by J. B. Havens
I bit and clawed at his neck and back, a loud keening spilling from my lips. I was so close, clenching tight around him.
“Bea… oh, fuck. I love you.” He reared back and put his hand between us, his touch sending me over the edge. I jerked and screamed, spasms wracking my body. He quickly followed, falling forward, catching himself on the arm of the couch.
My body was limp and floating. The pleasure slowly seeped away, leaving aching muscles behind. Chris looked down at me, a wide grin nearly splitting his face. It was impossible not to smile back.
“You seem fairly satisfied with yourself, boy-o.” I smirked and stretched. His eyes followed the movement, watching my breasts rise and fall.
“Yes, ma’am. So do you.” He kissed me softly before drawing away. I shuddered and sighed again as his body left mine.
“You made a mess of my couch, Corporal,” I said as I pushed myself up to a seated position.
He sat next to me, looking over his shoulder at my face. “Are you complaining, Staff Sergeant?”
“No. Not at all.” I wiped the sweat off his back, loving the feel of his skin, loving the marks I’d left behind. “Let’s go take a shower.” I stood and held my hand out to him.
“An excellent notion, ma’am. Let’s get clean so we can get your bed dirty next. I’m nowhere close to being through with you.” I squealed with shock and delight as he slung me over his shoulder and carried me into the bathroom.
Why did I wait so damn long for this? I thought to myself as he put me down and kissed me deeply before turning on the shower.
Chapter 9
I woke in a tangle of limbs; glancing at the clock I saw that we’d been asleep for about two hours. Chris was behind me, tucked in tight against my back, his arms holding me close, with one hand palming my breast—unwilling to let me go even in his sleep. I was too hot. His body was throwing off a massive amount of heat. My hair was stuck to the back of my neck from sweat. I moved as slowly as I could, trying not to wake him. He was snoring, which I would have thought would irritate me, but I didn’t mind at all. I got my legs free from his and was almost out of bed when the arm around my waist tightened and pulled me backward.
“Just where do you think you’re going, woman?” He said, sleep thickening his voice.
“Woman? Am I your woman now?”
He opened one eye, glaring at me. “What else would I call you? Lover? Girlfriend? I think we’re more than lovers, and boyfriend and girlfriend is for kids. You’re my woman. Deal with it.” His eye closed and he flung a leg back over mine, trapping me to the bed again.
I tapped his arm, trying to get him to move. “Let me up.”
“No,” he grumbled at me. Not a person who woke gracefully, I guess.
“I gotta pee, dammit. Let me up.” The glow of waking up beside him was wearing off quickly. I needed to go to the bathroom. Aside from the obvious reasons, I had some serious cleaning up to do. I shoved at him, but it was like trying to move a truck. “Get off me; that’s an order.”
“In that case, of course.” He lifted his arm and let me escape. I stood and heard him chuckle on my way to the bathroom. “Keep walking like that. I don’t mind at all.” I had managed to forget I was naked. Stopping in the doorway, I looked over my shoulder. He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow wearing nothing but a grin. “I love how your wings move when you walk.”
“You keep watching; I’ll keep walking.” I blew him a kiss and shut the door.
I was just coming out of the bathroom when shrill tones screeched from our phones. Jordon was out of bed and dressing before I reached the nightstand. I swiped my mobile and Jones’s face filled the screen. I was careful to keep it pointed high enough that he didn’t get an eye-full.
“Report.”
“Fire at the mess hall. I’ve called the locals in to help.”
“Copy; on my way.” I dropped the phone on the bed and pulled on underwear and clothes as fast as I could. “You ready?” I asked Jordon before glancing up.
“Waiting on you.” He was fully dressed—coat buttoned, boots on—while I was still struggling with mine.
“Go. I’ll be right there.” It worried me that I was sparing a thought for appearances when there was a fire to deal with. Sirens sounded in the distance. A shock of cold air blew in and through the cabin as Jordon left, the howling wind quickly cutting off as he slammed the door behind him.
Running out, I was still buttoning my coat when I reached the mess hall. Smoke was billowing out into the moonlit sky from the back of the building where the kitchen was. A fire engine pulled up, accompanied by the larger tanker truck. The thick, sharp acidic stench of smoke burned my nose. This wasn’t the pleasant fragrance of a campfire; this was hot metal, coupled with plastic, igniting and melting in a throat-closing burn of fumes. Even with no visible flames, I could feel the wind blowing the heat from the building toward my face.
Firefighters in heavy turnout gear ran around in controlled chaos. I spotted a man in a white helmet and made a beeline to him—he was the guy in charge of the scene. The dark figure of Jackson stood next to him.
“What the fuck happened?” I shouted as I stopped in front of the pair.
“Too early to tell; my boys will have a report in a few. No flames are visible out here, so it’s a small fire by the looks of it,” the heavyset fire chief responded as he lit a cigarette. You’d think he’d have enough of smoke from burning buildings without adding to it.
“Jackson?” I was concerned for Aunt Beatrice; I didn’t see her out here. I counted off my teammates, as they, too, stood around watching the firemen work.
“She’s in our cabin.” He’d apparently read my mind. Worry creased his face, highlighted by the flashing reds and bright white lights of the fire trucks.
The chief’s radio squawked loudly. “Fire’s out, Chief. Found the source. An apron was near the stove, which was left on.”
A fireman exited the mess hall, holding the charred remnants of an apron. He approached our little group; soot and sweat streaked his face, obscuring his features.
“Here’s what’s left of the apron.” It was Aunt Beatrice’s. She was the only one who cooked in there and wore an apron. “It caught near the burner; then a roll of paper towels lit. Whoosh, there she went. The stove is a loss; and so is most of the counter, backsplash, and ceiling near it. Lucky we got here when we did—the whole place could have gone up.” The fireman handed the charred and sopping wet fabric to Jackson.
“Wrap it up, boys!” The chief shouted over the din of the diesel engines and pumps. Turning to Jackson he added, “Best tell your cook to be more careful.”
Jackson dropped the apron into the snow and left me standing there. I calmly watched him go to his cabin, not envying him in the least right now. Aunt Beatrice was going to be beside herself.
Turning back to the mess hall, I watched for what felt like a long time as they sprayed the building down some more and cleaned up. Finally, the firefighters gathered their gear and packed up. I considered going in and checking out the damage, but it would be easier to see tomorrow in the light.
Pierce and Flynn stomped their way over to me, hands tucked deep in their pockets and heads bent against the wind. It was a damn miserable night to be outside.
“So, what’s the situation?” Flynn asked, teeth chattering.
“Stove was left on with an apron on the counter close by. It caught on fire, then spread to a roll of paper towels.” Saying it aloud like that had my suspicions rising. It wasn’t like Aunt Beatrice to be so careless.
“Seems odd.” Pierce’s next words echoed my thoughts. “Beatrice isn’t careless. She’s very particular about her kitchen.”
“I agree,” Flynn added. “When I helped her, everything had to be put carefully away at the end of the night. I can’t see her leaving her apron out, let alone leaving the damn burner on.”
“Keep an eye out, guys. I want watches doubled. Starting tonight. Tell the others and the gua
rds.”
“Copy that,” they replied in unison. I walked away, confident my orders would be carried out. First my Jeep tire; then a fire, all in one night? Could be a coincidence and it probably was. But I wasn’t about to take any chances.
I turned around, intent on heading back to my nice warm bed. I caught Jordon’s eye, nodding my head toward my cabin. He got my meaning if his grin was anything to go by. I kept my answering smile to myself as I walked home. I was frozen and Jordon might just be the perfect thing to warm me up.
****
Wesley observed the fire from his vantage point among the trees. He was supposed to be on patrol, so his presence wouldn’t be missed in the chaos below.
He was delighted that his plan had worked perfectly. It wasn’t hard to start the fire or make it look like Beatrice’s fault. He swallowed a giggle, hardly managing to contain himself.
If they thought this was bad… he couldn’t wait to show them what else he had in store for them. It was just the beginning. He rubbed his hands together in an effort to warm them and out of sheer excitement. This was more fun than he could have ever hoped for.
****
“Jordon never came back from Mic’s last night,” Rook pointed out over coffee.
“I noticed that. What do you think that means?” Jones’s voice was still thick with sleep, his accent more pronounced.
“Well… I hope they’ll both be in a better mood today. I don’t think it means anything other than they finally got it over with. They should be easier to live with now.” Rook pulled on his boots, unconcerned with Mic and Jordon’s love life. He was worried about Russia, and what going back there would mean. For Steel and for him. Some of his secrets were buried in Russia with their special forces, the Spetsnaz.
“You’re right there. Mic has been unbearable recently. As you well know.” Jones pointed to Rook’s bandaged nose and black eyes.
“Yeah. I guess so. I had it coming, though. She seemed like she felt better after. Sometimes you just have to kick someone’s ass so you can get your head back on straight.” Rook touched his nose; it was still really sore, but healing fine. He’d had it broken enough times before to know the feeling.
“So, what? You let her win?”
“Of course, I did.” Rook chuckled. “As good as Mic is, it would require more than her to take me down.” They needed Mic back; it was imperative that she stay on top of her game. The coming weeks were going to be a big test of the team’s loyalty and strength. Rook had the advantage of personally knowing both sides in this conflict. He was more familiar than he liked with both the Russians and Jackson’s superior.
“Well, I’ll see you at breakfast. I’m going on my run.” Jones left the cabin, pulling a knit hat down over his head on the way out.
Rook didn’t acknowledge him; he was lost in his own thoughts. He hadn’t told the team yet, but he’d recognized Anton Ivanov. The bastard was something of a famous man within the Russian mob and the prison system. Well known for both his brutality and his intelligence, the two together were a terrifying combination. He was respected and feared in equal measure, and wasn’t going to be easy to capture or get information out of. Not associated directly with the mob, he was more of a freelance agent. He did some of their dirty work, for both the money and the sheer pleasure of the violence when he wasn’t moving his “products.”
Leaving to begin his own morning regime of weights and cardio, Rook tried to dismiss the dread he felt and instead hope that for once he was part of something big enough to solve this problem. He was prepared to reveal as many of his secrets as needed if it meant taking down Anton and his gang.
The cold hitting his face reminded him too much of the winter he’d spent in Moscow. Deeply entrenched with the Russian army, training with a man named Nickoli, and learning Russian, which had been difficult enough; but he had also witnessed some of the terrible atrocities committed by the Russian mob. By Anton in particular. He’d seen women like Rozalina and what happened to them when they didn’t submit or comply.
He ran faster, sprinting now. Doing his best to force the images from his memory. His legs pumped in a smooth rhythm, his muscles began to burn, and his breath came harder. He circled the track again; he wasn’t sure how many miles he’d run. He was alone now; the others had long since gone in out of the cold.
As he ran, battered faces flashed before his eyes—women beaten, families murdered—all in the name of profits and the damn thieves’ code the Russian mob operated on. It was getting hard to breathe and he was gasping for air. The force of his breaths made his nose ache even more.
Slowing down to a jog, then to a walk, he grasped his hands behind his head and stepped in circles. The cold was slowly seeping into him since he was no longer running. Stomach growling, he headed for the mess hall and breakfast.
****
I sat at the long table, digging into an omelet and hash browns, and sipping a coffee cup brimming full of caffeinated sweetness. Aunt Beatrice had magically produced breakfast, right on time. Jordon was beside me, brushing his thigh against mine every few seconds, keeping me on edge and aware of him. Jackson was sitting with Aunt Beatrice across from us. I kept my eyes on my plate, worried that my face would betray the events of last night.
The heavy scent of smoke still filled the building. Luckily, the fire had been contained to the kitchen. No damage had been done to the rest of the hall or to the war room. Soot coated the walls and dirty water was still resting in puddles near the corners. The water damage could have been much worse. People forget that in a fire, all that water has to go somewhere. Fortunately, the drains in the floor of the kitchen had handled most of it. The water out here was more from firemen tracking it around than anything else.
“How’s your breakfast, honey?” Aunt Beatrice asked.
“Great.” Jackson and I said in unison, making her laugh.
She patted his hand. “I was asking Bea, but that works too.”
Rook came in, sweaty from his run. He appeared tense, which was unusual. He normally didn’t exhibit much emotion at all.
“What’s the matter with him?” Jordon asked me as we watched Rook fix a plate from the buffet line. How Aunt Beatrice had managed to produce a normal breakfast for us was a mystery. I knew we had camping gear; maybe she had set up a few portable camp stoves?
“Hard to tell,” I muttered over the rim of my coffee cup.
“Mic, have everyone assemble in the war room in twenty minutes,” Jackson said, kissing Aunt Beatrice’s cheek and taking care of his tray before leaving the mess hall. “So, what’s the story with the two of you?” Aunt Beatrice asked, startling me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I forced myself not to glance at Jordon; it would be a tell-tale giveaway. “Don’t we have bigger problems right now?” I pointed toward the kitchen.
“That will be dealt with. Jackson ordered a new stove, but wouldn’t bring in a crew to clean up the mess. A few guards are going to help me do it today, I suppose. I don’t understand. I remember hanging my apron up when I left last night. And I always double check that the stove is off.” Dark circles lay heavy under her red and bloodshot eyes.
“Did you manage to get any sleep at all?”
“Not much, no. When Jackson told me what caused the fire… I just…” She fiddled with a lock of hair near her ear, worry etched into her face. “Never mind all that right now; you’re changing the subject, Bea.”
“What gave you that idea?” I tried and failed to sound offended. She had never been one to let me get away with avoiding what she wanted to discuss. “I would think the fire would be a more pressing subject than what may or may not be going on with me and Jordon.”
“Are you worried what my intentions toward your niece are?” Jordon surprised me by asking. I drained the last of my coffee and put the cup down with more force than necessary.
“Of course,” Aunt Beatrice continued. “Though I would be more worried about you, than her, Chris.”
“Thanks for that,” I snapped. “I appreciate it.” This conversation was not happening. I stood to leave, but Jordon grabbed my arm, pulling me back down.
“Wait. She deserves to know,” he calmly said, ignoring my anger and tightening jaw.
“There’s nothing to tell.” I jerked my arm from him. “If, and I stress, if, anything is going on, we’re adults and it’s our business.”
“Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady,” Aunt Beatrice coldly chastised me. “Chris deserves more respect than that. It’s not nothing. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. The sooner you admit it, the happier you’ll both be.” She rose and went into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. I could hear her banging around, even from out here.
“Well, then. I guess she told you, huh?” Jordon smirked at me. I longed to wipe it off his face. I was not comfortable with our new relationship, and he knew it.
“I guess so.” I stared at my plate, my appetite gone. I felt ashamed; not of Jordon, but of myself. She was right; he deserved more respect than this. I stared at Jordon, the mirth in his eyes lightening my mood slightly. He wasn’t hurt or angry, but enjoying my agony. I stood, preparing to call the men to attention. The hand on my ass halted my words.
“Beatrice is right. It’s not nothing. Feels pretty good actually.”
I froze at the contact. Plain as day, for everyone to see, Jordon had his hand on me and I was not feeding him his arm.
Flynn faux-whispered from behind me, “Wow. Mic isn’t killing him. Who is this pod-person and what did they do with Mic?”
“No pod-person here. Trust me.” Jordon winked at Flynn. My face got hot as embarrassment washed over me. I knocked his hand off and fumed on the way to the war room door.
“All of you, get in here in ten.” I stepped inside, slamming the door on the laughter filling the hall.
I was grateful for a few moments alone. My leg was aching fiercely, so I allowed myself to limp in here where no one could see me. The stitches were irritating; I could feel them stretch with each step. I had actually woken up this morning feeling decent; the pain in my ribs was fading. I’d always been a fast healer. It had come in handy since I was a kid and under my father’s care.
