The streetlamp on the corner swallowed her in a pool of yellow light. As she turned into her neighborhood, the sound of firm footsteps reached her ears. She didn’t look back.
Step by deliberate step, she made her way down the block and into the drive leading to the apartments. Her landlord and his wife owned the house at the front, facing the road. A large wooden gate across the drive opened when she entered the code. Walking through, she knew better than to feel safe. Fionn wouldn’t let a gate stop him. He wouldn’t let a lock stop him. Nothing would come between him and his prey, not now that he’d run her to ground.
Sweat trickled down her spine despite the chilly November air.
Her unit was all the way at the end. Gravel crunched under her feet, disguising any other sounds. She walked deliberately, refusing to let the adrenaline send her rushing across the space to the false safety of her home. The key she held between shaky fingers could be a weapon, but could she use it? Could she strike out at him to save herself? Would her instincts allow her not to?
Cornered animals fought for their lives.
She took the two short steps up to her door. Pushed the key in the lock. Turned it.
Heat swamped her back—the warmth of a body.
The lock clicked open. She grasped the handle, pushed.
Could her breath get any louder?
Two steps and she was inside—and that’s when she knew. She’d imagined being controlled, facing her fate with dignity. She’d thought she could control the screaming urge to run.
She was wrong.
She’d made it no more than halfway across the room before a hard arm wrapped around her waist, slamming into her stomach, threatening to make her illness real instead of an excuse to go home. The body she was forced back against was equally hard. Strong. Hot.
Deadly.
Warm breath heated her neck, just like she’d imagined it would. His breath.
Oh God.
“Hello, Lyse.”
Chapter Four
“C’mere.”
The word came out hard and low, the bark intended to quiet her panic. It didn’t work. Lyse fought his hold, little whimpers of pain and fear escaping her throat. He had little doubt that the tight grip of his arm across her belly hurt; it might make him a bastard, but knowing that satisfied a part of him normally locked down in an op. But then, this was no ordinary op, was it?
Pain he understood; it was the fear he couldn’t make sense of. She’d sent him her calling card; why would she be fearful?
Dragging her back to the front door was no more difficult than lifting a wee one—the woman was slight, breakable, and even with her kicking and squirming, she didn’t hinder his moves. Once the door was secured, he put a second arm around her, below her breasts so she couldn’t bite him, and began a fresh recon of her apartment. Sparse furniture occupied the living room/kitchen. The hall to one side led to a second bedroom, set up as Lyse’s control center. Too small for an occupant, and no hideaways. He glanced up the stairs. Master bedroom and bath up there; he knew. He’d check after securing his prize.
No, not his prize. His redemption.
Back in the kitchen he pulled a chair away from the table and dropped his prisoner onto it. Lyse immediately surged back up. Pressing all his weight onto her, he looked her right in the eye. “Stop. Now. Don’t be making me do this the hard way.”
Her hazel eyes were wild, her breath rapid, shallow. She threw her body to the side, fighting to get away.
“Lyse,” he snapped.
Her breath stopped. Her gaze locked with his.
“Stop fighting me or this will be going very bad, very fast. Got it?”
She stilled in the chair.
“Got it?” he asked again.
Her nod was more of a jerk of her head, but it got the job done. Leaving a firm hand on her chest, he tore open a pocket on the thigh of his fatigues and removed a couple of zip ties. Lyse’s eyes widened.
“What are ya after, silk?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t move. He used his shoulder to pin her in place as he reached around and secured her wrists to the chair. Two more ties took care of her legs, not that they were a threat. Even in the small chair, the balls of her feet barely touched the ground.
He backed up a step.
“Am I needing to worry about your mouth?” He wasn’t thinkin’ so—she’d been quiet up till now despite fighting him—but he was needing to make his point. He’d scoped out her apartment and the one next door before walking into the village and knew the neighbor’s was empty. A picture on the nightstand had told him it belonged to the man he’d seen with her at the pub. Tall, brawny—he would be a threat if he was wanting to be. Neither he nor the other man had moved like they were trained, but Fionn hadn’t survived this long by discounting variables. Was Lyse working with them somehow?
The image of her doing more than working with the neighbor flashed behind his eyes, adding extra mean to his stare.
Lyse was already white as a sheet, but whatever she saw in his face had her shrinking back. “N-no.”
Knowing he needed to question her fast, he made quick work of scouting the apartment, then returned to the kitchen. Lyse sat quietly, seeming more composed than she’d been a few minutes past. That wouldn’t last for long.
“Fionn—”
“What are you doing in North Quigley?” No one knew about this place but Deacon. He’d been after keeping the secret all these years, had killed the part of him that needed his family, all so his mam could be safe. No coincidence would bring this woman here. It was impossible.
“I…” Lyse’s full lips tightened, a white outline forming around them. “I knew it was the one place you wouldn’t look.”
“You knew it was the one place you could finish the job you started on me.”
“What?” She shook her head, the thick, messy bun at the back bobbing. “I wouldn’t—”
“What? Set a bomb? Almost kill your teammates, the people who trusted you?” Every time he thought about it, the rage was almost as fresh as it had been that night, the moment he’d realized what she’d done. “You did. You would. So don’t be trying to make me believe you’re not a threat to my—”
He slammed his mouth shut over the word, his teeth clanging together. Christ, emotion was driving him to be reckless. Don’t give intel you aren’t sure the enemy already has. Let them give it to you.
And Lyse did. “Your mother?” Her head tilted in that way she’d always had, as if she was seeking to understand. He refused to fall for it again. “I’m no threat to Siobhan.”
She pronounced it the Irish way, Shavonne. She’d learned a bit while she was here. His body tensed just hearing the name on her lips.
He stalked closer, enjoying the way she struggled to retreat. “You are a traitor. You set a bomb that could’ve killed dozens of people. I’m not after believing anything you say; I sure as feck won’t trust ya with my mam.”
“Fionn, I never would’ve hurt you.” She blinked up at him, a suspicious sheen in her eyes. Everything about her was suspicious. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone, but especially not you.”
He snorted. “Why? Because you’re kind and sweet and naive? None of us are buying that shit anymore.”
Lyse squeezed her eyes shut. He could see the fight going on inside her, the need to defend herself. She could try all she wanted; it wouldn’t be doing her any good.
Opening her eyes, she focused on his jumper, not meeting his gaze. “You know why. I couldn’t hurt you, Fionn. I…”
Something mean sparked in his gut. “Why? Because of your little crush?”
Her pale cheeks went pink, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“You didn’t think your case of puppy love meant anything, did ya? Those big eyes staring up at me, full of hearts.” He leaned in, planting his hands on the seat on either side of her thighs, bringing their faces close. He wanted her to see him, wanted her feeling it when he delivered the blows. “All that pathetic he
ro worship almost got my team killed. Why? Because we trusted you. Because no little girl who was naive enough to believe she’d have a chance with me could be a threat, yeah?”
She refused to meet his eyes, denying him what he wanted. Fisting her chin, he forced her to look at him.
“You sold it all right; I have to be giving you that, Bat Girl.” He enjoyed the little flinch her nickname caused. “Let me clear this up: you never had a chance. You’re not woman enough to be handling a man like me. And I sure as feck don’t have sex with traitors.”
She stared into his eyes, and he watched as hers went dull, as the sheen of life drained away. It should’ve satisfied the arsehole inside him, the part who hated her, who wanted nothing more than to be taking his pound of flesh and going back for more. Instead that look struck him deep, twisting inside him like a knife going for his heart. He watched her lips part, watched her draw in a ragged breath, and knew that he’d succeeded in delivering a fatal wound. But the pleasure he’d expected to feel wasn’t there.
Lyse’s breath hitched over and over as if she couldn’t quite get enough air. She leaned closer, close enough that the scent of her breath—apples and bite, the hard cider she’d been drinking earlier—washed through him. He expected her teeth, but that’s not what she offered.
She tilted her face and pressed her lips to his.
Shock hit him like a live wire. His first instinct was to shove her away, slam her back into her chair. He dropped his hand to her chest, right over her pounding heart. She was a traitor; she was usin’ him to get what she wanted, to get—
Her lips against his. They were softer than he’d imagined, and right then he couldn’t deny that he’d imagined a lot. Skin to skin brought every unforgivable dream that had entered his brain to the fore. He’d fantasized about this, even when his lips had been on another woman. When his guard had been down and his flesh had been on fire and he’d been needin’ so much he couldn’t stop his mind from going there. That shyness, the tentative way her mouth pressed against his but didn’t part, didn’t do more than breathe—it was exactly what he’d imagined she would be like.
Exactly how she’d be acting if she was wanting his guard down. What brought out the protector more than an inexperienced wan?
He angled his head farther, used his lips to open her to his tongue. She was hot inside, tart. He pushed deep. The act she was putting on aroused him; he wanted to take and take and take, soaking up all that innocence for himself. Which was why he needed to break her. He needed to make it rough, to strip away the lovesick disguise and prove to himself that she wasn’t the person he’d thought she was for so long.
His mouth took hers, his tongue tangling, sparring, spearing between Lyse’s lips. Her head fell back on her shoulders like a fragile flower, but her kiss wasn’t fragile—she forced her mouth against his with equal need, let him in fully, dueled with his tongue. They found a rhythm that shot his pulse into high gear. Her moan vibrated through his body and settled in his core, callin’ the blood in his veins straight to his cock. The pressure of the chair against his erection only made it worse.
He ached. Needed.
Lost in her heat, he couldn’t remember moving his hand, not till the weight of her breast in his palm registered. A full, firm mound with a tight, jutting tip. He wrapped his fingers around the cloth-covered flesh, wishing it was her skin, wishing that hard nipple was in his mouth. He sucked her tongue instead, enjoying the jump that ran through her when he pinched her between his fingers. She liked it; he knew she did by the sudden arching of her back, and he did it again, his other hand settling low on her spine and pulling her forward. He was needing the cushion of her stomach, the pressure of her body against his aching length. Holy hell, he was needing like he’d never needed before.
He trailed biting kisses from her swollen lips to her jaw to the tender skin of her neck. Her pale skin would hold marks tomorrow; he wanted it to. He wanted to bruise her, make her remember that she’d been his. His teeth skimmed the line of muscle beneath her ear, clamped down near her collarbone, and he sucked until his name escaped her lips. His name on Lyse’s lips. He needed to hear his name.
“Fionn…”
Lyse. He had his mouth on Lyse.
Awareness jolted him, and he bit down harder than he meant to.
“Fionn!”
What the feck was he doin’? Tearing himself away, he used both hands to shove Lyse’s chair back. It clattered across the tiles as he knelt, fists pressed to his closed eyes, cursing himself and her and the throbbing of his goddamn dick until her scream registered.
She was falling.
He caught the edge of the chair and righted it before she hit the ground. Then he was across the room, away from her scent and the seductive draw of her skin. What he couldn’t escape was the shock in her eyes, the flush of need on her skin. The red line of bites down her neck. He’d put those there. On Lyse, the woman who’d tried to kill him. The woman whose betrayal had torn him apart for months.
The woman who was threatening his mam’s safety.
What kind of fecked-up man was he now?
He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Lyse, I—”
A rapid series of knocks sounded on the door, followed by a deep voice. “Lyse, you al’right? I’m after bringing you some soup, love.”
Shit. Neighbor Boy was back.
Chapter Five
She’d known he’d be angry. She’d also known he’d taste good. She’s been right about both.
For a moment Fionn had forgotten the anger. Or maybe he hadn’t; maybe he’d simply found a new way to torture her. Except she’d been the one to kiss him. At the time she’d figured she had nothing to lose—Fionn had looked like he was ready to kill her; why not have the one thing she so desperately wanted before she died?
At least her life wouldn’t end without a kiss.
Another knock rumbled the door. “Lyse?”
Sean would come in if she didn’t answer. Harry, their landlord, had an extra key. She glanced at Fionn. Would he hurt them?
No, she didn’t think so. He was only here to hurt her.
Green eyes still smoky with lust met hers. Before the memory of his touch could drown her again, she mouthed, Let me answer.
His eyes narrowed on her.
Please.
He stalked toward her, reaching for something on his belt. Her heartbeat tripped over itself when he flicked open a folding knife. Time slowed as he bent over her, his hands moving to her bound wrists, his mouth brushing her ear. “Play this right and no one gets hurt.”
Resentment spiked. The people she cared about had been threatened before, by Mansa. Do what we tell you and your Irishman will stay alive just as we promised. Look what agreeing to that bargain had gotten her.
But she would agree, one hundred percent. Anything to keep Sean out of this mess.
She squeezed her eyes shut as Fionn’s body brushed against hers, his warmth caressing her. The man had a knife, for goodness’ sake. Why was she struggling not to arch closer?
“I’ll be careful,” she whispered.
The zip ties yielded to his blade. When he sat back, the look in his eyes said her reassurance wasn’t worth trusting any more than the person who’d uttered it, but he released her legs anyway. A flick of the knife urged her toward the door. She tugged off her jacket and tossed it onto the couch as she crossed the room, not wanting Sean to be suspicious. Fionn positioned himself behind the solid slab of wood, the tip of his blade gleaming in the low light of a nearby lamp.
She gulped in a breath and opened the door.
Sean stared down at her, concern pinching his brow. A square container waited in his hand. “There she is. I was beginning to think you’d gone to bed and weren’t wanting me to see your panties,” he teased.
Despite the strain buzzing through her body, she chuckled. Trust Sean to lighten moods he wasn’t even aware of. “I think you have more experience with boxers than panties.”
He l
aughed. “Sure I do.” The concern returned to his eyes. “You’re not looking all right.”
“No.” She gave him a tired smile. “Definitely coming down with something.”
Sean stepped forward. “Let’s get you settled then.”
She put up a hand. Under no circumstances could she let him into the apartment. “And get you and your man sick? No way.”
“I never get sick. I’m disgustingly healthy, Cathal says.”
Of course he was. All the men in her life seemed to have superhuman genes. They really should stick to the movies and stop making the rest of the human race feel inadequate. “I’m not risking it, so back up.” She eyed the container. “Is that for me?”
“Chicken noodle.” He grinned boyishly.
She leaned against the doorjamb, trying to project fatigue when every muscle in her body was tight with tension. “You didn’t have time to cook that.”
“I did. Bella was at the restaurant. She helped me throw it together.”
Bella, the night manager at Sean’s restaurant. “Well thank her for me tomorrow.” She reached for the soup.
Sean hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”
Her throat tightened with emotion. “You’ve helped me more than you know, Sean,” she said, cradling the container to her belly. “Now go take care of Cathal.”
He winked. “I will. You rest.”
Highly unlikely, but…
“See you in the morning, love.” He waved as he descended her steps. She watched until he was in front of his unit, then closed her door reluctantly. After flicking the lock, she turned to Fionn.
His eyes glittered in the dim light, matching the glint off his knife. Lyse sucked in a deep breath. It was time to explain exactly why she’d brought him here. She moved toward the kitchen. “We need to talk. Want some soup?”
“No talking.” Fionn was right on her tail. “I’m getting you on a plane and taking you back to Global First.”
“We’re not going anywhere.”
“And who’s goin’ to stop me?” he growled behind her.
Destroy Me (Southern Nights: Enigma Book 3) Page 3
