Designed for Murder (Killer Style 4)

Her heart lodged in her throat, Mika pushed against the solid muscle of Carlos’s naked back and rose up to a sitting position so she could see what was going on. A smaller man stood next to Roger, his face covered by a mask while Roger’s was uncovered. She watched enough crime TV to know that wasn’t a good sign. He was going to kill them.

Pushing back the fear trying to paralyze her, she took quick stock of the situation like she would during a Magic Battledome confrontation. She and Carlos were both buck naked on the couch without even a belt nearby to use as a whip. His gun was on the desk halfway between the bad guys and the door. Between the two of them, they had a blanket and nothing to lose.

Every instinct in her screamed for her to fight, and her muscles tensed in anticipation. She was fast. She could get to the gun before the other men, and surprise was on her side. As if he could hear the plan forming in her mind, Carlos reached back and covered her thigh with his hand. He gave her a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

“Lookie what we have here.” Roger sneered at them as he strolled forward, his eyes on them instead of the gun half hidden on the desk. “I knew when you spent more than five minutes with me for the first time in the history of man that you were onto my trail. Then I found this under my office desk.” He tossed a wad of gum with something that looked like a tiny black box stuck to it on the floor. “A listening device? How basic. And now here we are all together again—this time without the subterfuge.” He shrugged. “I’ve got to say, the view here is much better than in my office. Don’t you think, Carlos? She is a sweet piece of ass.”

Carlos sprang to his feet, his hands fisted. “Don’t you ever talk about her that way.”

Roger met the move with a grin that bordered on crazed. He puffed up his chest and rolled his shoulders. “Ready for round two, hermano? No police are coming to your rescue this time like they did in the alley.”

“Enough,” the second man said, his voice a sharpened knife cutting through the night.

No one moved. Panic burned against Mika’s lungs. She couldn’t breathe. Then Roger laughed and relaxed his stance. Carlos followed suit.

“You’re right. We’re just here for the fabric,” Roger said, turning his attention to Mika, as if Carlos wasn’t a threat. “Tell us where it is and I promise nothing will happen to you.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Carlos said, taking a menacing step forward.

Roger smirked and withdrew a gun from his waistband. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Terror slammed against Mika. She vaulted off the couch, wrapping the blanket around her naked body like a shield. “How did you find us?” The words rushed out as fast as her pulse pounded against her skin.

She may not have known that Roger was a drug dealer, but she did know he loved the sound of his own voice. He’d distract himself before he could take aim at Carlos.

Irritation flashed in Roger’s eyes, but true to form he couldn’t resist. “Darling, Harbor City is a small world, especially the fashion community. Once I discovered the fabric wasn’t in your loft, it was only a matter of time until I found your new studio. Lucky me, you and your playmate came right to me. I played along until you left, and then it was just a case of having an associate follow you here. Finding the bug later was the icing on the cake. I would have come immediately, but he insisted on waiting.”

The gun was loose in Roger’s hand, but the intent remained. It hung in the air like a rotting stink that couldn’t be covered up with perfume. Carlos edged closer, angling his body so he stood between her and Roger. For as bad of a man as Carlos considered himself, his actions told a different story. She couldn’t let him sacrifice himself for her, and she couldn’t risk the friends who’d become targets because of a mistake she’d made in taking the wrong fabric. Whatever it took—whatever she needed to do—she would protect anyone she loved from being harmed again.

She shifted so she stood next to instead of behind Carlos. “What do you want?”

“The fabric,” the masked man said, his voice low and soft but somehow familiar. “Give it up and you’ll never see us again.”

Carlos cut a glance at her, the don’t-believe-him look on his face confirming her own gut instinct that the masked man was lying.

“It’s not here,” Carlos said as he repositioned himself in front of her again.

“Bullshit.” Roger sneered. “I can only assume the line he used to get between your legs was better than that lie.”

Ignoring the meaningless barb, she turned her attention to the masked man who held Roger’s invisible leash. “If we give you the fabric, you’ll drop this? You won’t go after anyone else?”

The masked man bent down, picked up Carlos’s T-shirt from the floor, and tossed it to her. “You have my word.”

She slipped the material on. Carlos’s scent clung to it, and the feel of him around her gave her the strength to make this deal with the devil. It twisted her insides to do it, but she had to protect the people who were more family to her than friends. She’d failed to protect her family before. She wouldn’t a second time. The police would take care of the drug dealers. Her responsibility was to her family.

“Don’t do it,” Carlos said under his breath.

“I have to.” Seeing the censure in his eyes punctured her heart, but her decision was made.

Carlos eyed his nine-millimeter lying on the desk and gauged his chances. The open laptop was blocking the gun from Roger’s view. If he timed it right, he could grab it before Mika got to the cabinet holding the bolt of drug-tainted fabric. He had to get it before she got there. The dealers couldn’t walk out of here with it. God knew how many people would suffer if the cocaine hit the street.

He balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to spring to action. The plan unfolded in his mind at a rapid pace, just like it always had when he’d faced an opponent in Magic Battledome. Dash to the desk. Grab the gun. Spin. Put Roger in his sights. Get off a shot before Roger had a chance to fire. Pivot. Take out the masked man. The odds weren’t in his favor, but he could do it.

Movement in his peripheral vision pulled his focus. Mika was nearly to the cabinet. What if Roger fired at her instead? Torn between the greater good of making sure the drugs never made it out of the studio and the possibility of Mika being hurt, he hesitated.

“You don’t want to do that.” The masked man crossed to the desk and picked up the nine-millimeter with his gloved hands. “You both can get out of here if you play it right.”

Fuck. He was naked, unarmed, and out of options. “And the people on the street who buy your shit?” Carlos asked, already searching for another way out of this and coming up empty.