Complicate (Deliver 9)

Bile hit her throat. She was going to throw up.

Mike lunged forward with his pistol drawn, his expression murderous.

She swung out an arm and caught him across the chest, halting him. She needed to hear this. No matter how badly it hurt.

With a growl, he snatched Cole’s jeans from the floor and tossed them over Cole’s soft cock.

Grateful to not have to see that part of him, she moved to the hose and twisted it on. She could, in fact, feel him dripping down her legs. An irritation that would soon be remedied.

Cole and Mike watched as she lifted the hem of the dress and sprayed off the slime between her thighs. She kept herself covered, but it wasn’t her finest moment.

Her humiliation was absolute, but she hid it beneath a mien of rancor, which she directed at Cole, shouting with her eyes. Fuck you.

The corners of his mouth twisted up, defiling his gorgeous face. So antagonistic, that smirk.

“Danni is surrounded by bodyguards, right?” He glanced at the laptop and returned to her. “You can’t touch her. If you could, she would be here with a gun aimed at her head. The casino has top-notch security, so you couldn’t even plant bugs. You had to wear a camera on your clothes and sit in the restaurant with all the other patrons just to capture a recording of her.”

Her throat closed.

He’d known all along. That explained why the video hadn’t upset him.

Everything they just did together had been deliberately contrived. None of it had been real. How hypocritical of her to think otherwise. She’d been coercing him all along.

Except that wasn’t entirely true. She was using him and at the same time, saving him. She wanted him to survive. And for a fleeting moment, when they were together, she wanted him simply because she wanted to be with him.

“The video was only good as a scare tactic. A hollow threat,” he said, his voice rumbling, crawling beneath her skin. “You’re desperate. That tells me you searched for my friends and couldn’t find them. Danni was your only option.”

Mike stiffened beside her, his finger twitching against the trigger on the pistol. He wouldn’t shoot unless he had to. He wasn’t that impulsive.

She’d tried to track Cole’s friends. But while she was getting him settled in his cell, his friends had fled the states. They were nowhere to be found.

“Why are you telling me this?” She turned off the hose and dried her legs with a towel. “Why not just tell me where the hard drive is?”

“We both know I’m not walking out of here. You’re not going to kill me. But there are fifteen men, including your boyfriend here, who are gunning to rip me apart.”

She ground her teeth, feeling pretty fucking homicidal. “You don’t know me or what I’m capable of.”

“No, but I’ve learned a lot over the past month. Enough to know you’re too soft to torture me.”

“I wasn’t too soft to fuck you, was I?”

“You convinced yourself I was into it, but you feel guilt. Puts a new light on the walk of shame.”

Her cheeks heated, and a ringing sound blared in her ears. She hated him for this. Hated how easily he dissected her.

“You don’t have the stomach for torture, and you’re not cold enough to be a Russian swallow.” His jaw tightened, twitching his beard. “You’re not even Russian.”

The blood drained from her face, chilling her skin. Oh God, how did he know?

She didn’t dare speak, too afraid she would give away more than she already had.

“During the first week, you had a good handle on the accent.” Furrows formed between his brows. “It was stiff, but convincing. Then it started to slip. The more comfortable you were around me, the more your inflection relaxed. Especially when you’re aroused. That’s when I hear the Midwestern drawl. Chicago, I think.”

“She’s lived in the states for years.” Mike shook his head, refusing to give up her ruse. “Of course, she picked up an American accent.”

“That’s what I thought until she made a glaring mistake.” Cole met her eyes. “The day I told you I wanted palimi with sour cream and caviar, you didn’t correct me. You played it off like you knew what I was saying. But you don’t. Blini is a pancake. A Russian staple for breakfast. Palimi isn’t even a word.”

Her lungs collapsed, and her hands slicked with sweat. She’d fucked up, and if Cole saw through her disguise, who else had? If Vincent Barrington was half as smart as Cole, she was dead.

Mike stepped forward, and she recognized the look in his eyes. He was ready to end this with a bullet in Cole’s head.

Cole knew too much. He couldn’t live, and given the fuck-it vibes radiating from him, he’d already accepted his fate.

“Mike.” She set a hand on his forearm and dropped the accent. “This isn’t finished.”