A. Arthur - Passion's Prey

“I’m going with you,” she said simply, pulling her hair back and twisting it into some kind of knot with one of those elastic bands she had a ton of.

“No, you’re not,” he said adamantly.

“I am.” She nodded and turned away from him to pull boots out of her bag. She sat down to lace them up, and X moved closer to her.

“Look, we’re cool on the mating thing now. You’re a part of me that I don’t want to lose just yet. So I’m asking you nicely to go to Havenway and wait for me there.”

She looked up, a smile spreading quickly over her face. He liked seeing her smile, liked the way her dark eyes lifted with the action, how her teeth were all white and straight, her pert nose spreading only slightly. She was fucking beautiful. But hardheaded as hell.

She kissed him quickly on the lips. “I’m going. If you’re coming you better hurry up and get dressed.”

X was still standing there wondering what he was going to do with her when she’d left the bedroom.

Friday, 11:45 PM

They’d driven through a neighborhood that looked like it had seen better days. Even in the dark of night Sabar could see the remnants of urban decay. He picked up the scent of alcohol and urine and cringed. Sitting in the back of his Hummer he admitted only to himself that this headache he’d been carrying around for the last two days was a bitch. Not to mention the bouts of memory lapse he was suffering. Anything before two days ago was crystal clear. It was the last forty-eight hours that seemed like he’d walked around in a daze. He remembered meals and he remembered Bianca—nothing and nobody else. When he’d climbed into the vehicle tonight he’d caught a glimpse at Darel. The man barely looked at him, and his scent was of pure hatred. That wasn’t out of order for a Rogue, but tonight it seemed more along the offensive lines than ever.

He’d asked Bianca to come along, but she’d declined. In the back of his mind he knew he should be suspicious about that, but had decided to focus more on closing this deal. On the seat between him and Darel were two suitcases. Both were filled with cash, proceeds from their drug operation that had been growing steadily. Even in the midst of the raid on Athena’s, they were still receiving orders for shipments. Norbert Hanson was still running the lab back at Sabar’s headquarters on the outskirts of the city. Their facility there had been a steady work in progress. Darel had put a lot of time into the structural issues, picking up the security, while Sabar had planned the layout and financed the entire project. Now their lab was fully functional and they were shipping about half a million dollars’ worth of merchandise each week. The savior drug was the drug of the future and Sabar was going to make a fortune as the only supplier.

However, his plans to rule needed to be bigger, their territory expanded. Hence this deal with Kensington and his boys with the guns. Once he made this purchase he’d probably have to get rid of Kensington—that guy definitely knew too much. And he wasn’t above running his nasty mouth about Sabar and his plans and their existence. Not that Sabar was against having the existence of the Rogues known—it would happen in due time anyway—still, everything had to be planned perfectly.

“We’re almost there,” Black, the huge dark-skinned shifter that now traveled everywhere Darel did, said from the driver’s seat.

“Good,” Sabar heard himself replying. He shifted in his seat, his clothes feeling more than uncomfortable. It had been like that the last two days: Clothes were too much for him to bear. Each time he’d been awake he’d worn his silk robe and nothing else, the cool softness rubbing against his skin in a soothing manner that turned him on and baffled him at the same time. “When we get inside I’ll do all the talking,” he said.

Darel nodded.

“You carry the money and don’t give it to anyone until we see the product.”

Darel nodded again.

“And stop acting like a fucking mute!” Sabar screamed, his patience wearing thin.

When Darel’s head snapped around and he glared at Sabar, not with human eyes, but the dark green-rimmed eyes of his cat, Sabar growled back. He was sick of Darel’s bitch-ass attitude. If he had a problem with Sabar or this operation, the shifter could very well walk out the door. He was tired of giving a damn.

The corner of Darel’s mouth lifted, his eyes glinting. “Sure thing, boss,” was his reply, his New York accent a little more fluent than Sabar had ever heard it before.

It was about fifteen minutes to midnight when they pulled up to the eight-foot metal gates that looked like they surrounded the entire premise. When the Hummer drove slowly up to the speaker, everyone was quiet. Black pushed in the code that Sabar had given him, and they drove through without any problems. Kensington had given Sabar a detailed list of things for them to do tonight.

“Wasn’t the gate supposed to close?” Thunder asked, looking back as the vehicle continued forward.

“Probably staying open to let us out afterward,” Black said.

Five minutes later, after they’d parked as close to the door as they could without running up on the sidewalk, the four Rogues were entering the building, using a side door entrance that had also been outlined in Kensington’s notes. Thunder reached for the doorknob. When it turned and the door was open, Black went in first with Darel right behind him. Sabar went in next, and Thunder locked the door before following them.

It was dark and chilled in the open space. Darel used a penlight from his pocket to illuminate the way to the elevator they’d been told was at the far end of the left hallway. They boarded the elevator without any issues. By the time they stepped off, Black and Thunder were both gripping huge black guns in their hands. Sabar walked ahead of them, empty-handed.

Darel watched him move with his cocky air of superiority. He was shorter than Darel by a couple of inches, but in his ass-kicking boots no one could tell. He walked in front of them while Darel carried the two briefcases full of money. There was half a million dollars in each bag; they’d counted it for the third time about an hour ago. Sabar was buying two hundred UK79865 rifles. Once the deal was made, Sabar was hopping on a private plane and heading to Albuquerque, where he was setting up another base for his business. There were already ten Rogues there waiting for him and the shipment. Those were details Darel made sure he knew.

“They should be down here, in the last room,” Sabar said, turning down yet another long hallway.

This place seemed to be linked by one long-ass hallway after another. Darel felt like they were walking in a maze, even though they were following Kensington’s map. The place was huge and located just far enough down the winding road they’d traveled to be discreet, which he suspected was the reason Robert Slakeman had built the facility that manufactured all of his weapons here.

Sabar stopped at the door. Behind him Darel also stopped. He figured Sabar was waiting for someone to open the door. He was, after all, the boss. And Darel was so fucking fed up with this particular boss. He nodded and Thunder took a step forward, moving in front of Sabar. He touched the knob, then looked up in question before opening it.

“Well, open it, goddammit! I don’t have all night to get this done,” Sabar yelled.

Over Sabar’s head, Thunder met Darel’s gaze. With a smile, Darel nodded and Thunder pushed open the door.

Sidney Pierson was the only son of General Oscar Pierson, who had been forced to retire from the US Marine Corps amid allegations of torturing POWs during his last tour in Iraq three years ago. Sidney, however, had never wanted a career in the armed forces. What he wanted, and what his father had been doing a damn good job of providing despite all his other letdowns, was any- and everything he wanted, when he wanted it. He was used to living a certain lifestyle, one he wasn’t about to lose because his father was no longer a general in the marines.