As the black cab sped off into the night, loud footsteps clacked across the road. Looking up, Andrés started to dismiss the hooker walking toward him, then did a double take.
Not a hooker. Zoë. Drunk, from the slackness of her features and the sloppy way she was walking, with one of the straps of the designer cami she probably couldn't really afford slung down around her arm. And here he was, shirtless in the street.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Shit. She must have seen him bundle Liv into the taxi but what the fuck was she even doing outside his flat, let alone at this time?
"Who's zat bitch?" the red-haired woman asked acerbically, her French accent thickened by intoxication. Andrés pushed aside all of his confused thoughts and feelings about Liv and focused on Zoë. "None of your goddamn business. You and I are over, Zoë, I don't know how many times I have to say it or how much clearer I can be. What the fuck are you doing here?"
Zoë snarled, her beautiful features contorting with an ugly rage. "You're a motherfucking asshole, you know that?"
Coldness seeped into Andrés. It was late, he wanted his bed, and this crazy bitch had come after his business because she couldn't have him – and his money. A reptilian smile crawled across his face as he remembered that Liv had given him the key to taking Zoë down without paying her off.
"I do know that. And if you keep trying to blackmail me and turning up outside my flat, you're going to find out exactly how much of a bastard I can be. Get the fuck out of here, before you really make me angry."
If this was how she wanted to do things, he'd put extra effort into going after not only her, but her entire fucking department at the Port Authority. It would be the perfect PR opportunity for Surefire Industries, exposing corruption in the Port and casting Surefire as an ethical business struggling against overreaching government agents.
She stood there in the street, a hot mess of smeared makeup and disheveled clothing. "I came to give you one last chance to take me back, but I guess you're going to be stupid," she snarled, venom dripping from every word.
Andrés couldn't even begin to run his mind through the mental convolutions that would have led her to make that statement and was too fed up to bother. "Get. The fuck. Out of here. Before I get a restraining order." At this point, he'd rather just have her killed, and damn his promises to himself and to Chi, but it wasn't worth the police investigation. Better to have her arrested.
For a long minute, she stayed where she was. Andrés was seriously considering calling the police when her face twisted. She spat at his feet, then turned and stalked off in the direction of Turnham Green station. He didn't move to go back inside until she was well down the road and around a corner.
"Perra loca," he muttered as went back in and climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Maybe I should just stick to men. Cillian would probably have me again.
He threw himself on the bed and Liv's amber and orange flower scent puffed up to envelop him. Maybe not. Liv might be worth the chase.
Andrés smiled at the thought as he tugged his jeans off and tossed them in the general direction of the hamper. He'd be annoyed with himself for his untidiness in the morning but was too exhausted to put them away properly just now.
After sending a quick text to Liv to make sure she had gotten home safely, he settled under the covers and buried his nose in the pillow she'd rested on. Her reply back was as short as she had been when she left, so whatever was bothering her hadn't been resolved in the time it took to drive home.
That was fine. He'd give her time. He could be patient, because one way or another he was determined to see her again, if only to figure out why he'd wanted her to stay.
***
The memory of the previous night distracted Andrés more than once the next day. Not Zoë – he'd already forwarded Liv's evidence to Aguilar and Carlin and set them the task of securing his other shipments – but Liv. After getting caught off-guard and distracted in two successive meetings, he declined or rescheduled the rest and shut himself in his office to focus on reports.
Ignoring the situation didn't help. He turned to look out over the city and started teasing out the thoughts crowding his head.
Liv's reaction to their entry into the club had been everything he could have hoped for. Her raised eyebrows when they simply strode past the queue, the way she'd shivered when he suggested they certainly would enjoy their evening, the wide-eyed admiration of the club itself and her whispered, "Who are you?" had pleased him to no end. He'd worked hard to be the kind of person who could do and afford such things, and her appreciation fed his pride in his accomplishments.
Then there was the fact that he could make her laugh. He spent so much time being the boss and trying to forget the things he'd done to get there that he never got to be himself. The more he made her laugh, the more he wanted to.
Unlike the people he spent most of his time with she was free with her good humor, letting her guard down further with every giggle and burst of chuckles. It made her both more vulnerable and more attractive, even if it made him want to redouble his efforts to keep the truth of himself and his past from her. What would she do if she discovered he'd once worked for Imogen? Would the laughter leave her beautiful brown eyes? He didn't want to find out.
It had taken a serious effort of will to stop himself short of kissing Liv once he'd had her laughing in the club. He would flirt and tease and chase, but the idea that he might be forcing himself on someone else in a sexual situation was abhorrent to him. Verbal power games or beating the shit out of someone who had it coming was one thing, but unwanted sexual advances were a boundary he made a conscious effort to recognize and not cross. Even a former hitman had to have limits.
The jolt that had shot through him when her lips met his and her hand slid smoothly over his chest had been like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He'd wrestled with himself, wanting to pull her closer and have his way but not wanting to overstep.
Normally, sex was a tool to him. It still was; he could have used it to tie her to him but it was easier to keep a cool distance. Like with Zoë. Or maybe not, given how badly you blew that.
Liv must have sensed his struggle because she'd broken the kiss and leaned away, accused him of holding back. Telling him not to had sent another shock through him. He had rougher preferences that he didn't get to indulge nearly as often as he liked. Andrés had tested and teased her trying out different methods of restraint in the taxi. Everything he did had only excited her further, which in turn excited him.
Then there was the actual sex. When he'd finally buried his throbbing cock in her – slowly, the first time, to gauge her response once more – a deep sense of satisfaction had thrilled through him. It wasn't just the fact that he finally had her in bed. Something was different. He couldn't remember a time that he'd failed to seduce a mark, but for some reason, catching Liv meant more. She wasn't just a mark, she was...Liv. There was something unique about her.
Something worth keeping? Something that made him want to wake up next to her.
That wouldn't do. He yanked his mind back to safer thoughts.
Visions of her bound for his pleasure unfurled in his head, distracting him from his analysis. It took the phone ringing to bring him out of his mental movie. "Shit."
Andrés got out of the call as quickly as he could. His wanting Liv to spend the night made his stomach clench, and that made him grouchy. He never cuddled after sex, and he never let them stay. Ever.
I need a drink. With his meetings canceled there was nothing urgent. He knew himself well enough to know he'd be useless until he cleared his head.
When he arrived at Perdition, the only people there were Hendrick, the bouncer, and Cillian, who looked surprised to see him. "You're early today," he said.
Andrés shrugged and settled on a stool at the bar. "The usual."
The nice thing about Cillian as a bartender was that he never commented on the time of day. If Andrés wanted whiskey, he had whiskey.
A broad hand slapping the bar hard made Andrés jerk. "Mate. What the everloving fuck is wrong with you?"
Andrés frowned in confusion and the bartender pointed to his untouched drink. "I poured that five minutes ago but you've sat there staring at nothing instead of drinking it and telling me if you pulled last night."
Rubbing his forehead, Andrés heaved a sigh and tried to drag his mind out of the circles it was running in. Maybe talking to his friend would help. It wasn't his style, and he usually tried to be circumspect with Cillian given their past history, but Liv had him thrown.
"I pulled," he admitted, taking a sip of whiskey.
"And? Was she not any good? Pox-ridden? What? Usually, you're in here looking like the bloody Cheshire Cat after, even if you don't say anything."
Andrés snorted a laugh. "She was fucking fantastic." He spun the glass, watching the light hit the rim. Cillian waved a hand for him to get on with it.
"She left. At three in the morning. Went from satisfied and half asleep in my arms to...cold. Distant. Said she only spends the night for love." He frowned, unaccustomed to that kind of response and still not sure where he'd gone wrong. Usually, it was him pushing the other party out, not them running away. Especially not after sex like they'd had. Did I hurt her somehow? Shit. She didn't seem hurt and she never said to stop...
Cillian sighed and poured himself a drink, coming around the bar to sit beside him. "So why is that something for you to sit here moping over? I thought you preferred your conquests to see themselves out."
"I'm not moping," Andrés protested with a scowl, ignoring the bitter tinge to Cillian's words. The other man knew that particular tidbit from personal experience, though they'd both agreed it hadn't worked between them as a couple.
"You're moping, mate. Over a woman you've been chasing for a couple of weeks, fucked to within an inch of her life if I know you, and then...what? Didn't get to spend the rest of the night with? She did your jobs, she took your money, and she let you have your wild way with her. Isn't that exactly what you wanted? What about this story is making you sit in a bar thinking rather than drinking?"
With a shrug and rising annoyance at his own inability to figure out why he was bothered, Andrés took another sip of whiskey, more so that Cillian would leave him alone than because he wanted it anymore.
The other man's mocking bark of laughter startled him again. "Aha! Ooh, lordy. Andrés Marin has caught feelings."
Glaring, Andrés snarled, "I have not. It would be easier to keep her sweet if she'd stayed, that's all. She's difficult to manage." Insight hit him like a lightning bolt – maybe she had feelings for him, and that's why she'd left. He definitely didn't have feelings for Liv. That's not how he operated.
A grin stretched across Cillian's face. "Bollocks. If that's all it was, you'd be plotting your next move, not looking like you got turned down by the prom queen and pouting about it. You like the lass."
"I am not pouting. And of course I like her," he snapped, his control of his temper fraying as he was prodded. "She's useful."
"And?"
That stupid fucking question was the last straw. He had a long fuse but when it went, words tended to explode out of him with brutal honesty, vicious and cutting. "And smart. And beautiful. And she sees right through my shit and isn't afraid of me. Unlike some people she fucks exactly how I want to fuck, her hacking makes her dangerous enough to be interesting, and she fucking ran away from me even though I know she wanted to stay. She's..."
He trailed off as he heard what he was saying, anger evaporating to be replaced with horror. "Shit. She's perfect for me."
Cillian doubled over laughing despite the unintended dig Andrés had thrown into the middle of his explosion. The bastard had manipulated him in the way only a lover turned friend could, and Andrés dropped his face into his hands. "I'm fucked."
The bartender kept laughing. Tears started streaming down his face. "This is too perfect," he gasped. "London's own Casanova has finally met his match! Fuck me, but I never thought I'd see the day."
Andrés was saved by his phone ringing for the second time that day. It was the number Chi called from burner phones, which forwarded directly to him rather than the office switchboard. "It's Chi," he said, glaring. Cillian stood and took himself back to the storeroom to finish his laughing fit.
"I don't have long," Chi said when they'd each verified the other's identity. "Imogen is hosting a social event, some benefit for the cops. She wants to you or Aguilar there, won't say why. I mentioned that we've crossed paths in other social circles in an effort to get more info, so your invitation was assigned to me. Consider yourself invited. Next Friday, eight p.m. at her HQ."
Snapping his brain back into business mode took more effort than it should have, but Andrés got as many details as he could. It could be a trap, but it was also an opportunity. Things were moving too slowly for him and too quickly against him, and he needed a fresh look at the situation before Imogen or Zoë did something else.
Inspiration struck when his eyes fell on the bar's computer. "Actually...Chi, could you get a plus one added for me as well?"
Cillian, exiting the storeroom, overheard that and raised his eyebrows. Andrés scowled and spun his stool to lean back against the bar.
"Business or pleasure?" Chi asked suspiciously.
"Business," Andrés answered quickly. Perhaps too quickly.
"Rey..." Chi said, warning clear in her melodious voice. "If your side business blows my cover, that's months of work down the drain. We're nearly where we need to be."
"She'll get us a lot closer a lot faster if I plant the idea in her head and then convince her to share what she learns."
Chi scoffed. "That's a lot of risk."
Andrés was growing tired of this. First Cillian, now Chi. He hardened his voice. "Can you do it or not?"
She sighed. "Fuck it. Why not."
"We'll be fashionably late. She has a day job," Andrés said before ending the call.
"Where are you taking your hacker, then?" the bartender asked, unloading glasses from the dishwasher.
With a tight smile, Andrés replied, "To a party at Imogen's offices. With a little nudge, I'm sure she could be induced to carry out an inside job on her own initiative." Leveling a hard look at Cillian, he added, "Feelings or not, business comes first. One way or another, I'll have her. For Surefire, if not for myself."
His friend only sighed as Andrés stalked up the stairs to get some work done.