The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

The hand was big.

And for a moment, I wondered if it was Christopher, if he had climbed in bed with me, and was just trying to wake me up without me screaming and alerting the whole household.

But the weight was too heavy for him, the palm too sweaty.

I couldn’t imagine Christopher’s palm ever getting sweaty.

My second thought was Chernev.

He was stockier.

Unsure enough about himself to have sweaty palms.

But I had seen Christopher’s security team; the way they lined the steps which was the only way to the top of the hill, to the house.

No way could he have snuck in unseen.

Which made my mind flash back to something I had all but overlooked about the call with Chernev.

His phone had buzzed.

He had looked.

Then he had gotten up to look out the window.

Someone had tipped him off.

I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He had men who worked for him. No doubt they were stationed around.

But what if it hadn’t been one of his men?

What if it had been one of Christopher’s?

What if that was how Chernev had known how to get a hold of Alexander, how he had managed to get out right before Christopher charged in to rescue his brother?

It seemed unfathomable.

Christopher was, by all accounts, a good and fair and generous employer. His men seemed as loyal as they came.

But I knew better than anyone just how far desperate men would go to get a little more money.

Just about any man—or woman—could be bought. If the pockets were deep enough. If the promises were grand enough.

And, hey, I probably looked like an easy target, didn’t I? A sitting duck in a bedroom. A girl who walked around in sundresses and cooked meals with the housekeeper.

I seemed soft to an outsider.

I looked weak enough to be easy work.

But I wasn’t soft.

I damn sure wasn’t weak.

And I would fight tooth and fucking nail before I ever went easily.

My knees were pinned by the man’s weight to the side on the bed, making the usual buck up and throw off move impossible.

His sheer size compared to mine made trying to break free unlikely.

But I wasn’t above being a stereotypical girl and using my nails.

Just as a free hand had the audacity to reach down and close over my breast through my tank top, my arm flew up, nails slashing across what felt like a neck.

There was a hiss, but my aim had been off.

It gave me a good gauge for where his face was, though.

His other arm moved out, snagging my wrist, yanking it up high enough for my shoulder to scream, pinning it to the bed.

No amount of tugging could get me free.

I had one more hand, one more chance.

To do enough damage to make him release my throat, so I could scream.

I didn’t like not being able to take him down myself, but I understood that it was stupid to not take an opportunity to increase your odds if you had it, no matter how much a part of you chafed at the idea of being saved by anyone.

Saved was better than dead, that was for damn sure.

I tried to suck in a steadying breath, curling my fingers of my left hand in a tight fist, aiming, and striking out.

Even if you didn’t make perfect contact, a fist to the throat got quite the reaction.

Choking.

Gasping.

An involuntary urge to grab one’s neck.

His hand left my mouth.

My breath sucked in.

And I did what I had to do.

I screamed for help.

“Christopher!”

Pain exploded across my cheekbone as my attacker recovered, as he struck out.

It was over.

Even I knew it was over.

Surely he knew his boss well enough to know that as well.

But his weight pressed me to the bed still as his hands tried to stop my flailing, slapping, scratching.

I hadn’t even heard the footsteps, the door flying open.

The next thing I was aware of was the light flashing on, nearly blinding me with its intensity for a moment.

Until my eyes adjusted.

And I could see my attacker.

Niko.

Niko?

Even as the realization started to sink in, Christopher’s hand was grabbing the back of his suit jacket, yanking back hard enough to throw the man backward, releasing his weight from me.

Instinctively, I scrambled up the bed, arm shooting out, grabbing for something, anything that could be used as a weapon.

In case Niko wasn’t acting alone.

In case more of the men proved disloyal.

I should have been watching the door for that possible threat, but I found myself unable to look away from a shirtless Christopher as he yanked up the struggling body of one of his, slamming him back against the wall, Niko’s head whacking against the trim surrounding the window.

What struck me the most as the two men came to blows was the silence from Christopher.

I imagined if I found a man who was supposed to be loyal to me doing something awful, I would be screaming at him while I kicked his ever-loving ass.