Return of the Assassin (All the King's Men) (18 page)

Frowning, he looked down and stepped back. "I can't do this. I'm sorry, but this can't happen, Gina. No matter how much I don't want to, I will always hurt you." He turned, lowered his head, and walked away, a man defeated by himself.

At 10:30 p.m., Searcy stepped from the American Airlines jet and led Vaydon into the crowded O'Hare Airport.

They hadn't brought much with them—just a duffel bag apiece. Whatever else they needed could be found for a price. Even the items not available at the corner market, such as weapons and information. But really, they only needed one weapon to do what they came here to do, and it remained sheathed in a special compartment in Searcy's duffel. The ancient blade of his ancestors—a deadly weapon to those of his kind known as the Reaper's Blade, which had been in his family since eons before he was born. Now it belonged to him, and it had been far too long since the deadly alloy had tasted blood.

He and Vaydon made their way efficiently through O'Hare, noting a few vampires who gawked, gaped, and then backed away when they realized what they were. The color drained from their faces. Apparently, they had never seen Dacians and knew exactly who they were from the tales of the "ancient white-hairs" who used to rule the race. Searcy had to admit, their long, pale hair and silver eyes were a dead giveaway. Still, how nice to see his people respond with such fear and reverence. Even if King Bain sat on the throne, these vampires still knew who truly ruled the race, and before long, they would bow to him by rights, after he took his bloodline back to power and cast aside his usurper.

His first order of business after he ousted Bain would be to relocate the throne to a warmer climate.

"I hate the cold." Searcy stepped outside to a waiting line of cabs and minibusses.

Granted, for early spring, Chicago was unseasonably warm, but right off Lake Michigan at night, the wind had a bite.

Vaydon stood to his left, scanning the area. "This way."

Searcy fell into step with his son, and they eventually wended their way into a parking structure and projected themselves to the top floor.

Once there, Searcy tuned out all else, closed his eyes, opened his senses, and drew forth the marked scent of his prey, the two assassins who had led him to this cold, windy place.

He inhaled as if he could breathe in the whole city, then held his breath against his tongue. The filth, rotted fish on the shores of Lake Michigan, and the refuse sickened him, and he discarded anything foul, sifting further. Sex, drugs, even the essence of a freshly uncorked bottle of champagne somewhere nearby settled in. And then he weeded through the living beings, the smelly humans, even smellier drecks, and finally to the vampires, who always touched his senses last for some reason.

He exhaled, inhaled again, this time focused on those of his kind. The blood and venom of each vampire held a slightly different signature than all the rest. Ah, a mutant was about to be born in Chicago. How interesting that would be to see. But that would have to come after he caught his quarry. Further he filtered until finally…the weak, far away smell of his two little rabbits touched his senses.

Searcy opened his eyes. "They're here. But far away." He turned and found Vaydon standing in front of a tricked out Escalade with shiny chrome from wheel to wheel. "That our ride?"

Vaydon gave a half shrug. "Might as well travel in style while we're here."

The owner of such a fine vehicle probably thought he was being clever parking all the way up on the top floor of the parking garage, where only half the spaces were filled. Less chance up here of someone parking next to him and dinging his door.

Well, consider the door dinged. Because what was once someone else's was now his.

"Let's go."

Vaydon tapped the hood of the luxury SUV, and the doors unlocked and the alarm disengaged. Once inside, Vaydon started the engine with a thought, waited until Searcy was settled in, then backed out of the space, put the car in drive, turned up the radio, and pulled out.

Within days, that bitch and her sidekick, Mr. Clean, would be history. Then he would do a little sightseeing. Say, around the king's home.

* * *

Gina kept her gaze out the passenger window of Malek's truck. He hadn't said more than two words since they left AKM.

What had happened back in that parking garage?

In one swift moment, everything about him, as well as between them, had somersaulted and shifted as if they were two balls in a bingo tumbler. The back-to-back about-faces left her stunned, and she struggled to make sense of what had happened in all of two minutes. First, Malek had hated her, then loved her, and then sorrow so deep it had actually made
her
chest ache slackened Malek's whole body as he trudged away from her.

What had he meant by he would always hurt her? How? And better yet, why?

After pulling her feet from the cement, she had followed him to his truck, where he unlocked the passenger door, opened it, threw a shamed glance her way, and then walked around to the driver's side, climbed in, and started the engine.

Waves of hatred and animosity no longer pulsed off him like radio waves sending out a warning. Instead, a calm sadness seeped from every pore.

When she stepped into the cab, the heaviness in the air nearly knocked her out, and she'd had to open her window.

They stopped by the Trump to get her things and check out, and now they headed toward the suburbs in silent oppression.

The life seemed to have drained completely out of him, and she wasn't sure if she liked this new version of Malek better or worse than the angry one. At least when he'd been angry, he'd been alive. Now he just seemed…dead.

The thought made her heart suddenly race, and she feared she was on the verge of another panic attack.

No. No panic attacks. Not now.
She glanced at Malek and her pulse instantly relaxed. How odd. She frowned and looked back out the window. She was damn lucky she hadn't fallen into a panic attack at AKM. In Miami, she would have had another attack by now, but since arriving in Chicago, she had only had the one brief episode that hadn't even been a full-on meltdown, more like a warning hiccup.

After several more minutes of silent driving, they pulled into the long, winding drive of what had to be Malek's home. He lived in a sprawling, single-story ranch style house on a wooded lot in what appeared to be an older, more established neighborhood.

His silence and despondent melancholy disturbed Gina, and she wasn't entirely sure of her safety in his care. Was he unstable? Suffering a form of psychosis? He had shown another side of himself in that parking garage, and now she was more confused than ever.

Cautiously sidestepping him, she entered his foyer and took a few steps into his living room. He barely had any furniture. A chair, a lamp, but not much else. The dining room table was loaded with books stacked at least a foot-and-a-half high.

"Looks like you need a bookcase," she said, trying to ease the tension.

Malek averted his gaze and shut the door as he pursed his lips. "Don't need one."

She turned back to all the books on the table and frowned. There had to be at least four hundred paperbacks there. "Are you getting ready to make a donation to the local library?"

"No." He glowered and flipped his keys and walked past her.

Welcome back, Mean Malek.

His arm grazed hers, and he paused just long enough to glance at her, his brown eyes firing with an emotion that was neither sorrow nor anger, but unadulterated, pure desire. The fiery heat blazed and charged the air between them with such force, her knees trembled and warmth flooded her belly. He swayed briefly, and his eyelids slid halfway closed.

Their connection was undeniable, despite her earlier decision not to let him get too close. Something was happening between them. Something strong and sexual. As much as she wanted to deny her attraction to him, she couldn't. In all honesty, she had wanted Malek from the first time she had seen him. Only now, as she was beginning to release Armand from her past, did she fully realize just how lonely she had been until she met Malek. He had awakened her, had given her a reason to live again. Truly live.

And clearly, one of the personalities playing peek-a-boo inside his head wanted her. The way he had stormed her in Micah's office and demonstrated possessive tendencies over her said as much, but now the purely masculine force within him confirmed it. No matter how hard he pushed her away, a part of him wanted to pull her close.

"Malek…" She reached for him.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, as if anticipating her touch, needing it, holding his breath. But as soon as the tips of her fingers grazed the healing laceration on his cheek, he jerked back and grimaced as if in pain. "No, Gina. I can't." He backed away, sad apology mixed with anger seeped into his expression.

Why was he fighting what his body clearly demanded? His behavior made no sense.

He disappeared into the kitchen and she looked around. Behind the dining room table, which was about to collapse under the weight of its heavy load, the wall sported a fist-sized hole, as if someone had recently mistaken it as Manny Pacquiao and had gone for the knockout punch.

She looked over her shoulder at Malek's broad back and handsome profile as he stared out the window over the sink. The similarities between Malek and Armand continued to mount. Both liked to hit things. Although hitting a wall wasn't the same as popping a female in the nose, which Armand had enjoyed whenever he felt like throwing a fist, hitting inanimate objects was a gateway toward hitting living creatures. Her included.

Unfortunately, while the similarities piled up between Armand and Malek like the books on the table, so did her attraction toward Malek, which made no sense. Why would she feel enamored with someone who liked to hit? Did she have a thing for bad boys that she wasn't aware of? If so, that was a bad recipe for future problems she didn't want or need. At some point, couldn't Malek just as easily hit her as the wall? Still, the attraction was irrefutable.

Maybe it was because Malek seemed more tortured than naturally aggressive. She got the feeling that he didn't like behaving this way…that he hated behaving like a Cretan toward her, but that he couldn't help himself. Such an explanation made sense given the glimpse she'd seen of him a month ago, but what had happened to make him act like a monster with two faces? One that loved her and one that despised her.

He glanced out of the corners of his eyes in her direction. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm some kind of puzzle you're trying to figure out." He squirmed and shifted, then turned and opened one of the cabinets. He grabbed a glass.

"Maybe if you'd stop acting like one, I wouldn't look at you like you are. But you have to admit, your behavior tonight has been erratic."

He flipped on the faucet and shoved the glass under the running water. "That's my business."

"Not when I seem to be your favorite target. Then it becomes my business, too."

He regarded her with a sideways glance as he pulled the glass of water to his lips and drank. The heat in his eyes stirred desire low in her abdomen. Damn, but he was sexy. Too sexy for his own good. She needed to squelch that feeling right now if she knew what was good for her, though. Malek spelled nothing but trouble. Even so, at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to be the water in that glass.

Silence engulfed them as he downed the rest of the water and set the empty glass on the counter, never taking his eyes off her. For a moment, she thought he was going to come over and strip her naked and fuck her standing, but then he took a deep, shaky breath, tore his gaze away, and leaned against one arm as he propped his hand against the counter beside the empty glass. "Just…stay out of my way, Gina. Okay? It's for the best. Trust me."

The best for whom? Her? Him? And why did she suddenly want to go to him, slide her hands under his shirt, and show him how much pleasure they could give each other?

She quickly glanced away, swallowing hard as her breath deepened. This was nothing but his mating heat. Had to be. She couldn't be reacting to him this way on her own volition, because she chose not to. Mating heat was the only explanation. Right? So then, why didn't she feel the waves of heat pulsing off of him? Why did she feel like her desire was coming from within her, not
caused
by him?

Perhaps she should do what he said and stay away from him. Otherwise, she would do something in the next sixty seconds that would send them both into the nearest bed, and that was a path she didn't want to take. Not with any male, but especially not with Malek, who she feared would steal her heart if given a chance. And if he had her heart, he would wield the power to hurt her.

"Okay, so where's my room? I'll settle in and leave you alone." Yes, leaving him alone would be a super idea for the immediate future.

* * *

Malek barely held himself together. The last thing he wanted was for her to leave him alone, but at the same time, it was
all
he wanted. Talk about a male divided. How do you reconcile two sides of yourself when they are so at odds with one another?

His skin still burned in the most wonderful way from where her fingertips had touched his cheek. He wanted her hands on him again. All over him. Everywhere. And he wanted his hands all over her.

God, being in this house with her during the lockdown of daylight was going to be hell.