Kyra lifted a foot high in the air, balancing on her bad leg for a moment, and then brought her instep down on his throat as hard she could. With the strength she’d stolen, her weight carried the same force as if she were a three-hundred-pound biker. His throat collapsed, leaving him choking out a few last desperate breaths before he died.
She took no chances, checking Dwight’s pulse, and then she reached out for the .45. Reyes passed it over in a kind of fog, stunned and bewildered. A final shot rang out, a bullet between Dwight’s eyes, just as he’d intended. Kyra meant to leave nothing to chance; she understood the meaning of scorched earth.
A shudder went through him. She’d killed for him. Reyes found that both profoundly disturbing and . . . erotic. They needed to leave. He wanted something else. Despite his smashed nose, the dead body at their feet, and the bullet in her calf, he wanted to shove her up against the Marquis and take her like an animal. Something of his mood must’ve shown in his face because she put her mouth to his roughly, bit his lower lip.
“It’s crazy,” she whispered. “We need to get the hell out of Dodge, but I feel like every nerve just woke up at the same time.”
CHAPTER 20
The look they exchanged should’ve set fire to flammable surface materials. Then he kissed her like he couldn’t help himself, like he wanted to eat her up. Her arms went around his neck, mouth hot on his. Rey framed her ass in his hands, dragged her against him. Through their clothes, she felt him burning hot and hard. Kyra rolled her hips, seduced by the ferocity of him.
At last Rey wrenched away, his breath coming in hard rasps. With disbelieving eyes, Kyra took in the carnage around them. She’d forgotten everything else. He shook his head once as if to clear it and nudged her toward the car.
“We can’t,” he said thickly. “The cops won’t be far behind and they’re looking for this car now. That’s going to make it tough.”
He found the .45 and wiped it clean and then put it in Dwight’s hand. Kyra understood why. They could do nothing else in terms of cleanup, but with luck nobody would find the mess until morning, giving them a long head start.
“We need a new set of plates,” she pointed out, limping over to the passenger side. It was her right leg, so she wouldn’t be driving until she got the bullet out. “And a fast paint job, no questions asked. The first is no problem.”
“I can take care of that right now,” Rey said.
Kyra watched as he scanned the junkyard, eventually settling on a trashed Datsun. Its plates hadn’t expired, so he whipped out his knife and went to work. It took about five minutes for him to make the swap and then stash the old plates. He vaulted and slid over the hood to the driver side, so deliciously dangerous that she wanted to take a bite out of him. Her toes curled, sending a spike of pain through her right calf.
“You were amazing,” she told him.
He shrugged. “I held up my end. There’s no comparing it to what you did. Are you okay by the way?”
Kyra knew he didn’t just mean the bullet in her leg, and she nodded. “I could eat, but afterward, I always need a boost.”
“Headache?” he asked.
“Not yet. Adrenaline’s keeping it at bay.” When it hit, it would be murder.
“Any idea where we are?”
She shook her head. “I’m starting to think GPS isn’t such a stupid idea.”
“We’ll just have to see where we wind up then.”
His big hands held the steering wheel tightly, gleaming white-knuckled in the dark. Kyra watched him, bemused at the tension. Rey seemed so tightly wound he’d snap like an old guitar string if she so much as touched him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I could lie,” he said. “But there’s no point. Instead of doing the smart thing after you shot Dwight, I wanted you on the trunk of the car. Right now it’s all I can do not to pull over and push you into the backseat, regardless of who might be after us.”
She shifted her gaze. “Damn. Does that hurt?”
He laughed, a slightly shaky sound. “A little. Give me a minute. It’ll go down if you quit looking at it.”
“I don’t think so.” The dark made her daring, the way they hurtled down the country road, seemingly alone in the world.
“It won’t go down, or you won’t quit looking?”
“Both,” she said, smiling.
Kyra reached for him then, pleased to find him wearing button-fly jeans that gave way without putting him at risk of zipper teeth. She slid her fingers through the placket in his boxers; he inhaled sharply and his hips lifted before he caught himself. His thighs went hard as iron bars.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’d think that would be obvious.”
His cock was already stiff, throbbing beneath her fingertips. He jerked as she touched him, drawing him through the slit for better access. His breath rasped in the dark, hot and uneven, but he didn’t try to stop her. Rey kept his eyes on the road, chest rising and falling with the apparent strain of controlling himself. “I’m starting to figure it out,” he growled.
Since he was tall and he drove with the seat all the way back, it left her plenty of room between his lap and the steering wheel. Kyra silently blessed old cars with bench seats as she lowered her head. When she spoke, her breath fanned against the length of his hard cock.
“You liked what I did back there. You liked me fighting for you.”
A tremor went through him. “God, yes.”
“Would you like me to finish this?”
“If I had half a brain, I’d say no,” he muttered. “I won’t be paying attention to the road. I won’t notice until somebody’s right up on us.”
She hovered, her lips a whisper away from the head of his cock. “And?”
“I want you to. Please.” The raw need in his voice coiled deep in her stomach, making her ache in ways that surpassed sexual desire, deeper and more fundamental.
Kyra squeezed her thighs together as she took him in her mouth. Ordinarily she’d tease him a little, lick up and down, play with the head before going for it. Tonight she felt like she’d die if she didn’t have him inside of her. He was the missing piece, and only he could make her whole.
Her saliva made him wet and she swirled her tongue along his length, learning his taste. It seemed strange that she’d never done this for him before, but she liked the feel of him, the shape and heat. He moved his hips, causing his foot to pump the accelerator. The car revved and slowed in response. To her surprise, he moved one hand from the wheel and sifted through her hair to curl his fingers around her nape. The gesture felt tender, not controlling. He applied no pressure, kneading her muscles as she sucked him.
It felt good, little spirals of pleasure shooting down her spine. In response she pulled harder, using her tongue faster against the sides of his cock. The new rhythm tore a groan from him, and Rey began to circle his pelvis, the most he could respond while still driving the car. The velocity acted as an aphrodisiac; Kyra could never have imagined how hot it would make her, speeding through the night with her head in a lover’s lap.
Her pussy heated, dampening her panties. Kyra whimpered when she tasted him more strongly. He must be getting close. Her whole body felt flushed.
“Harder,” he rasped. “God, yeah.”
Then his whole body stiffened. A shudder tore through him, and he came in her mouth, long waves that had the Marquis wandering all over the road. Kyra swallowed and wiped her mouth. She still had no headache—first the adrenaline and now endorphins. Natural chemicals were the best. She’d almost forgotten about the pain in her leg, dulled to a low, steady ache.
“Good?” she asked, somewhat smugly.
“Fuck, yes. Open your pants for me, Kyra.”
Oh, she liked where this was heading. Without another word, she popped the button and unzipped her jeans. “That what you had in mind?”
“Yeah,” he breathed, fingers delving into her panties.
He found her already wet,
swollen. Blindly, he explored, unable to take his eyes from the road. Kyra found that erotic as well. She lifted her hips. On the second sweep, he found her clit. Electricity sparked through her as he circled it with rough fingertips. Ordinarily she would need more buildup before he did that, but everything had blurred together in the shape of foreplay: his need, their explosive kiss outside the car, the helpless way he responded. She twisted and moaned, rubbed herself against his hand.
At this rate it wasn’t going to take long.
“Like this.” She repositioned his fingers, showed him the exact motion and pressure she wanted. “Circles now. Oh, fuck. Rey.”
The vibrations from the Marquis added to her arousal. When she came, it felt as though every muscle in her body contracted. The orgasm went on and on, extended by his clever fingers. Kyra cried out and clawed at the seat. Signs flew by; lights flickered in the darkness. She was sobbing for breath when the world started making sense again.
“Damn.” She slumped against the seat, eyes closed, while he petted her like a cat. “Do you always respond like this to a fight?”
“No. Do you?”
Kyra shook her head. “I never have before. It must be you.”
“We’re lucky we didn’t get pulled over for drunk driving.”
Eventually she rallied enough to straighten her clothing, and then she helped him with his. It felt like they drove half the night, and she began to wink in and out. Her head caught fire, nearly blinding her. If she didn’t get something to eat soon, it wouldn’t be pretty. At dawn, as the light edged pink and silver above the horizon, he pulled off onto a dirt road.
“Where are we?” she asked, muzzy.
“Safe house. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
When he lifted her into his arms, Kyra knew he did.
“ This is going to hurt,” Reyes said.
After feeding her, he’d allowed her to sleep as long as he dared, but that bullet had to come out. While she was out cold in the car, he’d made a quick call to Monroe, who’d come through with a hideout where he hadn’t regarding info on Kyra and her dad. Now Reyes knew that was because there was nothing to learn.
The safe house wasn’t much to look at, a plain two bedroom house set well off the road in a copse of trees. They had running water from an artesian well and a gas-generator powered the place. It offered only basic amenities, but more importantly, just a handful of people knew of its existence—and only Monroe knew they were here.
“I know.” Kyra had peeled her pants off minutes before, and now she sat in shirt and panties, waiting for him to get to work. “Just do it.”
Reyes found himself squeamish. He didn’t want to dig around in the wound; he didn’t want to make her bleed. So he stalled.
“Do you have a first-aid kit? I need to be sure I have enough gauze and bandages.” He glanced at the supplies he’d laid out and knew he was just delaying the inevitable.
“It’s either in the backseat or the trunk,” she said. “Make it quick, okay? I want to get this over with.”
He nodded and headed out the back door. The Marquis sat behind the house, hidden from view if anyone came up from the road. Reyes checked the trunk and found nothing but other emergency supplies, like kitty litter and flares—no first-aid kit. Then he rummaged in the backseat, found it on the floor. As he pulled back, he noticed a ragged edge of the carpet, as if it had been peeled away and replaced.
Reyes stared at it for a long moment and then lifted. It came free, revealing a hidden compartment in the floorboard. Smugglers and drug runners used these all the time; they weren’t complicated to install. He flipped it up and found a silver case. There was no need to open it; he knew what it contained.
That had to be Serrano’s money.
She’d been carrying it all this time, living off what she made on the game. Since she never left the car behind, it made sense. He should have expected as much now that he knew her better. Kyra would never trust anyone enough to leave it with them, and she’d be afraid any hiding spot she chose could be compromised. In truth, he could have rolled the car long ago. Deep down, he just hadn’t wanted to. He could now complete the job, salvage the reputation he’d spent years building.
Instead, he closed the hidden panel and fit the carpet back on top, being careful to leave it exactly as he’d found it. First-aid kit in hand, he made another call. It was past time for him to get in touch with Foster.
“You lied to me,” he said, as soon as the other man answered. “Tell Serrano I don’t work for him anymore.”
Foster’s voice was cool. “A pity. You came with the highest recommendations. It’s always so disappointing when people’s reputations outpace their abilities, but I’ll let him know. You will, of course, return the retainer I wired into your account.”
“Hell, no,” Reyes said. “That’ll cover the time you wasted. You’re welcome to try your hand at collections, of course, but I don’t think much of your chances.”
“It’s not my money,” Foster returned, sounding amused. “Mr. Serrano will decide what he wants to do. If I were you, I’d expect company.”
“I always do.”
Just as he was about to disconnect, he heard one last thing. “Tell Kyra her friend says hello, won’t you? Mia is such a charming woman.”
Reyes slammed the door with more force than necessary and turned off his phone. For good measure, he popped the battery out. There had been rumors of technology that could track your location, even if the cell phone was powered down, and he intended to take no chances. Foster worried him. He was a thinker, unlike Serrano was reputed to be, and that made him a dark horse. It was impossible to predict how he’d move.
For the moment he put that aside. He didn’t know who the hell Mia was, but Foster seemed to think Kyra would recognize the name. The other man also seemed to think he’d confessed all, broken his cover. He didn’t look forward to that conversation. Reyes tipped his head back and stared up at the gray sky, hoping for answers.
Fuck it. Kyra was waiting for him to play doctor, and it wouldn’t be fun. She was downright pissed by the time he got back, about to operate on herself, as she’d said in the salvage yard. Reyes waved the first-aid kit, trying to placate her.
“Got it, see?”
“I thought I was going to have to do this myself,” she groused.
He rubbed a hand across his face. No more stalling. With an economy of movement, he washed up and then rubbed sterile alcohol pads over his hands. He blotted the outside of the wound for good measure. Her breath hissed through her teeth, but Kyra didn’t say a word. Her hands went white from gripping the arms of her chair, though.
With a pair of sterilized tweezers and a penknife, he went to work. It seemed like ages where he dug around in her flesh, but Christ almighty, she was brave. The woman never made a single sound, from the moment he started, until he finally plucked the lead core from her leg.
He dropped it into a plastic dish and gave a shuddering sigh. The rest didn’t take too long. He poured alcohol into the wound until she slapped at his hands.
“That’s good,” Kyra muttered. “I’ll have a doc look at it soon, I swear. Just wrap it up, will you?”
She meant that literally, so he set the pads in place and wound the gauze around her leg. Finally he taped everything down, and she leaned her head against his chest. Her strawberry blond hair stuck to her forehead in sweaty strips, revealing how hard it had been to be stoic. Slow tremors ran through her, but she steadied as he held her.
“Okay?”
“You’re no Trapper John,” she told him. “But I’ll live.”
Damn right, she would. They’d sent him to kill her, but instead he’d protect her to his last breath. Kyra was his in a way that nobody ever had been—or ever would be again. He didn’t know what the hell would happen between them, but he intended to make sure she survived it.
“I haven’t had a lot of practice patching people up,” he admitted.
Understatement. He p
ut people in the ground; that never involved nurturing. Before Kyra, he could count the times he’d been touched tenderly on one hand. Before Kyra, everything had been different.
“No shit.”
This was the time to tell her. He’d just quit working for Serrano; it was official. But as Reyes gazed down into her trusting face, he found himself reluctant to lose that. He told himself that a few days wouldn’t matter. She needed peace to recover—it wasn’t time for confessions or clearing his conscience. He stroked her hair.
There was one thing he could do, however.
“Who’s Mia?”
She jerked back, eyes wide and scared. “Where did you hear that name?”
From the guy who paid me to kill you.
“You were mumbling in your sleep,” he lied. “In the car. Who is she?”
Kyra relaxed slowly, and he felt like an utter bastard. “My best friend. You might even say, my only friend. I’ve known her a long time.” She hesitated, and then went on: “We met when we were ten. Dad had rented a house in Pine Grove. He didn’t do that often because people always came around, wanting to know why I wasn’t in school. Mia lived next door. She was so excited to have a kid her age move in, she didn’t pay any attention when I said I didn’t like her, didn’t want to play with her.”
“She sounds great.”
Her smile held definite warmth. “She is. Seventeen years later, and we’ve never lost touch. Sometimes we might go months without talking—Mia does contract work overseas, and I travel a lot—but whenever we get together again, it’s like we’ve never been apart.”
Well, fuck me sideways.
Foster had been telling him he had Kyra’s best friend there with him in Vegas. That couldn’t be a good thing. They’d use an innocent woman to get what they wanted, no question. Now he had to decide what to do about it.
CHAPTER 21
Serrano was in a fantastic mood right up until Foster entered his office.
Bobby Rabinowitz had come through, so he knew Ricci and Pasternak were laundering for one Armenian in particular, Krigor Akopyan. He’d been pondering the best way to use that information when Foster called. From the man’s tone, he knew he didn’t have good news. Serrano told him to come up. He respected the man for having the courage to tell him in person.