Neil (The Uncompromising Series Book 2) (20 page)

The quiet exploded with the sound of custom pipes as Viking twisted the throttle twice and kicked up the kickstand. “Get on.”

I stared. At his back. At his arms. At the hands that’d touched me. Air struggled to get into my lungs and I looked at the ground under my feet to make sure it was still there.

Boots stepped into my personal space. “Ariella.” Soft, intimate, he spoke my full name like he had a right to.

Pulled by his voice, my gaze traveled up. Boots, thick, strong thighs, narrow hips, abs, more abs than I could count, shoulders wider than a door, I had no room to breathe. “You killed them,” I whispered, barely hearing my own voice over the rumble of the bike.

His hand wrapped around my nape and I flinched. “I will never hurt you.”

“You didn’t hesitate.” And I didn’t try to stop him.

“Hesitation would have cost us our lives.”

He was right, deep down, I knew he was but I was a single mother. “I’m an accessory… my son.” How did I protect him from this?

“Your son is fine. No one is going to question you about tonight.”

How did he know? He couldn’t know that. “But what if they do?”

“Tell the truth.” He dropped his hand and straddled the bike as cold detachment settled around him. “Time to go.”

I reached for the fractured thought that kept coming back. “You call my son ‘the boy,’ but you call me by my name and when you say it, it’s like…” I trailed off as I met his complicated stare.

“Get on the bike, Ariella.” My name left his lips in a gentle caress.

I swung my leg over the seat and put my arms around his waist. His flesh warm under my grasp, his muscles hard, he revved the engine and we took off.

I
WATCHED AN ENDLESS SEA
of dilapidated warehouses over Viking’s shoulder as he sped through the silent night. No other cars, no people, he wove through the streets like he knew exactly where we were but I didn’t recognize any of it.

The warehouses gave way to junky strip malls then we were going over a bridge onto the barrier island. I tried to remember everything I could about my life. My son, my apartment, my mother moving to North Carolina to be near her sick sister, Jason, the strip club… my routines filtered through my brain like second nature but none of it felt real.

The huge back under my cheek, the sweat and musk, the tight muscles under my hands… that felt real.
Scary
real.

Viking’s hand landed on my thigh. “Speak.”

The miles put distance between me and my fear of him. His cryptic command clicked as if we knew each other and could read one another’s thoughts. “I don’t know who I am.” Answering him was as natural as the ocean air rushing my face.

“You will remember.”

Would I? “I should be afraid of you but you feel…” I struggled for the right word but there wasn’t one. “Real.”

“What I am capable of should not be a surprise to you.”

“Because you killed those men?

“I am keeping you safe.” He took a sharp corner.

The huge machine rumbled under my thighs as his strength flexed under my arms. “Why are you doing this?”

“I like your son.”

The admission was so unexpected that it made more sense than anything else he could’ve said. Conner was a currency I understood. He was my everything. “You like kids,” I surmised.

“I like Conner.”

Hearing him say my son’s name felt more significant than the memory of us in his car but I didn’t know why. “He’s my life.”

“I know.”

Ocean breezes filled my head and memories of me and Conner at the beach filtered in. “Is that why you’re protecting me?”

He downshifted. “A boy needs his mother.”

“You answer questions without giving any answers.” Part of me wanted to run the second I got off this motorcycle, but the other part was telling me to trust this man.

“So you have said.”

“I’ve told you this before?” How much time had we spent together?

His stomach muscles flexed as the bike took a corner. “Not in so many words.” He pulled up to a high-rise almost directly on the ocean.

I glanced up at the steel and glass monstrosity. “Where are we?”

“My place.”

Viking and the huge modern building didn’t fit. “You live here?”

“Occasionally.”

“But it’s your place?” It was cold like him but it was also public and obvious and showing off an opulence that didn’t seem like him.

“One of them.”

“You have more than one home?”

“Four,” he stated.

“You have four houses?” I almost forgot we were on a stolen motorcycle.

“Residences, yes.” The answer was casual, as if everyone had four homes.

“You’re rich?” The question popped out before I could stop it. Of course he was rich. He was pulling into an oceanfront high-rise in South Beach on Collins Avenue.

“I develop real estate.”

“Develop?” I felt stupid for asking but I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“I own a construction firm. I specialize in commercial real estate and high-rises.”

Jesus
. And he had time to get caught up with me and my mess? “Something I probably should’ve known,” I muttered.

He bypassed the valet parking in front and pulled around to the side of the building. “You know I am in construction.”

As in, that’s all I knew? I didn’t ask and he didn’t elaborate. He entered a code into a keypad, a security door rose and he pulled into the underground parking. Maneuvering the huge bike through the garage, he parked in front of a giant pickup, effectively concealing it. Cutting the engine, he silently waited until I got off the bike.

Once I was on my own two feet, he threw the kickstand with practiced ease and gracefully swung his leg over as if he hadn’t just been shackled for who knows how long.

“Come.” He glanced around the garage.

His movements weren’t obvious but they were enough. Pinpricks of fear crept up my spine and I looked over my shoulder. “Were we followed?”

“No.” He moved to my side but a step ahead of me. “This way.”

I looked back at the Harley that had his blood on it. “You’re just going to leave that there?”

“Someone will come for it.”

I stepped up to his side but he held his arm out. “Stay on my left, one step behind.”

“You said we weren’t followed.”

“We weren’t.” He hit the button for the elevator and the doors slid open. Just like the garage, the elevator had a keypad. He entered a code and we were moving.

I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “They didn’t come after us.”

He stared straight ahead. “Not yet.”

“Aren’t you supposed to reassure me?” I was aiming for sarcastic but I sounded exactly as I felt, weak and needy.

“I do not lie.”

That should’ve been a good thing but it only sounded intimidating. “What if someone saw us come here?”

“I will handle it.”

With what? A sniper rifle from a balcony? “We can’t hide in your apartment forever. I need to see my son.”

“We will not hide and you will see him.”

I should have asked when I would see Conner but I was suddenly fixated on why they didn’t come after us. “What address did you give them?”

“A storage facility in Hialeah.”

“Is that where you hid the guns?”

“I do not have the guns.”

“But you said you took them?”

“I did. I no longer have them.”

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. We stepped into a hallway with only one door and Viking punched numbers into yet another keypad. The door clicked then swung open and Viking strode inside.

I took one step to follow then halted.

I didn’t know what I was expecting but a huge marble foyer with a shotgun view of the ocean out of two-story-tall windows from thirty floors up wasn’t it.

Viking swept his finger across a touchpad on the wall and lights everywhere came on to a soft dim.

Not only was his place huge, it was opulent and modern and I’d never seen anything like it, not even on TV. Not that I could remember, anyway.

Viking strode toward the kitchen and dumped the motorcycle keys on a counter that was the shiniest kitchen counter I’d ever seen.

“Wait.” He issued the command like he did every other one, without emotion but with expectation that it’d be followed.

I stood there and stared, not wanting to take another step in my filthy, bloodstained clothes. Leather couches and a huge TV mounted on a marble wall that matched the color of the flooring, a dining area that could seat twelve, a kitchen fit for a chef, the entire place was a fairy tale. And not an inch of it seemed like it suited Viking. Well, the cold modern lines, the not a thing out of place, the spotless wall of glass, they all fit his personality but the rest of it looked like he barely spent any time here. I couldn’t imagine Conner here. His little fingerprints would be everywhere in two seconds flat.

As quietly as Viking had disappeared, he reappeared with a huge medical kit. Setting it down like he was familiar with its weight and contents, he washed his hands then dried them with a paper towel he pulled from a hidden stash inside a cupboard.

His eyes met mine for the first time since the warehouse. “Take your shirt off.”

I tried to swallow past the sudden dryness in my mouth. “Why?”

“Your back.” He refocused his attention on the kit.

I looked around the kitchen. “I need something to drink.”

He reached behind him, pulled a glass out of the cupboard, filled it from the fridge then set it on the counter between us. Not a single movement was wasted.

I put the glass to my lips intending only to sip but once the cold liquid hit my parched throat, I started gulping. The icy water was so refreshing that I didn’t notice Viking come up on me.

“Easy.” He took the glass before I could swallow the sip already halfway to my mouth.

My tongue darted out and I licked the water off my lips.

His gaze shifted to my mouth and darkened.

I sucked in a breath and forced words out. “I was thirsty.”

In a move that seemed completely and utterly uncharacteristic of him, he put the glass to his full lips and drank. I stared as his throat moved with each swallow. I didn’t know how to describe the combination of sexy and real the simple act made him look. Nor could I tell you why the bruising on his knuckles made me want to touch him.

Never taking his eyes off mine, he finished my water and set the glass on the counter without making a sound. “Turn around.” The quiet stillness to his deep voice, the way he watched me so intently, was both mesmerizing and terrifying.

“I’m fine.” Not one thing was fine. And it would be even less fine if he touched me again.

“The wound needs treating.”

His needed treating. “You should…” I pointed at his swollen, cut cheek and temple.

“You first.”

I glanced at his neck then his wrists. “Your neck, your hands—”

“Turn around, Ariella.”

My name rolled off his tongue, foreign and unique. He shortened the
R-I
sound and drew out the double
L
’s, pronouncing it differently than anyone else I knew.

“I like your accent,” I blurted.

His chest rose and fell with one breath and his voice turned quieter. “I like yours.”

Chill bumps broke out on my arms and neck. He was so close, I could see every one of his thick, dark eyelashes. “How long have you lived in the States?”

“Six years.”

“Did I know that… before?” I desperately wished I could remember him.

“No. Turn around.”

I decided to tell him what I remembered. “I remember being in a car with you. You had your sleeves rolled up. Conner was asleep in the back. My shoes were off.”

He nodded once. “You were in my truck.”

Stupid hope surged. “We went somewhere together? Like a date?”

“No. We drove together.”

The heated tension I was feeling instantly turned icy cold and my hope sank as exhaustion filled the empty space. No longer caring about him touching me, I turned. My wound was throbbing and even if I did have my memory, I was sure I’d never figure this man out.

With the same hands he killed with, he reached around me and unbuttoned the top three buttons on my blouse. “This bothers you.”

I stared at his huge fingers and my heart rate kicked up. I didn’t know if he meant unbuttoning my shirt or the date thing, but it didn’t matter. “I’m not duct taped to a chair anymore, this is nothing.”

“You are lying.” He brushed my hair to one shoulder and his hand skimmed my neck.

“I’m not.” I was alive. My son was safe. “But I need to hear Conner’s voice.” And I needed to hold him and breathe in his perfect innocence.

“You will.” Gentle and slow, he lifted my shirt up. “Raise your arms.”

There was nothing sexual about his touch but I was hyperaware of every whisper of his skin on mine. I lifted my arms. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” he quietly answered as he pulled the rest of my shirt over my head. A bloodied silk blouse I didn’t remember buying fell to the floor.

I dropped my arms. “Promise?” I wanted his word because something told me he never broke his promises.

“Yes.” Then he continued as if we were still talking about the date thing. “You would not have gone on a date with me.” His fingers brushed against my skin as he unclasped my bra. “I did not ask you.”