy and I will be at the bar.”

“After you,” Max told Isaiah, allowing the other man to lead him to their
guest
.

“Is Cassidy doing well? After the … altercation.” Max had been livid when he’d found out that Howard Turner had dared to come into his hotel and kidnap a woman right out of her hotel room. However, he didn’t think his fury had come close to matching Isaiah’s. When Isaiah had relayed the information while Max was on the plane, en route, he’d detected the murderous intent in the other man’s tone.

He couldn’t blame Isaiah. Max would personally end the life of any man who dared put his hands on Courtney. And he’d do it slowly, inflicting as much pain as possible.

So, yes, he understood Isaiah’s response.

“How about the brother?”

“I personally settled his debt. I’ll be taking him in for the time being.”

“You trust him?”

“Not yet, no,” Isaiah admitted.

Max also liked that about Isaiah. He was honest.

“But I will. He wants to do right by his sister. I’ll be the one to ensure that happens.”

Max smiled to himself. He didn’t doubt that. “And Micah? How’s he doing?”

“Well,” Isaiah stated. “He held his own throughout.”

“And he’s still content?”

When Max had brought the Fontenot twins into his organization, he’d been leery about Micah. The man had a short fuse, despite his fun-loving nature, but from what Max could tell, Isaiah calmed him. The brothers were close, but Max expected now that Isaiah found himself otherwise preoccupied with the pretty redhead, they’d likely need to rely more on Micah to handle things. It was time Micah moved up in the organization, had more responsibility. He was a good man, a loyal employee.

But he would allow Isaiah to handle that. As he did everything that took place at Devil’s Playground Las Vegas.

They arrived at their destination, a holding room in the basement of the hotel, a short time later. Max opened the door, stepping into the cold, concrete room.

“Mr. Turner,” he said, formally greeting the man, who was currently tied to a chair, completely naked. It was a tactic Max knew well. Most men felt incredibly vulnerable when they were naked. It was an intimidation factor that had worked well for Max over the years. Seemed Isaiah had had the same experience.

“I’m sure Mr. Fontenot has kindly relayed my disappointment,” Max said, addressing Howard Turner.

“What the fuck do I care?” Howard retorted.

Max had to hand it to the guy, he was disguising his fear well. Surely the bastard knew he wouldn’t be leaving that room alive, yet he still held his own.

“You should’ve cared,” Max said dismissively.

“Why? Because some punk kid thinks he can tell me what to do?”

Max smiled, a feral grin that reflected his hatred for the man.

He did glimpse fear in Howard’s eyes at that point.

Moving closer, Max calmly placed his hand around the old bastard’s throat, squeezing just enough to cut off his airflow.

“Oh, the pleasure I’d get from killing you.”

Howard had the common sense to keep his mouth shut. More than likely, he was trying to conserve oxygen considering Max was allowing him none. Leaning in closer, Max lowered his voice as he said, “Unfortunately, I’m leaving that to Mr. Fontenot. I’ve learned that you wronged him in a manner that I cannot contend with. He advised me that he’d already made you a promise. I’m of the belief that men should keep their promises.”

Releasing Harold’s neck, he watched as the man gasped for air.

Turning to Isaiah, he waited for the other man to speak.

“I’d like to allow him to think about what he’s done for a while. There’s no sense in you wasting your vacation time with this scumbag.”

Max agreed. He’d prefer they return to the club, check on the scene. He had no doubt that Isaiah would handle Harold when he was ready. Until then, he agreed that the man would do well with some time to think.

Pivoting on his heel, he faced Harold again. “I’d tell you that, in the future, you should consider respecting others when they request something. However, I don’t think that’ll matter soon.”

With that, he followed Isaiah out of the room, ready to get back to Courtney.

The trek back to the club wasn’t as long as before. Or so it seemed.

When they entered the club, Max took it all in. The Fontenot brothers had done well by him for the past five years. They’d taken the club beyond the realm of what Max had anticipated. It continued to thrive, pushing numbers far greater than the Dallas club and remaining on a similar level with the New York club.

“Hey,” Courtney greeted when Max joined her at the bar. He kissed her mouth and then glanced over to see Cassidy Owens staring back at them.

“I wanted to thank you, Mr. Adorite,” Cassidy said quickly. “I owe you and your wife my life. My brother does, too.”

“You owe us nothing,” Max told her simply, briefly glancing at Isaiah, who had come to stand beside Cassidy, his arm possessively wrapped over her shoulder.

It was interesting to think that these two had only met a couple of days earlier. Then again, under the circumstances, it made sense that they’d ventured into … whatever this was between them so quickly. Adrenaline tended to make people do things they otherwise might not do. He figured love could potentially be a byproduct of that.

His eyes strayed to Courtney, and he remembered the day he’d met her. He’d been captivated by her, and he’d known at the time that she was different.

He was glad Isaiah had found that as well.

“How about a toast,” Courtney said, passing around four shot glasses.

“What are we toasting to?” Max asked.

“To living life,” Courtney said, lifting her glass. Max watched as his wife’s gaze met Cassidy’s.

“Yes, to living life … without regret,” Isaiah added.

Max couldn’t have said it better himself.

♥▫▫▫▫♥▫▫▫▫♥

I hope you enjoyed Isaiah and Cassidy’s story. Without Regret is the first book in the Devil’s Playground series, which is a spin-off from the Southern Boy Mafia series. You can read more about the Adorite family — the owners of Devil’s Playground —
here
.

Want to see some fun stuff related to the Devil’s Playground series, you can find extras on my website. Or how about what’s coming next? I keep my website updated with the books I’m working on, including the
writing progression of what’s coming up for the Devil’s Playground series
.

If you’re interested in keeping up to date on the Adorites as well as receiving updates on all that I’m working on, you can
sign up for my monthly newsletter
.

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And last but certainly not least, if you want to see what’s going on with me each week,
sign up for my weekly Hot Sheet
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♥▫▫▫▫♥▫▫▫▫♥

Keep reading for an excerpt from

WAIT FOR MORNING

(Sniper 1 Security #1)

Nicole Edwards

Copyright © Nicole Edwards, 2015

Excerpt from Wait for Morning

One

Connecticut

February

Thump-scrape-thump

Marissa Trexler came awake slowly, trying to fight the groggy feeling as she forced her eyes open. A quick glance at the blurry red digits on the alarm clock told her it was just after midnight. The dim light from the lamp on her bedside table, along with the Kindle resting on her chest, said she’d fallen asleep reading again.

She really needed to stop doing that. More than likely, the suspense novel she’d been engrossed in before she finally dozed off was making her paranoid. Stephen King had a way of doing that to a person.

Sliding the e-reader to the pillow beside her, Marissa scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and glanced over at the bedroom door. Shut and locked. Exactly the way she’d left it. No boogeyman looming over her, ready to do whatever it was that boogeymen did.

She lay there, momentarily listening for the sound that had awoken her. Nothing.

Yep, just as she’d thought. Paranoid.
Thanks a lot, Mr. King.
Maybe it really was time to switch to some lighter reading at night. Perhaps her best friend, Courtney, was right, Marissa should try romance on for size.

Just when she reached for the lamp to shroud the room in darkness so she could attempt to get back to the blessed dreamless state she’d been in, Marissa stopped, her hand hovering inches from the lamp base.

Thump-scrape

Okay, maybe paranoid wasn’t the right word because she clearly hadn’t imagined the sound
that
time.

Glancing toward her bedroom door once more, Marissa tried to make sense of the noise, but she couldn’t. It sounded almost as though someone was dragging something across the floor and then carelessly dropping it. Over and over again.

There was no way that could possibly be it, though.

Right?

Maybe it was the screen door. Yes, that made perfect sense. A much more likely culprit. The damn thing was always coming unlatched, a reoccurring problem with the blistering cold winds slamming brutally against her small rental—aka
safe
house—especially in the dead of winter.

Not for the first time, Marissa wished she was back in Texas. Back where the temperatures weren’t freeze-your-nipples-off cold.

Figuring the screen door wouldn’t fix itself, Marissa forced her legs over the edge of the bed and slid her feet into her cable-knit boot slippers.

Thump-scrape-thump

A frisson of fear sliced through her at the sound, making her toes curl against the faux fur encasing her feet and causing her heart to slam into her ribs. The screen door was never that consistent.

Swallowing past the lump of ice-cold terror lodged in her suddenly dry throat, Marissa managed to get to her feet. After grabbing her heavy robe from the chair beside the bed, she slowly slipped out of her bedroom, moving down the short, narrow hallway toward the front door as she pulled her robe over trembling arms. Forgoing the lights on her way, she kept her ears tuned to the sound.

Thump-scrape-thump

This time Marissa stopped midstride, standing a mere foot from the doorway that led to the living room as she tried to pinpoint the direction of the noise. It didn’t sound like it was coming from the front of the house, which meant … the screen door wasn’t the guilty party.

Thump-tha-thump

Thump-tha-thump

Swallowing hard, Marissa realized that new thumping sound was her heart—threatening to beat right out of her chest.

That realization didn’t do a damn thing to help the oncoming panic attack.

Thump-scrape-thump

Shit.

Not
her heart
.

Oh, God!

Marissa listened for a moment, noticing the house was now void of all noise except for the soft rumble of heat through the air vents and the drumbeat coming from her chest. Was the sound coming from behind her? She tried to force her feet to move, but the overwhelming fear kept her rooted in place.

Before the direction to run could make it from her brain to her feet, a hard, firm hand came over her mouth, yanking her back against an equally hard, firm body.

The cobwebs of sleep still saturated her gray matter, making it difficult to register the need to scream, but instinct had her instantly trying to wiggle away.

No!
Not again!

A muffled sound escaped her—anything more was hindered by the large palm crushed over her mouth—but it wasn’t nearly loud enough to attract help. Or maybe that was the terror lodged in her throat keeping the sound at bay. Either way, she found herself desperately trying to suck in air, stumbling as the massive body behind her pulled her away from the living room, forcing her to shift her feet or fall to the floor.

And yes, she suddenly wondered whether the latter wasn’t a bad idea. Getting away should’ve been her top priority, and Marissa was pretty sure it would’ve been if she could think clearly.

“Not a word,” the deep voice whispered, warm breath brushing against her neck.

Well, that confirmed the answer to the first question that had popped into her head:
man or woman?
Definitely a man.

Low, gruff, familiar, the voice was an oddly soothing rumble against her ear. She recognized the timbre, the cadence, even the inflection, but thanks to the all-consuming dread roiling in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t place it. When she tried to turn, to see who he was, he simply held her flush to his body, continuing to ease them closer to the back door via the darkened kitchen.

“Stay calm. We’ve gotta get outta here.”

His voice was calm, not at all threatening, and the strong arms surrounding her weren’t gripping her painfully, but Marissa still questioned:
friend or foe?
She didn’t know the right answer, probably because she was still paralyzed with fear.

While her common sense tried to come fully online, the intruder continued to lead her away from the front of the house, and for whatever reason, Marissa found herself complying. Something told her she needed to trust this man.

Less than a minute later, they were stepping outside, the icy winds battering her body, the snow instantly seeping through her slippers, freezing her feet. The blistering cold kick-started her brain, and she glanced at the ski-mask-clad man, who was now reaching for her hand as he rapidly backed away from the house, his intense gaze penetrating her, even though she couldn’t even make out the color of his eyes in the inky darkness, darkened even more by the rapidly moving clouds temporarily blocking out the moon.

“Let’s go, Marissa!” the man yelled, grabbing her hand and hauling her through the snow that densely covered her backyard.

Was it a good sign that he knew her name?

Okay, so maybe she should’ve been more worried about the fact that snow was now filling her slippers and saturating her pajama bottoms, or perhaps that she was willingly running
away
from the safety of her house with a man she only thought she should trust.

Unable to form words to argue or even to ask questions, Marissa ran. More accurately, she stumbled through the snow, dredging her way around to the side of the house as fast as she could behind the stranger dressed in black, his clothing of choice a stark contrast against the brilliant white landscape now lit by the moon. Her brain fumbled to make sense of what was going on as her slippered feet trudged through two feet of soft snow blanketing the ground. The gloved hand holding hers felt safe, but for a fraction of a second, she pondered whether she was actually running
toward
disaster rather than running
from
it.

A metallic
ping
sounded from close by, causing her to flinch at the same time her masked companion grabbed her, hauling her close to his solid body and using himself as a human shield, steering her in the direction he apparently wanted her to go.

“In!” the man commanded as they approached a dark SUV haphazardly parked along the side of her house.

Ping.

Ping. Ping.

Holy shit. Was someone
shooting
at them?

With her stupidity level possibly at an all-time high, Marissa didn’t question him as he yanked open the driver’s door and shoved her into the vehicle, she didn’t try to pull away, and she didn’t glance back at her house, either, when he yelled, “Other side!” and pushed her across the center console.

“Seat belt!” The brusque word echoed through the chilly interior of the SUV as the engine roared to life when her masked companion hopped in the driver’s seat. With frozen fingers, Marissa fumbled with her seat belt while she prayed the heater would push something more than arctic air at her.

How long did it take for frostbite to set in?

Wow. And wasn’t
that
an odd question to worry about at a time like this?

Hoping she wasn’t going to find out, she forced the notion from her head.

Less than a minute later, Marissa wasn’t worried about her numb fingers and toes or even what the sound had been that had woken her in the middle of the night. Her new interest was who this man was and where they were going.

When she turned to face him, ready to pelt him with those exact questions, Marissa was tossed around the front seat like a rag doll—despite the seat belt that was supposed to hold her in place—as he took a turn on what had to be two wheels. Fear gripped her once again as she grabbed for the
oh-shit
handle and held on for dear life. He obviously knew what he was doing, navigating the top-heavy vehicle in polar-like conditions, never taking his eyes off the road.

Chancing another glimpse in his direction, Marissa studied his profile despite the mask still covering his features, trying her best to look at him.
Really
look at him.

When he glanced over at her, tugging the mask off his head, allowing her to see his face for the first time since he’d arrived to whisk her out of the house, her breath lodged in her throat.

What the fuck?

“You’re lucky I don’t punch you right now,” she told him grumpily, earning a chuckle from him.

Continuing to watch him, Marissa willed her heart to stop pounding, her breath to return to normal.

“Since when did they start sending in the big guns?” she muttered when she could breathe again, sarcasm and incredulity replacing the fear that had racked her for the past… According to the blue digits on the dashboard, only fifteen minutes had passed since she’d awoken to the noise.

He didn’t respond.

Before Marissa could blast him for what had happened, there was an explosion that rocked the SUV. Twisting in her seat and peering through the tinted back window, she saw a fireball billowing in the chilly night air.

“Ohmygod… Ohmygod… Oh. My. God.” Marissa turned to eyeball the man who’d come to her rescue. The
last
man she’d expected to see. The
very
man who had just saved her life. “Was that…?”

“Your house? Yeah,” he offered with a slight edge. Although his rich, dark tone reflected a hint of sympathy, his white-gray eyes were hard as steel.

Her house, or rather the residence she’d inhabited for the last two and a half months, was now…
Shit.
It was now a fireball in the sky.

Spinning back around and shifting nervously in her seat, Marissa sucked air into her lungs, praying she wouldn’t hyperventilate and pass out. Or maybe that would be better than dealing with this now. Who knew?

A firm hand landed on her back, thrusting her forward.

“Head between your knees, damn it. Don’t you dare pass out on me, girl.”

Girl?
Was he serious right now?

Marissa had no choice but to obey his booming command, as he was simultaneously forcing her head toward the floorboard. Closing her eyes, she slowed her breaths, ignoring the way her hands trembled uncontrollably and her heart raced like a Kentucky Derby racehorse. A few minutes later, when she finally got her bearings, she sat up slowly and asked the one question she felt she’d been asking for far too long. “Who’s after me now?”

Once again, no response.
Typical.

She might never receive an honest answer to that, but at least Marissa had the answer to her earlier question…

Disaster.

Plain and simple.

That was exactly what she’d been running
toward
.

And disaster’s name was Trace Kogan.

Wait for Morning Available now!