Prophet Read online

  “Hmm, if you want me to open up, why don’t you do the same? Start with why Russian killers are chasing you? And what’s your plan to get us out of here?”

  This woman is belligerent.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  Closing my eyes, I rest my head on the wall, wanting desperately to sleep, but it isn’t a good idea. I might not wake up with this throbbing head.

  “The why is still unknown.” My honesty stuns me. Why am I indulging her? “As for a plan, yeah, I’ve got one.”

  “And?”

  “We’re meeting up with someone.”

  “When? How? Who is this person?” Her tone rises with each question. “I can’t walk. How are we going to get out of here?”

  A pang of guilt or some screwed-up sense to protect and reassure her rips through my chest. I’m a mess considering I’m the guy who usually doesn’t give a fuck about anyone else.

  “Relax. I’ll get you out of here. I promise.” My words don’t seem to do anything to assuage her worries. She knits her dark eyebrows, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. “We’re not going to be here long, but try to get some sleep.”

  At first, she’s quiet, and I almost believe she’s drifting to sleep, but I’m not surprised when she breaks our short-lived silence. “Do you think they’ve found my car?”

  The question is random but makes sense. She’s grasping at anything to occupy her mind.

  With a sigh, resigned that she’s not going to sleep, I open my eyes. She’s staring at me. “Maybe. There’s a possibility, but my guess? No.”

  “Good.”

  “What’s with you and cars?” I try again to take her mind off things and maybe learn a bit more about her. Not expecting it, I tense when she scowls. “You a gearhead?” I add, trying to quell the heat building in her gaze.

  She rolls her eyes. “You don’t know much, do you? If I was into labels, I’d be known as a street rodder.” Pride bursts from her voice, and my lips curve up even though I don’t know what she’s talking about.

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She waves her hand in the air before resting it on my chest. I can’t say that I don’t like it—her touch—because I do. “I work on all kinds of classics, but I’ve got an affinity for Corvettes. I love working on cars.”

  Corvettes. The douchebag from her garage comes to mind. Maybe he is her boyfriend. “How’d you get into doing this?”

  “My grandfather, on my mother’s side, was a mechanic. I inherited his garage when he passed. I grew up in that garage. Spending hours at a time with Gramps…” she trails off, still lying on me, but I sense the shift as if she’s left the shack.

  “Gramps was the only person my mother trusted me with.”

  “What about your dad?”

  Maggie tenses. “Gramps taught me everything I know. He loved to restore vintage cars, and we spent countless hours in the garage together. I was supposed to run it with him. That was our dream. I even got my business degree.”

  “What happened?”

  “He died before I graduated. I spent every waking hour at the Phoenix and wanted to keep doing that with him.” Melancholy coats her words.

  “He give you the Chevelle?”

  “No. I bought it. Got it for a steal. She was my first car and she was in bad shape.”

  “You’d never know it.” My appreciation rings true.

  “We restored it together. I learned on the job, and it became my calling card. I’d show my car as proof of what I was capable of. Sadly, some people have a hard time believing a woman can restore a car to its former glory.”

  “That’s bullshit. The Chevelle’s your baby?”

  “Yes, but my true love is Cherry.”

  “Cherry?”

  “Gramps’s 1959 Corvette.”

  A low, appreciative whistle sails past my lips. “Holy shit, that’s one fine car.”

  Maggie nods, her cheek rubbing against my pec. My nipple hardens and cock stirs. I shift on the hard, uncomfortable floor, hoping she doesn’t notice.

  “I still remember when he told me Cherry would be mine.” Her voice holds an adoring quality that most save for only a handful of people. “I was six, and we were eating ice cream cones against Cherry’s bumper when he promised me she would be mine one day. She’s the queen of cars, he’d said, and only a queen should drive it.”

  “Do you drive her?

  “Only in the summer. Thank goodness she’s safe and sound. I’m so glad I didn’t bring her to the loft.” Her voice cracks.

  I’m guessing losing the car might mean losing her grandfather all over again, or the last bit of him.

  “How do you know about the Phoenix?” she asks.

  “I know a lot about you, Maggie.”

  11

  Friday 5:39 AM

  Nick

  My phone vibrates, waking me up. I haven’t fully slept, only dozed, listening for anything out of the ordinary.

  Maggie finally fell asleep three hours ago, and she is still snuggled into me. My ass is numb and chilled, but she kept most of me warm.

  A text from Kit lights up the screen. He’s finally at the cottage. I reply, telling him to come get us. With Maggie’s twisted ankle, there’s no way we’ll get far fast.

  Early morning light peeks through the cracks in the shack. If those guys are smart, they’ll start looking for us soon, and we need to be long gone by then. Kit’s quick to respond that he’ll be here in twenty.

  “Maggie.” I lightly shake her shoulder, and she murmurs something unintelligible. “Come on, we need to get going.”

  “What?” Her voice is thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

  “It’s almost six. We’ve got to get going.”

  “Where?”

  “We’re meeting a friend who will get us someplace safe.”

  “Safe?” Her thigh rubs against mine. I stand, holding out a hand to her. She doesn’t take it. “Tell me where we’re going.”

  “Someplace safe; that’s all you need to know.” I rake my hand through my messy hair. “Claws, let’s go.” I pull her into me.

  “Don’t call me that,” she whispers while floating her soft fingers along the tender flesh of my jaw.

  Her expression is warm and open, eyes imploring me to do… to do what? I don’t know what to make of her affection even as my balls tighten and belly heats.

  She pushes into me. One hand sliding inside my unzipped coat around to my back, and the other skating up my chest to rest on my heart. I can’t tell if her hand is thrumming life into me or the other way around. I’m too dazed and swimming in lust to care.

  Tilting her head back, her mouth skims the underside of my jaw like silk soothing my swollen, aching flesh. A balm for the hurt. Her cool, dry lips pepper my scruff with soft, hot kisses, and her fingernails claw at the back of my shirt. Fuck. She feels so damn good. Rosemary-mint and utter sweetness.

  How can a kiss, so innocent and simple, feel otherworldly? It takes everything within me to remember the lines have been drawn and we’re not on the same side. My eyes squeeze shut and I push past the phenomenal pleasure building at the base of my spine.

  “Don’t.” I remove her hands but don’t let go.

  Yanking her hands from my grasp, she crosses her arms over her chest protectively. Her face flattens and her eyes stare blankly at me.

  I don’t know what her game is, or if it was even a game, but I can’t help but feel she wanted the upper hand. And given our kiss in the cave, it would be smart to make another move. Not going to work.

  “Please tell me where we’re going. You owe me that much.”

  There’s a hint of compromise in her tone, as if she’ll behave if I give her this one thing, and as much as I’d like to give her what she wants, to make it easier on both of us, I won’t. I can’t. It would be the beginning of the end for me. I’d lose control, and chances are, she knows this.

  “I don’t owe you anythi
ng. We wouldn’t be out here freezing our asses off or running for our lives if you hadn’t escaped.”

  Yeah, I bring it up now. Not smart, but it needs to be said. And I don’t even know if what I say is true. Likely Drago’s boys came to the house first and saw me running after her.

  Either way, we’d still be on the run. The big difference is I was prepared for that scenario with a vehicle to get us to safety. We’d already be at the cottage. The alternative, cold and starving in the wild, is because of her stupidity.

  “You know why I did it?” She leans in. “Yes, it wasn’t smart, given where we are now, but I. Had. To. Try.” Her tone is life and death, taunting me to take her on.

  “How’d you figure out the alarm code?”

  I’m not taking the bait and move onto what I want to know. The code isn’t written anywhere, and I made sure to block the keypad every time I entered it.

  A brash grin plays with her red, puffy lips. Swollen from my stubble. “I watched and guessed.”

  Guessed? Fuck that shit. She expects me to believe that? “Seriously? Tell me.”

  “That’s the truth.” Her gaze is earnest. It must have been dumb luck.

  “Right,” I mock, sliding my arms around her waist. “Let’s go.”

  My fingers glide over the curve of her ass, resting on her hip to tuck her into my side. She doesn’t give me any sass. Instead, she secures her arm around my waist and leans her weight into me.

  “Does it hurt?”

  We both look to her foot. One shoe is bursting at the seams, her ankle bloated like an overstuffed sausage.

  “Yeah. How far do we have to go?”

  “Not too far.” Fortunately, the road is close, and Kit should be there soon if not already. “You’ll have to walk for a bit, but I can carry you most of the way.”

  She nods, nibbling at her lower lip, taking a few cautious steps. At first, it’s slow going, and I end up carrying her down the ridge and to the road.

  Trekking through the woods is hard, much harder than last night. My body is wrung out, no adrenaline to combat the fatigue or pain. Even still, I’m keenly aware of our surroundings, watching for any movement or potential threat.

  I see Kit before he notices us. His large frame rests on the bumper of the car, head down and arms crossed over his chest. A snap of a twig under my shoe causes him to turn in our direction and straighten to his full height.

  The big guy jogs the few remaining feet to us, and I carefully place Maggie on the ground.

  “The fuck?” Kit’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, eyes on Maggie. “And what the hell happened to you?” His chin points to my face.

  It still throbs, and I need sleep. I shake my head at his worry. Maggie was a deliberate omission on my part. I knew he wouldn’t react well to the news.

  “I’ll explain later. Let’s get a move on.”

  His jaw ticks, tightening by the second, but he doesn’t argue, instead reaching to help her. She cowers. Little does she know, he may look like a threat, given his size—he could crush her like a beer can—but he’s a better guy than I will ever be.

  Surrendering, his large hands rise. “Was only going to help you.”

  “It’s okay,” I reassure her, and help her to the car.

  She sprawls on the backseat, eyes closed and dark locks spilling over the edge, the ends kissing the car floor. In this weird slice of nothingness, when Kit is preoccupied with getting us out of here and Maggie retreats, I take the time to study her for any lingering signs of last night’s toll.

  Even with dirty smears on her cheeks and her face paler than normal, she’s unspoiled by the ordeal. She really is quite intriguing. I wonder if, at another time and in another place, we could have been something.

  Kit clears his throat, slamming into my futile thoughts, and I tear my gaze from her lounging form.

  “We taking her to the cottage?” he whispers, shifting the gear as we pick up speed.

  Her long, dark lashes flutter; she’s listening. I nod, turning to the road. I want updates on Drago and Slaughter, but it’ll have to wait.

  “Did you bring what I asked for?”

  I’m cryptic, referring to money and other things that I had planned to get at the house we left last night, but Maggie’s escape screwed that up. He nods.

  The cottage isn’t far, and the best part is no one will find it right away. The paper trail for ownership is rife with dead ends and decoys. It isn’t to say they’ll never find me, but it would take months to figure out the cottage is mine, and by then, I’ll be long gone.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, man?” Kit grips the wheel. His Adam’s apple bobs with difficulty, gulping back his confusion and nerves. He’s referring to Maggie.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but I like him even more than I already do. He’s one of two men in this world—Lo being the other—that I trust with my life. And now, his humanity is something to admire. His concern for this woman, a stranger, contrasts with just how much of a cold-hearted bastard I am.

  “It’s best explained in person.”

  I release a weighted breath, peering over my shoulder. She, too, is perturbed by my response. Tiny worry lines blemish her smooth forehead. Eyes still shut.

  “Okay, talk.” He tries for demanding but doesn’t quite pull it off.

  Taking out my phone, I send him a quick text explaining who Maggie is and why I need her.

  He turns down a long driveaway. A country mansion comes into view; it’s almost twice the size of my house, the one we couldn’t go back to last night. It’s probably ransacked by now.

  He branches to the left of the circular drive, past the house, down the side laneway, parking in front of the cottage. Lifting his phone from the cupholder, he reads my text.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, glancing over with a disbelieving gaze. “Are you fucking serious?”

  I nod absentmindedly, my gaze on the small white-trimmed two-story building, no bigger than a double-door garage.

  The corners of my mouth turn up and my chest swells with nostalgia. He catches the glimmer of my smile, and he returns it with one of his own, knowing too well what this place means to me. That’s why it isn’t easy to trace the ownership back to me.

  I could lose every possession, have everything be destroyed, but not the cottage. Next to the small group of people I love, it can’t be replaced, and it’s got nothing to do with the four walls. It’s the memories.

  The best moments of my childhood were spent here, when the cruel reality of what was to come for our family wasn’t even a blip on the horizon. I was just a boy with big dreams and incredible hopes for a storybook life, until my mother took off and my father died of a broken heart.

  “How solid is your intel?” Kit opens his door, eyes still on me.

  “Hundred percent. Paddy.” I don’t need to say any more. Paddy’s info is legit.

  Nodding sharply, he twists his lips into a thin, firm line, not liking what he’s learned about the woman in the backseat.

  We get out of the car and I jog to his side, leaning in to whisper, “Any news?”

  “Nope, but I put the word out that you want to talk to Mr. England.”

  “Who’d you talk to?” I watch Maggie slide to the door.

  “Jesse.” The name passes his lips before she exits.

  I help her out and up the stone pathway with Kit at my back. “Nick, there’s gotta be another way.”

  His insistence pisses me off. I have a plan, and he knows better than to talk me out of it.

  At the door, I overturn a rock in the small patch of garden and sink my fingers into the soil, pulling out a key to unlock the door.

  Must and mildew hit us with a faint scent of lavender and sage. Mamie. It amazes me after all these years how I still expect to see the petite old lady, belying the strength and courage of her warrior heart, sitting in the rocking chair—her silver hair braided into a thick rope around her head, wisps dancing about her weathered face, and smiling, big and bri
ght with half her teeth missing.

  Kit is the last to enter and remains in the doorway.

  “Maggie, stay here.” His usually warm eyes harden and lock with mine. “We need to talk.”

  12

  Friday 6:18 AM

  Maggie

  “Not now, Kit.” Nick pulls me into the cozy room, removing my coat like I’m a child.

  I’m not sure what Nick’s friend wants to talk about, but it’s obvious he isn’t happy. Maybe he will get through to Nick and, since we’ve shaken the Russians, he’ll let me go.

  “I got it.” I brush Nick’s hands away, feeling a mixture of annoyance and gratitude.

  He saved my life last night. When I fell and twisted my ankle, he could have left me. Shit, he should have. I would have been a nice distraction, allowing him to get away, but he didn’t.

  I could tell leaving me wasn’t an option, but why? The sting of his rejection earlier in the shack, when I needed to be close to him—impulsive and stupid—crashes into me like a ton of bricks. He’s definitely not going soft where I’m concerned. He needs me, that’s it, although I still can’t figure out why.

  “Yes, now.” Kit strides into the small room, eating up the space like a giant in a dollhouse.

  When I first saw the enchanting cottage with its rickety wooden door, latticed windows, and garrets, I half expected Hansel and Gretel to skip from the woods. Now inside, it’s even lovelier than I imagined.

  “Later.” Nick shrugs out of his coat, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door.

  I lean against the wall, keeping pressure off my foot, and take in the room. A small worn leather couch and a rocking chair crowd an open-hearth fireplace. The kitchen, if you can call it that, runs along the adjacent wall with only three feet of counter, a tiny stove, and a sink. Side by side in the corner stand two stools.

  “Who are you?” Kit turns to me. “How did you meet Nick?” He isn’t satisfied with Nick’s desire to delay this conversation and is looking to me for answers.

  Despite his sheer size, which scares the bejesus out of me, and that I don’t know him at all, I sense he cares deeply for Nick. And my being here is making him uneasy. Perhaps he’s my chance to get out of here.