Retaliation: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (6 page)

Katrina, who's holding Andrea, gives me a knowing look and chuckles. “He seems nice. Good piece on his hip, too. Smith & Wesson. What do you think, Nathan?”

Nathan smiles, but in his eyes I see some anticipation as well. He's met Melissa before, I wonder if she's as magnetic a personality as her brother. “Jackson?”

“I think Maverick's happier than he's been in a long time,” Jackson says, his eyes following Maverick as the dog breaks into a big, galloping run around the property. “You sure he'll be okay?”

“Yeah,” Nathan says, unconcerned. “He knows how to stay away from snakes, and nothing else around here's gonna mess with him. Maverick, you stay close!”

Maverick woofs once and turns, running and loping along. The door to the barn opens, and Carson comes out, holding the hand of a willowy, obviously shy blonde woman who is wearing a pair of coveralls and work boots. Streaks of some sort of blackish dirt run across one cheek, probably a result of her work. Everyone goes quiet as she comes out, and I step forward, drawn in by Carson's wave. When I'm about three feet away I stop, suddenly nervous. Carson nods and lifts the woman's hand. “Andrea DeLaCoeur, this is my sister, Melissa Sands. 'Lissa, this is Andrea.”

* * *

“
S
o that's
why you decided to come by the way you did,” Carson says, nodding wisely as Nathan finishes his story. Melissa's changed out of her coveralls into jeans and a t-shirt, and is currently sitting between her brother and Nathan on the porch. She still looks a little shy, but it's clear she's drawing strength from Carson being nearby. She gives little looks to Nathan too, and I think she's attracted to him. Nathan's got a calm, assured presence to him, and to a woman like Melissa, who looks like she jumps at the sound of a loud hiccup, he must be like some sort of powerful alien.

“With Peter threatening Andrea and Jackson, we felt it was the best way to make sure that this was not a trap,” Nathan says in his quiet, rumbling voice before he glances at Melissa and gives her a small half-smile. “Personally, I am glad that it isn't.”

“Me too,” Carson says, his eyes finding mine. My mouth goes dry again. It seems to have been doing that all afternoon, and I'm both distracted and annoyed by it until Katrina clears her throat.

“So Melissa, can I ask about your past?” she says. Andi's asleep on a sheet next to her, Maverick laying protectively nearby. I've read about Great Danes being family-oriented dogs, but to see it in action is heartwarming. Andi rolls a little in her sleep, and Maverick sniffs, making sure his new companion is safe before putting his head on his paws and huffing. Katrina rubs the big dog's ears and laughs quietly. “I understand, Maverick. Trust me.”

Melissa nods, looking up at me. Her eyes are gray like Carson's, and I'm reminded that they are effectively brother and sister, even if there's no blood there. Which I guess makes Carson sort of family. The knowledge twists in my gut. He's so handsome, and I'm having thoughts I should never, ever have. Thoughts that honestly, I haven't had about any other man, ever. Thoughts like being on my knees in submission and serving him, not caring if I'm his equal or not. No man has ever driven me to these dark, delicious areas inside my soul, and I've only ever thought about them in my fantasies. So how is Carson bringing me to thinking about this already?

Melissa clears her throat quietly and begins. “I think my mother may have been Peter DeLaCoeur's first affair with a married woman, although I doubt she was his first... conquest. He was just eighteen when they started, from what I can tell. He and Janice met through her husband, Michael Sands.”

“
The
Michael Sands?” Nathan asks, and I give him an irritated look. “Sorry. Continue.”

“It's okay, Nathan,” Melissa says, and I swear there's warmth in her voice. She feels comfortable for some reason around him, that's for sure. “But yes, the Michael Sands. He was one of the biggest industrial bankers on the Gulf Coast, and one of Peter's first business partners. Carson suspects that some of Peter's profits were laundered through Michael's accounting division. Anyway, when I was born, somehow Michael knew I wasn't his daughter. I look mostly like my mother, and have her eyes. I didn't inherit the DeLaCoeur blues, as you can tell. By that time however, Peter had also gotten married to Margaret DeLaCoeur, although they didn't have a child for years.”

“I remember she used to say that she put off having a child for as long as possible,” Jackson muses. “She said she wanted to keep her figure as long as possible, and only popped me out when she had to.”

“Margaret got pregnant about six years after I was born,” Melissa agrees, giving Jackson a sad smile. “I didn't quite understand it, I just knew that most of the time Father was... distant at best. Then he died suddenly, had a stroke on the golf course. Margaret was in fact pregnant with you when that happened. Soon afterward...”

Her voice trails off, and Carson picks up the story. His eyes are burning again, but this time with a passion different from when he looked at me earlier. It's the intense anger of a man who's watched injustice for too many years and couldn't do a damn thing about it, and it still eats him up inside. “When the will was revealed, Michael Sands stated that he had known for years that his wife had been unfaithful with him, although he never said with who. In order to punish her, he expressly had his will tailored so that Janice got exactly fifty dollars, 'the price of a decent whore,' quote-unquote, and Melissa got nothing, stating, 'She's not my daughter. I have no blood children, so I choose to give it all to the only person who might be worth a damn in my household, my adopted son Carson.' It was cruel of him.”

“I'll say,” I say sympathetically. To be cut out of the will is one thing, but the language Michael Sands used is just too much. “And so Janice was desperate.”

Melissa nods. “Mom tried to be brave about it, since the court named her as Carson's guardian. As his adoptive mother, she would have been able to administer the trust fund in his name with the court's guidance until he was eighteen. But more than that, she wanted me to be acknowledged as Peter DeLaCoeur's daughter. Apparently he'd been stringing her along for years, saying that he would leave Margaret for her, and she thought with Michael's death, they'd be able to be together.”

“Let me guess,” I say bitterly. “He laughed and told her to get the fuck out of his face and out of his life. I've heard that story before.”

Melissa nods, tears coming to her eyes. “I came home from school, and I was so excited. We'd made some St. Patrick's Day things that day in school, and I wanted to show Mom the worksheet I'd done. Carson was only two at the time, and he was having his afternoon snack with the kitchen staff when I came in, I remember that much. I went up to Mom's room, calling her name when...”

Her voice fails again, and Carson reaches over, putting his hand on her shoulder. “'Lissa, it's okay. You don't have to say it.”

Melissa shakes her head, trying to work up the strength, and I know why. Nathan does too, and he puts his hand on her other shoulder, his voice low, and amazingly gentle. “Melissa, remember, the words are not reality. They are just a way we try to represent reality. Like your artwork. Emotional, impactful, but they alone cannot hurt you. You are strong enough to create the artwork, you can create this art as well.”

Carson looks over at Nathan, at first angry or maybe surprised, but then nods at the wisdom of his words. I'm sure it's been years since anyone but him has given words of encouragement to Melissa when she's struggling. Still, Melissa can't get it out, and I slide forward, taking her hands. “Melissa, I understand,” I whisper, my own eyes burning when she looks up, haunted and tearing up. “I wasn't there, but I understand. It took me years to come to grips with Peter's evil.”

“I walked in on her,” Melissa says, her eyes boring into mine, the horror clear on her face. I may be holding hands with a thirty-year-old woman, but the person behind the eyes is still seven years old, reliving the incident again. “She had bought some drugs somewhere, I don't know where. When I opened the door, she had the syringe in her elbow already, pushing the plunger. I was only seven, but I knew she wasn't supposed to be doing that. I ran over, and I tried to pull it out, but she faded so fast. She saw me and gave me a smile, and the last thing she said to me was 'I'm sorry, Mellie.' And then she was gone.”

The tears take over and I embrace Melissa, letting her cry on my shoulder. I thought I'd been through horror and terror, but my pain is nothing compared to what Melissa went through. At least I have more evidence to support my theory that my mother Aiko didn't actually kill herself. Still, for years I thought that my mother had, and I can at least somewhat understand. And at least I didn't have to literally watch my mother's death, or see her body after it had plunged the ten stories to the Osaka sidewalk. Still, I hold her and whisper in her ear, knowing I'm the only person who might be able to connect with her on this. “Melissa, it's okay to feel the way you do. I promise you though, you've gained a sister through this, plus a brother. I promise you that much. And I promise you one more thing.”

“What?” she sniffles, raising her head enough to look me in the eyes.

“That Peter DeLaCoeur will pay for his crimes. Let me tell you a bit more of why he wants us dead. You mind if this takes a while?”

Melissa smiles and shakes her head, trying to be brave. “We have space. This house has four bedrooms. Would you maybe like to stay for the evening?”

I look at Carson, whose own eyes flare with both hope and hesitation. I can understand. Without considering anyone else, I nod. “I'd love to.”

“Ahem,” Jackson interrupts, interrupting the look I'm giving Carson. “Melissa, if you don't mind, I'd like to stay, too.”

“It would be safer,” Nathan says somberly, trying to justify the decision I made without considering the others, although after seeing the way he's been looking at Melissa, I doubt he was being completely altruistic. “Peter knows Andrea lives in town. I am sure he has the resources to track down your footprint to the Baton Rouge area, Jackson. Here... there is no connection. What do you say, Katrina?”

“I'd say it's safest for Andrea. Oh, and Andrea, too.”

I roll my eyes and give Katrina a look. “How long have you been waiting to pull that one out?”

“About as long as you've been waiting for it,” Katrina replies with a smile. The tension's been building for awhile now, but the casual way Katrina jokes around helps lighten the mood. It’s good to see her this way. “What do you say, Carson? Think you can help us crash for a while?”

I look at Carson, and I can't help that I want him to say yes. Carson's eyes flash silver and sexy as he sees my face, and he nods. “Of course. Like 'Lissa said, we've got lots of space.”

Nathan gets up, and smiles. “Good. Well, I would like to add one more thing to security then. Think Maverick can stay here? I am going to go on a shopping trip. I am sure you didn’t plan for this many people to stay at the farm, even for a night. It will give me a chance to try and lay some groundwork to throw off Peter at the same time.”

Katrina, who seems to be comfortable as our little group commander, nods. “Do it. Got any more firearms?”

Carson laughs, causing us all to look at him. “Trust me, Katrina. We don't have to worry about that.”

K
atrina's whistle
as she looks in my weapons locker is one of pure admiration. I haven't shown my collection to too many people, but after hearing a little about her, I'm sure she can appreciate the time and effort it took for me to gather this arsenal. “There's stuff in here that I've wanted to play with for years,” she marvels, reaching out before catching herself and pulling her hand back. “May I?”

“Of course,” I offer, feeling at least somewhat on safe ground with her. Katrina seems nothing like Andrea. She's straightforward and intense, but she seems well-intentioned.

Disturbing though is that the dark passions that I struggle every day to keep tamped down won't stop whispering in my ear every time I see Andrea. I want to take her, to taste her, and push her and punish her. To see if she can take everything I have and come back for more, or end up broken like every other woman I've even showed a glimpse of my true self to. I sense in Andrea an unusual strength, an ability to absorb everything I can give her and still beg for more. It's intoxicating, and I've had to fight myself constantly to not step over the line, for Melissa's sake. It's why I didn't ask Andrea out here to the barn, faking that she wasn't someone I wanted to impress.

At least with Katrina I don't feel the need to yank her close and try and kiss her every second I'm in her presence. Besides, this woman is dangerous, I can see that in the way she moves. It's in her eyes, a lighter blue than Jackson or Andrea's, but also in the way she carries herself. She might let Andrea and Jackson into her personal space, but the rest of the world should heed the giant 'fuck off' sign that is written on her face. I'm not allowed in to her mental safe zone yet, but she at least trusted me enough to leave Jackson and her daughter behind in the house, although I suspect she only did that because Andrea's there as well.

“I've been collecting these ever since I was eleven,” I tell Katrina as she reaches in and takes out my Glock 17. “That was the first real pistol our Uncle Trent let me buy. After Mom died, he was appointed by the court as our guardian. It was a strange household, but Trent loved us in his own way, treated us like his own children as best he could. Except for one time...”

“What?” Katrina asks, and I shake my head. I'm not in her safe zone, and while I can respect that, she isn't in mine either. That story gets told only to a very select few.

“It doesn't matter. Aunt Barbara though, I think she blamed us for the problems her brother had with our mom. Anyway, I've been protective of 'Lissa ever since I could understand that Barb hated us and that I was 'Lissa's only real family left. I was younger, but I was quick study. So I've loved her and tried to protect her as best I can ever since.” Katrina nods, and looks back to the gun in her hand.

“It's a fine pistol,” Katrina says, clearing the chamber and checking it out. “You ever fire it? It looks almost factory clean.”

“I normally use my Smith. I like the action better,” I reply, “but yes, that pistol's had thousands of rounds put through it over the past fourteen years. I just make sure everything's very clean before I put it away.”

Katrina brings the slide on the Glock forward and checks the sights. “It's good work. You got an 18?”

I blink, surprised. “Eighteen? Those are machine pistols. No way would I be able to get one of those. Why, do you have one?”

“Not here,” Katrina replies without a hint of bragging. “You're gonna have to get used to a few things while Jackson and I are here. It's part of the reason I agreed to come out here with you, to give you a little bit of info without freaking out Melissa. I lived in foster care for years because my father, a bastard in his own right, was a dirty cop that faked his death along with my mother. I spent a decade wanting nothing more than to destroy the DeLaCoeur family, and about a year and a half ago I'd have said I didn't care if I took down Jackson and Andrea, too. As it was, I ended up falling in love with Jackson... but that didn't change the lifestyle that I'd led. Jackson and I live it now. We're underground, with no real names, no real identification. Our daughter Andrea has never been registered with any government agency, and according to the state of Louisiana, I'm dead. We live by our own rules, and a little rule like saying the Glock 18 is illegal for the average person doesn't stop me.”

I nod in respect. I can see how growing up like that would push someone to take such an extreme point of view, especially considering that she's dealing with Peter DeLaCoeur. It's not like my own family situation isn't nearly as extreme in its own way. “And your own rules are?”

“Protect my daughter. Protect my family,” Katrina says simply, reaching for another pistol, a Walther PPK. “From the way you act around Melissa, I'd say you and I have similar points of view.”

“I've tried to,” I agree, putting the weapon back into its space in my rack. “Although I haven't gone to the extremes you have in disappearing and living so... invisibly.”

“You never had reason to,” Katrina says simply, without any bitterness. “But you seem to have your own ways, too. So I take it that Peter never accepted Melissa?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I don't think he even knows that Melissa and I know the truth about her parentage. Assuming he even remembers Mom at all. Anyway, I know it's not a huge collection, but it’s
my
collection.”

Katrina nods, looking it over. Humming in respectful admiration, she looks over a few of my other pieces before stepping back. “We can talk more about it tomorrow. In the meantime, what's with the other stuff?”

She turns, pointing to my archery collection, and I shrug. “A hobby now, very serious before I realized just how much more powerful firearms are than these. Trent saw that I was protective of 'Lissa, right about the time I picked a fight with a bunch of sixth graders, and I was in second grade. So to teach me some control, we started with archery. I still do it mostly for the mental practice, but also I respect the form and function of the different bows. They're more elegant than a gun, that's for sure. I'm no professional. Just a hobbyist at this point. I don't have time for many hobbies though.”

“I bet. Twenty-five and running a chain of galleries, as well as taking care of a sister who is brilliant, but mentally... sorry, not my place to say. Considering I was fanatical to the point of being nearly suicidal not that long ago, I have no place to judge, either.”

“Melissa's a wonderful woman,” I say defensively. “She's brilliant, and she has a way of looking at things that's special. But yes, she’s been through some things.”

Katrina gives me a heartfelt smile. “I can understand. Can I ask you something?”

Her smile eases my worries, and I nod, giving her a friendly grin in return. “Go ahead. I can't promise an answer though.”

Katrina nods, and crosses her arms across her chest. “What was up with you and Andrea?”

I know exactly what Katrina is talking about, but I can't answer right now. Seriously, how do you tell someone you just met a few hours ago that you think her husband's half-sister is the sexiest, most alluring woman you've seen in your entire life? Especially when said woman also happens to be your sister through a few legal hoops. How do I tell her that I want to unleash on Andrea the dark passions I only admit to myself in the middle of the night, when the moon's high in the air and my body churns with a hunger no woman's ever been able to satisfy?

Instead, I just crack a smile and shake my head, deciding to make a joke. “I don't know. For only being a few months old, your daughter's got good taste in men.”

Katrina's mouth tightens for a moment before relaxing, and she chuckles. “Okay. Maybe if you decide you want to talk about it, just remember Jackson and I run by a different set of rules than most people. I'm a decent ear, sometimes.”

“I'll remember that. How about we see how everyone's settling in for the evening?” I ask, leading her to the barn door. “Then we can make plans about what to do tomorrow.”

* * *

T
he next morning
I wake up early when I hear movement around the house. I roll out of bed quickly, surprised by a couple of things. First, for the first time since seeing the news about Peter being released from prison, Melissa didn't wake me up in the night with her nightmares. Second, that I slept all the way to seven in the morning.

Coming out of my room, I check quietly on 'Lissa, and find her sleeping peacefully, so I let her rest longer, and head downstairs. The first thing I find is Katrina and Jackson in the dooryard, pushing each other through a painful-looking workout that seems to be a cross between gymnastics, calisthenics, and yoga. They're both covered in sweat, Jackson shirtless while Katrina wears just a sports bra, both of them rocking lightweight black cotton pants and bare feet. I'd warn them about the fact that the dooryard isn't all smooth dirt, but they look like they're both into what they're doing, so I guess there's not much to do. They stub a toe or get a thorn, they can deal with it.

The next thing I find is Nathan leading Maverick around the front of the house. I watch as he pushes the big dog's head down every once in a while, Maverick responding by hiking his leg and pissing. I step off the porch and approach. At least it looks more normal than what Katrina and Jackson are doing. “What're you doing?”

“Good morning,” Nathan says, and I notice a bulge against his jacket under his left shoulder. A cross draw shoulder rig, sweet. “I am teaching Maverick his new territory. Great Danes were bred to be companions and protectors to nobility. While Maverick is not a trained guard dog, he is naturally protective, and I am showing him his new area to protect.”

“Why?” I ask, curious. “No offense.”

“None taken. It's simple, really. With Peter getting out of jail today, I cannot be here around the clock. Still, while I trust and have faith in Katrina and Jackson, I know the men that owe favors to Peter DeLaCoeur. Their resources are vast, and I cannot guarantee that someone wouldn't check of this place if the search goes on long enough. Especially since you called Andrea's phone. I know for a fact she kept that line on purpose, even though she should have changed it. Andrea, as focused and intelligent as she is, made some mistakes in disappearing. I found her quickly, and have been keeping an eye on her for weeks prior to contacting her with her brother and Katrina.”

“So you're leaving Maverick to help.”

Nathan nods and leads Maverick to our mailbox, where he pisses again. “He likes baby Andrea, and will protect that little girl with his life if need be. But I am going to help set him up in the meantime.”

“Speaking of Andrea, where is she? The older one, not the baby.”

Nathan gives me a knowing look, then points back to the house. “They are together, actually. She offered to watch the baby while her parents got a workout in together. From what I understand, it’s a rare treat for them, working out together during a decent hour. Since Andrea was born, they have been mostly swapping training times back and forth, making sure she is taken care of. Babies are stressful.”

Later on, over lunch after Nathan leaves, I have a hard time not staring at Andrea—the woman, not the baby, although Baby Andrea is very cute in her own way. Watching her eat is poetry, the way her lips wrap around every forkful of her salad, and the way her eyes sparkle as we exchange glances. But it's those glances that worry me. Melissa is my sister. How am I supposed to be a good brother to her when I have thoughts like this? More importantly, I can read what's barely contained in Andrea's glances, and she's thinking along the same lines I am. She has that same hunger inside her, and it threatens to destroy all my self-control before I can even begin to understand it.

I don't know if Jackson notices, but I can tell Katrina is still aware, and while she doesn't say anything, she gives me looks from time to time that make me feel even more self-conscious. Thankfully, Melissa is so excited today to have our new family here that she doesn't notice, and I'm able to rush through the rest of lunch. “Excuse me everyone, I'm feeling like some exercise after watching Katrina and Jackson this morning. 'Lissa, are you doing okay?”

“I'm fine, Carson. Thanks,” Melissa says, giving me a grateful smile. “Are you going to go do archery like you planned?”

“Maybe later,” I tell her, shaking my head. There's no way I can focus on archery right now. I'd probably end up shooting myself in the ass the way that Andrea has me feeling. Instead, I retreat up to my room and quickly change into my field pants, but skip the boots for some workout shoes, dashing through the kitchen dining area with barely a wave. I go to the barn, where I find my equipment near my weapons lockers. It's not much, just a simple suspension trainer and some elastic bands, but I go to work, pulling and pushing and trying to get my mind off of Andrea. I try, but I can't stop thinking about her beautiful eyes, or the way her shirt clung to her lean body, or wrapping that black silken hair in my hand and pulling her to me hard...

Shit, now I'm not only distracted, I'm stiff as a goddamn board. I groan as I grab the handles on my suspension trainer and start my extensions. It works my entire body from the waist up, although right now all my attention is concentrated from my waist down.