Page 52 of Taming Achilles

I laughed. It wasn’t the most common Swiss name there could be, but it was common enough that there’d be thousands of women who shared that name. On to the blue American passport, the name was Ashley Jones. Again, not the most common name, but so common that it’d hardly stand out to anyone.

I replaced the cash, and the passports, and put her bag back together.

Now what kind of woman would own a concealed carry, and keep multiple passports and cash on hand?

The first was obvious. A criminal. Someone on the run. But that wasn’t Pippa. She might not always follow rules, but to break laws wasn’t really in her nature.

But the second option? Well … my little princess had just gotten much more intriguing.

Chapter 26

Pippa

I left Ajax in the hall, just in case Geordie decided to make good on his threat. I knocked on the door and waited, hearing the shuffling of movement behind it.

The door opened, and Geordie stood with a smug little smile on his face.

Not quite the expression I had anticipated. Anger? Maybe. Hurt? I could have only hoped for that. Maybe some form of remorse? No. That would never happen.

He stepped aside. With a sweeping gesture invited me in. My Burberry bag was on the sofa, and I went to pick it up. I paused as I was pulling the strap on my shoulder. It felt off. Unbalanced. Or maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me. Maybe it was because he kept me unbalanced.

Geordie crossed his arms, one brow raised as that tilt of his lips hinted at some joke that I was missing.

“Goodbye, Mr. Campbell,” I said, ready to make my exit when his hand shot out to grab my throat.

“You left something in the bedroom,” he said, his amber eyes glowing with a rage that came from nowhere. He dragged me by my neck into the bedroom and I clawed at his hand.

Don’t struggle too hard, I reminded myself. He doesn’t know that you can fight.

But he was cutting off my air. I saw stars in the corner of my eyes until he hauled me onto the bed. I bounced on the mattress from the force of his throw. He had never, ever done anything so violent to me before.

“Geo,” I said, raising a hand, “what are you doing?”

I was actually afraid. Rage. Rage was written all over his body. As if I had done him some great wrong.

He tugged at something in the back of his jeans and pulled out two zip ties. In one fast movement, he tied one hand to a corner post. It was so fast that I barely had time to fight.

When he reached for my other hand, I thrashed.

“Don’t do that, Pip,” he chuckled. It was a cruel, sadistic amusement. “Don’t want me to know how strong you are, right? You don’t want to blow your cover.”

I paused. He couldn’t possibly know. There was no way.

It was enough time for him to handcuff my other arm. They were spread above my head.

“Geordie, stop,” I said, slowly, “I’ll scream and Ajax will come bursting in here.”

“Scream then,” he said, “he can watch me fuck your tight cunt.”

“Geordie!” I yelled.

He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a Ruger LCP. Its black matte was flawless, save for a slight nick on the grip. The smallest of scratches.

It was my Ruger. He’d found my gun. Fuck!

“Tell me, Pip,” he said, his long finger along the barrel, out of the trigger well. “Why does a woman who abhors guns have one in her bag?”

It’s ok. Just because he found the gun doesn’t mean he’s found the passports. Stick to your cover. Stick to the story. Now, and always.

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