Dangerous Loves Romantic Suspense Collection (55 page)

Some bounty hunters stormed rooms while shouting threats and scaring the prey witless. She expected Bryon to be packing some firepower. Most likely an automatic. Scaring men with guns never seemed like a good idea. Vega preferred a subtler approach, like calmly announcing her presence and playing it by ear from there.

She drew the Beretta from her pocket and inched over to the door. The unhappy couple still had their clothes on, Vega was glad to see. Bryon’s hips gyrated on top of Tyree’s while their lips wrestled. The wooden bed creaked.

And for a fantastic moment, an image of Fiona flashed through her mind.

“Get off her, you bastard!” She aimed the Beretta at Byron’s back and charged headlong into the bedroom, putting herself into the middle of a potentially deadly situation. The door she dashed through was the only entrance to the room. A person couldn’t wiggle through the bedroom’s tiny windows, much less dive out one of them to escape a barrage of bullets.

“What the…?” Byron managed to utter before Vega knocked him in the back of the head with the butt of her gun. The Beretta didn’t hurt Bryon nearly as much as she’d hoped.

He grunted and rolled off the bed.

“Damn woman!” he shouted. “Who the hell are you?”

He popped up to his feet, a compact MAC submachine gun, not much larger than a pistol, held tight in his hands.

Instinct took over. She swung a flying kick, aiming for the gun’s barrel. A few bullets sprayed to the ceiling before the weapon dropped to the floor.

Byron wasn’t so ready to give up. He threw his arm out with a wild upper cut. The move would’ve made Fiona proud. Not one to be sucker punched the same way twice, she easily ducked the blow and followed up with a quick jab to his solar plexus.

“Don’t worry,” Vega said over her shoulder to Tyree, who was crowding against the wall. She ducked another gangly punch and hit Byron again. This time a little lower in the gut. “I won’t hurt you, Tyree. I’m here to bring you back home.”

Tyree inched to the edge of the bed. “Home?” She sounded hopeful. Days of living in hell could do that to a girl. “Who are you?”

“Vega.” She jumped onto the bed to barely miss being kicked in the shin. “Vega Brookes.”

“Knock her upside the head with your book, damn it!”

Tyree picked up her book and raised it. Vega shot the girl a dangerous look. Tyree dropped the book back on the bed.

Byron grunted his frustration and swung haphazardly with both fists. He could hurt Tyree, acting carelessly like that.

Vega tackled him, taking him to the floor with her.

“You look familiar.” Tyree squinted and leaned toward the edge of the bed. “What did you say your name was?”

“Vega.” She really didn’t have time for this. She struggled to roll Byron over and slap her handcuffs on one wrist.

“Vega?” Tyree’s pretty brows wrinkled. “I remember now. You were crowned Miss Motor City in—”

“That really isn’t important right now.” She managed to get the cuff over Bryon’s other hand.

“But you understand.” Tyree slid off the bed, having to step over Byron in the process. She took a moment to straighten her tiara. “You understand the importance of this crown. You understand why I can’t go back.”

Vega gave Tyree a blank look. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.” She pushed off the floor and placed her foot on Byron’s squirming back to keep him safely contained. “Explain it to me.”

Tyree shook her head. The sparkling crown bounced. “I was the best. It felt good, really good being the best. I don’t want anyone to take that away from me.”

“Whether or not you have that crown on your head, you’re still the same person.” Vega grabbed Tyree’s arms and pushed back the sleeves to the girl’s bulky MIT sweatshirt. “No track marks…and I bet I won’t find any on the backs of your legs, either. You’ve never even tried heroin, have you, Tyree?”

Tyree struggled to pull free, tears sprung to her eyes. “I’ve smoked a joint once, but smoking does such terrible things to your skin…and your voice.”

Vega believed her. She gave Byron, who’d become a heap on the floor, a nudge with her toe. “Rat out your boy here to the police. He’s not worth your future.”

Tyree tried to jerk away. “He said they’d still blame me.”

“He’s lying.” Vega tightened her grip on Tyree’s arms and locked her eyes with the girl. “I can help you talk to the police. They’ll listen. You hand them a scum like Byron and they’ll be panting at your feet.”

“And my crown?” Tyree was beginning to come around.

“I can’t make any guarantees.” She wouldn’t lie to the kid, not when Tyree needed to trust her.

“I don’t know…”

Two loud crashes rocked the rickety house, as if the front door had been kicked in. Vega shoved Tyree back onto the bed and pressed her finger to her lips. Tyree had smarts enough to understand. She nodded and stayed put while Vega grabbed the fallen Beretta from the floor.

Vega eyed the MAC submachine gun lying next to it, but decided against taking the larger gun into the other room with her. They were messy shits. That was probably why they were so popular with the drug dealers lately.

“Byron! Where the hell are you? You said you’d leave the door unlocked!” The incensed voice filled even the dark corners of the house. “Damn stupid bastard!”

Vega cocked her head and listened. She picked out two, perhaps three, distinct footfalls. That would mean three guns heading her way.

Byron opened his mouth to shout a warning. Vega pressed her Beretta to his temple and a finger to her lips. Smart boy. He sealed his lips real tight and played dead on the floor.

She just needed to figure out how to keep herself alive and Tyree safe. Rules one…a new one in Vega’s book…avoid gunplay. Smart, beautiful, and pretty damned skilled to boot, the gun really was unnecessary. She tucked the Beretta back into her holster and stepped out into the kitchen. She closed the bedroom door behind her and unzipped her coat to display how tightly a too-small tee shirt could fit over a pair of healthy breasts.

A dark-haired, neatly manicured man dressed in a black suit that looked vastly more expensive than the house they were standing in, strolled into the kitchen from the front of the house. Two sloppily clad, greasy strong-arms, each with MAC submachine guns of their own, crowded the doorway behind him.

“This her?” the suit asked.

Monroe stepped out from behind one of the strong-arms; one with so many piercing in his face it was hard to take a close look at him.

“What’s this about?” she asked, directing the question to Monroe. His wide eyes were glassy. His expression looked sated, like he’d been given the chance to pump his veins full of drugs. God, she hated seeing him like that. “What have you done?”

He was killing himself. And these new friends were helping.

The second armed goon, a tall man with an eagle tattoo covering a deep scar slicing through the left half of his face, stepped forward. He looked ready to growl or bite her or both. She must have shifted her position in a threatening manner, or perhaps he’d recognized the deadly anger smoldering in her eyes. Guys like them, the ones who fed on the weak, didn’t get the benefit of the doubt with her. They didn’t deserve it.

“Sorry Vega,” Monroe said. His glassy gaze slid over her body as he lifted his shoulders with a half-hearted shrug. “I warned you to stay out of his way.”

“You must be Finn Kayne, then,” she said, her voice flat, cold. “Can’t say I’m overly impressed.”

“Where’s Byron?”

“He’s not available right now.” She let the menace build in her voice. Seeing Monroe jerk-dancing to some silent music only he could hear while Kayne’s goons leered at her like a pair of hungry mongrels made her only too anxious for a fight. One where she got to hurt people. “Neither is his girlfriend.”

Kayne must not have liked the way she quipped that last part as if he was nothing to fear. He ripped out a heavy .45 caliber and pressed it to her forehead.

“Is the bastard dead?” he asked. His pair of hired muscle followed his lead, aiming their MACs like well-trained hounds.

Monroe continued to dance.

“I can’t tell you how much I hate staring down the barrel of a gun…much less three,” Vega warned.

“Then answer my question, damn it. Did you kill Byron?”

“No.”

“Good.” Kayne smiled. A row of gleaming white teeth assaulted her. He lowered the pistol, so she wasn’t too worried about getting another hole blasted through her from that gun. But the twin submachine guns were still pointed at her, and their owners didn’t look smart enough to know when not to pull the trigger.

“Have your dogs taken lessons on how to use those?”

Kayne barked a laugh. “They’d shoot their own asses off before figuring out how to kill you.”

His goons didn’t join in on the joke. Both their expressions hardened.

Vega recognized the look. They craved blood.

She backed up a step. “Still, could you call them off? If you haven’t noticed, you’ve got me cornered.”

Kayne waved his hand, and his hired muscle lowered their weapons.

“So, you’re the infamous Vega Brookes, the thorn in my side that just won’t go away?” He stepped forward and peered into her face. “I expected someone larger, with considerably less sex appeal.”

He wasn’t the only one impressed with the view. Both of his men were grinning again—a menacing sneer like they were wondering what it would be like to tear flesh with their teeth—and their gazes remained considerably lower than her face.

Fine. The distraction might prove useful.

“My looks don’t change anything,” she said. “I’m a bounty hunter and I’m just doing a job. It’s nothing personal.” With her track record for bringing in the tough criminals, there were several big guns on the street who would happily shoot her just for her being who she was. She leaned against the refrigerator and watched him. If he planned to kill her, he’d have done the deed already.

“If you promise to forget about Grayson Walker, I have no problem with you taking Byron’s girl. Byron wasn’t supposed to keep her anyhow. She’s underage, and that just brings trouble.”

With Fiona’s life in jeopardy thanks to that bastard, Grayson, there was no force in the world that could keep Vega from doing everything possible to put him back into a cage.

“I haven’t been assigned to hunt Walker ever since he shot me,” she said, not exactly lying.

“And you aren’t planning to go after him anyhow? You haven’t been paying people to search for him while you heal?”

“Nope.” Why should she worry about lying to him? He was a damned criminal after all.

“Make sure it stays that way and we’ll have no problems, you and me.”

“Glad we could work this out, friendly-like.” Vega made a move toward the bedroom door to fetch Tyree.

Kayne held up his hand. It must have been a signal his goons knew well. Like synchronized swimming meets boxing, they lumbered toward her. Not in the mood to take all three of those armed men on at once—there were so many less painful ways to commit suicide—Vega let the goons grab her.

“I’ll let you have the girl. But I need to show you how important it’ll be for you to keep your mouth shut and your body away from Grayson Walker.”
Which meant, he intended to let his hired thugs work her over until she was spitting blood for the next several weeks,
she thought. No thank you. She didn’t wish to play that game.

“This is a new coat. Paid good money for it, too,” she said. “Let me take it off first.”

Kayne gave a nod. He had his arms crossed in front of him and looked ready to enjoy watching the beating. Some creeps get off on that kind of thing.

Monroe gave another shrug and slipped out of the room.

The three remaining men were within arm’s reach. The thugs had to release her arms to let her strip off her coat, but they were too busy drooling down her breasts to give her any breathing space. Vega didn’t rush. She took her time pulling the jacket off one arm and then the other. With the coat hanging loose in her left hand, she turned to the larger of the two thugs, the one with the eagle tattoo, leaving the smaller pierced one to stand directly behind her. Kayne remained to her right. They surrounded her like the points of a triangle.

“Here,” she said and moved as she was going to hand the one with the eagle tattoo her leather coat. With a quick flip of the wrists, she tossed the coat over his head and elbowed the pierced thug behind her squarely in the chest. She followed up with a backhanded fist to his pierced face while the larger one tore her coat from his head.

His submachine gun swung into action.

Vega expected that.

She also expected Kayne to pull his gun. She swung a lower hook kick at the suit and dropped to the floor on her left side. Bullets exploded overhead from the submachine gun, peppering the thug’s pierced and stunned counterpart with at least a dozen holes.

She managed to get Kayne’s legs out from under him, and brought him down with a crash. Reaching up from the floor, she wrenched the gun from the eagle-tattoo’s grasp before he could do anymore damage with that damn thing.

The butt made a useful club, too. He fell like a leaden weight. Kayne pushed up from the floor. She spun around and clubbed him too, knocking him flat. The smaller, pierced man with blood oozing from his chest remained on the floor without any convincing. He’d rolled himself into a ball and was moaning. She left him alone.

“Are they dead?” Tyree opened the door a crack and peered out.

Vega gave the smaller one a second look. “I think he’ll live. He needs medical care. The cops can bring some with them. Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed Tyree’s arm and gave a tug.

“Finn!” Tyree sank to the floor next to him. She brushed her hand over his brow. “No one messes with Finn! This guy even scares the shit out of Byron.”

“No one messes with me, either,” Vega said as she handcuffed Finn to the solid steel refrigerator doorhandle before getting Tyree out of the house. There was no sign of Monroe anywhere outside.

Vega called the cops as she sped out of the neighborhood to send them to clean up the mess she’d left in the kitchen and to get them to find Monroe before he got himself hurt. Her Jeep was just pulling onto Michigan Avenue toward Dearborn when her cell phone rang.