The Deadliest Sin Series Complete Collection, page 105
Not only is the man intolerable, with terrible decorating taste. He's also insanely handsome, which only makes arguing with him feel more and more like foreplay to something that's never going to happen.
That man is never going to touch me. Not like that. Not any way again. Unless it's to shake my hand as he sends me on my way. And even then, I might have to stop to think about allowing it.
But I better get used to the black ceiling because something tells me I'm going to be here a long time while Galen “figures out where he stands.”
First, someone shot up a meeting of the five families. Someone who has a lot of balls and no self-preservation instinct at all. Maybe a member of one of their organizations, trying to make a move, trying to take out the person at the top so they can step in. It's the only explanation that makes sense. Because while I may not know much about organized crime in Chicago—or anywhere else, for that matter—I do know that these types of people don't get to the heads of the families without at least some level of intelligence and cunning. Enough that they're not going to send people to shoot up a meeting they're attending if they hope to walk away unscathed.
There's too much possibility for stray bullets. Too much risk.
So…who was the target?
It’s the question I'm sure Galen has been asking himself since he left that church. And now, someone’s come after him at the bar, too. Though, it doesn't mean it's the same person.
He said it himself—there are any number of people who could want him dead and out of the way. Multiple directions the shots could be coming from. That means I'll probably be here a lot longer than either of us wants me to be.
Just fucking great.
Finally, the adrenaline brought on by the excitement of the day starts to wear off, and a wave of bone-deep exhaustion hits me so hard that I practically melt away into the mattress.
God, how long have I been awake?
I glance at my watch—the one he gave me for my sixteenth birthday—and fight back the tears starting to form in my eyes.
Twenty-two hours.
I can't remember the last time I was awake for this many consecutive hours . Maybe back in school, before I dropped out when I was studying for exams.
It feels like such a long time ago, yet patching up Galen has brought back that rush I once felt at the thought of being a paramedic, of saving lives.
I release a yawn and let the sweet oblivion of sleep start to pull me under. It’s probably stupid. I shouldn't let down my guard. I shouldn't fall asleep and leave myself exposed to a man like Galen McGinnis. But I don't have much of a choice at this point.
If I don't get some sleep, I'll be useless. No energy or mental stamina to continue verbally sparring with that man.
Even injured, Galen is a force to be reckoned with.
And he is right. He is no Napoleon.
He's tall, and while he's not overly muscular, the lean, hard muscles I saw when I was patching him up show his true strength that he keeps hidden behind suits and a smile.
Well, that false smile isn't going to work on me.
I yawn again and shift up on the bed until my head hits the pillows.
Galen McGinnis’ asshole-ish nature will win out over his minor charms, and I have to let him believe I'm compliant. Otherwise, I'll never get out of here. It means having to play nice with him a little bit. That's never really been in my nature, but I'll have to at least try.
My life may be a giant clusterfuck of uncertainty, but I'm not ready to let it go just yet. So, I'll do whatever it takes to make it out of here alive. Whatever it takes.
Complete the mission—that’s what he always said.
GALEN
“What?” Valerian answers my call, his deep voice floating through the line to me, short and clipped. Annoyed.
I know the fucking feeling.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Galen, I'm happy to hear your voice.”
“You almost didn’t after you left me in that fucking church to die.”
He chuckles darkly. “What was I to do? I saw an opening to get out and took it.”
“Yeah, well, I made it back to Bottom O’ the Well and barely had time to breathe before we were hit there, too.”
“What?”
“Yeah. So, what the hell is going on? Have you heard from anyone else? Anything about Rowan?”
I turn on the TV and flip through the channels until I find the local news. Not knowing what happened to her has made it impossible for me to concentrate on anything else, like the fact that I’m damn near collapsing.
Finding her has been my focus for so long, the only thing I cared about aside from expanding my empire. Now, I’ve lost her to Felipe, maybe lost her forever if she didn’t survive the church, and my organization is in shambles.
Perhaps it’s God’s way of punishing me for my greed. For breaking my promise to him that as soon as I found Nessa, I would stop. Instead, I found her and kept going, kept demonstrating my power and seeking more of it by sending out my best men with a message.
Valerian clears his throat. “No, I haven't heard from anyone else, but on my way out, I saw Rowan and Felipe hiding behind the pulpit. She was okay…as far as I could tell, but who knows?”
“Shit.” I pinch the bridge of my nose against the headache forming there. “Who was shooting? All I saw were four guys in black.”
“That's about all I saw, too. Other than they had AK-74s.”
“Huh…” I almost forgot about that, but it raises a problematic question of where they got them. I’ve controlled the gun trade in Chicago and the entire Midwest for years. The only competitor who dared compete with me was sent a clear message to stop. But the guns had to come from somewhere.
“What?”
“Interesting that they have Soviet weapons. Are you sure you didn't have anything to do with this?”
“Fuck you, Galen, for even suggesting it. After Kat attacked us both, we came to an understanding that's been mutually beneficial to us. Why would I try to fuck that up when there's already so much going on?”
“I don't know, just making an observation.”
One anyone in my position would. Anyone could have been responsible for the shooting at the church, and the AKs point a finger squarely toward Valerian.
“Yeah, well, fuck your observation—”
The image on the TV screen changes to a pan of the front of St. Mary of the Angels.
“Valerian, hold up.”
“What?”
“I have the news on, and they're showing the church.”
“What are they saying?”
“Shut the fuck up so I can hear.”
“A massacre at a Catholic church brought Chicago PD’s best detectives out to try to sort through the carnage in the second shockingly violent event in only a matter of weeks at this normally quiet center for prayer in this sleepy neighborhood…
Detective Lopez appears on screen, his mouth set in a grim line.
The reporter shoves a microphone in his face. “Detective, can you tell us what happened here last night?”
“We aren't exactly sure, as the investigation is ongoing.”
“Does this have anything to do with the car explosion here recently?”
He pauses for a moment and considers his words. “We can’t comment on that.”
“Should parishioners be concerned?”
His hard eyes soften slightly, and he shakes his head. “We do not believe members of the general public are in any danger. Right now, it appears to have been some sort of organized crime-related activity.”
“Can you tell us if anyone was injured or killed?”
He shakes his head. “Not at this time. We need to continue our investigation and notify next of kin before anything can be made public.”
I sigh and slowly lower myself onto the couch. “They aren't saying much.”
“Detective, we also heard there was a shooting at Bottom O’ the Well, a known hangout for the McGinnis crime family. Are these two incidents connected?”
To his credit, Lopez barely reacts to the pointed question. “I can’t say at this time.”
“Can you tell us anything?”
He looks directly at the camera. “Things have been tense in this city the last few years. What peace once existed between the organized crime factions seems to have been broken. Whatever happened here is likely to stir up a lot of further unrest. Stay vigilant. Keep your eyes and ears open and stay off the streets, if you can. This could get bloody.”
Shit.
I squeeze my eyes closed, and when I reopen them, they've moved on to another story.
“Well, what did they say?”
“Nothing of consequence. Except they already know Bottom O’ the Well was hit, too.” Even though Lopez didn’t say it, that much was clear in his words. “Considering they were just out there less than a week ago when Felipe came in guns blazing, and I had to deal with Detective Lopez then, he's going to be up my ass even harder now. There's only so many times I can tell him I don't know who attacked us or why before they start sitting someone on me twenty-four-seven, if they haven't already.”
“Where are you?”
I snort. “Like I'm going to tell you that. Somewhere safe.”
“I sure hope so. And you're all right?”
I grimace at the pain shooting through my shoulder, just like it has been non-stop since we climbed out that fucking window. “I think I'll live.”
“I'm going to do some digging. Have my men scope out the Marconis and see what's going on there.”
“What about the Rose brothers and Rowan? Do we even know where they are these days now that there's two of them?”
He snorts. “That was quite a surprise, wasn't it?”
“I don't know.” I rub at the base of my neck and think about my recent interactions with the man who called himself Rose. “I always felt something was off that night when we found Rose with the redheaded hooker. He seemed different somehow. Now, I know it was Felipe when we had been used to dealing with his brother.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. But still…two of them.” He groans. “Just what we fucking need…more enemies.”
“No shit.”
“Do you think whoever hit the church came after you to finish the job at Bottom O’ the Well?”
“I guess it's possible. But we need more information, and with the cops crawling around the church and my place, we're not going to get any either place.”
Something blocking us at every turn.
“I'll see what I can find out, and you do the same. Keep in touch.”
“I will. And Valerian, watch your back.”
“I always do, comrade. But it sounds like you’re the one who needs to.”
NICKI
Bright light hitting my eyes jerks me awake, and I blink against it and shake my head, trying to get my bearings. A figure stands in the open door, watching me, light from behind him streaming in. It takes me a second to process where I am and what's going on.
Galen…
The townhouse…
I push myself up from the bed with a groan. “What time is it?”
“Late.”
“How long was I asleep?”
“A while.”
Galen’s clipped responses make me narrow my eyes at him. Not that he was ever overly friendly or talkative, but he seems agitated. On edge even more than before when we were literally running for our lives.
“Come eat.”
My stomach growls. I haven't eaten since well before Galen’s goons grabbed me. It’s long past time, even though I’d love nothing more than to tell him to shove the food up his smug ass.
I inhale, and the smell of something garlicky hits my nose, making my mouth water as I climb to my feet. “Damn. What smells so good?”
Galen watches me climb from the bed and make my way toward him. “Dinner.”
“You cook?”
He offers me a little half-smirk. “Why is that so surprising?”
I shrug as I stop next to him. “I don't know. You just don’t seem the type.”
One of his eyebrows wings up. “The type who likes to eat?”
I snort. “No. The type who cooks. I figured you had somebody who cooked for you or that your men brought you take-out all the time.”
His jaw hardens. “That’s a pretty bold assumption about someone you don't know.”
“I know enough.”
He sneers at me and inclines his head back toward the living room. “Well, I’m going to eat, but if you’re not hungry…”
I brush past him and his annoyed glare, and he keeps his eyes locked on me while I step into the living room. When we arrived earlier, I didn't really have time to explore the house. I just got ushered into this room quickly, but now that I have the opportunity to really see it, it almost takes my breath away.
Exposed brick. Metal and iron railings on a staircase that leads up to a second floor. An original brick fireplace along the far wall. Old, wide plank wood floors.
“This place is beautiful. Is it yours?”
He scowls at me as he makes his way over to the kitchen. “It's somewhere safe. That's all you need to know.”
I walk toward the windows along the front wall, but Galen steps to block my path so quickly that my face almost slams into his wide chest. Staggering back a step, I glower at him.
Those hard eyes of his bore into me. “If you happen to be able to figure out where we are, it's only going to put both of us in more danger.”
“You expect me not to try to look?”
He snorts. “Of course not. There's a window in the bedroom you can look out of at any time, and you were in the damn car driving over here. I’m just giving you a warning that sometimes curiosity kills the cat.” He pauses, waiting for me to flinch or respond, but when I don’t, he motions toward the kitchen. “Now, let's eat.”
The immaculate and sleek, modern space and the takeout containers on the counter make me grin. “You didn't cook.” I motion toward them. “This is kind of a dead giveaway.”
He grumbles something under his breath in a language I don’t recognize, grabs one of them with his good hand, and turns toward the table. “I know. I just didn't like that you assumed I couldn't.”
“Can you?”
“That's irrelevant.”
His too-fast response is all the proof I need that he can’t cook a damn thing, and I bark out a laugh despite the fact that I really want to be mad at him.
The man had me kidnapped and got me shot at—twice—and yet, I can’t seem to stop my natural reactions around him. As frustrating as he may be, he’s equally charming, and his need to prove something to me when we’re in this fucked-up situation only makes the absurdity of it laughable.
He's the type of man who would have gotten me in a lot of trouble of a different kind if I had stayed working there instead of almost dying on my first day and having to run for my life.
I grab the second takeout container and join him at the table. “What did you order?”
He shrugs, then winces, squeezing his eyes closed for one epically long moment before reopening them. “I had one of my men pick up something, then I sent him out to get us some clothes and other basics.”
“Clothes?” I raise an eyebrow and flip open the container. “Why would I need clothes?”
His hand tightens on the plastic fork. “Because I don't know how long we're going to be here. You can't wear that forever.”
He inclines his head toward me, and I look down at myself. This time, I’m the one who winces.
Shit.
My baggy pajama pants and low-cut tank top were perfect for lounging around the house and sleeping in over the last few days when I did nothing but drink and contemplate what I had witnessed, but now that I look at them and realize Galen and his men have been staring at me looking like this all this time, it makes me want to crawl into a hole and never come out of it.
“Pajamas.”
A corner of his mouth quirks up. “I figured.”
I take my fork and stab it into what appears to be chicken parmesan a little aggressively. “Yeah, well, someone broke into my apartment and dragged me out of there.” I offer him a fake smile. “I didn't exactly have time to dress for the occasion.”
He freezes and sets down his fork as he clears his throat, his sharp emerald eyes softening slightly. “I'm sorry about that. Really. I was in bad shape and may have told them to do whatever it took to get you to come help.”
“Oh, is that the way it works? You just do whatever you want, then apologize for it later and it's cool?”
His jaw tightens. “No. These were extenuating circumstances.”
“Oh, you mean you don't get shot a lot?”
If I had access to a weapon, God knows I would have taken my finger to the trigger pretty damn easily at least a dozen times against this man.
I take a bite and moan at the flavors dancing on my tongue. “Oh God, this is good.”
He glances down at his untouched food and takes a bite. “It is. I'll have to ask Luke where he got it.”
A heavy, uncomfortable silence lingers between us as I continue to slowly eat. More than once, I consider pushing him harder, digging my claws in to irritate him until he finally snaps, but something holds me back. The paleness of his skin. The way he sits so still and barely touches his food.
He shifts uncomfortably on the chair a few times.
“Not hungry?”
Galen shakes his head. “No.”
“You seem…”
He lifts his head and locks his gaze with mine. “I seem what?”
I shrug. “I don't know. Agitated?” I push my remaining food around in the Styrofoam. I shouldn't ask it, but I can't seem to stop the question. “Did something else happen while I was asleep?”
“Other than you apparently trying to die because you keep asking questions you shouldn’t?” His harsh, clipped tone is meant to intimidate me, but instead, it only convinces me of something I’ve suspected but didn’t dare hope for since I was first brought to his place.
“You won’t hurt me.”
“What makes you think that?”
There isn’t any need to consider my answer, but I’m slow to voice it all the same. “Because you would have already.”
