ALTERED BY FIRE: UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 1

by James Tate

  I arch a brow at Colt, and he just shrugs. A faint blush stains his cheeks, so I guess it must be true. But how inconvenient for a mercenary to be squeamish around blood?

  Looking between the three men, I find myself nodding before my better judgement can take over. "Okay fine. But don't expect it to be pretty."

  Mace lets out a heavy sigh of relief and scoots out of the way for me. Without his huge body obscuring the view, I can clearly see the raw wound in the top of Weston's shoulder, and I too, sigh with relief.

  "Oh," I nod. "That's not so bad. That's just a flesh wound, right? Here I was thinking he got shot in the chest."

  Mace shakes his head and gives me a small smile. "No, just through the muscle. We still can't take him to the ER though, you know?"

  "Still can't believe you got shot and didn't fucking say anything until we got back here, you assface," Colt mutters, spearing Weston with a glare then paling and turning away.

  "Can we, maybe, get the fuck on with this?" Weston grimaces, giving me a pleading look. "If that's okay, Natalia? I'm just bleeding a lot here …"

  "Oh, right. Yeah. Um." I look around and find Mace setting up the tray I brought beside the bed. On it is a bowl of warm water and some cloth strips. They already have a wicked looking needle out and threaded with what looks like fishing twine or something, so I guess I'm good to start.

  Taking the seat Mace vacated, I scoot a little closer to the bed and take a better look. It's a furrow through his trapezoid about a quarter inch wide where the bullet must have just grazed him, rather than penetrating. Curious, I reach out and pinch the two sides together, just to make sure they reach, and Weston curses.

  "Sorry," I mutter, giving him a tight smile. "Not used to working with living fabric, you know?"

  "It's fine," he grunts. "Just get it done."

  Biting my lip, I dip one of the rags in the water and use it to clean off his skin a little better. I take the needle between my fingers and place it against the side of the wound, considering what type of stitch I should be using. Maybe a blanket stitch? It's kind of like a raw fabric edge, right? No, that won't work … Overcast stitch is probably the way to go here.

  I pause, then position the needle from the other side, but the angles are all wrong from where I'm sitting. It'll need a decent amount of force to pierce flesh, which I won't be able to do from where I'm seated.

  "What's wrong?" Weston asks me gruffly, his face pale and sweating.

  "The angles aren't right," I admit. "Do you mind if I … um …"

  He raises a pierced brow at me. "Just do whatever you need to do, Natalia. Get on with it."

  Nodding, I take his permission and climb onto the bed to straddle him. This way, I’m front on to the injury and able to access both sides of the wound with equal force.

  Weston grunts, shifting my weight a little until I'm not crushing him so badly, then gives me a tight nod to get started.

  "Way better nurse than you," Colt whispers to Mace, but I try to block them out. It's bad enough that I'm about to stitch a man's flesh back together, but I've just realized I’m straddling Weston's bare midsection with absolutely nothing between us. My habit still covers me, but between my legs it’s just my bare pussy pressed against Weston's rock-hard abs.

  He, too, is aware of this, and I feel him hardening beneath my ass.

  "I'm … I'm starting now, okay?" I whisper in a voice that's husky and drenched with desire. Damn my rampant sex drive; now is not the time.

  Weston puts his hands on my hips and pushes me down a little further, scooting the blankets out of our way as he goes, until I feel the hard, thick length of his shaft between my cheeks. The ones on my face burn red as West turns his dark eyes over to his companions.

  "Get out," he says, and I look over just in time to see Colt open his mouth in protest. "No, don't speak, get the fuck out."

  "Screw you, man," Colt starts, but Weston narrows his brown eyes and grits his teeth.

  "I'm fucking bleeding to death!" he roars as I hear the door open behind me. Mace is already on his way out, casting a look at me that I just happen to catch. It says I'm here if you need me, and it's cute as hell, but … I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't want to. I might have eclectic tastes in the bedroom, but it's always my choice whether or not I participate in them.

  And I so want to participate in this.

  "You pulled this same damn shit with Portia," Colt starts, and the look he gets from his friend sends him to his feet, cursing and storming out the door. He slams it behind him, rattling the old walls and knocking a metal crucifix to the floor.

  I turn back to Weston and meet his strong gaze, watching as he plays with the piercings in his lip.

  "How can I earn the story of Portia?" I ask, and West goes ridiculously still, almost like he's stopped breathing altogether. His brown eyes shift to the side as he exhales.

  "Stitch me," he whispers, voice husky and low. "If you do a good job, I'll think about it." He turns back to me with a gravely serious expression etched into his fine features. He has a more delicate jaw and a smaller brow than Colt, but he's just as masculine, just as handsome. "Do not ever ask Hawke or Arsen about her though, okay?"

  "Okay," I whisper, wiggling back against his cock and getting this low, half-pained growl in response. "But are you sure you only want me to stitch you up?" I wiggle again, and West's hands clamp down hard on my hips. His face is all sweaty, his dark green hair plastered to his forehead, but there's nothing wrong with the rigid length of his cock.

  "If that's all I wanted …" he begins, spearing me with a harsh look at the same time I lift up off his lap and push my already slick pussy back against the head of his dick. "Then I wouldn't have asked Mace and Colt to leave."

  As soon as I'm in place, Weston pushes my hips down and impales me on his shaft, drawing this pathetic little mewling sound from my throat. Blood bubbles up and out of the wound on his shoulder, crimson liquid trickling down the front of his hard chest. I smear it with my hand as I move to grab hold of his muscular upper arms, fingers curling over the beautiful ink etched into his skin.

  There's a dragon on one side, and several lines of kanji on the other. But that's not the most remarkable part of Weston in that moment. Instead, I can feel several piercings rubbing all the right places inside of me, bits of metal enhancing the wide, thick warmth of his cock.

  Once again, I forgot to have an adult conversation before foregoing a condom.

  Shit, whatever, I like to live dangerously. And my life … I don't expect to keep living it for much longer. Maybe I'm not at all sure that I want to? No, I'll take pleasure wherever I can get it.

  "You're pierced," I whisper as I push even further down the length of him. "In multiple spots," I add with a small, choking laugh. The squeezing of my inner muscles makes West grunt as he reaches down to my hand and puts my fingers back on his wound. Apparently, I'm still holding the needle.

  "Do it," he coughs, "while I'm still riding the high of being inside of you."

  I swallow hard and take another look at the GSW, my head spinning from the pleasure of being stretched taut, filled, fucked. I should stitch this wound up as fast as I can, so I can ride Weston … or see if he's feeling okay enough to flip me over and ride me.

  Before I can question my own mettle, I shove the needle into his skin and his breath hisses out in a rush. I aim to make tight, narrow stitches, sealing the flesh back together without getting too close to the edges. I don't want them to tear out down the road. As I work, West clenches and unclenches his hands on my hips, his breathing ragged and broken, rife with pain.

  As I do my work, he grabs a bottle of booze from the side table and takes a long, hearty sip, passing it to me. I take it in my right hand and drink my fair share, totally loving this moment. There's the metallic copper scent of blood, the fiery burn of the whiskey, and the thick heat of Weston's shaft. It's a blur of strangely beautiful sensations, made so real and crisp by the lack of drugs in my system. Where I'm
at in my life, a little bit of booze isn't going to do shit but calm my nerves.

  "There," I say, tying off the thread and setting the needle aside. "All done."

  "Fuck, that's tight," West says, giving me a sly look that says he's not just talking about the stitches. "So much better than if Mace did it. Hurt less, quicker, and I might not even have a scar."

  "So, I deserve a reward then?" I ask, sweeping his hair off his sweaty forehead. He looks tired, but okay, not like he's about to keel over anytime soon. Good thing that, since he's buried deep inside of me. I rock my hips experimentally and West groans, bucking up and slamming our pelvises together.

  "You're the one who's supposed to be nursing me back to health?" West whispers, his voice low and thick with sex. "How about you take care of me now and as soon as I'm feeling up to it, I'll come and show you what I can do?" He reaches up and takes a handful of my brunette hair and the fabric of my habit, wrapping it around his fist and making me yelp as he jerks me toward him and takes my mouth, his piercings bumping my lip as he thrusts his tongue between them.

  I can't help the sounds that escape me, these wild noises of abandon that pour out like a symphonic sound of sin, tainting the walls of the church. I'm not a quiet girl, never have been, and I wonder if any of these noises are leaking out into the hall, teasing the other boys, or drifting through the walls and tainting the ears of poor old church ladies.

  If only they were as lucky as me.

  I move my hips hard and fast, grinding down against Weston's thick, hard cock. I can feel at least three piercings—one at the tip, and two along the length of his shaft. It's like having a few extra fingers down there, teasing all my best parts.

  West lifts his left hand and cups my breast through the nun's habit, pulling his lips from my mouth to kiss the side of my neck. He licks my throbbing pulse, encouraging me to work harder and faster, grind our slick hungry bodies together towards orgasm.

  We both pause though when the door opens, and Colt slips into the room, locking it behind him.

  "I give up, bro," he says, his eyes twinkling as he takes the two of us in with a look of hunger that has my cunt clamping down and squeezing Weston with every ounce of power I have. The constriction of my muscles makes Weston curse as he spears his friend with a violent glare. "You guys are making all these sounds …"

  "Nobody invited you," West snaps, but he doesn't say anything as Colt frees his dick and wraps his hand around the base, working himself with a few sure strokes before he comes over and crawls onto the bed behind me.

  My pulse is working overtime, making me dizzy as he drags my hair over my shoulder, those few loose strands that've escaped the nun's habit tickling my flesh. I think he's waiting to see if I'll tell him no or ask him to leave.

  I don't.

  Instead, I gasp as Colt takes two handfuls of the scratchy old cloth and tears it over my head, chucking it side. He scoots closer to me and teases my back with his shaft.

  "Weston's too sick to properly take care of you: let me help." Colt scoots in closer and starts kissing all the places that West just took care of. Goose bumps break out across my skin. There's nothing so delicious as feeling one man kiss the spot another just vacated. They each have their own style, their own feel, and my body loves the contrast.

  "You son of a bitch," West sighs, but he's clearly given up. That, and he must feel how excited I am as my muscles tighten, and I rock back and forth on his dick, my palms rubbing over the hard points of his nipples.

  "Where do you want me?" Colt asks, putting his lips to my ear and making me shiver.

  "What do you mean?" I ask, and the low sound of his chuckle makes me clench again.

  "Shit, dude, you're going to make me come if you keep fucking with her like that," West snaps at his friend. They must be super close if they're willing to share a girl like this. Based on their interaction, I doubt it's the first time.

  "I mean," Colt continues, licking the shell of my ear. "Do you want me in the back … or the front?"

  "Weston's already in the front," I start, but I'm intrigued. Colt seems to know what he's doing so … what the hell? "Can you really get it in there?" He just laughs at me, standing up off the bed and making his way over to the other side of the room. There's a second bed in here, like maybe the two men share. He opens a drawer on the nightstand and withdraws a bottle of lube, slicking up his dick with several strokes before he takes his place behind me.

  The old mattress shifts as Colt pushes me forward with a single palm on my back, smashing my now bare (and still aching) breasts against Weston's hot, sweaty chest. Colt maneuvers behind me, pushing the head of his shaft up against my opening, alongside Weston's dick. At first, it doesn't feel like this is going to work, like the man is crazy, but as he pushes forward, I get this wild tight feeling and then … he slips the rest of the way in.

  The pleasure is so intense that I end up biting West's other shoulder, just about the same spot where the GSW is. Oh well. At least he can match on both sides, right?

  All three of us moan as Colt starts to move, slicking his shaft along Weston's and rubbing against my fully stretched cunt. It's so intense that I know I'm not going to last long. Luckily, I don't think either of the guys is either. This isn't a position that's meant to go on forever.

  I shift and adjust myself so that my clit starts to rub with each of Colt's thrusts, making heat pool in my lower belly. My nipples pebble so tightly that they start to hurt, and my breathing devolves into these rapid, gasping breaths.

  Weston comes first, clamping down so tight on my hips that I'll definitely have bruises in the morning. He throws his head back and explodes inside of me, but Colt doesn't stop moving. If anything, his friend's orgasm makes him move faster, fuck harder.

  I kiss and lick and suck on Weston's sweaty skin as an outlet for all that pleasure, my own climax sneaking up on me and taking over before Colt can even finish. My body feels like it's melting from the rush of hormones, happy-go-lucky pheromones flooding my brain as I collapse and Colt comes right after, grunting as he blows his load and then pulls away, collapsing onto the bed behind me.

  "First time you've ever done that, Tzarina?" he asks after a few moments, right as I'm standing up and snatching my robes from the floor. I'm not quite sure what to say to him—he's right, by the way—but I'm in need of a shower and a moment to myself. Weston looks better—much, much better—so I feel like I can have a moment to think.

  “I …” I start, but then I’m fleeing the room, and I don’t know why.

  There’s something inside of me that aches, something beyond the physical. I want what these guys have, their teamwork and friendship and camaraderie.

  I want to belong.

  I want to be their new Portia.

  Chapter 12

  NATALIA

  The next morning, I'm woken up way too goddamn early by Hawke. He's standing over my bed dressed all in black and looking like a total badass. As soon as I see him, I wish I were naked under the covers, so I could invite him to climb in with me.

  Christ, Natalia, is it any surprise why you thought you might benefit from becoming a nun? I know I have problems, so sue me.

  "What's going on?" I ask as Hawke chucks a stack of clothes onto the end of my bed.

  "Get dressed, get up, and I'll meet you downstairs." He turns and stalks away as my mouth gapes open, and I pick through the items he left me.

  New black sports bra—surprisingly one that looks like it might fit—plus a pair of black cotton panties, black sweats, and a black tank top. Underneath it all, there's a thick pair of socks and some black combat boots.

  Uh-oh.

  I get the feeling I'm going to get my ass kicked today.

  Standing up, I take the clothes with me and sneak into the bathroom across the hall. After a quick shower, I pull my still wet hair up into a ponytail and descend into the kitchen area fully dressed and feeling kind of cool. Like Lara Croft or some shit. Although I'd prefer to have skintight sho
rts like her instead of these baggy sweats.

  Arsen is cooking which is just weird now that I know him a little better. Doesn't seem right that a man that fucked-up can make such beautiful scents in the tiny kitchen. Looks like we're having sausage, hash browns, and eggs.

  Hot damn.

  I sit down at the table and smile when Mace supplies me with both a cup of orange juice with a single ice cube, and a steaming mug of black coffee.

  "Thanks, Macey," I whisper, but it's not quiet enough. Arsen snorts a laugh and shakes his head as he continues cooking.

  "Welcome," Mace replies with a gruff voice, taking the seat beside me. "We might need to come up with a new nickname though."

  A teasing grin curls my lips. "Why? I like 'Macey', it's cute."

  "It makes me sound like a department store," he grumbles, and I laugh abruptly, choking on the sip of juice I'd just taken.

  When I stop coughing, I wipe tears from my eyes and grin at the huge man. He's frowning at me in concern, and my heart contracts. He's such a nice guy … I definitely need his dick in me soon. I bet it's massive, too. Jesus, I’m fucked-up.

  "Alright, I'll come up with something else," I concede, just as Arsen sets a loaded plate down on the table in front of me. "Uh, is this … for everyone?" I ask him, eyeing up the mountain of food with suspicion.

  "No." He frowns down at me, still wielding a spatula in one hand. Now that he's facing me, I can see he’s wearing an apron with kittens all over it. "It's for you. Eat it all, you'll need your strength for training with Hawke today."

  Arsen stands there awkwardly for a moment, then hesitantly leans down and kisses me on the forehead. What in the actual fuck?!

  He seems confused by his own actions, wrinkling his nose and spinning back to the stove to continue plating up breakfast, so I give Mace a bewildered look. Mace, though, looks just as confused as I feel and simply shakes his head at me. The message is clear: just let it go. Don't provoke the crazy man.

  Shaking the odd moment off, I take a forkful of food and chew it before speaking again. "Where is Hawke, anyway? He told me to meet him downstairs?"