by Zoe Dawson
Her tongue slipped out and slicked his lips and he groaned as he sank into her essence. He swallowed, his gaze riding over her body. “Oh, man, you’re—“
“Too forceful?”
“Gorgeous.”
She slid her arms around his neck and sank her fingers into his hair, her breasts grazing his chest. “You’ve got something I want,” she whispered, her breath hot in his ear. “It’s in every pore of your body, every beautiful muscle, in those fierce blue eyes. The very thing that makes you who you are. Confidence, skill, and compassion all rolled up in this gorgeous package. What more could a girl ask for?”
“Damn.” Saint slammed his eyes closed.
Then she kissed him.
Pure heat and wild hunger. And more. The power of it sped down his body and fought for escape. Instead, it built, a need like sucking in a lungful of air that wouldn’t come, and he struggled. It almost scared him, opened up feelings he’d buried for missions—fighting it was impossible. Aella made him feel. Just by her very existence. She was her own adventure, her own ruler, and the thrills of combat in a tight situation didn’t compare to the ecstasy of Aella—naked—pressed against him, her mouth moving savagely over his.
He moved her, pushing her back against the wall.
His hands swept up her tight ribs, cupping her breasts, and the contact was powerful, her kiss stronger, rushed. He thumbed her nipples in slow circles, and her shudder plunged into his mouth. Strong thighs clamped him around the waist as he lifted her. He broke the kiss and held her gaze as he closed his lips over her nipple.
She threw her head back, moaning beautifully, then watched him take her skin deep into the heat of his mouth. “Oh, Zach,” she breathed.
He smiled against her skin, lifting her higher against him, his tongue sliding over her breasts, his teeth deliciously scoring the plump underside. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted her screaming; he wanted her weak and panting and vulnerable—only for him.
Her fingers dug into his shoulder. “Now, right now, Zach.”
He drank her in, her wild black hair, the pronounced curves of her body. But it was her eyes that trapped him, sexy and playful.
She parted his robe and he about lost it when she closed her hand over his erection, fingertips sliding across the tip. “Wow, all of you is big and strong.”
He closed his eyes, working on keeping himself from coming. Combat breathing helped, but then he nearly lost it when she knelt and took him deep. He couldn’t breathe and could only watch the slide of her warm lips over him.
He pulled her up, his kiss driving her head back, and caught her knee, pulling it to his hip. She rubbed against his erection as his mouth grew heavier on hers, as if to drink her in, swallow her whole.
Then his hand roamed from her knee to her center, and he parted her, his fingertips dipping lightly, and he smiled as she twisted against him. Then he pressed his fingers inside her and she arched and thrust into his touch.
“Again, more,” she whispered. She cupped her breasts, arched deeper and slid her hands down her thighs. “Inside, please,” she begged.
She closed her fist around him, and he was her prisoner, his erection flexing in her hand. She pushed his dick down, sliding wetly across him, teasing him.
It was more than he could bear, feeling her wet and hot against him, blowing his mind. He pushed into her. He left her completely and slid back, loving the burn in her eyes, the smile on her playful mouth.
Her softness touching more than his skin. It went all the way to his soul. It didn’t get any more erotic than taking this voluptuous woman with wild abandon against the wall. She gripped his arms, holding on and riding, faster and harder, a look almost like fear crossing her face as she called his name. And Saint cupped the back of her head, forced her to look directly at him as he stroked his fingers over her core. Her eyes glazed.
He drove into her, felt the claw of her body on his, the rage of passion sweeping over his skin. He was uncontrollable, mindless with the need to drive harder as he slammed her repeatedly against the wall.
Yet she matched him, her hips pistoned to his. Then his world split, his climax exploding, and she gripped him, thrusting faster as his body tightened and rocketed with his thrusts.
Saint groaned, the waves of pure ecstasy crackling through him for several moments. He saw stars and thought he was going to pass out. He’d never climaxed like that in his life. He looked at her, stunned. She was even more beautiful with her face contorted by pleasure, her mouth open as she absorbed all the release of the taut energy between them.
For a long moment they just stared at each other, damp, a tangle of arms and legs.
He’d been wrong. A couple of times with this woman wasn’t going to be enough.
10
Zasha fumed as one of Darko’s medics changed the bandage on her arm. The sun was up, but she hadn’t slept. They were currently in a hotel in Banja Luka ready to run the two bastard Americans to ground. Her arm hurt, but it couldn’t touch the pain inside her. Nothing, not even Darko, could touch that.
It always hurt, and the shock still sometimes overwhelmed her with the reality so stark and the aftereffects of seeing her father die in her arms. Sometimes her panic and terror ate her alive, her father’s scream of pain twisting his face and echoing in her ears, blood flowing too fast…too fast. That memory was never going to go away, not ever.
She had a job to do, so she dealt with the pain and she would extract her revenge from Fast Lane. Ford Nixon was going away one day, a bullet, knife, her bare hands.
Taking a breath, she shifted her attention from her throbbing arm to her pulse, and with every beat of her heart, she let space and softness flow down through her veins. She had been a wreck until Darko had given her hope.
The helicopter crash had been harrowing. One of the pilots was dead along with a slew of Darko’s men. Fuck SEALs! Together they were a destructive force, but even a lone man was a devastating wrecking ball. She was going to make Neo Teller suffer when she got him back. And she was going to get him back along with his precious Chry. When she did, she was going to have one of Darko’s men beat her to death in front of Neo. Then she was going to bury him alive next to her dead body and drink champagne over their grave while he suffocated to death.
Darko sat close to her, his hand around hers. He had a gash on his forehead, but that was the extent of his injuries.
“I want them back, Darko.”
“Absolutely, babe.” He reached for a phone and tapped the speaker after pressing in a number.
“Hello,” a man’s voice said after two rings.
“Let me speak to him,” Darko said, his voice clipped.
There was the sound of a door opening and closing. “Sir. Darko.”
“Hello, my friend. What can I do for you at this early hour?”
“There are people in your town that I want returned to me. What are you going to do about it?”
“People? Could you be more specific?”
“Americans. A Navy SEAL and a CIA operative. They will try for the consulate. I want them detained.”
Zasha’s mind began to whirl. Of course, once they set foot on consulate grounds, they were untouchable. It was like a piece of American soil. But the Americans underestimated them if they thought she and Darko were going to honor those international rules. Chry was cunning. She’d had a plan when they ran from the compound. They were trying to make it to Banja Luka, but were they going for the consulate? It got her to thinking that when she had access to the CIA’s vast data bank, there were CIA stash houses all over the area. Zasha had to guess that Chry would use one of those. She would have to mine her contacts and see what she could find out.
“I’m already under pressure from the American government regarding these two people. They are pressing to enter our territory for a rescue mission and to apprehend you and your lovely Zasha. I’ve stalled them for now, but I cannot guarantee they won’t break my order and enter the country without the Pre
sident’s approval.”
“I want them found! You won’t like it if I don’t get them back.”
“Of course, of course,” he said in a soothing voice. “We will detain them, but we will have to keep this quiet. If they make it to the consulate, it could be an international incident if I attack them with my own troops.”
“So, find someone else outside of your influence to take care of them. Surely, you must have your own personal choices.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. A ruthless motorcycle group here from Russia. The Kamchatka Bears. I will contact their leader and put them on this. They are many men strong and can cover the city with eyes and ears. Consider it done, my friend.”
“Let me know when you have them.” He disconnected the call.
She turned to him and he wrapped his arms around her. “I want your nephew dead for what he’s done.”
He nodded. “My sister chose the wrong husband, and the boy is of no consequence to me. I will make a phone call and it will be done.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
This time when he pressed a button to call the compound, there was no answer. He frowned. Zasha sat up straighter. “How can there be no one there?”
He turned to look at one of his men. “Get back to the camp and find out what’s going on there immediately. Take the chopper.”
“Yes, sir.” The man left the room in a hurry.
Fifteen minutes later, Darko’s phone rang. He pressed the speaker button. “Yes.”
“They’re all dead and your nephew is gone.”
“What?”
“They’re here,” Zasha said, rising, her fists clenched. “SEALs. Fast Lane sent people in and now they have Alek. This is unacceptable! Fix it! Now!”
“Get back here,” he ordered before he finished the call. Then he dialed again. The phone rang once, and a raspy male voice answered, “What do you want?”
Zasha recognized that voice. It was Darko’s personal assassin, Sava Zoran, a man who stopped at nothing to get the job done. He was a former member of an extermination squad that had participated in the mass genocide during the war. He was wanted by the international community for war crimes.
“I have a job for you,” Darko said.
“What is it?”
“Hunt down my nephew and kill him.”
“First the father, then the mother, now the boy? How much?”
“Name your price. Extra if you kill anyone who is with him.”
The hoarse cackle on the other end of the line chilled even Zasha.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” 2-Stroke demanded while Chry held the gun in her unsteady grip. Chry was shaky, not sure she could hit the woman even from this close a distance. She was a lovely girl, long blonde hair, pale skin, and deep blue eyes. She was dressed in soft black pants and a black leather jacket with a multicolored scarf around her neck.
“Black is night until dawn is bright,” the woman said.
Chry dropped the gun to the bed as if it were just too heavy to hold. “She’s CIA,” she whispered, clutching her side and moaning as pain radiated from the bullet wounds.
“What?” 2-Stroke asked. “She doesn’t look old enough—"
“It wasn’t me originally. My mother was the recruit. I took over when she died. She gave me all the information. My name is Marta Primorac. My mother’s name was Sara.” The woman ignored him and rushed to the bed. “What has happened to her?”
He finally lowered the gun and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
“She was shot.”
“She needs a doctor, hospital.”
“No,” 2-Stroke said, coming over to the other side of the bed so he could face the woman. “We’re being hunted, and they will check there. These are the type of people who know how to get answers and won’t hesitate to hurt people to get them.”
“I see. Then the consulate is your only choice.”
2-Stroke nodded.
“They’ll be watching it. Getting there is going to be impossible.”
2-Stroke smiled. “I don’t believe in impossible. But until Chry can move, we’re not going anywhere. She needs antibiotics.”
“That’s going to be tricky but let me see what I can do.”
She pulled out a phone and 2-Stroke’s eyes brightened. “Can I use that? Is this a secure line?”
“Yes, it is, and of course.” She handed it over.
Chry felt the edges of her consciousness gray, and a dull, hot throb of her pulse made her sigh softly. She was getting a fever. Her wound was infected.
“LT?” 2-Stroke said into the phone and tapped the speaker.
“Neo? Where are you?”
“In Banja Luka. We’re in a CIA safe house.” He rattled off the address.
“Understood. What do you need?”
“A doctor. Chry’s been shot. It’s a through and through, but she’s got a fever. She needs antibiotics.”
“2-Stroke, it’s so good to hear your voice. You are so badass to escape. Not a surprise,” Dodger said.
“We had help. If it wasn’t for Darko’s nephew, Alek, we’d be dead. He saved our lives, risking his own. I have no idea what happened to him.”
“Saint has him, along with your brother, Aella, and two Tier One operators. He’s a bit banged up, but they’re in Banja Luka.”
“My brother…is here? And the others…that is great news.” His brows rose, his shoulders tightening. “They were there…at the river. Tell me I didn’t hurt anyone.” He rubbed at his face and Chry reached out and clasped his hand. He looked down at her, his expression strained.
“No, you didn’t. They are all well and whole.”
“That’s good, but right now my priority is Chry—”
Dodger said, “I know a—”
2-Stroke interrupted him. “Guy? Dodger, you know someone in every country.”
“It’s not a guy. It’s Mouse’s sister, Anika Radan. I saved her from human traffickers back before I was a SEAL. She married a Bosnian. They met in vet school. As far as I know, they use the same drugs for animals that are prescribed for humans. She will help you.”
“That’s good, but can you send Saint to us? He’s the closest person we have to an MD. He can help Chry.”
“I’ll send word to them. You hang tight. We’ll get her patched up.”
“Thank you, LT,” 2-Stroke disconnected the call after Dodger gave him the address for Anika.
Marta said, “I will go.” She reached down and clasped Chry’s hands. “You will be all right,” she said. “We will take care of you. The CIA saved my family, and we have dedicated our lives to maintaining safe houses in the surrounding area. You are safe.”
“Thank you,” Chry said. “Please be careful. The people hunting us are ruthless.”
“Aren’t they always. I will be cautious.”
She left and Chry turned to find 2-Stroke standing there looking down at her with the most concerned look on his face.
“I’ll be all right,” she said.
He nodded. “I’m counting on it.”
She reached out and he took her hand, folding down to his knees beside the bed. “But if I’m not…please don’t do anything stupid.”
“What? Like go off the deep end, forsake the SEALs and the US, and hunt Darko and Zasha down and make sure they never take another breath? You think that might be stupid?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I can’t make any promises,” he said, and the stark look in his eyes made her realize that she had to do everything in her power to get well. But even now, she was getting warmer, thirstier.
“Water, please,” she asked.
He reached for the bottle on the nightstand and brought it to her mouth. She drank quite a bit, the wound in her side sending out more waves of pain. She gasped softly.
“She should be here any minute,” he soothed. “I should have mentioned we needed some morphine too.”
She nodded. “That would
help a lot. Getting shot sucks.”
“Yeah, as a former recipient of a bullet, I can agree. High velocity rounds hurt even more. My advice is to dodge better next time.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Is that SEAL humor?”
“Maybe,” he said, the corner of his mouth hiking up. She could still tell he was exhausted. She reached out and snagged his shirt. “Come and lay down with me. You look as tired as I feel.”
“Your injury—”
“I’ll be fine. I want to feel your warmth,” she admitted softly. She shivered, then wanted to kick off the blankets. She was both cold and hot.
He came around to the empty side of the bed and carefully got on the mattress. Sinking down beside her, he slipped his arm under her neck, then moved closer until he was pressed against her side.
She closed her eyes, drawing a long, shaky breath, going momentarily out of focus and loving the comfort he provided. Deep down, she was scared. She was in a foreign country, hunted by ruthless people, no medical care available, and she’d been shot in the side. She had no idea what kind of damage had been done. The possibility of death had haunted them now for more than six weeks. The stress of it took its toll for both of them. They had survived, but she had to wonder if this was the end of the road.
He rose up and touched her forehead. “You feel warm.” 2-Stroke was so even-keeled, especially when he was in SEAL mode. But his voice this time was full of concern. There was movement and the sound of running water. Then when he knelt back down beside her, he began wiping her face with a cold, damp cloth. “You have a fever.”
The combination of the cold against her skin and his statement brought everything sharply back into focus. Chry made herself look at him. “Don’t do that, Neo.”
His face was etched with concern. “Don’t worry?” Inhaling deeply, he managed a weak smile. “I’ll do as I damn well please.”
“Remember that time when you saved me from those teenaged boys…in the alley?”
His gaze was unwavering. “Yeah. You should have called me. I would have walked you home. Momentary lapse in vigilance was a bad thing that day.”
