AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 1
Alessia
Tempercoursedthroughmein waves, making my hands tremble and cheeks flush. If looks could kill, then Tony Romero was a dead man walking and I was about to be arrested for his murder. Considering my plans for the night, being arrested right now would be more than a little problematic. I drew a breath in slowly before letting it out, reining in my anger and burying it. Around me, people laughed and talked with each other, the fake giggling adding to my irritation. Despite the laughter, no one was having a good time, but I expected nothing less. It was our job. Well, it was supposed to be a job, but somehow, over the years, it had morphed into a soul-sucking monster, consuming me one tiny nibble at a time.
Behind me, the ocean waves crashed into the shore, spraying my skin with a salty mist. The briny smell mixed with seaweed, sand, and perfume. Despite the cold droplets clinging to the ridiculous dress, plastering the skin-tight material to me like a second skin, most of the people loitering around barely glanced in my direction, too focused on either their own jobs or the flirting and ass-kissing that inevitably happened when you mixed the powerful with the power-hungry.
“Hold that position,” Tony called from behind the camera that, by all rights, should have grown attached to his face years ago. “Now, give me more heat. Lose the ice bitch look and give me the sweet seductress we both know you’re incapable of being in real life.”
He wasn’t wrong—sweet was not even a word my family would use to describe me—but irritating me with insults to make me lose my bad mood was not the best tactic. Tony wasn’t a bad guy, for a photographer anyway, but I’d learned when I first met him eight years ago that his genius behind the lens didn’t extend to his mouth. And it had been in rare form today. Loud, obnoxious, and cutting for hours. Most people would have run off set hours ago, crying and contemplating their career choices. I had thicker skin, but despite my efforts, the words affected me. Instead of self-doubt, my confidence and anger issues turned the emotion into seething irritation. I’d bitten my tongue so often today that if I didn’t end up with one giant canker sore, I would be surprised.
Tired, beyond hungry, and more than ready to turn to the real reason I was on the soft white sand of Fiji, I gave him five more minutes of what he needed. “Done?” I tried not to snap or whine—it really wasn’t my style. I was a seasoned professional. Being able to keep my emotions under control and focus on my work was the reason I could do what I did. It worked for modeling as well.
My head was pounding, a result of staring directly at the sunlight for hours, combined with barely eating enough to keep a rabbit alive. It was yet another reason I hated being out on modeling assignments—I could pretty much eat normal meals at home as long as I exercised enough and ate healthily, but on location, I was subjected to a negative fifty-calorie count and expected not to have an issue with it. I was pretty sure I’d trade my favorite knife for a burger at this point, but eating red meat in front of this crowd would cause a riot. The last time I’d eaten some jerky that one of my brothers had sent me on a set, Melissa Karmichael had cried actual tears over the dead cow sacrificed for my snack and Kasia Alaynna just about jumped me to get a piece.
Tony was looking at his camera, his focus on the tiny screen so intense I wasn’t sure he had heard me. “What?” he looked up after several long moments, his brown eyes barely meeting mine before he looked back at his equipment. “Oh.” He glanced around, noting the people packing up the contents of the tent we had used as a base the entire day and the sun beginning to set on the other side of the private cove we were using. “Yeah, light’s starting to go anyway.” His bottom lip jutted out, every bit a pout, and I knew that if it weren’t for that fact—not the people packing up or the twelve hours we’d been out there, I would be fighting him over calling it a day.
Not bothering to reply, I spun on my heel, my long legs eating up the ground as I made my way to the tent. Knowing the crew wouldn’t wait for me to change before they started taking the tent down—the assholes—I stepped up to the small platform that allowed easier access for them to peel the ridiculous gown off me. The strapless straight-jacket of a dress required two others to help me get out of it. The sea-foam blue-green material of the bodice clung to me like a second skin, trailing down my curves like a lover before loosening at my knees to trail at my feet. I’d glanced at myself in the mirror that morning and knew it was a good choice for Valencia. The expensive material complemented my golden skin and black hair—curtesy of my Italian grandmother—and set off my eyes—my trademark as a model. My father’s mother might have been Italian, but my mother’s family, according to her, were all Romani ... or gypsies. My violet eyes were so vivid they often startled people. I frequently received double takes when meeting people’s gazes for the first time. It often amused me that gossip magazines posted articles a few times a year questioning their legitimacy and accusing me of wearing contacts to play them up when, in all reality, I used contacts to cover them up from time to time.
As the gown came off, I took my first real breath in hours, then snatched up the offered jeans and tank top. My hair had so much product in it I was afraid if I tried to tie it up, it would just break off, so I left it loose and jammed my feet into a pair of heeled sandals as the sides of the tent fell to the ground around me.
“Ready, Miss Accardi?” The question had me rolling my eyes before turning to stare up at the behemoth standing just outside where the tent had been. Valencia, the powerhouse brand responsible for today’s poor mood, had insisted that I be assigned a bodyguard while on the island for the photoshoot. As with anyone who had their picture plastered on billboards, magazines, and the internet, I had my fair share of crazies. The luxury brand was not about to have the face of their new line mixed up in any sort of sordid scandal, and a bodyguard to keep the wolves at bay was their answer. The colossus of testosterone they’d hired looked like they’d plucked him off the door to a nightclub, and I was still fairly certain that was where they’d found him. Of course, I couldn’t admit that the idea I needed protection was laughable and that if I had needed assistance, he was the last one I’d trust to protect me from anything, but it was another instance where I had to take a breath and keep my mouth shut. Keeping with the appearance of being compliant made my job, my actual job, easier. Especially as the idiot, who apparently had learned all of his bodyguard duties from watching blockbuster movies, was going to provide me with a great alibi and, with any luck, help keep my brothers off my back. They might not know that I was better prepared to deal with an intruder than the so-called bodyguard, but on paper, he looked like he would suffice, and it would give them—Gideon, in particular—peace of mind that I had someone watching my back. I hated that I couldn’t tell them just how capable I was, but keeping my cover intact was more important than screaming at the top of my lungs just how well I could take care of myself.
Keeping my senses on high alert, I pretended to text on my phone as Hammer—yes, that was the name said action-hero-wannabe introduced himself as—played up his role, looking around as he exited my car, eyeing everything in exaggerated suspicion before allowing me to get out. I almost ran into him when, as I was about to step off the elevator, he jutted an arm out, preventing me from moving forward as he leaned into the hall, looking both ways even though the bank of elevators only had one entry point and the other was a solid brick wall. Then I waited impatiently at the door as he investigated my suite, again impersonating every Hollywood rendition my brothers and I had ever ridiculed with his exaggerated movements and shoddy work checking places someone could hide before coming back to let me know I was safe to move around my rooms.
“I’ve got to rehydrate my skin,” I complained, walking toward my bedroom. “All this sun has done countless damage to my complexion.” I heard Hammer snort as he went to the couch in the main room, which had a direct line of sight to the only door to the hallway and, more importantly for him, a clear view of the big screen television. It would amaze the teenage me, the things that came out of my mouth. Of course, I didn’t care about my skin any more now than I had then. If you had told the thirteen-year-old me that I would be a world-renowned model, I would have asked you if someone was holding a gun to my head. I’d been clueless that love could be just as forceful as a weapon in motivating you to do something you absolutely hated. If it wasn’t for times like I was about to have, I wondered if I could have stuck with modeling as long as I had. I blew out a breath, reminding myself to set my daddy issues aside and focus on the work I actually looked forward to before my time window closed.
Shutting the door to my bedroom, I carefully evaluated the room, ensuring everything was as I’d left it. I checked the windows and drawers and kept my eyes peeled, looking for any sort of electronic surveillance. The room was clear, as I’d expected. But it wouldn’t have been the first time a crazy fan or creepy so-called paparazzi snuck into the room of a beautiful woman and placed a camera or two, trying to make a buck by selling nude pictures. And with my private profession being what it was, habits of safety and security rode me hard. I practically ran to the shower as soon as I was done, my scalp and face itching from the products the makeup artists had used on my skin and hair in the name of selling beauty. On a timeline now, I gave myself three minutes to wash the day away, braiding my thick, wet hair while I was in there before carefully drying off in the corner of the shower that was mostly dry, leaving the water running. An advantage of being one of the highest-paid models in the world was the digs. I could have had a party for six in this thing. I got out and hung the towel back up on the rack—I would need it again in a few minutes.
The natural light in the bathroom was much dimmer compared to the light entering my bedroom. I’d requested a suite with a view of the morning sunrise, which put the bathroom in the prime location to be bathed in shadow, given the shape of the hotel.
Pulling out my makeup case, I opened the enormous box on the vanity counter. Grabbing a can of shaving cream, I carefully twisted the lid and pressed down hard while fingering the bottom. With a quiet snick, the bottom dropped into my hand. I pulled out the contents and quickly applied the contacts that would turn my almost purple eyes into a muddy brown in case of witnesses. I hadn’t made a mistake yet, and discovery was unlikely in my mission, but better safe than sorry was my motto. Gloves came next, though I didn’t put them on until I’d accessed the hidden compartment in the makeup case and pulled on the super lightweight specialized suit that covered me from head to toe. The hood covered my hair and much of my face. Despite being tighter than the dress—I was essentially wearing a black, huge condom—I felt freer than I had in months. I was doing what I was meant to do, my purpose and passion in life. My heart wanted to race in anticipation, but training and control kept its rhythm steady. I grabbed one last necessary item. The razor looked ordinary enough, but like the can, it held its own secrets. Twisting the base in one hand and the disposable blade head in the other, I pulled, revealing the single scalpel hidden within. I smiled, not able to contain my excitement. My handler had told me to make a statement, and a statement was what they would get.
Padding over to the window, which was now completely cloaked in shadow, I removed the screen and set it aside. Taking a careful peek at the surrounding landscape, I was pleased to see it deserted. They’d cultivated thick vegetation to cater to the island’s remote feel, and pairing that with the darkness made most people’s instincts steer them away from this area once the sun had set.
Hoisting myself onto the window ledge, I grasped at the window above mine with my fingertips. My gloves assisted me in the climb, but nothing but my own strength and determination would get the job done. Already five stories above the ground, the only thing keeping me from falling would be my own abilities. I pulled myself, inch by inch, until I could get my feet onto the windowsill above my suite. Now was the fun part. I jumped, grabbing the underside of the deck that made up the floor of the balcony above me. Looking down, I idly noted that I was close to ninety feet off the ground, with nothing between my feet and the island floor. I hung for another moment, making sure I could hear no sound above me before moving closer to the side of the balcony, traversing it as easily as a child would the monkey bars at recess. Taking a deep breath, I used my body’s momentum, swinging a few times to gain what I needed, thankful that the hotel had outfitted its balconies with modern horizontal wire to minimize the effect on the view. With one last swing, I curled my body around the side of the deck, bending at the waist to allow my legs to slide between the top of the balcony and the bottom wire. In a move that would make a gymnast proud, I pushed off with my hands, my torso following my legs until I rested flat on the bottom of the deck.
With my internal clock ticking away, I moved to the sliding glass door, a gossamer curtain blowing in the breeze, hiding me from the occupant inside. The floor plan I’d been provided was correct—instead of a bathroom like my suite and the floor between mine and this one, there was an office attached to the bedroom.
“Well”—the man’s Slavic accent was thick, but the English was recognizable—“if you need another shipment of toys, I can certainly assist you. I do agree that they … diminish … over time and need to be replaced occasionally. Plus, creating a collection is a great hobby to have. Do you need assistance throwing them out, too, or just need a product replacement?”
I stood stock-still, listening intently as the monster disguised as a human made arrangements for the sale of women his organization had kidnapped from their homes. Revulsion and fury swirled within me, but I tapped it down, waiting with a patience I didn’t want to have as he wrapped up the phone call.
Thankfully, it didn’t take long before he hung up before getting to his feet to stretch, his back to me, providing the opportunity I needed to do what I was there to do. For his crimes against humanity, they sentenced that piece of filth to death, and I was his executioner. The price was only another piece of my soul and a bit of time.
I was back in the shower, all evidence hidden in their compartments, scrubbing my skin fiercely with a loofa, when a knock sounded at the door. Cursing in irritation, I yanked the towel from the rack, wrapped it around me as I scattered water everywhere, and stomped to the door. “What?” I asked, my ire exactly in line with what one would expect from a temperamental model.
Hammer stood in the doorway; his jaw was slightly open at the sight I made. I’d applied a green seaweed mask to my face and a body scrub that shimmered, turning my tanned skin into something more than human. The towel was small and was purposely gaping at the bottom, giving Hammer a hint of a view of my curves.
“Hello.” I snapped my fingers in his face, returning his attention to my face. “What did you want?” I said the words slowly, as if he couldn’t understand me, and his face flushed.
“I, um …” he stammered. “You were in there a while, and I wasn’t sure if you—”
I cut him off. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to reverse sun damage?” I snipped, though I didn’t know the answer any more than he did. “Thank God I’m leaving tomorrow morning. It’ll take weeks to recover from this. I’m going to have to schedule an appointment with my dermatologist—for all I know, I contracted skin cancer.” My words were outrageous, but they did the trick, reminding the man that I might be pretty, but my attitude was anything but. “But since you’re here, call and order some food to be delivered. I couldn’t eat this morning, or I would have looked bloated for the shoot, and I’m starving.” I slammed the door in his face before he could respond, then headed back to the shower with a smile. Hammer’s timing couldn’t have been any better, though he didn’t know it, and now I had an even more solid alibi in place. Not that I needed it. After all, who would suspect me?
Chapter 2
Alessia
