“Fuck you.”

  At least her rebellious attitude made me laugh. “You already have.”

  She groaned in disgust as I used the sleeve of my jacket, raking shards of glass from the frame. Then I hoisted myself onto the space, darting my head outside. I heard sirens in the distance, which was good. We needed the interference to keep the jackals off our heels. The fact we were in territory I didn’t know weighed on my mind, but I had no other choice but to jump in order to get us to safety.

  Whitney peered out the window and I had the distinct feeling she wanted to try to escape me.

  “Don’t try it. I’m your only chance at getting out of here.”

  “So you’ve already told me.” Her lower lip quivered but she nodded, carefully easing onto the window frame. While it wasn’t a significant drop, the slope as well as the twisted metal would be dangerous for her.

  “Come on, Whitney. Just jump.”

  She glared at me with a sense of hatred and denial, likely hating herself for trusting me as much as he had. When she was in position, I held out my arms. The sound of approaching vehicles dragged another snarl from my throat. As she jumped, the ugly emergency lighting from the car behind us accentuated her piercing eyes. I caught her easily and having her in my arms was enough to stir several feelings.

  Sadly, the desire would need to wait. Every muscle in my body was tense, coiled in a way that meant I was ready to strike. My captured beauty was vulnerable, an innocent flower in a sea of vipers. In spending limited time with her, I’d discovered more about myself than I would dare admit to anyone.

  She’d grabbed me by the balls, refusing to let go, daring me to be a better version of myself.

  Where she was purity personified, I was chaos and fury, a man disgruntled from years of violence. The last humanity left inside of me could easily see that she didn’t deserve the hand of fate she’d been dealt, but the monster had already claimed her as his own.

  That meant her life would never be the same.

  Remorse didn’t look good on me, nor was it able to chip away at the rage that had built up over time. I was no guardian of the innocent, the brutality of my life preventing me from doing so, but as I’d already discovered, with her everything was different. She was the light to my darkness, as if basking in the way the sun glistened in her hair, I could become a better man.

  That wasn’t possible. I’d sold my soul to the devil just after puberty.

  I took her by the hand, forcing her to run. We passed debris and those injured from the blast, a stark reminder that I couldn’t shield her from my life. I would ruin her.

  Unfortunately for her, Whitney had already become a tormenter of my dreams. That didn’t bode well for what was necessary, including interrogating her further.

  “Where are we going?” she asked from behind me.

  “Back to St. Louis for now.” Maybe she was resolved that trusting me was her only option. As I pulled her away from the tragedy, she remained silent, struggling to try to wend her way through the twisted debris.

  The train wreck was significant, the loss of life undetermined. I tried to shield her from the bloodshed, darting through an open space just as several police cars and fire engines roared over the terrain. As other vehicles rushed through the haze, at least a dozen, we were quickly lost in the crowd of people rushing from the train.

  “Aren’t we going to help people get to safety?” she asked, trying to jerk me to a stop.

  “Do you really want to take the time to save lives while risking your own?”

  “You’re a horrible man.”

  “That’s already been established.” Several other vehicles including two ambulances whizzed by us. While I’d yet to see a single civilian car or truck, there was no doubt it was only a matter of time. I weaved us through the crowd, several groups of people already heading toward the smaller town. Others were rushing toward us in their attempt to provide assistance. I had a feeling within minutes the press would be crawling through the wreckage, longing for their fifteen minutes of fame.

  She remained quiet as we jogged away from the scene, her fingers latched around mine. Her breathing was ragged, her nerves already getting the better of her. She looked back only once, the agony on her face no longer pulling at the limited sanctity inside of me. My goal was simple. Hide until I could get us the hell out of here.

  At least twenty minutes had passed and I sensed she was getting weaker. I’d noticed some blood, which meant she’d been injured. The thought added to the fury. Once we reached the outskirts of the city, I pulled us down a side street, constantly searching for any unwanted visitors. The area was commercial, very few businesses opened. That was both good and bad, leaving us with few places to hide.

  I backed us against a building into the darkness, taking out my phone.

  “Calling the cavalry?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m doing.” I rubbed my eyes, taking several deep breaths before calling Constantine.

  “That was quick,” he stated flatly.

  “Yeah, well, the fucker decided to turn the train ride into a pyrotechnics show.”

  He huffed. “You have trouble following you everywhere. Where are you?”

  When I didn’t see an obvious street sign, I dragged her to the end of the block. “Corner of Watkins and Cavalier.”

  “Bad part of town. Watch yourself. It’ll take me another thirty minutes to get where you are. The plane is fueled.” Constantine wasn’t the kind of man to mince words.

  “I’ll stay close, but I need to get us behind closed doors,” I told him, yanking us toward the closest building when I noticed headlights. The dim lighting of the single pole light twenty feet away allowed me to see fear in her eyes as I pulled her closer. Even her bottom lip was trembling, yet her hands clutched my shirt.

  “I’ll text when we’re close,” he said.

  “I’ll be on the lookout.” I ended the call, glancing from one side of the street to the other. “That cavalry is on the way, but we have some time to wait, omorfiá.”

  She took several ragged breaths. “Here?”

  “It’s the safest place right now. I’ll say it again. The sooner you trust me, the better off you’ll be.”

  To make matters that much more difficult, a storm was brewing. As the first flash of lightning lit up the night sky, I was able to catch a better glimpse of Whitney’s face, eyes that drilled into mine.

  Rage.

  Resentment.

  Uncertainty.

  And even worse, hurt from the amount of betrayal I’d issued. Once again, there was no reason for me to care but I did. She didn’t flinch with a dose of Mother Nature’s fireworks until the rumble of thunder vibrated the ground beneath us. Then I sensed for a few seconds she’d though about seeking my arms as comfort.

  A safety net.

  Then she’d remembered I was a venomous snake.

  “Trust you? You’re out of your mind.”

  “You don’t have anyone else in your corner. Do you?” I cut her off before she had a chance to retort, giving her a stern look.

  The expression on her face was smug.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Whitney, but I will if necessary. You’re going to be a very good girl and stay right behind me. We’re not out of danger yet.”

  “Why, yes, sir.”

  “I’m not fucking with you on this.” I pulled her closer, keeping my hand wrapped around her arm. “Understood?”

  She seemed to sense I was close to the edge, losing what was left of my patience. “Yes.”

  “Good girl.”

  After scoping the area again, I noticed a small, closed bakery. That would need to do. I dragged her across the street, keeping my fingers wrapped around my weapon. I headed around to the back of the building, finding the rear exit. “Stay right here.”

  I pushed her aside, yanking the switchblade I always kept into my hand. As soon as I started to pick the lock, she laughed.

  “You break into buildings on top of kidnapping and murdering people?”

  “I do what’s necessary and right now, we’re out of options.” Fortunately, the lock was old, giving way almost immediately. I only hoped there wasn’t a silent alarm. As I opened the door, I listened for any signs of people or other trouble before pulling her inside, pitching us into blackness as I closed the door.

  Whitney’s breathing was labored but she remained in the same place until I managed to find a switch on the wall, bathing the back room in ugly fluorescent light.

  “Stay right there.” I moved through the location, including the office in my check for cameras or alarms. Seeing none I returned to the kitchen, finding her in the same spot.

  Thirty minutes might not seem long, but Zakaryan’s men would need less to make another assassination attempt. Depending on how many soldiers had been sent to handle the job, they’d comb every inch of the streets in search of us.

  “Come on. You need to sit down,” I told her.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine, Whitney. You were limping.”

  “So what. I’ll be dead soon. Who cares?”

  “Stop being melodramatic. If I’d wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have spent time with you or saved your life.”

  Her hard, cold stare drew another feeling of harsh arousal. I yanked the chair from the manager’s office into the kitchen but as soon as I moved closer, she tried to pull away. Her body swayed from the action, and she almost tripped over a stack of boxes.

  “Whoa.” I kept her righted, pulling her gently toward the chair.

  I allowed myself to see the beauty in her during another moment of lust, but as I took a long look at her pale face, makeup marred by the ugliness of what we’d just been through, I felt a different stir in my loins.

  The bad man wanted nothing more than to protect his lady.

  Only she wasn’t mine, even if I’d laid claim to her.

  She sucked in a shattered breath, closing her eyes briefly. I knew it was the calm before the storm.

  When she launched herself at me seconds later, I was prepared, easily grabbing her by the wrists.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, the upturn of her nose forcing my balls to tighten.

  “You already determined the answer yourself.”

  “A killer.” She struggled in my hold, her long fingers flexing as if determined to scratch the hell out of me.

  “Is that a question?”

  “I doubt you’ll tell me the truth about anything. Why should you?”

  I guided her toward the chair, determined to ease her down. She was stiff but allowed the action, her dress riding up when I did. That’s when I noticed a cut on her leg, the blood almost dried. “I was right. You’re hurt.”

  “No. I’m just dandy.” When I lifted the edge of her dress, she yanked it from my hand. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

  “I’m going to clean the wound, Whitney, which means I will need to touch you.”

  She gritted her teeth, staring up at me with wide doe eyes. “God, I hate you.”

  “You should.” I pulled away, cocking my head as a warning not to do anything stupid. I moved through the kitchen, finding a supply closet with clean rags. After giving her another quick glance, I grabbed one and took long strides toward the utility sink, running it under the water. Goddamn it. This was a trainwreck in several ways.

  She was chewing on her inner lip, her hands fisted in anger and frustration. When I knelt in front of her, she jerked back as if I’d hit her.

  For all the terrible things I’d done in my life, not once had I taken out my anger or my need for revenge on a woman. I wasn’t wired that way. I would do so if there was no other choice, but my mother had taught me to revere women. She’d been a strong force in my life. Maybe that was my only saving grace, keeping some of my humanity intact.

  She winced when I pressed the cloth against the gash, never looking me in the eye as I wiped away dirt and grime. Only when I was close to finishing did she challenge me.

  “Why bother doing that, Phoenix? Aren’t you going to lock me in a cage somewhere, forcing information out of me that I don’t have?”

  I didn’t answer her at first. “Did you know who I was when we met on the train?”

  A slight snort pushed from her pert lips, and she jerked the cloth from my hand. “No. I had no idea who you were.”

  “Why were you on the train?”

  She laughed, the sound bitter. “I already told you. I wanted time alone to think. Then you stormed into my life and for once I thought I could enjoy myself. A stupid train ride. Who knew I’d meet mayhem?”

  Exhaling, I remained where I was. Her anxiety was palpable.

  “I’ve spent my entire adult life responsibly. The girl who made straight A’s, the one who volunteered. The hard worker, keeping two jobs all through high school and college while taking care of my mother. Even after I started making money, I was always worried I’d be left homeless one day. That probably sounds crazy to a man born with a silver spoon in his mouth.”

  “No, Whitney. That sounds rational and very responsible.”

  “Maybe I decided to take the trip to finally experience life knowing it is too short. Maybe it was because my father died, a crazy moment of feeling guilt while needing to let go. Totally out of character for me. Not that it matters to you. My mother told me when I was very little my father was a liar and a cheat. I hadn’t wanted to believe it but after all the years of silence from him, I was forced to accept she was right. I don’t know you at all, Phoenix. And I don’t want to know anything about you. No lies. That’s all you do is lie. Right? To get what you want?”

  I returned to a standing position, leaning against one of the counters, watching as she finished cleaning the wound. Fortunately, the gash wasn’t deep, but I wouldn’t take any chance of infections. She looked away and folded the cloth neatly, a compulsive reaction to being almost killed and kidnapped.

  “You were there, at the gravesite. Weren’t you? You and your thugs.”

  “While my men would take offense to the term ‘thugs,’ yes, I was there. I’m curious. What did you toss into your father’s grave?”

  She glared at me incredulously, her eyes blazing. Then they softened, her lower lip quivering. “I had one memory of him before he left, although sometimes I think it’s nothing but a dream. I remember when he took me outside, he used to blow bubbles. You know the kind, the little jar in vivid colors, the plastic spoon-like instrument and when you floated it from one side to the other, bubbles floated into the air?”

  I looked away, laughing since I remembered my mother doing the same thing when I was a kid.

  “No, of course you wouldn’t know anything about something so simple and beautiful. I’m sure you had expensive toys as a child. Either that or you were spawned from the devil.”

  “I remember, Whitney. My mother did her best to make certain her kids had a value system.”

  “Well, she failed horribly.” Almost immediately, her eyes opened wide. “I’m sorry. That was terrible for me to say.”

  The woman personified goodness, which pulled at the ugliness of what I was trying to accomplish.

  “I put a bottle of bubbles inside his grave. I don’t know what prompted me to do it. How stupidly silly.”

  “That’s touching.”

  “Right,” she chortled. “Whatever you say.”

  We were getting nowhere.

  “Did your father give you any indication he was dying?”

  “I honestly didn’t give him the time to say much of anything to me. He called, wanting to talk. I refused. I was notified a couple days later he was dead. There’s nothing more to the situation. I don’t know what you’re hoping to find, but I’m not your girl.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  She lifted her head, shifting her gaze back and forth. “If I had something that belonged to you, I’d gladly give it back.”

  “You may not know you have it. Or it’s possible he mailed you a package.”

  “He doesn’t know where I live. I was afraid he’d turn up on my doorstep one day so I never gave him the address.”

  While I wanted to believe she was telling me the truth, my gut feelings told me she was hiding what little she might know. Tonight and this location wasn’t the place to continue our discussion. “Are you thirsty?”

  The way she eyed me warily held a hint of amazement I was bothering to ask. “I won’t steal from this small business. You already cost them money by breaking the lock.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with her about the fact I didn’t break it. Instead, I pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, leaving them on the counter. Then I headed to the walk-in refrigerator, retrieving two bottles of water. Even though she’d watched every action, she started to refuse the gesture.

  “This is ridiculous, Whitney. Take the water.”

  After a few seconds she did, twisting the cap with ferocity. Her angry gaze speared me over the short distance, a reminder that our relationship had become strained. Relationship. That wasn’t possible. Not in my line of work, no matter what my father continued to insist. However, our need for each other, electricity that refused to be squelched was nothing more than a thunderbolt driven between us.

  A torrent of rain sounded on the roof, another rumble of thunder somehow rocking the aging building.

  “What did my father take from you anyway?” Given the circumstances, she believed she had every right to ask the question.

  “Be careful asking questions you don’t want answers to.”

  Her laugh turned into a choking sound, and I instantly moved closer. “That almost sounds like you care about me. We seem to have the same desire in life, which doesn’t include sins of the flesh. The truth.”

  I thought about how to answer her. “We’ll leave it at various pieces of information that could potentially destroy my family. That can’t happen.”

  As she’d done before, she studied me intently. “And you’ll do everything in your power to keep that from happening.”

  “Yes.”

  “Including killing my father.”

  Fuck. She still believed I had something to do with the man’s death. “While you tell me you couldn’t give a shit about your father, it would appear otherwise. You can always have his body exhumed for testing purposes.”