Queen's Ransom: A Fog City Novel Read online

  She clutched the pen so tight she almost broke it. “She’s not a fucking possession, you asshole. Neither are your kids for that matter. She, they, get to make those decisions, not you and not me.”

  “The both of you shut up!” Zima yelled. He stood in stony stillness, glaring out the window. Waiting. Poor guy thought the cavalry was coming for him. When it didn’t after another minute, he got back on the horn again. “I need to talk to Frank,” he told someone on the phone.

  “Newsflash,” Helena said. “He’s still not going to take your call.”

  “Stop egging him on,” Dex urged, but she ignored him, keeping her eyes on Zima and her hands busy, detached from the table and working free the second zip tie around her wrists.

  Adrian cursed and lowered the phone. Headlights shone through the window and he looked hopeful for a moment, until the car drove past and the lights disappeared.

  “Out of options, Adrian?” She continued to loosen the second zip tie. Almost there.

  He punched in another number. “Hey, it’s Adrian. I need a direct line to Hawes Madigan.” Helena detected a woman’s voice on the other end, but she couldn’t make out the words. Adrian’s reddening face told her enough, though. “I’m not telling you what for,” Zima said. Ransom, if Helena had to guess. “Just give it to me.”

  After another few seconds, Zima jammed his finger against the screen and ended the call, cursing again as he shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  “Figured it out, did she?” Helena said as she eased her wrists free. She kept them behind her back, not yet letting on that she’d escaped.

  “Look, Adrian,” Dex said, his tone escalating like the woman’s on the phone. “Just let me go. No one wants me. I’m no use to you or anyone.”

  He turned away from the window, resigned. “Except as a witness.” One side of his face was cast in shadow, the other in the sickly glow of the streetlamp. “If I’m going to walk out of here, neither of you can.” So he’d decided fleeing was his best option, and killing them was his only option for making that plan work.

  Helena couldn’t let either of those things happen. Not when she was sure her cavalry was minutes away.

  He moved closer and drew the gun from his hip holster. The same gun, Helena would bet, that had been used to fire at the shop. He lifted his firing arm toward Dex.

  “Really, him first?” Helena scoffed. “Come on, Adrian.” She needed him one step closer to her. “I deserve the first shot for all the trouble.”

  Adrian considered a long moment, then swung the gun her direction. She braced for impact, just in case...

  He took a step forward, right where she wanted him.

  She planted one foot, stretched, and kicked up the other, knocking the gun out of his hand. Thinking she was still bound, he lunged at her, arms outstretched, hands poised to close around her throat. She intercepted him, relishing the surprised flare of his eyes as she grabbed him by the wrists. The terror in those same eyes as she pushed him up the couple inches she needed. Swinging her legs around his waist, she used her legs and her hands around his wrists to yank him forward and ram his face into the edge of the prep table. Bone crunched, blood splattered onto her, and Adrian screamed in pain. She released his hands and rolled out of the way, narrowly missing being crushed as he fell to the floor.

  She wiped a sleeve over her face, clearing it of blood, and quickly scanned the surrounding area, looking for the gun. Her eyes locked on it under the wash table, and her ears locked on the twin roars of a Hog and a Ducati fast approaching outside. She scrabbled across the cement floor for the weapon.

  “You bitch.” Adrian’s hand closed around her ankle.

  She stretched for the gun and cursed her lack of inches, the weapon just out of reach. But it wasn’t the only weapon available. Twisting over and toward Adrian, she kicked out with her free foot, distracting him so he didn’t see the right hook coming. And he sure as fuck didn’t see the pen cap she had wedged between her knuckles coming either, the sharp edge connecting directly with his eye.

  He roared in pain, and the grip on her ankle disappeared. Freed, she angled on her side and stretched the last few inches for the gun, grabbing it, righting herself, and training the weapon on Adrian as she rose. She had no intention of using it, but Adrian didn’t know that. She hadn’t fired one in months—they no longer used them—but it was enough to keep Adrian at bay until the overhead lights were flipped on from the breaker box and the building door thrown open. Hawes, garrote in hand, led the group in, with Chris and Avery on his heels, brass knuckles and knives respectively ready, and the rest of her operatives fanning out inside the narrow space.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Helena said with a victorious smile.

  “Looks like you had it handled, kiska.” Remy sauntered into the building last, and Adrian’s one good eye looked like it was about to blow. He was not happy to see her. Remy crossed to her first, shrugged out of her leather coat, and wrapped it around Helena’s shoulders. She stepped back and held out a hand. “I know you don’t like these anymore,” she said with a nod to the gun. “I can get rid of it for you.”

  “Generally, true,” Helena said, “But I think we might need this one.”

  She traded Avery the gun for her knife, then approached Dex, who tried and failed to huddle under the table. “Please, don’t!”

  “I did not go through all this trouble just to kill you.” She reached behind him and cut through the zip tie that had bound him to the table, leaving the other ring in place and hauling him up by an arm. “I might want to, but I wouldn’t do that to Celia or the kids.”

  “Oh, thank god, I thought—”

  “Don’t think,” Helena said.

  “And listen to me.” Hawes stepped directly in front of Dex. “You’re gonna tell the cops you shot up the shop.”

  “You wanted to make sure no one was there so you could break in later,” Helena added.

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Helena said. “We’re gonna check with Celia, because this is her call, and if she agrees, that’s the story.”

  Dex cut his eyes to Adrian, who sat bleeding on the floor and cowering from Remy. “But he—”

  “Isn’t gonna walk out of here,” Hawes clarified.

  The little color left in Dex’s face bled the rest of the way out.

  “But you are,” Helena said, offering him a shiny nickel of reassurance. “Unless you want to stay with him.”

  Dex finally—finally—shut his fucking mouth.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  She handed Dex to Chris, who told her, “Someone outside wants to see you.”

  By his sly smile, she had no doubt who was out there waiting for her. Her first instinct was to question it—Why was Celia there?—but she caught herself. Reflected on what she’d just told Dex, what she herself had decided in the courtroom. All the evidence pointed to Celia being the strongest woman she knew. She loved and protected her own as fiercely as Helena and her brothers did. So of course she was there. Helena wouldn’t question that decision.

  She zipped up the coat Remy had loaned her, covering the bloody mess on her sweater, and strode out the door. The previously deserted parking lot was full of cars, but Helena had no trouble spotting Celia. She stood next to Victoria by the Benz in a halo of light from a streetlamp, fucking gorgeous as always. Helena crossed the space as fast as her legs would carry her, just shy of a run.

  “Hey, baby, I’m sor—”

  Celia didn’t let her finish, clasping both sides of her face and drawing her in for a deep claiming kiss. Helena sighed, adrenaline receding, happy to let Celia be the strong one for a few blissful seconds.

  Closer to thirty later, Celia gentled the kiss, her thumbs wiping what could only be more blood off her cheeks, not the least bit fazed. “You’re okay?” Celia asked.

  Helena nodded. “It’s not mine. I’m okay.” She lightly held Celia’s wrists and lowered her hands, wrapping them in hers betwee
n them. “Are you okay with us? With there being an us?”

  “More than. If you are.”

  Helena shifted her slightly and drew her into another kiss. Celia smiled against her lips. “You moved me so Dex would see, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” Helena admitted with a wink, then sobered, having to address the fucking idiot in the room. Or rather in the parking lot. “We need to talk about what to do with him.”

  Celia shifted them a second time, even more directly into Dex’s line of sight. “After I kiss you again.”

  Fuck, she was perfect. And perfect for her. “I think you might be the dangerous one in this relationship.”

  And she proved it, laying a kiss on Helena that was full of desire and confidence and just the right amount of danger for both their hearts.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Helena made a loop of the house to confirm everyone’s location and level of distraction—Holt sleeping in his room for a spell; Gloria and Mia entertaining Lily in the next room over; Hawes, Chris, and Marco playing a video game in the living room—then followed the smell of Italian sausage and Daisy’s and Tulip’s meows to the kitchen. Helena double tapped the door frame as she entered, making her presence known.

  Celia smiled over her shoulder. “You don’t have to do that. I’m getting used to turning around and you being there.”

  “It’s not too much, is it?” Helena said.

  Except for the time she’d had to spend in court and Celia in the shop that afternoon, Helena hadn’t strayed far from Celia’s side the past twenty-four hours—not at the station last night, not as they’d dozed off together first against the wall in Mia’s room, then against the wall in Marco’s, and not as they’d otherwise moved about the house all day.

  “Not at all,” Celia said as she covered a casserole dish with plastic wrap. “Wouldn’t mind if you were closer.”

  Helena liked the sound of that invitation. Snuggling close behind Celia, she wrapped her arms around her waist and poked her head around Celia’s shoulder. “Whatcha making?”

  “Sausage strata for breakfast tomorrow. It’s the kids’ favorite, and I figure after I kept disrupting their routine this week…”

  “You’re letting them play hooky tomorrow for the wedding rehearsal.” They were two weeks out from Hawes and Chris’s big day, but the rehearsal had to be scheduled ahead of time, given the Maritime Museum’s schedule. “I don’t think they’re gonna object.”

  “It’s also my favorite.”

  “Now the truth comes out.” She snuck her hands beneath the hem of Celia’s tee and spread her fingers over her abdomen, enjoying the heat that rushed to meet her hands. “You know…” She nuzzled behind Celia’s ear, inhaling the Dove soap and lingering smell of shop grease she hoped Celia never lost. “Hawes can cook too. Just give him a recipe.”

  Celia dipped her chin and smiled, an attractive blush pinking her cheeks. Helena was officially smitten. “What’s that smile about?” she asked as she untangled from around Celia and claimed a stool at the island.

  Celia picked up the dish and carried it to the fridge, the cats chasing the scent and the frayed ends of Celia’s pajama bottoms. “Yesterday, I told Hawes, after we got you back, I just wanted to be the partner who was the mom-friend and who made sure you all were fed and taken care of.”

  Partner. Helena’s heart skipped at the prospect, never having thought it in the cards for her. Never having thought it would be someone outside their world. But Oak had been right. Celia was just what she needed, what they all needed. And if Helena wanted a chance at a future with Celia, they needed to talk about the past week. “Even after yesterday?” She waited for Celia to close the fridge, then waved her over to stand between her knees. “You know more of what you’re getting into now. Are you sure you still want to be here?”

  “This is already my family. We lost Chris for ten years. Not letting that happen again.”

  Hands on her waist, Helena tugged her closer even as she offered her a final out. “But you don’t have to be this close.”

  Celia closed the rest of the distance between them and draped her arms over Helena’s shoulders. “I don’t have to be, but I want to be. But, Helena, no more pushing me away. My mental health can’t handle that, not after Dex, and frankly, I shouldn’t have to, not if this is going to be a real partnership.”

  “I want that too, and I’m willing to work for it, including therapy if we need it. Hell, I probably need it.” She flitted a hand in the general direction of her head. “There’s a lot up here I’ve ignored for too long.” Her parents’ death, her grandmother’s and Amelia’s betrayals, the mounting stress of her everyday juggling act. Oak had a point the other day, though Helena suspected some of her stress might ease with Celia to come home to at night.

  Celia softly kissed her forehead. “I’ll get you the name of someone.”

  “Thank you, and I am sorry for icing you out, Cee.” She glanced up through her lashes. “I tried to apologize yesterday, but someone hauled off and kissed me.”

  “I’m not sorry about that,” Celia said with a shrug.

  “Figured not, but I am about the way I treated you. I was just trying to protect you, but I realize that’s your call. I’m sorry for not letting you make it.”

  “The safest place for me and my family is right here with you and yours. You and your brothers have made sure of that in a dozen different ways. Don’t throw all that work away. And trust that you’ve made me strong enough to protect myself too.”

  Helena clasped her hands behind Celia’s waist, holding tight. “Might take a little practice.”

  Celia chuckled and pecked her lips. “Expected it might. I want to keep practicing too.”

  “Count on it.” Helena drew her in for a longer, lingering kiss. “More practicing this too. You all done in here?”

  Celia smiled against her lips. “Yep.”

  Helena slid off the stool, flush against Celia’s body, exactly where she’d wanted to be the past twenty-four hours. Longer than that. And she was done waiting, the building ache between her legs demanding relief. “Let’s go practice.”

  They wandered out of the kitchen, hand in hand, but when Celia moved to go upstairs, Helena directed her the opposite direction. “Somewhere else I’ve been fantasizing about.”

  An even brighter blush streaked across Celia’s cheeks. “But there’s no door. Anyone could—”

  Helena smirked. “There are still some tricks to this house you Perris don’t know yet.” She shooed the cats toward the living room to harass the guys and led Celia down the stairs to the home gym. They rounded the corner, and Celia gasped.

  “Helena, what—

  “My fantasy and your fantasy.” And totally worth the effort of squirreling away sheets and votive candles, and keeping everyone out of the gym today, so she could see the soft candlelight reflected off Celia’s enchanted and surprised face. She jostled Celia loose from her shock, moved her fully inside the room, and flipped up the light panel, revealing the keypad underneath. She entered the test code—not wanting the rest of the house to lockdown—and the crenellations on either side of the open doorway folded back. A steel pocket door slid out, completely blocking the entrance.

  Celia stumbled back. “What the hell?”

  “Panic room.”

  Celia surveyed the space anew, as if looking past the two dozen candles and cotton-sheet covered mats. A smile spread across her face, realization dawning. “A panic room with all your weapons.”

  “Precisely.” Helena closed the panel and guided Celia onto the mats. “We’re also at least a floor below our family, in what amounts to an insulated bunker.” She grabbed the hem of her own shirt and removed it, tossing it into the corner. Celia’s hot stare raked across her chest, and Helena hoped she liked how the spreading blush looked against the lavender shelf bra she’d put on for the occasion. She moved into Celia’s space, wanting her to feel the radiating heat and desire, wanting her to know how much sh
e was wanted. Helena swept her hands under the back of Celia’s shirt and kissed a path up her neck to her ear. “I want to hear you scream.”

  Celia shivered in her arms but recovered quickly, dipping her hands inside the back of Helena’s pants and over her satin underwear, the cool fabric and light friction delicious against Helena’s skin. “Thank you for this,” Celia said. “In case I’m too hoarse from screaming to tell you later.”

  “Fuck, Cee, now you’ve gone and done it.” She nipped Celia’s ear then drew back, stripping the shirt off over Celia’s head and revealing a sexy red lace number. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders, tousled and wild, stealing Helena’s breath. She was so fucking beautiful, body and soul, and Helena was so fucking lucky to get a shot with her. She lowered onto her knees, ready to worship, and as she pulled Celia’s pajama bottoms down, exposing a matching red lace thong, Helena’s mouth watered. She hooked her thumbs in either side of Celia’s barely there underwear. “You always wear such sexy things under your clothes.”

  “Just ’cause there’s grease under my fingernails doesn’t mean I don’t also like pretty things.” She trailed a finger over the lacy edge of one of her bra cups. “Dex thought lingerie was a waste of money, but it was something for me.”

  Helena leaned forward, nuzzling the baby soft skin below Celia’s belly button. “You’re next birthday…” She nipped along the top lacy edge of the thong. “We’ll fly to London and Paris. Buy you a whole fucking trunkful.”

  “I’d like that,” Celia said, breathy and rough, and Helena couldn’t resist dragging her thumbs down the outer edges of the thong, swiping them under the narrowing fabric, finding Celia wet for her. A hand tangled in Helena’s hair. “Would also like to see the rest of what you put on for me.”

  She swiped her thumbs over Celia’s damp lips once more, barely resisting the urge to pull them apart and torture Celia’s clit with her tongue through the lace. That would come, so would Celia, but first, she’d do whatever Celia asked. She stood, peeled her pants off, and righted herself to find Celia’s gaze positively ravenous. “Are they all pastels?” she asked as she trailed her fingers over the swells of Helena’s tits.