“Easy, Kitty-Cat.”
I freeze. Then shudder. Straightening my posture and brushing off my jeans, I turn around. The lighting sucks, but I still see him sitting at a small, round dining table looking all high and mighty. He offers me a sinister grin and so does the black skull inked onto his face.
“Feeling feisty today, Kitten?”
“That’s not my na—” A heavy hand slaps me on the back of the head and I almost bite my tongue. I might as well give up correcting people. Oh, Jesus. I’m going to die as ‘Kitten No-name’ instead of Emily Sheppard. Where’s the dignity in that?
Slowly, I glance over my shoulder, ignoring the headache that brews in the nape of my neck. If I were bigger and not trapped underground, I’d kick this asshole hard in the nuts.
“You must feel so strong,” I sneer, “hitting a woman.”
He bares his teeth and lifts a second monstrously large hand, exposing the back of his palm. I tense, bracing my poor face.
“Jim, go find something to do, will you? Kitten and I have some catching up to do.”
I flash him a smug smile before looking back to Skull. I really hope I don’t run into Jim alone. That would not end well.
Skull waits patiently for Jim to leave the room, his hands resting on the table on either side of his plate. The smells from it hit me then. Sausage. Egg. Buttered toast. My mouth waters. I haven’t had anything but stale bread and broth for a while now. What I wouldn’t give for a hot meal and ice cold water. Hell, I’d even settle for clean water at the very least.
“Hungry?” he asks, still beaming.
I shake my head and lie. “No.”
I imagine the butter on the toast melting over my tongue. It’d be delicious, perfect, euphoric, but not worth the weight Skull would undoubtedly hold over my head. When I get out of here—if I get out of here—Jai owes me breakfast.
Beside him, Skull kicks out the wooden chair, and its metal legs skid out with a howl against the concrete.
“Sit.”
I don’t hesitate. Gripping the edges of the wood, I pull it under my ass and shuffle forward, until my legs are underneath the table.
He picks up his knife and fork, and holds them over his plate, resting his elbows on the table. A thick, gold watch peeks out from the sleeve of his black, leather jacket and I glance at its face. Eleven a.m. What I wouldn’t give to feel the morning sun on my skin again.
“My boys tell me you and Jai Stone aren’t on good terms.” He pushes egg onto his slice of toast and cuts through it with ease.
“We weren’t.”
“Weren’t?” He jabs his fork through the food and lifts it to his mouth.
I try not to watch as he opens his mouth and fills it with delicious breakfast foods, but it’s impossible. To see the skull on his face moving the way it does...is creepy.
“We had a falling out. We’re fine now.”
“Good. I’d hate for a silly little quarrel to ruin our…agreement.”
My collarbone burns and I swallow hard. “Agreement?”
Skull moves quickly and I flinch as a loud thump accompanied by the jostling of cutlery and porcelain burst through the air. I feel it then...the cold metal against the inside of my thumb. I peer down at my hand rested casually on the table. Sure enough, Skull’s fork is buried deep in the wood. Well...shit.
“Don’t play dumb with me.” He growls, his Australian accent coming in thick. “I don’t have the fucking patience. If you value your thumb, you’ll get smart. And quick.”
“Oh, that agreement.” I lick my dry lips. “Y-yes, I remember.”
“You do?” He glances at his fork and then back at me. “Funny that.”
Skull frees his fork from the wood and I immediately pull my hands into my lap. “I don’t know what you want me to be looking out for. Jai seems like everyone else down here.”
He stabs into a small piece of sausage and stuffs it into his mouth. “But he’s not.”
I play dumb. “What do you mean?”
“Jai Stone is related to Joel Stone.”
That makes him suspicious? I stare, waiting for him to go on. Just tell me Joel is alive, damn it!!
“And?”
He smirks, the teeth tattooed on his lip curving smugly. “I’m not sure I trust you yet, Kitten.”
“How do I prove that I can be trusted?”
I need this. I need to know if Joel is alive. If I can give Jai that piece of information, that peace of mind, then I won’t feel so bad when I bail on him.
Skull leans back in his chair and chews slowly, contemplating what I can do to prove I can be trusted. I really hope it’s not another tattoo. I don’t think I can stomach it.
“Tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”
I frown. I don’t have secrets. I’ve never done anything worth hiding and besides, who am I going to hide it from anyway? I don’t know anybody well enough to care what they think of me. Wait! There is one thing I’m hiding, but if I tell him, it might get me killed. Then how helpful am I? It can go both ways…
Screw it. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
Skull arches a tattooed brow. “I called you in here.”
“No, not here, as in this room. I mean here...underground.”
He angles his head.
“I was on the train coming home from work…Jai was on the train too. When we got off, he bumped into me and smashed my tablet. I followed him and, unaware of me, he led me here. To save my life, he paid the entry fee.”
He analyzes my face and I try not to squirm as his dark, black eyes scan over my arms and across my chest. An eternity later, he drops his cutlery and shakes his head. “How’d I not realize that? He said he was coming alone.”
“It’s not his fault. I—”
He zips from his seat and smashes into me. His body is heavy and hard, and I yelp as he knocks me from my chair and we crash to the floor. His hand wraps tightly around my throat as crushes me to the dirty concrete and I squirm, desperate to break free.
“You fucking snake.” He spits. “You’re not even supposed to be here.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, terrified of the skull inches from my face. Now I see why he has it. Now I feel the true terror of the tattoo.
“But I am,” I wheeze, my lungs burning. “I’m here. I can help you.”
“Why would you help me?” He demands. “You’re not one of us. You can’t be fucking trusted.”
I can’t be trusted, I know that, but I need to make him believe I can.
“I told you my deepest, darkest secret knowing it could get Jai and me killed,” I squeeze out, opening my eyes. “He’s a stranger to me. I don’t care if he lives or dies. You can trust me.”
Fuzzy dots dance in front of my eyes. Normally, I’d panic, but they block out portions of his terrifying ink and I prefer it. I wonder if he’d kill me if I told him I know the brotherhood is just a front, that it’s really about him finding new muscle. Probably.
He eyes me closely. “I should kill you and hang you over the railing. No one would miss you. You have no friends, no family. Killing you wouldn’t make a blip on anyone’s radar.”
“You could kill me.” I wheeze. His fingers twitch around my throat and I regret ever opening my big mouth. “But then you’d have no one to find out Jai’s agenda—assuming he has one.”
Skull grits his teeth. “I have my own people. People I can trust.”
“He’d never talk to your people. If you’re suspicious about him, you need me.” I gasp, desperate to suck down air. “He trusts me.”
“And why should I trust you?”
His grip lessens in pressure as he gives me a little room to talk.
“Because I have a price. I’m not a fighter or a criminal. I want nothing to do with you and your business.”
Skull angles his head and it’s terrifying. Everything is terrifying. “What do you want?”
“Money and a one way plane ticket.”
His black lips contort into a wry
smile, sending a shard of ice through my veins. “Look at you trying to strike a deal with a crime lord. Maybe the kitten really is a lion after all.”
I’m not a lion, hell, I’m barely a kitten. What I am is a scared, puny mouse using the shadows to my advantage. I don’t want to make a deal with Skull. I just want to talk my way out of death right now. We all know how bad guys come through with their deals when it’s over—a friendly smile and a bullet in the back of the head. Skull has nothing to offer me.
“I’ll tell you what.” He brings his face even closer to mine, enough for our bottom lips to graze. “You find out what Jai’s intentions are, and I’ll pardon you from round two.”
“You can do that?”
He nods. “I can do anything.”
His lips claim mine, his fingers clamping down on my throat once more. I remain perfectly still to conserve the last bit of air in my lungs. His wet tongue forces its way between my lips and when it slips into my mouth I want to bite down on it, punishing him for his intrusion. But I don’t...because I’m quite attached to my tongue. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting this god awful moment to scar me for life. To think there are women out there who’ve wanted to be with this man. It makes me sick.
When he’s finished exploring every inch of my mouth, he pulls back, lessening his grip on my throat. His dark eyes meet mine, the beginnings of a smirk twitching at his lips. He’s proven his point. He can do anything, and no one can stop him. I get it.
“Was it everything you hoped it would be?” I deadpan, swallowing to moisten my painfully dry throat.
Skull laughs, his chest rumbling against mine, as he pushes off of me and climbs to his feet. He extends his tattooed hand and I hesitate for a second before slipping my hand into his.
“I like you, Emily,” he states, pulling me to my feet. “I really hope I don’t have to kill you.”
I dust off my jeans.
“Me neither.”
Red
Jai
“What about you, handsome?”
The gentle, seductive tone in her voice draws me back to the conversation.
“What about me?” I ask, dragging my eyes unwillingly from the entrance of the bar to the red-head beside me.
Graham, a mature man I met at the bar thirty minutes ago, has switched out of the conversation, focusing more on the busty blonde beside him, who, in my opinion, is trying way too hard to garner his affections. That’s the thing about the women down here. Their sincerity is questionable. They’re always scheming, always trying to work out the fastest way to the top. Those who don’t care about the top want extra protection. God knows why. Most of them can hold their own.
She glances toward the door. “Expecting someone?”
I shrug as I pull my tin cup to my lips and down a mouthful of whiskey. “Maybe.”
I don’t usually drink early in morning—if at all—but I’m on edge. More on edge than usual. Emily has been gone a while and I don’t know what she’s doing or what he’s doing to her. I grit my teeth as the strong, ‘homemade’ liquid of my second mouthful rolls down my throat.
When I chose to sit with Graham after our amusing small talk, he was alone. Then this pair showed up, which persuaded me to drink more. I regret coming to the bar, but there’s no way I could handle waiting around our room. I’d go mad.
“Well, in the meantime, you can humor me at least.”
Exhaling, I lower my cup and she slips closer, her pink lips curling victoriously. “What about you? What do you do for work?”
“I do automotive repairs—painting, mostly.” A lie. “What about you, Graham?” I ask, steering the conversation away from me.
He turns his head. “Hmm? Oh, waste management.”
I simper. Waste management. How original—also untrue. The tattoo of a raging bull skull on the side of his neck signifies his ties to the Twisted Sons, a notorious New York motorcycle gang. His real occupation ties in with ‘warehousing’, ‘tattoos’ and ‘motorcycles’, or, in other words, weapons, drugs and laundering. I’m sure if anyone dug deep enough they could probably tie him to racketeering, murder and rape too. But I’m not here to judge. Not today. His luck will run out eventually.
Graham must need a little extra cash to pay off the Cartel. Last I heard, they were on the lookout for a couple Twisted boys who owe them a lot of money. I know Graham isn’t stupid enough to risk being down here with the likes of Skull who, very publicly, declared war on the Twisted Sons. Unless he was desperate.
Stupid bastard.
Like most of them down here, he has no idea that this is a set-up for Skull to recruit more bodyguards; more men and women to do his dirty work. The second Skull gets a glimpse of his tattoo, he’s a goner. To be honest, I’m surprised Skull hasn’t seen it. Then again, there’s probably a lot he can’t see from up there on his fucking ledge. Whoever gathers Skull’s information is supposed to alert him to the fact that he has an enemy down here. After all, he does claim to know every single detail about anyone and everyone who enters his circle. All I know is, whoever gathered it is a dead man when Skull finds out Graham slipped by.
“I’m a physiotherapist on the outside.” The red head beside me purrs, subtly brushing her forearm against mine.
What’s her name again? Eva? Ivy? Fuck. I don’t know. As my brain rolls in my head, I run my hand over my face. Surely there’s a better way to kill time than drinking? I pause, then look to my left. Ivy, or Eva—who cares—might irritate the piss out of me, but at least she looks like a better way to kill the time. Her irises flare when we make eye contact, as if she heard my thoughts. Pulling at the crystal dove pendant on her gold necklace, she offers me a knowing smile; a smile that doesn’t quite hit the spot it should in order for me to want to take it any further than the bar. Besides, getting messed up with Red means I’ll have two girls running around the place completely and utterly obsessed with me, and I just don’t have the time. I smile at the thought. Kitten will bust my balls if she ever hears that.
As I think her name, she comes tearing through the bar, her big, pretty eyes wide and worried. The right leg of her jeans is slightly torn and her white tank top is smeared in patches of dirt. I’m off my crate and closing the distance between us in a fraction of a second.
“Kitten, are you—”
She snatches the tin cup from my hand and downs the last large mouthful of whiskey. Squeezing her eyes shut, she swallows it, baring her teeth. “Ugh. That was a bad idea.”
“It’s shit whiskey. You’re hungover. Of course it’s a bad idea.”
Emily swipes the back of her hand over her mouth. “Why are you drinking anyway? It’s barely mid-afternoon.”
Plucking my empty cup from her fingers, I frown at her. “You’re the last person in the world who should comment on the drinking habits of others, Little-Miss-Blew-A-Hundred-Dollars-On-Vodka.”
She rolls her eyes and flicks her hand at me before peering around my body. “Who are your friends?”
I don’t look over my shoulder. It doesn’t matter who they are. They’re not my friends. I don’t like any of them and if Red gets wind of Emily who knows what kind of shit storm that’ll create.
I grab Emily by the arm. “They’re nobody. Let’s get out of here.”
“Jai?” Red calls out.
Damn it. I clench my jaw and turn my body enough to see my ‘friends’. Red folds her arms tightly across her chest, impatiently waiting for me to return.
“Nobody, huh?” Kitten teases, her smile widening as she tugs her arm free.
I’m glad to see she’s enjoying this. Not. Defeated, I sigh and point them out one by one.
“The old man with his back to us is Graham. The blonde I don’t know and the red head is Ivy—or Eva.”
Emily arches a brow. “You don’t know?”
“I don’t care.”
I watch her face as her gaze scans over Red. Nothing crosses her features—not even the slightest hint of jealousy. If I’m being honest, it pisses
me off. I just about lose my mind when a guy is staring her down like she’s dinner, but she barely sneers when a girl—a hot girl—calls my name? What the fuck?
“She’s pretty.”
I laugh. That, I wasn’t expecting. That, pisses me off even more. “Good, tell her that. Maybe she won’t kick your ass in round two.”
“Who’s to say I’ll be fighting her in round two?”
“You’re not exactly intimidating.”
“Right.” She glances down at her petite body. “Easy win and all that...”
Emily dusts her palms over the thighs of her jeans. I’m ninety-five percent sure they weren’t that dirty when she left this morning.
“What happened to you?” I ask, and what’s left of her already small smile, diminishes.
“Skull—”
“Jai! The next round on you?” I turn around, irritation flooding through me, as Graham twists in his seat.
When he sees Emily, his smile widens and he thrusts his empty cup in the air. “Kid!”
I glance at Emily who returns his smile and pushes by me. “Pops.”
I follow closely behind her. Graham is not someone I want Emily around. “Pops?”
“We met in the far tunnel earlier when she was throwing her guts up,” Graham answers as we approach the table.
I snicker, so does Emily.
“How charming,” Red deadpans, her brown eyes raking Emily over.
“Not my finest moment, I’ll admit. I’m Emily.”
Although Emily harbors no ill feelings or jealousy toward Red, I can see the feeling isn’t mutual. Red’s eyebrows are drawn in, accentuating the look of distaste in her eyes. The look on her face is the kind of look I expected Emily to show—I wanted Emily to show.
Where Red is fit and slightly masculine, Kitten is soft and feminine. Kitten has natural black hair as opposed to Ivy—or Eva’s—fake, red waves where her dark regrowth is visible, less than an inch off her scalp. Red is cosmetically beautiful, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but Emily is on the other end of the spectrum—a natural beauty. Her look is understated...delicate. While Red looks like the kind of girl who’d kick your ass if you dissed her, Emily looks fragile, like she’d burst into tears.