Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(40)

He wanted her breasts. Wanted her nipples in his mouth.

She pushed against him, angled up, then swiped that small pink tongue over his nipple.

He groaned. And she laughed. Laughed. Her head tilted back, and she stared up at him. No fear in her gaze, just blind need.

A killer. She knew what he was, but she gazed at him and seemed to see just a man.

Faster, deeper. The bed squeaked beneath them, and he didn’t give a shit who heard. The climax bore down on him, but he didn’t want the pleasure yet. He didn’t want to stop. Her delicate inner muscles squeezed so tight. Too good. Don’t end.

His thumb pressed over her clit. She had to enjoy it. Had to need the sex as much as he did. More. He caressed her and felt her sex tighten even more around him as he drove into her.

She came, and he saw the pleasure wash over her face and darken her eyes.

Just sex. Just—

“Samantha!” He fought the release. Longer. More. Her sex contracted around him in a sweet ripple that had his body tightening. So close. He could feel her pleasure. Feel her. Inside, out. Everywhere, her.

He exploded inside her, the release a red-hot firestorm of pleasure that heated his blood and burned its way through his body.

Dammit, more. More.

So much more than he’d bargained for.


“Some people can’t follow simple f*cking instructions.” He stared down at the bound man, and rage pumped through him. “I mean, really, how hard is it to understand?”

The guy jerked at his ropes and grunted something behind the duct tape.

“Guess you’re gonna get a real piss-poor deal on this one.” He gave a long sigh and let his fingers tighten around the hilt of the knife he held. “And just so you know… it’s gonna hurt.”

Moving fast, he ripped off the blindfold. Wide, desperate eyes stared back at him, and the guy shook his head, fast, over and over.

But he just shrugged as he stared down at the helpless bastard. “Blame the family, man. They’re the ones who are doing this to you. They are the ones who turned their backs on you.”

More muffled grunts came from behind the gray line of duct tape. He raised the knife and stepped closer to his prey. He caught a flicker of movement behind him and knew that she’d come to watch. Just like before.

He liked it when she watched him work.

The blade traced down the guy’s face. A slow, careful trek. That bastard Briar had pissed him off, but this one? He almost… liked him.

But he’d still slice the prick apart. “They should have just paid.” He shrugged. Not my fault. “I showed everyone what happens when you don’t pay.” They knew the rules.

He’d left his message for the world to see. But still, they tried to screw him. Thought that they could outmaneuver him.

A last sigh slipped from his lips. “You should have been worth more.”


Sam didn’t wake screaming that night, but only because she didn’t sleep. She lay in bed next to Max, her heart still thudding too fast, his arm across her stomach, and she wondered what she was doing.

Not really a new question.

She should move. Get up. Not feel so comfortable in bed with him. Not feel like his body fit against hers.

The darkness surrounded them. She didn’t have to worry about her emotions flashing on her face. Sometimes it was so hard to hide what she felt. How many times had her mother told her, “I know what you’re thinking, Samantha Jane! I can see it… right there on your face.” Acting had never been her gift, but she was trying, as hard as she could.

Her fingers caressed his shoulder. He’d rolled onto his stomach, and his face was positioned toward her. She could hear his breathing, deep, even, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping.

Together, but so far apart.

A soft chime pealed in the room, and she tensed. Oh, no, not now, please.

But Max was already moving. He rolled away from her in a flash and stalked, naked, to pick up her phone. The dim light from her screen lit his face as he read the message.

Not Quinlan. Don’t say they’ve found a body. Max’s head lifted but shadows hid most of his face. “New development,” he said, voice rumbling. “ ‘Problem. Stay on guard.’ ”

She pulled the covers up, too aware of her nudity when she hadn’t cared before. “Max…”

But he’d spun away and lunged toward a tall cabinet near the balcony. He wrenched open the cabinet doors, revealing a large flat-screen television. “Dante said to turn on the damn TV.”

That drove her from the bed. Oh, shit, they’d found a body. She grabbed Max’s hand before he could press the button on the remote to activate the TV. “Don’t, Max. You don’t need to see—”

His thumb pressed POWER. The screen burst to life. Max flew through the channels, shooting past infomercials and old black-and-white films to find a local station.

Newscasters—faces tense as they sat at their desks, their hair perfect, their clothes pressed—stared back at her. “Shocking news out of D.C. this morning,” the dark-haired anchor said. “A well-known man has recently been kidnapped, and his family turns to you for help.”

“Oh, shit,” she breathed the words. No, no, this couldn’t be happening. She’d been with Max every moment. He hadn’t gone to the press. Had Frank? Was he the one who’d leaked the story to the world? Beth?