Slaying It Page 7

  Ethan glanced at Merit. “Sentinel, you’ll talk to Luc?”

  “I’ll head downstairs right now,” she said, and brushed her fingers against his as she moved, with a slight waddle, toward the door.

  Ethan nodded, then looked at Malik. “I apologize for dropping the negotiations on you again.”

  “It’s my pleasure entirely,” Malik said. “You know I love a good contract.”

  “That’s why you’re my Second. I’ll call your grandfather,” he said to Merit, “while you coordinate with the Ops Rooms.”

  “I’ll head back to my office,” Malik said, giving Jonah an appraising look. “And you can meet me there when you’re ready.”

  Margot wasn’t sure if Jonah had heard him, as he was staring at her.

  “Just a minute, please,” Jonah said.

  “Of course,” Malik said. Margot assumed he left the room, but didn’t see, because she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from Jonah’s. And when he walked toward her, stride as intense and purposefully as his expression, she couldn’t seem to move, either.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Okay,” she said, and headed back to the front of the House. The kitchen and dining room would be full of vampires, as would the front parlor. But there was a quiet spot near the back staircase where they could chat without being interrupted.

  She moved to the spot, turned to face him. And he was close enough that she had to look up to meet his eyes.

  “This could be dangerous,” he said. “He’ll probably get really pissed when he figures out he’s been set up. He could try to hurt you, and you aren’t trained—not at combat, anyway—to get out of that situation. I just want you to understand the risk. To be aware of it.”

  Margot lifted her chin. This was her chance, and he wasn’t going to take that away from her. “I’m going to do this because he’s using me to get to my friends. And I won’t allow that. I need to do it. When he’s taken down, I need him to know that I was part of it. That I’m stronger than he thinks. And I know everyone will have my back.”

  Jonah looked at her for a long, quiet moment that stretched like pulled candy, then nodded. “Okay, then.”

  Margot blinked. “What do you mean ‘Okay, then’? That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  His eyes went dark, and they focused on her with such precision she thought they might drill through to her soul. “What did you expect me to say?”

  “I don’t know. That I’m being stupid and you’re going to tell Ethan not to let me help.”

  In a flash, the heat in his eyes went cold, like deep and fractured ice. “You aren’t stupid, Margot. You’re anything but. You’re resilient and strong and creative and sexy, which is entirely off topic.” He shook his head as if to get himself back on track. “I don’t think you should do it because it’s dangerous, because I’d rather you not take the risk. But it’s your call, not mine. It’s your decision to make. And if that’s your decision, then I’ll support it. Because I know you can do it.”

  For a full minute, she just stared at him, at a complete loss for words. He trusted her. He believed in her. And even though he thought it was dangerous, he accepted it was her choice and would support her.

  He believed she could do it. That baffled and amazed and thrilled her. This wasn’t codependence. This wasn’t control. This was trust and respect. This was . . . sexy as hell.

  “Okay,” she said again, and she found she had trouble pushing the word past the emotions that clogged her throat.

  She wasn’t sure what he saw in her eyes, but there was something in his. Something a little bit victorious, that had her wondering what emotions were written on her face.

  “Okay,” she said one more time, and gave him a nod. And wondered what she was agreeing to—and was thrilled by it.

  “Okay,” he said, and there was a definite gleam in his eyes. “Let’s get to work.”

  11

  I could tell Margot was nervous. She kept clenching and unclenching her hands, wiping them on the apron we suggested she wear—it would look like she’d just taken a break from work to talk to Rowan, and she could keep a knife in the pocket. I doubted she’d need it and knew she wasn’t trained, but I think we all felt better knowing she had the option.

  And yet, for all that, there was something bright in her eyes. An excitement I hadn’t seen in a long time.

  Ethan, me, Catcher, and my grandfather were stationed in Ethan’s office, watching the front lawn via the video surveillance feed. The Ombuddies’ rather obvious white van was parked in the underground lot so it wouldn’t give anyone away. Kelley and Lindsey were positioned outside, and we’d cleared all but a few vampires from the first floor so the House didn’t seem suspiciously quiet. Jonah and Luc waited in the second parlor.

  We were hoping to get Rowan into the second parlor, where he’d be physically contained. Margot would wait for him, and I’d walk through the foyer and say hello. If we were lucky, he’d make a move on me, and we’d make the case against him even stronger.

  Rowan was five minutes late when Brock, another guard, sent the alert that Rowan was walking toward the gate. He wore slacks and a button-down shirt, and he carried a bouquet of flowers and a drink carrier with two cups. At least he hadn’t lied about bringing the coffee.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  More than a dozen men swarmed through the gate, more than the guards posted there could handle, and they surrounded Rowan before he made it to the portico.

  The beating began immediately.

  “Shit!” Luc said, and we ran for the foyer, found Margot already opening the front door. I grabbed her arm before she could leave the portico. “Stay here,” I said, and followed Ethan down the stairs.

  Ethan drew his sword and strode forward, pointing it at the crowd of men who surrounded Rowan. “You’re on Cadogan property!” he said. “Put the weapons down and step back.”

  “We ain’t afraid of swords,” said one of the men.

  “Okay,” Catcher said, stepping beside me, gun drawn. “How about nine millimeters?”

  The man who held Rowan dropped him, took a step back. But their weapons stayed raised.

  Another man walked through the gate. He had pale skin, short gray hair, and the chiseled good looks of a corporate manager. He was lean as a runner and wore a collared shirt with jeans and what I guessed were expensive running shoes. His smartwatch and wedding ring were his only accessories.

  “Corbin.” My grandfather’s voice was clear, authoritative, and it echoed across the yard as he came down the sidewalk behind us, cane in hand.

  “Corbin McClelland,” Brock whispered through the comm earpiece. “He controls a lot of the racketeering on the South Side.”

  So the mob had found their man. And who had dibs?

  “Mr. Merit, I presume.” Corbin looked at my grandfather, then the rest of us.

  “Do we have a problem here?” my grandfather asked.

  “We have this rat bastard or what’s left of him. And he’s mine.”

  My grandfather looked down at Rowan, bruises already blossoming on his face. My grandfather’s expression was perfectly bland. “I’ll agree on the rat bastard, but I can’t agree that he’s yours.”

  “We have a business arrangement he hasn’t yet made good on,” Corbin said, voice tight with anger.

  “I’m aware,” my grandfather said. “And I believe we can make a deal.”

  Corbin’s gaze lifted, narrowed. “A deal for what?”

  My grandfather pulled out the notebook. “He kept records of his debts. With names.” He flipped the notebook open to a seemingly random page, showed it to McClelland. “And this isn’t the only copy, of course. You forget his debt and your interest in him. And in return, I don’t give this notebook to Vice.”

  I wasn’t the only one whose eyes widened at
the offer. My grandfather was going to deal with these guys?

  “You, a cop, are willing to lose evidence for this piece of garbage?”

  “Oh, not for him,” my grandfather said. “For my granddaughter and her husband. It would be easier all around if this entire matter was put to bed. He has a certain connection to the House they’d rather forget about.”

  McClelland’s advisor stepped forward, whispered in his ear. A long pause later, he looked at my grandfather. “I’m willing to, let’s say, push pause on the debt while he’s in prison. Once he’s out, the clock starts over.”

  “Deal,” my grandfather said, and they shook on it. “Have a pleasant evening, Corbin.”

  We waited in silence while they walked back through the gate again, and the cars rolled down the street.

  “Is he worth the loss of the evidence?” Ethan asked. “The possibility of bringing down the mob?”

  “Oh, definitely not,” my grandfather said. “But the notebook doesn’t actually name any names, just amounts.” He looked at us, grinned. “It wouldn’t be worth anything to Vice. McClelland doesn’t need to know that, of course, and I suspect Rowan will keep his mouth shut about it.”

  Ethan’s grin spread slowly. “You just conned the mob.”

  “I did. Sorry I didn’t mention it beforehand,” he said, giving me an apologetic look, then patting my hand for good measure. “I thought it would be easier if I was the only one who had to stretch the truth just a smidge.”

  “We are in your debt,” Ethan said. “Margot will rest easier this way.”

  “I hope so,” my grandfather said. “I believe she deserves a break.”

  “She deserves more than that,” Jonah said. “Can I have a minute with him?”

  Catcher and my grandfather shared a glance, and my grandfather nodded. “I imagine you have things to say.”

  “I do,” Jonah agreed, and strode forward, crouched in front of Rowan Cleary.

  12

  It took every ounce of Jonah’s impressive control to crouch beside the piece of garbage masquerading as a man and keep his hands to himself.

  Rowan looked like shit. Eye bruised, lip cut, nose probably broken. Jonah didn’t care much about that; Rowan was a vampire. He’d heal. But there were boundaries that needed to be set. And Jonah decided he’d make sure that happened.

  “I’m a friend of Margot’s,” Jonah said, and Rowan’s gaze flicked up to him, still full of arrogance.

  “I don’t know the complete story of what you did to her,” Jonah continued, “but I can glean enough of the details to believe you deserve every inch of the beating these men obviously want to give you.”

  Jonah could see the challenge in Rowan’s eyes, the desire to argue. Jonah welcomed it. A fight would have felt better. He’d have loved an opportunity to show this parasite how it felt to be bruised and defenseless, to give back some of the pain he’d no doubt inflicted on others during his miserable life. But Jonah was a man of honor, and he wouldn’t stoop to beating a man who was already down.

  But he wouldn’t be down forever . . .

  Jonah leaned over Rowan, tugged him up by his shirt. Rowan’s eyes fluttered, went hard.

  “Here’s one last lesson for you, Cleary. If you so much as think about contacting her again, I’ll know it. And I will put you in the sun myself and dance around your ashes.”

  He dropped Cleary again, enjoyed the thud his head made against the sidewalk, then stepped around him. “All yours,” he said to Catcher, and walked into the grass.

  * * *

  * * *

  Jonah looked like a warrior battling for control. He strode into the shadowed yard, and it took Margot only a moment to follow him.

  She found him pacing back and forth, hands linked behind his head. The air was thick with magic.

  He was working off his anger, she realized, because he hadn’t used it on Rowan.

  “Jonah.” The word was barely a whisper. It was all she could manage.

  But it had been loud enough. He stopped, his body obviously tensed, and glanced back over his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He lowered his arms, turned to face her. “For what?”

  Margot gathered her courage. “For helping me. And for whatever you said to him. You didn’t have to do that, any of it, especially after I . . . Anyway, thank you.”

  He didn’t speak, but nodded once, his eyes trained on hers.

  He wouldn’t move, she knew. She’d set a boundary, and he respected it, and he wouldn’t be the one to breach that trust.

  But she didn’t want to hold back any longer. So she’d make the move herself. She strode toward him, and because that wasn’t fast enough, she ran the last few feet.

  Jonah’s eyes darkened, went hot and possessive as she launched herself toward him. And he met her with open arms, then wrapped his arms around her and held her body, warm and lush, against his.

  Their bodies fit perfectly together. And when she lifted her mouth to his, when he met her kiss with passion and desire, they realized the rest of them fit, too.

  * * *

  * * *

  They were holding hands when they walked back to the door, Margot marveling at the hope that was blossoming in her belly. Hope and excitement and a nice, healthy dose of lust that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Rowan and the Ombuddies were gone, and the Cadogan vampires were debriefing about the operation.

  Merit saw them first and smiled, and when Ethan did the same, she assumed Merit had given him a silent message. It was a sneaky way to gossip. And a good one.

  “You’re both all right?” Ethan asked, and there were warmth and amusement in his eyes.

  Jonah looked at Margot, waited for her to answer. “We’re fine,” she said, and squeezed his hand. “More than fine.”

  “We’re all glad to hear it,” Ethan said, and glanced back at his wife.

  Her eyes, Margot saw, had gone wide, and her lips were pursed in what looked like pain.

  “Crap,” Merit said. She put a hand to her belly, eyebrows furrowed, her face a mask of careful concentration. “It’s time.”

  “For what?” Ethan asked.

  “For the birth of your child.”

  Joy and fear shifted across his face like shadows and sunlight. “Now?”

  “Now—owwwwww,” she said, bending as she reached out to grab Ethan’s arm, digging white-knuckled fingers into his skin. “I know we said no drugs, but maybe just a few drugs. Oww, son of a filthy mongrel.”

  She looked up, managed a half smile at Margot. “Sorry to break up the . . . whatsit.”

  Margot was too excited for regret. She grinned at Merit, then smiled at Jonah. “We’ve got plenty of time for the whatsit. Let’s go meet the baby.”

  Epilogue

  “Drugs,” I said, when we were in the hospital suite we’d reserved, and I’d grabbed two fistfuls of Delia’s scrubs. “Please some drugs.”

  “No drugs,” Delia said, voice as bland as it might have been if I’d asked about the weather.

  A contraction rolled again, and it felt like my body would simply collapse in on itself like a neutron star.

  “Drugs or I will stake you,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut against the onslaught.

  “No, you won’t,” Delia said. “I’ll be back in an hour. But you can page me if you need me in the meantime.”

  I waited until she was gone, then grabbed the mug from the table and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thud, then bounced to the floor, totally harmlessly.

  “Goddamn plastic,” I huffed through gritted teeth. “It’s a conspiracy.”

  “It’s not a conspiracy,” Ethan said, pressing a cold cloth to my forehead. “Just unsatisfying.”

  The door burst open and Mallory walked in. “Merit! Are you all right
? We came as soon as we heard you were here. And finished lunch, because we figured it would be a while.”

  I growled at her, showing fang.

  She glanced at Ethan. “So, as expected?”

  “Labor appears to make her grouchy,” he said mildly.

  “I hate everyone.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said, and edged onto the side of the bed, offered her hand.

  I took it, squeezed hard. “Drugs,” I said. “When it’s your turn in here, get the damn drugs.”

  * * *

  * * *

  A dozen hours passed, and the parade of friends and family and supernaturals continued.

  Gabriel Keene, head of the North American Central Pack of shape-shifters, came in with his wife, Tanya, and their son, Connor.

  In his human form, Gabe was tall and broad-shouldered, with tawny, sun-kissed hair and eyes of gleaming amber. He was ruggedly handsome and quite a foil for Tanya’s delicacy. She carried Connor, who was nearly three and clutched a plastic giraffe tightly in his tiny fist. He was a beautiful little boy, with dark curls that must have come from Tanya’s side of the family and eyes as blue as the summer sky.

  “How are you, Kitten?” Gabriel asked.

  “In pain,” I said. “Really, really severe pain. Do you want to fight me? That might be less painful. I have a knife.” I gestured to the plastic utensil on the tray a nurse had brought in a few hours ago.

  “No, Kitten,” he said with a smile. “I don’t want to fight, interesting as that offer is. We brought you a present. Well, we brought Baby Kitten a present.”

  As my fingers were wrapped tightly around the bed’s railing, he pulled the item out of the pink gift bag.

  It was a tiny plastic katana, just the right size for a little girl to play with.

  “It’s really sweet,” I said, tears suddenly streaming down my face for no apparent reason. Other than hormones, pain, and exhaustion. “Thank you.”