HOT Addiction: A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 10

by Lynn Raye Harris

  He tsked as one of the men drew a pistol and cocked it. “Who wishes to die first?”

  31

  “Got her phone,” Kid said. “Calling up the coordinates on GPS. Activating the microphone.”

  Dex’s heart tattooed a steady beat against his ribs. They would make it. They had to make it. He pictured Annabelle, her golden hair hanging over her shoulders, her smile lighting up her face—and something punched him in the gut. Hard.

  He couldn’t lose her. Not again. Not like this.

  The sounds of Russian conversation flowed from Kid’s speakers and filled the SUV compartment. Dex’s stomach knotted. Goddammit! The Russians had taken her—but what could they hope to gain? She didn’t have the money. Porter did.

  “They would have confiscated her phone when they took her,” Richie said. “They wouldn’t let her keep it.”

  “Got ’em,” Kid whooped. “Downtown. Hilton. Top floor, corner suite.”

  Richie relayed the message to the vehicle behind them and they raced down Lexington’s streets, skidding around corners and slaloming between cars. The only reason no police sirens blared behind them had to be Mendez. He was working it from HQ as hard as they were working it here.

  They skidded into the parking lot and shot from the vehicles like bullets aimed at a target. They weren’t dressed in tactical gear because that would be too obvious—and too disturbing to the guests of the hotel. But they were as armed and dangerous as only Special Ops soldiers can be. They split up, going in the service entrance to take opposite stairwells to the top floor. Kid stayed in the SUV. He would take care of temporarily jamming the elevators, and he’d monitor Annabelle’s phone for movement.

  Dex pounded up the stairs with his guys, pulses racing, breaths razoring in and out, legs aching with the speed and effort. They hit the top floor, sweat popping out of their pores and rolling down their foreheads, and Richie motioned them to halt behind him.

  Big Mac’s voice came through the mic in their ears. “Team Bravo in position.”

  “Alpha leader copies. Kid, anything?” Richie asked.

  “You need to go in now. Sergei Turov’s in there, threatening to kill Annabelle and someone else. Not sure who. He hasn’t said a name…”

  “Shit,” Richie swore. “Let’s go, boys.”

  Kid interrupted. “Mendez’s orders are not to kill Turov unless there’s a clear and present danger. I think we all know why.”

  Red swirled across Dex’s vision. Yeah, they all knew why. Grigori Androv had died within hours of being released from HOT’s custody a month ago. If the man who’d inherited the business also got tangled up in a HOT operation, there would be questions.

  Questions that might land Mendez before a congressional committee.

  But if the motherfucker was threatening Annabelle, Dex didn’t care about congressional hearings or any other goddamn thing.

  “Everybody got that? Good. Mission is a go. Alpha leader over and out.”

  They burst into the hall on separate ends. Dex’s team was closest to the corner room and reached it first. They flattened themselves on either side of the door. Team Bravo came ghosting down the hallway, moving fast and silently hustling stray guests back into their rooms. Richie gave the signal and Dex and Flash moved together, drawing pistols and busting through the door. They didn’t have the luxury of using a flashbang in the hotel, so they made it up with the element of surprise.

  Two men rushed at them through the door of the adjoining room, weapons drawn. But they weren’t fast enough for HOT. Before either could get off a round, Dex threw himself at the closest one, knocking the man’s weapon up and into his nose before snatching it from his grip. For good measure, he kneed the guy in the balls. Dude went down gasping and clutching at his groin.

  The other Russian went down as Flash tackled him. Flash knocked his head against the floor a few times and the dude went limp. Then Flash zip-tied him with steel-reinforced cables while Dex left his Russian for someone else to bag and tag.

  In the adjoining room, Sergei Turov pressed a gun to Annabelle’s skull. She sat on the bed, eyes wide and blinking, her hands clenched together. A man lay on the bed, his face bruised and beaten, a computer open on his lap. Took a minute to realize it was Marshall Porter.

  Dex didn’t know why the asshole was here or what was going on—and he didn’t care. So long as he got Annabelle out of this alive, that was all he needed in order to keep breathing.

  “I will kill this woman if you take another step,” Turov said.

  Dex growled. This man was not taking Annabelle from him. She was his one, his only. His always. He protected what was his—and to hell with orders. He squeezed the trigger and the Sig exploded, sending a bullet straight through Sergei Turov’s torso. Turov dropped like a stone, gasping as blood gushed from the wound and spread over the carpet.

  Annabelle’s eyes widened. She turned her head, but Dex stalked over and gripped her chin, preventing her from looking at Turov writhing on the floor, covered in blood.

  “Dex?”

  “Yeah, baby,” he said softly, “it’s me.”

  She flung herself into his arms. He closed his eyes, breathed in her shampoo, a bubble of deep emotion welling like a geyser inside him. Any damned second and he’d blow. God, what a fucking idiot he was. He’d thought he didn’t love her anymore. He’d been horribly, stupidly wrong.

  “Oh Dex. Oh my god, Dex. I didn’t think I’d survive this one—”

  He palmed her cheek and tilted her head back, crushing his mouth down on hers with all the need and fear he’d held in check. She melted into him like sugar liquefying, so sweet and hot. Her mouth opened and she licked his bottom lip. He slipped his tongue inside, delved deep. He didn’t think he ever wanted to come up for air.

  His skin flamed. Desire tap-danced its way along his spine, into his balls. He couldn’t get enough of her—and yet he had to stop and push her away. They had more immediate concerns to deal with. He hustled her toward the adjoining room.

  “Goddamn it, Double Dee,” Big Mac said. “You shot the fucker.”

  “He would’ve killed Belle. I had no choice.”

  Big Mac grimaced. “I know, man. I know.”

  “Hey,” Richie called from the entry. “Gotta bug out. Let’s move. Kid, release the elevators—and call 911. We’ve got a tango down.”

  “Copy that,” Kid said.

  Ice grabbed Marshall Porter and hefted him over his shoulder. Then they hightailed it to the elevators. Dex kept his hand wrapped around Annabelle’s. He didn’t want to let go. Couldn’t let go. She was his, and he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe. To keep her.

  They piled into the SUVs and squealed tires the hell out of there. Dex had an arm around Annabelle. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but this wasn’t the time. His teammates crowded around them, and the tension was ratcheted on high. They’d just infiltrated a US hotel and he’d shot a Russian national.

  But Annabelle was alive. That was all that mattered to him. He’d take his licks from the colonel.

  And if the consequences were more dire than an ass chewing?

  He’d take that too.

  32

  Annabelle yanked the hospital gown over her thighs. She was not a happy camper right this second. She didn’t need to be in a hospital, but Dex and his team insisted she had to get checked out. So here she sat, in a private room in a DC hospital, waiting for the doctor to say she could go.

  She’d called Molly and told her what happened. Well, as much as she could anyway. Annabelle rubbed a hand over her forehead and worked on calming her racing heart. She had no idea how Dex did what he did. She’d had enough danger and drama to last her a lifetime. If no one ever pointed a gun at her again, that would be just fine and dandy with her.

  The door opened, but it wasn’t the doctor who walked in. It was Dex. He hulked into the room, exuding testosterone and worry. His dark eyes raked over her and a little thrill shimmied along her nerve endings.
She hoped he’d come and take her in his arms, but he stood several feet away, legs spread, arms folded over his chest, looking big and mean and ready to tear something apart with his bare hands. After the way he’d kissed her earlier, his aloofness confused her.

  “How are you, Belle?”

  “I’d be better if I could put my clothes on and go home.”

  “Soon. But we had to have you checked out first.”

  “In DC?”

  He shrugged. “This is a no-questions-asked kind of place. Besides, we had to get Marshall Porter back here for questioning.”

  “And? Did you learn anything?”

  “A few things. He’s down the hall, but my colonel’s in there with him.”

  She quirked a brow. “Agent Gibbs, you mean?”

  He snorted and a trickle of warmth dripped into her. Maybe he wasn’t still pissed at her for turning his proposal down.

  “Yeah, Agent Gibbs. He’s putting the screws to Porter now.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “If he turns over the money, he’ll probably get a lighter sentence. If not, he’s going away for a long time.”

  “He didn’t actually kill anyone. And he didn’t really turn over Helios to a foreign power.”

  “He didn’t turn over Helios, but he compromised a top secret project by sharing what he did. Those test videos are classified. So is the existence of the project. It’s still treason.”

  “Why did the Russians have him? Leonov didn’t seem interested in him. He came after me instead of Marshall.”

  “They knew Eric had a partner. Took them some time to figure out that Porter was the inventor of Helios though. He’d erased his name from every document he sent over. Turov must have decided that the two of you were the ones most likely to have the money.”

  “Wow. They beat him and he didn’t confess. Turov must have really thought it was me at that point.” She dropped her head. The sympathy and fury in Dex’s gaze was suddenly too much to bear. “Thanks for saving me. Again.”

  He crossed the room and tipped her chin back. A shiver rocked her at the skin-on-skin contact, even though it was so small. His fingers. Her chin. Three or four points of contact and her entire body was on fire with want—and a wild, impossible love.

  “I’ll always save you, Belle. You’ve been in my blood since I was a teenager. I don’t think you’re ever getting out.”

  Her heart thumped. “What does that mean, Dex?”

  “It means I’ve tried to get you out of my heart for five years. Even thought I’d done it.” He brought his other hand up and cupped her cheeks in both palms. “I was wrong.”

  Annabelle sucked in a breath and bit down on her lower lip to keep from bursting into tears. She’d been through too much to cry now. Besides, what if she was hearing him wrong? What if he wasn’t saying he loved her at all?

  “I don’t know what that means,” she whispered past the knot in her throat.

  “Means? Jesus, Belle. It means I love you. It means I never stopped, even when I thought I hated you. I love you. I loved you so much it almost broke me when you left. I had to think I hated you in order to survive it. I’ve been cold and dead inside, pretending not to care about anyone. But I want you in my life. You and Charlotte both. I want to marry you and make more babies with you—if you want more babies. I want to be a dad and a husband, and I want what we should have had for the past five years. Fuck Eric. Fuck your parents—though I promise not to say that to their faces if you don’t want me to. Fuck them all. But please, give me another chance. Marry me and let me show you how good it can be.”

  Shock froze her brain. Her tongue wouldn’t work. Words wouldn’t form.

  Worry clouded his handsome face. “Belle, baby. Say something.”

  “I… Dex.” She curled her fists into the black T-shirt clinging to his muscles like a lover. He was warm and hard, and she loved him so much she thought she might die of it. “Kiss me.”

  He crushed his mouth to hers, and she threw her arms around his neck, arching her body into his as tongue met tongue. The kiss was velvety perfection, a hot, wet, arousing combination of tongues and lips and teeth. Dex fisted the hospital gown, his knuckles brushing the groove of her spine. Desire spun out of control, electrifying her skin, making her wet and tingly and achy. She needed him—his hard cock thrusting into her, his mouth on hers, his hands touching her.

  Her fingers flew to his belt buckle and he stiffened. “Wait. Baby, no,” he said, pushing her gently away.

  Her nipples poked through the thin layer of cotton, and her body ached when he stepped back.

  “I need you,” she rasped.

  “I need you too, but baby…”

  “Lock the door, Dex. It’s a private room.”

  There was a knock on the door and they split apart like wet paper.

  “Ms. Quinn-Archer?” A woman entered with a stethoscope and a chart.

  Annabelle nodded.

  “I’m Doctor Howell.” Her gaze skipped to Dex and back to Annabelle.

  Annabelle cleared her throat. “This is my fiancé.” Happiness fizzed and popped in her veins.

  “Dex, ma’am,” he said, offering the doctor his hand.

  “Nice to meet you. If you could give us a few minutes, I need to examine Ms. Quinn-Archer. You can come back in when we’re finished.”

  His gaze slid to hers. “If you want me to stay, Belle, I will.” She liked that he gave her the power to decide.

  “It’s okay. Can you get me a coffee from somewhere?”

  “Yeah.”

  He walked out of the room and her heart went with him.

  “Wow,” Doctor Howell said. “That is one gorgeous man. Congratulations.”

  Annabelle couldn’t contain the smile that felt as wide as the sun. “Thank you. I’m a lucky woman.”

  *

  “Sergeant Davidson.”

  Dex spun to find Colonel Mendez approaching. He swallowed. He’d hoped this shit train could be avoided for a few more hours, but he’d known it was impossible.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, snapping to attention. Not easy when holding a cup of coffee, but he did it.

  Mendez strode up to him and stared him in the eye. The colonel was a big man, tall and broad and badass as hell. He hadn’t done fieldwork in years, but Dex imagined tangling with him was still a master class in how to get your ass kicked.

  “Son, you’ve caused me trouble. A lot of trouble. At ease.”

  Dex relaxed only marginally, ready to snap-to again should the colonel decide to deliver an epic ass chewing here in the hospital. This was a secure wing, used only for the most high-value prisoners and personnel, so there was a good chance he might not wait until they were back at HOT.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  Mendez waved as if dismissing a fly. “You took the shot. Your teammates tell me it was necessary. What do you think?”

  “I think, sir, that maybe I could have aimed a little better.”

  Mendez snorted. “Better how? A kill shot or a shot that did less damage?”

  “I preferred the kill shot—but I would have rather done less damage for HOT’s sake.”

  “I wish you had too. But it’s done. You shot the CEO of Zoprava—he’s in ICU in Lexington, by the way. He survived the surgery. He may never walk again though.”

  Dex gritted his teeth. He didn’t like having caused that kind of damage. But it was also the nature of the job. He’d take the shot again if it meant Annabelle would be in his arms unharmed.

  Mendez put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “This is what we do, son. We protect civilians and we save the world for another day, if at all possible. I wouldn’t have wanted you to sacrifice Annabelle or even that lowlife Porter just to make my job easier. I’ll deal with the fallout. I didn’t get where I am by taking the easy road.”

  Relief and respect were a double tap to the brain. He’d have taken the ass chewing and the disciplinary action, but goddamn did he love this
man right now.

  “Take your girl to a hotel for the night. We’ll have her back in Lexington tomorrow. You’ll be at HQ at 0600 along with everyone else. We’ve still got cleanup to do.”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  Mendez strode away and Dex let out a breath. Close one.

  *

  They barely made it into the hotel room before they were ripping at each other’s clothes. Annabelle’s heart raced furiously as she yanked Dex’s pants down his hips. He tugged off her jeans and panties, dropping them on the floor and attacking her mouth again.

  She threw her arms around his neck. “Where were we when the doctor interrupted?” she purred.

  “Here.” He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her pussy rode the ridge of his cock, her legs tightening around him as she worked herself against his body.

  “You’re making it hard to concentrate, baby,” he groaned.

  “No concentrating. Only feeling.” She leaned back and ripped her shirt over her head. She was wearing a bra, but he took care of that in short order. He feasted on her nipples while she moaned her approval.

  She was so wet. She wanted him inside her. Now.

  “I’m on the pill, Dex. You know I’ve been with no one else but you in two years.”

  “I’m safe,” he growled. “If you trust me.”

  It wasn’t even a question. “I do.”

  He took them down to the bed and slid deep inside her in one smooth thrust. Her breath stopped as he filled her. So good. Always so good.

  He wrapped his fingers around hers and lifted her arms above her head. She arched her back, flexed her hips, brought him deeper inside her. He made love to her, stroking into her slowly and deliberately, taking her higher.

  “Dex,” she gasped as the pressure built. “More. I need more.”

  He fucked her harder then, pressing her into the mattress with his big body, driving her against the headboard. And then it hit her, a nuclear detonation that stole her breath and dissolved her muscles. Dex came with her, groaning out her name.

  They stilled, breaths sawing in and out, bodies spent. He managed to roll to his side, taking her with him. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his chest.