Hayden snorted and rolled her eyes, when Hoyt Crowe turned on the charm, he could talk a fox into giving up its fur. “Nah, you’re just like my brothers. You think your women should take orders from you like your soldiers do.”
Hayden gasped when she realized what she’d said. She wasn’t his woman. Not anymore. But the way he was looking at her right now made her feel every inch possessed. Desire licked up her skin, urging her to lean into his strong arms. To feel his heat.
A rumble sounded deep in Hoyt’s chest and he stepped closer, cutting the inch between them to nothing. His fresh masculine scent overpowered her senses, obliterating the sterile disinfectant permeating the air.
“You’re right. We do tend to order the people we love around. But only when it’s for their own good.” His arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her from the cage until every inch of her front was pressed to every inch of his.
Hayden’s heart rate skyrocketed. His fingers tangled in her hair and she had to fight a mewl of pleasure.
“You forced me to take you away from safety and bring you to this place, surrounded by unknowns. I’m losing my mind here, Hayden. The next time I tell you to stay put when there are terrorists running around Mercy, you better stay put.” Hoyt’s mouth slanted over hers, his scarred lip brushing over hers in a rough caress that drove her beyond reason. Beyond logic. Hayden all but climbed up his chest, seeking to deepen the connection she’d been missing.
Tension coiled between her thighs, and when her knees started to wobble, she instinctively gripped Hoyt’s shoulders for support. Hoyt groaned and crushed her to his chest, rubbing her aching nipples to the point of pain.
Hoyt deepened the kiss, dominating her mouth with a pent up need that matched her own. Hayden shoved her hands under his shirt and skimmed the hard planes of his abs. She’d missed him so much. So damn much, she wanted to see and feel and touch every inch of him. She needed him. Now. Her body was hot and shaking with longing.
“Hoyt, don’t stop.” Hayden longed to tangle her fingers into his hair, but he’d shorn it off. She settled for wrapping her arms around his neck to anchor him to her.
“I’d forgotten how perfect you taste.” Hoyt nipped at her lips, her jaw. His hot breath puffing over her cheeks. Hayden caressed his face, closing her eyes to let her fingers relearn the sharp contours of his face.
Hayden felt a small smile play at the corners of her lips. “You didn’t have to,” she whispered. She hadn’t forgotten. Not for one single day, not for even a second.
“I’m sorry.” His whispered words burned into her soul like hot coals.
She didn’t know what to say. He’d broken her heart. Torn her apart. It wasn’t okay, but she understood. So she just kept her head pressed to his chest and gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
“I mean it. I know I hurt you and I’m so fucking sorry.”
A riptide of tears threatened to break loose from her, but Hayden pinched her eyes shut tight, refusing to cry anymore. God, she was tired of crying, even if Hoyt had just ripped the giant Band-Aid off the open wound on her heart. But if this was him finding his way back to her…
“What are you trying to say?”
Had he finally figured out that they needed each other? That they were good together?
His phone chirped. Hoyt growled, ripped it out of his pocket, and answered. “What?”
Hayden couldn’t hear the response on the other end, but whatever the caller said made Hoyt stiffen and pull away from her. “Where?”
During the next pause Hayden wrapped her arms around her middle and bit her lip, still tingling from his mind-numbing kiss.
“Yes, she’s right here.” Hoyt’s unreadable gaze cut to hers. “Yes, I remember.”
He turned away and Hayden’s chest went tight. Something in his look had shifted before he gave her his back. Something dark.
“I’ll be right there.” Hoyt disconnected the call.
His shoulders heaved and then straightened. Hayden put a hand up to her throat as Hoyt turned to look at her. Misery, utter and complete, filled his eyes. “We need to go; the team is out front. They’ve got Malik’s car.”
“Hoyt, what were you trying to tell me before the call?”
His lips pressed together so hard his scar went white, and her chest compressed on itself so much she could barely breathe.
“It was nothing important.”
She jerked. Oh God, he might as well have poured alcohol on that open wound he’d bared. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.” She’d do anything to hold him. Every instinct in her body urged her to go to him, to caress him, to comfort him until that tortured look in his eyes disappeared.
“You can’t fix me, Hayden.”
23
Hoyt’s first impulse was to go to her. Wrap his arms around her and tell her how much he loved her. He’d been so damn close to losing himself in her. If Hunter hadn’t called, he would have.
But if he let himself relent, if he let himself take her, he wouldn’t be able to ever let her go again. And he didn’t want this for her; he didn’t want her to waste her life on a sad, broken down soldier with PTSD. He wanted her to be happy, to live a life full of laughter and joy.
And more than that, he wanted her to be safe. Safe from the terrorists who were stalking him and his team and their loved ones.
He wanted all of this more than he wanted her to risk her future on him.
“I’ll take you to Hunter. You can ride home with him.”
“No.” Hayden stood in the middle of the room, shaking her head, her mouth open, eyes awash with pain.
He almost went to her then. Almost. But he’d already made up his mind. Hayden’s wellbeing came before his own happiness. No matter what it cost him.
Hoyt forced out a harsh laugh, ignoring the knife twisting inside his chest. “That kiss was hot, but it was my way of telling you goodbye. That’s it. I know you want more, but I don’t.”
*
Hayden tried to suck in a breath, but a huge ball of pain completely blocked her throat. Hoyt opened the door, checked the hall, and then turned back to her. A shutdown machine. Cold. Hard. Unfeeling.
“Let’s go.”
She stumbled back and grabbed the edge of one of the tables for support, knocking a pile of papers onto the floor. The sheets fell around her, surrounding her. She fell back another step. How could he be so callous? She’d felt him opening up to her.
“No, I’m not going with you. You’re lying. That wasn’t goodbye.” She had to try again. She wouldn’t give up on him; she couldn’t.
The only tell he gave was his white-knuckled grip on the door knob. “It’s not open for discussion.”
“Maybe not right now, but—”
“Not ever. Now are you coming or do I have to throw you over my shoulder?”
She wanted to collapse right then and there. Before he’d seemed so broken and scared, but there was something different about this active assault on her feelings. It was as if he’d made a decision, and he was determined for it to be final.
And he wanted her to follow him out of the building so he could hand her off to her brothers, dust his hands of her, and move on? Not gonna happen. “You go. I’ll stay here.”
“Hunter will kill me if I leave you unprotected.”
Is that the only reason he cared? Her brother? “I’ll deal with my brother.”
Hoyt took a menacing step into the room, all softness gone. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Look, the door is solid metal. You can lock me in.” Hayden grabbed the keys off a nearby table and tossed them to him. Hoyt snatched the flying jangle of metal out of the air.
“Take the keys, I’ll stay in here until you send my brother in to get me. I am not leaving until I feed the mice and pick up this mess.” She gestured to the room with a hard chop of her hand.
“Hayden—”
“Enough. You’ve made it very clear you don’t want to be around me. It will be ea
sier for you to search the building, or whatever it is you want to do, alone. Just. Go.”
Hayden held her breath, trying to school her features so they resembled something other than straight up pain on ice.
“Fine. Do not open this door for anyone but me or Hunter, clear?”
“Crystal.”
Hoyt growled and slammed his way out of the room. She heard the sound of the key being shoved in the lock. Then a snap as the lock tumbled into place.
Hoyt’s heavy footsteps faded and Hayden finally gave in to impulse and collapsed to the floor amidst the scattered papers. Everything about her life was damaged. And as much as she’d demanded to be left alone here, now she was surrounded by memories of Professor Latham and the unshakable reality that he wasn’t coming back.
If Hoyt’s behavior after that phone call was any indication, he wasn’t coming back either. Ever.
Hayden felt hot tears track down her cheeks and wiped them away with anger. After the hope that had been growing inside her all day like a buoyant balloon, this tumble back to Earth was so much worse.
She had to do something to distract herself from the pain. Hayden reached for the nearest paper, groaning when she realized she’d destroyed a neatly stacked research document. Ugh, there was no way she could leave without putting everything back in order.
Hayden started to pick up more papers, carefully restoring the pages to their former order. When she hadn’t made much of a dent after a few minutes, she sighed aloud, realizing this would take a lot longer than she’d hoped. Hayden got to her knees and started making piles. She’d already determined there were at least three different articles in the mix, and she’d yet to find a title page.
Typical Latham. His system of organization had been more about convenience for him than it had been about accessibility for anyone else.
Hayden reached for another piece of paper on the floor. Finally, a title sheet. Now she could start making real progress. And once she sorted the papers, she’d move on to the mice and then Latham’s computer. She had a feeling she’d find proof of his innocence there.
First things first. She scanned the title sheet in her hands. Her heart started to beat faster. An in-depth study on the psychology of the Nazi movement in Germany pre-World War II and a comparative analysis on propaganda used by today’s terrorists, by John Latham and Malik Hussein.
Hayden dropped the sheet like she’d been burned. Her eyes must be playing a trick on her, right? She fell to her hands and quickly sifted through the rest of the sheets, searching for something else. Anything else. She spied another title page and snatched it up.
Common social media tactics of terrorists to gain sympathizers and recruit worldwide, by John Latham and Malik Hussein.
Her vision blacked for a moment. No. This was all wrong. Heart hammering out of control, Hayden searched for something else. Some kind of explanation. When she lifted the third title sheet, her hand was shaking so much she almost couldn’t make out the words.
How to win support of a collective population using decisive propaganda and fear, by John Latham and Malik Hussein.
The words on the paper blurred and Hayden blinked rapidly, bringing the title back into focus. Each of the behaviors was a study on how to change people’s behaviors. How crowds and riots react. How to convince normal people to commit murder.
Hayden heard someone insert a key into the lock and the grind of the door knob turning. Hoyt. He’d come back after all. But she was glued to the floor, unable to make her legs move.
The door swung open and all the blood drained from her face.
Malik stood there, his brown leather briefcase in one hand, his keys in the other. His dark brown gaze fell on her. The trembles rocking through Hayden’s limbs heightened into full-blown shakes.
Malik took a step inside and leaned back, helpless to move. Malik’s dark brows swooped down. “Hayden? Are you okay?”
She worked her lips but couldn’t form words.
The door swung shut. Malik gently placed his briefcase on the first table and approached her with slow, measured steps. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Herself? No, it seemed like everyone around her was hell bent on doing that for her. Malik stopped at the edge of papers and lowered into a crouch. “Hayden?”
She lifted the first of the title sheets she’d found, her hand shaking with an uncontrolled violence. “What is this?”
24
Malik took the title sheet and studied it, his face carefully blank. “Hitler’s ability to convince an entire population to follow him is utterly fascinating.”
“He was crazy. Psychotic. What’s fascinating about murdering millions of innocent people?”
Could Malik really be a sleeper cell? If he was, she was completely vulnerable to him.
“Hitler was a genius. He cracked the code of human psychology. The Nazi movement has prompted hundreds…no, thousands of studies since then. Do you know how many people will willingly give pain to another human being simply because they’re ordered to do so? It’s imprinted in our DNA.”
Malik’s reverent tone sent shock waves through Hayden. She stumbled to her feet, her fight or flight kicking into overdrive.
He stood, still gripping the paper, but studying her carefully now. Hayden eased to the left, placing a table between them. Her gaze fell to the pages clutched in her hand, and words seemed to ping out at her. Crowd psychology. Control. Violence. “Why are you doing this?”
Malik reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. He gently extracted the sheets from her hand and set them on the table, along with the title sheet she’d handed him. “This is something Professor Latham and I have been working on for a long time.”
Fear rushed through her veins, but Malik shackled her wrist in a light but firm grip, forcing her to stand still.
Hayden’s mind scrambled to resolve this new dangerous Malik with the old version. And to put Latham in that same category…
“How could you?” She spat out the words and yanked her wrist back.
“How could I what?” Malik’s brows drew so tight together a line formed down the middle, but it was a lie. Everything was a lie. Latham hadn’t been a sweet old grandfather; he’d been a secret killer. “You’re right, though, I’m not entirely who you think I am.”
“You’re a terrorist. Both of you were.”
Malik’s intense gaze darkened and Hayden swallowed, certain she’d just pushed him over the edge. He stood between her and the only exit. Hoyt had left her here alone, and she had only her wits for protection.
“There’s something you need to know.”
Hayden glanced at the door. She’d never make it. She could scream, but only Jarvis was likely to hear her. “I don’t think I need to know anything.”
“Hayden, look at me. Do I look like I could harm another human being?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to heed his command. Think, Hayden, think. What would her brothers tell her to do? Find a weapon. Her eyes flew open and she cast about her gaze, searching for something. Anything.
“Do you really think the professor would ever have harmed or planned to harm another person?”
The steel cages weren’t heavy enough to stop a toddler. She had nothing to fight him with but papers, and she really doubted a paper cut would stop him. Then Hayden spied a yellow #2 pencil in the mess.
“Just give me five minutes. Please.”
Hayden sucked in a breath, trying to get her body under control. Maybe it would be best to pretend to cooperate with them. Hoyt had gone to get her brother, after all. If she could hold Malik off for a few more minutes, she’d have a chance.
Malik leaned back on the table behind him. “You know how I told you my parents live in England? Well, that’s true, they do. Now. But I was actually born in Syria. With my father’s family.”
Oh my God. Hayden grabbed a stool, digging her fingers into the metal to ground herself, to keep her from running from the room right th
en and there.
“When I was a young boy, my uncle joined with a group that called themselves The Islamic Brothers. I was too young at the time to understand. Very soon after that, my aunt, my mother and my sisters stopped leaving the house. They covered their heads and faces at all times. My father grew quieter while my uncle grew crazier and crazier, forcing us to follow the strictest rules and threatening severe punishment.”
Malik’s gaze drifted over her head and eyes lost focus, but Hayden didn’t take the opportunity to run. She was too locked into the story. “After about a year of this, my mother refused to obey the strict guidelines any longer. My uncle beat her nearly to death.”
Hayden gasped. “How old were you?”
“Nearly twelve at the time. He made us all watch, so we would know what happened to us if we disobeyed sharia law. My father came home from work and found her there. My uncle hadn’t allowed any of us to tend to her. I remember my father and uncle screaming and shouting, and the next day we were on a plane flying out of the country.”
Hayden’s chest tightened with sympathy for the little boy he’d described. Her own mother might have abandoned her, but she’d never beaten her. “What happened next?”
“My father cut off all contact with his brother and the rest of his family. It was hard for him to lose his entire family, but he didn’t want that kind of life for us. For his children.”
“So you never spoke to that part of the family again?”
“My uncle called a couple of times to threaten us. And then a few years later, just before my graduation from high school, we heard he’d died in a suicide bombing that he himself committed. He took dozens of innocent people.”
And had Malik actually been inspired by this? All of the papers screamed, Yes, run Hayden, he’s going to kill you. But that didn’t totally make sense. “I don’t understand. If your uncle did something so terrible, why are you fascinated with people like him?”
Malik shoved a hand through his already rumpled hair. His shoulders sagged like a deflated balloon. “Because I will never forget what it was like to see my mother bloody and unconscious on the floor and not be able to do anything about it. And I can hear the pain in my father’s voice every time he talks about his family. It was all because my uncle was sucked in by a radical cleric. I vowed I would find a way to stop that from happening to other families.”
Ravaged River: Men of Mercy, Book 6: A Military Romance Series Page 15
