Mayhem's Desire: Operation Mayhem

by Lindsay Cross

  Hicks sat down and stared at Juarez’s screen, watching in fascination as his teammate brought up multiple searches in seconds, each of them showing the same result: nothing. When Hicks looked up from Juarez’s computer, Reaper was studying them thoughtfully. There were dark shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time they’d seen each other. Hicks approached him slowly and said, “Caroline not any better?”

  Reaper gave one concise shake of his head and then said, “I don’t have to tell you what it means that these men don’t exist.”

  No, he didn’t. It meant Whitney had somehow stumbled into some very, very deep shit. That, or General Rainier had finally found them, detected she was connected to them and sought to annihilate her to weaken their ranks. But that would be next to impossible. Dr. Averton wasn’t loose-lipped about her personal life—none of them were—and up until forty-eight hours ago, the only thing Hicks and his teammates had known about Whitney was that she existed.

  “Someone very powerful wants her dead,” Hicks said in a flat tone.

  “Exactly. The question is—who?” Reaper said.

  Hicks’s mind flashed back to the closet in her apartment and the way her expression had closed down as soon as he confronted her. He instinctively knew it had something to do with that. Dear God, he prayed she wasn’t the man’s mistress. He was beyond thinking badly of her for that, but he was not a man who shared. And if the man was trying to have her wiped out—Hicks would rip him limb from limb.

  “I searched all of them for any I.D., but they were professionals. They had nothing on them besides their guns. They drove an unmarked SUV. Attacked out of the blue. But they were waiting on her to show up, which means they knew where she worked,” Hicks said.

  “And where she lived,” King said quietly from beside Reaper. The two men were nearly the same height, both of them towering over the rest of the team. But whereas Reaper was comparatively lean, King was wide—three hundred pounds of muscle.

  “We have to go back to her high-rise,” Hicks said. And he wanted to go back there alone. As much as he needed the help of this team, he didn’t want them to find out about her kinky closet. “I can go now.”

  Reaper’s black eyes narrowed and Hicks didn’t need his team leader to say anything—he knew he’d just showed his cards. “You’re willing to leave your woman so soon after she was attacked?”

  “My woman?” Surely, they weren’t aware of the depth of his feelings toward her. He hadn’t told any of them. Hell, he’d barely admitted it to himself.

  “Do you remember how quickly I realized that Caroline was mine?” Reaper asked quietly.

  Who could forget? He’d known the moment he opened the door of the helicopter. Caroline had been riding next to Reaper, and the smell of the connection between the two had been unmistakable. “Shit.”

  Reaper slowly closed the distance between them, until he stood only a foot away. “Do you remember how I couldn’t let her out of my sight? Almost nothing could have made me leave her at that moment. Now, why don’t you tell us what you’re trying to hide?”

  Hicks lifted his chin and stared silently at his team leader. While he’d never hidden anything from Reaper before, he couldn’t tell them about the closet until he got the full story from Whitney. He didn’t want them to condemn her due to lack of information.

  “I need to talk to her first. Then I’ll tell you.”

  “If they’re tracking her, then they know where she is right now.” Reaper’s gaze hardened.

  “And we’ll be ready. But she deserves the right to tell me if there’s anything we should know.” And after all they’d shared, Hicks knew she wouldn’t lie. Not now.

  “You’d risk your team for her?”

  Would he? Would he risk revealing their location to General Rainier, the man who wanted to hunt them and use them as guinea pigs?

  Hicks squared his shoulders and crossed his hands in front of his stomach. When he answered, his voice didn’t hold a shadow of doubt. “She’s worth it.”

  15

  Whitney stepped out of Hicks’s shower stall and grabbed the oversized black towel from the counter, using it to dry off and then wrapping it around her body. Even the uber-soft material abraded her sensitive skin. She snatched up the hand towel, wiped the fog off the mirror and took stock of herself.

  Barely there bruises in the form of fingerprints were imprinted around her hips. Proof of how fiercely Hicks had taken her. Gingerly, she touched the darkest one near her right hip bone. Instantly, the memory of Hicks moving over her flooded her body and mind and her knees went weak.

  He’d taken her like she belonged to him, and damn him, she wanted more.

  Always so used to being in charge, Hicks had taken control so quickly and resolutely, allowing her to relax. To simply feel. He’d created a world of pleasure where only the two of them existed. It was a world she never wanted to leave.

  Even now, her nipples tightened, aching for his touch. But part of her was grateful for some time alone. She needed to recuperate and gather her thoughts. She’d gone over what had happened in the parking garage, replaying the cold fury on Hicks’s face as he ran for her. Even then, his every ounce of attention had been on her.

  The briefest flash of the dead men had hijacked her thoughts, but she’d forced the image away. In time, she could face it…but not yet.

  She knew without a doubt that she’d be dead if Hicks hadn’t been there.

  She owed him her life. And she wanted to give him that and more.

  But first they had to talk. They had some huge issues that needed to be faced and resolved before they could move forward with any type of relationship, platonic or not. She’d gotten herself into some deep trouble and brought it straight to Hicks’ doorstep.

  Determinedly, she towel-dried her hair, found a comb in one of Hicks’s drawers and quickly brushed her damp tresses and then went in search of some clean clothing. After searching his bedroom, she located a drawer full of extra-large black T-shirts and made a mental note about his favorite color before pulling one of them over her head. The hemline hung down almost to her knees, and even though the sleeves were undoubtedly short and tight on Hicks’s bulky arms, they hung limp and loose on her.

  Someone let out a low whistle and Whitney spun around to see Hicks standing in the door. For a large man, he moved quickly—he’d silently entered the room without raising her awareness. “I think I like that better on you than on me.”

  If looks could scorch, she’d be on fire right now. And like a blushing virgin, heat rose to her cheeks. What the hell was wrong with her? She grabbed the hemline of his T-shirt and twisted it around a finger, trying to gather her wits.

  He was absolutely devastating to her senses. “I needed something clean.”

  She felt him move toward her, and then he hooked a finger under her chin and forced her to look up at him. His dark gaze searched hers and she found herself lost as she waited for him to speak.

  “You can have anything you want, baby. How are you feeling?”

  How was she feeling? Horny, number one—she wanted him again and again and again. But she was also strangely worn out, like she’d run a marathon or something. “Fine.”

  Without giving her time to protest, Hicks bent at the waist and scooped her into his arms. He padded across the plush carpeting and deposited her gently on the bed and fell down right beside her, gathering her close once more. She snuggled against his chest without hesitation, taking a deep, long, purifying breath. In his arms, she was safe from all danger.

  “You’re not fine, you just had a near-death experience. There’s no way you’re fine.”

  She drew circles on his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles through his T-shirt. “I really am okay. I wasn’t earlier, but I am now.”

  She lifted her chin so he could see her sincerity.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair.

  “You’re a strong woman, you know that?”

  “Not
as strong as I thought I was.”

  “Do you know how many adults I’ve seen hysterical after situations like that? More than I can count. But look at you now, practically purring.”

  Whitney grinned, “Are you calling me a cat?”

  “A tigress.” He took her lips in a kiss that stole both their breaths and when they parted they were shaking. Would it always be explosive like that when they touched?

  “I can’t think when I’m around you,” he said in a gruff tone.

  “That makes two of us,” she replied.

  And then Hicks let out a long sigh and scooted back on the bed, using the stacks of pillows against the headboard to prop himself up.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  His tone had changed and Whitney settled back on her heels, crossed her ankles, and waited. “Yes, we do.”

  She waited on him to start. Was he thinking the same thing she had been? And if he had, did he still think of her the same way? Was he secretly disgusted by her? Had she read him wrong? Or did he realize he’d made a huge mistake? In the short time she’d known him, she’d come to realize Hicks was a man of black and white, no gray. His moral compass went from 0 to 100 and Whitney knew she fit somewhere in the middle, but could a man like him accept that?

  She’d spent so much of her life trying to be bad—to be what her parents had always thought she was—she wasn’t sure she deserved him.

  “Whitney, those men that attacked you in the garage were professionals, there to take you out. What I can’t figure out is why.” She searched for any hint of annoyance or negativity toward her but found none. Some of her fatigue from earlier returned, and she let her shoulders drop.

  She’d been fighting the only plausible explanation – Cory was trying to scare her. Kill her. But why? It just didn’t make sense. He’d paid her to be on call and she’d never broken his trust. Ever.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t done anything illegal…that I know of.”

  Hicks cupped his chin, drawing her attention to his strong jaw line and the five o’clock shadow that covered the sharp planes. After a moment, he said, “Okay, I believe you. Let’s look at it from a different perspective. Maybe you’ve become involved in something without your knowledge. What were you doing the night your car was stolen?”

  Trying to find a man like you. Someone who would take control.

  “I went out to eat with a coworker, my friend, Izzy. Then we went to a bar together, and she left with someone else. I went out to my car alone, ready to leave, and it was gone.”

  “So how did you get home?”

  “I took an Uber straight to my apartment. As soon as the doors opened, I saw the mess and went back downstairs. That’s when I called Melissa and she sent you.”

  “Okay, so you left work, went out with a friend and went home. I think we need to go back further. Let’s retrace your steps the day before. What did you do?”

  “I worked all day, went home and took a shower and got ready for my—my meeting.” Dear God, she’d almost blurted out Cory’s name. She wasn’t ready for Hicks to know about that yet.

  But Hicks didn’t miss her stumble, just like she’d known he wouldn’t. “This meeting, did it have anything to do with that stuff I found in your closet?”

  She searched him for any active disgust or anger, but all she saw was patience. Hicks probably still thought the worst about her, and yet he was asking and not accusing. Could she take a chance and tell him the truth?

  Could she handle it if he rejected her? Part of her would be destroyed, but she’d lived her entire life on her own two feet. If he didn’t want anything to do with her after this, she’d survive. She might not like it, and she might forgo men entirely for the rest of her life, but she’d live.

  If she told him the truth, and he accepted her, though, they’d really have a chance at a future. She wanted that more than anything. Whitney drew in a deep breath and nodded, weaving her fingers together in her lap. It was now or never. “Yes, it did.”

  Hicks’s lips went slack for a moment and her heart tumbled from her chest to her stomach. Here comes the rejection…

  “So…you’re with someone else?”

  His hesitancy made it hurt worse. Why not jump straight to the heart of the matter? “Why don’t you just ask me what you’re really thinking?”

  He speared his fingers through his hair, something she noticed he did when he was frustrated, but he kept his tone level when he said, “You have sex for money.”

  She felt as if he’d knocked the wind straight from her lungs. “Does that disgust you?”

  He took so long in answering that she was ready to run for the door and never look back. “Nothing you could do would disgust me,” he finally said, the words anchoring her to the mattress. “Hurt me? Yeah. Make me furious to think of you with anyone else? Damn straight. But disgust me? Not a chance in hell.”

  “Really?” Her heart seemed to kick start into overdrive. Of all the things she’d expected him to say, this didn’t come close.

  “Whitney, can you forgive me?”

  “Forgive you?” She knew she sounded like an idiot repeating everything he said, but she was having trouble making her mind work.

  “I was an ass. I was upset and jealous and stupid. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  The last bits of ice around her heart melted. He still thought she was a call girl, but he was willing to look past that worst-case scenario. Hope sparked, caught, and spread like a wildfire in her soul. Her heart thumped hard and fast against her ribs. No man had ever cared for her this way—without judgment or condemnation. But this man, this warrior who’d been through so much hell of his own, was willing to look past everything and see the real her.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll forgive me,” he said quietly. “And say you’ll stop. The thought of another man’s hands on you…I can’t stomach it.”

  “Hicks, I have to tell you the truth. I’m not a call girl. I just let you think that to piss you off.”

  He glanced up. “But the leather and whips…”

  “I think I need to explain from the beginning.”

  Something lit up on Hicks’s face and he pulled her across his lap. “Start.”

  “I met a man last year. He was powerful and rich. We spent the entire evening together. Then he took me to supper. He called me a few times over the next couple of weeks…and I kind of thought we’d hit it off.” Hicks’s understanding expression dimmed and Whitney hastened to explain, “I mean, he was educated and rich, and I fell for it. When he asked me home one night, I never dreamed he didn’t want—I mean—” Shit, this was not going well. She cleared her throat and tried to think of a way to sugarcoat the situation, but came up with zero. “I thought we were going to hook up. Instead, he had a totally different kind of proposal.”

  “Go on,” he said darkly.

  “He asked me to spank him.” She paused to allow her words to sink in before continuing. “He said he was very happy with his wife and would never cheat on her, but he had a different kind of need—something he was too embarrassed to ask his wife to fulfill.”

  “So, he asked you?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat, struck by how much worse the agreement sounded when it was described out loud. “He promised to reward me handsomely if I would dominate him.”

  “Go on,” he prodded.

  “He rented me that penthouse apartment, gave me a Mercedes and five hundred thousand to keep silent.”

  Hicks choked and she blushed. The more she spoke, the more she made herself sound like a hooker. Shit.

  “You mean he paid you five hundred K, rent and transportation to spank his ass and call him a baby?”

  She shrugged, unsure if he was amused or completely turned off. “Pretty much.”

  “So, you never had sex with him?”

  “Not once. After he asked me to be his ‘mistress,’ any attraction I had toward him vanished.”

  �
��Because you saw him as weak.” Hicks nodded as though he’d come to some great conclusion.

  “I guess. Either way, it was easy cash and barely any work. I agreed to one session a week and he took care of things.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “The day before my apartment was broken into,” she said.

  “Who is he?”

  She took a deep breath and answered him on the exhale. “Senator Cory Keeling.”

  Hicks blinked and then just stared at her.

  “What?”

  “The new majority whip of the Senate? The same Senator Keeling who heads the Family Core Values Committee?”

  She shrugged again, suddenly feeling like a total idiot for not knowing more about the man. “I guess. We don’t talk much now. It’s very transactional.”

  Hicks shifted her body away from his and shot out of bed. “Whitney, he was just elected to those positions. The day your car disappeared and your apartment was trashed. You show up to work the next day, and you’re immediately fired and then almost assassinated.”

  “O-okay.”

  “Whitney, men in his position can’t afford skeletons in the closet. You could singlehandedly ruin his career.”

  No matter how hard Whitney tried, though, she couldn’t imagine Cory ordering a hit on her or even for her apartment to be ransacked. She was an excellent judge of character, and the image Hicks painted didn’t fit the bill. Cory was harmless—he couldn’t even face his wife with the truth of his darker needs. “No. He’s not capable of anything like that.”

  “Then who else? Who else in your life wants to erase you from this planet?”

  She sat up straighter in bed. Her parents didn’t like her, but they wouldn’t attempt to harm her physically. That would mean acknowledging she meant something to them. It obviously wasn’t Melissa or Izzy.

  There wasn’t anyone else who made sense. But Cory didn’t make sense either.

  Cory’s words the other night floated back to her… Big vote, wish me luck.