by Avet, Danica
Now, his mama didn’t raise no fool. Brit knew there were women out there who enjoyed a bite of pain with their pleasure. He’d purposely sought them out when he wanted bed partners, but even then he’d felt wrong for the shocks he gave them as he pleasured them, as though it were something dirty. With this woman, this complete stranger with a homicidal streak, he felt like part of a puzzle meeting the other piece intended for him. The plug to her outlet, or whatever other hokey comparisons to make when a man found a woman he thought was meant to be his.
Pulling her closer forced more of his power into her, power that she soaked up and released back to him in a steady current, as though together they operated as a closed circuit. Brit told himself to let her go, that this wasn’t the way to conduct an interrogation. She was a killer, had followed him back to Headquarters for a reason. Fuck, she’d broken into the building. Obviously she wasn’t here to ask him on a date. But when she parted her lips as though she were going to say something profound, he lowered his head and kissed her.
Part of him, the cool, logical part of his mind that had seen more than one man brought down by a beautiful woman told him he was being a complete moron and following the wrong head. She could slit his wrists by the time he came up for air. She could knee him in the balls, stab him in the back, the heart, the spleen or anywhere else she liked. But Brit’s instinct went on the attack, shoving logic away and turning its keen attention on the woman.
She tasted like spices and mint, heat followed by coolness, as though to soothe any sting he might feel. His tongue lapped at her bottom lip, the plump cushion just begging him to suck on it. Which he did, tugging on the soft tissue, nipping it and laving away the small hurt. Her breathing quickened even more. The hard points of her nipples seared him right through their clothes and his dick tried to climb out of his pants to get to the heat he knew lay between her shapely thighs. But she didn’t open her mouth to him. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t kiss him back. Not at first.
He flicked and nibbled his way from one side of her mouth to the other, teasing the corners with the tip of his tongue. His heart threatened to pound right out of his chest, the arousal firing his need to conquer whatever held her immobile. And then, as though she had to concentrate on it, her mouth relaxed against his, her teeth parting and allowing him a deeper taste.
Brit let go of her biceps, forgetting about the knives for the moment, to wrap his arms around her lithe body, holding her even closer. Every inch of the front of her body was plastered against his and the feel of those gentle slopes and curves molding to him tore a groan from his throat. He chased her tongue into her mouth, determined to get her to taste him in return, to play with him and his dick pulsed at the feel of the slick warmth he discovered. Perfection.
Men are idiots.
The exasperated voice of his boss entered his mind, an unwelcome intrusion into one of the hottest kisses he’d ever had that eclipsed some of the straight-up sex he’d had.
Seriously? I hope she can’t read minds, because that has to be the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard and I’ve heard some bad ones.
He broke away from the kiss and growled, “Will you please shut the fuck up?”
The woman jumped at his words, pulling back, her knives scraping along his forearms. He hissed as he lost what felt like two layers of skin before she managed to break away completely. His electricity had dwindled down as he kissed her, his body humming with a different kind of current and his dick was so hard he couldn’t summon it back right away.
“I don’t mean you,” he blurted to his mystery woman, who leapt back with knives at the ready. He held his hands up, a feeling of déjà vu creeping over him. “I won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she glared at him. Her puffy lips sort of ruined the tough-girl image but he admired the way she silently dared him to come at her. If his boss hadn’t been standing somewhere nearby and privy to his every frigging thought, he might have taken up her challenge and tackled her to the ground. Or at least swung her over his shoulder to make off with her like some war prize.
“Ahem.”
His mystery woman jumped, clearly startled to realize they weren’t alone and her gaze darted around the warehouse, seeking out Joe. He knew the instant she saw the other woman, because her eyes widened. Her hands tightened on her knives until her knuckles turned white. The lithe body that had him throwing wood like a teenager tensed and she balanced herself on the balls of her feet. A clear indication that she was in attack mode.
“We won’t hurt you,” he corrected himself, stepping closer to the door to prevent her from going out that way. Hoping to calm her and prevent more bloodshed, he decided introductions were in order. “I’m Britton Harper and this is Director Josephina Daly.”
Her eyes widened until he could see the whites all the way around the vivid green irises. The aroused flush on her skin melted away, leaving chalky paleness behind. To anyone who wasn’t watching her as closely as Brit was, they wouldn’t have seen the fine tremor that shook her hands, but he did and felt a pang of sympathy for her. It couldn’t be easy knowing you were in the presence of one of the most important people in the country. Any regular person would’ve been intimidated. This woman had broken into what was basically Joe’s house and then been soundly kissed by another member of the O.T..
But then Joe did what she did best. She was herself.
“Hi,” she chirped with all the cheer in her tall, voluptuous body, bouncing forward on her heels until she loomed over the shorter woman. “I thought I was gonna have to take the hose to you two.”
On the bright side, his mystery woman didn’t look as though she’d faint anymore. However, if her face turned any redder, Brit thought he might need to get her a cool compress. Or a respirator. He glared at Joe, who didn’t look the least bit bothered by his silent reprimand.
Joe leaned closer, not at all fazed by the wickedly sharp knives that could slash her throat at any moment. She cocked her head as she studied the woman, her long hair sweeping down in a golden fan before it settled along her shoulder.
“You don’t feel the same as you did the other night,” she said thoughtfully, blue eyes narrowed on the woman before her. “You don’t feel as…wild. Who are you?”
And wasn’t that the question of the hour?
Gyda wasn’t sure who she felt more threatened by. Britton, the man who’d kissed her within an inch of her life, or Josephina, the Director of the Order of Themis. She recognized the woman from Sixteen’s memories of the Mendoza extermination. This time the woman wore a pink power suit with stiletto heels. She looked sophisticated and polished, but despite the color she wore, nothing about her appeared soft. Josephina Daly looked as though she could smash grimy little supes like Gyda without breaking a sweat.
Despite the obvious danger staring her in the face in the guise of a pastel-wearing Amazon, Gyda’s gaze was drawn back to the tattooed man standing beside the tall woman. He’d kissed her. Fuck it, he’d damn near devoured her and she’d…liked it. A lot. Her panties were soaked and she knew her nipples had to be standing in sharp relief against her shirt. Arousal wasn’t something she’d experienced. She recognized it because of Sixteen’s memories, but she’d never expected to feel it herself. And she wasn’t sure if she liked it, because there was a severe loss of control involved. Control over herself, over her reactions, meant everything to her. Yet she’d just about given them to Britton on a silver platter. She’d ceded ground to him when he pressed for a deeper kiss, her curiosity and arousal overriding her good sense.
The dark, hungry look in his eyes suggested she wasn’t the only one who’d nearly lost control tonight and that scared her more than anything, wiping nearly all traces of lingering arousal and awe. She didn’t need to be anywhere near a man who couldn’t control himself. Been there, done that and almost couldn’t find her way back. The hazy recollections threatened to overwhelm her then and there, the lingering shocks from Britton’s power doing
little to stop them. Only knowing she couldn’t fall apart in front of these people kept her from doing something—anything to stop the memories from coming back.
The woman speaking drew Gyda’s attention again, but with it came a slow pressure in her mind, as though someone was trying to pick at her shields. Heart slamming against her chest with fear and panic, Gyda shoved back with all her strength and the woman in pink staggered back a few steps, her hand coming up to touch her temple as though she’d just developed a severe headache.
“Joe?” Britton asked without turning to look at her. “You okay?”
Josephina—Joe, brought her other hand to her nose where a thin trail of blood seeped from one nostril. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied, although her eyes flashed with something dangerous before she lowered her gaze to look at her bloodied fingers. “I don’t think our friend here wants to get to know us.”
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Britton said in a soothing voice that seemed to strum a tender, achy spot in Gyda’s chest. He didn’t come closer, but his presence seemed to expand until she felt surrounded by his warmth. “We’re the good guys and we just want to help you.”
“She’d probably believe that better if you hadn’t introduced yourself by sticking your tongue down her throat.” Joe seemed to have recovered her wits as she calmly assessed Gyda with a wary eye. “I’m not going to try to peek into your brain again unless you give me permission.”
Yeah, Gyda wasn’t sure she believed that and worked to keep her mental shields up, imagining them as tough as Tungsten. Tora was scratching against the walls, trying to get out, wanting to handle the woman the old-fashioned way. She didn’t think Gyda was up to dealing with the situation, but she stood strong against the more bestial side of her psyche. She didn’t want to lose control, not here in front of them. Tora was the ace up her sleeve, the secret weapon she could use if they threatened to harm her.
“Just tell us who you are,” Britton said as though Joe hadn’t spoken. His voice was soft, silken…deceiving.
Gyda well remembered the men who’d crooned to her with soft-spoken words, gentle touches until she stupidly lowered her guard. Then they hurt her nearly as much as the master had. Her hands shook, the dim light in the warehouse flickering along her blades. She shook her head at them and took a shuffle step back. They were plotting something. They were nothing like Estelle who’d eyed her with compassion, who’d made the dark, dangerous emotions rumbling inside her disappear, gifting her with a few minutes of peace. She could feel them planning a move and readied her body to counter it.
But even as she prepared to defend herself, she felt another presence behind her. Her heart leapt into her throat and Tora burst through the wall separating their psyches to take over. Except her feral side was too late. She began to turn, to put her back to the corner to protect herself, but someone grabbed her from behind, massive arms made of metal snapping around her even as someone else forced their way through her mental shields.
No, he wasn’t tearing through the shields Gyda had learned to build with Sixteen’s help, he was going around them, drawing power from all of them, draining them. They weren’t nearly as strong as Sixteen’s shields and she could feel her protective side trying to take over, but he drew harder and Sixteen quieted. A Reaper. They were some of the most feared supes in the world because they took powers away from you, drawing them into themselves and leaving the “donor” as weak as a norm.
Tora fought with everything she had, but the power that lent her strength sapped everything from her. A wild glance took in the sight of two men behind her, the metal one and the other whose eyes flashed with shocked pain and then finally the bestial light she recognized as belonging to her. He was the Reaper, the one drawing their strength away, leaving them weak and helpless all over again. She darted another look at the handsome man, the one she’d found so fascinating and snarled at him. She’d make that bastard pay when she got out of this. She’d…
“That was the look of a woman who’s imagining your balls dangling from her rearview mirror,” Joe observed as she watched Brit leap forward to snatch the mystery woman out of Murphy’s arms. “Clay, go see Carrie right now. You look like you’re about to start howling at the fucking moon and the only one allowed to do that is Ozzy Osbourne.”
The Reaper, the team member whose job was to absorb all types of powers ranging from mental to physical from other supes, shook his head and blinked his eyes owlishly. “That’s…” He paused to lick his lips. “That’s some freaky shit.” His voice had dropped from its regular tenor to a deep baritone, the words growling out of him. “I feel like…I can leap tall buildings in a single bound or something.”
Joe snorted and gave the shorter man a gentle shove. “Go see Carrie so she can cleanse you.” She watched the Reaper walk away, his legs shaky like a sailor who’d just stepped off a roiling vessel. “Murphy, go with him. Make sure Carrie gets that power out of him. The last thing we need is someone else with a Dr. Hyde syndrome in this building.”
The big man’s gaze shifted to Brit, who’d lowered the girl to the ground, hovering over her like a protective guardian. Joe shook her head at the Beta T.U.’s leader. “Don’t worry about him, I have this covered.”
She could see the war in his eyes, but he didn’t gainsay her. The metal disappeared back into his skin as he turned and walked away, following Clay out of the motor pool. Joe made a mental note to make sure Beta T.U. got some downtime this week. She hadn’t wanted to call them in for something like this, but she’d needed discreet, powerful team members who wouldn’t balk when she wanted them to take down what most men would perceive as a weaker person.
Mr. Dimples trotted out of the shadows and the darkness clinging to her heart lightened a little. She frowned, not understanding how her wolfhound always managed to find her, or how he’d managed to make his way downstairs, but shrugged off the thought. Someone must have heard him howling on her floor and brought him down in the elevator. Not that it mattered. He was here and she was relieved to see him.
Kneeling, not caring the least bit about the grunge and dirt on the ground, she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his silky shoulder. Peace and serenity filled her as it always did when her faithful wolfhound was at her side. He kept her level better than the Siphons who lived to keep her from going nuclear. She sighed deeply, earning a sympathetic groan from Mr. Dimples.
“Sometimes I think you’re the best human I’ve ever met,” she whispered to him before she released him and stood.
Being the Director of a multibillion-dollar nonprofit wasn’t for the faint of heart. Sometimes you had to be ruthless to get the results and answers you needed and Joe had done that tonight. She dusted off her suit with steady hands before she spun on the heel of her three-thousand-dollar Valentinos and faced Brit. She heaved another sigh, unhappy with the way things had turned out.
Brit had the girl cradled in his arms, his brown eyes nearly black with fury as he glared at Joe. His thoughts were a seething mass of retribution against Murphy and Clay, slightly less pain planned for Joe and lots of coddling for the woman he currently held. It was that last bit that made up for the other thoughts as far as Joe was concerned. Somehow this strange girl with her too-dark soul, split personality and titanium mental shields had touched the normally collected Siphon. She cocked her head to the side to study him, reading him loud and clear.
She shook her head. “That just isn’t possible, my friend, and I don’t think Murphy would appreciate you fixating on his ass so much,” she teased, hoping to see a little of his quirky humor. Of course it didn’t work because Brit had gone all white knight for this woman. Joe sighed yet again and shrugged. “I’m not sorry I didn’t tell you. She’s an empath and despite what you think, your mental shields aren’t as strong as they could be. She would’ve read you like a book and we would’ve never caught her.” The look he shot her should’ve set her hair on fire, but Joe had been the recipient of that exac
t same glare so many times, she was positive she was fireproof.
“You sicced a reaper on her,” Brit growled, just more evidence that the man was unfurling his chivalric flag. She supposed she was lucky he was a Siphon, which meant he could only take powers freely given to him, not a Reaper who could just take them. Otherwise he might have been tempted to use those powers on her.
That is just too cute. Joe had never been the kind of woman men automatically wanted to protect. And she was fine with that. Really. But seeing someone she truly respected getting all macho over a woman he barely knew made her wish she were.
Mr. Dimples pressed against her hip, his warmth settling into her and taking away those jealous thoughts. She pressed her hand to the top of his head, thinking he really was the perfect man for her. He didn’t fight for the remote control, didn’t care that she towered over him, wasn’t intimidated by her abilities and he never ran away when she woke up in the morning with bed hair. What else could a woman ask for?
Her nerves settled, she could think clearly and concentrated on the pissed-off Siphon in front of her. “Brit, she’s killing people right under our noses. She’s an empath with some kind of multiple personality. She’s dangerous and even though the men she killed deserved it, we can’t have a vigilante supe running around. The last thing we need is for norms to believe we’re against the justice system.” He opened his mouth to refute her words, but she held up her hand and shook her head. “No. We need to find out what the fuck her malfunction is, get her some help and either get her trained to control herself, or decide if she’s too dangerous to let loose on society.”
And they both knew what that meant. A complete memory wipe of the Order of Themis and lock up in El Dorado, one of several maximum-security prisons suitable to house supes. Joe wasn’t sure this woman would be able to take that. There was something funky about the multiple-personality thing, almost as though the more animalistic side wasn’t something she’d been born with. If this chick was mentally ill, it’d been something she developed later, not necessarily something she’d had since birth, because that other personality felt more like a teenager.
