Roar (Military Bad Boy Billionaire Romance) (Soldiers of Fortune Book 4) (8 page)

"Get some sleep, darlin. Long day tomorrow." I can hear her hesitate across the room as I drop down to the floor and wrap the sheet loosely over myself; "Peyton, sleep."

"
Fine
."

*****

I feel my eyes close eventually, but fuck is it hard when I can hear her breathing right there. She's so close, and so untouchable, and this
isn't
about us at all, which is the hardest part. We're not here to play the re-hash game with our relationship or sling arrows at each other. We’re here for Logan, and that's what we need to concentrate on.

Except when I can hear her whimper softly in her sleep, and smell the lavender of her shampoo as the Mediterranean wind blows through the open window, it takes more than a deep breath to remind myself of that.

Fuck, this is going to be tough.

The market district of Istanbul is thick with exotic smells, colors, and sounds as Peyton and I push our way through the crowds without talking, since she’s decided to play a ridiculous silent treatment game with me since last night.
 

I’ve been here before, on our way out of Afghanistan before we hooked up with Blackriver in Morocco. I shake my head at the memory of those hectic, wild days, when we didn’t know what the fuck we were doing; when we were looking over our shoulders every five seconds for the State Department, or worse. Two months of uncertainty, of lying in limbo. Me, high on hashish scrounging through back-markets looking for something stronger to numb it all away, Hudson almost getting us all killed when he went home with the wrong married woman, and Logan playing fucking damage control through the whole thing. Logan keeping us together, and alive, and moving forward; always moving forward.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
Out of the deserts of Afghanistan when we all made the decision to leave - when we knew we couldn’t do the horrible things that were asked of us anymore - and dive head-first into the unknown. Aimless, penniless; hell, fucking
country
-less. And through the whole damn thing, that tough bastard kept us going.
 

And you fucked his sister. Nice work, shithead.

A man in white linen meets us at the front door of the cafe where we're meeting our turncoat contact from Blackriver and quickly nods and bows as he hustles us past men in similar garb sitting drinking black tea and smoking from hookahs. He ushers us through the back door of the cafe and out into a half-shaded, tiny little courtyard with a small table with three chairs around it.

"Please," He says haltingly; "Have a seat. She'll be with you shortly."

She?
Fuck.

Peyton sits at the table facing the cafe door and toys with the edge of it; "So do you know this contact? From your Blackriver days?"

I sure fucking hope not.

"I don't think so."

Peyton fidgets in her chair as I sit across from her; "I don't like it. Why's she switching teams?"

I shrug; I don't like it one bit either, but it's all we've got right now if we're ever going to figure out where Benson is with Logan; "If Lawson trusts her, we should t-"

"Bryce, darlin, how are you?."

Fuck
. I can feel my jaw tighten at the sound of the Aristocratic, Queen’s English voice I mercifully haven't heard in years. It's like I'm instantly yanked back in time, back into the darkness and back into the grey clutches of addiction. Yeah, it's her. I grit my teeth as I stand, taking maybe a moment longer than normal before I steel myself and turn around to face the woman I'd hoped I'd never see again; "Hello, Sasha," I say icily, hating the smirk in her eyes and the familiarity of her face.

She looks healthier, I’ll give her that. It’s amazing what not injecting chemicals into your veins or shoving them up your nose will do to your skin and general health and well-being. From the looks of things, she’s probably clean, which is certainly something.

But she’s still got the same jet-black hair, the same dark eyes like twin black-holes dragging in the light and warmth from a room. She’s still pale, still vaguely vampiric looking, which is sort of right on the money considering the bloodsucker she is. She’s still got that crafty, cold smirk on her face, like she’s sizing up prey or looking for a weakness or chink in the armor with any and every social encounter.

There’s a coldness that seeps into me, seeing her like this. It’s not a comforting familiarity that her presence brings, it’s all the dark parts of my life from way back then; back when I was another man in another time. Sasha is a ghost from a time in my life that I just want to keep in shadow. She's like the remnants of a bad dream that you get another passing glimpse of in your memory weeks later.
 

It's
not
what I can tell Peyton
thinks
it was from the look on her face, even if I am getting a guilty twinge of satisfaction letting her think that. But that’s not what Sasha and I were. Heroin does lots of things for you. A libido is not one of them. Ours was - fuck, I don't know; an arrangement of convenience?

But whatever you want to call it, that woman had me in her fucking
clutches
, and I
hate her
for it.

"What's your angle here, Sasha." My voice is leaden and cold, almost as if being near this haunting from my past has me right back to the empty nothingness of heroin addiction all over again.

"Oh calm down, tough guy," Sasha says with far too much familiarity in her voice as she laughs obnoxiously and dismisses me with a wave of her hand that has me bristling. My eyes dart to Peyton, and the icy grip on my chest tightens as I see the recognition written large across her face, her eyes narrowed as she follows the back and forth between Sasha and myself.

Fuck
; this plan sucks already.

"I'm here to help, Bryce; nothing more." She smiles at me, as if we're old buddies; "You look well, by the way."

"I'm clean."

"Me too."

"Wonderful," I say shortly, my voice tight.

"So,
you two
apparently know each other," Peyton says with the most fake, most insincere smile in the world on her face as she darts her eyes between the two of us.

"Oh, dear, Bryce and I go
way
back, you know." Sasha is giving Peyton the fake smile right back, and I'm slowly shaking my head over her shoulder as I lock eyes with Peyton.

"Super. So where's my brother?"

Tact; Jesus Christ, Peyton.

Sasha laughs; a cold, jagged sound; "Jumpy, are we?”

“Let’s just get to it, Sasha.”

She rolls her dark eyes, as she pulls a silver case from the back pocket of her black jeans and takes out a cigarette; “My
my
, clean Bryce is all business now isn’t he?” I give her nothing, keeping my face set and neutral, only shaking my head when she holds the cigarette case my way.

Sasha sighs dramatically as she produces a small pack of matches and lights her cigarette. She keeps her eyes locked on mine as she inhales, before she turns to lean into Peyton, smoke exhaling through the corner of her blood-red lips; “You know, you really should have seen Mr. ice-cool over here as the life of the party when he got into a little of the
nose-candy
, if you know what I-”

“I’m not here for games, and if what I’m told is right, you’re in no position to play either,” Peyton says with lead in her voice, instantly silencing Sasha and making the dark-haired woman draw back in honest surprise.

Well,
damn
. The girl’s direct, you have to give her that. I can see Sasha bristle at her own frosty attitude tossed right back at her from the small blonde girl that people like her just seem to
love
underestimating.

Sasha narrows her eyes; “Let’s have a seat and get right to it then, shall we?” She smiles thinly at Peyton, her eyes flicking over her as if trying to read her or most likely looking for some sort of weak point.

Except that girl has thicker walls up than a fucking castle; believe me.

“Benson and his outfit-”

“
Your
outfit.”
 

Sasha narrows her eyes at Peyton at her interjection; “
Yes
, dear. As I was
saying
,
we’ve
set up operations in an old Christian monastery north of the city, near Yayla. That’s where your brother is.”

Peyton frowns; “So he’s just being held in a church? That’s it?”

“If by ‘just a church’ you mean a fortress from the Crusades with thirty-foot walls and a literal
moat
, then yes, let’s call it that.” Sasha smiles patronizingly at Peyton, a gloat teasing her lips.

“Then
why
didn’t you-”

“Ok, enough.” This is going fucking nowhere, fast, and I’m also not here to play fucking games with Sasha; “How do we get in, how many guards; details, Sasha.”

She smiles thinly at me, smoke curling from the tip of the cigarette dangling from her fingers; “How many
guards
? As if you’re going to walk in the front door and
take them
?” She rolls her eyes at me patronizingly; “Still a hot-head, I see, Bryce.”

“Jesus Christ, Sash-”

“There’s actually just
one
guard we need concern ourselves with.” There’s a wicked glint in her eye when she winks at me that has me on edge, even before she turns to Peyton; “And you are
just
his type, darling.”

Peyton’s brow furrows; “Excuse me?”

I can feel the hair on my neck standing up, my whole body bristling. She hasn’t even said anything yet, but I know where this is going, and the answer is “over my dead fucking body.”

“What do you mean ‘his type’?” Peyton says more forcibly, frowning at the way Sasha is just smirking at us both.

“Oh, please; you’re a bright girl,” Sasha says, crossing her legs and sitting back in her chair as she arches an eyebrow at Peyton. This is classic Sasha; waiting and watching like a fucking vulture, ready to swoop in for the carcass; “His name is Anderson. He’s a sergeant within the Blackriver ranks, close with Benson, access to say,
back doors
of certain monasteries? He’s not too bright, and he’s a bit of a
boorish
fellow,” She winks as she reaches out and pushes a lock of Peyton’s hair behind her ear, making her frown; “And he does
love
the blondes, you know.”

“Not a fucking chance,” I growl; “Not even an option, there’s no way I’m let-”

“It’s no problem.”
 

I jerk my head towards Peyton, who’s jaw is clenched as she stares at me; “
What?
”

“I said it’s no prob-”

“No, I fucking heard you, but I’m not-”

“
You’re
not ‘letting’ or ‘
not
letting’ me do anything at all, actually,” Peyton says icily, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Peyton-”

Sasha starts to laugh as she stamps her cigarette out in the ashtray on the table; “Are you
sure
you’re up for something like that?” She says, eyeing Peyton.

“Jesus, I said it’s no problem, and you don’t know me.”

Sasha shrugs and smiles that sharklike smile at her; “Sounds like you are, then.” She stands abruptly, before I can even say another word; “I’ll be in touch about setting the meet.” She winks at me, and I can feel my frown deepening, my hackles rising; “Lovely to see you again, handsome.”