Blacklisted

by Gena Showalter

  My mouth fell open at his words. He kept saying things like that, calling me sexy and now "beautiful." No wonder I was so hot for him.

  As if he hadn't just rocked my world, he punched a few more buttons on the keyboard. "Ever handled a pyre-gun before? And I don't mean holding one or grabbing one from an assailant--or a friend," he added with a frown, clearly thinking of the time I'd grabbed his and pointed it at Cara, "but actually firing it."

  "Uh, no."

  "Want to?"

  "Sure." Might be fun. Not.

  "Pick one."

  Wait. What? "Now? You want to start target practice now?"

  "Yeah." He nodded. "No better time."

  "I--I--okay." Please don't let me kill myself or Erik, I silently prayed.

  He stood and closed the distance between us. Hands on my shoulders, he spun me around, facing the weapons. He smelled familiar, good, like pine and sunshine and that spicy scent that was all his own.

  His body heat enveloped me, reminding me of this morning, of our kiss, but I didn't allow myself to shiver. He'd notice, probably ask me about it, and I'd have to admit that I couldn't get his kisses out of my mind.

  Remaining behind me, he reached over my shoulder and palmed a silver gun. The crystal perched between the barrel and the handle winked in the light. With his free hand, he positioned my fingers at the right angles, but didn't let the gun near me. Yet.

  "Be careful of my arm," I said, because I was nervous and didn't know what else to say.

  "Always," he replied, and then the cool steel was pressing against my skin.

  I jumped. I don't know why.

  "Easy," he said, fitting me and the weapon together. He kept his hands over mine. "Good."

  "This is lighter than I expected." In fact, if I closed my eyes I could pretend my hand was empty.

  "The metal is special, but all pyre-guns are made so that they don't melt while spitting fire."

  I wouldn't have to worry about burning my fingers when I pulled the trigger.

  "Aim for me."

  I stretched out my arms, aiming as commanded.

  Erik twisted me so that I was aiming at a wall, not his other weapons. I could feel the muscles in his arms and chest bunching with each movement.

  "Fire it," he said.

  "No. No way." I shook my head for emphasis. I'd burn the entire building to the ground.

  "Fire," he repeated firmly.

  "But--"

  He closed his finger around mine and squeezed the trigger. A yellow beam shot from the tip of the gun, propelling forward, slamming into the far wall. I nearly screamed and had to bite my tongue to hold the sound inside. There was no recoil, though, just smooth and easy-as-breathing stillness.

  Didn't matter. Hello, freak out. "I just fired a gun."

  "The lower half of the building is comprised of the same metal as the gun, just like the A.I.R. building. Nothing will melt it."

  "But the front door looks like it's made of wood."

  "It's painted to look that way so no one will suspect the truth."

  I glanced from the weapon to the unaffected wall, then back to the weapon. He was right. There wasn't even a hint of smoke or ash. "You said A.I.R. is made of this stuff, too. How did you burn that window then?"

  "Windows are different. That's why I removed them for the lower half of this building."

  I hated that I didn't know this stuff already. Cara did. She was strong and confident. So are you. Now. Still. Did Erik compare us?

  He didn't speak as he removed the gun from my grip and replaced it on its velvet holder. He didn't speak as he turned me around to face him. He didn't speak as he cupped my chin in his hands and forced me to meet his gaze. "You stiffened. What's wrong?"

  A sigh slipped from me. "I'm not war-savvy. Usually I'm the biggest coward around. The past two days, I've been stronger and braver than I have my entire life, but I still don't compare to your friends."

  "Former friends." His hands tightened on my jaw. "I've told you how well I think you've handled yourself throughout this entire ordeal and you haven't had a single day of training. Not to mention the fact that you're injured. And you might not know about weapons, but that doesn't make you any less of a warrior. You've pulled through this like a champ. I've told you that before and it's time you started believing me."

  I hated to admit this--oh, how I hated it--but my bottom lip quivered and tears burned my eyes. God, what was wrong with me? He was saying such nice things. No reason to cry. "Look at me," I said, wiping the tears with the back of my wrist and sniffling. "I'm acting like a baby."

  "That's because you're exhausted, running on adrenaline and grit. That will topple anyone, including me."

  "I don't think anything could topple you." I looked at him through the watery shield of my lashes.

  He grinned. "Once, I was out on assignment, stalking a group of predatory Mecs. They were controlling the weather so it was hot and dry. I had to stay in that heat for six days while I tracked them, never really able to rest because I was afraid I'd lose them. By the time I returned to base, I was a wreck."

  "Did you cry?" I asked, unable to keep the hope from my voice. Not that I wanted him to have cried. I just didn't want to be the only one.

  "Worse." His smile became wry as he traced his thumb over the seam of my lips. "I passed out in front of my boss."

  I laughed at the image of this big, strong guy going down.

  He softly traced a fingertip under my eyes, following the line of the bruises. "My teammates teased me for months."

  How I loved the feel of his hands on me. And as I stood there, my amusement with him faded, opening a wide cataclysm of awareness. I stared at him, needing something. Another kiss?

  His humor faded, too, like he'd read my thoughts. His entire body stiffened. "I'm going to kiss you," he said roughly.

  I licked my lips in welcome invitation. "Yes."

  His brown eyes heated and heated and heated. "I shouldn't. You're too young for me."

  "I'm eighteen. An adult."

  "The things I've seen, the things I've done, the things I will do. I shouldn't do this." But he meshed his lips to mine, his tongue thrusting past my teeth and beginning a wild dance with mine. He tasted hot and minty, just as I remembered. I wrapped my uninjured arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

  His head angled to the side as he claimed and conquered more of my mouth. Warmth spread to every corner of my body, invading warmth, drugging warmth. Better than this morning.

  One of his hands traced the ridges of my spine and stopped at the curve of my butt. His other hand tangled in my hair. On and on the kiss continued, so decadent. So wild and wonderfully wicked. I moaned in excitement.

  But when his hand began to inch up my T-shirt, skin on skin, and my hand began to inch up his, skin on skin, he stilled. He fisted the material for several seconds, then tore his mouth from mine.

  He was panting; I was panting.

  "Sorry," he said harshly. He regarded me with longing--a look I'm sure I returned. "You're not ready for this."

  "I am. Swear to God I am. I want to go further," I admitted. And I did, I realized. I was ready, so ready, to take that next step. I loved him. He was more than just Erik Troy to me. He was savior, he was friend. He was pure excitement, absolute bravery.

  "I want to go further, too. So badly," he added, his gaze roving over me. "But I want you to be sure. Have you ever...?"

  I blushed. "No."

  "That's not something to be embarrassed about. That's something to be proud of." He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on my still-tingling lips, lingering, breathing me in as I breathed him in.

  "Have you?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  There was a pause. Then, "Yeah. For years, Cara was the only girl I'd been with. After we split, well, I'm ashamed to say I went a little crazy and slept with any girl who would have me. I stopped completely when I signed up at the high school."

  Other boys would not have stopped, I
suspected.

  "I don't want to die without ever doing it," I told him. "But I don't want to be with anyone but you."

  Erik stepped forward, closer to me, forcing me to back up.

  "What--where?" My knees hit the edge of something and I tumbled down, landing on soft cushions. The couch.

  Erik eased on top of me, then shifted his weight so that our sides pressed together.

  He kissed me once, twice, sweet kisses, innocent kisses, and then he deepened the contact, brushing my lips apart with his tongue. I moaned into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, feeding me wanton tastes of passion.

  "I could kiss you for hours," he said.

  "Prove it," I replied, and he chuckled softly.

  Our tongues twined and sparred and danced and caressed. For the longest time, he didn't do anything with his hands except hold me. But as my hands roamed underneath his T-shirt, over the hot skin of his back, he was spurred into action. His fingertips trekked along my stomach, swirled in my belly button, and I trembled.

  "Feels good," I breathed.

  "Feels amazing." He inched those naughty fingers higher, until he reached my breast. I wasn't wearing a bra. When he cupped, kneaded, pinched my nipple, I cried out. "Want me to stop?"

  "No. No stopping."

  "More?" Even as he spoke, he once again teased and taunted my nipple.

  "More," I said on a groan.

  He rolled slightly, placing himself between my legs. His lower half arched forward, back, forward, rubbing between my legs. I gasped at the dizzying contact and even met him halfway, needing that hard press.

  He hissed out a breath. His movements became more frantic, more forceful.

  Something was building inside me. A pressure. A need. A fog. All three blended together, consuming me. My mind focused on Erik, on his hands, on his body. I wanted our clothes off, didn't want a barrier between us.

  "More," I said.

  He lowered his arm and dabbled at the waist of my sweatpants. I tensed in anticipation of what he'd do next. Dip lower. Touch me where I ached. Please. Even as I thought it the plea burst from my lips. "Please."

  Air caught in my throat as Erik did indeed sink his hand lower. Lower still. And then his fingers were where I'd wanted them, touching, moving in a way that lanced sensation after sensation through me. My legs fell farther apart. I clutched his shoulders, undulating against him. Moaning, almost sobbing.

  You should be embarrassed. You sound ridiculous. I pressed my lips together, trying to cut off the noises I was making. I just...I felt so good. So close to something good and right and magnificent.

  "Let me hear you," he said. "I want to hear that you like it."

  Another moan pushed its way from me, so intense I couldn't hold it back. His words and his actions combined to destroy all my inhibitions, leaving only reaction. "Erik," I panted.

  "You're almost there. So close."

  His voice sounded strained. I forced my eyes open--when had I closed them?--and saw that his face was tense. Sweat beaded his forehead. Lines bracketed his eyes. But there was such heat, such need, such bliss in his eyes as he stared down at me, watching me. Then he moved his fingers expertly, a simple twist, but it was enough. Stars exploded in my mind. I shouted, spasmed, shouted some more. Always his name, though. Always his name.

  He held me through it all, stroking me, telling me how beautiful I was. Long moments passed before I was calm enough to melt against him. My heart had yet to slow down.

  "I have to get up now," he said. His voice was strained.

  "What? No." I shook my head, locking my arms around him to hold him in place. I never wanted to let him go.

  "Yes. Must."

  "Why?" I asked, trying not to show my disappointment. We hadn't had sex. I wanted to go all the way. I wanted more. Wanted all of him.

  "The longer I hold you, the harder," he stopped himself and laughed wryly. "The more difficult it's going to be to move away without actually loving you."

  I kissed his neck, licking the salty taste of him. "Then love me, I want you to."

  A tremor moved through him and vibrated into me. "Earlier I promised you that I'd make you feel good, and I have. I don't want your first time to be while you're on the run."

  "But--what about you? I want to make you feel good, too." If he'd teach me how...I'd be an expert student and willing to do extra credit.

  He shook his head. "We'll wait until we're no longer in danger and make sure your first time is special."

  Pouting, I bit my bottom lip. "That makes me want the danger over with now."

  "Me, too," he said. He swooped in for another kiss before rising from the couch. "Me, too."

  I knew that boys often used girls sexually, then pretended not to know them. Or worse, made fun of them and called them names afterward. I'd seen it happen to many girls at school. But I didn't think Erik would be that way. He was just so different from every other boy I'd ever known. And the fact that he wanted my first time to be special, well, I fell a little more in love with him in that moment.

  Who was I kidding? I'd fallen completely in love with him yesterday, when he'd done everything in his power to protect me.

  My determination to survive this ordeal doubled. Tripled. I'd do whatever it took to win and be with Erik. Jump through fire--no problem. Hailstorms, acid rain, gunfire, flood--bring it on.

  I should have known that thought would get me in trouble. Big trouble.

  12

  While we waited for night to fall--and to keep our minds off sex--Erik taught me how to defend myself. He taught me the best way to make and use a fist. The best places to kick an agent to topple him. Not in the groin, as I'd supposed, but in the trachea or vital organs: lungs, stomach, heart, kidneys.

  "It'll bring them down every time," he'd instructed, "and it will keep them down, the most important factor. Because once you've engaged in battle and rendered pain, they'll forget about questioning you, forget about taking you in alive, and go for the kill. You want them on the ground as quickly as possible, unable to get up."

  Scary stuff. But I loved it.

  Best of all, he taught me how to fight while protecting my injured arm. I had to keep that side of my body angled toward my opponent and lash out with the other side, forcing them to try and stop that side of me.

  Again, it was scary to think about doing any actual fighting, but I was happy to learn, to prepare, just in case.

  Finally, though, darkness arrived and our reprieve was over.

  Erik checked the monitors to make sure there were no agents in the area. There weren't. He even called Silver and made sure all was well. Thankfully it was. Silver and Shanel were back at Silver's house, surrounded by his father's guards. They'd led A.I.R. around the city most of the day, keeping several agents away from us.

  Still, I was nervous as we stepped outside. Cool air kissed me, no longer warm and heavy. Golden moonlight drenched the night, illuminating the surrounding buildings, the humans and Outers striding down the sidewalks, the cars speeding along the streets.

  Erik maintained a steady hold on my hand and we did our best to appear like an everyday, average couple just out for a nighttime stroll. To be honest, I felt exposed, as if everyone was staring at me, marking me for death.

  "Maybe I shouldn't have colored my hair so blue," I said nervously.

  "You look cute."

  I grinned and squeezed his hand.

  "You're hiding in plain sight, so no worries. You'll see."

  At least I wasn't the only one hiding in plain sight. His hair was bleached white with streaks of vivid red. He'd even painted a cobra tattoo on his neck. The snake's body stretched up to his left cheek and wrapped around his ear. Magnetic piercings dotted his eyebrow and lip. "Maybe we're a little too plainly in 'sight.'"

  "No such thing." He leaned down and kissed my ear.

  A shiver stole through me.

  To go with our new hair, we also wore new clothes. He'd had a stash of different types and sizes at th
e safe house. Erik had chosen a black syn-leather duster and pants, which complimented the hard planes of his body.

  He looked like an agent.

  I wore a blood-red dress and spiked collar. Thigh-high boots hugged my legs and hid several blades. Erik had wanted me to be prepared for anything.

  "See," he muttered, drawing my attention to his mouth. "No one wants to look at us. In fact, they're doing everything they can to avoid looking at us."

  I studied people's faces as we passed them. Sure enough, they spied us and quickly glanced away, like we were visual poison. Plus, Outers gave Erik a wide birth, as if they feared he would arrest them.

  I began to relax. We were making our way to some warehouse to get the supply of Onadyn he needed. Then we were going to distribute it to the aliens he'd promised it to. Aliens who might be dying, even now.

  He'd told me the plan and had given me a chance to stay behind. I hadn't taken it. No longer could I ignore the fact that innocent people were dying.

  We walked several miles. An eternity. No more stealing cars for us. If it was called in, A.I.R. would know what vehicle to look for and we'd be caught before we could snap our fingers. We also got on and off different buses, sometimes just going in circles to make sure we weren't being followed.

  During our travels, the poor part of the city gave way to the middle class, and by the time we exited our last bus, we were in the Northern District, the wealthy part of town. Here, the houses seemed to stretch to the sky. All of them were white and chrome, probably had the latest robotic security systems.

  "The lab is here? In this neighborhood?" I asked, incredulous.

  "Yep."

  "But this place is..." I didn't know how to finish that sentence.

  "Perfect for an illegal lab," Erik said. "Law enforcement, even A.I.R., usually give wealthy humans preferential treatment. They don't bust into these houses without proper paperwork, which takes time to acquire. Time for certain underpaid individuals to alert the homeowner. How do you think Silver's dad has survived so long in the business?"

  "Ahhh."

  "Onadyn and the equipment to make it can be removed from the dwelling in minutes, leaving the agents empty-handed when they're finally allowed to invade. Happened to me many times when I worked for A.I.R. I'd know beyond any doubt that drugs were inside a home, but by the time I got my warrant, the owner had cleaned the place out."