by Sydney Croft
“Don’t try anything, Phoebe.” His thin lips quirked in a cocky smile. He had the upper hand, and he was damned proud of himself. “This shield is fireproof. And the metal in the crate is heat resistant. You’re trapped.”
Dammit. Mel had to let Phoebe out to deal with this guy. No doubt Mel would have to come back out to actually get them free, but she couldn’t bluff her way through negotiations with someone she didn’t even know.
“And you,” the man said to Stryker, “I wouldn’t expect ACRO to rescue you anytime soon. Yes, I know who you are. I just don’t know what to do with you yet. Ransom you to ACRO or sell you to Itor.” He shrugged. “I could also kill you.”
“Try it, asshole.” Stryker leaned against the crate, crossed his arms over his broad chest, and looked utterly bored.
Time to let Phoebe out.
They were still in the damned crate. Phoebe snapped her fingers, let a spark flick onto the floor, and okay, at least Mel wasn’t a total dipshit. She’d screwed the ACRO agent to get their powers back. But they were still in the crate, and Maurice, that coward of an Itor agent, was standing behind what was no doubt a flameproof shield. Clearly, her co-worker wasn’t here to rescue her.
“What’s this about, Maurice? I know Alek didn’t order you to bring me in.” Alek would have called like a normal person, and even if she was out of touch, he wouldn’t worry unless she didn’t show for the big event he had planned—one that was going to rock the world to its core.
Maurice laughed. Which made the wrinkles around his dark eyes even more pronounced. “Stupid bitch. This is about the arms deal. The one where you cheated the SN out of millions.”
The SN—Solitary Nuclei—had their roots in Greek terrorism, but they were really nothing more than a group of ACRO, Itor, and TAG rejects who were desperately trying to be relevant. “And why do you care what I’ve done to the SN?” Before the words were even out of her mouth, she knew. Maurice was either working for them, or he was actually in charge of them. “You traitor,” she bit out. “Why? After all Alek has done for you—”
“Done for me?” Maurice slammed his fist into the plastic. “I’ve been at his side for twenty years, and for what? So he can allow a conniving whore like you to take over the agency.”
“So that’s what this is about? Jealousy?” She’d known Maurice harbored resentment for the way Alek treated her, the way he’d groomed her with an eye for taking over Itor. But no way could Maurice claim that Alek showed her favoritism, because he hadn’t. Not openly. He didn’t want anyone to know—yet—that she was his daughter. Doing so would make her a target for his enemies … both outside the agency, and inside.
So no, with the exception of only a couple of scientists and trusted henchmen who had been sworn to secrecy, no one was aware that she was related to Alek, or that she had a pain-in-the-ass weakling of a twin. As far as anyone inside Itor knew, her father was a civilian one-night stand her mother’d had, and Alek had taken Phoebe in when her mother was killed, because she’d shown incredible promise with her fire-gift.
And no one inside Itor besides Alek knew how she had to recharge her gift. Everyone pretty much just figured she was a sex addict. Not that any of the men complained.
Maurice certainly hadn’t.
“Jealous?” Maurice shoved his fingers through dark hair shot with gray. “I’m furious!”
“So you started up your little rogue agency? For what? You can’t hope to challenge Itor.”
“I don’t need to challenge Itor. I just need to make life hell for Alek. Killing you will do that.”
Stryker laughed. “Dude, stand in line. She’s mine to kill.”
Maurice arched an eyebrow. “Then why were you helping her?”
“My boss wants her. Preferably alive so we can torture information out of her, but either way, it’s all good.”
Maurice seemed to almost buy that. “And you fucked her … why?”
“Why not?” Stryker dragged his heavy-lidded gaze from her feet to her head, but not before lingering on her breasts, which tightened at his perusal. Damn, Phoebe had never coveted anything of Mel’s, but for once, she felt a twinge of envy that her idiot sister had gotten Stryker between her legs. “Look at her.”
“I’ve done more than look,” Maurice said. “Several times.” He shot her a lecherous sneer. “You still have those bite marks on your ass?”
“Why, yes,” she chirped. “You still have a three-inch dick?”
Maurice’s sneer turned into a furious snarl. “Where’s the money, Phoebe? Tell me where the five million is, and I’ll let you live.”
She snorted. “No you won’t. You can’t afford for me to tell Alek about your double-cross. And with me dead, Alek will move you up in the agency.”
“You’ll tell me, Phoebe, if I have to torture it out of you.” He spun on his heel and slammed out of the room.
“He’s such an asshole,” she sighed, as she turned to Stryker, who still wore that lazy, couldn’t-give-a-shit expression, but his eyes drilled into her with utter contempt.
“I want Mel back.”
“I’ll get us out of this. I know Maurice, and I’m far more powerful than that simpering—”
“Now!” Stryker met her in the middle of the crate and clamped his hands on her shoulders. “The crate is heat-resistant, so only Mel can get us out of here. Do it before that psycho comes back to torture us both.”
“Not into pain, huh?”
“Oh,” he purred, “I’m into pain. Your pain, so send Mel back before I show you just how much I’m into it.”
“And what’s to keep me from roasting you like a pig on a spit right now?”
“If you fry me, you’ll never get out of here. Melanie will listen to me, and she can get through the metal, but she needs me to help her do it.”
He was probably right, but no problem. Smiling, she went up on her toes to brush her lips across his. “I can’t wait to take you down. And I will.”
Melanie was starting to despise this popping-in-and-out crap. She really hated how every time she came back into her body Stryker was staring at her like he wanted to rip her throat out.
“What … what happened?”
“Mel?”
“Yeah.”
His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Do you have bite wounds on your ass?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Bite wounds,” he ground out. “Do you have them? Bruises?”
“Ah … well, yes.” They were hard to see, right at the juncture of the swell of her butt and the backs of her thighs. They’d hurt like hell, though. “I mean, they’ve mostly healed. Why?”
Stryker shoved away from her. “No reason. Get us out of here.”
God, he was moody. “Yes, sir.” She put her hand on the door, but before she could power up her gift, she heard him shift behind her.
“Does that happen often?” His voice was gruff, but quiet.
“Does what happen often? Bite marks? Bruises? Lash welts? Burns?” She shrugged. “I’m used to it.” She thought he might have cursed, but she’d engaged her power full blast, the buzz zipping through her body and ears, blocking out all sounds. Beneath her palm, the metal began to develop a light skin of frost, and then thicker streaks of ice zigzagged out from her hand, until the entire door turned white.
Cracks split the frame, and little pops like gunfire filled the room. Quickly, she pulled back her power, feeling like most of her battery was drained.
“There’s still some left, I think,” she breathed. Excited that she’d actually been able to control herself—if only a little—she grinned and whirled around. “I did it!”
The expression on Stryker’s face wiped her smile away in an instant. Sure, she’d kind of forgotten that he wasn’t exactly an ally, so naturally, he wouldn’t be as thrilled about her small victory as she was.
But what she hadn’t expected was the tempest in his gaze, two thunderstorms, one full of loathing, the other full of hunger,
and both battling as he stared at her. His hands were fisted at his sides, his thick arousal creating a noticeable bulge against the fly of his cargo pants, and yeah, she’d definitely forgotten that the use of elemental powers got him going.
Thing was, the way he was looking at her got her going a little too. Heat flooded her veins, her skin tingled, and despite the fact that they’d just had sex, she grew achy between her legs. When he came at her, she wasn’t sure if he was going to kill her or fuck her, but she braced herself for either.
He did neither.
At the last second, he pivoted, roared, and shattered the door with a jumping kick that sent the thing blasting into a million pieces. He stood there for just a second, panting, his assessing eyes taking in the area, and then he fixed his gaze on her.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here. And that Maurice asshole? He’s mine.”
* * *
Stryker’s fists had curled as he spoke Maurice’s name, the anger welling up inside of him in a way that would be deemed unacceptable by the National Earthquake Society, Devlin, and just about everyone else who liked their planet in one piece.
And then, with the elemental changes came the god-awful arousal that caused him to lose any and all train of thought.
Breathe, man, breathe and relax.
He did and his cock got harder. Yeah, the whole change-in-atmosphere thing was totally screwing him over—and badly—because all he could think about was screwing.
Mel’s close proximity wasn’t helping, and man, seeing Phoebe had sent him on a really not-nice trip down memory lane.
Phoebe.
He wanted to kill that bitch—and the more he learned about what she was into, the more his instincts to protect Mel kicked into overdrive. Which was ridiculous, because they were the same person.
Somehow.
“Stryker, we should go.”
Mel was touching him—yanking on him, actually. And he snapped to, because they were nowhere near out of danger. The shattered door in front of him was a great reminder as well.
“Let’s move out,” he said, like it had been his idea all along. Mel shot him a duh look and started walking and he tried not to stare at her small, round, perfect ass … the one he’d held with a death grip while she’d moved up and down, impaled on his dick.
The perfect ass Maurice claimed he’d sunk his teeth into.
He ground his teeth and he swore he felt the building … shift. Mel felt it too.
“You’ve got to control that,” she said.
“You’re telling me about control? That’s fucking rich,” he muttered, and she yanked at him again, and dammit, the pull to her was much stronger now that they’d had sex twice.
Would it get worse after each time? Because that would be really not good.
“Stryker, come on,” she said, and he was about to make another cutting remark when he saw the look in her eyes—it was couched, but the fear was there and he remembered what the fire-bitch of a sister put her through on a regular basis. Mel wasn’t even an agent and she was doing a pretty decent job of holding it together.
But this was his show and he had to do better.
“We’ll be fine—come on.” He paused to grab her injections and his weapons, then took her by the hand, her cool palm in his warm one, and they traveled along the maze of basementlike hallways until they found the exit to the stairwell.
He put his hand on the door and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He pushed Mel behind him as the door swung open away from him seemingly of its own accord.
Maurice stood on the small landing, waiting for them.
Fists curled. Uncurled. Building shook. Not good to bring it down on their heads. “Move out of the way and I’ll let you live,” Stryker said.
Maurice pushed his sleeves up, revealing wide leather wristbands, and Stryker froze.
Those bands hid wicked poison-filled spurs. That had been Akbar’s power, and now Stryker’s mentor’s face swam in front of his eyes.… He remained locked up hard as Maurice unsnapped the bands and smiled, showing those damned, perfect white teeth.
Stryker swore he smelled smoke and he definitely saw red, but the emotion was too raw, too real, and pretty soon they were going to be covered in rubble.
Maurice threw out his arms and let loose a thin, caustic stream in Stryker’s direction. Too late Stryker wheeled to the side; he was going to get nailed—holy shit.
The poison solidified in midair, the arc encompassed in a crystal clear coffin of ice, and it looked like some kind of avantgarde sculpture in its deadly beauty. Mel nodded with satisfaction as Maurice cried out in agony—the ice had not just frozen the liquid, but his arms to the elbows.
Excellent.
The building settled and Stryker’s anger calmed sufficiently. He strode forward, asked, “You like biting helpless women?”
“Phoebe’s not helpless,” Maurice managed, his face white, his words pained.
“No, Phoebe’s not,” Stryker agreed, right before he cocked his arm back and punched Maurice in the mouth, shattering his front teeth.
He took immense satisfaction in making sure Maurice swallowed all the pieces before he pushed him aside, watching in fascination as the man’s arms broke off as he fell.
“Do you want me to do anything else?” Mel stood to the side, gaze averted away from the semi-conscious Itor agent.
Stryker’s cock throbbed, blood strummed, and he couldn’t thank her.
Instead, he grabbed her and they headed up the stairs. They were one floor away from street level and they needed to make tracks to the safe house. From there, ACRO would send plenty of support, if they hadn’t already.
He stopped at the door, peered through the glass at two hulking guards who seemed to have no clue that there’d been an escape.
“I’ll take them—you back me up,” he told her.
“I don’t know how much control I’ll have—when I’m scared, I lose it,” she whispered urgently, and he thought about Akbar again … and about both their pain and fear.
“You’re doing just fine, Mel.” He needed to be fine too, dammit, and he willed it so as he slid through the half-opened doorway.
He loved the element of surprise, he thought as he slammed the men’s heads together with a satisfying crack and let their bodies slide to the floor. At the same time, he felt the shift in the atmosphere and heard the now familiar whoosh of icy air rush past him.
Mel had frozen three other men who’d been rushing toward him, and by the quick, almost fearful look she gave him, he knew she’d shot her load. “I’m all out.”
“It’s all right. I’ve got you,” he said, way more gently than he’d intended. He’d have to recharge her once they got to the safe house—and relieve himself in the process, because his cock was harder than before. It would make running … interesting.
First, he systematically stripped the unfrozen men of weapons, including a Taser, one of his personal favorites. He pressed a pistol into her hand, his fingers brushing the pulse on her wrist. His own quickened with that simple contact and he gritted his teeth and turned toward the doorway that led to their freedom.
Gabe was well beyond incoherent when Devlin asked him if he wanted to come. Spread-eagled, wrists and ankles cuffed to the heavy head- and footboards of Devlin’s bed, Gabriel had very little choice in the matter, thanks to the leather strap Devlin had put around his balls before he’d buried his cock deep inside of him.
“Tell me,” Dev murmured as he watched Gabriel carefully. Devlin was always careful when Gabe was tied, always made sure there was no panic or major discomfort.
Well, beyond the fact that his balls were tight enough to burst.
He opened his mouth but sounds jumbled together in a string of what sounded like low howls. Lately, there were always restraints between them, and while Gabe obviously liked it, he missed the way it had been in the beginning, with nothing but Devlin’s hands on him.
He realized that he’d gone quiet, floated awa
y, although his erection remained.
“Stay with me, boy.” Dev’s voice brought him back to the scene. “Where’d you go?”
“Sorry,” he panted. “I was just … thinking.”
For a second, the old Devlin was looking at him and Gabe almost told him what he’d been holding back. But then Devlin drove into Gabriel harder, slamming his prostate at the same time he released the leather strap.
Gabriel came so hard he was pretty sure he screamed … the orgasm seemed to last forever. And then Dev’s nails scored Gabe’s ball sac as he came himself, a heated rush that sent Gabriel into another orgasm.
The sensations rocked through him for a long while, even as Devlin unhooked the cuffs, rubbed the circulation back into Gabe’s arms and ankles, checking his skin carefully.
All this shit was a not-so-clever way of Devlin trying to put distance between them. And he didn’t even seem to notice he was doing it.
Gabe wanted to talk to Dev about that. Wanted to tell him about a lot of things.
Just this week, he’d found a rental available on the community bulletin board—a small house on the compound—and he’d checked it out. It was private, way bigger than his dorm room, and far more spacious than any place he’d ever lived in—and while it didn’t have Devlin, Gabe still needed it.
But Devlin was quiet, lying on his side, staring into space. It had taken Gabe several minutes—if not longer—to come back to full consciousness. Dev tended to fuck him into the mattress on a good day, more so when he had something big on his mind, and tonight’s problem must be damned near monumental, because holy good God, Gabe lost it twice in a short span of time.
But the sex was never the problem. No, it was always fucking mind-blowing. Lately, it was the before and after that had been severely lacking.
Because after sex, there was simply nothing. Dev would stare into space or at the ceiling and Gabe felt like he should be taking money off a dresser top and leaving without a word.
Gabe got Dev’s distractedness—beyond being in charge of ACRO, his gift of controlled remote viewing often interfered with his life. Dev’s CRV was kind of like being able to flip on a spy cam into the other ACRO agents’ minds. Most agents—especially when on a mission—were more than willing to have Devlin as their backup.
