Ignite: A MM Mercenary Romance, page 5
Releasing a heavy breath, I check my email and review the notes Rev sent me from his conversation with Ezra, ever the star employee. After today’s shenanigans, he sure as fuck isn’t getting that corner office.
Apparently, our little thief doesn’t have a last name. I snort. A lie. His first name was probably a cover-up, too.
After some failed searches for Ezra in our system records and on Google, I pick up my desk phone and hit the number for Alaric. He doesn’t try to mask his frustration when he answers my call.
“You know I can’t finish anything if you keep dumping tasks on my desk.”
I permit my brother’s attitude because he’s our most skilled person at cracking systems and talking code, but I’d hoped in time he’d pick up proper social skills working here.
“You earned this task. The guy that snuck by your supposedly hawkish eyes twice? I want you to dig into him.”
“He didn’t sneak past me,” Alaric mutters. I remain silent until Alaric gives me the response I’m looking for. “Okay, whatever. Not like I had plans or anything.”
“I know you don’t, so quit acting like you’re put out by my request.”
“Maybe one day I will be,” he counters. “You know, when I find somebody.”
I chuckle, envisioning his pout. “People like us, who obsess over work, don’t find significant others.”
Almost too quietly to hear, I catch him saying, “You did once.”
That wipes the smirk from my face.
“Give me a bit. I’m in the middle of hacking into a security system for Salem. Then I need another bag of Cheetos.”
Alaric hangs up on me, leaving me remembering why I rarely call him. His ability to drop social bombs doesn’t mix well with my inability to channel anything but a prickly nature ninety percent of the time.
Pushing up from my chair, I grab my thermos to refill it with coffee, knowing I’m going to be pulling late hours tonight.
As soon as I step out of my office, I can’t help my gaze from drifting to the glass windows of the corner office.
Irritation burns in my chest. The thief—Ezra—is laid out on the desk in his blood-stained button-up shirt and slacks. He has one leg propped up, and his arms are draped wide, hanging over the edges.
I suppose his quirkiness is why Rev likes him. They both seem to enjoy pushing buttons to get reactions, almost as if life is just one big game to them.
Maybe he’s smart like Rev. A master of manipulating emotions.
I hold back a growl of frustration. Regardless of what Alaric digs up, I know I won’t be satisfied with my decision on what to do with Ezra until I have another discussion with him.
I set my thermos in the break room before cutting back to the corner office. Turning the lock, I step into the room and close the door behind me.
“Okay, little thief.” I force a deep breath to keep my head level. “Either you’re cunning enough to fool a diagnosed psychopath with an IQ off the charts, or you’re actually in a tight spot with a notorious crime lord.”
Ezra’s head lulls to the side, blood now crusted on his cheek. I’m thrown off by the dark shadows forming under his eyes. If he’s been running around with Gabriel, he probably hasn’t had much rest lately.
His gaze sweeps over my body, and I’m enraged by the skip of my pathetic, weak heart. I fiddle with my cufflinks, not wanting him to catch on to how he affects me. Whenever Rev senses discomfort, he leans into it with honed claws.
“Is that supposed to be a question?” Ezra asks in a bored tone.
So much for maintaining my cool. His lazy posture and lack of fear shove me to the edge of reason. Crossing the room, I wrap my hand around his delicate neck and shove him down hard on the desk.
“Enough with the jokes. Which is it, Ezra?” I push through clenched teeth.
He swallows, and I feel his pulse quicken against my fingers, a beautiful little flutter under sun-kissed skin.
A strange warmth floods through me when his pupils expand. It only makes me clutch him tighter.
“You like this position, don’t you?” he murmurs, thick eyelashes fluttering.
I squeeze hard enough to bring a flush of red to his skin. His soft, warm hand encircles my wrist, but he doesn’t attempt to fight me. Overwhelmed by a surge of guilt, I draw back from him.
“I would like to think I’m smart, but I’m really not,” he replies softly. “Got myself into serious trouble.”
I shake my head, frustrated by my lack of control over my emotions right now. “I have someone looking into you. I’ll find out what you’re all about, Ezra. And if there’s anything questionable, anything at all, your life is forfeit.”
He turns his gaze back up at the ceiling, and his body sags. “Okay.”
“Okay? That’s it?” I huff, ripping my tie loose. Why couldn’t I leave this guy alone?
I watch his tongue slip over his full bottom lip, flicking his lip ring back and forth. It shouldn’t captivate me. Shouldn’t make my mouth water or my cock throb hard enough to have my hands twitching with the need to grip it.
“Cut me up all you want. Just… please don’t restrain me again. I don’t like that.”
My brain short-circuits. “What?”
“I mean, I get that I’m at your mercy. Just thought I’d ask nicely.”
A jab of concern hits me, and I shut it the fuck down. Seal it away with every other troubling thing ricocheting in my chest. Today’s been a whirlwind. I shouldn’t have come in here thinking I’d gain anything of value.
But I couldn’t stay away.
Ezra leans up on his elbows, his tousled, decadent locks and mesmerizing eyes alerting my body to just how much I like the way he looks. I’m both enraged by his careless behavior and slightly impressed. I can’t stop my eyes from circuiting his features.
“Cain.” His voice is so soft, so vulnerable, my hands curl into fists. “Can I ask you for a favor?”
I force a low laugh, though I can’t help but watch him spin that lip ring around and around. What would it feel like against my mouth? Running over the shaft of my cock?
Fuck. No.
“You’re being held captive, and you’re asking me for a favor? You know I could kill you, right?” My words hold no edge, my tone dipping into something deep and raspy.
“No doubt.” Sadness bleeds into his expression. “I have a friend in West Bank at the Hartman Shelter. If I’m missing for too long, I worry what might happen to Jakey.”
It takes me a few breaths to process what he just shared with me. He’s concerned about someone in a homeless shelter? What is this Jakey to him? A family member? A friend? What would Ezra be doing in a shelter?
All these questions only serve to further erode my sanity.
“Jakey?” I scoff. “What kind of name is that?”
Timid hazel eyes meet mine. Where was the sassy boy from earlier? The one who seemed to take pleasure in driving me crazy?
“It’s the nickname I gave him when he found me.”
My chest tightens. Suddenly, the office feels too small. Too warm. Why is the fucking heat cranked so high on this floor today?
“Jakey,” I repeat, the name tasting sour on my tongue. “He a thief, too? Someone close to you?”
Why didn’t Rev include more in the summary report?
I hold back a growl. Because I would have criticized him for diving into personal details. That shit doesn’t matter.
Ezra blinks at me like he can see the gears whirling in my head. “He’s just a harmless old man without a job or a place to live. I take care of him. Make sure no one takes advantage of him. Gabriel’s guys messed him up and threatened to kill him. That’s how I wound up in this mess.”
This guy must be an expert manipulator. My insides feel slithery. I can’t seem to get a wrangle around my emotions or regain control of the logical part of my brain.
Why the hell would he risk his life for some old guy on the streets?
I shift my gaze to the black and blue bruise peeking out from the hair along his temple. A shocking burst of anger makes me want to peel Gabriel’s flesh from bone for putting hands on him.
Next, I take in the scabbed cut along his cheek. Yeah, I feel wrong for doing that now, but in the grand scheme of harm I’ve inflicted on others, this is definitely mild.
I yank my fingers through my dark hair. Normally, I’m better at keeping my composure, but this day is fucking with me.
Before I can give away any more signs that Ezra is effectively clawing his way under my skin, I turn and shut the office door.
Lock it.
Storm away.
I can’t keep him in an office much longer, but I’ll wait for Alaric to report back on his findings to decide where to move him.
In the meantime, I text Rev to check on Ezra’s friend.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EZRA
Acorner office in a high-rise building isn’t the worst place I’ve been forced to sleep. Actually, it might be the safest. Which is saying a lot, considering Cain, or Rev, could barge in here any minute and decide to play operation with my organs.
I lie down on the floor beneath the desk. The windows are chilled from the winter air, but the room itself is warm, and the carpet is soft beneath me. Plus, there’s a ton of the city to take in from this height, all symmetrical lines and architectural beauty challenging gravity.
My stomach growls in protest, but I’m used to ignoring that particular signal. Curled up, I let my thoughts turn to Jakey, hoping he’s safe. Gabriel wouldn’t be expecting me back this soon, right?
I should have made Rev promise that Jakey would be protected. Instead, I’d been too caught up in helping him research Gabriel while shoving tacos in my mouth.
Unrest stirs up in my bones, and I sink my fingers deep into the fibers of the carpet. I really don’t want to lose my friend. My life has never mattered, but Jakey… he’s something special. He carries such an envious light. Mine was extinguished long ago by the people who were obligated to care for me.
I suppose Jakey’s been messed up by people, too, what with his previous tendency to dip into bad substances. At least he can’t remember most of those troubling memories. I still go to war against mine every time I drift off to sleep or get too overcome with unexplainable energy.
Over the years, I’ve gotten better at winning that fight. I’m good at convincing myself that I’m just experiencing nightmares.
But when I lose…those are the nights I wake up in a cold sweat with my heart racing, convinced I never got out of that basement.
My throat tightens, and I sense that all-consuming panic slithering toward me. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it to go away. Sometimes it feels like a living entity. Acknowledging its existence gives it more power over me.
I lurch up to my feet and pace the room. The streets allow me an outlet for this excessive need to move. Trapped in here, I fear what my mind is going to do to me.
Scrounging through the desk, I find nothing but some old newspapers, trash bags, and more loose paper clips. I scoop them up and begin winding them together into some sort of lock pick.
Then I sit in front of the interior window until I confirm that Cain has left for the day, a shiny metal briefcase in his hand. I lift a hand to mock-wave at him, but he doesn’t look my way.
It’s not hard to see how tightly wound Cain Vincent is. Aggression bubbles just beneath his surface, barely contained. I wonder what could have filled him with such rage.
More overhead lights shut off. I make my move, working the paperclips into the lock on the door. Freed from my corporate prison, I do a quick walk around the office floor, scoping for cameras. Two by the glass doors to the elevator, which really limits my options. No doubt the hard drive has been moved from the lower levels by now.
Still, the chaos unfurling inside of me needs a fucking distraction. Dropping into a chair in one of the cubicles with a puppy calendar hung on the wall, I rifle through drawers. I let out a low whistle and prop my legs up on the desk as I scan through documents.
Sinro Enterprises has some interesting paper trails. High-dollar purchases for military-grade weapons, armored vehicles, passports, and plane tickets. I’m beginning to think they lean more toward taking people out rather than protecting the average politician or celebrity.
Do they work for the government? Special Forces hidden under the guise of a consulting business? Considering Cain’s skill and his unique staff, it’s a valid possibility.
I can’t leave it a great big mystery. Hands on an invisible string, I keep tugging and tugging, seeking answers to curb my anxiety. I dart from desk-to-desk in a frenzy, sorting through everything I can get my hands on like an auditor with a chip on his shoulder.
Some desks have paperwork on local companies to help secure their assets and keep their employees safe. There are plenty of summaries for upgraded software packages, cyber protection, and fine-tuning building security.
Other desks, well… they have coded lists that confirm my suspicion about Sinro’s true activities. The beating heart of its operations.
I raid the break room next. Nothing’s safe from my manic investigation. I find Steve’s green lunchbox in the back of the fridge with an untouched peanut butter sandwich and a pudding cup. I devour both.
“Sorry, Steve,” I mumble, shoving the empty lunchbox back in the fridge. Immediately after I close the fridge door, I reopen it and decide to clean the interior until it’s spotless.
Fighting back yawns—the clock now reads 3AM—I try out the fancy espresso machine. I end up breaking it, unleashing steam that burns the back of my hand when I try to unplug the stupid thing.
Now what?
What time does Cain arrive at the office in the morning? I feel like he’s the kind of guy to follow a strict routine. Heavy work-out regimen. Probably cooks all his meals.
It hits me that Cain’s going to be pissed when he sees what I’ve done to the office. Will he kill me for the intel I’ve gained on his company? I doubt he keeps the city informed of all of his business activities.
Should I try searching for the drive? Or would that earn me some torture? What if this is a test?
I comb both of my hands through my wild hair, yanking at my roots. Shit, I’ve definitely failed. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Well, if I’m already doomed, I might as well keep letting this madness reign free.
I stroll past Cain’s office. Once. Twice. My fingers trace over the etched gold nameplate on the wall by his door. I picture his dark hair and rich brown eyes and cut jaw and strong hands.
Blood surges to my cock. I sigh. He is a bit dreamy, if not for the whole simmering temper and murderous tendencies.
This infatuation is completely foreign to me. I usually don’t think too much about other people. They exist around me, but the only time I take notice is when my brain warns me that I’m in danger.
Giving in to temptation, I break into his office with my handy dandy makeshift lock pick. I drop into his plush chair. Lights from the city spill through the floor-to-ceiling windows and blur in my tired vision as I spin around and around.
When I scramble his mouse to wake up his computer, I’m prompted for a password. I’m no hacker. My failed guesses lock up his dual screens.
I notice the lack of family pictures and mementos in his office. There are no glimpses into Cain’s life within these walls. Does he even use his office? Or is it kept for appearances as he stalks the city with vengeance?
Settling deeper into his plush chair, I must keep my eyes closed longer than planned because soon I fall asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CAIN
Istartle awake in a tangle of sweaty sheets, convinced I heard the lock on my front door click open.
Leaping from my bed, I reach for the loaded gun in my nightstand drawer and storm through my apartment in nothing but my boxer briefs. My rattled brain tells me there are enemies everywhere. Hidden behind closed doors. Storming the floors of my building.
And the corpses. They always pile up behind closed eyes. I get to watch bullets rip through their flesh in my sleep each night.
Finding nothing amiss in my dark, quiet home, I lean my weight against the wall in my entryway and just… breathe.
It’s rare that I dream, but when I do, it’s always of my failures. Before I was a businessman and a mercenary, I was a soldier. The first time I killed, yeah… it sat heavy in my brain for a while, but once I was weaned of that horror, I became good at taking lives. Good at compartmentalizing my emotions, too.
Until Aiden.
He unraveled everything inside of me. Lifted the seals on the darkness I’d kept hidden when my service came to an abrupt end.
I’d met him at some local restaurant bar shortly after I’d started up Sinro Enterprises. The stress of my new business, combined with PTSD, led me to drink a bit excessively. He’d called me an Uber to get me home safe that night, his number tucked into my back pocket.
I ignored the temptation for a while, but then we kept meeting up at that same bar. It was easy to believe I’d found my forever wrapped up in his arms. One second in time—a single blast of a gun—changed that. Changed the entire trajectory of my life. Left me with gaping holes where unwanted emotions sometimes bled out.
I knead my fingers along my tense brows. Maybe I need to have a talk with my middle brother, Isaac. Clear my head. He’d have sage advice on what to do with Ezra.
As our client relations specialist and staff therapist, Isaac has always been the most level-headed of us Vincent boys. Though I do question if he does more than take people out to eat.
My phone buzzes from the charger on the granite kitchen counter. I pad over to it, still clutching my gun, and check the time. Just after 6AM. The sky is dark, but it’s past the time I normally head into work.
And there’s a good fucking reason I’m always the first one in the office. Dozens of missed calls and texts from my staff alert me of something wrong.
