Club Alpha (15 page)

“No,” Greta says, but her hands grasp the back of my neck, pulling me tighter against her.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Seconds pour into a minute, and I begin to pull away from the only fragrance I ever hoped to smell.

“Don't stop.”

Her acquiesce breathes over my skin, and small hairs rise to her nearness and her words.

I slide my hands underneath the jacket, and my fingers spread at her lower back, pressing Greta into my body.

She sighs, and I eat the sound with my mouth.

Her inexperience is evident—at once potent and intoxicating. I lead, marking her with my tongue. The heat of our kiss ignites a dormant switch inside me I did not know existed.

“Greta,” I say between kissing her lips, the corner of her mouth, and across her face.

My hand escapes the tangle of my jacket and grasps her nape.

Dazed eyes of midnight glitter up at me with unconstrained desire.

“Yes.”

I press my forehead against hers.
I want her.

But not like this. If she still wants me after what I tell her, then it is fated. If she does not, I am not meant to have her. I disentangle from her.

Greta's soft eyes are languid. I recognize the look of a woman who would say yes to anything I asked.

An exhale of pure frustration slides out. “I must come clean, as the Americans say.”

Greta seems to shake the wisps of desire away with difficulty. The guarded look I've so quickly come to dislike rolls over her features like soiled water.

“Come clean?”

“I have been sent to kill you or your sister.”

She laughs in disbelief. “You're no murderer.
That
I know.” She folds her arms, giving me a look of disappointment. “And Lisbeth died as an infant—crib death. So you're also incredibly misinformed. Player or not.”

Greta slides her arms out of my coat and hands it to me.

I silently take it back.

She turns her back to me, already making her way toward the door leading to the terrace. “It's beyond preposterous.” Her fingers lightly touch the lips I just kissed. “I can't believe I just fell into your arms.” She shakes her head, clearly embarrassed. “Dumb, Greta.”

“Do not regret our instant attraction. Follow your heart, Greta.”

She crosses her arms. Looking so lovely and fragile, she stands with distrust cloaking every angle of her face. “I suppose there's more revelations?”

“Tor Aros,” I say, dropping the most real and present danger like a silent bomb. She must know.

If she does not believe me about her sister, Greta must be warned about the possible snake in the grass—or the fjord.

She strides back to me, her heels clicking against the stone like an ominous heartbeat. “He's a client.”

“He's involved in your father's death,” I say without my usual tact.

Her safety is more important than my desire for civility.

Greta's slap rings against my flesh, swinging my head with the force. “Tor is
not
involved,” she says in an angry voice.

Hot rage boils before I can soothe myself. I grab her wrist, feeling the small bones beneath my fingers.

She tugs, but I tighten my grip. Her eyes widen at my strength.

She had not minded it while I held her.

I duck my face, bringing it close to hers as my own anger matches hers. “He might be. Have you considered foul play? Ask him when his father, the minority stock holder to your father's company, died.”

I release her wrist, my face stinging. My pride hurts worse. A beautiful woman who has the most powerful chemistry I've ever experienced in my life wants this other man.

This
debajo
.

Greta swings her arm away, rubbing her wrist, though I know my grasp was not tight enough to damage her. Women are to be cherished. Greta incites protective instincts to a degree I did not realize I possessed.

“Not that it's any of your business, but Tor took an oath of protection with my father.”

“Paco
doesn't
know,” Tallinn says from beside me.

I whip my face in his direction, giving him a look that would silence the diablo.

But the devil himself couldn't silence Tallinn.

“What?” Greta asks, taking a step backward at Tallinn's sudden appearance.

“Dane-boy Tor Aros wasn't around protecting you when you were gang-raped two years ago? Right, Greta?” he asks with a calculated menace that undoes me when I witness her reaction.

Her face pales before my eyes. Her stillness is terrible—unnatural.

“No,” she whispers, shaking her head swiftly as she stumbles backward. To escape us.

To remove herself from the presence of Tallinn's words.

His words obviously make so much sense to her that they are a poison in the guise of grief, spilling blackness over my mind and heart as I wonder what put it there.

When Greta topples, I am there to catch her.

I feel as though I always have been.

Lisbeth

“Take your mouth off me,” I say, using the fat end of my lipstick tube to apply an additional layer of the barely there pink lipstick.

Tor neatly steals my breath, jamming a finger inside my pussy from below. “Accept my kisses or take whatever I give.” His rough digit stabs and pulls inside, and my walls pulse once around the intrusion.

He won't keep a bit of himself to himself.

Tor enjoys the game of unraveling me, and I relent, helpless to give him a final
no
.

I pretend that it is because I want it. And most of me does. But the other part of me—the tiny bit that is so much like him—recognizes the superior predator in him and knows what he is truly capable of.

A thin barrier protects me from becoming what Greta is to him. I must show no weakness.

My head kicks back as I come, and his frantic fingers dig inside me.

The fully extended tube of lipstick falls, smearing an iridescent pink line as it hits first the quartz vanity then smudges its wax along the fancy little stool I haven't used.

I could not be seated with Tor's face buried between my slick folds.

“Yes,” Tor hisses. His dangerous green eyes move to my face, his mouth poised over my labia.

He parts my sex, his teeth pressing against the delicate skin as he holds my eyes prisoner.

I grab his shoulders. “Tor, please, let me finish this.”

“I want you to be…” He appears to think over his words, though I know Tor thinks over nothing, always
knowing
instead. “Off-kilter for this meeting, to seem unsure. And you—” He licks and bites along my skin, and I shudder with mingled pain and arousal.

His finger hooks inside me, and I gasp.

“Lisbeth, you are anything but uncertain.” His hand turns, and his thumb enters my ass. He lifts me until my toes skim the floor.

“Spread yourself, Lisbeth.”

I do.

And Tor does unspeakable things, things he's never done before.

*

I cry after he's through. Tor's never hurt me like he did this evening. But he knows what I need to experience to behave in an authentic way.

I am an hour from seeing my sister for the first time since we were separated as infants. Oh, I've seen plenty of her in ways she could never know.

I've had a front-row seat to the depths of her depravation. I’ve hated her triumphs and rejoiced at her failures.

But this…

This meeting, which an unsuspecting Paco orchestrated, this will be the
coup de grâce
.

I needed Tor's abuse.

I limp to my wardrobe and grab the tube of ointment I keep for such interludes with Tor, when I must persevere in order to grow.

I whimper as I apply the soothing balm to my most intimate parts. My hands are shaking when I am through.

They do not come away with blood, but I have never been used so viciously. And I am tender.

I am also ready.

There will be no fighting tonight, only lying.

Deceit is a dance I execute expertly.

*

Greta

I come to slowly. From the fog of my mind, handsome features move together.

First they are only a blur, then they solidify into skin kissed by olives, green eyes that are brilliant and deep, not pale and frightening, and hair so black that it rivals a raven's wing.

A dimple where an angel kissed him graces a square jaw. Paco's heritage is on every chiseled inch.

I ache to touch him.

Then my memories rush into the vacuum of my empty mind: my dead sister has come to life; Tor is supposedly a criminal.

I stiffen and a sigh breaks the seal of Paco's lips. I try to sit up, and the room spins.

Tallinn's dark hand offers water, and I take it in greedy gulps. My eyes trace over where I find myself—in my own room.

So much for safety
. I tried to meet with Paco on neutral ground, only to find myself inside my room with two strange men.

Paco leans back, and my hands find their way to my sides.

I caress the coverlet nervously.

He watches me with careful eyes. I can't read his expression, and I find I want to, very much.

My gaze shifts to Tallinn, and my stomach twists with apprehension.

“How long have you known?” I ask.

He throws his palms up by his head in the universal move that says, “
Don't shoot the messenger
.” Tallinn appears shamefaced, ducking his chin. “I'm his bodyguard, Greta. I need to know what I can about everyone he meets. If it matters, I've known for a while, and didn't say anything.”

My fingers bite into the cloth. “Why?” I ask softly. He could have told Paco from the get-go that I was damaged goods. I can hear Gia's protests at my thoughts, but I tamp down on her internal monologue.

“Need to know.” His dark eyes meet mine. “It wasn't important that Paco knew.” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Then it was.”

Tears spill over my lashes, and I cover my mouth with my hand.

“Tallinn doesn't wound intentionally.”

In my wavering vision, Paco shoots Tallinn an incendiary glance. Tallinn clears his throat, glaring back at the one he protects.

I let my trembling hands drop. “Now you know,” I say softly. My embarrassment is so deep, there's not a breath I can take without the taste of it between us.

I look into his eyes, steeling myself for the condemnation. But there is only quiet compassion. A breath slides out that I didn't realize I'd been holding.

Paco clasps my hands in his own and raises them to his face in a gesture not unlike Tor’s—but somehow so different. A soft kiss that is hardly more than warm breath shivers across my skin. “The crime against you changes nothing.”

I shake my head. Everything is moving too fast. I don't know who I can trust.

“Listen to me, Greta,” Paco says.

I meet his bottomless stare. “I don't think I can stand any more revelations, Paco.”

“I am more sorry than I can say.” Then he tells me what happened to him in his home country.

The Narco. Their bribery. His people will die if Lisbeth isn't killed.

Or is it me?
I ask.

He gives a soft shake of his head. “They only know of her. But if they knew of you? Would it not be the same consequence?” His question is pertinent, inciting me to agree.

“Probably,” I admit, searching his clear, dark-green eyes. I can't lie—his looks put me at ease. It shouldn't be that simple. But from him and Tallinn, who are both men of color, I don't feel criminal intent.

Not that I had before, when an unknown man roofied my peach schnapps. Of course, before I didn’t know about roofies or how they blend so seamlessly with alcohol.

My throat makes a snapping sound as I swallow the painful memory, and Tallinn shoves the glass of water back in my face. I smile gratefully and take a small sip.

I clasp the heavy smooth tumbler between my fingers, grateful for something solid to hang onto.

“So now what?” I ask, hating the broken note in my voice.

Paco strokes my knuckles lightly, and my skin rises in responsive pebbles of flesh. My mouth trembles, and water fills my eyes.

The man moves me.
It's undeniable.

But distrust is a burr in my brain. I don't know if I'll ever have one without the other.

Paco allows me my emotions and doesn't comment on my response to him.

Instead he drops the bomb. “Lisbeth has agreed to come here and meet with you. Then I must take her to a preordained doctor.”

I gulp again, sucking in precious oxygen. My head spins with what he's told me. “I-I can't believe Lisbeth is alive.”

Paco looks me dead in the eye. “She will not be for long if we don't circumvent the people that would see her—or you—dead.”

He squeezes my hand.

“I—Father did not say that she was alive. It was—” I flick a glance at Tallinn, then my eyes return to Paco. Tallinn must already know about my inheritance. If he knows about the attack, he'll know this. “I was to inherit his company at thirty.”

Tallinn shrugs. “Public knowledge with a little digging. Also, now that Lisbeth has revealed herself, a simple DNA sample will prove her as your twin, and she would stand to inherit, too.”

I look down at my hands woven together with Paco's. “Five hundred billion.”

Tallinn whistles, and Paco's eyes shoot daggers. “Sorry, dude, that's some cold hard cash. Very attractive to anyone. Just saying.”

“Well, do not say. Greta does not need—” Paco lifts a shoulder, his hands still twined with my fingers.

Our pulses beat together, the inside of our wrists touching.

“I'm okay.” I focus on my breathing. “So if Lisbeth can be what? Crossed off as dead? Then they'll be happy? What about her claiming the inheritance?”

“What are your feelings on this matter?” Paco asks cautiously.

That's a no-brainer.
“I could care less. I think she should have her half.”

Paco relaxes, and I look between them. “What?”

Tallinn and Paco exchange a glace. “Lisbeth is very different from you.”

I stifle a snort. “Ah,
no
. We're identical twins.”

Tallinn looks uneasy.

My body stills. “What do you mean ‘different’?”

Tallinn's dark face tightens. “She was raised like a hardened assassin. She kicked our asses when we came up against her.”

“Kicked
your
ass, Tallinn.” Paco's lips lift at the edges.

Tallinn scowls at Paco. He whips his face my way, and I try to hold back the laughter, but it bursts out of me.

“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. That's right. But that bitch can maim a fella.” He scrubs his nearly bald head.

My smile fades. “Why would she try to hurt you guys?”

Paco straightens, slipping his fingers from mine.

I miss them—and his touch.

It concerns me how needy I am for this guy I just met. I should be thinking about Tor and about the fact that a sister I thought was dead
isn't
.

“She knew someone was seeking her out. She thought we were them.”

“And now?”

Paco smiles. It utterly changes the hardness of his face into something wild and exotic.

I smile back.

“She wants to know her sister.”

My sister is alive.

“And we want the narco to think we did her in,” Tallinn adds.

Paco gives Tallinn a long-suffering look.

“So”—Paco turns his attention to me again and lifts my cold hand to his warm lips—“this is not a solemn occasion, but one of reuniting.”

I nod, though I'm unsure.

I've never been one to listen to my gut, but all that's changed over the past two years.

“Okay.”

A soft knock on the door startles me.

Paco nods at Tallinn.

“On it, bro.”

Paco shakes his head, but his affection for Tallinn is obvious.

I swing my legs to the edge of the bed and smooth my shaking hands over my wrinkled lightweight wool slacks.

I looked so beautiful for Tor. Now I look like a crumpled tissue.

“You
are
beautiful, Greta,” Paco says, seeming to read my mind.

He's too perfect, like a fairy tale.

But that's what Zaire Sebastian promised. For fifty million dollars, I had a shot at perfection. Not all claims are real; some are purely fantasy.

I turn as Tallinn opens the door and a stranger glides through the door. She’s not really a stranger, for she looks just like me. But her eyes are cold, like ice that thaws but never truly melts. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light, because in the next moment, strong arms wrap around me, and there's wetness at my neck.

Our sadness and joy mingle.

Slowly, my arms come around my sister. It's beautiful to have found her.

And terrifying.