Delta: Rescue: A MacKenzie Family Novella (The MacKenzie Family)

by Cristin Harber

  “Try me,” he said.

  God… “I can’t. You’re law enforcement.”

  “Some days I am. Most days I’m not.”

  What did that mean? For hire? Like Hale? Or worse? “A mercenary?”

  “I’m a hunter.”

  The hunter and the virgin. What a combination. “And I’m your prey.”

  His eyes closed as he stepped back, dragging his hands from her hips to her knees. Then, as strongly as he’d come in, he left.

  Alone and aroused, Maddy hated what she wanted from him and couldn’t wait until they clashed together again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Five hours into an interrogation not worth the time spent traveling to Miami, Luke kicked the door open and walked out of the room, which stank of sweat and lies. Today marked nine days since Rivera had been in custody, the sixth day since he’d come face to face with Maddy Mercier at her office, and he couldn’t shake her from his head.

  Rivera couldn’t remember Luke’s old girlfriend, and for that sin, the man could stay locked in place. The Delta-MacKenzie task force had turned him over to the local feds, but at least Cade granted Luke the ability to stay with Rivera until he learned something, anything, about what had happened years before. But the trafficker hadn’t shared new intel—it wasn’t going well.

  Luke paced the length of the dank hallway. Enough for today. His gut burned. These were the jobs he existed for—finding the perpetrators and destroying their factions, then rescuing the girls and cleaning up narcotics. The buzz of his cell phone stole his attention back to his dark reality. Luke unholstered it. Cade. “Yeah, boss.”

  “Get what you need?”

  “No.”

  “Can you get what you need?”

  Translation: Was Luke searching for a forgotten memory, a passing thought from too long ago? “I’ll get what I need. Got decent details on the Rivera and Mercier cartels.”

  “He knows more than he’s given up?”

  “Yeah.” Luke nodded, rubbing a hand over his eyes, kneading the bridge of his nose, finally noticing the soreness of his knuckles from his last fight. At least he had that slight bite of pain to feed off of. He needed it, especially after—his mind jumped back to Maddy. He hadn’t touched her in the way he wanted to…but when he left, his heart had run away, his muscles tense and needing more of her.

  “Luke—”

  He shook his head, pulling himself back. “Yeah, boss.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Yeah, man. I…” Shit. “What did you say?”

  “Get your head in the game.”

  “It is.” Luke tamped the rage running close beneath his skin. “Now, what did you say?”

  “She had the same thing in mind as you. Maybe not the same reason, not as deep. But same.”

  “She, who?”

  “The Mercier woman. The one you went to scout. Jesus fuck, tell me it wasn’t the wrong decision to let you follow up.”

  “It was the right one.”

  “What have you learned?”

  “Not as much as I’d like.” That was the truth. “What’d Delta learn about her?”

  “She’s retaliatory.”

  Luke grumbled. “She’s a trafficker. That’s what they do.”

  “Rivera worked over one of her models, and she was out for blood. We interrupted what, according to Parker’s intel, could have been a very painful night for Felipe Rivera.”

  Revenge… But that didn’t make her any better of a person. “Not sure what to think about that.” He mulled over the vixen with the flashy ride who’d been as comfortable in the ghetto as she was in her office. Yet when he’d been turned on and pressing against her, she seemed as though she’d never been touched, the way her surprise shone through her bravado. That made him even more curious.

  “Believe it,” Cade said. “She has a reputation.”

  Luke’s head pounded. A craving to feel something besides heartache and vengeance rushed through him. He needed to fight, whether it was with gunfire or his fists, as long as the pain was deep enough to leave a lasting mark.

  “Damn,” he growled. “I’m out. Feds can wrap this dude.”

  Luke ended the call. Cade wouldn’t be pissed. Over the last few weeks, they’d found a balance between MacKenzie Security and Delta team jobs. Every person on the team knew how Luke survived, how he blew off steam without killing everyone in the room. He could find a fight in any city, at any op location. Barroom brawl. Street fight. Underground ring. This was Miami—big city, lots of money, lots of sins. With his mouth watering for pain and adrenaline coating his mindset, Luke needed to get outside and into trouble.

  The crowd hummed. Bodies packed against bodies, swaying and cursing. The amber light in the far corners of the warehouse tinted every face orange, no matter their skin color. Murmurs and chants for blood started to rumble. Luke’s eyes were closed, and bass thumped in his ears. His head nodded to the beat, and he embraced the current of excitement running through the room.

  “Ready!” a man shouted into a bullhorn.

  The warehouse exploded with a dull thunder. The shouted vibrations and anticipatory murmurs flowed through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, standing room only.

  “Fighters, front and center.”

  Luke’s eyes opened as he locked on his man. Puerto Rican lookin’. He was just as tall as Luke, though wider. The scars on his face and the fight in his dark eyes promised Luke a well-matched fight. Luke would have to pull from his depths to win, to feel the pain he craved and still come out on top.

  “In the red…” the bullhorn man crowed into the ready room, but his words faded into the rumbling.

  His opponent bounced on his toes, flanked by two men. One slapped his face, the other rubbing his muscles. That was what they did—the entourage banking on their winnings.

  Too bad.

  “And new to us, the white-boy fighter who goes simply by Luke.”

  The crowd booed and jeered. Luke had no one in his corner. He didn’t want it, and he always ensured Delta was never there—no show of sportsmanship, no moral support. Because this was about one thing, getting his fix. Feeling better. Numbing the outside world. He’d draw out the fight for as long as he needed, then his internal monitor would give the go-ahead, and Luke would shut it down, take his win, own his pain. And he’d disappear into the shadows a little calmer, ready to survive the world for another bit.

  It was addiction, pure and simple. His mouth watered with the proximity to what he needed. There was nothing honorable about why he fought. Brock and Cade both knew what they needed to know, and that was that. Only his teammate Javier seemed to really understand.

  “Fight!”

  Like the world fading away, the cursing, smoking, shouting crowd melted into a blur that surrounded him. The people became white noise. Luke focused on the fight in front of him.

  The man came fast. He cut right, left. Sharp, biting punches that Luke took. On purpose. Pain exploded, and God, it was like heaven. His opponent hadn’t expected the easy shot, didn’t understand why Luke had all but leaned into his fists. The only things he’d avoid were head shots.

  The white noise burst, evidently stoked at the possibility of their local, reigning champ winning so easily, but also at the sound of the impact, flesh colliding with flesh. The dull thumps, the grunts, the trickles of sweat flying through the air accelerated these people.

  Luke threw a jab. Took a cheap shot because he wanted to embrace the sting, savoring the pain. His blood flowed, and his mind cleared. He could breathe. Moving back, he rolled his shoulders and listened to the crowd boo for his knockout.

  Too bad for the fighter opposite Luke—he had his high, the delicious bloodlust-soaked burst of sanity that made him tick. Luke morphed into another man. He wanted more than to accept the pain. He needed to give it. His fists flew. His body jabbed, evaded, ducked, and spun.

  The white noise roared. His opponent stumbled, caught off guard. Stance correct and reassess
ing Luke, the man recalibrated and swung forward.

  But Luke was done, having taken and given as much as he needed. He didn’t want one moment more. A swift, vicious one-two punch flew, perfectly choreographed, from his fists, and the local champion flew back, back arching, eyes shut. He landed with a bounce, and the bodies surrounding them pinched closer, screaming their disapproval, demanding a rematch, hollering for the downed man to rebound.

  Luke shook out his fists. No gloating was needed, no body guys to tend to his bleeding wounds or to wash out his mouth. No. He rolled his shoulders again and turned. Done.

  Finally, he was able to take a breath, as he hadn’t been able to in weeks. This moment was a calm to his storm. He pushed into the crowd as his lungs slowed and sweat poured. It dripped into his eyes, and he savored that burn, the same as he did with his bruises and brokenness.

  The crowd parted as he pushed, his gaze effortlessly sweeping the room as a renewed spirit took over him—until the warm, comforting high froze. He saw her.

  Her.

  The woman registered in his mind, and she was standing just feet in front of him. A couple inches shorter than he, even in heels, and in a bright and vibrant dress that stood out in the dank room, she radiated energy that he couldn’t explain. It was sex. It was power. The confidence and confusion were intermixed. The effect slapped him harder than any hit he’d just taken. He stepped closer but stayed silent.

  “Luke Brenner.” His name on her tongue, soft and quiet in the harsh sound chamber, was magic. A salve. A soothing touch that cooled him as much as it heated him in a very different way from the fire of exertion or the pain of injury. And he hated it. Hated her. Just as much as he wanted it. Everything he stood against, she somehow was everything he’d ever wanted to touch, to kiss—the softness that must be her. But with their eyes locked, he knew that softness was equally opposed by whatever angst and deceit was locked inside her.

  So very much like him.

  His feet moved forward, his mind almost an unwilling participant. But he said nothing, watching the sensual curve of her lips and wondering if his addiction to pain had changed into desire for a woman he wanted but would never touch. He wished they were alone again, but he didn’t acknowledge her, the enemy—his prey, as she’d so aptly put it.

  Instead, he stepped to the side, but her hand gripped his sweat-soaked bicep, nails squeezing into flesh. That slowed him, slowed his world.

  “Get off, Maddy.”

  Her nails bit into his skin, and the intense satisfaction at the tiny pinches was dangerous. “You’re on my turf.”

  “Right. So was I the other day. Then you were shaking like a leaf. Now you’re hanging on me to stay.” That facet of her didn’t make sense either. “You stalked me? Tracked me?” However, that didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been followed, hadn’t had a tail.

  The corners of her mouth quirked up. “This is my world. These are my fights. You think you know Mercier, but you have no idea about me.”

  With that, she let go of his bicep, then turned. The crowd parted to her, an obvious sign of respect. They knew her, moved for her, gave her room, not just standing shoulder to shoulder. And as his gaze followed theirs, it became clear they feared her.

  “What don’t you own?” he shouted after her. “The girls. The models. The fighters. Your fancy cars.”

  Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder. “Come and find out.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Maddy controlled every detail in her life—who worked for her, how they behaved, what they said, and what they did. She helped the girls. She gained traction in her father’s world. Everything was controlled. Until she’d met the man following her.

  His footsteps trailed away, and her ears ached to hear him in the crowd. His fast breaths, that sculpted, inked chest rising and falling, and his powerful legs swishing in the mesh shorts hanging low on his hips were almost all she could think about. When she’d heard they had a new fighter asking for the best on the streets, her curiosity was piqued. But when she saw him, the same physical and mental reactions as before nearly brought her to her knees.

  Her confident stride was a farce as she shook inside. Her chest rose and fell as quickly as his. Maddy was more turned on and distracted than the last time they’d been together.

  They abandoned the crowded warehouse, still without another word exchanged. The power pulsed in the air. Luke wasn’t a follower. He had dominated her in Love’s office before, which she replayed over and over, deciding that fight for control of the conversation was intense and enjoyable.

  Sex was business. Attraction was effortlessly decipherable, and domination was an easy sell, but this was personal. She looked over her shoulder, watching him stalk and scowl. Her Lotus waited outside the warehouse doors. The night was warm as she threw them open, but it was still cooler than inside, and the air wasn’t sweaty and musky. It was almost sweet.

  She slowed even as she knew he wouldn’t. Behind her, his hard-muscled, sweat-slicked body pressed her against the car. Simply reacting, her back arched against him as he covered her. Maddy swayed, letting the cool window glass tease her hypersensitive skin.

  Hot breath burned through the hair against her neck. “I don’t play games.”

  “I do, so we have a problem.” Her eyes closed and her belly tightened when his teeth scraped her skin. She was getting herself into a situation she wouldn’t know how to handle. Of course she was playing games. She was pretending to be who he thought she was.

  “Get over yourself, beautiful.”

  His attitude did bad things for her, and Maddy moaned as his teeth repeated the sensual scrape.

  Luke spun her and pressed her back against the car. “Your fights?”

  Breathless, she nodded. “I was told a new fighter started asking around. He wanted the best, the worst, all rolled into one. That, I have.” She’d put her best against Luke and watched her fighter go down in the bare-knuckle bout.

  Maddy knew pain.

  She knew torment.

  She’d never known a man wrecked with both more completely than this one.

  They were made from the same fabric even if they were in different sexual universes. Something had happened to him that made him want to hurt. Somewhere along life’s ugly path, he’d been destroyed, only to come back invincible. And knowing all that, she embraced her short, choppy breaths and encompassing arousal.

  “Give me your keys,” he growled quietly. The wave of his words swam over her, amplifying her want.

  She swallowed, drunk on the moment. “No.”

  He pressed his hips to hers, flexing his thick erection between them. His masculine scent and sweat-dampened hair intoxicated her. She was almost ashamed.

  “Keys, woman.”

  Her eyes sliced to challenge him, hoping another no would bring more of his weight against her. She shook her head.

  “Now.”

  “Why?” Her bottom lip hung open. She could almost taste his skin on her tongue. Could almost feel his kiss when she’d never had that type of touch before—fascinating and terrifying.

  Another hard hip flex. “I’m not doing you here.”

  “Didn’t ask you to.” Though she would have to run from sex against a car as her first time, even if she couldn’t keep her hands off him, because it would hurt. Guilt flooded her, that she hadn’t been able to save more girls. The wicked wants of arousal disappeared, freezing in place despite Luke surrounding her.

  He growled. “A trafficker who plays hard to get? Hot and cold?”

  “Call me what you want.” She tilted away from him. “I’m the only chance to change that.”

  “Change what?” Disbelief brooded angrily in his black eyes.

  “You don’t know what or why things happen. Certainly not in my world.”

  He scoffed, but he didn’t back away as a glint flashed in his eyes. His jaw’s hard line was inches from her face. His throat bobbed. The tattoos on his skin were scorched into her memory. Angels and demons.
Tribal designs and beautiful words. Some scripts swirled while others were blocked and blacked, harshly contrasting the ornate ones.

  “You and I. We’re one and the same,” she whispered.

  His dark eyebrows bit together. “What is it that you think you see?”

  “Everything.” The pain. The distrust. The hunt for something out of reach.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I hate that I want to fuck you, fuck evil. We are nothing the same.”

  Her right hand swung to slap his face. He caught it, his strong hand wrapping around her wrist. His grip flexed, and electricity mixed with the discomfort, shooting all the way to her spine. Her left hand swung for him. His grip met that one, too.

  “You’re looking for a fight?” he asked incredulously.

  Wrists in his grip, she had no idea what she was doing. Her head spun, reason and reality slipping away. “I don’t know.”

  He backed an inch. “What’s with that?”

  “What?”

  “The out-of-nowhere quiet response.”

  She shrugged, hating that he saw something vulnerable that she never should have shown.

  His lips turned into a wary grin. “There’s more than one side to you.”

  “I already told you that.”

  “Give me your keys.”

  Somehow, when Luke saw her defenseless side, it was a mental go-ahead to leave with him, driving. “They’re in the ignition.”

  His brows went up. “Trusting, are we?”

  “In this neighborhood?”

  He nodded.

  “More than trusting.”

  As his mind worked that over, Luke wrapped his hands around her, lifted her as if she were air, and seconds later, planted her in the passenger seat.

  “This is all about sex?” he asked.

  Her eyes jumped to his. “Yes.” Right? Because if a sexual urge existed once in her life, she should move forward. Even if her nerves were flooding in a way she’d never experienced and her mind was making calculated mistakes.