Flash of Fury

by Lea Griffith

  King almost moaned when she pulled the water away and licked her lower lip. She was a mess, hair all over the place where it wasn’t stuck to her face and skin, and she didn’t smell all that heavenly, but underneath the sweat, there was something that was quintessentially Allie.

  “I didn’t try to drown you,” he said quietly. “I’ve got bigger plans for you.”

  Her pale cheeks colored, and he didn’t know if it was with anger or intrigue, but he wanted to find out.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “You’ve been down a day. How are you feeling?”

  She winced as she tried again to push up. “A little sore. Nothing too bad. Like you said, a skid mark.”

  He chuckled, but he leaned down to lift her gently. This put her face in his neck, and her warm breath slid under his shirt. He shivered.

  King never shivered, yet he refused to look too deeply into it. Now wasn’t the time.

  Once she was settled, he lifted away and walked back to the refrigerator to grab another bottle of water.

  He placed it on the small table beside the bed and then walked to the other side of the hut, staring out a window into the night.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He shrugged. He’d resolved to feel nothing for her as she lay there recovering. King rubbed his eyes with one hand and twisted the bullet in his pocket with the other. It was a hard realization that no matter how much he fought to feel nothing for her, it was a losing battle.

  “King?”

  He refused to look at her. “Yeah?”

  “I think you should just let me go with Lo-Lo. She can get me—”

  He whirled around and held up a hand. “No.” No way in hell. Loretta stank of subterfuge. While Allie was in his care, she’d not go near Loretta Bernstein.

  “But—”

  “I said no.”

  Her mouth fell open, and her gaze narrowed. Frail but no less powerful, she was gorgeous in her pique. “I have rights, damn it.”

  “Yeah—right here, right now, you’re under my rule and I’m a dictator, baby. Time to man up. I’m in charge and where I go, you go, until I take you back to Daddy.” King intentionally kept his voice low.

  She didn’t respond, and King was grateful for that.

  Time for playing was over. She’d been shot, and he was in the midst of something much bigger than he’d realized.

  Over the course of the last day, while she’d lain there dead to the world, he’d been ferreting out some truths. Loretta had been a reluctant font of information. She’d visited once more and brought information King would rather not have had.

  Someone had placed Allie Redding directly in his path, and they’d done it intentionally. Some murky source had dropped her in Endgame’s lap, knowing her connection to Gray Broemig and knowing King would be the one in Cameroon to meet up with the mythical courier. As far as King knew, that source could be Loretta. He had Jude working on that angle, though he hadn’t heard back from him yet. If she’d been the one, she was in deep with Dresden. The biggest fear King had now was that Dresden’s men were gunning to take out Allie, himself, or both of them.

  He’d been unable to contact Jude again. His man had gone completely off-grid, which while not worrisome to King, wasn’t the best thing for all parties involved. Especially now that King had irrefutable proof that Ella Banning was alive. Loretta had shown him the video while Allie had been out, and it was clear that Ella had left that site in Beirut hurt but very much alive. King didn’t necessarily believe Loretta’s assertion that Ella was a pawn. He’d seen the look of loss on her face as she stared at the downed chopper, but he’d also witnessed her look of betrayal when Dresden shot her.

  But she had definitely left alive. And if she was alive maybe, just maybe she knew who the hell was gunning for Endgame Ops. The trick now would be finding her. How would Jude react when he found out? How would King tell Jude that the woman he’d loved so deeply might never have been on their side at all?

  Ella, Ella, Ella… A lot of roads led back to the woman who’d seemingly betrayed them all.

  “What’s going on, King?” Allie asked.

  His neck tightened as he played with the bullet in his pocket. He should share some truths. Maybe then she’d realize the danger she was in and be more agreeable to following his lead. He almost snorted. The woman could teach stubborn to a mule. “I want you to call your father.”

  “Okay,” she responded hesitantly. “Can you tell me what’s going on first?”

  He crossed back to the bed and lowered himself onto the same chair where he’d slept for two nights, except when he’d wrapped himself around her. Comfort, he’d told himself. Purely for comfort and to keep her from thrashing about and opening her wound. “I’m not sure where to start, and before I begin, I need you to call your father.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so, Allie. You have to learn now that if you’re going to make it out of this shit alive, you have to do what I say, when I say to do it.”

  She cocked her head. “Okay.”

  A single word of accession, and his anger evaporated. “Do you feel like a shower first?”

  She smiled slightly, nose wrinkling, the lines of her mouth shaking for a moment before she straightened her face and nodded. “I can smell myself. A shower might be heaven.”

  “Let’s get you into one then.” He helped her up, her already-tiny frame made more so by nearly two days without solid food.

  She sagged against him once she made it to her feet. King closed his eyes and took a deep, controlling breath. Having her curves pressed against him felt too good. Way too good.

  He put his hands on her shoulder and pulled away slightly. “I changed your bandage earlier, but we need to wrap some plastic around your middle so the Steri-Strips don’t get wet.”

  She nodded.

  He moved with her slowly to the bathroom. Her legs were shaky at first, but with each step, she grew in strength. One step up into the bathroom, and she groaned. The sound was a knife in his heart.

  He should have killed all those men back at the safe house. And then run over their carcasses with the Rover.

  “Sit down,” he ordered her as he lowered the toilet seat. She did, and he pulled the plastic wrap Loretta had brought him from the bag beside the sink. “Lift your shirt for me.”

  Her cheeks pinkened, making him want to trace that color all the way down to her chest and farther. She did as he asked though.

  “Looks like my hands are going back under your shirt, Miz Redding,” he teased.

  Her lips quirked. “Ha, ha, ha, very funny. Still not the way I envisioned it.”

  “Me either,” he murmured.

  Her smooth, ivory flesh called to him. Every time he changed her bandages, he forced himself to be quick lest her curves tempt him more. She was awake now though, and if his gaze roved over the bottom curve of her breast, across her ribs, and lower to the enticing slope of her hips, well, he was only human. Emphasis on man.

  He pulled long pieces of wrap off and wound them around her torso until he was satisfied no water could saturate the bandage beneath.

  A lingering touch at the top of her hipbone, right above the string of her bikini underwear (Loretta had brought her killer panties), and he was satisfied for the moment. He lowered her shirt and let his gaze rise to meet hers.

  She knew what he’d done. Her breathing was shallow again, and his heart stopped. It was there in her eyes…need.

  She unraveled him. He was discovering he only had so much control around her.

  It was unacceptable.

  He rose quickly and stepped back. “Towels are right there, soap and shampoo are in the shower. I’ll be right out in the hall if you need me.”

  She nodded and licked her lips.

  King made it to the hallway be
fore he adjusted his hard dick. His cargoes were comfortable but not with a brickbat in them.

  It took her a while, and his ears catalogued every sound she made. He realized she was a proud woman who didn’t want to call for help. Or maybe she didn’t want him seeing her completely naked.

  He wondered if the sight of Allie’s naked body would eclipse his fantasies. He heard the water falling and wondered what she’d look like bathed in moonlight. How he envied the water. How he wanted to sip it from her flesh!

  Jesus, he was in trouble.

  He needed to find a woman before they left here. As soon as the thought formed, he rejected it. For some reason, the thought of slaking this crazy need with another woman felt wrong.

  But he couldn’t have her. She was too good for a killer. She was too good for Kingston McNally.

  The shower cut off, and he heard her drying off slowly. God, it was torture listening to the sound of her dressing.

  “King?” she called.

  He stepped to the doorway immediately. “Yeah?”

  “I’m hungry,” she said with a grin.

  She’d pulled her wet hair into a ponytail. Her face was brighter than he’d seen it, and the smile curving her lips made him lick his own.

  Her gaze arrowed to the action, and her eyes darkened.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  “Stop what?”

  “That,” she said as she pointed to his lips.

  He let it hang there between them—the want. It was an impossible thing. Nothing could happen. This lust was a result of their circumstances and adrenaline. He was going to tell himself that until he believed it.

  She cleared her throat, and his mind focused with the sound. He grunted as he offered her his arm. “So the lady says she’s hungry.”

  She tentatively placed her hand on his arm, and he hissed in a breath at the contact.

  “I am indeed,” she said with a small laugh.

  He led her to a small table and placed the makings for a sandwich, along with some chips and a Coke, in front of her.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t this a resort?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Don’t do that,” she murmured.

  Confusion swam through him. “Do what?”

  “Never mind,” she responded in a long-suffering tone.

  He shook it off. “Yes, it’s a resort, but I’ve warned everyone away from this hut.”

  “Ahhh, yes, the games haven’t stopped just because I was grazed by an enemy bullet, right?”

  He nodded and took the seat opposite her. King watched her eat, waiting patiently for her to finish. It didn’t take her long. A few bites, some chips, an entire Coca-Cola, and she was done.

  “You’ve gotta eat more than that,” he admonished.

  She rubbed her belly, careful to stay away from her side. “Can’t. Speaking of enemies, how about you tell me what’s going on.”

  He pulled out her sat phone and slid it across the table to her. “Call your dad.”

  “I really hate it when you do that,” she bit out.

  “Just call your dad.”

  She picked up the phone, punched a single number, and held the phone up, all while glaring at him.

  He smiled.

  She frowned.

  He thought it a microcosm of their entire association so far.

  Her face cleared just then, and the smile that lit her face had his mouth falling open. Goddamn, she was beautiful. He suddenly wanted her to smile like that for him.

  “Dad?”

  Chapter 11

  “Damn it, Allie, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?” Gray Broemig growled into the phone.

  Allie closed her eyes and sighed. “I didn’t get myself into anything. I was headed home, and the damn plane was hijacked.”

  A rough breath sounded in her ear, and her heart melted. Her father was a worrier by nature. A big, tough-assed worrier. Would he have been the same if her mother hadn’t been killed?

  Probably.

  “I need you to listen to me, Allie. Pay attention,” her father demanded.

  “I’m listening,” she said and couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice.

  “No sass, young lady,” he said.

  “I’m twenty-seven, Dad, not six.” Allie winced when she said it. She’d been six when her mother died. Because of Allie.

  The man across the table from her sat stoically, like an immovable mountain, listening to every word she said.

  “The man who has you, has he mistreated you in any way?”

  She glanced up at King. Been a pain in her ass? Yes. Kissed the breath out of her? Definitely. Made her forget McDonald’s fries? That’s a check. Mistreated her? “No.”

  King smirked and she looked at him quizzically. The muscles of his arms flexed, almost as if he was holding himself back.

  “Allie, his name is Kingston McNally. He’s a former SEAL who decommissioned to work for a private entity that is involved in some rough stuff. He’s dangerous.”

  “I figured that out, Dad. The dangerous part anyway,” she told her dad as she locked gazes with King.

  He inclined his head as if to say, Go ahead and find out the truth. I’ll still be me.

  And she knew irrevocably he would. Because underneath that dangerous exterior lay a core of honor. She’d recognized it from the moment he’d pushed her head down on the plane.

  “Allie, he and his group are fugitives of American justice. In the eyes of the law they’re no better than criminals. They embroiled their country in an international incident with Lebanon. But he’s my only hope of getting you home. I need you to listen to him and do exactly as he says, you understand?”

  She nodded, still looking at King.

  “Allie, do you understand?” her father asked impatiently.

  “Yes, sir.”

  King’s eyes flared at that. Huh, he liked hearing her say sir. Kinky bastard. He didn’t give her much, but she was learning to read him. He wouldn’t appreciate knowing that.

  “I’m making everything at my disposal available to him. This is serious, Allie. I don’t know that he’s a good man, but he’s the man for this job.”

  Her dad had just gone from warning her about King to giving him the all clear for making sure she stayed alive. Her head spun, but she said, “I hear you. I’ll make his job as easy as possible.”

  “Get home to me, Allie,” her father said brokenly.

  She would have spared him this if she could. But how could she have known terrorists would be gunning for her? “I will.”

  “Give the phone to him.”

  Allie handed the phone to King. He said two words, “Will do,” and then disconnected and handed her the phone.

  Allie placed it back on the table.

  King took the phone, dropped it on the floor and, with a quick stomp, decimated it. Her heart stuttered. That phone had been her last contact with her dad.

  “I’ve got you, Allie,” King said in a hard voice.

  She nodded and breathed in deeply.

  “It’s time for answers now,” she said in an equally hard tone.

  “What do you want to know?”

  She narrowed her gaze on him, taking in the wide breadth of his shoulders, the muscles of his arms, the firm cut of his jaw. “I heard Dad’s version… Care to share yours?”

  “Not particularly.”

  She slammed a hand on the table, trying to control the anger rushing through her but finding herself incapable of it. The action hurt, but she pushed through it.

  King looked impressed before his face blanked. “Okay, I’m a SEAL who decommissioned from active duty to join a private security agency. We worked for the good guys�
�hell, we are the good guys—but we were betrayed. As a result, my team and I are doing our best to take down the entity responsible.”

  She stared at him, assessing his tone and the look on his face. Her gut said he wasn’t lying. His actions spoke of a man used to protecting.

  “Go ahead,” he told her. “Ask.”

  “I don’t have to,” she returned evenly.

  “You’d be the only one, and I’m starting to doubt your sanity. Do you normally trust every Tom, Dick, and Harry that pops into your life?”

  She cocked her head and fisted her hands on the table. “I don’t actually, which makes my instinctive trust in you an aberration.”

  That shut him right up and lightened her mood dramatically.

  “So I’ll ask again—who are you?”

  He pushed away from the table and stalked to the window. She could sense the demons riding him. But this was important. Her father wanted her to blindly trust this man who’d admitted to killing his father and being a criminal in the eyes of the American justice system. And the truth was, she already did. That did not mean she liked the thought of being used as a pawn in whatever war King was waging. She wanted to make sure her eyes were wide open, and that meant knowing his motivations.

  “I’m a hunter. A killer.”

  Oh, he took her heart with those words and fisted it tight in his hands. “Aren’t we all to some degree?” she countered.

  His head swiveled, and his green gaze was bright in the low light of the hut. He didn’t say a word but stared into her eyes. She had the uncanny feeling he was trying to read her thoughts, see deep into her soul, so he could determine whether she was telling the truth or playing him.

  Finally, he turned back to stare out the window. “In some form or fashion, yes, we are all hunters and killers. None more so than me. It’s what I was raised to be.”

  She shivered, and he must have sensed the movement because he walked to the bed and brought a blanket back. Always, he was taking care of her. From the moment she’d jumped into his arms from the plane until right now—it was as if he refused to allow anything to hurt her.