Truth About Tequila: Believe in Me (Surviving Absolution #4) Read online

  Truth About Tequila: Believe in Me

  Nikki Belaire

  Contents

  Introduction

  1. Chapter ONE

  2. Chapter TWO

  3. Chapter THREE

  4. Chapter FOUR

  5. Chapter FIVE

  6. Chapter SIX

  7. Chapter SEVEN

  8. Chapter EIGHT

  9. Chapter NINE

  10. Chapter TEN

  11. Chapter ELEVEN

  12. Chapter TWELVE

  13. Chapter THIRTEEN

  14. Chapter FOURTEEN

  15. Chapter FIFTEEN

  16. Chapter SIXTEEN

  17. Chapter SEVENTEEN

  18. Chapter EIGHTEEN

  19. Chapter NINTEEN

  20. Chapter TWENTY

  21. Chapter TWENTY-ONE

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Nikki Belaire

  Copyright © 2016 by Nikki Belaire

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To my amazing readers who loved Max so much his story had to be told.

  Introduction

  Truth About Tequila: Believe in Me is the second book in a duet. This is the continuation and completion of Max and Gina's story. To read the first book, please click the link below.

  Truth About Tequila

  1

  Chapter ONE

  Max curls Shae tighter against his pounding heart, forcing her bump deeper into his ribcage. A ripple rustles across his shirt from the baby’s movements, strong enough for the kicking to be felt through both their clothes. Fuck! Probably reacting to the fear engulfing her from this damn attack at an event that should have been more secure.

  The stairs to Gina’s office, overlooking the art gallery, sit just a few feet away. A risky position that could easily trap them in an ambush, but he’s got to get her the fuck away from the chaos unfolding behind them. He yanks open the door and strides upward, allowing only the tips of his shoes to touch the metal steps. Difficult, even as light as she is, to maintain this nimble cadence.

  “I can walk.”

  Shae’s wobbly voice echoes in the hollow stairwell, steel and concrete amplifying their every sound. Even better. Now he can guard in both directions until they make it to the top.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nods at his whisper, mimicking his hushed tone. He sets her on her feet, encircling her waist until she gets her balance. “You okay?”

  Stupid fucking question. Of course she’s not all right. Not her. Not Gina. Not any of them.

  Gina.

  Fury pulses in his taut muscles. Who the fuck was she running from, and where the fuck is she? He’s got to fucking find her.

  “Yes.”

  Shae’s lie pulls him back to the other worry driving the rage racing through him. The certainty in her soft reply contrasts with the panic swirling in her wide eyes. But they’ve got to at least try.

  He nods toward her feet. “You need to lose the shoes.”

  Trembling fingers wrap around his, and she slides off the silver strap with her other hand, leaning the sandal against the wall. She bends awkwardly, maneuvering around her swollen belly to grasp the other foot.

  Her hand flies to her stomach as she hunches inward. A gasp mingles with the bang of the dropping heel, clanking down four steps. Rhinestones chip off the leather with each bounce, sparkling in the fluorescent light before showering down like a waterfall. Several long breaths blow against his arm before she straightens, a deep frown darkening her expression.

  “I’m so sorry. It hit me harder than I was expecting.”

  The murmured apology stabs his gut like a blade. That she feels guilty for the shit they put her through. Instead of freaking out like most people.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  He leads her closer to the black banister freckled with specs of rust. “Hold onto the rail and take your time. We’ll go as slow as you need.”

  “Okay. Thank—”

  Cool air blasts his face as the door below them flies open. Metal vibrates under their feet from the force of the gunman rushing upward.

  “Fuck!”

  Heat sears his body at the singular determination in this motherfucker’s eyes. Somebody's going to die tonight, but this bastard better know it sure as hell won’t be her. He tugs her against him and palms her exposed ear. Forced to take aim with only a few yards between them, his shots pierce the assassin’s forehead and throat, and the man plummets backward from the close range. Crimson trails the gray block wall from his slide downward.

  She winces from the deafening squeal of firing bullets, muffling a raspy sob into his chest. For a killer who doesn’t deserve it. Or maybe for herself, for foolishly thinking she and her baby would be safe in their fucked up world. Words she never speaks, but he can’t help but wonder what goes through her head when her greatest love generates her greatest fear.

  Just like him with Gina. He’d never fucking survive without her. Damn, he’s got to get the hell out of here.

  Yet as much as wants to chase after her and destroy whoever’s done this to them, he knows his girlfriend’s true heart. She would never forgive him if something happened to Shae or this baby. Not after she almost died protecting them, and he refuses to allow her sacrifice to be worthless now.

  Shae quiets down but her grip doesn’t loosen. Clinging to him for comfort until Nick comes. If Nick comes. Damn it.

  With one arm tight around her, he slides out his phone and swipes the screen. Millie’s furious message still fills the display. He can’t think about that now.

  He taps the buttons for Nick and Andy’s tracking devices. Neither moves. Which means they’re still here. Dread coils in his belly. Yet their presence offers no solace that they aren’t dead, and he’s more than fucking grateful Shae hasn’t asked. Probably too frightened of the answer to question him.

  Unable to wait, he dials Gina. One ring and the call goes straight to fucking voice mail. Fuck. He checks her trackers too. The purple diamond from her toe ring remains motionless. But the orange flower signifying her necklace shows movement, already about four miles out of the city. Away from him. God damn fucking shit.

  Confirming his suspicion that it’s an inside job. Motherfucker. Whoever the fuck the bastard is knows them well enough to remove what they think is her only traceable source, unaware of the jewelry Max gave her tonight. But if she’s in motion that means she’s alive. At least for now. That’s all he can hold onto to keep from flipping the fuck out.

  Sprawled on the landing, the gunman remains still, scarlet bathing his mangled body. One threat may be eliminated but that doesn’t mean more aren’t on the way. They’ve got to keep moving. He urges her forward and she doesn’t protest, letting him guide her toward the office.

  Sweat drips down his face and back. Hotter than fuck in this airless space. They pause again. Her fingers fist his dress shirt as her eyes sink shut. Moisture beads pepper her splotchy face contrasting with the goosebumps sprinkled on her trembling arms.

  He doesn’t know jack shit about labor but this seems too fast. Aren’t first babies supposed to be slow in the birthing process? Maybe when they come a month early they make up their own rules.

  “Okay. We can go again.”

  His heart twists at his friend’s tenacity. She should be in a fucking hospital surrounded b
y nurses and medicine and monitors. Not under fucking attack. More proof to confirm what he told Gina. Kids don’t deserve to be sentenced to such a dangerous life.

  Another jab to his chest. He has to force himself to calm down. Only a few more feet and they’ll be inside. He fights against the adrenaline pulsing in his nerves. Stifling the throbbing ache to take action. Restricted by her frailty to take one excruciatingly slow step at a time, ensuring her safety before he can search for Gina.

  They reach the doorway, and he scans the open space. Thank God Gina keeps her office messy but sparse. Leaving nothing big enough to conceal a shooter. He leads Shae to the black sofa across from the desk cluttered with sketchbooks and an oversized calendar covered with Gina’s scribbled notes. He yanks off his jacket, wrapping the coat around her heaving shoulders as she shrinks into herself. Estimating less than two minutes since the last contraction. Fuck, this baby is coming soon.

  Her clammy hand grasps his, and she tugs him down to her, swallowing so hard her neck strains. “I’m good now. Go find Gina.”

  Fucking shit. The permission he wants to save the woman he loves. From the only person besides Gina he refuses to let down again. His shoulders sink. “I can’t.”

  “It’s okay. She needs you too.”

  Fuck yes she does. He’s a fucker for going and a bastard for staying. “You know she’d kick my ass for leaving you alone.”

  “But Nick…” Pain steals her voice for a moment, and she tips her head toward his cell. “He’s on his way, right? He’s coming for me?”

  Rarely does he lie to her. She deserves better after all she’s been through. This time though, warrants unwavering optimism. “Yeah, he is. It’s just going to take a few minutes with all the shit going on down there.”

  A slow nod the only answer as her head droops forward again. Panting breaths fill the silence. Fuck. She and Nick may have taken Lamaze classes but he has no fucking idea what to do. He hits the screen again, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

  Instructions for delivering a baby

  Article after article pops up. Emergency Home Birth. How to Deliver a Baby. If You Give Birth Alone.

  He clicks the first one and scrolls through the paragraphs. Fucking shit. Fast labor is usually a sign that everything is going very well. Unless it’s preterm. Then it can mean there is a problem.

  Fuck yes there’s a problem. She trusts him to take care of her, and he has no fucking clue what to do. He speed reads. Wash hands for five minutes. Find clean towels and sheets. Elevate the mother with pillows if need be. And, what the fuck does he have? A dirty floor. His coat. Art supplies. Fucking motherfucker.

  “Max?” Tendrils of hair stick to her forehead, long strands matted against her flushed cheeks. She clutches his arm, the damp fabric curling under her shaking fingers. “I’m trying hard not to panic but I’m scared. Something's wrong. I can tell. Something's really wrong.”

  He’s a fucking lying son of a bitch. “Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.”

  Her head bobs. Believing in him when he can’t even believe in himself. But there is no way in hell he’ll add to her worry. Not when he needs to protect her from the truth for as long as possible.

  “I just…” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He can’t leave her but he can’t stay either. Not without something to help her deliver a baby in a fucking art studio. “I’m going to check down the hall, and I’ll be right back.”

  “O-okay.”

  Unsure if her teeth chatter from anxiety or pain, he tucks his jacket tighter around her quivering body. He slides her phone out of the sequined purse dangling from her wrist and dials his number, picking up when the connection is made. “Two minutes, I swear. I’ll be listening the whole time.”

  Rather be handing her a gun than a cell, but she’s too soft-hearted to pull the trigger. No matter how much danger she’s in. She grips the case like a lifeline, which in all fucking likelihood it is.

  He jogs toward the storage rooms, glancing at the gallery below. Absolute silence in the bright lights reflecting off the canvases and sculptures littering the floor. Son of a fucking bitch. All of Gina’s hard work decimated by the gunshots plunging them into pandemonium.

  Darkness lines the hallway, and he skirts along the edge scouting each room for supplies and shooters. All of them empty. Until the mezzanine facing the loading dock.

  Jesus Christ. Bile burns up his throat from Gina’s assistant sprawled in front of the stack of shipping crates, her head twisted down to rest on her shoulder. Motherfuckers broke her fucking neck. Nothing he can do to help her. Small solace the girl didn’t suffer. But whoever did this to her definitely will.

  Boxes crash to the floor from his frantic search. Dumping out the contents for anything that will help Shae. Ignoring the paper cuts burning his skin from punching through the cardboard. Fucking nothing except a small pile of drop cloths. Pretty fucking useless, but they're all he’s got.

  “I hear someone coming.”

  The hairs on his neck lift from Shae’s whisper through the phone. Fuck. He steps over Holly. Another sliver of bitterness shredding his soul. Remorse that only Gina can relieve. Jetting to the hallway, he jams the cell against his ear.

  “Well now. Isn’t this interesting?” A deep voice he doesn’t recognize echoes from the speaker. “No husband. No bodyguard. Seems like you’ve been abandoned.”

  “I’m j-just resting.”

  Except for the slight hesitation, she sounds so casual. Relaxed rather than the terror he knows she must be feeling. What a fucking time to have to put her acting skills to use.

  “Come on, man. Let’s go. The boss didn’t say anything about getting her too.”

  A different voice comes through, stifled as if farther away. Adrenaline spikes in his veins from the familiar accent, but he can’t quite place the man’s native language. Fire flames through his pumping legs as he races down the corridor.

  “Do you know what DeMarco would pay to get her back? Fuck the boss. We’ve got ourselves a new agenda.”

  Getting her too. Fuck the boss. Possibilities swim through his mind. If Shae isn’t the target, then who the fuck is?

  At the rear doorway, he pauses and scours the room. Only two men. One squats in front of Shae while the other stands near the front entrance, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he glances over his shoulder.

  “Nah, she’s nothing but a trophy wife. Dime a dozen in this city. He ain’t gonna cough up much for her.”

  Shae jerks her hand away from the bastard’s sudden grasp on her tiny wrist, his gaze boring into her huge diamond before moving to her bump. “That’s where you’re mistaken my friend. She and that baby are worth millions.”

  “Let go. I don’t…” She grimaces, losing her protest from the contraction rolling through her.

  “Well, god damn.” A shit-eating grin covers the motherfucker’s face before a harsh chuckle rasps in his throat. “Our payday is going to be here a hell of a lot sooner than I expected. Get her and let’s go.”

  Max tosses his cell phone across the room and both men flinch at the clatter, reaching for their guns. Too fucking late for that shit. “Back the fuck up.”

  A smirk flickers over the closest bastard’s face as he puts his hands up. Thinking Max’s a fool and he’s actually going to be able to out maneuver him. Stupid and so fucking wrong. Just can’t let this motherfucker’s blood splatter on his friend.

  Once the assassin’s heel touches the tile behind him, Max pulls the trigger. The guy plunges backward, taking down the other idiot with him. A quick bullet to the forehead ends any risk from that gunman too.

  Max shoves the Glock into his holster and twists back to her, ready to scoop her up. Fuck this. He’s getting her real help. “I was never going to let him take you.”

  “I know.” Her trembling fingers grasp the sofa arms. Tiny fists squeezing the upholstery as she rides through another contraction. "The baby's coming Max. I can't stop him. I have to push."

 
Fuck! His stomach drops at her agonized whisper. Beads of sweat cover her ashen skin and her jaw clenches, attempting to absorb the pain. And her fear. Which he needs to eliminate as best he can.

  When her taut body relaxes again, he forces a self-assured smile. A mask of absolute conviction to hide his anxiety. "Then I guess we're having a baby."

  She blows out a long breath and nods. Not with any confidence, but still in agreement. "Where's Nick?"

  Son of a god damn fucking bitch. Unable to lie again, he shakes his head. "I don't know."

  “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

  Shiny eyes meet his, and she sucks in her quivering lower lip. Trying to hold back her cries. Gutting him with her disappointment. Nick should be here. She should be with her husband. He should be with Gina. Everything more fucked up than he could ever imagine. "I know, but we're going to do this. Me and you together. Then I'll find him."

  "Okay."

  "We're good?"

  A soft laugh tangles with her sob from the reminder of their early friendship. Back when he was just her bodyguard, and she was just his boss's obsession. Both of them hesitant to believe either relationship would last. Now, she's his best friend, and he refuses to her down.

  "We're good. Always."

  He returns her bittersweet smile. "I'm going to grab some covers, and then we'll get you settled."

  If he only knew what that meant. Laying her across some rough canvas and propping her up on couch cushions isn't enough. None of this is fucking enough. He taps his phone again, one last attempt to reach Nick.

  "No, stop! Max!"

  What the fuck? His head flies up at her scream. Before he can turn to follow her gaze, a sharp pain blasts through his skull. He tumbles forward, unable to withstand the torture shooting up the back of his head, and smacks against Shae's slender legs. Her terrified cry the last sound piercing his ears before darkness engulfs him.

  Gina swallows again. Yep, the weird cotton candy taste coating her throat is definitely still there. Her neck is fucking killing her too. Kind of like the rest of her freezing body. She tugs again, but can’t seem to move her arms. What the fuck is wrong with her?