The Black Wolf (In the Company of Killers, #5)(69)

Finally she obeys; she trembles as she raises her arms above her head, struggling to get the fabric past her shoulders. I crouch in front of her and help her with it, dropping it on the floor afterward. She sits with her legs pressed together over to one side; her arms covering her naked breasts.

“Did the doctor sew you up?” I ask.

She nods, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Show me.”

She doesn’t move; her eyes grow wider.

“Spread your legs and show me,” I repeat, this time with an air of warning.

Her body shaking, her arms come uncrossed and her knees break apart apprehensively. I help her with that too, speeding up the process so we can get the hell out of here. She spreads her legs before me and I examine her carefully so I don’t hurt her—I’m not leaving this place before I’m sure she’s been properly cared for after giving birth. I can’t take her to a hospital and I sure as hell won’t be sewing her up myself. Fuck that.

“Good,” I say, push her legs closed and then reach into my pocket. “I want you to swallow this.”

She looks down into my hand at the pill, then back up at me, shaking her head no.

Grabbing her by the back of the head with one hand, I shove the pill down her throat with the other, pushing my finger deep so I know she swallows it. She gags; thrashes in my grasp, her eyes watering from the sting. Then I close her mouth with my hand and hold it there firmly. “Swallow it.”

Her throat moves, and then I pry her mouth open again and check to make sure the pill is gone.

Izzy helps Miz Ghita get Sian dressed in a flashy cocktail dress, afterward slipping on a pair of glittery high heels with straps around the ankles—an outfit I chose so that when I carry her, passed out, into the hotel, she’ll just look like she’s been out on the town parting all night and no one’s likely to think anything about it too suspicious.

Sian is unconscious in the car before we even make it to the hotel. I wrap her in my suit jacket and carry her in my arms through the elaborate lobby and into the elevator, her legs over one arm and her head nestled against my chest.

“Too much wine,” I tell the old woman next to me as we ride up; I smile, and then wink at her for good measure. The old woman’s face flushes with heat, and she looks the other way. When she steps out onto her floor, she looks back at me, holding her gaze until the shutting doors cut her off.

“Better be careful,” Izzy whispers in my ear, “or you’ll be eating cougar meat tonight.”

“Have I told you yet that your hair looks like shit?”

Izzy’s nose wrinkles on one side. She smirks.

“No, but you must be mistaking me for a woman who feels like she’s defined by her looks rather than her strength. What, Niklas, did you expect me to cry in a f*cking corner over it?”

In a way, yeah. On the other hand, this particular reaction to her hair being hacked off, doesn’t surprise me, either.

The elevator doors break apart and we head straight for our suite. I set Sian down on the bed in the private room opposite the main living area, and I do a sweep of the room for any electronic devices, in case we had any unwanted visitors while we were in the mansion. Izabel and Nora wait in the main room without breaking character.

“It’s clean,” I announce, coming out of the kitchen area.

Like a blinding flash of light, Nora’s fist comes soaring toward my face, knocking me against the wall. She’s on me like a cat on its prey before I know what the f*ck just happened; her brown eyes swirling, blazing with—what the hell is that? Ha! This bitch is fuming pissed, but I swear to God she looks like she wants to f*ck me.





Niklas





With my back against the wall, Nora’s hand tightens around my throat. I don’t fight her; I put my hands up beside me against the wall too, and I grin. “Damn, woman,” I say, laughing, choking out the words.

She bangs my head on the wall and presses her body against mine to hold me in place; I feel her fingers digging into my throat just underneath my jawbone.

“What the f*ck did I do?” I still can’t help but laugh.

Her fingers tighten; her nostrils flare; her eyes swirl.

“You know what you did,” she growls.

“Was it the whipping?” Laughter. I can’t help it!

Bang! Little black dots spring before my eyes when my head hits the wall.

The laughter dies around me; so does my smile.

“Screw this,” I hear Izabel say. “I’m going to bed.” And I hear the door to the private room close.

I grab Nora by her throat and we reverse places; I shove her as hard as I can against the wall, glaring into her face, our noses almost touching; my fingers splayed around her throat and her jaw. I’ve wanted to do this for so long—paybacks, bitch.

“Thought you could handle it?” I growl right back at her. “I did what I had to do—it could’ve been much worse.”

“It wasn’t what you did,” she says through strained words; my hand hindering airflow. “It was that you enjoyed it too much.”

The grin slips back onto my face.

She tries to knee me in the nuts, but I move enough to avoid it and she catches me in the gut instead. It takes the breath out of me; I recover quickly, but the second of distraction is all Nora needs to reverse our roles again and she pounces on me. I don’t even know how, or what part of her body is on me where, all I know is that I’m falling backward with her on top of me, and I feel flesh against flesh, and the silk of her hair on my face and my neck and my arms. When she’s done hitting me in the face—because I finally get ahold of her wrists to stop her—I open my eyes to find her straddling my chest; my head pressed between her powerful thighs, squeezing it like a goddamn grape. I let go of her wrists and take her by the elbows, easily tossing her off and onto the floor on her back. She slaps me once, twice when I’m on top of her, but I like that shit so I don’t hold her arms.