by Lea Griffith
Her warm skin was at odds with her tone. Her full lips drew him, and his mouth watered for another taste. “I’ll walk beside you; you’ll not have to drag my ass anywhere. And Bullet? You will tell me. Sooner or later, you’ll answer every question I have. It’s inevitable,” he finished, and then he grabbed her head, fingers tangling in the fire-kissed tresses and took her mouth with his.
Volatile and potent, what flared between them didn’t have a name. It surpassed everything in his experience. The control he thought he had of his body was a vapor on the wind of his lust. He tried to reach deep, grab hold of it, but was left with ashes as she burned him from the inside out.
She lifted a hand, tried to push her fingers between their mouths. He grabbed that hand and put it behind her back. She hissed in a breath, said something he crushed beneath his lips. He wanted. And he would damn well have this moment.
She was fey and delicate. Need poured through him, straight desire to bend her to his will. Strap her down and tunnel into her soul, leave a mark she could never erase. Thoughts came at him quickly, the craving to possess her untamed in that moment.
Her lips finally, God in heaven, finally acquiesced, softened, and the battle of wills became a new skirmish—one of need. Her fingers wound in the hair at his nape and tugged. Heat settled in his groin. He stroked from her face all the way down to her hips, which he lifted into his hands. She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist and groaned.
It was a beautiful sound, full of all the things he wanted to hear from her. He never released her lips, licking along her tongue and the inside of her mouth. She bit down lightly and he pushed into the V of her legs, grinding against her mound.
The wall was right there, and he moved until her back met it, giving her leverage to push back against his hard cock. The denim he wore was a constriction, though he was loathe to release her long enough to free himself.
But he wanted in. Desperately. Her legs were strong, squeezing him, demanding deeper contact. His eyes crossed as she rolled her hips, and he lost his breath.
Lost his mind.
If she kept it up, he’d fuck her against the wall, killer be damned.
Chapter Thirteen
This was bad. So very bad, but unstoppable. He did things to her she’d never known possible, and if he kept it up she’d let him fuck her where they stood. In the hall. Against this wall.
His large hands delved into the waistband of her sweats, bypassed her underwear, and ended up on the bare flesh of her ass. So much warmth, such an overwhelming feeling. Every callus on his fingers, each clench of his hand, sent tremors through her abdomen.
“Please,” she whispered, and had no idea what she was pleading for.
In answer he spread her cheeks and settled his hardness in the notch he’d created. His action caused lightning to zing to her clit. She squeezed him with her legs even as she pulled his hair.
He moaned and pressed into her harder, lifting her higher on the wall. He settled her against the leg he’d wedged between hers and moved his hands from her ass to her shirt, lifting the cotton and exposing her breasts. The kiss broke then, and she was left gazing up at him, chest heaving as desire blazed inside her.
He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. Their indigo depths were hot. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and never in her life had seen lust on a man’s face like what flashed across his.
“Goddamn, you’re lovely,” he said reverently and reached to touch a fingertip to her nipple.
It furled tighter at his touch. He lowered his head as he continued to stare in her eyes, watching her so closely she almost couldn’t bear it. Then he flicked his tongue over her flesh.
This man would be the one who broke her.
The knowledge stopped the breath in her lungs, and everything that had been warm was left cold. He moved in again to nuzzle and lick, and she pushed desperately at his shoulder.
“No,” she said with an almost silent sigh.
He must have noticed her frantic movements because he pulled away enough for her disengage and sidle away from him.
She had to close her eyes at the sight of the hard ridge in his jeans. His face was ruddy, black hair mussed from her hands, eyes narrowed at the interruption. He was a huge man, heavily muscled, and filled every need she’d ever had. But he was not for her. She was for no one.
“I can’t do this with you,” she whispered, breath breaking in her chest.
His gaze lowered to her chest, and she felt the cool air whisper over her heated flesh. She hurriedly lowered her top, unable to stop her eyes from dropping as the soft cotton rubbed over her distended nipples. When she looked back up, he was within inches of her.
She stepped back and he stepped forward. A dangerous game because though every instinct screamed at her to run, all she wanted to do was step into him.
He didn’t say anything as he fisted his hand into her shirt and pulled her forward. He leaned down until they were nose to nose.
“Stop it,” she demanded, though it came out wimpy and breathy.
Remi had never sounded breathy. Ever.
“Make. Me.”
“Let me go, Mr. Beckett.” Her voice was stronger now, though still with an edge of desperation she didn’t care for. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He barked out a laugh at that, and anger curled through her gut. Or maybe it was lust. It was hard to tell with his heat and scent all around her.
Long moments passed, and he cocked his head, all traces of lust vanishing. “The fact that you’re alive at all hurts me.”
Her heart shriveled in her chest. She looked down, wondering for a crazy second if he’d drawn blood with his words. She straightened her spine and then shot out her right hand to grab the one that held her, breaking his hold.
Something shifted over his face, some mysterious emotion that looked like regret, but she knew for sure it was not. He’d reached inside her and pulled out the weakest part, forced it to the light, and then he’d stomped on it.
Arrow, Blade, and Bone would mock her for the weakness she’d just displayed. Her body was a tool, and it’d just been used against her. She took stock of her wounds, named them all in an instant, and locked them away.
“Then we are of an accord, Mr. Beckett, and you will ask me no more questions.” She struggled to maintain the coldness, but managed. Remi tossed her head back, looked him in the eyes, and said, “I’ll help you get The Collective. Do not touch me ever again.”
He stepped back then, and she walked around him, up the stairs, and to her room. There were cracks in her foundation she needed to repair. She needed to bleed off some of this rage. After a few minutes of trying to calm down, she gave up and made her way to the workout room.
She was her toughest taskmaster, but she’d discovered a worrisome fact. Joseph had nothing on Rand Beckett.
What the fuck had he done? Rand pushed a hand through his hair and looked at the ceiling. There were no answers to be found there. The scent of her skin lingered, in his nostrils, in his mouth, on his skin.
She was a temptation to everything he’d buried deep. He couldn’t let that happen again. He walked back to the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of Scotch. He poured a snifter and downed it, and then poured another and did the same.
And still she lingered on him . . . inside him. It was crazy how quickly she ramped up the man he’d hidden away seven years ago. His love for Lily had been sweet, lingering, and dedicated. What the woman upstairs did to him was unnamable.
Or maybe he was just refusing to name it. He tossed the heavy snifter into the sink and went to the workout room. Ken hadn’t called from Shanghai and a part of Rand was worried. Adam had gone on a location job. Location jobs included but were not limited to, finding lost persons. Sometimes the people didn’t want to be found. Sometimes they were being held against their will. This job had come in from a mother in Canada who hadn’t heard from her daughter in three months. The daughter was an exchange student living in one of
the outer provinces of Shanghai, China, and while it wasn’t unusual to go so long without phone contact, the daughter hadn’t written or emailed in three months.
And that was unusual. Adam was a master at location jobs. His mind worked in ways that allowed him to see patterns most folks couldn’t. He’d signed on with Trident Corp shortly after decommissioning from his Ranger unit. Rand was glad to have him. For him to have requested help ate at Rand, though. Adam was so efficient it just didn’t make sense he was having difficulty, unless there was trouble.
He pulled out his SAT phone as he punched in the code for the workout room. He called Ken as he switched lights on, and then came to a dead stop.
She was there, in the punching bag room, hitting and kicking the shit out of a freestanding heavy bag. She was a masterpiece of motion and fluidity. Her muscles bunched and released as sweat plastered heavy hanks of hair to her skin. In nothing but a sports bra and shorts, she fucking took his breath.
From a distance he heard someone calling his name and remembered he’d called Ken.
“Goddamn it, Rand, what do you want?”
Rand cleared his throat. “Is everything okay?”
“We’re working on it. Look, Adam has a shadow, and we both think it’s Collective.”
“I have no new information. Pull back home and lead them to us,” Rand said.
“We haven’t found the girl yet,” Ken breathed out roughly. “Once we do, we’ll wrap this up, and I’ll head your way.”
“You have leads?”
“A shit ton, man. But no evidence that she was ever even here. It’s just weird shit all the way around. If we have to, we’ll head back, but I think this shadow is female.” Ken’s voice held a tone Rand didn’t recognize.
“Not another one?”
It was widely known that The Collective was a mercenary for hire entity. But there’d only been hints of women working for Joseph, never all-out proof. Until the one he was presently watching beat a heavy bag to death in his workout room put a bullet into the head of one of his men.
“I think he has many, but this one is dead silent.”
“Be careful. I didn’t know Bullet was there until the shot, and you know my neck always itches in the crosshairs.” He was only half paying attention to how Ken responded. The movements of Bullet’s body drew his gaze and refused to let go.
So different from Lily, so much what he’d had no idea he even wanted.
“Yeah, okay, Ken. Get back to me as soon as you can.” Rand hung up, not waiting to hear what Ken’s response was.
She stopped suddenly and looked up, eyes bright with a feverish light, nose flaring as she drew in breath. The glass separated them, but in that moment, he could feel her satin skin and smell her fragrance in the air.
He wanted. He needed. And the desire was more than just . . . he shook his head at the thought’s path. Nuh-uh, not going there.
He could barely wrap his mind around the fact that his cock wanted inside her, much less swim into deeper emotions.
She walked out of the room, taking the circuitous route to the door. He watched her, unable to tear his eyes away. Something in her demeanor made his heart squeeze tightly. His fists echoed the sentiment. Every muscle begged to be unleashed on her, but for ill or pleasure, he just didn’t know.
It pissed him off that he wanted her, but his body strained toward her every chance it got. Hell, even his sleep was interrupted by thoughts of her. He didn’t even know her real name. She reached for the doorknob, and the words were pulled from him.
“What’s your name?”
She sighed, and her shoulders drooped. Then her spine straightened, and she opened the door. “We’ve had this discussion.” She sighed loudly. “It’s Bullet, Mr. Beckett. You’d do well to remember it.”
She walked out, and the door snicked softly closed behind her.
Goddamn.
Chapter Fourteen
Remi spent the next week avoiding Rand as much as possible. She saw him every day when he walked her silently to the range and back, but they took their meals separately and she never encountered him in the weight room.
He didn’t speak to her and she returned the favor, staying quiet even when he stared holes in her head. She had no frame of reference for Mr. Rand Beckett. Zero, zilch, zip, nada, and she wasn’t about to screw up any of her plans for a man who hated her guts. You know, when he wasn’t kissing her to within an inch of her life.
Yes, she’d promised him The Collective. And she would deliver on that promise, it just wouldn’t be the way he was anticipating. The past week had only further cemented her desire to destroy Joseph. Thoughts of what could have been haunted her sleep. Dreams of Rand finished what those thoughts began.
So, all in all, it had been a week for her body to heal. Her shoulder was moving full range now. The night she’d beaten the heavy bag to ease her frustrations had irritated it, but she’d taken care over the last days to let it heal and strengthen the muscles. Dmitry kept her stocked with supplements. She wondered if Rand knew about that.
Dmitry, with his tragic blue eyes and model face, was a surprise. Never any judgment on his features, he came, delivered food and pills, and then left without any questions. And she knew he had them.
She needed to do some pistol work today, and her hands itched for her Walther. She sighed aloud. It wasn’t to be. Her favorite rifle and handgun were buried on this very property, and she wouldn’t be able to retrieve them until she left.
Rand’s weapons didn’t have the feel hers did. She’d been through hell with hers. They were a part of her, an extension of everything she was and would be.
She didn’t have free ranging mobility in the house. She was restricted to her bedroom, the kitchen, and the workout room. She’d entered the weapons room once on her own and the code had been changed the next time, barring her entrance. She’d been pissed but completely understood.
When you had a killer under your roof, restrictions were necessary.
She glanced at the calendar Dmitry had supplied her with. She had two weeks. Time was ticking down. Rand would expect more information soon; his need for knowledge wouldn’t be waylaid much longer. She needed to give him as much as she dared anyway. It was time he knew what he was dealing with.
She finished her midday workout, showered, and headed for the kitchen. He wasn’t there, so she went looking. She found him in the library. She’d noticed over a week ago that, while the rooms weren’t furnished completely, the library was loaded with books. She’d looked them over and found none to her liking, but she’d not thought men would read romance books.
She was right.
“I need to speak with you,” she said as she walked to the desk where he sat.
Rand threw down a pen and looked up at her, one raven brow quirked but face otherwise blank. As her Walther made her hands itch, so too did the planes of his face. He leaned back and gestured for her to sit.
She shook her head. Sometimes the need to pace overrode her ability to sit still. This was one of those times. “The Collective members will be meeting soon.”
He inclined his head, but said nothing. She sighed. “Do you know who the members are?” Impatience threaded her tone, and it couldn’t be helped. She was fighting a deep-seated need to remain silent. Conditioned from the time she was five to remain silent about Joseph and his vaunted Collective, she found overriding every nuance of those brainwashed checks impossible.
Joseph had never counted on her and her sisters being anything but sheep easily led and controlled. He’d always likened himself to a shepherd. She felt her lips twist into what she knew was a mockery of a smile. He had no idea what he’d wrought.
“I know some, but not all. You’re willing to share now? Tell me what brought on the change of heart?” His tone was dry, but underneath, it was honed steel with a razor’s edge.
She glanced at him, anger forcing her to get a handle on her breathing. Why this man? Why now? That he could push her buttons s
o easily was . . . well, hell, it was just bad. She took refuge in the truth and sought to remind him what he must have somehow forgotten over the last week.
“I owe you,” she replied in a low voice.
“Really?” he drawled.
She avoided that question and went back to the first one he’d asked. “I am willing to share but only so far,” she informed him, tone slicing into haughty now.
He spread his hands and grunted. “Oh, well, then, by all means...share away.”
“Joseph Bombardier is the leader of The Collective. He took over in nineteen eighty-two, killing the previous head of the conglomerate in a brutal takeover. He not only cut off the previous leader’s head, he murdered that leader’s wife and three sons in front of his face before doing so. Shortly after, there was a culling of members.”
She took a deep breath and continued. “Not everyone cared for Joseph’s take charge attitude or for the direction he wanted to head. There was money to be made from oil, and that had been their primary motivation before the takeover. But Joseph had seen something the others had not. He’d seen that the Cold War would end soon, and borders would be porous. Not only could he rule oil, he could diversify, spread out into drugs and human trafficking.”
She rubbed her palms on her legs, the very physical reaction of her defection from Joseph’s conditioning noticeable. It couldn’t be helped. She had to get this out. She began to pace.
“And he became a master at them all, but there were countries with leaders in their governments that didn’t want to play by Joseph’s rules, so he controlled them the only way he knew how. Might is right, after all.” She stopped pacing, glanced at him and started right back in.
“He assassinated the ones who were his most vocal detractors and leveraged those he was fearful of killing. He did all this with impunity. Eventually, many in those governments decided to join The Collective. Oh, they did it all quietly, and it was only the most powerful Joseph allowed in, but there they were, powerful, invincible.”
