“None. Yeah. Yep. I do. I will. I know.” Then, more irritated, “Despite what you think, dickhead, I didn’t fall off the back of a fuckin’ turnip truck!”
Then, just to bake my brain completely, he breaks into a grin. “Okay, man. Will do. Good talk, brother.” He ends the call and looks at me.
After a while, I manage to speak. “What the hell was that all about?”
Ryan shrugs. “He doesn’t like me much, but we’re workin’ it out.”
I stare at him in blank disbelief, all the cogs of my brain frozen.
“Okay, look. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not perfect. Don’t make that face, it’s true. I’m fuckin’ stubborn, and I’ve got a hair-trigger temper. I curse too much, I don’t exactly have finishing school manners, and I can be overbearing. And overconfident. And a bunch of other unflatterin’ words that start with ‘over.’ I’m also opinionated, sarcastic, easily frustrated, more than a little conceited—”
“This is quite the list,” I say.
“I could go on for days. My point is that I’m aware of my shortcomings. Because I know I’m not perfect, I don’t expect other people to be perfect, either. The only thing I demand from anyone—whether they like me or not—is that they’re real. Whatever and whoever they are, they own it. They don’t make fuckin’ excuses. I hate excuses.”
When it becomes evident he’s done speaking, I venture a hesitant, “Okay?”
“Reynard is worried about you. More worried about you than he is about himself, which I dig. Means he loves you, which is good, ’cause I know you love him. So no matter how much he doesn’t like me, I’m gonna respect him because he’s bein’ real with me. Understand?”
I squint at him, hoping it might make things clearer. “Um…”
Ryan reaches out and gathers me in his arms. He lifts my chin with a knuckle so I’m forced to meet his level, serious gaze. “Chalk it up to another one of those things about me you’ll eventually understand. The more important update here is that you told him you decided to trust me.”
He waits for me to answer, his eyes glowing bright blue with emotion, like a pair of sapphires held up to the sun.
I flatten my hands over his chest, loving how hard it is, how wide and warm, how his heart thumps strong and steady beneath his sternum like it’s confident it will never fail. I run through a dozen different explanations in my mind before distilling my decision down to its essence.
“You’re worth the risk.”
For this, I’m rewarded by the sight of a big, badass Marine getting all choked up.
“Angel.”
His voice is raw. His eyes glimmer. He wears the euphoric expression of someone who’s just been granted his dying wish.
This is how I know my gut is on the right track, even if my brain is trying to stomp on the emergency brakes. I smile at him and stand on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the lips.
“I keep telling you my name is Mariana.”
“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “But you’re my angel, so that’s what you’re gonna get called.”
Now I’m the one getting choked up. “I’m no angel, Ryan. I’m trouble with a capital T. You have to know that. However this all turns out with the diamond…I’m no good.”
“You’re not trouble, you’re in trouble. Two different things.”
“I’m a fugitive from the law.”
Unimpressed with my evidence, he lifts a shoulder. “The law’s overrated.”
My brows arch. For a smart man, he’s utterly failing to grasp the general concept of our predicament. “Is prison overrated? Because if I’m caught—”
“I’m gonna take care of that.”
Examining his face gives me no clue as to what he could possibly mean, so I prod an explanation. “‘That’ being…”
“Your record. The rap sheet of one nameless, international thief known as the Dragonfly. That’s all gonna go away.”
Because my brain is incapable of directing any of my bodily functions in the aftermath of that outrageous statement, my mouth falls open and expels a small, astonished breath on its own. It takes every ounce of focus and determination I have to form a coherent sentence, and even then, it’s only three sputtered words.
“Th-that’s not p-possible!”
In his supremely casual, confident, infuriatingly-vague-yet-dripping-with-overt-sexual-innuendo-Ryan-like way, he drawls, “You just worry about how you’re gonna show your gratitude when your man’s done fixin’ all your shit that’s broke, okay?”
He kisses the tip of my nose and makes a move to turn away, but I grip his biceps and give him a hard shake, which fails to move him even a single inch. This time it’s his brows that arch.
“Stop it! Just stop with the random, over-the-top, incomprehensible pronouncements! How are you going to fix it?”
He produces a dazzling smile that, if it showed up on anyone else’s face but his, would inspire me to commit homicide.
“That’s what heroes do, baby. We save the motherfuckin’ day.”
When it becomes apparent that that’s his idea of a reasonable explanation, I say between gritted teeth, “I will kill you where you stand.”
“Damn, you’re gorgeous when you’re angry.”
I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath while mentally adding another few choice words to his list of faults.
“Ryan. Please. This is my future we’re talking about. My life. No more jokes. Tell me.”
He strokes the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone, following its path with his gaze. “I made a deal with the FBI to get the charges against you dropped. I’m gonna give ’em somethin’ they want a lot more than a jewel thief.”
My heart slams against my breastbone, sending my pulse flying, my blood roaring through my veins. The FBI? A deal? He can’t be serious. He can’t possibly be speaking the truth.
“What are you going to give them?” I manage to ask past the roaring in my ears.
The wolf slips back into Ryan’s eyes and is there in the growl in his voice when he answers.
“A monster.”
Twenty
Ryan
Mariana stares at me, breathless, speechless, her eyes wide and her face bone pale. For a while, I’m not sure if she’s happy or angry, but then she releases my arms, stumbles backward, and drops heavily into a chair.
Gazing up at me like I just arrived from outer space, she breathes, “Capo?”
“Yeah. Vincent Moreno, aka Capo, head of the European crime syndicate, head of a transnational human and drug trafficking organization, head of a big fuckin’ violent snake that specializes in suffering and exploitation. Your boss.”
“My jailor,” she corrects vehemently. “My master. The man who holds my leash!”
I force myself not to react to the image those words invoke of Mariana on her knees, the man from the limousine with the dead eyes gripping the chain to the choke collar around her neck. But rage has a way of making itself known in spite of all efforts to contain it. In this case, it’s the flush of heat climbing my neck that gives me away.
She glances at my throat and sniffs in disapproval. “If all it takes are those few words to get you mad, you’ll never be able to take him down. He’s a siphon for negative emotions. He’ll feed off anything—anger, fear, shame, doubt—grow stronger from it, and turn it around and use it against you.”
The heat on my neck flames hotter. “There you go underestimating me again.”
Mariana looks into my eyes. Her shock has vanished. Now she’s simply practical, all business, her tone as flat as her expression.
“Put your ego aside, cowboy. That wasn’t an attack on your manhood. It was the truth, gained from years of experience earned the hard way. If you’re even a little bit serious about getting close to him, you’re going to have to do it surgically, methodically, without an ounce of feeling to mar your perspective. And even then, you probably won’t be able to pull it off.”
Does this woman have no idea that she can crush me with her words? “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” I snap.
She shakes her head, annoyed with me. “This isn’t a street thug we’re talking about. Vincent Moreno is a psychopath with hyperactive paranoia and a genius-level IQ. He’s filthy rich, vastly powerful, and extremely connected. Everyone who’s anyone in the crime world owes him favors. He’s a god among bastard kings.”
Her voice grows softer. “And he owns me.”
“Not for long!” I growl.
She shakes her head again. “You don’t understand what I’m saying.”
“Then make it fuckin’ clearer!”
After a frigid beat, she speaks. “Number one: use that tone with me again and you’ll be missing a cherished body part. I won’t make it painless. Number two: I’m Capo’s favored pet. I can go places you can’t. Whatever your plan to get to him is, it has to include me.”
This entire conversation has veered off into unexpected and extremely unwelcome territory. I stare at Mariana, my blood boiling like a cauldron of poisonous witches’ brew in my veins. Quietly, with deliberate enunciation, I say, “That is out of the fuckin’ question.”