For the Bond (Romantic Suspense) (Beyond Blood, #3) by Nora Flite Page A
Authors: Nora Flite
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me in their arms and took turns driving me up a wall. Don't think about either of them.
Fidgeting, I reached for my purse. I needed to do something to stay busy. Holding the pistol, brushing the suppressor, I mulled over Kite's advice. Unless you yourself load in the clip, always check. Pulling the bolt of the Ruger back, I stared into the chamber and scowled. Ejecting the clip, I confirmed my suspicion. Only three bullets? Shit! It was good I'd checked, but if I'd looked earlier, I could have grabbed extra ammo. I'll have to make sure the shot is close. I can't risk missing.
Condensation had begun, fogging the edges of the windows. Even so, I still saw him when he appeared. The car that pulled onto the street was fancy. Rich midnight blue, the kind of model you saw on television but rarely in real life.
From what I could tell, he was the only person in the car. The driver's side cranked open, spitting the putrid monster I'd had nightmares about into the street.
Lars Diani.
Having a name to put to him was amazing. My memory had been spot on. Thick shoulders, trunk arms, and a chest so wide I was sure his suit was an extra large. Those fucking piggy eyes glistened, settling on the doorway to the wake.
Shit, there was sweat on my palms. Everything was slick and hot. Calm down, you can't shoot him yet. You'll never hit him. The time I'd missed Kite when we'd played paintball was a sobering reminder. Telling myself this didn't keep me from crushing the grip of the Ruger until my fingers ached.
Lars made it to the building, the lights casting a long shadow behind him. The people standing outside greeted him, many shaking his hand and looking delighted. Didn't they know what kind of demon he was?
Shoving the gun into my bag, I jumped from the car. Letting Lars leave my line of sight was giving me anxiety. Call me obsessed, I wouldn't argue it, but the man I wanted dead was here, right here. I wasn't about to let him vanish.
No one said anything to me as I walked by them. They kept smoking, a glance or two tossed at me. Act natural, I told myself. In the interior, there was a long table covered in flowers. A giant poster-board with a young man's face was smiling at nothing. His hair was mossy green, teeth unnaturally white. The scrawled, elegant writing below said: Hector Jett, Gone but not Forgotten.
There were voices rumbling gently down the hall. I stopped, staring at the photo again. So this is Hecko. I didn't see the resemblance to Frank. I'd expected his last name to be Montego, too. It must mean Frank had a sister. Someone who'd married and taken another man's surname.
Juice said he died in an alley. I wonder how? Abruptly, I recalled the news the other day. I'd seen them talking about this! It was unsettling to connect the two events.
Hoisting my purse, my tongue started to tingle as I entered the main room. It was full of people, grouped up and chatting, some of them in tears. I was out of place and I knew it, but the fear I had was being overrun by my determination.
Lars was bent over a woman, holding her hands and speaking softly. She didn't look pleased to see him. Those tight lips and narrowed eyes made it clear.
“He was a good boy,” Lars said. He kept patting her hands, making a show of comforting her.
The woman forced a smile so jagged it made me pull up short. I stayed where I was, backing up until I hit the nearest wall. I could watch from here, hopefully I'd be ignored.
Briskly, she pulled her arms to her sides. “Yes. He was . Good of you to make it tonight, Lars. I take it you're back, then?”
Lars chuckled. I saw his teeth, the filling that replaced the gap I'd committed to memory. “Not quite. Did you miss me already, Janice?”
“I just wanted to know if I should start locking my doors at night,” she said, still with her sugar-sweet grin.
Adjusting his tie, Lars lowered his tone. I could barely hear him. “You should always lock your doors. I hope you're not implying you're worried
Fidgeting, I reached for my purse. I needed to do something to stay busy. Holding the pistol, brushing the suppressor, I mulled over Kite's advice. Unless you yourself load in the clip, always check. Pulling the bolt of the Ruger back, I stared into the chamber and scowled. Ejecting the clip, I confirmed my suspicion. Only three bullets? Shit! It was good I'd checked, but if I'd looked earlier, I could have grabbed extra ammo. I'll have to make sure the shot is close. I can't risk missing.
Condensation had begun, fogging the edges of the windows. Even so, I still saw him when he appeared. The car that pulled onto the street was fancy. Rich midnight blue, the kind of model you saw on television but rarely in real life.
From what I could tell, he was the only person in the car. The driver's side cranked open, spitting the putrid monster I'd had nightmares about into the street.
Lars Diani.
Having a name to put to him was amazing. My memory had been spot on. Thick shoulders, trunk arms, and a chest so wide I was sure his suit was an extra large. Those fucking piggy eyes glistened, settling on the doorway to the wake.
Shit, there was sweat on my palms. Everything was slick and hot. Calm down, you can't shoot him yet. You'll never hit him. The time I'd missed Kite when we'd played paintball was a sobering reminder. Telling myself this didn't keep me from crushing the grip of the Ruger until my fingers ached.
Lars made it to the building, the lights casting a long shadow behind him. The people standing outside greeted him, many shaking his hand and looking delighted. Didn't they know what kind of demon he was?
Shoving the gun into my bag, I jumped from the car. Letting Lars leave my line of sight was giving me anxiety. Call me obsessed, I wouldn't argue it, but the man I wanted dead was here, right here. I wasn't about to let him vanish.
No one said anything to me as I walked by them. They kept smoking, a glance or two tossed at me. Act natural, I told myself. In the interior, there was a long table covered in flowers. A giant poster-board with a young man's face was smiling at nothing. His hair was mossy green, teeth unnaturally white. The scrawled, elegant writing below said: Hector Jett, Gone but not Forgotten.
There were voices rumbling gently down the hall. I stopped, staring at the photo again. So this is Hecko. I didn't see the resemblance to Frank. I'd expected his last name to be Montego, too. It must mean Frank had a sister. Someone who'd married and taken another man's surname.
Juice said he died in an alley. I wonder how? Abruptly, I recalled the news the other day. I'd seen them talking about this! It was unsettling to connect the two events.
Hoisting my purse, my tongue started to tingle as I entered the main room. It was full of people, grouped up and chatting, some of them in tears. I was out of place and I knew it, but the fear I had was being overrun by my determination.
Lars was bent over a woman, holding her hands and speaking softly. She didn't look pleased to see him. Those tight lips and narrowed eyes made it clear.
“He was a good boy,” Lars said. He kept patting her hands, making a show of comforting her.
The woman forced a smile so jagged it made me pull up short. I stayed where I was, backing up until I hit the nearest wall. I could watch from here, hopefully I'd be ignored.
Briskly, she pulled her arms to her sides. “Yes. He was . Good of you to make it tonight, Lars. I take it you're back, then?”
Lars chuckled. I saw his teeth, the filling that replaced the gap I'd committed to memory. “Not quite. Did you miss me already, Janice?”
“I just wanted to know if I should start locking my doors at night,” she said, still with her sugar-sweet grin.
Adjusting his tie, Lars lowered his tone. I could barely hear him. “You should always lock your doors. I hope you're not implying you're worried
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