Mine to Have (Mine #5)
Cynthia Eden
Chapter One
Saxon Black walked into the bar as if he owned the place. He’d learned long ago never to show weakness—weakness only brought a guy trouble—so he sauntered right into that pit of hell with a broad smile on his face and with his hands clenched into battle ready fists.
This is the last damn job I take. The last one. I don’t care what Vic says.
There hadn’t been time for a full briefing on this mission. He’d been in the area, positioned perfectly, and he’d been told to move into The Blade right fucking then.
The bar was filled with a mixed crowd—bikers and wanna-be bikers. Men covered in tats and women in sexy leather. Others were there, folks flashing cash, men in clothes that cost far too much money. He strode past them all, not even pausing as his gaze swept that crowd. When someone got in his way, he just moved that someone out of his path. Not too gently.
His gaze found the door marked PRIVATE. A guard was there, body too tight and with what Saxon knew was a gun tucked under his jacket. Hardening his jaw, Saxon headed right for the guy.
The fellow’s hand slammed down on Saxon’s chest. “We got a private meeting in there!” he barked. “So back the hell off!”
Saxon smiled as he glanced down at the guy’s hand. The man had made a mistake. He’d reached out and grabbed Saxon with his right hand. That was obviously the guy’s dominant hand, so he wouldn’t be able to pull the gun as quickly with his left.
“Obviously,” Saxon muttered as his hand flew up and he caught the man’s wrist, “you don’t know who I am.” A man with an image to maintain. He twisted the jerk’s wrist, didn’t break it, not yet, but the guard howled and dropped to the floor.
Easy enough. The bigger they are, the easier they fall.
Now that the guard was out of the way, Saxon kicked in the door.
A lot of things happened at once then—and he’d sure as hell not been expecting any of them.
A woman screamed when she saw him. A woman with deep green eyes and terror stamped on a beautiful face that should never show fear. She was tied in a chair, the ropes tight around her, and a gun was pressed to her temple.
The hell, no.
A man charged at Saxon. An idiot with big fists who didn’t know how to deliver a punch to take down his enemy. Saxon dodged his blows and drove his own fist into the guy’s jaw. The man’s grunt was drowned out by the woman’s scream. Saxon took a fast, lunging step toward her.
“Saxon.” His name was snarled. Snarled by the bastard holding the gun on the pretty blonde. “You need to walk away. This doesn’t concern you.”
Ah, but sadly, it did.
No one else had come charging into the room, even though he knew the folks behind him must have heard the blonde’s scream. The people in The Blade weren’t exactly big on helping. Neither was he. Not generally, but this was one of those special situations. I’ve got to follow Vic’s orders.
“Please,” she said, and when his gaze returned to her face, he saw tears glistening in her eyes. Such insanely deep eyes. “Th-there’s been a mistake. Help me.”
He didn’t like seeing that gun at her head. And he sure as shit didn’t like the bruise that slid over one high cheekbone.
The fool on the floor—really, one punch had taken down the guy—was trying to rise. Two more men were behind the idiot with the gun.
“Walk away,” the idiot said—Saxon recognized the guy as Kurt Taggert. A real piece of work. A man who would do anything, if the price was right. But his specialty—his specialty was murder. If you wanted someone eliminated, then the word on the street said to hire Taggert.
Saxon rolled back his shoulders and turned for the door. Only instead of walking through it and heading back out into the bar, he slammed the door. Hard. He’d broken the lock when he kicked the door in, so there was no way to secure the room. He’d have to make sure that he stayed alert for all attacks. After a brief moment, Saxon turned back to the little group. No one had moved. The blonde still looked terrified.
His gaze swept over her, slowly. She was wearing a skirt, one that revealed long and perfect legs. Her feet were bare, so he could see the red on her toe nails. Cute fucking feet, too. He sighed. His gaze drifted back up her body—nice breasts, round, high. Probably would fit great in his hands and—
“What the hell are you doing?” Kurt demanded. “I told you to get out!”
“I like her.” The words were growled. Low.
And they made fresh fear appear in the blonde’s green eyes.
“Too bad,” Kurt told him, with a hard shake of his head. “She’s not yours.”
Ah, but she would be. “How much do you want?” Saxon asked him.
Another tear rolled down her cheek. He really didn’t like that shit. Saxon had a rule about women crying—they fucking shouldn’t. At least, not around him.
Kurt jerked the gun away from the woman’s face and aimed it at Saxon. Kurt’s goons moved forward, as if that had been a signal they were waiting to get from their boss. “She’s not for sale,” Kurt said flatly.
“Sure, she is. Everyone has a price.” A lesson he’d learned early in life. Saxon kept his body loose and ready for an attack. “How much for an hour with her?”