by Zoe Dawson
“What is the plan if we make a break for the consulate?”
“First off, they don’t know about you. They only guess. They are after Neo Teller and Chrysanthe Steele. But, nevertheless, I would not recommend that course of action if you want to live. Those rebels, Darko and Zasha, will bomb the consulate. They don’t care who they kill in the process. You’ll be putting everyone in that building at risk of death.”
Iceman swore under his breath.
Striker stood there taking the information on the chin. Their plan was completely undoable. They couldn’t risk the lives of everyone in the building, as well as their own. He would have to scrap that plan and adopt his alternative.
One where they were going to have to get bold and make a run for it.
Iceman walked over and set his hands on his hips. “You have something else up your sleeve. We go into that building and we’re toast.”
“Yeah, I think I do.” He reached out his hand with the silenced weapon. “Preach.” Then he inclined his head to the doomed Pope. “Make sure he’s not found.”
Twenty minutes later, Striker showed up at the safehouse. 2-Stroke poured him a cup of coffee and they sat down at the table.
“How’s Chry?”
“Her fever broke, and she’s been sleeping pretty much since then,” Saint said, taking a sip of his coffee. He eyed Striker. “But you didn’t come here to ask about Chry. What’s up?”
He figured other warriors could tell when one of their own was on edge. “We can’t go to the consulate for help.”
“Why not?” 2-Stroke asked.
“Zasha and Darko are going to bomb it if we take up refuge there. We can’t risk all those people by going there.”
“Do you have another plan?”
“Yeah, but I have to ask Marta. Do you have a vehicle we can use?”
She looked at them around the table. “Surely, you’re not going to try to drive out of here?”
“We don’t have a choice. Chry can’t run and we won’t be able to stay here much longer. Can you help us again?”
“Yes,” she sighed wearily. “I can. We have a church van that’s nice and sturdy. It holds up to eight people. Would that work?”
“A van,” 2-Stroke said with a groan.
“It will have to. Can you get it for us by tomorrow night just at dusk?”
“I will have it parked out front at just after five. Will that work?”
Striker nodded. “Thank you.” He turned to the others, his mouth tightening in a grim line. “Iceman, Preach, and I will disable the chopper and cause a stir as a distraction. Saint, Aella, 2-Stroke, and Chry will make a break for it in Marta’s van.” He pulled a map out of his back pocket and unfolded it. “It’s eighty-six miles to Sarajevo, but less than that to the Republika Srpska border. Once you cross the border, your team can meet you there and intervene to protect you. I’ll contact Fast Lane and alert him to the fact that you may be coming in hot.”
2-Stroke sat up straighter. “And you?”
“We’ll get out on foot and meet up with you in Sarajevo. We’ll take the kid with us to keep him safe. I’ll send Aella over here as soon as I get back.”
He rose and leaned down to Saint. “Keep your wits about you,” he said, and Saint nodded.
“How do you feel about your teammate saying we should go home?” Aella asked, nestled in Saint’s arms. They had taken the other bedroom and were snuggled in for the night after she showed up at the safe house like Striker promised.
“Confused, I guess.”
“And a little hurt?” she asked, stroking his chest.
She was guessing, but she was on the money. Of all the guys on this team, he thought he, Mad Max, and 2-Stroke were on the same page. Of course, Saint couldn’t have known what had gone on during 2-Stroke’s captivity. He was sure that torture, stress, and drugs went a long way to undermine a guy’s mind. When Saint had seen 2-Stroke and Striker tonight, they appeared composed. Almost too composed. Something had gone down between them…maybe was still going down. But if he’d had to wager money, he did expect that 2-Stroke would have at least given them his trust. “We’ve been a team divided for some time. We’ve healed some, but still have a ways to go.”
“What happened to divide you?” she asked as she pushed herself up and settled against his chest so she could look him in the eyes. For a moment, he was distracted by those heavy breasts of hers, barely covered with that scrap of lace she was wearing.
“It’s a long story.”
“I have the time. Sleep is overrated.”
He smiled. “It started on a mission where two SEAL squads were ambushed. The enemy captured a member from another squad, and this squad, the one I’m currently assigned to, lost Fast Lane, Pitbull, and Speed. We recovered our LT and Pitbull, but Speed was tortured to death before they could rescue him. His death splintered the team. Three members transferred out and Mad Max, 2-Stroke, and I transferred in. In the beginning it seemed like we were the three odd guys out. A them vs. us mentality until Pitbull opened up about some heavy personal issues that involved Speed and his estranged wife. Hemingway, who went through BUD/S a couple of years ago, has this way about him that’s inclusionary and healing. He drew us closer together, then we almost lost Dodger on this mission in Prague where we had to split up. He came clean about his past and stuff he was ashamed of to all of us. I would think 2-Stroke would take all this bonding seriously and drop his own guard. But I guess he doesn’t feel comfortable with that yet.”
“That’s pretty heavy-duty stuff. I usually don’t have to work with a partner, but I completely understand the bond. Just like us ATF types, you have to trust the people you go into battle with.”
“Yeah,” he said, then pushed her down to the mattress, running his hand up her ribcage to her breast. He bent his head and took a lace-covered nipple into his mouth and worked it hard until she was panting. She dragged him up to her mouth and they kissed, their tongues twining, the heat of her mouth only adding to the quick and rapid thickness of his hard-on.
He broke their kiss, and before she could issue a protest, he flipped her around so that she was on her belly. She looked up at him over her shoulder and their gazes met, hers a dark shade of brown as he lowered his mouth to her shoulder. His lips touched the soft, smooth skin, and he felt her shiver from his caress.
A slow, sensual smile curved her lips. “You are a wealth of surprises that I’m quickly becoming addicted to,” she murmured.
He skimmed the body-hugging lace over her shoulders and the curve of her hips until it finally bunched around her middle. His mouth went dry as he took in her matching black, sheer lace G-string panties that made her look as though she’d just stepped from the centerfold of a men’s magazine.
Except she was all his. His fantasy. His desire. She rose on all fours, and her sweet breasts spilled forward, firm and perfectly proportioned to her slender waist and the swell of her hips.
“I have an addiction problem myself, darlin’,” he whispered in her ear. She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue.
“I’m going to miss you, Saint, in my lonely bed in DC.” He loved her honesty, loved that she wasn’t playing games, his regret only deepening.
“Aw, the memories will be bittersweet. Let’s make some,” he said and brushed his lips against the back of her neck. He started with her bare breasts. Cupping the heavy weight in his palms, he kneaded the firm, soft flesh, then scraped his thumbs across her nipples. They instantly grew tight, hardening beneath his touch, just like his dick against the confinement of his boxer briefs, which was pressed against her bottom.
Her breathing deepened as he continued to stroke and caress and tease, and he could feel her body move, enjoying every moment.
This woman was getting under his skin, but there was no chance of making it work with her on the opposite coast, jockeying for her position in the hierarchy of the ATF. He could respect a woman who had ambition, but as a down-home boy, he was looking for a woman
who was homier. Interested in children and making a home for them while he was deployed, a strong personality that would be a partner for him.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he skimmed his other hand down her stomach and beneath the black scrap of fabric covering her mound. His fingers stroked her intimately, deeply, where she was all velvet softness and slick, wet heat. Her head arched against his throat, and a low moan escaped her.
When he turned his head, he caught the view of the two of them in the mirror across from them. A highly erotic view, with one of his tanned hands splayed on her belly and his other concealed beneath black silk—the color of rich decadence and forbidden desire. He watched the flutter of her thick lashes, the rise and fall of her breasts, and the flush sweeping across her cheeks. Even his own eyes were hot and hungry, his features taut with aching need. A need he swore to deny himself until she gave him what he ultimately wanted…her orgasm.
So turned on, he lowered his head and nuzzled her neck, then gave her a gentle love bite on her shoulder that made her gasp in shock.
“God, I want you.” His voice rumbled with intensity and raw emotion, more than he’d ever intended to reveal in that moment. With her back to him, she showed off the sexy slope of her spine and her bare, heart-shaped bottom. She was still wearing her G-string panties and attached to the top elastic band spanning her hips were three pink butterfly appliques that made Aella look sweet and innocent, but he knew better. She glanced over her shoulder at him, a sensual look in her eyes.
“Take me, then.”
He slipped off the bed and shucked his briefs. Her gaze dropped to his jutting erection, and she licked her lips in anticipation, fueling the fire already burning within him.
He moved up onto the mattress, right up behind Aella, and with his hand splayed in the middle of her back, he gently pushed her upper body down onto the bed until her head was resting on a pillow, but her bottom was still raised.
Hooking his fingers in the side straps of her panties, he drew them down her thighs until they pooled around her knees. Then he leaned over her and kissed from the base of her spine up until his face was buried in the fragrant curve of her neck and he was completely covering her from behind. She was already panting in anticipation, wanting this. Wanting him. Hips perfectly aligned, he slid his erection between her thighs to the silky softness of her sex.
The head of his dick slipped inside, and with a long, driving thrust he was exactly where he ached to be. Her fingers gripped the comforter, and she moaned and arched and pushed against him, drawing him deeper into her body, threatening his sanity and his restraint. Refusing to give in to the orgasm rising to the surface, he denied the demands of his body—not until Aella was right there with him. Reaching a hand beneath her, he stroked her in the same slow, heated rhythm as his pumping hips. Over the past few days, he’d learned her body well. Knew just how to touch and caress her to make her unravel. Knew what she liked, what turned her on, and what made her come.
But with a defiant look over her shoulder and a challenging smile, she denied him. A spark of interest flared in him. She could try and hold out against him. But he wanted her orgasm and wouldn’t be satisfied until she finally gave herself over to him that way.
Abruptly, he pulled out of her. “So, we have a competition, do we?” he said with rough eagerness, and sat back on his heels. “Get on your back.” She did as he asked and turned over, eyeing him with laugher in her eyes.
“You didn’t come,” she said, glancing down at the upward thrust of his erection.
Oh, but how he’d wanted to. He was so fucking hard he was about to burst. But he wasn’t going to let her win this round tonight. She was playing games, making this impersonal when it was anything but.
“I will when you do.” That said, he stripped off her panties, pushed her legs wide apart, settled in between, and put his mouth on her. She sucked in a sharp, startled breath and tried to rise up, but he pressed a strong hand to her belly to hold her down. He heard her call his name in a trembling panic, felt her fingers knot in his hair to pull him away, and ignored every attempt she made to stop him. He was relentless in his pursuit. Persistent and tireless as he licked and lapped at her, then swirled and dragged his tongue over her sensitive bud. Again, and again, until she was thrashing beneath his unyielding assault and moaning softly. Minutes could have passed, or an hour.
It didn’t matter and he didn’t care, because he wasn’t letting her go, wouldn’t stop until she gave herself over to him completely. He thrust two fingers deep inside of her, giving her that extra, insistent push of sensual pleasure, and it was finally enough to send her over the edge. Beneath the hand still splayed on her belly, he felt her tense. Her inner muscles clenched around his fingers and her nails dug into his shoulders in a last attempt to resist. Then the wave broke, and she sobbed as her body convulsed with the beginning tremors of a powerful, undeniable climax.
He reared up over her, replaced his fingers with his dick, and drove deep, deep inside of her as her orgasm crested, squeezing his shaft, milking him, enveloping every hard inch of him like a tight, hot glove. With an unraveling groan, he slid his arm beneath the arch of her back and pulled her hips tighter against his. Then he slanted his mouth across hers in a fierce, devouring kiss and rode her hard and fast. It didn’t take long before his own violent spasms jerked and shuddered through him.
He collapsed on top of her, his breathing ragged, his entire body spent. Beneath him, Aella didn’t move, though he could feel her thundering heartbeat against his chest. Lifting his head from the damp curve of her neck, he glanced down at her and his stomach clenched at what he saw. She’d turned her face to the side, and her eyes were closed, but there was no mistaking the moisture on her cheeks.
“I really am going to miss you,” she said, and he recognized the longing in her voice. But there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. So, instead, he gathered her in his arms, gently wiped away her tears, and said nothing more because at this point, there was nothing to say.
He’d just given her everything he had, but in the morning, they were going to get in that van and make a break for the border. They would either make it or they wouldn’t. That was a hard, cold fact. The other hard cold fact was that when they made it, they would go their separate ways. There was no chance at a future together.
13
Gradually, as time passed in this haze of feverish nightmares and brief bouts of lucid awareness, Chry came back to the world and to herself. The morning that she felt completely free of the fever she found 2-Stroke next to her. Even lost to her own mind, she had the sense that he had never abandoned her but had stayed by her.
She was tired and hungry, which she thought was a good sign, feeling immensely better. Her side still hurt like hell. But last night, Saint had deemed her wound clean and ready for stitching. They filled her in on their plan and she assured him that when the time came, she would be ready to go.
She turned to look at 2-Stroke, his face peaceful in sleep as if some of his demons that had dogged him may have been exorcised. But then she saw the circles under his eyes, and she realized that she must have caused him some sleepless nights since she’d been shot and was lost in that terrible fever.
She reached out and cupped his jaw, turning her body carefully so that she was on her good side. He made a soft sound, then opened his eyes.
“Hey there,” she said, her heart full.
He took one look at her face, swore softly, and caught her in a fiercely protective embrace.
“Ah, babe,” she whispered huskily. “I never meant to worry you like that.”
Holding on to him for dear life, Chry flattened her hands against his back, tears slipping down her face.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “You’re awake and you’re getting better each hour.”
He tightened his hold, pulling her gently against him as he buried his face against the curve of her throat. He didn’t say anything more, just held her, the tensi
on in his body making his arms tremble. Closing her eyes, Chry caught him by the back of the head and soothed him. It wrenched at her, knowing that he was feeling so raw. Trying to contain the ache around her heart, she was content to just lie here with him for the time being.
He didn’t move for a long time, then he finally inhaled heavily, relaxing his hold just a little. Smoothing back his hair, she eased away and looked at him. His face was etched with strain, and there was a starkness around his eyes that made her heart twist.
He held her gaze for just a moment, a flicker of hesitancy in his eyes. “I thought I was going to lose you there for a while.”
“But you didn’t. I’m going to be fine.”
His eyes darkened. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”
“I know, but we have a plan to get out. All we can do is try, Neo. We can’t let them win.”
The threat that was so close didn’t seem quite so scary now—not as long as 2-Stroke was holding her.
“I don’t give a damn about them. I just want you safe.”
“I know, but that’s unrealistic considering where we are and what we still have to endure.”
2-Stroke shifted his hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “I know, but as you said, we have a chance, and we’ll make the most of it.”
She nodded. She could tell by his tone that he was slipping into protective mode, into SEAL mode, taking him a bit away from her. She strongly suspected he’d worried it around in his mind just as much as she had, and he was right. There was nothing to be gained from talking about what might or might not happen. But maybe now was the time to talk about what had happened through all this.
He went to move, to get up and slide all that emotion she’d just seen in his eyes away so she wouldn’t see it. But she wanted 2-Stroke, all of him, even the parts he thought were unattractive. She wanted all of him but was afraid that he maybe couldn’t offer her all of him because he was afraid that if he did, he would lose too much of himself.
