Take Down: Kiwi Falls, #1

By Carol Tate

Glitz, Glamour, and Deadly Decisions
Every decision has a consequence. 

Some can be deadly...
 
Lily Cartwright has been trained to obey and protect her criminal father, but deep inside, her anger grows. The chains of duty shatter when she learns of her father's plans to marry her to a sociopathic killer. Now she must decide just how far she's willing to go for freedom and justice. 

Jason Jae protects life; he instinctively steps up to save an abused waitress in a high-end night club, unaware her father controls the local crime syndicate and she's in far more danger than meets the eye. In a fleeting moment, they see through the glamour and form a connection they cannot break, unleashing a storm of desires.

The last thing Jason's family expects is for the quiet conservationist to protect a dangerous criminal runaway. Now Jason has to convince everyone, including Lily, that she's worth saving. But can he do it before the death toll rises?    

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carol Tate
• Release date: Dec 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393571353

Carol Tate

Carol Tate is the author of Heartbeat, and Take Down and has a Diploma in Applied Writing.  Living in Canterbury, New Zealand, she has four cats, three children, one dog, and dozens of stories to write. Her sister calls her crazy, she agrees. Her father always said she was a thrill-seeker growing up, action movies, speedway, racing, she enjoyed it all. So it shouldn't be a surprise that when told to challenge her characters, things became deadly dangerous. She still enjoys a good action movie or a day at the motorsport, but also enjoys a quiet life reading, raising children, writing and traveling. She refuses to shy from dark topics, lives with a rare disease, and yet remains positive that happily ever after does exist. Carol welcomes comments and feedback and would love to connect with you via her Website - www.caroltate.co.nz, Facebook - @Carol Tate - Kiwi Falls Series or Instagram - @catate_author.

Book preview

Chapter One

November

Friday, November 22, 2:00 a.m., Club Rush, Christchurch

THE SHARP STEEL BENEATH Lily’s leather jacket rested an inch from her hand, she could kill him, he’d never allowed her this close before. Richard considered her a girl to conquer and fuck, probably torture too. Father used her to gain information. ‘A female’s only good for one thing.’ One day I’ll show them the truth.

Sterile white walls stretched out broken by nondescript gray doors. Secure; authorized personnel only, and they were alone except for his two guards. She placed her back to the wall, keeping everyone in sight. Bent leg, toe to the floor. Casual. Warm smile. Rehearsed friendliness. Flirtatiousness even. Why did Kyle let Richard in here?

What a surprise. You know you’re not allowed back here unescorted, Lily said, her hands itching to draw her weapons. Mind at a code red alert. Imagining Richard bleeding out was the only way she suffered this sick charade. He was a real psychopathic murderer.

I wanted to catch you before seeing your father to finalize a business agreement. Richard’s gaze slid slowly down her body like toxic ice.

You should’ve called – I would’ve met you at the bar. Father will hate us being alone.

Richard moved forward and her skin retreated. His slicked-back hair, tailored suits and charm hid a deadly spider spinning a diamond-encrusted web, ensnaring victims before they realized. She played this game too, only better. She would destroy him.

Richard said softly, I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy twenty-first. A unique number. As for your father... He paused.

You know Father’s response the last time I showed an interest in someone.

Where the fuck is Flint? For once she wanted her babysitter bodyguard and he wasn’t here. Pulse tempo increased. Richard’s desire for her was no secret. Father even ordered her to flirt with Richard to keep his interest. Instinctively she touched the handle of her dagger through her clothing as Richard stepped into the space formed by her bent leg.

One hand trailing along her arm, he leaned close to whisper in her ear, his body brushing against hers, pinning her hand between them. You’re a beautiful woman who deserves more than waiting tables. That boy was nothing. I can protect you and give you things he never could.

Cold rage flared inside her at the dismissal of Ryan. Richard’s hand skimmed her thigh, his eyes following the motion. Lily calculated the time required to stop him permanently and incapacitate his guards. Here was a perfect opportunity.

Flint isn’t far behind me, not to mention the cameras. Lily angled her head toward the ceiling. Black cameras with flashing red lights caught everything. No blind spots. Where in the hell is Flint?

Your father knows my intentions—even approves as long as I waited until today. Richard raised her hand to place a kiss across her knuckles.

Acid rose in her throat, his aftershave stinging her lungs. Father approved what? Since when?

You’re in for an extraordinary celebration tonight. He brushed a hand down the side of Lily’s cheek.

The urge to fight infused her cells. She glanced sideways at her watch with a smile. I look forward to it then. However, I have an urgent task to complete before I finish and get some much-needed sleep. Shall we continue this later?

He moved closer to kiss her cheek and she inhaled slowly, centering herself. Why hasn’t Father stopped this?

Richard’s hand slid toward her neck, and Lily flinched backward, her head hitting the wall. Ingrained training reflex, she smiled and lowered her eyes to appear unsure and surprised. She used the act of flirting to hide her reaction.

Don’t be scared. I promise. I’ll look after you.

Lily flicked her eyes at the outward-facing bodyguards.

Ignore them—they won’t interrupt.

A shiver rippled down her spine.

Disgust and fear trailed Richard’s hands. She forced an even heart rate as he nuzzled her neck; she raised a hand to his shoulder, preparing to push him away. Come on, Flint. I’m going to kill him.

Richard’s body sandwiched her against the wall. Lily didn’t fear much, but she’d choose any dark place over Richard. A vision of a yellow dress stained with blood flashed across Lily’s mind.

A shove to his shoulder, a slip of her hand; her dagger slashed into him at groin height, the blade sliding outward across his stomach. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

Bitch! The monster surfaced, anger contorting charm into evil. Blood spilled between Richard’s fingers, streaking the wall where he struggled to stay standing.

The guards whirled, one rushing for her, one to Richard. Silver flashed in Richard’s other hand, and she dodged and tackled the oncoming bodyguard sending him flying over her shoulder. Sirens wailed out a security breach. Shots fired, plastic paneling shattered, and plaster burst from the wall near her head. A roundhouse kick knocked the gun from the second bodyguard. Breaking his hand.

I want her alive, Richard bellowed from the floor, red smearing the ground, sweat beading on his forehead.

Never, she said, drawing her second blade as the bodyguards lunged.

She went low, rotating, and sliced across thighs and arms, and then she twisted to terminate Richard, eager to slice his neck open in a fatal wound.

Stop! Gunshot reverberated, competing with the screech of sirens.

Lily gazed back to find one of their security—the guards with hidden guns—rushing down the hallway, his weapon drawn. A bodyguard fell from a gunshot to the chest. Her blades slipped out of sight. She moved away from the remaining guard, noting Richard, close to death but not quite there. He must be finished but not by her.

He attacked me, she cried out in false fear, higher-pitched, damsel in distress.

The guard was new, recently promoted. A black tee taut across a broad chest half covered by the black-and-gold, club-issued blazer, his firearm aimed steadily on Richard as he waved her behind him. Perfect response; he didn’t falter at the carnage but moved to protect her. The club employed two types: the genuine personnel, and the secondary employees who masqueraded as such.

However, not even the secondary employees knew her as anything more than the boss’s daughter. Father presented a dismissive attitude toward females. If everyone discounted her, she became the perfect weapon. Or so he tells me.

Get to a safe room—I’ve got this.

Lily ran. Made the mistake of a backward glance. An explosion of red across the white wall as the sound of the gunshot reverberated down the hallway and rattled her bones. She slammed through a doorway, knowing the red on white was a permanent memory, as the second bodyguard slumped. Another gunshot echoed before the door silenced all but the alarm. Every death she’d witnessed played with crystal clarity in her nightmares. Criminals or not; it was the ones with families, those who cared, who ended up dead—never the genuinely evil.

Until now.

Richard was dead, and his death she’d never regret.

Her heart pummeled her lungs, her hands itched, and her mouth dehydrated. She hated death. Hated remembering her worst nightmare.

Focus. I can never care or show conflict.

A burst of gunfire and screams jolted her into action. She ran. I must get to Father. Now.

Palms slapped open another door that led to the stairs. Father must be kept safe—it was her job. Time both stood still and raced. She performed a forward roll as an arm swung toward her at the second-floor landing; she came up on her feet into a sprint, not even aware if they were friend or foe.

On the third floor, a dead security guard. She raced past, her feet now tracking red footprints from the blood-soaked carpet. Metallic air. The darkened hall, eerily quiet with its dead, the only sound adrenaline-laced blood surging in her head. Palms stung when they slammed Father’s outer office door.

The receptionist’s throat was slit, her head tilted back, presenting a grim blood and bone smile. Lily stopped, shocked. Marge, a sweet grandmother, who’d taken this job because the hours allowed her to look after her grandchildren during the day.

Don’t care. Don’t you dare care.

Lily pivoted and unlocked the office door. The room was spotless. No blood. No struggle. Dark wood paneling lined Father’s office, the carpet a deep red, and one entire wall of glass overlooked the club below. Father wasn’t on the black leather couches viewing his domain or at the solid, wooden desk occupying the other half of the room, its immaculately polished surface holding neat stacks of paper next to a closed laptop.

There would be nothing except legal club business in either paperwork or computer. Lily hit the hidden button for the safe room. No-one. Where was Father?

Spinning around, she took off, searching rooms. The third floor was empty save for two dead. She hit the stairs taking two at a time back to the ground floor. Sirens ceased and silence surrounded her.

Her twin, Kyle, met her at the bottom of the stairwell. Blood dripped from him. How much is his? Irrelevant.

Secure?

No. Marge’s throat is slit, and the office is clear. Lily swallowed hard at the memory of the secretary who always smiled. No emotions. They could never escape again. She refused to care.

Get this place clean, Kyle ordered. Three dead first floor—one at the front door, two at the back, plus Richard’s two guards in the back hall.

We must find Father.

We have to clean the place before the club opens tonight! Kyle gripped her arm tightly. I don’t know what you did, but your timing sucks.

Who said I did anything?

Kyle’s cold eyes drilled into her. Created a desire to squirm, but she held her ground. Remembered who won their fights and wouldn’t let him dominate her. Kyle moved fast; she swiveled and countered his movement, her blade holding his at bay, his hand tight on her triceps, hers on his throat. A standoff, unless she hurt him.

I gutted Richard. She twisted free; her chin raised.

You’ve fucked up the plan.

He should have been killed long ago. Mission complete.

Richard’s men stormed the place.

She recalled that flash of silver in Richard’s hand. An alarm? But why post extra men outside? He usually traveled with only two bodyguards to keep a low profile.

Kyle’s phone beeped and he scanned the message. His face cemented. Richard’s alive. Father’s with him. Clean the club.

Shock filled her; no way could Richard have escaped alive. He’d been in the most secure place in the club. I heard two shots.

Screw the club. We need to find Father. Something isn’t right. The only way for Richard to survive was if their guard failed to shoot him.

Kyle thrust the phone forward. The message from Father featured a code meaning Father wasn’t under duress.

Father’s orders. Now clean up your fuckin’ mess.

Chapter Two

Friday, November 22, 5:30 p.m., Dale Hotel, Christchurch

LEON SILENCED THE TV, plunging the hotel room into a silence, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock and the echo of police sirens in the distance. Jason closed his eyes silently cursing his best friend and the interruption.

Time’s up. Now tell me what the hell’s going on. Leon stood at the end of Jason’s bed. They’d parted ways half an hour ago to shower and change.

I’m enjoying the perks of my hotel room.

Like hell. We drove to Christchurch in an hour less than I’ve ever made the trip, including food stops. Junk food you don’t eat. You'll be lucky if you’ve avoided a speeding ticket. This isn’t you.

Jason sat and stretched, slipping his feet off the puffy white bedcover to land on the thick, gray carpet. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to say the words that sliced his soul apart. I was checking my truck’s performance.

Don’t bullshit me, man, I’ve known you forever. Now talk, or I’ll call Kurt and ask him.

Mom’s cancer’s back, OK? I overheard her talking to Dad. Jason shoved up off the bed and strode from the bedroom. At the fridge he withdrew a bottle from the minibar.

Fuck. Leon followed and sank down on the arm of the couch, his hard stance gone.

Yep. Jason tossed back the drink.

We need more alcohol.

For once I agree. Jason tossed back a second drink.

That’s not all though, is it?

Jason didn’t have the words for the rest, not yet. Isn’t that enough?

Leon raised his eyebrows in silent challenge. Last time you cried, and you threw tantrums at my place, but you still cared about your health and the environment.

So, because I ate crap food instead of fresh produce and didn’t punch in your walls it's worse? Jason flicked open his leather wallet, the last one his grandfather had made for him, and counted his money to avoid Leon’s gaze.

He sucked at lying and Leon read him easily. It surprised him Leon waited this long. But then this cornered Jason away from the farm. Damn, he longed for his horse, Casper, and the bush. Why did I come?

Don’t give up because your mom’s sick. She wouldn’t want that. Leon moved forward, forcing Jason to stop and he placed a reassuring hand on Jason’s shoulder.

Jason shrugged, releasing a long sigh before running a hand through his hair and finally raising his gaze, seeking a spot on the ceiling beyond Leon’s six-foot-four bulk. Some days it feels pointless. It’s been hard since Granddad . . . Jason couldn’t bring himself to continue. Thinking about death reinforced the danger to Mom.

Come on, man. I know you’re grieving, and this cancer shit with your mom sucks, but that’s not you talking. You implemented the zero-waste policy at high school, convinced the town to ban straws and plastic wrap, to plant natives. Should I continue?

Not if you want to go clubbing tonight. I’m not the hero—Granddad was.

He remembered his grandfather.

I’m dying. It’s expected—you feel the circle all around you, every seed you plant, every step across a fallen tree.

But, Grandfather, medicine helps—might even cure you. Don’t you want to live longer, do more? Jason pleaded.

The old man lay on his platform bed, soft furs wrapped around him. Suspecting something was wrong, Jason made an unscheduled visit, his plan to spy on Grandfather. He’d never expected to find him in bed.

Now the old man pushed up and swung his legs off the bed, the legs slimmer, the muscles wasted away—how had Jason missed this?

I’ve done my part. Now it’s your turn. You’re young and strong—it’s natural. I’ve taught you well.

No, there’s more you can teach me. Don’t give up!

I’m not—it’s my place in the circle of life. I’m ninety-five. I’m tired, son, it’s time for me to rest.

But what about us?

You live, fight for life. Grandfather smiled and reached out an arm. Well, at least I know someone will cry at my gravesite. Come here.

Jason moved into his Grandfather’s embrace. The old man rarely showed emotion, but in the tightness of Grandfather’s hug, Jason felt love and sorrow.

Many will cry for you.

Humph, and many will think good riddance.

Jason laughed weakly as Grandfather released him. Well, you could dress in actual clothes when you went into town and avoid vandalizing property.

Jason shuddered, returning to the present. How could Grandfather calmly accept death? Right until the end he’d smiled, while the pain of losing someone so vital, so unique, tore Jason apart. What’s the point when we’re going to die?

To live honorably and leave a legacy for the next generation.

Jason frowned. You sound like Grandfather. He didn’t want to remember Grandfather’s lessons; if he did, death was accepted and he’d rather scream and curse the unfairness, the pain.

Well, he was a smart man. Let's go check out Club Rush, I’m told it’s the hottest nightclub in Christchurch. It’s time to start living again, your grandfather wouldn’t want you wasting your life. Leon squeezed Jason’s shoulder again.

My grandfather wouldn’t want me drinking bottled alcohol.

Leon grinned. Well nobody made a better drink than he did.

Friday, November 22, 5:30 p.m., Club Rush, Christchurch

AS THE CLUB DOORS OPENED Lily knew she must waitress. Fuck. Even Kyle would tend bar. Three waitresses were dead, and several others had phoned in sick.

Finding Kyle in the security room, she told him, Club’s clean and open. Just the third floor now.

I’ve found Father.

Where?

Here.

Mentally frowning, Lily nodded for Kyle to precede her. She sensed an indecipherable edge to his mood.

Father considered his opulent office a second home; no surprise it stayed clean. When they entered, Ethan Cartwright stood tall and straight behind his desk, black hair perfect, suit immaculate, hands fisted. Anger-filled silence thickened the air.

He strode around the desk, his form kept fit and in fighting shape. In the early days they’d battled him until they started to win; then he’d pitched them only against each other.

Tonight, for the second time, you failed me, threatening everything. Ironically you’ll suffer the most.

Father’s steel eyes bored into hers. Yanking her hair, he forced her to her knees. She blocked the pain response. Now his trust will be almost impossible. You know how hard winning back trust is.

Lily shoved her fear down. The pointed barb aimed at the reason Flint followed her. Richard decided on more than just flirting, and he allowed me inside his protective circle. I had to act.

"Your act was to seduce him."

He placed his hands on me—

Father cut her off. That’s part of seduction. You should have welcomed him with open arms. Not a bloody dagger to the stomach!

Anger blazed unseen inside her mind. How could Father ask this of me?

Tie her up next door since it’s dirty anyway, Father ordered, shoving her toward Kyle. Only her hands stopped her fall.

She needs to work tonight. Kyle gathered a coil of rope from the desktop. Lily steeled herself and held out her hands for Kyle to tie the rough cord around her wrists.

A harsh tug saw her stumble into the outer office. Inside the doorway hung a row of sizeable golden metal coat hangers. Solid and bolted into a beam, each featured an animal face at the top of the curve. Kyle looped the rope up over a central one that resembled a panther, then hooked it over to the next one before wrenching the line tightly downward. The action drew her hands up until she stood on tiptoes holding the hook, with her body pressed into the wall.

Expectation filled the long silence. Forehead pressed to the wall, prepared for the pain Lily forced herself to relax. Eyes closed; she entered a sheltered place where pain didn’t exist. Father’s first strike tore across her back. Her shirt would be ruined, sliced along with her skin.

Lily maintained silence through it all. After he released her, one of her jackets was tossed at her, as soon as she had that on, Kyle seized her arm and thrust her into Father’s office, his face expressionless as he shoved her back against the wall; a spike of pain shot through her. He moved to lounge on the couch. Pain wasn’t new. She remained there, head down and knee bent, leaning against the wall. I’m stronger than the pain.

Flint’s smoke and body-odor stench preceded him into the office.

What’s the news? Father asked.

Critical but stable; expect a full recovery, Flint replied.

The agreement?

Stands. He said to remind you of the consequences of failure.

Lily suppressed a shiver. Richard mentioned an agreement too. He wouldn’t seduce her now; he’d kill her. Thoughts spun, ideas she didn’t want to acknowledge. Fear. She raised her head enough to view Father as he moved across the room.

Return to your post, Flint.

Father resumed his seat. Smoothed a hand down his shirt. His anger in check. You broke your cover and will suffer the consequences. You’ll marry Richard as soon as he is ready. After shift tonight you’ll go home to await the wedding.

Lily’s world stopped.

He’ll kill her after today, Kyle pointed out. The empty tone crystalized her blood. Pinpricks of pain. Does he still care at all?

He will punish her; he cannot kill her. We have an agreement, its terms are clear, and his signature is on the dotted line.

Richard is not honorable, Kyle said.

Richard’s alive because I ensured it. Father slammed his fist down on his desk. Do not question me!

The welts on her back flared painfully. Too many died today. Each lashing well deserved, though not for Father’s reason. Stabbing Richard brought no regret. It was the other deaths on her conscience. And for nothing. Richard didn’t die.

He backed Lily into a corner; Flint should have been there.

Lily almost glanced at Kyle who had let Richard into the back corridor. Did he feel guilty? No change in tone, but defiance could cost him too. Her chaotic mind scrambled to decipher a puzzle without all the pieces, but she needed Kyle’s freedom to untangle her predicament. Can I trust him though?

Her job was to flirt, to seduce him, Father roared at them. His face, red with anger. She disobeyed my order. We need his trust if we are to take control. Father hurled his whiskey glass at the wall, the crystal shattered leaving a stain of amber liquid spreading downward. We were so close, and now we’re right back at the damn start!

No, Lily whispered.

Father meant for Richard to marry her all along. An unfathomable pain crashed over her. No emotions. No reactions. The untamable feelings return to their box. Emotions were weak. But it hurt, it hurt so much that Father ordered this.

Lily raised unwavering eyes to meet Father’s, saw his arched eyebrows and knew the protest escaped. Fuck. Her back was already shredded. I can’t do this.

You’ve got no choice. If you don’t, we’ll all be dead after today.

There must be another way. Could he hear the desperate undertone? She was a soldier, a weapon, but marry Richard? The room blurred; alarmed, she realized tears were forming. No way, I’ll never cry.

We must get inside his business. In four years, you’ve failed to find another way.

We need more time, Kyle said.

I found a way, and you saved him. Lily said defiantly.

It’s final. Don’t defy me again; I warn you—if anything happens, Kyle’s girl and unborn baby will suffer. Father pinned her with a glare.

Lily glanced at Kyle, unable to stop herself. A muscle ticked in his cheek, but his expression never changed. He’d sworn loyalty to her at a young age, but they couldn’t risk a girl’s life, his child’s life, not for her. How many people will die because of me? This life of death. No matter what she did, people died.

Lily dropped her head in assent.

Father controlled them. He always did. But soon he wouldn’t. Very soon. He’s gone too far.

You both have work to do. Keep everyone locked out of the back section; no one enters until it’s sanitized.

Lily left the office on autopilot. She barely registered the cleaning crew as they pulled up the carpet and removed every trace of the earlier battle.

Kyle reached her. She never mentioned being pregnant.

Would Kyle sacrifice the girl if not for the baby? He grew colder every year, and though she refused to believe he could be like Father, doubt lived in her weaker moments. Father wouldn’t lie.

I will send her away. Be ready.

Chapter Three

Friday, November 22, 6:30 p.m., Club Rush, Christchurch

JASON VIEWED THE BUSTLING interior of Club Rush from a shadowed corner table. The last drink buzzed through his system alongside the music. Leon danced with a blonde who wore little, his height making him easily spotted. The music sounded good, but it should be—getting in the door cost Jason a week’s wages, never mind the price of drinks.

Large blue screens with rippling water effects showed dancing female silhouettes as if trapped behind a waterfall. A teasing illusion. Overhead, fairy lights sparkled in rows. Stationed at each doorway were heavily-muscled security guards wearing tight black T-shirts with Security written in bold white lettering. A giant, golden balcony overlooked the dance area forming the second floor while above loomed a third-floor balcony enclosed by tinted glass. Gilded mirrors with lights lit the bar. Cameras peeked out from unobtrusive locations. A large contrast to the pub at home where a cracked mirror stood behind a shelf of clustered spirits, flanked by wobbly bar stools.

A waitress exited a nearby door; the guard snagged her arm and towered over her. Jason stood without thought, catching the man’s growl at the girl.

I’m watching you.

Don’t. Touch. Me. The waitress tugged her arm without success.

Jason stepped between them. She asked you to let her go.

Piss off. This is official business. The security guard tugged her toward him, dislodging Jason’s position. Jason stumbled but recovered.

That’s a first. Jason moved back into position. Not the way you’re acting.

For fuck's sake, came a quiet mutter behind him. The waitress’s arm twisted and flicked up, escaping the security guard’s clutches.

Jason noted her moving away in his peripheral vision and turned away; now she was safely striding down the stairs and out onto the dance floor toward the bar.

Without warning, Jason was hauled backward; the security guard gripped him by the back of his shirt and jeans.

The next thing Jason knew, he flew, over the heads of those on the dance floor, until gravity and trajectory sent him falling into them. A brief flash of gold and he registered the waitress ahead of him before he plowed into people and she disappeared.

Jason’s impact on dancers knocked them down, startled others. Someone kicked him in the head with a high heel, the pain sharp. The music continued pumping, but people’s attention quickly caught. Alarm and confusion spreading.

Are you OK? he asked a young man who’d taken the worst impact beneath him.

My arm got twisted, but I think it’s OK. What the hell happened?

The security guard just threw me into the crowd.

Jason glanced back toward the man responsible, in time to see the waitress he’d tried to save striding back up the stairs toward the guard.

Jason!

The security guard abused the waitress. Then he threw me. You have to stop him. Jason waved Leon away as his friend stooped over him, he turned back in time to witness the waitress swing a punch and smash the security guard’s nose. Even from that distance it felt like he heard the bones break as blood flung across the walls. The guard lunged forward, and Jason tried to rise.

Like fuck I’m leaving you—you’re bleeding worse than anyone. She just smashed his nose in. I’m more worried about you. Management just arrived.

So much for no fights. He should be fired. Jason accepted Leon’s hand, and they headed toward where the manager stood ordering the security guard through the door.

Your tuākana will have my ass for this, Leon muttered angrily.

Fuck my brothers, I’m twenty-damn-one. They have no need to.

Leon stopped and turned back to him. And when you say that to them, I’ll step back. We snuck away this weekend, it’s both our asses on the line. They’ll flip when they find out. You know they will.

Jason knew Leon right, both their backsides were on the line, and Leon would fight Jason’s brothers to protect him from their lectures. Somewhere along the line Jason started taking it for granted. I’m sorry.

Leon shook his head, his anger still evident, but not at Jason. I don’t care, I took on the role of bodyguard for you long before you were even aware of it. You’re my bro, man. But your tuākana will flip at the mess of your head; go sit, I’ll take care of this. Time for justice and retribution. Jason saw the gleam in Leon’s eye that suggested he would enjoy getting it.

OK, I leave this one to you, just make sure they know the guard started this. She defended herself.

Leon huffed. I don’t believe that. Here, hold this against your head. Leon pulled off his shirt to scrunch it up.

Jason took the offering. Please, the bouncer’s in the wrong. No matter what she’s done, there’s no excuse.

Fine, now go sit.

Jason headed to his table deliberating the situation with Leon and his family. If I have my way, my family won’t ever know this happened. But he’d need a damn plausible story to cover his ass.

"Stop," Kyle ordered Lily.

Lily considered fighting Kyle for the hell of it. But causing a scene and being dragged back to the office wouldn’t help. I’m better than this. Flint shouldn’t break my control. She filled her lungs slowly to a count.

"Your security assaulted my friend who tried to protect your staff." The large man who’d helped the human bowling ball up advanced on Kyle, who sported the word Manager on his shirt; Lily sidestepped, catching an angry glare aimed at her. She didn’t blame him; Flint’s victim held a bloody shirt to his head as he sat at a corner table. He would need a first aid kit. Kyle’s problem.

Lily went to the bar to pour herself a shot of whiskey.

JASON SETTLED INTO the chair, taking stock of his body. Nothing broken—well, except for the skin of his temple. He needed to stop the bleeding before Leon turned nightmare protector; Jason didn’t need an ER trip tipping off his family to his whereabouts. He damn well wouldn’t explain this when it wasn’t their business. He loved them, but he was an adult, not a kid.

He tentatively examined the cut on his temple. Now he understood why females liked to wear stilettos; if he stuck his finger in the gash would he touch his skull? Wouldn’t be the first time he’d exposed bone.

Jason watched the manager try to calm Leon. He almost felt sorry for the man. The manager eventually led Leon toward the bar, where he spoke to the waitress before taking Leon through a staff-only door.

Jason noticed the waitress disappear through another door behind the bar and couldn’t help watching for her to reappear. He hoped she was OK. Though her punch suggested she could take care of herself. He guessed it would be a required skill of working in a nightclub.

When she reemerged, she made a beeline for his table. He squirmed in his seat—he’d looked like an idiot, had stood no chance. He couldn’t believe he’d been picked up and thrown into the crowd.

The throng of moving bodies hid her progress across the dance floor, offering teasing glimpses of the steady, confident strides of leather-clad legs inside knee-high boots. Her black-and-gold waitress sleeveless tee left little to his imagination; even though it featured a high collar and went to the edge of her shoulders, it clung to her curves. Tan skin glittered with gold sparkles beneath the lights.

Jason’s mouth dried as she reached the stairs that led up from the dance floor. His thought process ground to a halt while his cock throbbed to painful life. No woman had affected him like the sight of her walking toward him. He sat in shadow, but the kōwhai glow of the lights above the dancefloor caught her. Sweet nectar, he drank in her face—heart-shaped, smooth skin the color of pine. But her most captivating feature—what drew him in, sent him tumbling, was her bright green eyes, like a fern frond glistening with dew. They sparked with contained energy, sucking the air from his lungs. She vibrated with life.

Pain receded. The club vanished.

He was staring and tore his eyes away to focus on his hands, hoping she hadn’t seen him. His whole body heated with embarrassment.

I brought you a first aid pack. What would you like to drink? Everything’s on the house, she announced loudly in his ear.

A red bag with the distinctive white cross on it slid soundlessly onto the table. The black-painted nail at the end of her forefinger tapped on it, silver rhinestones glittering from the nail polish. Her fingers were long and graceful, yet strong. They bore white scars, then her hand retreated.

Only a bare millimeter separated them. She leaned in close to be heard above the beat of the music, heat radiating from her body, waves of cinnamon and vanilla scent reminding him of home. He told himself not to look or talk—he’d only make a fool of himself —but he did anyway.

His heart stuttered as he stared into a forest of green. Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak. Time stood still, and the small space between them filled with awareness.

Something flickered in her eyes, haunting and sad. Vulnerability and fear. Something scared her, yet Jason wouldn’t have seen it if not ensnared by her eyes. It disappeared so quickly.

LILY STOOD SPEECHLESS. His liquid blue fire surrounded her, drowned out the world, and flowed through her darkest places. Her free fall captured and held with a soft caress that brought her to life. Her mind emptied. A sensation experienced only once before—only once had someone’s eyes caught her, drawn her in and stripped her walls to shreds.

Fear poisoned her system. Beneath the metallic scent of blood, lay something else; her breath caught. Clean male, a hint of something earthy.

He broke the connection. Disorientated, Lily analyzed the laceration that scoured a gash as long as her forefinger across the side of his head. Anything to keep her focus off the free fall into his soul. He required stitches, and though the wound no longer bled, his sandy blonde hair was spiked and matted, his blue shirt stained red. Her chest wrenched unexpectedly.

No. No emotions. Never again.

I’ll stick with water, thank you, but Leon will have something when he gets back.

Even though he yelled his answer, because his head remained turned away she needed to lean in close to hear him as the music rose in volume, providing her with a larger dose of the scent awakening her body in a way she’d never wanted to experience again.

Each breath coiled her core. Disturbing images flooded her mind and she welcomed them, focusing on the scent of blood. The fire in her body froze. No. No emotions.

He fiddled with his glass, avoiding locking eyes again. Fine by her—no repeat drowning necessary. Desire unwelcome in her life.

Lily fell back on her acting skills, placed a smile on her face and lifted a pen to her notebook. What would Leon like?

He turned. Lily held her breath, needed to escape. Why did this man appear tonight? Only ruin lay in her wake. She was a warrior, nothing more. Would never care again. Anger pricked her senses, announcing the giant man who now approached. Maintaining her back to the wall, she moved, positioning herself to see him as he settled at the table.

Whiskey—the best you’ve got. He glared at her; it would intimidate others, but not her. He couldn’t hurt her. Until tonight she’d thought no one could.

Damn Father. Damn you to hell.

FROM THE CORNER OF his eye Jason watched her walk away, her skin dazzling as she moved beneath the lights. A frost-covered rose sparkling in the morning sun, she appeared so strong and independent—everything he failed at. Everything he wanted to be. And yet, like the rose, he sensed something precarious in her appearance. A storm could shred her from the bush without concern for the protective thorns. For a moment he’d have sworn he scared her, yet he hadn’t moved—too incapacitated by his awkward embarrassment. Her smile afterward was fake—a cover; perhaps, for the benefit of Leon who did his best to intimidate everyone.

She’s a poisonous spider, a welcoming smile while planning your death. Here, let me put a dressing on for you. It looks bad. We should take you to the hospital.

No, I’ve got it. We came here to drink. You should at least enjoy it. He took the medical supplies from Leon. He was not going to the hospital. She is innocent, and I’m sure you wrung a substantial deal. Jason twisted as he attempted to bandage his head so Leon couldn’t get another look. He would have one hell of a headache tomorrow; though if his cock kept stealing all the blood, he needn’t worry about bleeding out anytime soon.

You didn’t see her face—she ignored you and attacked the security guard like you weren’t there. Don’t be fooled. Her right hook was perfectly controlled and snake fast.

Let it go, please. She has the right to defend herself. Hannah and Michelle do too, Jason said, speaking of his sister and Leon’s. Have your fill of the top shelf and let me enjoy the music.

Fine, but mark my words—there’s something bad about this place. The manager never even blinked at the amount I named.

Jason kept the waitress in his peripheral vision and watched her flow toward them with their drinks, her movements smooth and graceful—unlike his clumsy feet that often stumbled. When she reached them, she offered an unopened bottle of whiskey and two glasses along with two bottles of organic juice. A brand he recognized. My brand.

Enjoy. Keep it when you leave. Her black-tipped finger tapped the bottle then slid up it and off the neck in a captivating motion.

Thank you, Jason managed through a dry throat.

Leon placed two pills in front of him—not that he felt much pain with her near. Leon spoke, but she filled his thoughts and he couldn’t cut the connection.

LILY AVOIDED THE BLUE flames devouring her barriers and hurried back to the bar. Her hand rubbed her sternum to ease a sharp pain anchored deep in her chest cavity. Everything about tonight was wrong—first Father’s betrayal and now this unexplainable reaction when her emotions should be locked in an impenetrable box. She sped on a collision course with hell.

Marrying Richard was impossible. He wouldn’t accept her as a willing bride now—he’d take her as a hostile one. There’d never be another opportunity to harm him. No, she couldn’t let that monster lay another hand on her. Pain she could live with, but not his violation. My body isn’t for sale. Beneath the bar, she scored several lines in her palm. Being a twin had its perks: Kyle would feel the pain and message.

Her reflection in the mirror revealed a stranger—face too white, eyes overexposed. As far as birthday celebrations went, this one sucked. However, Richard was right. Tonight, she turned twenty-one; it was time to put plans into action. Or at least a modified version—there’d be no returning home to gather things, but there were other ways. It would take time; however, Father wouldn’t know what hit him when she was ready.

She slammed a bottle down behind the bar and caused it to explode, reminding her where she stood. With the pain from several glass splinters came control. Why fail now? I’m Lilith Cartwright; I don’t cry, I don’t break. Ever. Now she developed her own rules.

Chapter Four

Friday, November 22, 7:45 p.m., Club Rush, Christchurch

HE STORMED INTO HIS office and dropped into his chair. Rage exploded, sending the desk contents flying across the room, but the crashing and shattering didn't stem the flow. What a colossal fuck-up. He slammed his hands on his desk, and when that wasn’t enough twisted to punch the drawer beside his leg. He struck over and over, the pain barely skimming the surface. His skin cracked, and blood smeared. It still wasn't enough. He stood and paced the room, shoving a bloody hand through his hair, pausing to kick the couches. The splintering of wood cracked the air and still the volcano erupted.

Four years. Four fucking years and now this?

Meticulous planning balanced on a tightrope. He’d been able to taste the success of a lifetime, but in one fucking move she’d failed him. Anger cut deep—so deep it sliced open an artery of magma. He stopped in front of the security screens. His empire spread out. But only half of what he wanted.

The glamorous nightclub a sparkling jewel, part of a business that stretched coast to coast and to distant shores. In the soundproof office, he yelled out his frustration and smashed his hand through one of the screens.

All you had to do was follow orders, you ungrateful bitch! He watched Lilith serve a corner table.

Her punishment was unsatisfactory. Everything stood as stable as a house of cards; which was her fault with her impulsive, idiotic attack on Richard—Richard, who’d been nothing but kind to her. Bitch. Did she think she could do better? He slammed his knuckles into the next screen.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out, glancing at the display.

Everything ready for her? he asked, tone in check, keeping his eyes on Lilith.

Yes.

She’ll be on her way soon. Remember, if she dies our deal is off.

She won't.

Good.

I honor my word.

See that you do. He ended the call.

Lilith deserved death if she was so weak, but his plans relied on her to unite the two forces. He wouldn’t let her destroy everything he’d worked toward. He wouldn’t.

Chapter Five

Friday, November 22, 8:00 p.m., Club Rush, Christchurch

LILY MOVED ACROSS THE dance floor, inwardly cringing as people bumped into her; she hated personal contact, hated the crowded dancefloor and it didn’t help that tonight they were knocking the injuries on her back. Focused on her goal she ran into Glacier-Blue again. Grabbing his shoulder to stop him falling over, she noted he stood an inch or so shorter than her, given her four-inch heels he’d be around five-foot-six. And he’d thought to save her from Flint? Sheer stupidity. But he probably hadn’t expected a barbarian for club security.

Sorry, are you leaving, or I can bring you another bottle of whiskey? His friend had finished one bottle—or at least hidden it away in his jacket—and received another. It didn’t bother her; she’d give them the whole stock.

He moved his arm, the muscles shifting beneath his shirtsleeve. Heat blazed through her hand, and she pulled