Driven by Fire (Fire 2)

A moment later he followed her, shoving his cock in so deep that the tiny pinch of pain only added to her pleasure as she felt him flood her, and his arms came around her stomach, holding her against him, as his own climax joined hers.

When he pulled out she almost cried, expecting him to move away from her, but instead he simply sank down on the bed and brought her with him, tucking her against his sweating, shaking body. She knew she should do something, say something, but she was beyond rational thought. All she wanted to do was bury herself against him, let go of all the sorrow and pain that had tied her in knots. She loved him. He was an ornery son of a bitch with a nasty tongue and she loved him, and it would do her no good at all. He’d saved her life, over and over again, he’d held her when she wept, he’d taunted her into fighting back, he’d treated her like an equal, and whether it made sense or not she felt tied to him, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood. He was going to destroy her brother, and she had no choice but to watch him do it. Even destroying the cell phone couldn’t stop him.

She couldn’t imagine a future with him. First off, he wouldn’t want one. And how could she live with a man who destroyed her baby brother, even if he richly deserved it. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was right now, and she pressed her face against his sweat-damp skin and gave up. For now it was the best she could do.

Chapter Twenty-Five

When she woke up the sun was high overhead and she was alone in the big bed. Of course she was. She managed to crawl out of bed—every muscle ached. The ride in the jeep wouldn’t have been enough, but he hadn’t let her alone that morning. They’d made love two more times, once in the shower, once over the side of the high bed, and when she’d gone to sleep after the final time he stayed with her, their bodies wrapped so closely together she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

She didn’t know how long she’d been alone. The bed felt cold and empty, her body felt drained. She took another shower, hoping it would give her some energy, and she found some of the new clothes still in the other room. She ignored the bed where he’d held her down and hurt her. What the fuck was her problem—Stockholm syndrome? She’d fallen in love with a man who’d tortured her, a man with a mean streak and a nasty tongue, and all her common sense didn’t make a bit of difference.

She didn’t have time to think about that, about him, about her. She had to get word to her brother that he mustn’t—absolutely mustn’t—come home, or the man she loved would kill him. At least she had the dubious relief that Ryder didn’t give a shit about her. Yes, he’d spent a lot of time in bed with her, but she wasn’t fool enough to think it meant anything. If she disappeared he’d forget all about her, and that was exactly what she was intending to do, once she warned Billy.

Ryder had said something to her, but in her sleep and sex-dazed mind she couldn’t remember. He’d probably ordered her to stay put, but that was the last thing she intended to do. He didn’t want her hanging around, mooning after him—he just didn’t want her to warn Billy.

As for her, she didn’t know what to believe. If Billy could safely go to prison, she wouldn’t do anything to stop it, but that likelihood was almost nil. Ryder would kill him if he could, the other inmates would take their rage out on him, and Billy would never stand up to the rigors of prison.

He was the only member of her family who still mattered, who still had a soul, and she couldn’t give him up so easily, not without concrete proof that he’d lied to her. She’d promised her mother she’d watch out for him, and letting Ryder get to him would be tantamount to breaking her mother’s trust. As long as there was a chance, no matter how unlikely, that Billy had been tricked and manipulated, then she had to save him. If she wanted him to stay alive, then she needed to get him to lay low, and there was only one person she could turn to for help.

Her father.

It was easier than she expected getting out of the Magazine Street house. She knew there were security cameras all over the place, but she knew the back stairs led to the garage. She wouldn’t steal a car, but the moment she got out on the street she could call a taxi and be gone before anyone even realized she’d left. It was the last and only thing she could do for her brother—dump the problem in her father’s lap, and then she could safely disappear.

It went like clockwork. No one seemed to notice as she slipped down the stairs, there was no sign of Ryder or any of his fellow Committee members, and by the time they were likely to notice, she was gone, she’d be halfway to her father’s house outside the city. She could only hope he was there—if he was off somewhere she’d leave him a message and have done with it. She’d already risked her life and betrayed her principles for her baby brother’s sake. There wasn’t any more she was willing to do.

When the taxi pulled up in front of her father’s ornate, slightly garish house,

a cross between Tara and the Parthenon, she could see the Bentley and the Cadillac in the wide, circular driveway, and she knew Fabrizio was home.

She climbed out, overtipping the driver, and smoothed down her hair. She’d found another of the sundresses someone had bought her, and she’d dressed accordingly. Her father disapproved of women in pants, and she wasn’t interested in wasting time fighting with him. She simply needed to pass on the warning and leave. After that it was up to him.

The door opened before she could knock, and Tonino, her eldest brother, stood there, massive and unwelcoming. “So the prodigal child has come home,” he said. “What new trouble are you bringing us?”

“I think you bring home enough trouble as it is,” she said, pushing past him into the cool interior of the house. “Where’s Fabrizio?”

“I don’t think he wants to see you.”

“Well, I don’t want to see him. But I need to warn him about Billy.”

“What about Billy?” Tonino demanded.

“He screwed up, Tino,” she said, automatically using her ancient nickname for him, when she was six years old and he was her lordly teenage brother. “He’s part of the human-trafficking ring the police busted a couple of months ago, and they’ve got evidence against him.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Jenny took in a shocked breath. “Were you part of it too?”

Tonino looked annoyed. “Of course not. That’s filthy money—we don’t do things like that. Besides, our organization is already in place. But you know Billy—he’s still a kid, young and arrogant, and thinks he knows everything. Our father is very unhappy with him.”

“I need to see Fabrizio. To warn him.”

Tonino shook his massive head. He was built like a bull—well over six feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds, he looked like the same man who’d played football for Tulane. “He’s with someone.”

“I can’t wait,” she said, striding deeper into the house’s interior.

“Guess you’re going to have to, Sissy.” Billy’s voice came from the shadows, and Jenny froze, turning slowly to face him.

He looked the same—boyish, handsome, enthusiastic, and she almost went into his arms, until she noticed the petulant expression around his mouth.