Vendetta Road Read online

  Winston backhanded her casually, but hard enough to knock her backward. He followed her, slapping her breasts three more times. Each blow made her stumble back more. Pain exploded through her, a shock wave that made her nearly vomit. She knew he was holding back too. He didn’t look like he wanted to.

  “You little bitch. Do you think I’m going to let you ruin everything because you’re so spoiled you want every single thing your way? I want you cleaned up and looking presentable in the next half hour and then we’re going to finish up here with the plans we made.” With each sentence he hit her again, her ribs and then her stomach, finally knocking her to the floor.

  With a look of utter contempt, he reached down, pulled her cell phone from her pocket and tossed it on the couch before he turned away. “Just in case you get stupid. Now go to the bathroom and put some makeup on.”

  Soleil picked herself up gingerly. No one had ever hit her before Winston. It hurt. Her face throbbed and burned, feeling as if her cheekbone had exploded. Her breasts and stomach hurt with every movement. She recognized that he’d been careful not to hit hard enough to injure her—to make her see a doctor. Her face might swell later, but she’d have some time before it did—enough time to get married.

  She made her way to the bathroom, avoiding the master bedroom because he’d gone in there. She didn’t want to get anywhere near Winston. The stranger, Lana, had been so right. These things did go badly very, very fast. She didn’t even have her phone to call for help. Not the cops, not Lana, no one.

  She didn’t look in the mirror, what would be the point? She wasn’t going to clean herself up and marry Winston. She didn’t care how much he hit her or yelled. She wasn’t about to tie herself to him.

  The sound of male voices made her jam her fist into her mouth after realizing she was crying—making broken sobbing noises. She needed to hear whatever Winston was saying. Maybe, if it was room service, she could call out and let them know he was threatening her. Her fist had the flat golden key in it. She had never put it down, not when she’d drunk the whiskey and not when he’d hit her. At least she had that, the key to the elevator.

  She opened the bathroom door cautiously. Winston was in the bedroom. He’d left the door open, presumably in order to hear if she came out of the bathroom. He was pulling on another of his immaculate shirts. He had called someone, and they were on speaker.

  “How the hell could you fuck this up, Winston? It was a golden opportunity. We handed her to you on a silver platter. All you had to do was get her to the altar. Monroe would do the rest. Another month and your wife would die in an accident and you’d be a young widower, ripe for so many desperate wealthy women to console, and we could do this again. How hard could it have been?”

  “I’ll marry the bitch, but she’s going to meet with an accident on the honeymoon. Spoiled little bitch, not even a good lay. All she ever did was talk to Bennet like a little baby. He coddled her.”

  “We cleared the road for you. We’re good at accidents, Winston, but if you can’t close this deal, you’ll be the one dead on the side of the road, like Bennet. You wanted in and we gave you this one chance and you blew it. Get it done.”

  “She’ll do whatever I say,” Winston assured. “I made sure of that and she doesn’t have the guts to fight back.”

  Soleil felt the color drain from her face. She actually felt light-headed. Monroe was the new lawyer she’d just fired. She recognized the voice of Harbin Conner. Harbin was a decorated policeman, assistant chief and moving up, one of the many men she had met through Winston. He’d been on the “list.” It sounded like Conner had arranged an accident for Kevin. And he kept saying “we,” as if there were more of them. They planned to kill her. Winston wanted her dead. Winston and his friends wanted her dead.

  She drew in air and told herself not to faint. She just had to make a run for it. Her phone had landed next to her denim jacket on the couch. She’d left the jacket there when she’d tired of their original argument and had just wanted to go for a walk to think. He’d followed her, of course, not giving her time at all, and he’d gotten so angry he’d shaken her. Not once, but several times. He went back to the room declaring she wasn’t going to stand him up at the last minute.

  She’d called her new lawyer, Monroe, and once again, even after he heard Winston had put his hands on her, he’d advised her to quit making him angry and marry the man. She’d fired him on the spot and then gone to an attorney’s office and had the papers drawn up to make it official. That wasn’t like her at all. She tended to let things go. Not this time. Kevin Bennet had been such a superb lawyer she felt if she kept Monroe, it was an insult to Kevin.

  She waited, her breath coming too fast, and she feared she might hyperventilate. She made a deliberate effort to slow it down. She had to be clearheaded and think out each move ahead of time. She knew if she made it out the door, the elevator would be there waiting. It had to be. There was no other choice.

  Soleil peeked out of the bedroom again. Winston had turned his back to her and was reaching down for his gleaming shoes. They were always shined to perfection, but he never passed up a chance to shine them again. It was now or never. She sprinted across the room, scooped up her jacket and phone and ran from the suite. It was only a few steps to the elevator, and she had the key in her hand.

  Behind her, Winston shouted expletives and commands, but she didn’t turn around. The elevator doors opened, and she stepped in and hit the shut button to override the wait period, her heart pounding. The doors closed, and she caught a glimpse of his furious face as she stabbed at the button to take her to the lobby. Even if he ran down the stairs, he’d never catch her. He would have to wait for the elevator. It was private, just for those four suites. He had insisted on the best and he’d have to reap the consequences.

  She shoved her phone into the inside pocket of her jacket and slipped the jacket on before gripping the golden rail with both hands. He would expect her to take the nearest exit, either the private one or the one to the front of the hotel that opened onto the main strip near all the little shops. The back exit of the hotel let one out on the street parallel to the main strip. If she took that one and cut through the next hotel, she would be close to the section Winston had warned her about. The bars and massage parlors. He claimed they were nice enough, just not for her. Hopefully he wouldn’t look for her there while she decided on the best course of action.

  She ran through the lobby, uncaring of turning heads. One didn’t run in a very swank hotel. She wanted to grab security, but Winston had a way of talking that made her look hysterical or childish and him look totally controlled, the adult having to put up with tantrums. She wasn’t about to take chances, not when she knew they planned to kill her.

  Who would believe her? Her own fiancé? A lawyer? A policeman? All conspiring to kill her? She would look crazy and Winston would explain she’d lost Bennet, the only one she had as family. He would get sympathy and understanding, and they would all look to him to take care of her. He’d probably sedate her. Did he have a doctor involved too? It was possible. She’d met one through him, one he considered important.

  She burst out onto the street, her lungs hurting. Clearly, she needed more exercise if she was going to have to run for her life. Her thoughts were wild and a little hysterical. She couldn’t have that. It would only play into Winston’s hand. She raced to the crosswalk, and fortunately the light changed and there were few people in her way. She was able to cross quickly and get into the relative shelter of the hotel-casino on the next street.

  Noise erupted all around her. The concentrated smoke from cigarettes threatened to choke her. For a moment, she paused, a little disoriented. The whiskey she’d drunk was making her feel a lot better. Clearer. She knew exactly what to do. She made her way through the casino with more dignity, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

  The casino floor was set up so that the exits
were difficult to get to. Every little turn put her in front of card tables, the roulette wheel, craps, or, when she managed to find her way through the maze, machines. A sea of them. They didn’t matter. The drinks had finally steadied her, and she was feeling as if she was in control and could do this.

  Still, it was a good distance to the exits and it took her a few minutes to make her way to the other side of the room. The casino was enormous, so much so that she knew she’d probably covered a block at least. She had to have. But she walked with more confidence and less panic. Every now and then, just to be certain, she glanced over her shoulder, or paused at a machine to see if Winston was behind her. So far, her plan had worked. Most likely, he’d gone out onto the strip and worried she’d hailed a cab or taken one of the hotel’s private limos. She was afraid to do that. He could trace a cab, and he’d talk any driver into coming back for him.

  She thought about getting another drink, but she hadn’t eaten. Already she was much clearer in what she had to do. She felt very courageous. It only took a couple of times going in a small circle before she mastered the maze of machines and was able to push open the door that let her out onto the street. The lights were much dimmer, but still illuminated the sidewalk.

  She looked left and right. She was right in the middle of the block. Across the street, neon blue signs flashed, and the sound of music was loud. Each of the bars seemed to be playing a different song, but she loved to dance and the one on the end at the right blared the best music. She headed in that direction and then changed her mind, a little shiver going through her. She knew Winston. He would hire men to find her. He would call the police and report her missing, saying she had a mental disorder and he was worried for her safety. This street was still too close.

  She hurried down the block to the next line of bars. The streets seemed darker, and as she came around the corner, a few men standing on the sidewalk in front of a bar looked up, nudging one another. Alarms went off and she paused to get oriented. Just in front of her was another bar blaring dancing music and in front of it were motorcycles, instantly reminding her of Lana. Her heart jumped. Lana. She hurried toward that one without hesitation. If Lana was there, she would know what to do. She was that kind of woman.

  THREE

  Leaning against the bar, Ice ordered another drink, wondering, now that Steele and Breezy had left for home, why he hadn’t gone with them. He should have. What was he doing there? Drinking? Playing pool? Pretending to have a good time? He could fight. Beat the shit out of someone. That made him feel a little better sometimes. Not often anymore.

  He’d been in a thousand bars. Had a thousand drinks. Played pool. Hustled at pool. Gotten into hundreds of fights. Most not of his making, but certainly he had to take responsibility for dozens. Women? Hell. He took the glass and pressed it to his forehead. He couldn’t count the women. They all blurred together. To give them their due, they gave their best efforts, but in the end, it had always come down to his absolute control. He had to decide to get hard. Fuck.

  He downed the entire contents in one sip and lifted the glass toward the bartender. Unbidden, she floated into his mind. The girl. Not just the girl. The girl. The one who had given him a natural, very real erection, and she hadn’t done one single seductive thing. Not one. She’d stood on a street corner looking like a fresh summer day, soft skin and eyes promising heaven. That mouth of hers. A perfect bow. Full. And her tits. Shit. They couldn’t possibly be real, could they?

  He fiddled with his drink on the bar, barely acknowledging the bartender when he gave him a refill. He was too busy remembering every detail of his princess. She had hips and a very nice ass. There was no way to find her and her cute little ridiculous booties that showed off her legs. He could imagine her mouth around his cock, or those tits in his hands, but he was never going to have the real thing. She belonged with the suit, the one with every hair in place and his condescending asshole attitude.

  She looked like the girl next door. The one that wanted to make her man her first priority. The one willing to have his children and back him up no matter what. That girl. The one that probably didn’t even exist anymore. How the hell would he ever get a woman like that? He had certain proclivities. Even if he got her, she wasn’t going to do the things he needed.

  Fuck. He should have pulled out his gun and shot those bastards he was tailing and let the police shoot him down like the psycho he was. He had crossed some line and he wasn’t certain he could pull back from it. There was nothing for him, and in the end, he had to acknowledge that he was too dangerous to just keep around like some loose cannon.

  He’d shaped himself into a weapon. He’d had no choice, not if he was going to get Alena out alive. Storm had done the same, but Ice had always tried to stand in front of his twin. Now, he was expected to act like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Czar knew what he was. Maybe all of them knew, but suddenly Czar had changed the rules of their world. They were supposed to fit in. Be tame. Follow bullshit rules that made absolutely no sense. He couldn’t keep pretending. Sometimes he felt that if he had to keep up the pretense one second longer, he’d just implode.

  “You okay, Ice? We could go back to the motel,” Storm suggested carefully.

  The bar was rocking. Three different clubs. Czar and Steele had taken their women and the very scared and traumatized little boy home. Lana, Preacher and Reaper had escorted them. Reaper’s woman, Anya, was with them. That left thirteen Torpedo Ink members in the bar. With numbers like that, they could wipe up the floor with any of the clubs. Thinking like that was exactly what Storm worried about.

  “And do what?” Ice asked. “Stare at the fuckin’ ceiling?”

  “You’re in a foul mood,” Alena, his sister, observed.

  She leaned against the bar, very close to him, looking like a seductive siren. She couldn’t help it. She was born that way. Trained that way. She knew she looked good and she had no problem flaunting it. She often provided a damn good excuse to fight. Most likely Storm had signaled to her that Ice was on the edge again and they’d need to corral him and get him the hell out of there.

  Ice loved her. All the brothers did. She was his birth sister and a few years younger. In those early days, he’d been too young to protect her, too helpless. He hadn’t yet shaped himself into a weapon. Now, maybe he was overprotective when she didn’t need it. She was sweet, beautiful and lethal as hell. Most underestimated her. They saw a gorgeous woman and didn’t think for one moment that she could be trained in a thousand ways to kill. It was a miracle she had survived. Only two women, Lana and Alena, had gotten out of that hellhole they had spent their childhood in.

  Before he could answer her, there was a sudden silence in the bar. An actual pause in the many conversations. The music still pulsed through the room, but no one said a word. He turned slightly, angling his body toward his sister, prepared to take her to the floor if necessary. He glanced toward the door and his world just stopped. His vision tunneled. For one moment he thought he had finally gone over the edge and was hallucinating.

  His heart thudded. She was there. His little princess. She was beautiful beyond belief, standing there in her little white, flowery sundress with a small denim jacket covering her arms. She wore those little ridiculous boots that showed off her slender legs. He hadn’t imagined them. She looked absolutely out of place and, unfortunately, oblivious to the danger.

  Ice sent a low whistle into the silence, alerting his brothers. He reacted before anyone, pushing through the crowd to get to her as she stepped inside. “Babe, what the fuck are you doing here?” He took her arm as gently as he knew how, which wasn’t all that gentle.

  She was breathing hard as if she had been running. The bodice of her dress struggled to hold her tits as she labored to find air. For the first time she really looked around the room and saw the occupants. Most had gone back to drinking and talking now that she’d been claimed, but there were a few watching
closely. She was like bait thrown into a sea of sharks. Because he noticed everything, and this was his dream princess, he saw her swallow, but then she glanced back at the door looking more afraid of what was outside than what was in that bar. He recognized fear when he saw it.

  “Someone after you?”

  His brothers had slowly moved into position to defend her if needed, inserting their bodies between his innocent princess and the rough men and women in the bar. He knew that was why most in other clubs had gone back to their own business. Few wanted to take on Torpedo Ink in a fight. They had a certain reputation.

  He lifted his hand shoulder high, tapped three times and then rested his hand again very gently on her arm. His brothers read the code. Transporter, Mechanic and Player slipped out the door, moving into the night, looking for anyone who might have been chasing her.

  She looked up at him and those beautiful, lush lips parted. She smiled. Her lashes fluttered, and he nearly went to the floor. This woman had the power to send him to his knees. Holy mother. His temperature went up a million degrees and for the love of God, his cock became a steel spike and then some.

  “I’m looking for someone. A friend of mine. She was wearing a vest with a tree . . .” She looked around and then indicated the Torpedo Ink jacket Storm was wearing. Storm was facing away from him, keeping an eye on the room. “Like that.” She tried to peek around him, but he kept his body between her and the room.

  “Like the one I’m wearing?” He turned slightly so she could see his colors.

  Her smile brightened. “Exactly. You must know her. Lana?”

  She stood there looking up at him as if he were a good man and would save her. He was debating whether or not he was that good. Unfortunately for her, he didn’t think so. When he took a step to the side, keeping a firm hold, the light hit her face and he saw the bruises. Fuck no, he wasn’t saving her. He was going to kill the worm that put those bruises on her face and fear in her eyes, and he was keeping her for himself. Someone should be protecting this woman, and that he could do.