Chapter Four

The blonde knew Rhys.

Max’s hands fisted in his pockets. His feet pounded the pavement with each step he took to his rental, an echo of the rage pounding in his chest.

The blonde knew Rhys. Rhys Llewellyn, the man he once loved like a brother. The man who’d betrayed him. The man whom, for the past seven years, he’d hated with every molecule in his being.

He hadn’t expected it. Expected it? Hell—he was in complete shock. Reaching the car, he put his hands on its roof, trying to pull himself together.

When he’d disguised himself and gone to her place of employment, he’d thought it’d be a matter of simple observation. He’d get to know her routine, perhaps figure out where she’d hidden the texts, retrieve them, and leave—no one the wiser.

But then Rhys had walked in.

Jn ch’i swelled in Max, fueled by his fury. He felt it surge through him, leeching from his body. The metal under his hands vibrated, and with a low groan the car’s roof began to twist with the force of his anger. When he lifted his head, the top of the Audi was a rippled chunk of steel.

With a grunt, Max clicked to disable the lock and slid in, slamming the door shut behind him. Francesca would deal with the car. He’d deal with the blonde. And Rhys.

Closing his eyes, he gripped the steering wheel, trying not to picture her in Rhys’s arms. It was all he could see. Her doe eyes showering affection on Rhys. Her soft body held in Rhys’s traitorous hands.

Just like Amanda. Although, inexplicably, imagining the blonde in Rhys’s embrace disturbed him far more than actually witnessing Amanda in it.

Through sheer force of will he controlled jn ch’i and tore off down the street, making it back to the Nikko Hotel in record time. Without a word, he tossed the key to the valet and strode through the lobby, to the elevator, and to his suite.

In his room, the curtains were open and San Francisco’s lit skyline lay before him in its glory. He barely saw the view. Instead he saw a pair of big brown eyes teasing him with feigned innocence.

He gripped the windowsill, conscious of the groan of its metal frame. He had to discover what they were up to. There was no doubt in his mind that this was planned. Rhys Llewellyn left nothing to chance. Max knew only too well how far Rhys would plot to get what he wanted. In this case, it stood to figure Rhys wanted to finish the job he’d started: to steal Max’s scroll.

Max rubbed his palm over the burn scar at his neck. The cut he’d given Rhys still marked him, too, almost as indelibly as the broadsword-shaped birthmark that identified them as Guardians. Rhys as the Guardian of the Book of Fire, and him for the Book of Metal.

Fire controlled metal, melding it, destroying it.

Did Rhys plan to destroy him?

Like hell he would.

Max had to modify his original plan. Destiny had given him the perfect opportunity to pay Rhys back for his duplicity seven years ago. Max would use the blonde to bring him down, just like Rhys had used Amanda.

He pulled the dossier he’d had compiled on the woman—Carrie Woods. His second time flipping through, an idea struck. He extracted his cell phone from his coat pocket and called his assistant.

Francesca answered before the second ring ended. “Sir?” she asked, sounding alert despite the fact that she’d probably started working at dawn and it had to be well after ten now.

But that was why he employed her—she worked tirelessly and efficiently. That and the fact that since her mother was his parents’ housekeeper, Francesca had grown up in his household, alongside him. She already knew his habits and preferences—she was the logical choice for the job. He could trust her to keep his affairs in order, as she had during his years at the monastery. And trust wasn’t something that came easily to him.

“I’d like you to fly to San Francisco,” he said now. “I have business I’d like you to attend to here.”

“I’ll be on the first flight in the morning,” she said without hesitation.

“I’d also like you to open the Santa Monica house.”

There was a surprised pause before she said, “When should I expect you to arrive, and how long will you be in residence?”

“I’ll leave in three days for an indefinite amount of time.” As long as it took to retrieve the scroll and the journal and to defeat Rhys.

Again that startled pause. “Shall I have one of the cars prepared for you, as well?”

“Yes, the Maserati.” He paused. “And prepare one of the guest suites.”

“A guest suite?” She didn’t manage to keep the shock out of her voice this time.

“I’ll provide details when you arrive. And Francesca?”

“Yes?”

“The rental car had a mishap, so the company will need to be reimbursed for the damages. Thank you.” He ended the call before she could ask anything more.

His idea was brilliant—he’d hire the woman to work for him, right under his roof. Yes, he’d still recover the stolen documents, but he’d also figure out why and how Rhys was involved. Payback factored in there, too.

He fingered Carrie Woods’s file, his mouth set in a firm line. He wouldn’t imagine what it’d be like to live with her, to have her at his beck and call.

He didn’t have to imagine. He pictured her big eyes and lush mouth and knew what it’d be like. Pure hell.