Criminal Read online

  Criminal

  Jane Henry

  Loki Renard

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Also by Loki Renard: SCAR

  Also by Jane Henry: Island Captive

  About Loki Renard

  About Jane Henry

  Chapter One

  Sonya

  You never know how loud your heartbeat is until you want to silence it.

  It’s a little easier to still your breathing. I inhale slowly, and exhale with painstaking precision. I wonder if the sweat beading on my forehead will make a noise if it hits the metal vent. To be safe, I tilt my head back so the perspiration blurs my vision instead, then blink it away. My nose twitches as if I’m going to sneeze, and my heartbeat hammers harder, faster. There’s a trick to stop a sneeze. What the hell is it? I pinch the bridge of my nose and shove my tongue to the roof of my mouth, not sure which is supposed to stop a sneeze. Thank God, the need passes.

  If I make a sound, I’m literally dead.

  My arms hurt from holding this position, and I try to shimmy along to give myself more room, but there’s no more room to be had. They make it look like these vents are practically spacious in the movies, as if one could actually wiggle around, but I’m so jammed in here my shoulders are painfully pinched and my body pressed up so tightly against the slick metal walls, it feels like they’re closing in on me. They’re not, though, and I have to fight against claustrophobia.

  I’m so hot I feel like I could pass out. The heat’s sweltering, but hell, people aren’t meant to be crawling in the damn vents.

  When my legs start cramping, I start to consider alternative work. Really, this shit’s way above my pay grade. I could bag groceries at the grocery store and sleep well at night. Hell, just being here is above my pay grade. I don’t belong here.

  I freeze when the loud sound of a heavy door opening crashes through the silence with a deafening bang. I stop breathing. This is it. My moment. My chance to break free from rookie status and prove myself. I must be crazy, though. I’ve got no real horse in this race. God, I’m stupid.

  “Thought you said this place was heated,” Brava grunts. I know his voice from the calls I’ve tapped. High-pitched and whiny, he’d sound like a junior high student if I didn’t know any better. But his nasally voice belies the evil the man’s capable of.

  Brava’s not alone. His companion’s voice is so low, the deep timbre fills the vent like the boom of a bass drum, making the hairs on my arm stand on end despite the heat.

  “It is.”

  “Freezing my ass off,” Brava whines. “I come in here, it’s no better.” I grit my teeth. Apparently, my five foot, one-hundred-pound frame that barely fits in here is blocking the heat. Fuck.

  “Maybe we can find a place that’s—”

  The stranger’s voice cuts like a laser. “Sit the fuck down and shut up.”

  A chair moves along the floor and a hard thump tells me Brava obeyed.

  Shit.

  I’ve heard tell of the brutality Brava’s capable of. He rules with an iron fist and murders ruthlessly. Women, children, the elderly, he doesn’t care who. If they’re in his way, he eliminates them. And yet he just sat like an obedient puppy for the man who commands him.

  “Whine again, we discuss shit, Brava. As it is, your life is forfeit to me.”

  “My—my life?” Brava stutters. I feel my eyes go wide and my brows shoot up. Who is this man?

  “I looked into Tuscany,” the man says, his words a slithering growl. Silence in the room. “And I know the shit you pulled. I see the way you’re looking at the door, Brava. Your name means brave, but you look at the door like a pussy. What a damn lie. Go ahead. Try it. Need I remind you,” a chair creaks as if he’s leaning forward, “I’m well-armed myself and I never. Fucking. Miss.”

  A silent beat passes. I want to watch Brava quivering in fear and see the man who holds his life by a thread. Can I move in silence?

  I inch my way so slowly I barely move, then crawl a little further. Little by little, muscles contracted and tight, I make my way to the grate at the end of the vent, as far as I can get while maintaining distance. Even though there’s light in the room, I’m still cast into darkness, but I can see just a little of the two men sitting in front of me. Brava. Tall, thin, greasy blond hair pulled back at the nape of his scrawny neck, wearing nondescript jeans and a t-shirt. He’s seedy as fuck and looks it.

  The other man has his back to me so I can’t quite see him. Then he shifts, and I blink in shock. He isn’t the monster I expect to see with a voice like that.

  He’s beautiful. Inky black hair cut short, brows arched gracefully over vivid blue eyes, full lips shaded by the five o’clock shadow covering a strong, chiseled jaw. The corners of his lips are downturned in a deep, forbidding scowl. His neck is thick and strong, giving way to broad, powerful shoulders and he wears a suit that easily costs the equivalent of a small car. He’s sitting at a desk with his hands folded, yet he commands this room like a judge, as if Brava needs to ask permission to breathe. My own lungs constrict in fear and awe. I need to scramble back into hiding. If he swings his eyes to me, he’ll sear me with the power of that gaze. But I’m frozen.

  The man shifts in his seat and places his chin in hand, staring at Brava, who’s mumbling and muttering like a fool about making amends and making things right. He goes on about having a wife and kids that depend on him. My fists clench; Brava doesn’t give a shit about the lives he’s taken and has the fucking gall to beg for his, as if he’s somehow worth more than the innocent lives he took.

  The man stares at him as if bored, allowing Brava to run his mouth, but even I know from where I am that Brava’s pleas fall on deaf ears. I don’t even know this man but just looking at him, I know he’s fully capable of leaning across that table and snapping Brava’s neck with one hand. When he moves, Brava stops speaking.

  “You know, Brava, I’m feeling generous tonight,” the man says in a low, deadly purr. “And something’s come to my attention that may change the course of our plans.”

  My pulse quickens, my body reacting to the change in temperature in the room before my brain catches up.

  “Yeah?” Brava fairly squeaks.

  A corner of the man’s beautiful, terrible mouth pulls upward. “Yeah.”

  Brava swallows so hard I can hear it. “And what’s that?”

  The man casually flicks a finger in my direction. “Give me the girl in the vent, and I’ll spare your life.”

  Chapter Two

  Colt

  The girl in the vent makes the most adorable attempt at escape as I yank the grate off, grab her by the arm, and pull her out in one swift motion which sends her tumbling into my arms. A burst of hot air follows the cute little cork who has been stopping up the AC. Her squeal of shock as I yank her out of her hiding place is matched with the most gorgeous look of sheer terror, makes my cock immediately hard.

  Now, who is this?

  Someone beautiful. She has dark silky hair, almond shaped brown eyes which hold fear and fire in equal measure. Her face has the kind of symmetry you see in models, but I doubt that vent spontaneously became a cute model vending machine.

  I rake my eyes over her trembling body, searching for clues. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater. Could be a cop? No. Cops are cookie cutter. Height restrictions. Intelligence res
trictions. They only take a certain kind of person to be a cop, the obedient kind, and there’s nothing obedient about this girl. Federal? Maybe. If she is, she’s a rookie, and she’s way out of her league. It doesn’t really matter what she is, or who she is, because she’s about to disappear.

  “Jesus,” Brava grunts, getting up to look at her. Her reaction to him is one of visceral disgust. I see it in the curl of her upper lips and the squinting of her eyes, the way she tries to pull away from him. It only makes him get closer to her.

  He takes a deep breath, sniffs her hair and extends his tongue to place a long, wet lick on her cheek. I literally feel the disgust shiver through her body.

  “That’s enough,” I growl, pushing him away. “She’s mine. Find your own girl to lick.”

  She shoots me a grateful look and tilts her head to wipe her face on her shoulder, then incredulity takes over.

  “How did you find me?” She stammers the question, like I just pulled a magic trick.

  How? The question is amusing. She either doesn’t know who I am, or she doesn’t understand me at all. I’m guessing it’s both the former and the latter. My world is dangerous. There’s no such thing as a friend, only someone who hasn’t betrayed you yet. I survive by wit and instinct, and my senses are heightened like no other. I’m always aware of my surroundings. I can feel a gun being drawn across a room, so of course having that pair of pretty eyes staring at me through that crevice drew my attention. I knew she was there two seconds after I entered the room. She’s been distracting me this whole time, and I can’t afford a distraction. Or a loose end.

  “I’ll take her,” I tell the cowering asshole behind the desk. “But this isn’t the end of things between you and me. You still owe me.”

  “Y—you can’t do this.” She pipes up again.

  She doesn’t sound very sure of that statement. Of course I can do this. I can do anything. I can do things other men wouldn’t think of doing, and things they would never dare do.

  I don’t dignify her comment with a response. A hard look tells her everything she needs to know. She tries to hold my gaze defiantly and in the few seconds before she drops her gaze, I get a little glimpse into what’s hiding at the very core of her soul.

  Fear.

  She’s afraid.

  Good. She should be.

  "Let me fucking go, you fucking asshole." She starts yapping at me, throwing curses like they might shock me. It's kind of cute in a way, like a kid who just learned a naughty word and decided to use it in church. I'm not her Sunday school teacher, but I will be her confessor.

  "Absolutely not."

  "You're fucked, you know that? I'm not some random you can just take, I'm an agent! Federal agent!"

  She says it like it's supposed to scare me. What she doesn't realize is that I have more agents on my payroll than I do cops.

  "Stop swearing." I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger. That's all it takes to control her head. She's so delicate. She tries to wriggle and pull away, but it's laughably pathetic.

  "What the fuck do you care if I swear?"

  "I don't care," I smirk down at her. "It just makes you sound like a petulant little girl, and I'm aware you're trying to give off a more dangerous vibe."

  I see the faintest blush across her cheeks. She's in so far over her head it isn't even funny. Now I have her in my grip, I recognize her type more clearly. I've met women like her before. Preppy girls who watched a few action movies with their high school boyfriends and decided they were going to become federal agents. They get accepted because there's quotas these days, and then swagger around the place like their shit doesn't stink, thinking the beginner ju-jitsu rolls they've been drilled in will protect them against two hundred and fifty pounds of aggressive male with nothing to lose. Spoiler: it doesn't.

  The criminal world doesn't have gender quotas. Entry is decided by brute force and sheer cunning. There's a reason why most of us are men. The kind of deadly it takes to operate at this level isn't often found in the fairer sex, and that's a good thing. I wouldn't want to fuck a female version of myself. But I do want to take this defiant little thing and show her just how small she really is. Break her down. Find out why she's here. Girls like her are turned out as a double agent or passed on down the chain. There's a market for pretty girls, especially ones who have been well trained in how to please a man like me.

  “You really need to let me go,” she says, her voice half begging, half threatening.

  Brava is watching this. Even if I wanted to be nicer to her—which I don’t—I couldn’t risk seeming weak in front of him. If he thinks I like finding girls in odd places, everywhere I go will be stuffed with them before the week is out. Brava’s specialty is doing you favors you never wanted and then expecting something in return.

  “Did you know you had Feds in the walls, Brava?”

  “No! Of course not!”

  “You’re getting sloppy,” I say, barely able to keep the derision out of my voice. “Sloppy gets people dead. Make sure this place is secure, will you?”

  “Yeah, of course. I’ll get my guys on it right away.”

  He is on the thinnest ice with me. I’m sick of his screwups. They’ve cost us time, and money, and they’ve gotten good guys killed. I’m starting to think those things aren’t accidents. This agent squirming in my grip is evidence he’s compromised. Maybe they paid him off. Or maybe he’s just too stupid to run a tight operation. Either way, it’s not good enough.

  I don’t have time to deal with Brava right now. I need to get this girl out of here.

  I start moving toward the door.

  “No! You have to let me go!” She starts up again, her voice getting pitchy.

  “I don’t have to do a damn thing,” I snarl. “Now shut up, before I make you.”

  She panics. Starts fighting me. I let her. It’s almost comical, the way her little hands ball up into fists which are too small to do damage. Kitten mittens. And then there’s the fact that no matter how good your technique is, when you have a narrow shouldered, hippy, hundred-pound frame to throw it from, it’s not going to do a damn thing. I grew up getting the hell beaten out of me by grown men. Her punches glance off me like nothing.

  When it’s gone on long enough to show her that there’s not a damn thing she can do to hurt me, I wrap my arm around her, twist her around and put her into a submission hold. It’s laughably easy. She hasn’t been trained well at all.

  I make a new discovery: she has neat breasts. The kind that fit perfectly in your hand. One of my arms is wrapped around her chest. The other settles back in to control her head.

  She keeps trying to struggle, even though she can barely move. I feel her breathing hard with wasted effort. There’s no way out of my grip once I have you. She’ll learn that soon enough.

  “Listen to me,” I growl in her ear. “Feel my hand on your jaw right now? I could snap your neck in a second. Fighting me isn’t going to save you. Your life is in my hands. You can’t beat me. The only way to survive is to submit.”

  There’s no response. I don’t expect one, and I don’t need one either. What she says doesn’t matter anymore. I’m taking her to my place, and I’m going to interrogate her.

  “You’re going to come with me quietly,” I say. “You’re going to do as you’re told. If you don’t, I’ll choke you out and take you anyway. You don’t want that. It’s not an exact art, and oxygen deprivation really sucks.”

  I hear her let out another one of those little growls. I’ll give her credit, she’s brave. And not stupid enough to test whether I’ll actually snap her neck. I feel her stop fighting me. She doesn’t relax. She stays tense and stiff in my arms, but she stops the kicking and the flailing. She goes quiet.

  We go out the back, through the alley where my car is parked. I can carry her there easily, and I do, flipping her up and over my shoulder. She’s small, even for a woman, which makes her presence here even more stupid. I’m starting to wonder if she’s reall
y a Fed. They don’t encourage this sort of shit. Has she gone rogue? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have any kind of backup. By now, I’d expect there to be a phalanx of officers with guns drawn if she did.

  “Fix your shit, Brava. I’ll see you soon.”

  I take her out of there while he sits, stunned. I’m doing him another huge favor right now, and he knows it. Who knows how long she’s been hiding away in there. Who knows how much she’s heard. I’d like to know that myself, actually. She might have some useful information for me.

  My car is waiting right where I left it. Black Audi S4. Nothing too flashy, but more than enough power when I need it.

  I open the trunk of my car, sling her off my back and push her halfway in so her head and shoulders are in, her legs still dangling out. She slumps like a sack of potatoes as I handle her like one, keeping her in place with one hand, her wrists held behind her back while I get her secured.

  “Please let me go.”

  Her request is softer this time, but I ignore it the same way I’ve ignored everything else she’s said.

  I always keep a pack of cable ties in the back of my car. They’re useful for so many things. A thick plastic tie keeps her wrists in place. Another one secures her ankles.

  I thoroughly expect her to start screaming at some point, even though she’s staying quiet right now. Once the shock wears off and the panic and self-preservation instincts kick in, I’ll be driving my own personal siren around if I’m not careful.

  I don’t have a handy gag. My tie will have to do. I pull it off my neck and wrap it around her face, pushing the silk between her teeth and knotting it behind her head, over her thick dark hair. Then I stand back and inspect my prize. Pretty decent. Better than anything I’ve gotten from Brava before, that’s for sure.