Nightfire: A Protectors Novel: Marine Force Recon

by Lisa Marie Rice

  The silk was delicate but strong, like a soft rope.

  Consuelo looked down at the naked young woman, flexing the rope-bra, pulling it over and over, testing its strength. Consuelo on the ceiling felt absolutely nothing. She watched with the very faintest of interest as the young naked woman walked slowly over to the bed and looked down at the man making a huge dent in the mattress.

  He was big, heavy, hairy. His gleaming penis was slick with semen and K-Y jelly. The young woman down below had surreptitiously coated herself with it because she was so dry. Even with the jelly, it had hurt.

  His penis lay spent along his thigh.

  The labored breathing turned to snoring, great heavy snorts like a hibernating bear. So ugly. So useless.

  Consuelo watched the young woman put a knee to the mattress, bend down toward the man, the silky rope-bra stretched between her fists, bringing the silk closer to the man’s throat . . .

  A sudden spurt of alarm and Consuelo shot down, back into the young woman’s body just as the man’s eyes opened wide, light blue and bloodshot.

  “What—what are you doing?” he slurred, seeing her bending down, voice rising in alarm. “What the fuck? What the hell are you doing?”

  Killing you. The words filled her head, together with a rage that came from nowhere like an immense wind rising in the desert. Where before Consuelo had felt nothing, now she felt too much. Rage pulsed in her like blood, washing over her in waves. A fury so total and complete it shook her bones.

  The man tried to lift himself up on his elbows but slipped. Too drunk on whiskey and sex to keep himself upright. But the clouds were disappearing from his blue eyes, awareness seeping in.

  Consuelo looked with longing at his throat. She could see where the rope-bra would go, right over the Adam’s apple. She’d twist it around the back of his neck, twist it tight, hold it there . . .

  She’d hold fast as he thrashed on the bed, all his beefy strength useless. She’d watch as he turned dark red, as his eyes bulged, as his hairy legs kicked.

  In the orphanage, many years ago, she’d seen someone strangled to death and she’d never forgotten it.

  She’d tighten and tighten until the man stilled, black tongue lolling out of his mouth.

  “Get away from me!” Eyes fixed on hers, his legs scrabbled awkwardly as he tried to scramble away, and Consuelo hated every cell in his huge, puffy body and knew her rage was visible on her face.

  Careful, Consuelo. Be careful not to let your anger overwhelm you. Because you are very very angry, and you don’t know it yet.

  The voice in her head was soft and reasonable. Chloe. Her lifeline. A woman who somehow understood her, utterly and completely, without judging her. Chloe, elegant and cultivated and rich, who nonetheless treated her as a complete equal and a friend.

  It was Chloe in her head now, Chloe who smoothed out her features, turned her into the sex kitten that was her mask. Chloe who made her lower her voice into a husky growl when what she really wanted to do was scream.

  “Ah, John,” Consuelo purred, laying the rope-bra across his shoulders, slowly sliding it down his chest. She stopped at his nipples and flicked them with her fingernails, smiling narrow-eyed at his jolt of pleasure.

  Chloe-in-her-head was saving her life. Consuelo realized she wouldn’t have had the strength to strangle this man. He’d have overpowered her easily, called in security—real security, the Russian monsters—and her life would be over.

  The girls of the club whispered about what happened to those who rebelled. They were given to men who loved the darkest of dark pleasures and were never seen again.

  Chloe’s voice in her head had stopped her.

  “It was so wonderful before,” she whispered, wondering at herself, at how she could lie so easily. She opened her thighs wide, knowing he could see her sex, lips puffy from where he’d plowed her for an hour. “So wonderful. I want more. More, more, more.”

  Consuelo straddled him, wrapped the silk cup of the bra around his penis and pulled. He could feel the soft silk and her hand milking him around it.

  “Ah, baby,” he groaned, head flopping back on the pillow, “why didn’t you say so?” He grinned, waving his hand at his stiffening member. “It’s all yours, baby. Get to work.”

  Afterwards, wiping her mouth with a shaking hand, Consuelo got dressed and quietly closed the door of the room behind her, wondering what to do, where to go. Her next session was in an hour but the threads of self-control were fraying dangerously.

  Her legs were shaking, she could hardly breathe. Her body felt battered. She hated her body, hated herself.

  Hated the johns, all of them.

  No. No more, no more today. She’d come dangerously close to trying to kill a man today, and ending her own life. She’d lock herself in her room in the dark and plead a massive headache. A migraine. Say she couldn’t perform because she’d get dizzy and vomit all over the client.

  That had worked before.

  And then tomorrow she’d go back and talk to Chloe. Calm, understanding Chloe. Chloe, who’d talk her down from her murderous thoughts. Chloe, who’d teach her how to stay in her own body.

  Her best friend, Elena, was coming down the hall. Elena was the first person to talk to Chloe, happening on the shelter in a moment of desperation. She’d been locked in a dark, soundproofed room for four days without food or water after biting a client. She’d been released only because Franklin had interceded with the Russian. Everyone thought the Russian would simply keep her there until she died. Elena had thought that, too.

  Though Chloe never gave advice, never passed judgment, just listened, Elena always said she felt better afterwards. So Consuelo had dropped by, too. Once a month, at first. Like a compelling sweet, dangerous to consume. Then twice a month and now once a week.

  Consuelo was thinking of running away and just living in the shelter, forever.

  Except the Russian would find her. Drag her back.

  Consuelo frowned. Elena was weaving, looking shocked.

  “Consuelo,” Elena whispered, grabbing her arm, looking left and right. Since the Russians, they’d taken to talking in whispers. “Did you hear what happened?”

  “No.” What could have happened? It would take a lot to shock Elena, who’d seen it all. Did someone die? It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Chloe. The Russians attacked Chloe. For talking to us.”

  Consuelo’s heart stopped in her chest. Chloe. Chloe, hurt for trying to help them. For trying to help her.

  Chloe, who helped her to live.

  This time the rage was black, strong and bitter and overwhelming.

  And there was no Chloe in her head to make it go away.

  “You’re worried about Chloe,” Ellen said gently, watching her husband pace up and down the bedroom, love and concern in her eyes. Her wonderful husband, with that supermacho tough-guy exterior masking such a tender heart. “I’m worried, too. But you and Mike and Sam will figure out what’s going on and all of you will protect her. And Mike . . . well, he’s crazy about her. That’s pretty clear. I can’t imagine anyone getting past Mike.”

  “Yeah.” Harry ran a big hand through his dark blond hair, a gesture she’d seen him do a thousand times. It meant stress and frustration and she understood them both. His sister was in danger and it was driving him crazy.

  No one knew better than her the immense pain Harry had carried all his life thinking he hadn’t been able to protect his baby sister.

  And no one knew better than Ellen how ecstatic Harry had been on finding his baby sister again, and how much he loved her.

  Ellen loved Chloe, too. It was so easy to love Chloe, it didn’t take any effort at all. She was gentle and smart and kind. The girls, Gracie and Merry, adored her. Chloe was a blessing in all their lives.

  But Mike . . . Mike loved her in an entirely different way.

  “I could never figure out why Mike backed away from Chloe all this time when he’s so crazy about her. A blind m
an could see that he was smitten and yet he just followed her around without making his move, the dork. And this is Mike, the man-slut. Mike, the man who’d nail anything that moved. Though, mind you, it’s hard to think of him that way watching him follow Chloe around like an adopted mongrel for six months. He’s even willing to watch princess videos forever with the girls as long as Chloe’s there. What he feels is right out there for everyone to see. That’s what’s so strange. He backed away from Chloe but stuck so close. Nicole and I can’t figure it out. Chloe, too. Drove her insane. If nothing else, this mess has forced Mike to make a move. He spent all these months practically stalking her and never touching her. How weird is . . . Harry?” Ellen shot up in bed. “Harry Bolt. What do you know about this? If you know something, spit it out right now, because it’s been driving us crazy.”

  There was something wrong here. Ellen knew every single one of Harry’s expressions, and this one was sheepish-guilty.

  “Harry?”

  With a sigh, her husband sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. “You know that day when Chloe showed up and we were all just blown away?”

  “Oh yes.” Ellen smiled and reached out a hand to push back a stray lock of his hair.

  Harry rubbed the back of his neck, something else he did under stress. “I can’t tell you the impression she made when she first walked into our office. She moved so very carefully and slowly, not like now—”

  “Well, Mike’s been making her work out for the past six months. She’s strong as a horse now. Mike saw to that.”

  Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s true.” He bit his lip, Harryspeak for intense unease. Ellen sat up straighter against the headboard. Harry was normally the most controlled of men. He was having a real emotional moment. “Anyway, that day all I could see was this fragile woman. Uncertain and afraid. She looked like a strong wind could blow her away. And her story—Jesus. Ten years in the hospital. A father who was not her father trying to rape her. And don’t forget, I knew what had come before that. Living in terror in the home of a violent methhead who near as dammit killed her. Who I thought had killed her. Chloe seemed so terribly vulnerable, this young woman who hadn’t had any breaks in life. When I saw Mike coming on to her so strong, I just—it just blew my mind. He broke hearts left, right and center. And then when he was taken in for questioning . . . I mean I knew he’d never hurt that woman. I knew he couldn’t. But he did fu—have sex with her. Some crazy cokehead he’d just met. Because he’d have sex with anything that breathed and had the right equipment. Like he was seventeen instead of a grown man. The whole thing was so sordid. I just didn’t want any of that to touch Chloe. I didn’t want her to have her heart broken. So—”

  He stopped, his jaws working.

  “So?” Ellen asked softly.

  Harry worked at getting it out, the words coming reluctantly. “So . . . when Chloe pulled that smart trick with her P.I. and exonerated him when he was looking at possible jail time, I thought . . . she’s going to fall for him. Maybe she already has. They all do. And she’ll get her heart broken. And I just couldn’t stand the thought. So I made him promise that he wouldn’t touch Chloe.”

  Ellen blinked. “In those words? Those exact words? Don’t touch Chloe?”

  “Yeah.” Harry hung his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess you’re pretty mad.”

  Ellen laughed and Harry’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “Oh, my dear darling husband.” Ellen held out her hand and smiled when his hand curled around hers. Her hand felt so wonderful in his. Always had, always would. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if she died first, he would be by her side and she would pass from this life to the next with her hand in his.

  Ellen tugged and Harry obediently came to her. He buried his face in her hair and breathed out a deep sigh. “You’re not mad at me?”

  “Oh, my love.” Ellen pulled away to smile into that beloved, worried face. “How could I be mad at you when you single-handedly brought two of my favorite people together?”

  Harry looked around the room, then back at her, as if seeking understanding from the walls. “I did?”

  “Mm.” She twined her arms around his neck, loving the feeling of the strength under her hands, knowing it was both physical and psychological strength. “It would have been a disaster if they’d hooked up immediately. Chloe was so uncertain of herself, so lonely. So damned vulnerable. You were right about that. And Mike—he was conditioned to having easy, emotionless affairs. He’s never had to work for a woman. He’s never really gotten to know his women, in any true sense of the term. It was really smart of you to force him to keep it in his pants. So, when were you thinking of lifting your ban?”

  “Ah . . . Never?”

  Ellen blinked. “Never? Wow. That would have been hard to work around, because as you saw, Mike took you at your word. I wish I knew this beforehand and could have told Nicole. We went bananas trying to figure out what was going on. He rarely left her side but he wasn’t making any moves. Drove us nuts.”

  “The two of you could have simply minded your own business,” Harry pointed out.

  As if. “Not an option. So I guess soon Chloe’s going to be my sister-in-law in all senses.”

  Harry jerked. “Whoa. No, absolutely not.” He frowned. “Aren’t you going a little fast?”

  “No, not at all.” Ellen kissed her husband. A peck, then a little deeper. “He’s crazy about her and she’s head over heels. And instead of having a disastrous affair at the beginning, where he’d dump her abruptly because he couldn’t deal with his feelings and she’d be overwhelmed and bewildered and hurt, they’re in a really good place right now. Except of course for Russians gunning for her. But aside from that, they’re really on track. You did good work, Bolt. Very good work.”

  “That wasn’t my intention. My intention was to cut Mike off for life, but I’ll certainly take the credit.”

  Holding his gaze, smiling, Ellen shimmied her shoulders in a move she wouldn’t have been remotely capable of two years ago. The straps of her nightgown fell from her shoulders, the entire nightgown now resting on the tops of her breasts. She stood up by the bed, shimmied again, and the nightgown pooled in a silky heap on the floor. In her brand-new sultry and sexy voice she said, “I think good deeds require a reward, don’t you?”

  She reached down and placed her hand on his groin, in complete and utter faith she’d find him hot and hard as steel. Bingo. Did she know her man or what?

  A quick pump of her hand had him hissing in a breath. “I do deserve a reward, don’t I?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “Being so astute and all. So smart at planning this out.”

  He pulled her back down on the bed, coming down on top of her. Though he was much taller than she was, they fit perfectly. They always had. They always would.

  She felt him pressing against her mound. A wave of heat rose from her groin and she pressed upward, loving the feel of him. He lengthened and thickened against her.

  She loved this. Loved that she knew his body so well and he knew hers. Far from becoming stale, it made their lovemaking infinitely rich and complex. She’d pitied Mike that in his bed-hopping fervor, he’d never know this.

  Maybe now he would.

  Harry bit her behind the ear, knowing she would break out in goose bumps. She smiled into his shoulder, brought his big hand to her belly.

  She bit his earlobe and smiled again at his shudder. She whispered directly into his ear. “I think you deserve another reward, too. An extra-special one.”

  “Yeah?” he whispered back, interested. “Better than sex? This sounds good. I can’t wait.”

  “You’ll have to wait, because it’ll take time.” Ellen pressed her hand over Harry’s lying on her belly. “You’ll get your present sometime around St. Valentine’s Day. In about eight months.”

  Harry’s big body jerked on top of hers as if an electric shock had been applied. He lifted himself up on his forearms, look
ing her deep in the eyes.

  “Ellen.” She nearly cried at the raw emotion in his voice, at what she saw in his eyes. “Another child? Oh God. Another child?”

  She knew what it meant to him. The same that it meant to her. They were without family, had been alone in the world for a very long time. They’d found each other and made Gracie, who filled their lives with joy. Then Chloe had been found. Now another child.

  It was almost too much happiness.

  Harry collapsed on top of her as if his arms suddenly couldn’t support his weight. His shoulders shook and she held him tightly, tightly, kissing his ear, his neck, his face. Anything her mouth could touch. She embraced him with her arms and legs, trying to wrap herself around him, and as they kissed, he slipped inside her and they rocked gently together, Harry, Ellen and the child she was carrying.

  Chapter 13

  Mike wheeled in Chloe’s suitcase and parked it against the wall. They’d stopped by her apartment so she could get some things. She could go back anytime she wanted for things she might need, as long as he was with her. Or Barney. And only for about ten minutes.

  Otherwise she was going to stay in his apartment until they figured out what was going on.

  Because his apartment had a steel-reinforced door with steel panels extending either side and security cams outside.

  His gun locker had two Glock 19s, two Glock 23s, a Colt 1911A1, a Browning Hi-Power, a Sig Sauer P226, an HK USP Compact Tactical .40, a Colt AR-15A Carbine, two M4 rifles exactly like the ones he carried in the Marines, an enormous Mossberg 590 Combat shotgun, good for killing anything including bears, a Remington 700, a Barrett M92, a Barrett M95, and his baby, a Barrett MRAD, which could probably take down a bad guy on the moon. And fifty thousand rounds of ammo.

  Two scopes, combat helmets and night-vision goggles that fit over the helmets, two sets of specially made body armor tailored for his extra-wide frame. All his weapons were spotless and oiled. A hundred feet of cable, four grapples of varying sizes. Ten flash bangs. Fourteen ounces of perfectly illegal C4 with a mile of det cord. Five pairs of combat boots. Two combat vests. Five prepared syringes of an animal anesthetic, guaranteed to put a man down in seconds.