A Dom is Forever (Masters and Mercenaries #3)(2)

He dressed as quickly as he could. Boxers, dark wash jeans, socks, boots. He found his shirt rolled up in the corner of the overly frilly dead girl’s room. How the hell old was this girl? It didn’t matter now because she wouldn’t age another second. She would be forever stuck in this pink and white room, a purple collar of damage around her throat.

His hands shook as he pulled the black T-shirt free. Why was it wet? Had he spilled beer all over it?

Why couldn’t he remember?

Blood. It stained his hands as he let the shirt drop. His shirt was soaked in blood.

He stared at it for a moment. Blood? There wasn’t a drop of blood on the girl.

He reached for his jacket, zipping it up. He found his bag lying on the dresser, open as though he’d just left it there for a moment. The only thing missing was his rope and a knife. His stomach churned in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol from the previous night. Where was that knife?

Who should he call? The police? G2? The Irish Intelligence Agency would love the fact that a soldier had gotten into this ball of shit. He wasn’t an intelligence agent. He was sort of a contractor. He’d been hoping he’d be asked to join up after this.

No one was going to want to hire him when he ended up in jail. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What had happened? Why couldn’t he remember?

He dialed Rory’s number again. Wake up, you bastard. I’m in trouble.

He clutched the phone to his ear, but a sound from another room called to him. Trilling. Familiar.

Rory’s phone was ringing. Inside the house. The next room. And he still wasn’t answering. Liam’s heart pounded as his mind sought all the reasons his brother wouldn’t answer. It was a bloody short list.

Liam stepped outside the dead girl’s room and found himself in hell.





Chapter One


London, England

Five years later



Liam watched the girl with the dark hair walk into the light. Girl? She was a woman in every sense of the word. Avery Charles was twenty-eight years old, but from what he’d pieced together she’d likely lived through enough crap for two lifetimes. So why did she still look so bloody innocent?

The woman in front of him wasn’t his type. Not even close. She was too soft, too curvy, too much. Too serious, quite frankly. He preferred young women who just wanted a good time. But something about her drew him in. Maybe it was her background or the way her skin practically glowed when she walked into the great rotunda of the British Museum. She did it enough. She was here almost every day, and he’d stalked her, watching her move from room to room, studying each exhibit before her lunch hour was up. She would glide from the dark corners of the museum into the brilliant light of the atrium to purchase a sandwich she would eat before heading back to the Tube and work again.

And every day she would stop when the light hit her face. She would move from the dark, hushed rooms of the exhibits into the stark brilliance of the white marbled center of the museum. She would tilt her chin up and bask in the light as though taking a moment to soak it in.

Liam never left the darkness.

“Is that the mark?” Ian Taggart asked, his voice low.

He didn’t need to be so silent. The museum hummed with activity, but his boss was a cautious man. Paranoid, but then when everyone really was out to get you, it wasn’t paranoia. It was smart.

“Yes,” Liam replied, his voice equally low. “Avery Charles. She works for Molina. She became his personal assistant six months ago.”

She was his primary target for the moment. It had been easy to gather data on Molina. He was a public figure. Within minutes of confirming that Thomas Molina, philanthropist, was somehow involved with the rogue CIA agent his firm had been tracking for months, he’d had a full dossier on the man. Molina was considered a bit odd. He’d been injured as a teenager in a riding accident. He’d had several spinal surgeries and had been left with legs that never functioned properly again. He disappeared for many years, living a life of seclusion after his parents had passed away.

He was now in sole control of a huge multi-national company, but preferred to spend his time on a charity operation called United One Fund.

It had been easy to find Molina. His personal assistant had taken more digging.

“Do we know if she has any ties to Black?” Somehow Ian managed to make the question sound like a threat. “Sorry. Nelson. We should call the devil by his real name. Does she have any ties to Eli Nelson?”

That was the big question of the day. What was seemingly sweet Avery Charles, who had never had so much as a parking ticket, doing working for a man who did indeed have ties to Eli Nelson, rogue CIA agent? “I doubt it. If I had to place a bet, I would bank money on the fact that she’s just the personal assistant of one of the world’s leading philanthropists. She’s got a do-gooder vibe I can feel from here. It makes me a little nauseous.”

It made him a little horny, but there was no way he was telling Ian that. And no way to explain it because she just wasn’t his type. No way. No how. Well, she wasn’t his type now. He’d given up on soft, voluptuous women for a reason. They f*cked with a man’s mental capacities. Nope. She wasn’t his type now. It was just that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while. That was the only explanation.

“Alex is looking into Molina. He’s running financials on those charities of his.” Ian frowned as he looked around. “I don’t like it.”