Lap of Luxury (Love Don't Cost a Thing)

I try and hand Ciara one of the machine guns, but she shakes her head. “I’ll shoot myself. I don’t want it. I’m pregnant.”

“All the more reason,” I growl, but she’s already hurrying off into the dunes. I take one of the guns myself and follow, swearing under my breath. What was the point of her coming along if she isn’t going to do anything?

We keep low and head north, both of us listening for voices.

“You should have taken the gun,” I mutter.

“Carrying a gun makes you a target.” She glances at me hesitantly. “Sorry for…crying all over you. I guess you reminded me of Mikhail for a second back there.”

“What, a big, sulky teddy bear?”

She shoots me a dark look. “He can be a BAMF too, you know.”

“A what?”

“A bad-ass motherfucker. You should have seen the way he acted getting us out of South Africa. He scared the living daylights out of me.”

“He did?” My estimation of my brother rises a few notches. Then I clamp down on the sensation. “Just shut up and let me focus.”

As we head north, the dunes thin out. There’s nowhere for us to go without coming out of cover.

Ciara peers over her shoulder. “There’s the house to the south. I don’t see Navarro, or any other—”

There’s a heavy, ominous chunk-chunk behind us. The sound of a pump-action shotgun being loaded.

A cold, familiar voice speaks. “Damir Ravnikar. Put your fucking gun down.”

My eyes close briefly. I’ve gone soft. That’s my problem. I let go of my dream of revenge for twenty minutes, and now I’m going to get my head blown off.

I throw the machine gun to the ground, and then turn slowly, raising my hands. Ciara does the same.

Navarro looks at us with burning hatred in his eyes. A bandage shows beneath the collar of his shirt. He nods at Ciara. “Who’s she? Another girlfriend?”

“Yes. I got tired of the other one, but this one’s getting on my nerves as well. Keeps crying all over the place.” I think quickly for a way to draw his attention back onto me. “You blew up your own jewels, you fucking idiot. They were on the yacht.”

“Sacrifices must be made. I’m sorry about your men.” He smiles nastily.

I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. It’s like being dressed down by my father when I was twelve years old.

Beside me, Ciara takes a soft, shuddering breath. I’m not a boy of twelve. I’m a man of thirty-nine and somewhere out there, Bethany is carrying my child. “You’re too late for Mikhail. He’s already fled.”

Navarro chuckles softly, and waggles the radio in his other hand. “Nice try, Damir. My men have spotted him in the dunes with your black-haired girl. Are you two into wife-swapping now?” The muzzle of the shotgun is pointed right at my face. “I hope you both enjoyed yourselves. Night-night.”

Fuck.

Bethany’s face flashes before my eyes. So does Mikhail’s.

Then I hear my name in a feral, female scream and I act without thinking, just as the shotgun blows up in my face.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bethany

For about the fiftieth time, I turn and glance over my shoulder at the empty dunes.

“Damir will be fine. It’s Ciara you’ve got to worry about,” Mikhail mutters.

“Who says I’m not worried about her, too?” I hope she knows what she’s doing. It’s an insane idea of hers, going off alone with Damir. I guess she thinks she’s as good as dead anyway if Mikhail and Damir can’t call a truce. She’s probably right.