Lora Leigh - Soul Deep

“Do you really want to take that risk, Ms. Marion?” he asked her softly. “It could be deadly.”

She drew in a deep breath, swallowing tightly. She hated choices. A bullet or perhaps a fate worse than death? If she was very, very lucky a gunshot would only hurt like hell and draw enough attention… Nope, silencer. Damn.

She stood silent, still, facing them as she caught sight of the light from the corner of her eye. She wasn’t going to just let them calmly take her. Only God knew who they were.

He took another step and she jumped. Her hand slapped down on the switch as she jumped for the door, pushing back the lock as she twisted the doorknob and screamed for all she was worth. A second after the sound escaped her throat, darkness descended.

Damn. Dying wasn’t going to be fun…

Babysitting duty sucked. Kiowa sat back in the seat of the luxurious Lexus and watched the little demoness hand out candy like royal favors and stifled a growl of arousal. He had been at this for a week now, and her effect on him was damned inconvenient. And that costume wasn’t helping matters any.

She smiled at the kids, her face lighting up with pleasure at each one that came to her door, only to become smoothly polite while talking to the parents. She held herself aloof, in control, but he could sense a fire simmering inside her.

Damned woman, watching her hadn’t been his brightest move. He should have told Dash Sinclair to take a damned hike when he tracked him down and asked him to join this insanity. The world was not going to accept Breeds. President Marion could vote a hundred Breed Laws in and it wasn’t going to make a difference. They were too different. But Dash and Callan Lyons were certain it could happen. Just as they were certain Kiowa could help.

He snorted at that. A coyote consorting with lions and wolves. What was next?

He shifted in the leather seat, readjusting his cock and grimacing at the engorged length. Just what he needed, a hard-on for the President’s sweet little daughter. That was guaranteed to get him hunted and killed like the mangy animal he was created to be, he thought mockingly.

As Kiowa watched the front door, it suddenly swung open, a woman’s strangled scream barely reaching him as it closed just as fast. His eyes moved to the door beside her, the duplex her Secret Service unit was using was dark and quiet. No lights came on; no alarm was sounded.

His gaze narrowed as he scanned the nearly deserted street now. Trick-or-treaters were on the street above and below, but there was no one close enough to hear that abrupt cry. Cursing, he pulled the Glock from the waistband of his pants and exited his vehicle quickly. Ducking, he made his way around the cars, then the side of the fence that enclosed the little two-story duplex.

They wouldn’t take her out the front door; they would have a car at the back. Dammit, where the hell were her bodyguards, the inept Secret Service detail assigned to her? He personally didn’t need this shit. He was supposed to be backup, nothing more, not the damned cavalry.

As he moved through the shadows, rounding the fence carefully, he caught sight of the van and the driver waiting impatiently, a black mask pulled over his face. Kiowa moved through the shadows, inhaling the crisp night air to be certain there were no other guards outside. His vision picked up the driver, but no other signs of a partner in the van.

Stupid. Stupid, he raged silently as he quickly silenced his weapon and fired. The guard slumped over instantly at the same moment the back gate opened. Moving swiftly along the side of the fence, Kiowa jerked the first man past the gate, his arms going around his head and twisting quickly. He dropped the body before the sound of the hollow break finished. The second man, surprised, was just as easy to take out. Ducking, he barely avoided a bullet before firing back and taking out the third. Didn’t take those boys long to figure out they were caught, he thought mockingly.

Dogs were howling now, voices raising as the fourth man moved to lay his gun at the temple of the unconscious woman he was holding.

Training could be a wonderful thing, Kiowa thought distantly as extended his arm and fired first, before catching the burden the assailant carried as he fell.

Now what? Goddammit, he didn’t need this.

Throwing her over his shoulder, he moved to the van, jerked the dead driver from his seat to the ground and moved in himself. He tossed the girl on the floor of the van, revved the engine and pulled out as lights began to flood the street.

Fuck, he really didn’t need this. He was just supposed to watch her. Just watch her and make sure the Goof Troop didn’t bungle their job and let the blood supremacists stalking President Marion make an attempt on her.

The Secret Service detail was experienced. They were old hands at protecting First Daughters. The best of the best and they were fucking dead as hell or sleeping on the job and now he was stuck with the Baby Girl.

He’d drop her off somewhere, make a quick little phone call to the nearest police station and that would be that. Easy. Simple.

Bullshit.

If the bastards had got to her this easy then there was some major shit getting ready to hit the fan. No one, but no one, got to the President’s daughter that easy without inside help. Shit.

An hour later Kiowa pulled the plain white van into the back of a motel he had been circling longer than he cared to admit and lugged his still unconscious burden into the motel room. He hadn’t been followed, but he wasn’t stupid enough to assume that someone out there wasn’t going to be looking for that van fast. An operation that well put together wasn’t without its backup.

With quick movements he tied her up and gagged her, though to be honest she didn’t look like she was going anywhere soon, but he preferred to err on the side of caution.

She was breathing normally, the bump on her head wasn’t overly large, and he had to get rid of that damned van and make a phone call. Dammit, this was the last time frigging time he did Dash or Simon a favor. He knew getting messed up with that quack and his harem was a dumb idea. Really dumb.

He stared down at Sleeping Beauty with a grimace on his face, his hands propped on his hips, and assumed she would live for the brief time he had to be away. He hated taking the chance, but damn if he had a choice. That van was like a beacon to the bad guys, and if blood was going to be shed, he wanted to make damned sure it wasn’t his own, he thought as he turned and left the room.

He dumped the van in a junkyard about ten miles out of town before walking to the nearest pay phone and calling a cab. The cabbie picked up a slightly drunk, if not a little belligerent partygoer outside one of the rowdier apartment buildings a few blocks up and drove him to his motel.

There, Kiowa stumbled to his room, opened the door and closed it firmly.

Well, Baby Girl was still breathing at least. And not too hard to look at, but he’d be damned if he wanted the problem.

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket he made the all-important call.

“Hi baby, what can I do for you?” The voice was enough to make any man’s dick twitch. Unfortunately, he was a little too pissed to let that organ have any say.

“Get me off,” he snapped out the code for an emergency meeting. “I’m at the Lazy Oak Inn. How soon can you be here?”

There was a short silence.

“An hour,” she replied, her husky voice showing none of the concern that the situation now warranted. “You have the condom?”

He wanted to roll his eyes at the question. Marion’s daughter was considered the shield between success or failure with the most important Breed Law up for vote. That of giving the autonomy, the right to defend and to kill their attackers with no prejudice. If Amanda Marion stayed safe and happy, President Marion would vote with his conscience. But if she was used against him, held as insurance against a nay vote, then the Breeds might as well stick their heads between their legs and kiss their asses goodbye. Marion would sell them up the river for his daughter’s life and never give it a second thought.