Dangerously: A Femme Fatale romance Page 2

  He inspects me from head to toe, not speaking a word. Then he nods, less than thrilled to make my acquaintance.

  Shitballs. I know right off the bat this job is going to be a royal pain in my ass.

  The bartender drops our drinks, and I want to grab for mine and swallow down a huge gulp. On the other hand, I don’t want to show any susceptibility, reveal any cracks or fallibility he can use against me.

  Instead, I collectively reach for the glass and suck the dark liquid through the thin cocktail straw. Not a ruffled feather to be found.

  Under the ceiling stapled with a million dollar bills, he watches me indifferently. Void of emotion, lacking enthusiasm. He may not want me here, but Ronan does.

  I don’t know if his balls are big enough to go against his boss, but if he’s smart, he’ll play nice and just get the fucking job done.

  He can spare me the tough-guy act. We all know you’re a badass. You wouldn’t work for Ronan Kennedy if you weren’t. He doesn’t employ pussies.

  “Look.” I lean on the bar a tad bit seductively but really all business. “I’m all for the strong, silent type, but we have a job to do. So, if you could just stick your ego up your ass for the time being, we can get the damn thing done.”

  Declan’s eyes widen, and then thin. He swallows the rest of his dark beer in three gulps, then slams the glass down onto the bar top, causing a mini earthquake. I prepare for a fight. Or at the very least, a “fuck you.”

  “Fine,” he spits, surprising me. “But let me make one thing fucking clear,” he finally speaks, and much to my delight, a melodious, accented timbre flows out. An Irish accent to accompany the Irish bar. The authenticity I was looking for I just found. “I don’t need your help. I have everything under control.” He stands and is fucking huge. Like, a rock-solid foot taller and wider than me. Holy. Man.

  “Clearly, or else I wouldn’t be here,” I smart off, my nerves rattling just a bit. Just enough to remind me I’m still alive, and to the contrary of my personal belief, not invincible.

  “Agh, just keep your snarky mouth shut and stay out of my way.” He stomps off, leaving me to follow.

  Fun times ahead.

  I hurry to catch up to him, powerwalking out the front door of the dive as his long strides carry him down the sidewalk. Once back in the orangey glow of the New Orleans sunlight, I get my first clear look at him. A clear look at the fresh gash down his cheek on his ruggedly handsome face, his long, tangled black eyelashes, and green eyes that are as bold and bright as a rolling hill of the Emerald Isle. Attractive is a mediocre way to describe him. Asshole is much more accurate. Sadly. With a sculpted face like that and body to match, it might have been worth breaking my professional rule. Too bad his shitty attitude completely ruins it.

  His loss.

  “Mind telling me where we’re headed?” I finally ask when he takes a hard left into a parking lot.

  “The car.” Hazard lights blink on a black Suburban.

  “That ego is still alive and well, I see.” I slip off my backpack before climbing into the passenger seat.

  “As alive and annoying as that snarky mouth.” Declan throws the truck into reverse, and we’re on our way. To where, only he knows. He seems to want to keep all information privy.

  Which isn’t helpful to me in the least bit.

  “So now that we’re in close, private quarters, want to read me in so I know I’m not walking straight into my untimely death?”

  Declan exercises his right to remain silent as we drive.

  My patience is seriously starting to wear as thin as a stretched-out piece of taffy.

  “Would that be so bad?” He glares at the road in front of him. We’re heading out of the city but staying close to the river’s edge.

  “For me, yes, for you? Ronan would determine that.”

  The mention of Ronan’s name seems to agitate him slightly. He tenses, sighs, and tightens his grip around the black steering wheel, causing the leather to creek.

  “Fine,” he surprisingly caves. Hallelujah. And I didn't even need to draw my gun. A few more minutes of his willful opposition, and I would have. “The guy’s name is Jury Mullins, or Fatty, as we know him. He runs a shipping dock that Ronan works guns and drugs out of. Been in business with the family for years, but Fatty started getting greedy and skimming off the top. Ronan got wind. It should have been an easy in and out for me. Fatty is a big pussy. Doesn’t like conflict. Or at least, he didn’t.”

  “Is that where you got that pretty gash on your face?” I ask.

  Declan nods, none too happy.

  “The crazy motherfucker came after me with a fishhook the size of his meaty hand.” He lets go of the steering wheel and holds up a curved finger. “I wanted to kill him right then, but I needed to know where he stashed the money. He wouldn’t talk, stubborn fucking fat man. So, I cased him for a few days. Followed him, and his associates. And I finally tracked down the loot. It’s at one of his warehouses on the dock. He’s not the brightest spark, if you ask me. There’s a couple of armed guards inside. Nothing I can’t handle on my own. I told Ronan I had it covered. But here you are anyway.” He huffs, making no qualms about my presence. I should really feel offended, but I don’t. Fuck him.

  “So, me being here will just make it that much quicker and easier to get Ronan’s money and be gone.” I put my foot up on the dashboard, rest my elbow on my knee, and finger-brush my dark bangs.

  “It better be. Ronan can’t stop fucking talking about you. You better live up to the hype.”

  “Baby, I will exceed your expectations,” I assure him.

  Declan dares to sneak a glance at me. I smile at him. All confidence.

  “Fantastic.” The sarcasm is painfully evident. I’m beginning to find some amusement in his prickly attitude. I get the feeling he’s the type of guy who finds everything wrong with the world, blames everyone else for his problems, and gets offended way too easily.

  You know how I see those people? Fun to fuck with.

  Declan parks behind some CONEXs stacked three high. The position is cleverly hidden, but still provides us with a decent view of the building.

  I get why he thinks Fatty isn’t the sharpest pencil in the box. The warehouse is mostly windows and doors. Lots of entrances and exits, and a challenge to secure. If I wanted to keep my stolen money safe, this definitely wouldn’t be the first place I pick.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I’m on the edge of my seat here.

  Declan shares his first genuine grin with me. It’s shit-eating and devious. He nods his head and opens the driver’s side door. Walking around the back of the truck, he pops the trunk. I follow, inspecting the sparse contents in the cab. One black briefcase and a roll of paper.

  “This is your plan?” I’m not impressed.

  “Yup.” He grabs for the case and opens it gently.

  “Holy shit.” I immediately recognize what’s inside. “You’re going to blow the place up?”

  “Nah, I’m just going to open it up a bit. Give Fatty a nice view of the river.”

  “That’s a lot of C-4. It’s going to do more than open the building up a bit.”

  Declan growls a string of expletives under his breath. “I rigged the shit myself. It’s fine.” He slams the briefcase closed, and I bug out. “Careful. Jesus Christ, do you want to kill us before we even get inside?”

  “You, maybe.” He crosses his arms.

  “Can you please get over yourself? I’ve never met such a whiny, bitchy mercenary before.” I reach for the rolled-up paper. “What’s this?”

  “Bitchy?” He doesn’t like that adjective in the least bit.

  “Yes, bitchy. Did I stutter?” I glare up at him while at the same time he stares down. A weird vibe flows through the air, drawing us unexplainably closer. It feels powerful, like a lit-up superhighway of attraction. I’m finding it a little too easy to get lost in those soulful green eyes. A little too tempting, and way too treacherous. I need to be smart and know
there are lines that I just shouldn’t cross. Even if my hormones are screaming this is the hottest man you have ever encountered. Why am I suddenly such a sucker for a pretty face?

  “Blueprints.” Declan abruptly snatches the papers out of my hand, severing the strange connection. He proceeds to spread them out across the trunk floor. “Here is where the money is stashed.” Declan points to a small room in the corner of the warehouse. “This is where you’re going to drop the case.” He slides his finger over the schematics to the back of the building.

  “I drop the bomb. How convenient.” I hate this whole plan already.

  “It is convenient. We’ll kill two birds with one stone. You drop. I grab. We meet back, and then boom. Simple as that.”

  “No offense, but you haven’t exactly given me any reason to trust you. So how do I know you’re going to wait for me to get out before the building goes boom?”

  “You don’t.” He shrugs like the asshole he is.

  “Fuck you, forget it. I’m not walking into a death trap. I’ll just tell Ronan you’re a prick and you tried to kill me. You can deal with him.” I start to walk away. I’m getting my shit and getting the fuck out of here.

  “Wait.” He snags my arm, gripping it tightly, inciting a shot of pain. I don’t flinch though. I don’t show any sign of weakness. “Just chill out. I’m not going to blow you up.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” I stare straight into those fucking deep, sparkly, emerald-green eyes. They’re like a goddamn steel-jaw trap.

  “I give you my word, okay?”

  “Does anyone’s word really mean a damn thing in this business?” I challenge.

  “Yes.” He leans into me, never severing eye contact. “It’s the only currency in this business that has value. And if I give you my word, I mean it.”

  I don’t believe one syllable he says. “Fine,” I huff, ripping my arm out of his grasp. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “I’m down for that.” He pulls off his hat and tosses it into the trunk. Running his tattooed hand through his jet-black hair, he looks over the blueprints one last time.

  I try to ignore the little flutter in my stomach. The growing attraction that is doing nothing but pissing me off. Declan is hot. Like, beautifully lethal and dangerously drop-dead gorgeous. A man who, if he got his hands on you, would know exactly what to do. And nothing is sexier in my opinion than an alpha male who carries himself with as much bulletproof confidence as he does hardnosed attitude. A ripped body and devastatingly handsome face don’t hurt either.

  Catching me off guard, Declan grabs me and plops me on my ass in the back of the truck. “What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss.

  “Gaining your trust.” He rests his hands on each side of my thighs and leans in close. I freeze, inhaling the startling effects of his aftershave, mixed with the Guinness on his breath.

  If I’m being honest, I don’t hate it. But I’m not. I’m lying to myself. He’s just a coworker. Nothing more.

  “All of a sudden?” I question.

  “You want to get this shit over with, right?”

  I nod.

  “Well, so do I. I have my own problems to get back to.”

  “Sounds like a blast.”

  Declan grunts. “It’s not the path I had planned for myself. That’s for fucking sure.” He slides the black case over to me, opens it up, and pulls out a small detonator. He places it in my hand.

  I look at him like he’s crazy. “You’re giving this to me?”

  “You decide when it goes boom.”

  I stare at the beautifully berserk man in disbelief. “Trust,” he reiterates.

  Another strange moment passes between us. A connection juiced with uncertainty and expectation. With hope and captivation and pheromone-driven chemistry. It’s a rush we both feel.

  I agree. “Let’s do this.”

  “Pop the lever on the side.” He shows me, brushing his strong hands over mine. “Then push the button.” Both our fingers are layered on the smooth plastic. My heart beats wildly walking so close to death. To being one tiny movement away from total destruction.

  Declan lets up on the pressure, and we both finally breathe. The adrenaline is mounting minute by minute. It’s a high unlike any other. Trust me, I know. I’ve smoked and sniffed every substance under the sun. But situations like this? The stakes are higher. The uncertainty, the unknown. It elevates you to another level. You’re gambling with your life, your most valuable possession.

  And that’s completely fine by me.

  I slide out of the truck, treating the detonator like a newborn baby. I slip it carefully into my back pocket and proceed to suit up. Declan pulls a black duffel bag from the back seat, and I retrieve my bookbag. The contents of the two bags are nearly identical. Guns, knives, burner phones, painkillers, and extra clothes. The assassin essentials.

  I strap a holster around each thigh and secure a Glock in each pocket.

  Declan sticks a pretty sweet Beretta into the back of his waistband and a miniature into his boot. We’re losing daylight fast, so now’s the time to strike.

  We look over the plans one last time, me memorizing where I need to drop the case and where Declan is heading to grab the cash.

  We’ll be separated for a good number of minutes based on the size of the warehouse and where Declan wants the explosive.

  I have a thousand issues with this plan. So much can happen. So much can go wrong. We’re essentially waltzing in blind. We have—correction—I have no idea who or what waits for us inside. Declan seems confident in his plan, but if I’ve learned anything in this business, it’s expect the unexpected, and always shoot to kill.

  We head inside the dim building, the smell of must and metal prominent in the air. Declan motions to me silently which direction I should head off to and what direction he is headed in. I memorized the plans, so I’m fairly confident in where I’m going. Everything seems to be quiet. To be calm, and for me, that always raises a red flag. I’m hoping it’s just paranoia trying to get the best of me, and in the end, we can get in and get out without an issue. Wouldn’t that be just fucking peachy? I won’t hold my breath.

  My footsteps echo softly in the cavernous room as I hurry to my destination, making sure I keep vigilant awareness of my surroundings. I drop the briefcase box next to the farthest wall, right where Declan wants it. It’s covered under a shadow, so it blends into the background beautifully.

  As soon as I turn to head back, I hear gunshots ring in the distance. Lots of them. From multiple types of firearms.

  I book it back in Declan’s direction, knowing nothing is ever effin’ easy.

  As the roughed-out room the money is supposed to be stored in comes into view, so do the half-dozen men who have opened fire on Declan.

  There’s no time to think, only time to act. Sticking to the shadows and utilizing the perfect timing of the twilight, I pick off as many shooters as I can. The darkness acting as both my friend and my foe.

  Popping off multiple rounds in a span of precious, life-threatening seconds, the gunfire dies down, giving me, and Declan, a minuscule moment of opportunity.

  “Run!” I scream, providing enough cover for Declan to escape the Swiss-cheesed room.

  I backstep toward the exit, raining down fire. One of my clips dies, and a bullet grazes my right arm. It feels like a forged blacksmith arrow rips open my skin.

  I falter from the sudden sear of pain and nearly trip over my own feet in the midst of the chaos. But surprisingly, Declan catches me before I hit the ground. He drags me out of the warehouse, emptying an entire clip as we barely escape. Once outside, I scramble back to my feet and run like hell to the truck, bullets still blazing from the warehouse.

  “Hit the button,” Declan barks, and I unconsciously reach for the detonator in my back pocket. It all happens at lightning speed. My heart is pounding, I’m perspiring from the adrenaline, and I can barely pull oxygen into my lungs. I don’t even have time to p
repare for the blast; I just hit the button and say a silent prayer. Moments later, a massive ball of fire catapults me through the air, and that’s the last clear thing I remember.

  I feel my body shaking. Is it an earthquake? It’s a chore to open my eyes, and my ears are ringing louder than an emergency alarm.

  I blink, trying to focus my vision. I’m disoriented as a face comes into view. A handsome face, with bright-green eyes and chiseled cheekbones.

  I’m shaking again, his muffled voice cutting through the disorder in my mind.

  “Hey? Can you get up? You need to get up.” I hazily interpret what he’s saying before I finally realize where I am and exactly what the fuck happened.

  “Too much C-4.” I choke on the thick smoke as the world starts to speed up again.

  “Shut up.” He lifts me off the ground and shoves me into the backseat of the truck. All the movement makes me queasy.

  Declan speeds off, and I have no clue where we’re going or if the job was even done.

  All I know is, when my strength returns, I’m going to fucking kill him.

  Declan helps me to walk.

  We make our way through an arched-over brick walkway into a courtyard fragrant with magnolias and a bubbling, three-tier fountain. It’s all so very turn-of-the-century New Orleans.

  He basically carries me up the outside stairway to his hotel room. Mercenary lesson number one: find accommodations with their own private entrance. Easier to come and go and smuggle injured co-workers in and out. If we had to walk through a crowded lobby, red flags would have most definitely gone up.

  Declan swipes his keycard, and we all but fall into the room. We stumble over to the bed and crash onto the mattress.

  “Son of a bitch,” I hiss. Everything fucking hurts.

  “Sit up. Let me look you over,” he orders in that sexy-as-fuck Irish accent.

  I want to protest. I also just want to close my eyes and go to sleep, but I have a feeling that would be a bad idea considering I’m one-hundred percent positive I have a concussion.