Retaliation: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 11

  I find her standing on the concrete walkway that borders the river watching a riverboat go by, its lights twinkling in the darkness. “You done?”

  She turns, and despite being pissed, I still want her. She gives me a measured look, then turns back to the river. “What do you want?”

  “Your little stunt and the way you stormed out left Melissa open to be quizzed by some Don fucking Juan,” I seethe, my anger at least keeping my horniness under control. “She spent five minutes at least talking to some guy who got her to give him everything but our address and phone number. You happy now?”

  “What? This is somehow my fault?” she asks, getting pissed. “You're the one who dragged me into the office to lay one on me!”

  “You weren't exactly fighting me off, either!” I yell, losing my temper. “Goddammit Andrea, regardless of what you and I might want to do, Melissa's safety was supposed to come first! What were you thinking?!”

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” she shoots back, angry. “Maybe I fucked up, but you fucked up, too! You think I'm happy about this? In case you haven't noticed, Melissa's not a target. I am! My brother, his wife, and his daughter are! You two aren't!”

  “Then why protect her? Or at least try to?” I ask, and Andrea shakes her head in exasperation. “What?”

  “I went with her because I love her too, okay? It's nice to have a sister, a real one. And I've got twenty-one years to try and catch up with her, and I'm sorry I haven't been watching her and protecting her since before I was born, seeing as how I only found out about her like goddamn yesterday. I'm going to fuck it up sometimes, despite my best efforts. I'm trying, so you should cut me some slack!”

  I nod, accepting what she said. I'm still pissed, but she's got a point. “You're right. Okay, fine. We both fucked up. I should have just ignored what you're rocking and kept myself under control. I'm sorry about that.”

  “And are you sorry about what we did?” she asks, and I can hear the tension in her voice. She's opening herself a bit to me, and I can't ignore that either. The vulnerability, the hidden hope in her tone of voice is a reflection of my own, but still, we can't do anything about it right now.

  “If you mean do I regret kissing you, no. The timing I regret, but kissing you? No. If you're asking if I'm ready to do what you challenged me to do... the answer to that right now is no. I need to know I can control myself enough to protect 'Lissa, you, and the rest of my family. Call me a big softie, but I want you all to be safe, too,” I say, my anger somewhat evaporating. “Still, you need to get back. I asked Nathan to take Melissa home, and I'd appreciate it if you could help her on the way back. She needs to know that her mistake isn't her fault.”

  Andrea nods, and runs her hand through her hair. “I understand. I'm sorry, Carson. I really am.”

  “I know. We'll talk about this later, but I'm sorry, too.”

  Andrea walks back toward the gallery, and I take a moment to watch the riverboat ease around the bend of the river, headed upriver for the evening. I know on board there's people gambling with money, thinking it's all sorts of fun to drop some chips on the felt to see what the next card to come out is. I've done it myself once or twice.

  But tonight the stakes in my own personal gamble just increased, and the odds are looking like they're not in my favor. What am I going to do? I wasn't lying to Andrea. I want the new members of my family to remain safe just as much as Melissa does, and I can't imagine sending them away to take their risks with Peter DeLaCoeur's fury. But in an increasingly dangerous game, I'm worried I'm out of my depth.

  And then there's the game between Andrea and myself. Can I trust her with my intense needs? She seems like the woman who can accept what I demand, and the woman who can be everything I require. She's perfect for me in every other aspect of her life pretty much, so am I just hoping for total perfection as well?

  What the hell am I going to do?

  Chapter 11

  Andrea

  The next morning I wake up early, and I'm still pissed off about last night. Waking up before the sun even rises, I go downstairs, but I'm not all that surprised to see Nathan sitting in the middle of the living room. He's kneeling in the seiza meditative posture, his hands on his thighs, eyes closed. He's not sleeping though, his breath is too measured, and when my foot touches the carpet on the first floor, I can see him adjust himself. He's not so much tense as he is ready and accepting.

  “Good morning, Andrea,” he says softly, his eyes still closed. “I take it you did not sleep well?”

  “You could say that,” I agree, coming to a stop across from him and kneeling down as well. I don't ask how he knew it was me, there's just no reason to bug him with insignificant bullshit like that. “And how goes your meditation? Easier nowadays?”

  “Somewhat,” Nathan admits, his eyes opening slowly. “The past year, I have balanced some of my spiritual debts. It’s still a long way until I sleep peacefully though. I doubt it will ever happen.”

  He studies me for a moment, his green eyes piercing, looking into my heart. It's one of the things I noticed about him before Jackson did, Nathan's ability to read someone's insides as much as their outsides. It's probably his greatest strength, as well as his greatest weakness, since he actually feels bad about all the things he's done. When I thought he was my enemy, I had a very hard time hiding myself from him.

  “You are disturbed about last night still,” he says after a moment. “You feel that you failed in your duty.”

  “I did,” I admit, keeping my shoulders back. Seiza is used by the Japanese as a position for direct speech, for using just your words, and not your body. You can lie, but I try not to, especially when speaking with Nathan like this. It's... disrespectful. “I screwed the pooch.”

  “You've been listening to too many military movies,” Nathan comments with a small smile that pulls on his scarred eye. “The honest truth is we all screwed up. I should not have sat back and stayed by the door, but instead circulated through the crowd during the event. I was too worried that Katrina would not know how to handle such a situation. I misjudged, and pairing off with her took precedence over securing the whole party.”

  “You had reason to,” I protest. “Peter isn't looking for Melissa.”

  “No... he is looking for you,” Nathan replies. “I've spent the evening thinking about that. Maybe this blond man, I doubt his name actually is Victor Orton, maybe he was just an art patron who happens to think Melissa is attractive. But if he wasn't, and you had been with Melissa instead of... elsewhere with Carson, you could have been in serious danger as well.”

  “I'm not as naïve, Nathan. I can handle myself.”

  Nathan cocks the eyebrow on his scarred eye, giving me a look. “You have never endured the training that I have. While you are not completely ignorant, I don’t think you have anything beyond even a beginner's hand-to-hand skill.”

  “And Carson?” I ask, genuinely curious to see what Nathan thinks.

  “A wildcard. The man handles himself well, staying in control most of the time. He’s fit, and I have seen him shoot. I have never seen him fight though,” Nathan says patiently. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he has some training. His devotion to Melissa is admirable.”

  “Some would say fanatical,” I reply, not meaning it. “Some would even say creepy.”

  “They would be wrong. And you know that as well. If he is creepy, so are a lot of people. But you and I both know he is not creepy at all.”

  I nod, still confused and upset. “Still Nathan, I screwed up. He's... he's in my head.”

  “You are in his. Interesting, isn't it? The shoe being on the other foot?” Nathan asks, and it's my turn to smile. “What?”

  “I'm not the only one who's having issues, though. I do believe that Melissa is looking at you fondly, too. Or were those big gray eyes she gave you last night just a matter of your driving skills?”

  Nathan smiles softly, chuckling. “Perhaps. But, Andrea, I have been in this so
rt of situation before. I have dealt with worse. You obviously have not. My advice is to examine your heart, and learn to perhaps build a partial wall.”

  “Not a total one?” I ask, surprised. “I would have thought you'd have built total walls separating your emotions from your actions, considering your past.”

  Nathan nods. “And in the past, I would have told you as much. But when I did that, I forgot right and wrong, and just followed orders. I would have you be better than that, even if it is more difficult.”

  I nod, and bow to him deeply, my head touching the carpet before I sit up. “Thank you, Nathan. If you don't mind, I need some alone time.”

  Nathan returns my bow, although it's not as deep, but he's still respectful. “Of course. I’m going into town later today, to try and find out more about the blond man, but I will be here until breakfast.”

  I get up and leave, heading out to the barn where I do my exercises on my own. I'm just wrapping up when Katrina and Jackson come in, ready for their own work. “You're early.”

  “Couldn't sleep well. Honestly guys, I need to get off the farm for a little bit more today, get my fucking head right,” I say, Jackson giving me a sympathetic look.

  “I heard. I don't blame you, Andi,” he says, pulling off his t-shirt and dusting his hands. “Katrina and I were talking, and BA's up for her six month checkup and polio vaccination. There's a clinic in Paradis that we can take her to, public health, cash on the counter type place. Think you wanna tag along?”

  I think about it, then nod. “Sure. Carson's sticking around the farm today, Nathan'll be here until he goes off to throw sand in Peter's gears again, but I think that sounds great. What time?”

  “We were going to head out around ten,” Katrina says, going over to the ropes hanging from the overhead beam and taking a grip. Almost effortlessly, she starts pulling herself up hand over hand, no feet at all, then walks herself down the same way. “That good?”

  “Great. Let me go check on BA, I'll do breakfast again.”

  “Do you have to?” Jackson asks with a smirk as he starts his trip up the rope. “I'd like to not lose any more weight.”

  “Wiseass.”

  He reaches the top, and looks down, grinning. “The wisest.”

  The clinic is busy and noisy, and I'm reminded of some of the drawbacks of Katrina and Jackson's commitment to living an 'underground' lifestyle.

  “You sure about this place?” I ask as I look around the clinic, hearing three different languages and English that can at best be called low education. “No offense.”

  “The shot's the same whether we get it here or from our doctor in town,” Jackson says patiently, giving me a little smile. He's dressed in his functional wear, loose jeans, lightweight low cut tactical boots and a tank top, a Saints hat on his head to hide his blond hair, but he still looks slightly out of place in the clinic. “But don't worry, Andrea. We don't always do it like this.”

  “Good. Maybe I just need to check my privilege, but I want BA to not grow up so... grubby,” I whisper, looking at two dirt-streaked children who are whining and tugging at their mother's shirt. “God, I sound like a stuck-up bitch.”

  “We all are,” Katrina whispers. Jackson is holding BA and bouncing her on his knee, smiling and entertaining his daughter. “Sometime when this is all finished, you should see our place in Baton Rouge. You'll see how we really live.”

  “Okay. Although to be honest, I'm kinda liking farm life so far. The blankets are nice, and the bed is soft.”

  Katrina chuckles and leans in closer. “And you've got Melissa and Carson nearby. Admit it. I'm not hatin'.”

  I shrug, giving her a little frown. “Nathan says that I need to learn to partially separate my emotions from my actions in some situations.”

  “It helps,” Katrina admits wisely, and I'm reminded of her own struggle to keep her feelings and her work separate. “But it's hard.”

  We go into the exam room, where the physician's assistant gives BA a complete look-over, giving us a slightly surprised but grateful nod when Katrina pulls up her daughter's medical files on her tablet and handing them over. “Sorry, we're new in town, and haven't set up a regular doctor's yet,” she says, pitching her voice to sound like she's from the northeast, maybe Boston or Maine, somewhere like that. “It's so hot down here, I just didn't want to wait, you know?”

  “I understand Mrs. Hart,” the PA says, going off of the fake paperwork Katrina'd filled out. “Well, your daughter is in perfect health, and her shots are up to date. I'd encourage you to find a normal primary care physician before she gets much older however, it'll be easier than carting around her medical history on your tablet.”

  “Ayup,” Katrina says, a sound that I think means 'yes,' but sounds strange coming from her mouth, “We'll be looking for a good doc soon enough. Much obliged, Doc.”

  Jackson pays at the front while Katrina gets BA into her clothes, and the PA leaves. “How'd you do that?” I ask, trying not to laugh. “And how many can you do?”

  “I've got about four or five that I can do well, outside of degrees of Louisiana Southern,” Katrina says in her normal voice, smirking. “There's that one, I can do a decent California girl, a flat kind of Midwest, a slight French, and then I can do a decent Celtic. Not good enough to fool a native of those areas, but around here it works well enough.”

  I shake my head, chuckling. “I've got to work on that. All I can do is normal English or Japanese.”

  “Go for Engrish,” Katrina says jokingly, scooping up BA in her arms. BA squirms, yanking on Katrina's hair, until Katrina gives up. “Okay, okay, I got you. Mommy's too pointy. Who do you want to go to?”

  BA reaches out with a tiny little fist for me, her beautiful blue eyes beseeching me, and I chuckle, holding my hands out. “You know, you're going to make your Mommy mad at me,” I mock-grumble. “She's going to think you wanna hang out with your aunt instead of with her all the time.”

  “Well, you are cooler than Mommy,” Katrina laughs, handing BA over. The tiny little baby is warm and soft in my arms, and I love holding her. She's got her mother's hair, but the DeLaCoeur blue eyes, and is truly a little angel. It's part of the reason I like calling her BA too, not for Baby Andrea but Baby Angel. “Mommy's too sweaty and sticky half the time.”

  We leave the exam room and meet Jackson up front, who's finished with the paperwork. “You guys ready?”

  “Let's go,” I say, bouncing BA in my arms. She giggles then squirms, looking for her Daddy. “Nope little girl, you're going to stay with me until we get to the van. Come on, it's only a minute or so.”

  We step out into the muggy noon sunlight, heading toward the van. We're nearly there when suddenly a deep thunk sound comes from the van, and I see two black handles sticking out of the side paneling, a mere foot from me.

  “I didn't have to miss,” a educated and accented voice says, stepping from behind a truck nearby. “I could have killed you, but my employer wants the little baby unharmed. And you alive, if possible.”

  Katrina reacts immediately, diving in between the van and the car next to it while Jackson pulls me and BA behind him. The man is about Jackson's height, and at first glance you'd think they're related somehow, with white-blond hair and blue eyes. However, where Jackson is personable, sometimes goofy, and still pretty much an overgrown kid, this man... he's cold. The man’s entire outfit is white, almost blindingly so in the sunlight, but it's all dressy formal pieces. I can just make out the darkness of some ink on his skin under his shirt. He's heavily tattooed, but I can't make any of it out.

  Worst of all though, the man's grin is creepy, like he's entertained as he pulls another knife from the black nylon sheath on his forearm. “I wouldn't move if I were you, Andrea. You move for the van, and I put this in your brother's left eye. Now hand me the baby.”

  “Just try it, you sick fuck,” Jackson says, his voice low. He's keeping his body between the man and me, intentionally spreading his shoulders out to give m
e maximum protection. “You picked the wrong fight, and the wrong weapons for sure.”

  “Perhaps,” he says, and I hear a hint of accent in his voice, and I realize from talking with Carson and Melissa last night who we're fighting. It's Victor Orton. “But perhaps you are the one who has picked the wrong fight.”

  His hand moves nearly too fast for me to see, and a back window of the van shatters. Jackson goes to make a step forward, but Orton's got another knife in his hand already, head cocked, his smile never faltering. “Come on, Son of the Don. He doesn't really care if I deliver you dead or alive. Just the baby, and your sister.”

  There's movement to our left, Orton's right, and Katrina emerges from between two cars. She's got a car radio antenna in her hand that she whips down, catching Orton in the forearm. He drops his knife, dropping and rolling away as Katrina tries to follow up. Jackson moves quickly as well while I back up, going to the door of the van and opening it, putting BA inside her car seat and jumping up front. There's no time to worry about buckling her in, but it's a deep seat, she'll be safe for a little bit.

  We're lucky I have a set of keys to the van and I jam them in, revving the engine. I look behind me and put the van in reverse, pulling out and pointing the van toward Orton, who's throwing another knife at Katrina. Her speed is nearly as fast as his, and she's able to dodge, while Jackson tries to close the distance. He sees me coming though and dodges out of the way, jumping toward Katrina. I get in between them all, Orton on my left with Katrina and Jackson on the opposite side. “Get in!”

  Orton's pulling yet another knife as Jackson and Katrina jump in, and I throw the van into drive, jamming my foot down on the gas as soon I hear Jackson's body thump on the floorboards. We peel out, Katrina leaning over to jerk the door closed. Just before we reach the end of the parking lot another two thumps hit the back of the van and another back window explodes, causing me to scream as I hang a right. I have no fucking clue where I'm going, as long as it's out of there.