Harris

by Jasinda Wilder

  And that was when I noticed it. Giving Puck a once over while he drove, I noticed two big black duffel bags on the seat beside Puck.

  Two awfully familiar duffel bags. Full bags.

  "Puck." I kept my voice low and even.

  "Yeah?" He didn't turn around, kept his eyes on the...well, we weren't on a road, but on the ground ahead.

  "What exactly the fuck is that on the seat?"

  Puck shot me a grin. "That, my friend, is fifty million dollars. And the girl."

  "How?"

  "One of the fuckers on the dirt bikes had 'em strapped to the back of his bike. I happened to see 'em, and figured there was no sense in leaving fifty mil just laying around in the desert, you know?"

  "Fuck." I leaned my head back against the wall. "FUCK!"

  Puck frowned at me. "What's the issue?"

  "I figured out who Cain is: Ledion Dushku. And he's not just some minor league drug runner; he's a major threat. Albanian by birth, former Russian Special Forces. Mercenary turned assassin, Mafioso, and all around bad, bad, bad dude. He and I crossed paths a few years back. I was with the Rangers, he was with Spetsnaz. My unit and his were supposed to be working together to take down a terrorist cell in Pakistan. Turned out, though, that Ledion was working with the terrorists. Feeding them intel and supplies and warning them of raids, and taking bribes. I found out, reported him, and got him in major shit. He's never forgiven me, obviously."

  "So what does that have to do with the money?" Puck asked.

  "It means he's going to be extra pissed. His ambush failed, thanks to Anselm's quick rifle work. We shot his guys, took his money, and took the girl. He's got a chip on his shoulder, and being shown up, made to look like a fool? He won't take it well."

  "It was kind of a poorly-planned ambush," Duke pointed out. "They had the high ground, they had the numbers, and they chose the location. You block off one end of that canyon, post a couple guys with SAWs on the high ground? You could hold off an army with a couple of squads. We should all be dead."

  I nodded. "That's Ledion's problem: he's not a great tactician. But what he lacks in tactical know-how, he more than makes up for in brutality, vengefulness, and utter lack of morals. He's the type that'll set off a car bomb to take out what he perceives as an enemy, without sparing a single thought for the collateral damage. He just doesn't care. He shoots first and doesn't stop to ask questions."

  Layla was listening to all this. "Did you not hear me? I asked what happened. Someone explain to me what just happened."

  I probed my ribs, wincing as I found the bruises. "Whoever Ledion's second in command was, the guy running the show, he had the girl right out in the open, waiting as I approached. I stopped the Jeep, left it running. Told him I'd give him the money once I had the girl. I got her buckled in and then handed him the money. That should have been it, and I thought it was, honestly. I got in the Jeep, pulled a U-turn, and that was when I heard Anselm start shooting. Apparently Ledion had ordered his guys to wait until they had the money, and then just...cut us down. Anselm obviously suspected as much, and took out the gunners on the canyon wall, him and Lear together. That's the only reason I'm here. It took them by surprise, which gave me time to get out of the canyon and away. Of course, they couldn't just let us go. Ledion obviously told them to make sure I didn't survive, so they gave chase."

  "What I don't get is...and don't take this the wrong way, but--there was so much shooting." Layla pointed at Thresh. "Only, no one but Thresh got hurt. How is that possible? I mean, I'm glad, but I don't get it."

  Duke answered for me. "That's the statistic of a battle. Hundreds, if not thousands of rounds are fired in the average exchange, but only a few ever hit anyone. It takes a lot of training, a fucking assload of hours on the range and in battle to learn how to make every shot count, especially when you're under fire yourself. And even then, a lot of the shots you lay down are meant as suppression, to keep the other guy's head down, and they're doing the same. And that's assuming the guys shooting at you are trained. If they're just thugs with guns who've never received real combat training, then they're honestly lucky as fuck to have even hit anything, much less caused any real damage."

  "So, the guys shooting at us," Layla asked. "Were they trained, or not?"

  Duke shook his head side to side. "Some yes, some no. The guys on the bikes, the guys you took down, I think they were higher ranking, and thus had some experience or training. The tangos in the canyon, they were just foot soldiers. Hired cannon fodder, basically. There were a couple who knew what they were doing. Somebody had the Humvee locked down pretty good, laid down some fairly effective suppressing fire."

  "Was Ledion himself there?" Layla asked.

  I shook my head. "I didn't see him. He might have been watching from a distance, but he wasn't in the canyon. He wouldn't have been, though. He went in and snatched Cleo, and he's likely the one who shot the housekeeper. But if he was planning an ambush like this one, he would have made sure he was well clear. He's not going to risk his own neck in case things go south, and in any op, there's always a chance shit can go south. Especially when you're dealing with the kind of soldiers the Russian mafia or whoever he's working with or for can field. Those guys are vicious, but when you put them up against a unit like us, tight, trained, and tactically superior? They're cannon fodder, and he knows it. He'd never go into a situation personally unless he had people he trusted with him, and babe, I think you shot at least one of them."

  Layla closed her eyes, rested her head back. "This is starting to sound like Vitaly all over again."

  I reached across the space between us and took her hand. "Not even close. It's not good, but Ledion, or Cain as he's calling himself now, isn't on the same scale as Vitaly was. We'll have to be on our toes, and expect retaliation, but for one thing, Ledion doesn't have the resources Vitaly did. And, honestly, he's not as smart. Still dangerous, I don't want to give you the wrong impression, he's fucking dangerous. But he's not on the level of Vitaly. Not in any way."

  "'Sides," Duke said, "now you got us."

  It was quiet for several minutes as Puck drove us back across the desert to the main road.

  A tiny, hesitant little voice piped up, unexpectedly. "I hungry."

  "Me too, little boo," Duke said. "Come sit with Uncle Duke. I think I've got some candy here somewhere."

  And wouldn't you know it, tiny little Cleo, all of two feet tall, if that, weighing maybe thirty pounds soaking wet, hopped down, scooted past Layla, and climbed up onto Duke's lap. Never mind the M-4 on his shoulder, never mind the smell of cordite, never mind the fact that he's a monster of a man that can scare grown men into pissing their pants.

  Little girls love him. I don't get it.

  He swept his black A1S ball cap off his head, revealing his ginger undercut man-bun hair--fucking man-buns, man, fucking stupid--and plopped the hat on Cleo's head. It slid down and covered her face.

  "Eeew. Stinky hat. Get it off!" She knocked the hat off her head, grabbed it in her pudgy little hands, and reached up to stuff it onto Duke's head.

  "It is kind of sweaty, I guess," Duke said. He dug in the cargo pocket of his BDU pants, producing a handful of fun-size bags of M&Ms. "You don't like M&Ms, do you?"

  "YEAH!" Cleo shouted. "Neminems!"

  "Yo, I like neminems too," Thresh said, extending his paw.

  The hand on his uninjured arm was black-red with dried blood, and he was still oozing blood from his arm and shoulder. Not that he seemed to care. You wouldn't know Thresh was even feeling pain, unless you looked for the tension lines in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. Other than that, he could be right as rain.

  Duke ripped open a bag of M&Ms and dumped them into Thresh's palm, and the crazy fucking giant ate them, bloody residue and all.

  Layla made a disgusted face. "That's gross, Thresh."

  "What?" Thresh asked, through a mouthful of candy.

  "Your hand, it's all messy. And now you're eating from that hand?"r />
  Thresh shrugged. "Hey, it's my blood."

  "Do you want me to look at that arm?" Layla asked.

  Thresh grunted a negative. "Needs surgery. Got a round lodged in my shoulder, too. I'll be fine."

  Layla looked at me. "Do we have a doctor waiting?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. Anselm and Lear should be a few minutes ahead of us. They'll have a medic waiting."

  "Don't want a fuckin' medic," Thresh grumbled.

  I sighed. "Listen, you hard-ass. You need medical attention. We're not having this conversation. You can't just take some fucking Ibuprofen and sleep this one off."

  "I know I need a doctor, I'm not stupid." Thresh tossed another M&M in his mouth. "I got a specific doctor I want to see."

  Duke and I exchanged puzzled glances. "What are you talking about?"

  "That hot doc down in Miami. The one at Jackson Memorial? When you were laid up after that shit with Karahalios? She was fine as hell."

  I rolled my eyes. "Thresh. You can't pick a doctor halfway across the country just because she had a nice pair of knockers, man. We're taking you to a hospital in Vegas."

  "You can try," Thresh said. "But good luck. I'm going to Miami."

  "You're bleeding!" Layla shouted. "You have a broken bone. You have a bullet in your shoulder."

  "I noticed," Thresh deadpanned, "seeing as it's my arm and my shoulder."

  "Thresh." I stared him down. "Make sense. Please."

  "I am making sense. It's not just 'cause she's hot. I mean, yeah, she is, but she's also a good doctor. I watched her take care of you. She's good. Plus, I think she likes me."

  I sighed. "This is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

  "I never claimed to be the sharpest crayon in the tool drawer," Thresh said, looking peeved. "You know how I feel about fuckin' hospitals and fuckin' doctors, Harris. If I've got to have a goddamn doctor poke at me, might as well be a doctor of my choosing. And the one I choose happens to be in Miami, Florida, and happens to have the most bangin' hourglass figure I've ever seen. On top of which, she's not afraid to get in my face, and I like that shit. She's got balls."

  "Okay, fine. Whatever. It's your broke ass that's gonna bleed all the way there." I rubbed at my face with both hands.

  "You'll fly me down there?"

  "Well you can't very well walk, can you?" I said.

  "Cool. Thanks, boss." Thresh nudged Duke with his hand. "Got anymore candy? I'm still hungry."

  Duke, with a playful, long-suffering sigh, dug into his cargo pocket and pulled out a protein bar. "You never bring your own snacks, man. You're always hungry after a firefight. You think you'd learn to bring some fuckin' snacks once in a while."

  "I want some fuckin' snacks too!" Cleo shouted. "I like fuckin' snacks!"

  Duke snorted. "Now look what you fuckers did. Taught her to say fuckin'."

  That drew laughter from everyone, including Cleo, who I don't think quite understood the joke, but knew everyone was laughing at her. "Fuckin', fuckin', fuckin'!" She shouted it, chanting, over and over, until everyone was in stitches.

  Layla swatted at Duke. "Tell her not to say that!"

  "Why? She ain't my kid. I think it's funny." He ruffled her platinum hair. "I'm getting paid to rescue her, not teach her manners."

  Thank god kids are resilient. Although, I had a feeling the poor thing would be having nightmares for a while. I made a mental note to make sure Jon and Callie put her in therapy; shit like what Cleo went through is the kind of shit that'll scar you for life if it's not addressed. She was laughing and seemed fine for now, but PTSD tended to manifest when you least expected it, especially in children.

  I'd tried to downplay the threat Ledion posed when explaining it to Layla. But the truth was, fear niggled in the back of my head. Ledion--Cain--was just smart enough to be dangerous, but dumb enough to worry me. He wouldn't care who else he hurt in the process. He would feel slighted and, to save face, he'd go after me. He'd go after all of us. Jon and Callie I wasn't too worried about; I'd put guards on them 24/7, tell them to move, take proper measures. But Cain's attention was on me, now, and my crew. On Layla.

  We might have just started a war.

  But I wasn't about to say that, not until I knew for sure.

  7

  PAYBACK

  I hadn't expected Nick back in Colorado for a few days yet, but it seemed Thresh had told him to get lost, his life wasn't in danger, and Nick's presence would just be a cock-block.

  So Nick came home early from Miami.

  He slept lightly that first night. Probably a good thing, because I had nightmares. I kept hearing gunfire in my dreams. Kept seeing that guy's throat explode, kept feeling the pistol buck in my hands. Nick woke me up, comforted me. Held me. Stroked my skin and let me be weak and vulnerable.

  The next night was better. No nightmares, no dreams. Just deep, peaceful sleep in Nick's arms.

  There was tension simmering between us, still, though. Nick had tied me up, and without asking me first. And yes, I'd been so turned on I hadn't known which way was up and, in the moment, certainly hadn't remembered that I'd intended to seduce him. I'd waited in his office for fifteen, twenty minutes, and then I'd heard him on the phone just outside. I still don't know what possessed me, but the second I heard his voice, I'd stripped naked. I don't know if I've ever shucked my clothes that fast. And then, when I heard the knob twist, I'd started touching myself. Naughty, naughty girl, I know. Right there in his office. Stark naked, flicking my bean. Blinds open, no less.

  And the bastard had turned the tables on me.

  That pissed me off.

  And the way he'd intended to just...send me home like a bad little disobedient wifey? Oh hell no. I was hurt, deeply. Beyond hurt, beyond pissed.

  Duke and the others had come through for me, and Nick had come around.

  But still. I hadn't forgotten.

  So now I was awake, at four thirty in the morning, waiting for Nick to wake up.

  I may or may not have roofied his scotch. Just a little, so I could tie him up without having to fight him.

  Yes, I'm a terrible person, I know.

  I heard him stir. Groan.

  "Fuck. What the hell happened?" He sounded groggy, scratchy voiced. Then I heard him yank on the neckties I'd used to spread-eagle him to the bed. "What? Shit. Layla? Very funny. Untie me."

  I didn't answer right away. I wanted him to sweat.

  "Layla?"

  More struggling. But I'd been practicing my knots, so I was reasonably sure he couldn't get free.

  "Layla? Where the hell are you, woman?"

  The room was dark enough still that he couldn't see me. I was about eight inches to his left, but he didn't need to know that. I was breathing as quietly and softly as I could.

  "I fucking hear you breathing, Layla. I can smell you. Untie me."

  "Oh, I don't think so." I stood up. Moved forward exactly one step; I'd practiced. Reached a hand out, trailed my fingers along his skin, from toe to hip. "You had to know I'd find a way to get even, Nick."

  "When did I fall asleep? And how did I stay asleep while you did this to me?"

  "Oh, I roofied your scotch last night."

  "You roofied me?" He sounded utterly incredulous. Admittedly, it was a pretty extreme length to go to.

  "How else was I supposed to get you tied up? You'd have woken up and overpowered me otherwise."

  "So you ROOFIED me?"

  "Yep."

  "And now what?" He sounded...hesitant.

  "And now?" I slid my palm along his belly. Walked my fingers up his chest, found his lips. Used my thumb to pull his lower lip down. "And now, stud, I have my way with you."

  I skated my hand back down, slithered my palm down his belly, skirting around his cock from hip to hip, teasing him. Leaned in, kissed him. Bit his lip so hard he grunted in surprised pain, a sound that turned to a moan as I took his burgeoning erection in my fist. One, two, three slow strokes and I felt him thicken, lengthen, harden in my hand.


  When he was appropriately hard, I crouched down and picked up the tube of lube from where I'd left it, just under the chair I'd been sitting on. I squirted some into my palm, and smeared it all over Nick's partial erection, glopped it on and stroked him a few times to make sure his length was coated. And then I crouched once more and grabbed the cock ring I'd ordered.

  Small, tight. Perfect. I guided the ring to the broad tip of his dick and fitted the ring on and slid it down. Carefully, I worked it on, further and further. Nick grunted as I seated the cock ring home, as far down his shaft as I could get it. And good lord was it tight.

  "Fuck, Layla. What the hell is your game?"

  "My game? My game is pretty simple, Nick: I'm going to use you as an experiment. I've always said I don't have an orgasm threshold, right? But we've never tested it. I turned off all the phones, locked the doors, and told the guys we're out of commission until we contact them. I've got you all trussed up like a Christmas present to my pussy, and I'm gonna have myself a good old time, riding your cock and sitting on your face. I'm gonna use you like a flesh-and-blood dildo to make myself come as many times as possible, until I either get sick of the game, pass out, or stop being able to come, whichever comes first."

  "We've had all-night marathon fuck sessions, and you've still been raring to go afterward."

  "Exactly. I've got supplies, Nick. I brought snacks and juice boxes and several bottles of lube, and even some Viagra. Just in case, you know--you're not up to the task."

  He snarled. "Oh I'm up for the fucking task, woman. Don't you doubt that."

  I reached out and petted his penis. "I figured you would be. But men have their limits. Even you'll need some refractory time at some point."

  "This is going to be a long night, isn't it?"