Page 12 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Chapter Ten

I gave myself permission to take a break from the world of decryption hell, to rest my sore eyes, grab dinner, and stop by Mrs. Guseva’s shop to get a brief update on how things went with Maya.

Mrs. Guseva is a mothering, life-saving goddess who owns a tearoom about ten minutes from me on foot.

She tames her wild white hair into a neatly combed braid that always rests on her right shoulder.

Several stubborn, wispy strands refuse to remain tucked in the braid, so she often wears richly patterned silk scarves on her head to hold them down.

Those scarves are the only splash of color she’ll allow.

She almost exclusively dresses in black. When I once asked her why, she told me she’ll be in perpetual mourning for the rest of her days. Like me, she’s lost many of her loved ones, the light of her life among them. Her only daughter.

Neither of us has ever said so, but I know that’s the reason why we’ve connected like true family. She reminds me of my mother and my grandmother, and I remind her of her only child. We both do the work of protecting vulnerable women, and we’ve become allies in the years since we’ve met.

I found her small uncut gem of a teashop—all stained glass, antique furniture, incense, and massive rugs—while looking for someone who could prepare Russian tea as well as my grandmother.

And almost as soon as we met, we became comrades in arms. Together, we’ve been providing women with the means to escape danger as best we can.

But I never imagined we’d one day need to use our powers to help Maya.

Once inside the safety of my apartment, I fall back on my bed starfish-style and stare up at my blank white ceiling, mulling over the expression Mrs. Guseva wore when she told me how Maya had come to the shop, terrified and alone and on the brink of a breakdown.

Shaking. Suspicious. Her big brown eyes full of fear and peering over her shoulder every few seconds.

My heart breaks to think of my friend at risk.

The anger comes next, vibrating in my chest like an engine raring to go.

Whoever abducted Lucy, whoever’s threatening Maya, I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring them down.

Getting Lucy back to Maya is worth any price… even my life.

Paying the ultimate price… I close my eyes.

In the darkness of my mind, my parents appear, my grandmother sitting alongside them. Seeing my loved ones again will be my reward for all the struggling I’ve had to do in this life.

Especially since there won’t be any other love or family for me before I die.

On that bleak note, I open my eyes.

Time to return to the decryption from hell.

Before I get up, Piro climbs over my ankles, settling himself into a tiny orange ball on the lower left corner of my mattress. My white walls, decorated sparsely with reprints of famous impressionist paintings, close us in, but I think we both enjoy the comfort of small safe spaces.

I hook my index finger around the handle of my favorite Russian teacup and bring it to my lips.

Peppermint tea with milk and honey greets my tongue and soothes my frazzled nerves by a few tiny percentage points.

Even cold, it’s the best. I won’t fully relax until this is all over, but in the meantime, there are worse vices than tea and yoga to take the edge off.

I set my teacup back on the bedside table. Instead of grabbing my laptop, I reach for the carved wooden music box perched next to the antique clock.

Stroking the worn edges with a lump of nostalgia in my throat, I think of my grandmother again.

This music box was her last gift to me before she passed.

When I open the lid, a porcelain ballerina pops up, frozen in preparation for a fouetté turn.

I can never resist rubbing her gauzy blue skirt between my fingers.

The ballerina revolves at a slow clip as the familiar tinkling melody of “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” unspools into my quiet bedroom.

While the music transports me to happier memories—my grandmother brushing my hair before dance classes, putting on new ballet slippers for the first time—my fingers trace the carvings on the side of the box, the same way they did at countless foster homes whenever I had trouble believing that anyone had ever loved me at all.

Which was often.

The music box has several small drawers inside, each lined with felt, and when I pull them out, my grandmother’s old jewelry catches the light.

Among the cords, pendants, and rings, a pearl bracelet stands out the most. It’s the one she’d planned on passing on to me for my high school graduation.

She died long before I reached that milestone.

The music’s delicate notes have brought me comfort over the years. Times like these, when the weight of my promises threatens to crush—perhaps even paralyze—me, I’m hoping it’ll do its magic once more.

I exhale hard, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease. Not even a little.

My promise to Maya. To Lucy. To myself…

The light outside has faded to almost nothing.

The large standing lamp next to my queen-sized bed creates a warm glow, but inside, I’m cold as ice.

Horrible scenario after horrible scenario spills through my imagination regarding Lucy’s whereabouts.

The harrowing images my mind conjures are so awful that when I start to hear sirens, I think they’re in my head and not outside my building on the street below.

I expect the colored lights to pass, as a fire engine screams down the block, but the blaring doesn’t get quieter.

As if Piro’s curious about the noise, too, he climbs across my bed and, with incredible accuracy, leaps onto the windowsill, putting one of his little paws up against the glass.

I swear my kitten thinks he’s Batman, out to stop criminals in the night.

Wonder where he gets that from…

I crawl up beside him, but as soon as my eyes connect with the chaos unfolding on the street block below, everything inside my body hardens to stone.

There’s a dizzying amount of purple smoke where my street should be.

Terrorism?

With my heart leaping up into my mouth, I gather Piro in my arms instinctively as my eyes dart down the block and back. As purple smoke drifts through the air, something clicks.

Those weren’t just sirens.

Next, I notice shadowy figures darting behind my building in a coordinated manner. Despite the chaos in the streets, they’re easy to spot. They stand out among coughing, shouting residents, the blaring car alarms, and the lights flashing through the fog. From up here, all the figures look male.

Men. Surrounding my building.

They’re gazing up here now. Tipping their heads back and pointing.

I stumble away from my window and keep retreating until my back’s against the opposite wall.

Those men…are here for me.

Icy dread snakes through my veins. Who are they? How did they find me? Are these the same bastards who took Lucy? The people who threatened Maya? The Kings? Do they know what I did at the wedding?

Repeating my actions from the night I found Piro shivering and near death in the rain, I tuck the little guy down my shirt and use my bra to strap him in. His little face peeks out over the neck of my t-shirt as I dive onto my bed, rip my laptop open, and back up all my work to the cloud.

The nanosecond it’s complete, I stash my hacking laptop in an air vent behind my reading chair, snatch my cell phone off the duvet, and shove it into the pocket of my sweats.

I’m one tenth of a second from grabbing the go bag I store under my bed when my front door explodes open.

Splinters fly, and the first thing I see is a long metallic barrel.

A gun.

Reflexively, I throw my arm up to protect my face. “ Bozhe moy !”

The intruder busts his way into my foyer and stands in the center hallway that connects my kitchen, den, and bedroom. When I drop my arm for a better view, my world implodes.

It’s him.

The man with icy blue eyes sharp enough to draw blood.

A Grecian jawline so statuesque and straight, the rest of the room appears off balance by comparison. His mouth is welded in a frown, and his eyes, well, if looks could kill…

Darren would’ve frozen to the spot.

When our eyes meet, everything floods back from the wedding in Vegas. The weight of his fingertips all over my flesh, his lips on my mouth, my neck… It’s all in visceral, vibrant 4D.

Our brief, erotic, and horrible history slams into me, stealing my ability to breathe.

After a split second that seems oh so much longer , I spin around and sprint to my window, throwing myself out onto the fire escape despite my trick ankle’s protests.

Piro meows as I scramble through the warm night down the first flight of stairs.

Wincing as his tiny claws sink into my flesh, I take the landing in one big leap and fly down the next set of steps.

Over my roaring pulse and pounding feet, I barely hear a thing. If Darren’s hot on my heels, I can’t tell, and I have no time to glance back.

I’ve got to get out of here. Now.

My options are limited. Since I refuse to pile more stress on Maya’s plate, that only leaves Mrs. Guseva.

If I can reach her shop, she’ll help me to safety the same way she’s done for so many others.

I hate the thought of endangering her, but there’s no one else, and Mrs. Guseva made me promise to come to her if I ever needed her, no matter what. I know she’d help me in a heartbeat.

I reach the final landing and hoist myself onto the fire escape ladder. The metallic squeal echoes down into the alleyway that runs along the edge of my brownstone.

The ground is a hazy purple blur from here, but I won’t let that stop me.

I climb the ladder with speed and grace, Piro nestling against my chest in a way that would tickle if we weren’t in the middle of fleeing for our lives.

Once I’m within jumping distance of the pavement, I drop down the rest of the way, cringing as my ankle complains. I’ll jog down the alley and cut over to the next boulevard, then double back to Mrs. Guseva’s.

I pivot to do just that when a giant hand covers my mouth.

Before I know what’s happening, my back smacks the exterior wall of my apartment building, my head snapping against the bricks behind me violently enough to create a dull throb at the base of my skull.

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to see through the haze, I discover that I recognize my attacker’s face.

Darren.

Again.

How the hell did he get down here so quickly?

His blue eyes slide down to my chest. He squints, his eyebrows raising. “…Napalm?”

In that tiny moment of distraction, I break free and prepare to sprint down the alley. His hand coils around my wrist with so much speed and force that I yelp in surprise.

“Don’t even think about it, wedding crasher.” He yanks me back, forcing me to swing toward him lest he rip my arm right out of its socket. Before I can demand my release, the unmistakable rapid-fire tat-tat of bullets pierces through the alarms.

Without a thought, Darren throws us both back into the shadow of a dumpster. One of his hands remains firmly around my wrist while the other unholsters his gun.

“Stay behind me.” He shoves me behind him as he rises high enough to fire in the direction of the oncoming bullets.

The shouts of men nearby alerting others of our location follow.

Wait, they aren’t with Darren?

Aren’t they all working together to murder me?

Darren ducks low as more bullets careen our way, where they scuff bricks and ricochet off metal pipes.

We’re going to die , my brain chants. In this alleyway. Right here. We’re going to ? —

Darren cuts through my doom spiraling, throwing me a feral grin, as though all this mortal danger excites him.

“Let’s go!” He yanks us out from behind the dumpster.

“What?” My voice is stolen as he takes off with me in tow. I struggle to keep up with his long, athletic strides. Shit!

Darren zips down the alley onto the street in front of my building as more bullets rain down on us, some so close they distort my hearing. With no warning, he cuts right around a corner. I almost lose it on the pavement and go down sprawling, but his iron grip on me never wavers.

The purple smoke is so thick, I can barely breathe. How can he even see where we’re going? And then, he’s tossing me into the fanciest sports car I’ve ever seen in real life.

He’s around the front and in the driver’s seat in seconds, turning the engine over in one fluid motion.

We rumble out of the parallel parking space, hauling ass down crowded streets, veering around oncoming attackers and scattering pedestrians, bullets spraying at us as people shriek and race for cover.

Oh god, oh god, oh god , this is like some sick, twisted video game.

Except it’s my life.

There’s barely anything to hold on to inside this futuristic race car, which is outfitted in sleek, expensive black leather. The potent aroma intoxicates me.

Piro climbs out of my shirt and tumbles onto my lap, where I hold him steady with one hand while I rip a seat belt across my chest with the other.

Darren dodges cars and people by any means necessary, even swerving the entire car onto the sidewalk at one point. I need to close my eyes to keep the nausea and panic down.

Watching where we’re going is terrifying. I’d rather be blind.

Bozhe moy , he’s going to kill us.

When the crazy jerking and weaving die down, I open my eyes. Thankfully, we’re on the right side of the road, and there isn’t too much traffic even though we’re still going way too fast.

Meanwhile, Darren’s not even wearing his seat belt. His aura is serial-killer calm as he speeds away from my neighborhood and out of Brooklyn.

Once we’ve sped far enough out that there are no hints of purple fog in the air, no chaos on the streets outside, and no armed men shooting at us, he swings the car into a nearby alley without so much as slowing down and screeches to a halt, stopping this machine on a damn dime.

If I hadn’t buckled myself in, I would’ve flown straight through the windshield. I’m sure of it. During the several seconds my heart requires to recover from the jarring stop, Darren turns and points a gun at me.

“Now…” He cocks the hammer. “Who the hell are you?”