This Year's Black (Killer Style 2)

— Mary Quant

Ryder looked longingly at the puddle of black clothes in the bathroom’s corner as she fingered the soft pink sarong similar to the one she’d worn for the blessing ceremony. Her gold rope bracelet slid down her forearm as she reached up to twist a length of hair, but her fingers came up empty. Long stray strands of hair littered the floor, a ten-inch long chunk of brown hair held together by a rubber band lay on the counter. Instead of tangling around her shoulders, the curls stopped at her chin. The temporary dye job had turned the color to an almost blue black. At least the ebony color was as familiar as her all-black wardrobe since everything thing else reflected in the mirror was so different—not bad, but unfamiliar.

Maybe it was time for that.

She didn’t know if this crazy scheme would work, but when Borja had proposed sneaking into the Molina warehouse under the guise of a De Mis Promesas festival delegation, it was the best bad idea they had. And if it didn’t work, they’d have to pray that Cam’s calls to some mysterious buddies in Chile panned out, because Ryder was not leaving Devin in the Molinas’ clutches any longer.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and pulled open the bathroom door.

“There is no way this will work.” Ever since she’d gone in to change thirty minutes ago, Cam had been arguing they should wait for a call back from hi

s friends before moving on the warehouse. “No one can miss Ryder in a crowd. Face it, the girl in black always stands out.”

She cleared her throat and the four men turned. And blinked. A lot.

“You look…different,” Carlos squeaked, before Cam jammed an elbow into his side.

An uncharacteristic blush burned her cheeks. “As long as we get Devin out of there, it doesn’t matter how I look.”

“My sisters have agreed to include you in the delegation, but I cannot guarantee your success.” Borja rolled to the balls of his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. “The guards may not allow you on the property.”

She clutched her fist to her hollow stomach before she could stop herself. Pinching her lips together until the insides cut on her teeth, she forced herself back from panic’s edge. Rolling her neck from side to side, she loosened her shoulders. Just as before a match, she pushed her doubts and negativity into a deep, dark, shadowy place in her brain and locked a mental door. She refused to think about the possibility of failure. Because this wasn’t just a meaningless sparring match. This was Devin’s life.

“And your sisters and their friends know to get the hell out of there if things go south?” Tony asked.

“If by ‘south’ you mean if everything goes wrong, then yes, they are aware that they should not stick around.”

Tony clapped Borja on the shoulder. “Perfect.”

“Thank you for doing this, Borja.” She gave the man a quick hug.

“It is past time we stood up to them.” He clenched his teeth and looked off into the distance. “Past time.”

Cam’s phone rang. “Yo, Bolton. What’s the word?” He nodded and gave the room a thumbs up. “You got clearance from the president himself to clean up our little mess? Damn, you do have deep connections. Thanks man.”

Ryder looked around at the little band of gorilla warriors. The hotel manager with a grudge. The computer geek with his military-grade, practically-unbreakable laptop and communications gear strapped to his back. The pretty boy fighter with friends who cleaned up violent messes. And her big brother protecting her back, not because he didn’t think she could do the job but because he knew she could.

The sight was humbling enough to make her bottom lip quake.

Tony cocked his head and gave her a questioning look. “So we’re a go?

Shaking off the emotions that had no place in the hours ahead, Ryder nodded her head. “Let’s do this.”

…

The rope burned against Devin’s wrists as he twisted his arms in an attempt to reach the knot with his fingers. If he could reach the damn thing, he’d have a chance to work it free. If nothing else, he might be able to pull the bonds loose enough to slip a hand free. Unfortunately, the hours he’d been out cold tied to the chair with his arms behind his back had left his fingers numb and bordering on useless.

He’d bought Ryder time by going with Sarah, but he doubted she’d make it off the island without the Molinas taking their pound of flesh. That was, if she’d even leave. The woman was as stubborn as the day was long, and he couldn’t quite convince himself that she’d make the calculated move to get the hell away from The Andol Republic without him.

Not that he totally hated the idea, even though he should. Her badass attitude was one of the things that had sucked him into her orbit like a planet around a star. That, and her phenomenal ass.

The image of her high, round ass added to his motivation as he flexed his wrists and stretched his fingers as far as they could go. The tip of his pointer finger brushed the knot’s scratchy surface. Inching it across the curve, he tried to nudge the rope from where it was twisted into itself. It didn’t budge, and he wanted to roar out his frustration. Instead, he swallowed the noise, not wanting to draw his guards’ attention. The last time he’d done that, he’d lost at least an hour and what felt like a pint of blood acting as their personal punching bag. If he was going to get out of here—and he was—he had to use his head instead of his biceps, or his big mouth.

Concentrating all of his energy on getting at the knot, he reached again with everything he had. The rope shifted and gave a few millimeters. His pulse punched into overdrive.

A shout in Spanish from the other side of the closed door halted his forward progress as he strained to pick up a word or two and translate them in his head.

Stop.