Pulled Under Page 13

  She gives me a thumbs-up and I jump down on the other side of the bar and that’s when Ju-Ju steps in front of me and holds up a photo, a taunting smile on his face. A photo that he would be paid large sums of money for supplying to Devin. I reach for his phone, and he pulls it away, waggling a finger at me before he disappears into the crowd, holding it and me hostage. I want to go after him, knee him, and take his damn phone.

  I take a step toward him but he’s already walking toward the door, and my gut says that he’s luring me out of the bar, where he could have one of Devin’s cronies waiting on me. My heart now wants to beat right out of my chest. I need out of this bar. I head to the employee exit where Asher and I had entered the bar, and I don’t stop until I’m down that hallway and in the bathroom.

  My phone rings and I grab it, finding Asher’s number on the caller ID. “In the employee bathroom,” I say, “and I need to see you now.”

  “I’m on my way.” He disconnects the call and I slide my phone back into my pocket, wishing I had the mace I left back in my apartment.

  Instead I lean against the wall, my mind racing as fast as my heart. “Think, Sierra,” I whisper. “Calm down and think.” I inhale and exhale and my mind actually starts to work. Ju-Ju can’t know who I am. He’s just playing games with me. He’s not connected to Devin. He doesn’t know what that photo is worth.

  The door opens and Asher is immediately in front of me. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his hands settling at my waist, a huge cut down his cheek. “What happened?”

  “Ju-Ju took my picture and he could sell it for big money. He could hand it to the wrong person and it’s the end for me and us.”

  Asher’s jaw sets, determination and decision in his face and actions as he releases me and moves toward the door. “No,” I say, stepping with him and grabbing his arm. “Wait. Don’t go after him. We need to think about this.”

  “No thinking required,” Asher says. “I’ll beat his fucking ass and take it.”

  “No,” I say, my thoughts coming full circle now. “You can’t do that.”

  “Hell if I can’t.”

  I step in front of him, blocking the door. “If he’s the serial killer, and you spook him, he’ll retreat. That means you won’t catch him until he kills again, and that could be a long time. You can’t take my photo from him.”

  “You were completely panicked when I called you.”

  “Now that I’m calming down, this isn’t the problem I thought it was. There’s no way he took that photo to sell.”

  “Unless someone has been asking around about you.”

  He’s right. There is that, but I’m back to logic. “We can’t risk letting a killer get away,” I say. “Most likely he takes a picture as part of the game he plays with his victims.”

  “Are you fucking serious? Am I supposed to be comforted by the idea that a serial killer targeted you as his next kill?”

  “Yes. He’s nothing compared to The Beast.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sierra

  “Did Ju-Ju use a phone or a camera to take your picture?” he asks, when I’d expected him to push for answers about Devin, the devil, The Beast, who I’ve just told him scares me far more than Ju-Ju.

  “A phone,” I say. “He showed it to me. He taunted me with it, and he obviously, in my assessment, tried to get me to follow him, but I’m not that young and gullible.”

  “No,” he says. “You are not, which makes him targeting you feel off.”

  He’s right. It does, and yet Ju-Ju has most definitely targeted me, but I don’t get the chance to say that. Asher has already pulled out his own phone and hit the auto-dial. “Blake,” he says, obviously throwing the idea of excluding Blake from this conversation to the wind.

  “Talk to me,” Blake says loud enough that I hear him, no hesitation in reply either, as if he doesn’t remember the conflict with Asher any more than Asher remembers it with him.

  “Ju-Ju took Sierra’s picture,” he says. “And while it’s most likely one of the ways he taunts his victims, we all know she’s on the run. She can’t have that photo go public.”

  “You could always beat the fuck out of him and take it,” Blake says, still loud enough for me to hear. “Of course, based on Sierra’s earlier assessment that might not be in the case’s best interest, but for the record, man, if she’s your woman, I get it. He’d be pulp fiction if this was Kara.”

  “No,” I say firmly. “You can’t. You won’t.”

  “I heard that,” Blake says. “Just do it anyway.”

  “Stop, Blake!” I call out.

  “It’s not off the table,” Asher says to both me and Blake.

  “You can’t,” I say. “And you know it. That will—”

  “Send him underground,” Asher states. “I get it.” He hits speaker. “You’re on speaker, Blake.”

  “Nothing on his cloud,” Blake says. “I’ll look for other ways he might upload.”

  “I have to get back behind the bar,” Asher replies. “I need someone to text me his location now and any time it changes.”

  “Done,” Blake confirms. “And I’ll get you an update on the photo.”

  “For the record,” Asher adds. “Your ass is off this case after tonight.”

  “We’ll talk,” Blake agrees, surprising me with the rather compliant reply, when there is nothing about the man that is compliant at all, before he disconnects.

  Asher sticks his phone back in his pocket. “Ju-Ju is either using a phone in someone else’s name to take those photos or a throwaway.”

  “How do you know he even uses the cloud?” I ask.

  “Blake hacked his MacBook and turned it on. And he has an alert set up to ensure it stays on.”

  “Is that possible? That can’t be possible.”

  “You’d be surprised just what a hacker can do.” He presses his hands on the door on either side of me, his expression and tone turning harder. “And you’d be surprised what a serial killer will do. There’s a big difference between sitting in a room with a restrained killer, and facing one who is walking the streets and wants you dead.”

  “I know that,” I say.

  “I don’t think you do, but I do. Just as you’re an expert at analyzing killers, I’m an expert at keeping the right people alive and killing the bad guys. Which is why you will do what I say the rest of this night, or I swear to you, I will drug you myself and take you out of here. And before you get the idea in your pretty little head that I’m strong-arming you like your ex, stop and think. I’m going to keep you alive. He’s trying to kill you.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “You better,” he states firmly, “because I’m the difference between you living and dying. We need to get back behind that bar.” He pushes away from me.

  I don’t move, intentionally remaining the block to him opening the door. “Are the police still here?”

  “They left and you can explain to me why you’re afraid of them when we get out of here.”

  “I’m not a criminal,” I say. “I told you that.”

  “Later, Sierra.”

  “No,” I say. “I cannot stand the idea of you thinking that you’re helping a criminal. He’s close to law enforcement and he’s a public figure. He filed a missing person’s report and I’ve been photographed with him too often to not be worried about being recognized.”

  He studies me for several beats and while his expression has not changed, his energy is sharp, angry, even. “Let’s get back out there,” he says.

  There are so many things I need to process right now, maybe even say to him—admit to him—but I need that processing time, and he’s right. If we plan to keep our jobs here, we need to go back out there. I step away from the door and Asher opens it. Once we’re in the hallway, he takes my hand, and while I feel the touch, and the burn, between us just as much now as ever, he’s distant, withdrawn. Maybe he’s even regretting helping me.

  We round the corner, back into the cr
ush of people, and the blast of music, this time Van Halen’s “You Really Got Me”, the song rocking the walls. Asher has my hand again, leading me through the crowd, and when we reach the bar, it’s to find Terrance standing in front of the entrance. He scowls at us, but he couldn’t speak if he wanted to, not and be heard. He moves and lifts the bar. Asher pulls me in front of him, and I enter, hurrying to my spot, where I start taking orders. I glance left and find Asher in his spot as well. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t talk to me. He doesn’t touch me.

  It’s making me crazy. He’s making me crazy. I want him to talk to me. I want him to touch me. An hour passes and I have a lot of thoughts in that time that come down to a few: He has taken risks for me, invited me into his life, his home. His trust and even willingness to give me two unconditional weeks to confess everything to him while he still offers me protection. But he feels the danger of the unknown those two weeks represent, and if I take them, I’ve taken and taken, and given him nothing. That doesn’t work.

  I glance at the time on some dude’s watch. Last call is about ten minutes away, which means a rush at the bar, and I can’t take it anymore. Asher is filling an order and I walk toward him. The minute he sets the drink in front of the guy, I stand between him and the bar. My hands come down on those gorgeous colorfully tattooed arms of his, arms that tell a story of his life that I want to know. My eyes meet his and I not only register the question in his eyes, I feel the connection between us like a live charge through my body. I know what I have to do and I push to my toes, pressing my lips to his ear. “I will tell you everything, but only you. You can’t tell anyone else. Not without—”

  He pulls back and suddenly his hand is at the back of my head and he’s kissing me, a deep, possessive, intense kiss that is over too soon. “We’ll figure it out,” he promises, his lips now at my ear before he’s staring down at me and giving me a nod that is a question.

  I nod back, relieved, certain now that he’s right. Fate brought us together, but he decided to keep us together. And he needed to know I did, too. The ten-minute final call is announced and he brushes his lips over mine before releasing me. Ten more minutes, and we can get out of here.

  ***

  The minute drink service ends, Asher grabs the tip jar and my hand, once again leading me through the crowd, and we don’t stop until we’re in the break room where thankfully no one else is right now. “Let’s get your cash and get out of here,” he says, pulling a wad of bills from the jar.

  “My cash?” I ask. “Don’t you mean our cash?”

  “Tattoo boy.”

  At the sound of Terrance’s voice, Asher grimaces and glances to the door. “What do you want, baldy?”

  “A minute,” he bites out. “Alone.”

  Asher stuffs the cash he’s holding back inside the jar and then glances at me. “Do not leave this room.”

  “I won’t,” I promise, with absolutely no hesitation. I might be willing to battle Ju-Ju to save other people’s lives, but I’m not foolish enough to want to die in the process.

  He studies me for several beats, as if weighing my flight risk, which has me adding, “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  He steps closer. “If you do, I’ll come for you, and unlike others, I’ll find you.” He turns and walks away, and I’m surprisingly comforted by the certainty that he would indeed find me. Hopefully, he’ll never have to prove that to be true.

  He and Terrance disappear into the hallway and I pull the cash from the tip jar a little at a time, and start counting. Five minutes later, I’ve determined that tonight’s take is twelve hundred and sixty-two dollars and tonight was busier than last night. I stuff it all in my purse, because I don’t need mace. I have Asher, who walks back into the room, his expression all hard lines and irritation. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing I didn’t expect,” he says, glancing at the empty tip jar and then back at me. “Are we ready to get out of here?”

  “Before we ever got here,” I say, not about to bring up the tips he obviously didn’t share last night, now. He’s tense and we both want out of here. “I put the money in my purse,” I add, and trying to drive home my promise to stay with him, to tell him everything, I add, “I decided that you’re a better weapon than mace.”

  “I am, sweetheart. Bet on me.”

  “Like you’ve bet on me?” I ask, starting to really grip the magnitude of that trust.

  “That’s the idea.”

  “I will,” I promise. “I am. Asher, I—”

  He leans in and kisses me, his hand on the side of my face. “I want you to finish that thought, but later, when we’re alone.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “I want you out of this hellhole.”

  “I want you out of this hellhole.”

  He laughs, the tension in his expression easing. “Come on,” he says, taking my hand and leading me out of the room and the instant we’re in the hallway, he walks me to his side. Not behind him. Not in front of him.

  We reach the exit, and he pauses, looking over at me. “Eight blocks to the train station,” Asher says, his arm sliding around my shoulder and pulling me close. “Four north. Four east. And not only do I have men monitoring our exit, one of them has our backs, making sure we get on that train without company.”

  I want to ask where Ju-Ju is now, but he’s already answered that question with his promise that Ju-Ju won’t follow us. Ju-Ju isn’t here. Devin isn’t here. Asher is and that matters more than he knows. I need him to know. After all he’s done, he needs to hear that. He deserves to hear that.

  We exit the building into the alleyway and the night is starless, stormy, the smell of rain in the wind, the sound of thunder in the not so distant distance. Asher slides his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, my side molded to his, and I have this sense that he’s sheltering me. He’s been sheltering me from the moment he stopped being the asshole that told me to take off some clothes and get up on the bar and dance. I’ll analyze how we went from that to this another time.

  Right now, we turn a corner, onto an even darker street, and Asher is quiet, his body tense, and I have this sense that he’s listening, on edge, and ready to act if needed. I don’t think that it is about Ju-Ju either. His men are watching for him. Asher trusts them, but he’s as aware as I am of the unknowns he battles in my name. And so the silence between us continues until finally the subway is in view and his phone buzzes. Asher stops us in our tracks and I stiffen with the fear that this is a warning of some sort.

  “Relax,” Asher says, releasing me to pull his phone from his pocket. “Jacob is supposed to text before we go underground. This is a sign they have eyes on us.” He glances down at the text and then shows me the message that reads: All clear.

  I breathe out. “Thank God.” I glance up at him. “I didn’t realize how nervous I was until right now.”

  He sticks his phone back in his pocket. “I know you don’t know it yet,” he says, as we start down the subway stairs. “But everyone on my team would die for you.”

  “I don’t want anyone to die for me, Asher.”

  “No one is going to die, Sierra.” And with that vow, he takes my hand and settles it on his, and sets us back in motion. It’s not long until we’re through the payment gates, and hurrying down the second set of stairs into the subway tunnel. Hurrying toward his home, because his life has become intertwined with my life.

  We reach the entrance to the tunnel and it’s not long until we’ve passed through the payment gates. Asher motions me forward, toward one of only four track options for this location. We hurry across the concrete paved path and then down two flights of steps, that lead to one of the cave-like terminals where a half dozen people mill around, waiting on one of two trains to arrive. Asher and I claim a spot just beyond the tracks, both of us facing forward. “What did Terrance say to you?” I ask, glancing over at him.

  He looks over at me. “He wanted to know how long we’d been fucking.”

  “What did
you say?”

  “Longer than his dick,” he replies, “right after I jacked him against the wall and told him to stop thinking about my woman.”

  The muted sound of the train approaching is my one-minute warning. “It makes no sense that he’s that interested in our bedroom habits,” I say.

  “I handled him,” he replies.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “You didn’t ask a question,” he says, as the explosive roar of our train pulls to a stop. The doors buzz with a warning before opening and Asher and I step into the empty car, but even with all the seats empty, I am too wired to sit. I step to a pole, and Asher steps to the opposite side of it, our hands aligned. Our legs pressed together.

  “You want a question?” I ask, as the doors shut. “Was Terrance asking for himself or Ju-Ju?”

  “I don’t know that answer,” Asher says.

  “You have a gut feeling,” I insist as the train starts to move.

  “Yes,” he says. “I do.”

  “Don’t do that,” I warn. “Don’t shut me out when I’ve promised to let you in.”

  “Are you going to let me in, Sierra?”

  “Yes. I am, so answer.”

  “I believe Terrance asked for Ju-Ju.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a gut feeling,” he says. “That’s all I have to offer.”

  “Right.” I look down, suddenly overwhelmed with just how easily these beasts hone in on me.

  Asher cups my face, and tilts my gaze back to his, his free hand snagging my hips and walking me to him. “Did you wake up to the fact that Ju-Ju is a monster to be feared?”

  “I’m not, nor have I ever, downplayed how dangerous he is.”