by J. C RIMELL
“Agent Robinson.”
She gave a curt nod in greeting. “I take it your team is ready and in position.” More of a statement than a question as her pale green eyes swung from Ryker toward Gunner who had joined them.
“Affirmative,” Ryker informed her, pulling his cap lower over his eyes. “We'll be ready to go in as soon as the exchange takes place.”
Agent Gabrielle Robinson's eyes darted between the two of them. “Good,” she replied, slipping free from her jacket. Her white cotton blouse revealed the generous swell of her breasts and a hint of lace from her bra beneath. Knowing she'd be frisked by Alejandro's men, she removed the holster carrying her firearm and badge, then handed it to Ryker. “Look after this for me, would you?” A subtle crack in the icy shield the agent wore like a mask. Her head tilted back as he towered over her, intelligent eyes trying to find his behind the shadow that cloaked them.
“Sure thing.” A half smile as he took her weapon. “Take care out there, Agent Robinson.”
Narrowing her gaze, she straightened her jacket back into place, flicking the length of her glossy hair over the top of it. “Will do…?”
“Ryker,” he offered in the way of clarification.
“Unusual name… I like it,” she commented, strutting away to meet up with the undercover agent she'd be assisting in the operation.
Ryker turned to watch her body moving with a lethal feminine grace that told him she was nothing but a whole lot of trouble. And he sure as hell liked it.
Felipe Alejandro had never met his boss, but that didn't mean he feared him any less for not having done so. The French businessman was a shark that swam in very deep waters and was never, ever seen, not by anyone who carried out the illegal side of his affairs.
The Frenchman had instructed Alejandro to drop off the package worth a quarter of a million dollars in person. It was the first time he'd ever done so, but he didn't argue with his boss. No one ever argued with the boss. Alejandro had been working with Xavier, the recipient for the past year and a half, trusted the guy to put his money where his mouth was.
Agent Robinson stood next to her undercover colleague and watched the incoming speed boat approaching, slowing as it entered the moonlit dock. “Let's do this,” Xavier whispered beside her. Gabrielle hardly recognized her co-worker, she'd rarely seen him during his undercover stint. But she noticed how his thick mop of bronze hair had grayed at the temples and deep lines now shot out from the corners of his russet brown eyes, making him look a good five years older than he was at thirty-two.
Gabrielle let him take the lead as they made their way down a wooden jetty badly in need of repair, to meet the three men who had just stepped off the boat.
“Felipe, it's good to see you,” Xavier said, confidently stretching his arm out toward the Colombian male, dressed in cream linen pants and a beige suit jacket, his full, round belly stretching the muddy brown shirt so much it threatened to lose the buttons. His appearance was anything dangerous, but it was his eyes that held the cold, deadly look of a killer.
Gabrielle kept her focus. Quietly observing the two taller men standing at Alejandro's back, dressed in black on black, a hand tucked beneath their jackets firmly gripping firearms. One of them carried an expensive, black leather briefcase in his free hand. She felt very aware of the many covert eyes that were a welcoming burning in her back. This was her first undercover assignment, and she didn't want to mess it up, especially in front of so many.
The taller of the two approached both her and Xavier. He patted down her male colleague with quick proficiency. Turning to her, he flashed a sinister grin as he searched her, taking far longer and trying for a feel. “Watch it,” she snapped in warning. Jaw clenched, she resisted the urge to knee him in the balls when he was finally done and gave them the all clear.
“Tell me, John… who is the female?” Alejandro addressed Xavier by his undercover name in familiarity. His heavily Spanish accent lilting, yet holding an edge that said he was deadly serious as they all walked back toward the building where the exchange would happen.
Xavier kept walking as he spoke. “She's my protégé.” He laughed darkly, a quick glance at her over his shoulder. “My business is expanding shall we say.”
Gabrielle listened attentively to the two men as she walked behind, feeling uneasy with the two bodyguards at her back.
“You fuck her yet?” Alejandro asked as they entered the disused boat house.
Xavier reached up and pulled a cord. Switching on a single, naked light bulb that hung in the center of a large area once used for restoring and repairing boats. Alejandro's deep brown gaze fixed on Gabrielle like she was something to eat, like something he wanted to devour. She shifted slightly, settling herself next to the Colombian rather than in front of his scrutinizing glare. His two bodyguards checked out the building. One taking up a position to the rear and the other to the front, but keeping their boss well within sight.
Gabrielle hadn't missed the sexual remark and wondered just how Xavier would respond. God only knew she wanted to tell Alejandro to go fuck himself. She bit down on her tongue so hard she drew blood to prevent herself from the retaliation.
Smiling, Xavier walked over to a large wooden workbench and hunkered down. He pulled free a metal briefcase, then pivoted and carried it back toward where Gabrielle was standing, under the intense scrutiny of the Colombian. “I don't believe in mixing business with pleasure, but there's always a first time,” he replied coolly. His eyes slid sideways to catch Gabrielle's gaze momentarily before shifting them back to Alejandro.
“What the fuck is taking so long?” Cade moaned quietly. Rubbing the continuing ache in the center of his chest with the heel of his hand he crouched and peered through a small window at the side of the boat which offered the best view of the building.
“I hate doing jobs with you. You're so impatient. Anyone ever tell you that?” Nevada answered from his left, sat on the floor with her legs crossed.
He snorted. “Yeah, you just did.” But no matter how hard he tried to ignore the wrenching pain in his sternum, the wolf refused to back off. Pacing frantically it clawed at his skin, desperately trying to break free. Sweat broke out on his forehead. “Fuck, I've got to get out of here.”
Nevada grabbed his arm as he got up to leave. “You're kidding right?” The icy stare he gave her said he found nothing funny about the situation. “Take it easy Cade, Fleet will chew on your ass for a month if you fuck this up.”
Listen up. Ryker instructed his comrades telepathically. This is it, the transaction's taking place. Move in on three, two, one. He gave the command.
Cade was the first to storm the building with Nevada, Ryker, and Gunner in tow. He took out one of the two bodyguards with a gunshot straight to the head, narrowly dodging a bullet from the rear of the building. The other male was taken down by Nevada, with a pinpoint precision shot between the eyes. Xavier threw his hands up in surrender, still undercover, he couldn't give himself away. Everything happened so quickly. Alejandro had snagged Agent Robinson around the throat in a death grip, a small pistol aimed at her temple.
“One more move and I'll shoot,” his dark eyes darted between them all. “Move...” he ordered, pushing Agent Robinson forward toward the table where both briefcases lay open. “Grab the case with the money.”
Gabrielle did as instructed. Shutting the case, she hesitated. Her eyes swung in Ryker's direction with a cool, calculating look that didn't escape Cade's attention either. Then she moved. In a skillful flick of her arm, she hooked Alejandro's, disengaging the gun from his hand before managing to free herself. With a solid grip on his wrist, she spun around taking his arm with her. She wrenched it halfway up his back and he cried out in discomfort.
Cade felt the subtle change in the air. Murphy had begun to bend and manipulate the situation from his covert position in the dockyard.
A strange, confused look flashed across the Colombian's round face and he stopped resisting. “Okay, okay,�
� he surrendered. Cade moved in picking up the weapon from the ground he tucked it into his belt. Then bringing his fist back up swiftly, he hit the assailant's thick jaw in a bone-crushing uppercut that sent him falling to his knees. Gabrielle let him go as he fell forward onto his face, unconscious.
“Cuff the son of a bitch and get him hooded,” Ryker instructed Cade, noticing a strange vibe emanating from the large shifter. His emotional energy seemed all wrong. “Can I trust you to get this guy back to the compound in one piece?”
“Yeah,” Cade grunted, moving the lardy male as though he weighed little more than a sack of potatoes. “Hey Ryker,” he called out to the shifter as he was leaving the building with the undercover agents. Murphy passed them on his way in to help clean up the two dead bodies. “I need to do something after making the drop-off, that okay?”
Ryker spun around to face the rebellious pack member, his head tilted to the side. “Since when do you ask permission for anything?”
“This so has something to do with a female,” Nevada chipped in as they left their comrade dragging Alejandro's ass out of the premises and into the back of the SUV.
Gabrielle approached her vehicle moments later. Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she turned around. The tall male she knew to be Ryker was standing there.
“This belongs to you.” A deep, velvety voice that stroked her skin. “You were great in there.”
“Thanks,” she replied, taking back her belt and her weapon. “It went far easier than I'd expected.” The pale green of her eyes darkened to jade as a storm crashed behind their depths. “Even though I put myself in a stupid position.”
Ryker's brows knitted together, surprised by her reproach. “Are you kidding me? You rocked. Seriously.” She didn't need to know Murphy had helped out a little after she'd gotten the upper hand on the Columbian.
Her turbulent gaze lifted to catch his in their ferocity. But unable to pin it accurately beneath the shade of his cap, her eyes tapered. “Thanks.”
Climbing into her car, she strapped herself in and wound down the window. “I'll see you around, Ryker.” Gabrielle may not have been able to see the soldier's eyes, but she damn well caught the drop dead, gorgeous, half smile he allowed to penetrate his cool facade. As he turned away, her gaze followed his tall, powerfully built body, until he was out of her sight.
Chapter Eight
Daniel paced the grungy, windowless room. His brother by oath and, for the most part, his leader, Seth was sitting with his fingers steepled against his lips, his ice blue eyes were stark and wide. He hadn't been pleased when Daniel brought back the last female.
“You know we don't target innocents, Daniel.” Seth's voice was low and harsh, accompanied by a snarl that revealed his hunger. He was weak, and the thought of trying to abstain from taking an innocent life was almost crushing. He barely thought he could do it.
Daniel shook his head disbelievingly. He'd seen the woman by chance in the parking lot as he was about to call it a night. He and his brothers had snatched and grabbed a handful of humans. Most of which were the dross of society; junkies, drunks, those who wouldn't be missed. And after some careful observations, a pedophile and his accomplice.
They'd brought a prostitute back for everyone's entertainment. But the woman he plucked from the parking lot he'd brought especially for Seth.
“I didn't bring her as a host, Seth. I thought you might like a little female company.” He paused, meeting his brother's deadly gaze. “You've been alone too long.”
Seth lowered his hands while a cruel smile danced on his lips. “Look at me, my friend. I'm a mess. Nothing more than a demon cloaked in a human shell―we all are―so what makes you think I would put an innocent woman through such debauchery?”
Daniel swayed a little, his own hunger and the need to use one of the humans was now becoming dangerously necessary. He shook his head and regained his composure. “Then one of the other brothers will want to take her.”
Seth's head snapped up. “No!” He spat out a curse. “I cannot bear any more screams tonight. Bring the woman to me and then choose a host before it's too late.”
§
The bodies lying on either side of Kit were silent. Motionless. Almost like corpses, she thought.
She had felt fear. But it had been a very different emotion than the one she could smell filling the room with an unexplainable stench. A vibe, like a living, breathing thing making her retch. Her eyes latched onto the stranger, even against the pragmatic side of her brain screaming, she should have done what the red-haired woman had said.
Kit had never been one to follow, never been the kind to back down from anything, even when she was scared. But that had all changed after the accident. Even now, over two years later, she was still trying to deal with the after effects. The realism of living with the loss, the pain, and the guilt every day. All she had left was her false bravado, but even that suffered at the hands of her panic attacks.
Kit's breathing accelerated. Her heart quickened and her chest tightened like a vise around her lungs when the tall figure cast a midnight cloud over her. The waxy smell of the scuffed, brown leather of his boots now mere inches from her nose. Kit gritted her teeth as the panic attack took root and waited for the inevitable.
Strong hands gripped her waist and hoisted her up and over his shoulder, knocking the little air left in her lungs out in a rush. This time, Kit resisted the fear and adrenaline urging her to fight. Knowing how useless it had proven earlier, she allowed the man to carry her back toward the stairs, saving her energy for when there just might be a chance she'd need it more. Her eyes skimmed over eight or maybe ten faces of strangers, most were men. Terror and relief shadowed their eyes, dread burning like a red hot poker in her own gut.
After reaching the top of the stairs, she was carried through a large open space which appeared to be a disused warehouse. The sound of the male's heavy steps echoed around the emptiness. All the windows were blacked out with bin liners and flattened cardboard boxes. Flickering, fluorescent lighting stung her eyes. She squinted, tried to see an escape, an exit, anything. The stranger paused, opened a door and entered a dimly lit room. She was dropped onto a soiled mattress on the floor, pushed up against a wall. The metallic smell of blood tinged the air, stale urine, and burnt flesh, made her stomach jerk in retaliation. Spit filled her mouth in preparation to vomit—only now at least her stomach was empty.
Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she swallowed, hardly noticing the pain of her throat, forcing the waves in her stomach to steady. Allowing her eyes to open, they flicked over the rusty splatter marks that covered the whitewashed brickwork. She tried to sit up suddenly. An involuntary movement. Fear tried to take a hold, adrenaline raced through her veins. She didn't want to die, didn't want her blood staining the walls like a sick and twisted display of art for her killer to admire.
“Leave us.” A deep, calm voice spoke out from behind her.
God, help me, please. Kit prayed silently even though she knew it would help her little now. She continued to struggle against the rope burning against the broken flesh of her wrists.
Holding her breath as footsteps neared, the door opened and closed, leaving her and someone else alone in the room. Kit felt the weight of eyes penetrate her clothing right through to her skin, like glacial fingers crawling over her flesh. It sent a shiver through her that made her body shake and tears fall without persuasion.
“Turn around.” It wasn't a request. Kit tried to fathom the position of her kidnapper by studying the shadows on the wall. Unable to distinguish anything through blurry eyes, she had little choice but to do as she was told. She took her time, anything to gain a few extra seconds, to look around, to find an escape.
The room was empty apart from a rickety dining chair a male was sitting on. His legs outstretched before him in a lazy fashion, wearing black work boots and faded jeans. His large hands were resting on his thighs. Kit knew she needed to see his face. If she managed to make it out of here
alive, as slim-a-chance as she realized that would be, she'd want to know exactly what this creep looked like, so she could get him put behind bars―for good.
Her eyes drifted upward as her body rocked forward with violent shudders. His shirt was dirty, bloodstained, and torn, stretched too tight over a muscular body that could easily break and hurt her. When her gaze reached his neck, the taut vein pulsated against the tight cords strained under his skin. His body shifted forward without warning and she fell back in an attempt to get away.
Only, there was nowhere to go.
“You have pretty eyes.” His voice was profound. Yet there was an underlying softness that skated on the edge of it, catching Kit off guard. Still, she recoiled, her back pinned against the cold, dank wall. She dared to look at him. His face was pale, even with the glow of the gloomy, amber light bulb hanging naked from the wooden ceiling and lighting the windowless room.
Wide inquisitive eyes, piercing ice blue shards sliced across her wary gaze.
“Do you know what I am?” Seth asked as he stood up casting a shadow over her, making her feel small and intimidated.
“Is it a trick question?” A sharp reply, her voice broken against the dryness of her throat. She bit her bottom lip in reprimand at her false grit, angry that she'd answered him but realized it mattered little, seeing as she was about to die, anyway.
An ominous smile struck his face. He approached the edge of the mattress and crouched down in a movement so stealth like, she sucked in a breath drawing her knees up closer to her chest for protection. Though, she knew from his size there was nothing she could do that would protect herself from him. He was menacing, but those strange eyes remained curious, a disguise to lure his prey. Kit refused to fall victim for whatever sick game he wanted to play.
