Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) (24 page)

Camille was someone new, because of him – and there was no way to thank him for that.

They were on the road for maybe twenty minutes when Smith tapped the radio, drawing her out of her thoughts. “C-4 just went off.”

“Good. Pull over,” she pointed towards the side of the road, and he looked over at her.

“What?”

“Now.” When he heard her tone he pulled off, turning onto a short side road. Just as he started to speak she climbed over the gearshift and straddled him, rocking her hips against him. “You are ridiculously fucking hot, do you know that?”

“C, this is really not the -” He tried to be the voice of reason, but she stopped him with a kiss, pushing her hands into his hair as their tongues met and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

“I want to say thank you for my birthday present,” she whispered against his lips, her hand slipping between them to pop the button on his pants.

“Can it wait until we’re back at the hotel?”

“Two whole hours? No fucking way.”

Smith groaned and then his hand was in her hair, pulling her into an intense kiss that stole the air from her lungs. Then he stopped them, his fist tightening in her hair as his pupils dilated and those green eyes shifted a shade darker. “Out. Out of the car.”

Yes.

There were no other words needed. She pulled the handle and climbed out and he followed, grabbing onto her, his hands running over her curves, but she was busy unzipping his pants, her hand slipping inside his boxer-briefs to stroke him. Hard, velvet-coated steel against her palm, and he was all she wanted. He was all she ever wanted.

For a brief moment she was able to drop to her knees, jerking his pants down enough that she could take him into her mouth, but he wasn’t having it. On the side of the road, somewhere in Allentown, Pennsylvania he pulled her up and bent her over the hood. With a few sharp tugs he had her jeans and underwear around her knees and then he thrust inside her. “Fuck!” she cried out, and he groaned a wordless response as he started to move.

Fast, hard, and completely uncontrolled.

His hand slid around her hip, finding her clit and rubbing in devious circles that had her gasping and inching closer and closer to the orgasm that was sparkling somewhere inside all of the adrenaline and insane energy that seemed to flood her after every successful job. Smith was right there with her though. The unmasked version, the one that whispered sweet things into her ear as he thrust with all the power that his incredibly muscular body could give. “You are perfect, C. Beautiful, and perfect, and I am so very,
very
lucky.”

Each of the last three words were punctuated with hard thrusts, and she shattered under him as she came, dissolving into a liquid puddle of pleasure as he came inside her. Sparks lit behind her eyes, breaking through the dark around them as their breathing slowed. His touch gentled as he relaxed against her, the hard grip on her hip turning into stroking fingertips that glided up and over her ribs to lift her off the car – and then he hugged her tight against his front.

“So. Lucky.” The whisper made her glow from the inside out.

I love you.

Those words stuck in her throat as she swallowed down the afterglow of the orgasm. There was no way she could say that, so she just mumbled, “Yeah, me too.”

“You make me do the craziest things.” He laughed as he slid from her and stepped back, both of them putting themselves back together with smiles on their lips.

“Are you talking about the torture, the C-4, or the outdoor sex?”

“The outdoor sex.” Smith winked at her and then smacked her ass through her jeans. “Torture is old news, and C-4 is just fun.”

“Show off.”

“It’s the truth. Can we get back in the car, now? I’d like to sleep in a bed tonight.”

“Yes, a bed sounds perfect.”

“Good.”

“For round two.” She laughed and blocked his attempt to spank her again, dancing back from him and around to the other side of the car.

“We need to sleep, C.” Smith groaned but he was laughing as he got inside.

Camille just shrugged and grabbed the flask to take a drink. “We’ll see what happens. For now, cheers to only having one more name on the list.”

He started the car and did a k-turn to get them back on the main road. “I’ll gladly toast to that once I’m not driving, but you go ahead.”

She nodded and swallowed hard through the burn of the bourbon as he started to speed up into the dark ahead of them, heading back to New York, and the hotel that was home for the week. After a few more miles passed between them and the burning husk of that warehouse she sat up straight, keeping her eyes on the windshield.

“Thank you, Smith.” The words were quiet, but she knew he’d heard her over the road noise because his shoulders stiffened a little.

He cleared his throat, adjusted his grip on the wheel, and then shrugged like hunting down and torturing a man for her was nothing. “I’d do anything for you, C.”

“I know. That’s why I said it.” She smiled to herself as she rested against the door, but his hand drifted over to the center console and she shifted so she could wind her fingers with his. It felt good, another piece to the puzzle inside her that was slowly forming. Forming a picture of who she would become – and she wanted to find out who that was more than anything.

Chapter Nineteen

Eight Months Later, thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic

“Alright,” Smith whispered, leaning his head close to hers. “Medical assistance in Paris.”

“Etienne, but he won’t be the one that shows up. He’ll send someone.” With a small smile she rattled off the mobile number, with the proper country code, and flipped another page in her magazine.

“Good. Body disposal in Brussels.”

Yawning, Camille stretched and leaned her seat back. They were in Business Class – and while it wasn’t first class, it was a hell of a lot nicer than the cramped seats in Coach she’d seen through the little curtains. She answered Smith while trying to continue reading an article about the latest hits in summer fashions, but as soon as she finished the number Smith’s hand landed on the magazine and pushed it down into her lap. “Hey! What the fuck, Smith?”

“I thought you wanted to practice the contacts.”

“You’ve been quizzing me for weeks, and we’re going to
France
! Can’t you just let me relax a fucking minute?” Tugging the magazine out from under his hand, she gestured at his bag. “Why don’t you do the damn crossword? Calm down for a bit,
relax
.”

“You think you know what you need to know?” Smith asked it with
that
tone to his voice, and she growled under her breath.

“What haven’t you told me?”

“Where will you arm up when we land?” There was a hint of a smile on his lips, the thin shadow of facial hair across his cheeks making him look way too sexy, even if he was pissing her off and ruining her pretend vacation before it even started.

“Bertrand. And he doesn’t have a phone number, we meet one of his contacts at the Lumineux Corbeau Café in Paris, and ask for him.”

“What else do you ask for?”

“His recipe for the chocolate kouign amann, which is some fucking ridiculous secret agenty shit. Who does this guy think he is anyway?”

“One of the more well-connected arms dealers in Europe,” Smith muttered and then leaned back against the headrest. “Look, if you feel confident in doing the job, then I won’t quiz you anymore. Go back to your magazine.”

“Well, I don’t even know the details of the job yet, all I know is that it’s in Paris, because
someone
said it wasn’t important,” she lowered her voice to a bare whisper, even though the two men in front of her were snoring and the dimmed lights of the cabin meant that most people weren’t paying attention. 

“We’re taking someone out. My contact doesn’t trust anyone local not to share the information, or be recognized, so he reached out to me.” Smith glanced at her. “Anything else you want to know?”

“Will we at least have time for some version of a vacation? It’s my first time to go anywhere cool.”

“You live in New York City, C.”

“Exactly, there’s only so many times you can wander through Times Square getting catcalled by a drunk guy in a pile of trash before the city isn’t so magical.” She groaned. “It’s
Paris
, Smith. Can you try not to be an asshole about this?”

He chuckled low. “Of course we can do something while we’re there, C. Business first, then pleasure.” His hand landed on the inside of her knee, trailing higher under the edge of her dress where he squeezed her thigh.

Sparks licked their way up her spine, and she chewed her lip as she tried her best to suppress her reaction. “Promise?”

“Promise.” His fingertips brushed her underwear before he withdrew his hand and she bit down to stop the complaint. Smith might be willing to fuck her in a variety of exciting places, but on an airplane? She doubted it. Mile high club would be a card she would not be earning on this trip – no matter how amazing it would be for Smith to bend her over in that tiny cubicle.

Distraction.
She needed to focus on something other than the steadily growing warmth between her thighs, and the job was the perfect thing. Details, what details were missing?

“Is the target a man or a woman?”

“Woman.” His answer made her sit up straight, closing the magazine completely.
This was rare.

“Really? Why? What did she do?”

“Stole money from the wrong person. A person she also, apparently, cheated on.” Smith’s voice was barely above a whisper as he shrugged. “The kind of people she’s been involved with – well, let’s just say that dealing with dangerous people is a dangerous game.”

“One I guess she’s about to lose.”

“Yes.” Smith nodded, completely unfazed by the death warrant he carried, and it made him even hotter. Her perfect, sexy, specter of death.

Camille leaned back in the seat again, still somewhat distracted by the idea that in just a few more hours they’d be in Paris. In Europe. The actual Paris, France that she’d only ever seen in movies. If the payment for this trip was one dead idiot of a woman, she’d be glad to pay it. “So, that Jean guy was your contact? He gave you the job, right?”

“Yes, do you remember his -”

“Of course I do. Really, Smith? Stop with the quizzes already.” When he gave her a doubting look she repeated the mobile number for Jean from memory, and he just smiled. “Anyway, why do you have so many contacts in France? Even your contact for Belgium is French, or at least he
sounds
French.”

“Henri is French, you’re right.” With a stiff movement Smith pulled the crossword out of his bag and started to scan it.

“And?”

“What?” Smith glanced up at her and she rolled her eyes.

“Why are all of your contacts French? Are they the secret badasses of Europe and the whole idea of them surrendering all the time is just camouflage?” Camille nudged him with her elbow when he continued to stare at the crossword puzzle.

“The French have a bloody history, C, you would know that if you read a book once in a while.” He sighed and fluffed out his newspaper. “But most of my European contacts are French because I used to spend a lot of time in France. Paris, specifically.” He reached up and pressed the call button for the flight attendant.

“Why? Were you -”

The flight attendant approached, her eyes a little bleary as they neared the end of the long flight, but Smith flashed his smile at her and she perked right up. “Je sais qu'il est tard, mais nous aimerions deux bourbon et deux vodka s’il vous plaît.”

“Bien sur, monsieur.”

“Je veus remercie.” 

“You fucking speak French?” Camille asked, still in stunned disbelief at the beautiful words that had tumbled out of his mouth.

“Oui,” Smith smiled a little as he tugged out the table for the drinks. While most of it had been gibberish, she had clearly heard
vodka
, so she pulled out her table as well. “And as soon as we have some alcohol in front of us, I’ll tell you why I have so many French contacts,” a deep breath paused him for a moment, and then he continued, “and I’ll tell you about Nathalie.”

“Nathalie?” For the first time since Smith had told her they were going to Europe, to Paris, Camille’s mind emptied of images of the Eiffel Tower, and cafes on cobblestoned streets, and street-performing mimes – and zeroed in on an image of a beautiful French woman. All dark, glossy hair, perfectly dressed, in some of the high-end fashions she’d seen in one of the magazines she had bought at the airport.

Someone named Nathalie probably never cursed like a fucking street kid, or stumbled in high heels, or had to read magazines to know how to do her eye make-up.
Dammit
.

A minute or two of stunned silence later, the flight attendant dropped off two glasses of ice and four tiny bottles of alcohol.

“Merci,” Smith spoke softly and then transferred two of the bottles to her table, along with the glass of ice. “Go on, pour, then I’ll talk.”

Cracking open one of the bottles she poured it over the ice and then took a harsh drink of the cheap vodka. “So, who is she?”

“Was.” Smith corrected her as he took a slow sip of his bourbon, and Camille’s eyes widened at the revelation, the short surge of jealousy she’d felt waning as the vodka warmed her stomach. “She
was
someone I cared about. A long time ago now.”

“How did you know her?”

“We actually met by complete accident on the Métropolitain, the French subway system. It was late, I was tired, but something about her caught my eye.”

“Could it be that she was hot, and French?” Camille smiled when she asked it, but Smith gave her a slightly irritated glance.

“She was pretty, but it was more the way she held herself, the way her eyes scanned everyone on the train before she held on to one of the poles, even though there were empty seats. I had just completed a job a couple of days before, was enjoying my time in the city, and she was like a bright light in a dark room.” He smirked when Camille took another harsh sip of the vodka. “Similar to how you caught my attention, actually.”

“You mean you thought she was a hooker too?”

Smith stifled a laugh, wiping a hand down his face as he shook his head. “No, although to be fair, you
were
a prostitute when I met you.”

“Ass.”

He sighed. “It wasn’t what she looked like. It was just her strength, a complete lack of fear on the metro even though it was late at night. So, when she got off a few stops later… I followed her.”

“Stalker.” Camille laughed and he shrugged.

“Maybe, a bit, but I was curious. I followed her for a while, and eventually she noticed. Nathalie disappeared around a corner, and when I turned it she caught me with a knee to the stomach, and then put me on the ground. When I looked up she had a gun pointed at me, while mine was still tucked in the small of my back, and -”

“And?” Camille prompted.

“And I told her she was beautiful. In
terrible
French, I might add. But it made her laugh. I still don’t know why she didn’t just kill me, but we ended up in her flat, drinking wine and… doing other things.”

“You fucked some girl who put you on the ground and was carrying a gun?”

“Jesus, C.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I was young, she was beautiful,
yes
, I slept with her. But it was more than the sex, she was smart, strong. Someone had trained her well. She was as deadly as I was,
more
deadly than I was because no one would have suspected her.”

“She’s why you told me I could use my looks as a weapon.”

“Yes. I was thinking of Nathalie when I told you that. When she put on a dress and a smile, she could charm any hapless idiot into following her. They never felt threatened, if the idiot had security they never blinked twice. She was just a pretty face,” he shrugged, “you could do that too, with more practice.”

“How do you know how she acted on a job?”

“She let me help her out once. We’d only known each other a month or so, but she trusted me to have her back, even though she had no reason to. Nathalie was the first time I’d been around anyone who knew what I did, who knew who I was, and wasn’t remotely afraid. She was fearless.”

There was sorrow in his voice, and Camille was tempted to tell him that he didn’t need to share, but she was too curious. This woman had meant something to Smith, and it was a side of him she’d never seen – because although she had never imagined him a virgin, she’d also never pictured the women he’d been with before her. “Did you love her?” she asked, and he seemed to shake himself out of whatever memories were running through his head.

“That’s an interesting question. I don’t know if I ever thought about it.” Smith took a sip of the bourbon, the ice clinking in the cup as he tilted it up. “I cared for her. Hell, I spent a year and a half doing jobs in Europe just to stay near her, so I know I felt
something
. We would meet up whenever we could. Usually Paris, sometimes the UK, one time in Italy – but then one day we were supposed to meet in Nice. It’s a city in France, absolutely beautiful, and we’d arranged the time, the day, the place…” Smith trailed off, and she leaned forward to catch his jade eyes that were glued to the last bit of amber liquid in his glass.

Oh shit.

“Nathalie didn’t show, did she?”

He shook his head once, a bitter smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “No, she didn’t. I left messages with all of our mutual contacts, stayed too long after my job was finished waiting for an update, but she was gone. Finally, I got a call back from Jean at my hotel. Nathalie had never reported in, her target was alive, and that only meant one thing.”

“She was dead,” Camille whispered, and Smith nodded next to her as he cracked open the second little bottle of bourbon and emptied it into his glass. She did the same with her vodka, her stomach tightening just thinking what that must have been like. Before cell phones, before there was any way to reach out to someone. Just poof,
gone
. Forever. “I’m sorry, Smith.”

“It was a long time ago.” He blew out a breath and took a long drink, almost finishing the second bourbon in one go. When he spoke again, his voice was harsh, “This life doesn’t end pretty, C. Not unless you leave it behind on your own. That was the lesson she taught me, and it’s one I’ve tried to make clear to you. I know you started this journey seeking vengeance, but that’s almost done with – and once it’s done you’ll have to decide what you want.”