Vengeance (2 page)

“I’m willing to pay you a lot of money to get this done. I need it finished this week.”

Azriel popped his jaw, breathing in deeply to stem the tide of his rising anger. Yeah, Rico Cruz paid handsomely, but the man had an annoying habit of forgetting Azriel wasn’t one of his flunkies. Doing two jobs for this guy was apparently two jobs too many. The encrypted email containing the details of the job Cruz wanted done hadn’t been forwarded through a series of ghost routers from a dunny account until late last night. And this bastard wanted it done this week? That wasn’t the way Azriel worked.

“Are you making demands?” Azriel purred low into the phone. Relaxing the death grip he had on the throwaway phone he’d used to call Cruz. If that had been Cruz’s neck he would have snapped it without much effort. Drug dealers were the ultimate assholes. It was rare that he’d work for one; though admittedly he had when the mood caught him or other work was unappealing. One thing about his job—things were never dry. Although he’d had the encrypted emails redirected to the current burner phone he was using, he’d had no intention of accepting any of the job offers he currently scrolled through. The phone call to Cruz declining the job was mere courtesy as he had taken contracts from the man before. But never again.

“I’ll be paying you more than enough to make fucking demands,
cabron
.” Cruz either wasn’t getting Azriel’s point, or was deliberately ignoring the fact he wasn’t going to get the hired gun he wanted for this job.

Okay, fine. Bluntness it would have to be.

“I am a free agent. I’m not on your payroll. I decide which jobs I will or will not take.” And people like Cruz only hired outside help when they wanted no suspicion pointed their way from other crews or crime families. Tough shit for Cruz. “Keep your money. I’m busy.”

“I’ll triple your regular fee,” Cruz pressed. Yet one more reason to avoid drug dealers. They really believed everyone could be bought, which meant they could be bought. They were the kinds of people who didn’t blink an eye at selling someone out to save their own skin. “Name your price.”

And now Azriel had a headache. He was almost tempted to take a quick trip to Bogota just because Cruz had succeeded in making his brain pound against his skull in an attempt to keep tight control of his temper. Since when the fuck did he have a temper?

“I’m. Booked.” With that, he hung up, dropped the phone to the pavement and crushed it under his heel. After retrieving the SIM card, he scooped up the rest of the ruined phone, dropping it into the trashcan on the corner. The SIM card he kept, making a mental note to take care of it later.

The truth was he didn’t have any jobs on the horizon because he refused to accept any. It would interfere with his current obsession—the woman who didn’t belong. He didn’t even know her fucking name, yet for some reason her safety—hell, just her being—had become his paramount concern. But why was she so damn important to him? What had started as a mere curiosity was growing to become something of an obsession.

How she came into his orbit had been completely coincidental. He’d been stalking a mark in this shitty part of the city, clocking the dude’s movements. The client had wanted the guy disposed of in a way that looked like an accident, or natural causes. No small thing, as his target ran a smuggling ring—people and goods. The guy had bodyguards around him the majority of the time. The only constant in the man’s routine was going to a diner for breakfast every morning. A greasy place that looked as if it belonged on some dusty road outside some tiny desert town. It was the only clear opening, so Azriel became a regular too. Generally waitresses in diners like that were uninterested at best. Tips tended to be sparse, customers rude and smelly, and the pay always sucked ass. It should’ve been easy to slip a drug that stopped the heart into his mark’s coffee.

However
she
wasn’t just any waitress. The woman always made sure her customers’ coffees were fresh, mugs always filled, food brought out hot, the order always correct. And she was fucking vigilant. Far more than a dive waitress should be. She’d made it damn hard for him to get close enough to deliver the poison. The tag on her uniform at the diner declared her name to be Gladys, different from the hotel uniform name tag, which read Francis. Chances were excellent neither was her name. Especially as it took two or three times for her to answer when someone called her. Distracting her long enough to take care of his contract had taken far more effort than it should've taken. There was far more to the woman than met the eye.

Three nights ago, he’d convinced himself he was content to just watch her, protect her from the psycho stalking her if it came to it. But shit, who was he kidding? Of course he was going to have to take care of the stalker. And he wasn’t sitting in this shitty diner in her section just because he felt a sudden urge to save a life instead of taking one. He was sitting here because he wanted to talk to her. Hell, he needed to hear her voice directed solely at him. Even more, he wanted to be seen by her. While trailing her to work this morning, he’d asked himself over and over again why he was doing this. There was no answer. There was no talking himself out of his current course of action, and he had no plan. That was not who Azriel Seth was.

There was some unseen force driving him toward her, and he found he couldn’t turn away. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to. That didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed at himself for even being here. No matter how much his logical side was telling him to get his ass up and as far away from this woman as possible he couldn’t force his feet to move.

Azriel was going to take her, and he was going to keep her. Every fiber of his being screamed that this woman was his. And it was driving him crazy. Not once in his entire life had he ever felt the need for a personal relationship. Quite honestly, Azriel didn’t like people in general. Sex was purchased at a price, generally high-end women who knew to leave as soon as the act was complete. He worked on his technique in case he needed it in the course of a job, which occasionally he did. Solitude was his mistress, silence the most beautiful symphony he ever heard. This was a disruption of his routine that he shouldn’t be contemplating.

Yet
…

“Good morning.” The sweet, soothing voice he’d been waiting for sounded at his side. Deeper than he’d expected, but completely feminine. Somehow the woman had managed to catch him completely unaware. That never fucking happened. It could mean death not to be always on the alert. “Can I start you out with some coffee? I noticed you were still looking at the menu; I don’t want to rush you.”

His eyes might’ve been trained on the laminated paper in his hands, but he really hadn’t been looking at anything. Another major no-no. He should’ve been aware of where every person in this diner was, which were the closest exits and the safest escape routes. Slowly he turned his gaze toward her, trying to brace himself. The last time he’d been this close to her, he’d been on a job. Although she’d captured his attention and held it at that time, he hadn’t allowed himself to give much thought to his budding fascination with her then. He could now.

Too bad bracing himself wasn’t enough. The full force of the impact on him up close and personal was—damn, he felt like he’d been shot in the gut at point-blank range.

Fucking breathe—shit, just breathe!

But sucking in air was suddenly a monumental task. Those lips! Lightly glossed. Thick and full, looking so goddamn delectable he wanted to nipple on them right then and there. Kissing them was more than a must; kissing them, biting that pouty bottom lip enough to make it sting. Those were the only lips that should ever be wrapped around his cock. And he wanted those deep-brown doe eyes staring up at him while she sucked him off. Those eyes should be glazed with satisfaction every fucking day of her life. There should be a secret smile behind them, and he should be their secret. His hands should be buried in that mass of riotous, tightly coiled, springy curls on the top of her head currently bound in a tight bun.

Great. Now he had a raging hard-on that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. Being this close had his mind full of visions of taking her every way known to man—and making up a few new ones. Yeah, coming into the diner had been a very, very bad idea. But it was too late now.

“Coffee is good.” The only reason he spoke was because it would probably seem strange to her if he didn’t. “And I’ll have the special”—whatever the fuck that happened to be—”along with your real name.”

It was him! The guy who had been following her was sitting right in front of her. Not the creepy prev who left her weird “gifts,” but her protector, the man who’d been keeping her safe. Funny—in her head her mystery man hadn’t been attractive at all. Not in the conventional sense. She’d always imagined he looked similar to a human beast, all fierce and scary.

Michelene had apparently been very, very wrong. Yes, this man was scary looking, but he was also beautiful. No, he was beyond even that. He was magnificently elegant, so out of place in such drab surroundings. Sitting in the worn vinyl booth in a suit and tie that looked tailored, with the rising sun shining directly behind his head, he looked almost otherworldly. Thick, dark hair, cut brutally short, graced his perfectly shaped head. The haircut didn’t hide the promise of curls. The mouth was cruel, but looked so sinfully sensual. The kind of lips that new how to bring a woman ultimate pleasure. Chiseled featured looked as if they were made of stone, then encased in warm flesh. But it was his eyes that got her. Cold gray eyes regarded her in an unblinking stare as if he was waiting for her to admit she knew who he was.

Did she just think his eyes were cold? No, that wasn’t right. They were icy hot. His stare burned her, kept her rooted to the spot. Despite those insanely thick, long, black lashes, this man was the epitome of all that was masculine. A true male in heat. And he had branded her as his own for some reason. Oddly, she was perfectly okay with that. More than okay. Her body reacted as if he had just announced he was here to take her home—a thing she hadn’t had in so very long. All those dense, packed muscles would keep her safe. Finally.

Wait—no, this was insane. Her fanciful daydreams were getting the better of her again. Michelene blinked, stepping back a little. As soon as she did so, his gaze dropped to her feet, which immediately made her return to the spot where she’d been originally standing. The action was as innate as it was immediate, and she could’ve kicked herself for it. Only, he smiled. A crooked grin that was really more of a wry twist of lips. But to her, it was as if the full force of his approval beamed a special light just for her. She actually preened a little.

God, she really needed to get a grip!

“Why don’t you have a seat and join me for a little while?” her protector asked in a voice so deep, the timbre seemed to drum right through her, landing in her bones and making her vibrate from the inside out.

“Gladys! Get that sweet ass of yours in gear!” Vic, the diner’s manager/cook bellowed through the wide opening between the kitchen and the counter. “You ain’t getting paid to gab! If the guys doesn’t know what he wants move the fuck on and come back later. There’s paying customers waiting on you!”

There wasn’t time to cringe. In a split second, she saw something flash in her mystery man’s eyes—something dark and deadly. Sensing he was about to move, her hand shot to his shoulder, her heart pounding as she tried to communicate her desperate plea with her eyes. “Please don’t.

The panic that was squeezing her throat wasn’t because she was afraid for Vic; she could care less about that greasy pig. Nor was she concerned this man could be hurt. She knew she couldn’t afford scrutiny. She’d managed to be virtually unseen for four years; it had to remain that way. It was amazing this man didn’t know who she was. “Vic’s an ass, but he’s harmless.” Her words weren’t moving him in the least. There was no visible change in his manner, but Michelene sensed he was growing more pissed, more dangerous. “He’s never laid a hand on me.”

That worked. She felt his tension drain a bit, while he stared pointedly at where her hand rested on him. She didn’t move it. Slowly, he turned those ghostly eyes back to her face. “If he talks to you like that again, I will end him.”

Would most women feel the same thrill she did at his words? Not having much experience with “normal” people, Michelene really couldn’t say. But she certainly felt thrilled right down to her toes. Pussy clenching, she knew she needed to put a little space between them before she did something that would garner even more attention. Before it came to that, she tried to move, but found her arm caught in a vise made of hot flesh.

“Your name,” he growled, his piercing glare keeping her rooted to the spot every bit as much as his hold.

“Michelene,” she whispered back, not even considering giving him a fake name. Besides, she was sick of not being herself. There was something about him, a danger, a certain “off-ness” that called to her, told her she could be herself around him.

“Nice to meet you, Michelene.” There went that smile again. Just that tiny sign of approval succeeded in melting her formerly icy insides. “I’m Azriel Seth.”

“I’ll bring you your coffee, Mr. Seth.”

Scurrying to the counter before she fell flat on her face, she had to brace herself on the formica, taking deep gulping breaths to try to calm herself enough to actually pour the coffee. Azriel Seth. The freakin’ archangel of death. If that was the name he’d been born with, his parents must’ve been psychic or something. There was no doubt in her mind Azriel could’ve ended Vic if she hadn’t stopped him. That she
had
managed to stop him was a minor miracle in itself.

Knowing who he was should’ve horrified her. Instead her panties dampened, her nipples rock hard as she attempted to pretend she didn’t feel this instant, irresistible pull toward him. Yeah, the guy was undeniably sexy, blessed with a face that was breathtakingly handsome accentuated by one of those deep, dark, sensual voices, but he was way outside her league. Hell, she didn’t even have a league. Normal dating was impossible for her. Had always been a non-starter. She wouldn’t know what to do with someone like him.

All this time, she had been shadowed, protected by the angel of death himself. Of course she knew exactly who he was, heard whispers of all he’d done. Holy fuck, she’d given him her real name! What the hell had possessed her to do that? Just because he’d asked her, she’d immediately responded like some kind of wind-up doll. And it had felt
good
! Lying to him just seemed
…
wrong. Even though it was only her first name, it was way too much information for a man in his profession. For all she knew there could be a hit out on her; in fact, she wouldn’t be at all surprised. Staying low, living in the worst conditions had kept her secret this long. No one would ever think to look for her in the slums of the same city that had always been her primary home.

“Hey Gladys, why don’t you let me help you out?” Genie, the artificial redhead and perpetual pain in her ass gave her a huge Cheshire Cat grin. Right. Help her out. This ought to be rich—the only time Genie ever lifted a finger was when it was to her benefit, or to pull a trick. Michelene had to admit, it took balls to prostitute on the day job in between carrying food out to the masses.

“How’s that?” Michelene asked, busying herself with Azriel’s coffee.

“I’ll take that coffee over to twelve for you.” Giving Michelene what she guessed was supposed to be a friendly smile, Genie all but snatched the coffee off the counter. “In fact, why don’t I just take the table for you altogether?”

Of course. Azriel was the only guy in the diner who looked like he wasn’t some low-level criminal or a wage slave. Poor Genie. Little did she know he was actually one of the best hitmen in the business. It was on the tip of Michelene’s tongue to tell the overused hooker to go fuck herself, but she stopped. If Michelene went back over there, she was liable to do something even more stupid than she already had. Like confessing the reasons she was here working shitty jobs for shitty pay, living in squalor.

Plus, the woman in her that she’d never allowed out really wanted to test him. What would he do when hit on by Genie? Not by any stretch of the imagination did Michelene believe Genie had a chance in hell, but she wanted to watch.

“Sure.” Gracing the bimbo with the biggest, brightest, fakest smile she could manage, Michelene took a step back. “Have at it. One less table for me.”

Although she made like she was busy, which she was, she couldn’t resist watching covertly as Genie approached Azriel with an exaggerated swing of her narrow hips. Honestly Michelene didn’t have a clue what might happen, but this was giving her valuable time to try to get herself together. That fierce scowl he proffered was kinda funny. But then he got to his feet and began to stalk in Michelene’s direction.

Oops. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Man, he was pissed. On his face there may have been zero emotion, but she could actually feel the anger coming off him in hot waves. Why the hell was she so in tune with this man, this cold-blooded killer?

“Hey!” Poor, stupid Genie just wasn’t used to customers ignoring her. Too bad she failed to recognize Azriel didn’t belong here.
You don’t belong here, either,
a nagging voice inside her whispered. Put Michelene pushed it away. Something told her she wouldn’t be here for long now anyway. Might as well enjoy the show.

When Azriel ignored Genie, the idiot reached out to grab his arm. Michelene damn near swallowed her tongue as Azriel stopped cold, a tic evident in his jaw. The way he looked at Genie’s hand was completely different from the way he’d looked at hers. If she were Genie, she would’ve beat feet. Genie wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, however.

“You can’t seriously prefer some chubby nobody over me!”

Wow, until now, Michelene’d had no idea how seriously deluded Genie was. They’d always been cordial more or less, but that was just—wow. Michelene knew she might not be drop-dead gorgeous, but she looked a damn sight better than an aging whore who didn’t even try for better. And yeah, she wasn’t rail-thin, but real women had curves. Unlike Genie, she’d never had need for surgical help to fill her bra cups. Paying for implants while living and working in the worst part of town was beyond stupid. That money could have been used to learn a real trade.

“You think your well-used, dubious charms are anywhere near as worthy as Gladys’s natural beauty?” Azriel’s voice may have been low and even, but it could be heard clearly throughout the diner. Every conversation had ceased. It wasn’t every day a man dressed like Azriel, whose slacks and shirt cost more they made in a month, came to eat among them. It was even rarer any man ever said no to Genie, and so publicly too. All eyes were trained on the little mini-drama, with Genie looking confused and hurt and Azriel looking
…
unflappable. People here weren’t as stupid in general as Genie. One look told a person everything they needed to know about Azriel. The man moved like he was bringing death in his wake.

“I-I
am
better.” Only Genie didn’t look as convinced as she sounded. Come to think of it, she didn’t really sound all that sure anymore, either.

“You are a low-class streetwalker past her prime.” Azriel spoke dispassionately, as if he were observing her as a scientist might. And he wasn’t done. “Your soul is black, your prospects non-existent because you’ve killed them all, and your life expectancy continues to decrease with every john you manage to con to make free use of your body. I am also willing to bet you carry more than one nasty surprise for any fool dumb enough to suck you. You repulse me.”

Well, damn. Genie’s hand fell away like the appendage was nothing more than dead weight. The words were harsh, cruel even, but Michelene was more than a little turned on that this man saw through the surface and got right down to the heart of the matter. How many times had she been left to serve Genie’s tables while she turned tricks in the bathroom or outside in the alley? And Vic let her as long as he got a cut. Not only did he allow it on her shift, but he fed her ass when she wasn’t working so she could hang around the diner trolling for johns. Michelene had actually had to wait on her too many times. Genie had never been overtly nasty, but she was dismissive, uncaring who suffered as long as she got her way. And she had always been far too full of herself.

Now Genie turned every shade of the rainbow, running from the dining area to stumble through the swinging door leading to the kitchen. Michelene knew a normal person might feel a little sorry for the woman. She just didn’t have it in her. Genie was a bottom feeder—something like this was probably long overdue.

As for Azriel, he didn’t spare the other waitress another thought. He finished stalking over to her, stopping in her personal space. He said nothing, but those eyes—fuck, she was in trouble. Whatever he was planning, she was down. Didn’t even matter what it was, she was already down. The fact her very life could well be on the line didn’t matter.