This Year's Black (15 page)

Chapter Fifteen

“
Fashion is not frivolous. It is a part of being alive today.”

— Mary Quant

Ryder looked longingly at the puddle of black clothes in the bathroom’s corner as she fingered the soft pink sarong similar to the one she’d worn for the blessing ceremony. Her gold rope bracelet slid down her forearm as she reached up to twist a length of hair, but her fingers came up empty. Long stray strands of hair littered the floor, a ten-inch long chunk of brown hair held together by a rubber band lay on the counter. Instead of tangling around her shoulders, the curls stopped at her chin. The temporary dye job had turned the color to an almost blue black. At least the ebony color was as familiar as her all-black wardrobe since everything thing else reflected in the mirror was so different—not bad, but unfamiliar.

Maybe it was time for that.

She didn’t know if this crazy scheme would work, but when Borja had proposed sneaking into the Molina warehouse under the guise of a De Mis Promesas festival delegation, it was the best bad idea they had. And if it didn’t work, they’d have to pray that Cam’s calls to some mysterious buddies in Chile panned out, because Ryder was
not
leaving Devin in the Molinas’ clutches any longer.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and pulled open the bathroom door.

“There is no way this will work.” Ever since she’d gone in to change thirty minutes ago, Cam had been arguing they should wait for a call back from his friends before moving on the warehouse. “No one can miss Ryder in a crowd. Face it, the girl in black always stands out.”

She cleared her throat and the four men turned. And blinked. A lot.

“You look…different,” Carlos squeaked, before Cam jammed an elbow into his side.

An uncharacteristic blush burned her cheeks. “As long as we get Devin out of there, it doesn’t matter how I look.”

“My sisters have agreed to include you in the delegation, but I cannot guarantee your success.” Borja rolled to the balls of his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. “The guards may not allow you on the property.”

She clutched her fist to her hollow stomach before she could stop herself. Pinching her lips together until the insides cut on her teeth, she forced herself back from panic’s edge. Rolling her neck from side to side, she loosened her shoulders. Just as before a match, she pushed her doubts and negativity into a deep, dark, shadowy place in her brain and locked a mental door. She refused to think about the possibility of failure. Because this wasn’t just a meaningless sparring match. This was Devin’s life.

“And your sisters and their friends know to get the hell out of there if things go south?” Tony asked.

“If by ‘south’ you mean if everything goes wrong, then yes, they are aware that they should not stick around.”

Tony clapped Borja on the shoulder. “Perfect.”

“Thank you for doing this, Borja.” She gave the man a quick hug.

“It is past time we stood up to them.” He clenched his teeth and looked off into the distance. “Past time.”

Cam’s phone rang. “Yo, Bolton. What’s the word?” He nodded and gave the room a thumbs up. “You got clearance from the president himself to clean up our little mess? Damn, you do have deep connections. Thanks man.”

Ryder looked around at the little band of gorilla warriors. The hotel manager with a grudge. The computer geek with his military-grade, practically-unbreakable laptop and communications gear strapped to his back. The pretty boy fighter with friends who cleaned up violent messes. And her big brother protecting her back, not because he didn’t think she could do the job but because he knew she could.

The sight was humbling enough to make her bottom lip quake.

Tony cocked his head and gave her a questioning look. “So we’re a go?

Shaking off the emotions that had no place in the hours ahead, Ryder nodded her head. “Let’s do this.”

…

The rope burned against Devin’s wrists as he twisted his arms in an attempt to reach the knot with his fingers. If he could reach the damn thing, he’d have a chance to work it free. If nothing else, he might be able to pull the bonds loose enough to slip a hand free. Unfortunately, the hours he’d been out cold tied to the chair with his arms behind his back had left his fingers numb and bordering on useless.

He’d bought Ryder time by going with Sarah, but he doubted she’d make it off the island without the Molinas taking their pound of flesh. That was, if she’d even leave. The woman was as stubborn as the day was long, and he couldn’t quite convince himself that she’d make the calculated move to get the hell away from The Andol Republic without him.

Not that he totally hated the idea, even though he should. Her badass attitude was one of the things that had sucked him into her orbit like a planet around a star. That, and her phenomenal ass.

The image of her high, round ass added to his motivation as he flexed his wrists and stretched his fingers as far as they could go. The tip of his pointer finger brushed the knot’s scratchy surface. Inching it across the curve, he tried to nudge the rope from where it was twisted into itself. It didn’t budge, and he wanted to roar out his frustration. Instead, he swallowed the noise, not wanting to draw his guards’ attention. The last time he’d done that, he’d lost at least an hour and what felt like a pint of blood acting as their personal punching bag. If he was going to get out of here—and he
was
—he had to use his head instead of his biceps, or his big mouth.

Concentrating all of his energy on getting at the knot, he reached again with everything he had. The rope shifted and gave a few millimeters. His pulse punched into overdrive.

A shout in Spanish from the other side of the closed door halted his forward progress as he strained to pick up a word or two and translate them in his head.

Stop.

Festival.

Pineapple.

Girls.

Beautiful.

Then male laughter, full of bravado and innuendo.

A minute later, female voices joined the deeper ones.

A booty call? Now? Clearly, they weren
’
t the least bit worried about him.

Devin moved his fingers faster. This could be the perfect opportunity. If he could just loosen his bounds, the guards might be distracted by the women long enough for him to make a dash for it.

The knot slipped. He turned his wrists more and flexed his hands until the rope fell. Blood rushed into his fingers like a bullet train full of oh-fuck-that-hurts burning its way through his veins. It stung like a son of a bitch, but he pushed past the pain and bent over to untie his ankles. At least his guards hadn’t used duct tape.

He stood, pins and needles streaking down his legs, and looked for a weapon in the small, dusty storage room. There were a few wooden crates, but the guards had taken the crowbars and other tools with them.

The doorknob jiggled.

He had half a heartbeat to make a decision.

He grabbed one of the smaller crates—which still weighed about forty pounds—and stood behind the door so it would block him from view when it opened.

The knob turned.

Centering his stance, he lifted the crate above his head as high as he could, his arms screaming in protest.

One of the guards and a short-haired woman in pink sashayed into the room, arm in arm. He couldn
’
t see her face, but he didn
’
t give a damn who it was. He just needed the perfect shot at the guard
’
s head.

On a jetted exhale, Devin brought the crate down, knocking the man out cold and pushing the woman to the side. Without pausing for a breath, he kicked the door shut, grabbed the woman, and slapped a hand over her mouth.

She squirmed against him, trying her damnedest to land an elbow or crack the back of her skull against his face.

“Look lady, I’m not going to—” That was all he got out before her heel slammed into his instep.

White hot pain shot up his leg. His palm on her lips faltered for a second, but he managed to keep his grip around her waist. He pulled her close so that her back lay flat against his chest and her short, dark curly hair tickled his cheek. The scent of cinnamon hiding in her ebony hair made his brain hiccup.

She took advantage of the momentary lapse to bite down on his hand hard enough that he reflexively whipped it away from her.

“I’m here to rescue you, you idiot.” She went limp in his arms. A move that would have made someone less familiar with fighting tactics drop her on her ass.

As he tightened his grip, his mind tried to put the sound of that voice together with the stranger swathed in the pink, filmy dress standing snug up against him. Luckily, his body immediately recognized that toned, curvy flesh, even if his brain didn
’
t. “
Ryder?
”

“Yes. Now let me go. We don’t have a ton of time.”

“What the hell are you doing here? You should be gone. It’s too dangerous. I have to protect you.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t fight for me. We fight for each other.”

The truth of the statement knocked the heavy weight from his shoulders and he couldn’t find the words to express the lightness and certainty that she was right.

“How many times did they whack you in the head?” She whirled in his arms, grabbed his face between her palms, and stared hard into his eyes, presumably searching for signs of brain damage. “What day is it? Who
’
s president?”

“They whacked me plenty.” Not that he was feeling anything other than awareness now that the feel of her skipped up his skin. “But I
’
m pretty hard-headed.”

His answer must have satisfied her because she dropped her hands to her sides, though she winced at his new cuts and bruises. “I feel your pain.” She knelt down, flipped the passed out guard onto his back, and shoved her hands into his pockets. “Yes!” She yanked a set of keys out of one.

“That’s your plan? We jack his car and just drive out of here?”

She jumped to her feet, cocked a hip, and stared him down. “You got a better idea?”

He considered the ten thick-necked muscle men on the other side of the door, the firepower each carried, and calculated the chances they’d actually make it out unharmed. Talk about a clusterfuck. He opened his mouth to say so when Ryder quirked an eyebrow at him, practically daring him to disregard her ability to get the job done. And he realized he didn’t. If she said this was the best option, it was.

He shook his head. “Fresh out.”

“Okay, then. Let
’
s go.” She reached for the door.

“Wait.” He grabbed her wrist, his thumb sliding across her gold bracelet, yanked her close, and crushed her mouth with his. It wasn’t their first kiss, and he hoped like hell it wasn’t their last, but he meant for it to be a damned memorable one. He put everything he had into it, all the wanting, all the needing, and all the ever after—if they were lucky enough to have one, and he sure as hell hoped they were.

She pulled away thirty seconds later with swollen lips and a dazed look in her dark brown eyes. “You’d better be following that up later.”

“It’s a date.” The caveman in him beat his chest. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

She yanked open the door and they ran out into a scene of utter chaos as the guards scattered and a group of women fled out the front door.

…

A
whoomp, whoomp, whoomp
sounded outside the warehouse’s open windows. Low-level dirt clouds whirled around Ryder’s ankles as she darted out from the storage room where they’d stuffed Devin. No one gave her a first look, let alone a second glance. The guards were too busy staring out the windows as an armada of helicopters swooped down from the sky.

Holy crap
. Ryder shook her head in wry amazement as adrenaline ricocheted through her body. “Looks like Cam’s friends made it.”

Guys in ninja black zipped down rope lines from the hovering helicopters, hit the ground running, and headed straight for the warehouse. Highly trained and determined, the mercenaries looked every bit as dangerous as Cam had promised they
’
d be.

“Shall we let them in?” Devin grinned through his bruises, obviously enjoying the ensuing chaos and hullabaloo as much as she was.

“Why not?” She took off at a sprint to the garage bay door at the front of the warehouse and hit the
open
button. The dented metal door creaked upward.

Behind them, one of the guards yelled in Spanish.

A knife whizzed past Ryder’s head, embedding itself in the wood at eye level.

Spinning around, she raised her fists so they were just below eye level.

Long Hair and Freckles stood hip-to-hip, both looking a little worse for wear from their last encounter.

“
Puta
,” Freckles snarled.

Ryder grinned behind her fists. “
Si
.” Anticipation bubbled
inside her, a hunger to make these punks pay for what they’d done to Devin, and to the rest of the island.

She didn’t wait for him to make a move, but claimed the aggressor’s route. Keeping her fists up, she landed her right leg with a solid
thump
right below Freckles’s chest. Air wheezed out of his mouth like a popped inner tube.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Long Hair, the bulkier of the two guards, rush Devin. He shoved his shoulder into Devin’s solar plexus in an attempt to knock him off balance. And failed. They jostled for control, punching and grappling. With a low growl, Devin swung out one leg and swept Long Hair off his feet.

Freckles made a half-ass punch attempt, and Ryder followed up with a fast punching combination and roundhouse kick, before grabbing his arm, spinning into position, and flipping him over in the air. A plume of dust rose when Freckles smacked down against the dirt floor.

“I’ll be glad to see the last of those two once we blow this island.” Devin leveled a solid kick to Long Hair’s ribs.

“Amen.” She headed toward the door as the mercenaries rushed in yelling for the Molina men inside to get on their knees, hands on heads. The bright late afternoon sun blazed hot overhead, temporarily blinding her, but not before she caught a glimpse of Sarah hustling around the warehouse’s corner. She slammed to a stop, her mind speeding.