Unspeakable (Beyond Human)

by Nina Croft

  He looked down at her. “Why?”

  She gave a slow smile. “Because I want you, as well. And let me tell you—that doesn’t happen very often. Maybe I want a real kiss, from a man who isn’t paying me. Maybe I want to feel like a real woman and not a hooker.”

  He gave a wry smile. “You’re holding fifty grand of my money.”

  “But that’s not for kissing you.” She slid her fingers down his throat, over his shoulder, and felt the shiver that ran through his body, echo in his mind. God, he wanted her.

  She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Come on, Ethan, one kiss. Then I’ll walk away and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  She sensed the moment he gave in, and swallowed, fearful for what she had set in motion. As he led the way, his guard rose from behind them, followed them out. Ethan was going to give her five minutes, because he wanted to feel her in his arms. Actually, he wanted to push her against the wall and fuck her brains out.

  Her knees went weak as the thought filtered through his mind.

  Outside, the air was cold, but the night was clear. The streets were busy, but she knew this area well, and she tugged his arm and led him into the shadows of a narrow alley that ran alongside the bar.

  Their follower paused at the entrance, and she could sense more men closing in. One, two, three more. Too many? How much longer?

  She halted, then turned to face him. Time to take the lead. She needed to persuade him to hold off for a while. However much he wanted her, he was teetering on the edge of calling his men, getting this over with.

  She pressed her palm flat against his chest and shoved him hard so he backed up against the wall. Shock flared in his mind, but before rational thought could take over, she wrapped her other hand around his neck and pulled his head down to hers, taking his mouth in a deep kiss. His lips parted and his tongue thrust inside. He tasted like coming home.

  Chapter Six

  He shouldn’t be doing this.

  But she felt like she belonged in his arms. At the same time, Ethan sensed a wariness in her, something he couldn’t understand, but which put him on edge. Then, at the first touch of their lips, she’d melted against him. Her body pressed along the full length of his, and his cock pulsed in his pants, swelling, pushing almost painfully against his fly.

  Was it all an act? After all, she was a professional. But her movements didn’t feel orchestrated. Fuck. She felt almost out of control, as though she couldn’t help herself, her breasts and her hips rubbing up against him. And she was dragging him down with her.

  He was rock hard now, and his hands slid down her back to her ass—firm under the smooth leather—and pulled her closer. Her fingers were in his hair, gripping him tight as though she couldn’t bear to let him go.

  He liked that. Maybe too much.

  Stay aloof.

  Even he couldn’t fuck a woman one day, then sign off on her interrogation the next.

  One more minute and he would bring this to an end. Fergus would be ready, waiting for him to give the sign, and they would take her.

  Her kiss deepened, her tongue hot and wet, stroking over his, her teeth nipping at his lower lip, a growl low down in her throat, more than a hint of desperation in her tense figure. He raised a leg, pushing his thigh between hers, nudging against her sex, and she went still.

  With more than a hint of regret, he lowered his leg, then pulled away a little, forcing himself to break the kiss as he stared down into her face. Her eyes were unfocused. But as he raised his hand behind her back to signal Fergus, her expression cleared, and shock flared in her face.

  She tried to take a step back, but he held on. For a second, he thought she would fight him, as something almost feral flashed in her eyes. Then the strength went out of her. Her breathing slowed, but in the dim light from the main road, he could make out the rapid pulse beating at her throat. She swallowed, then peered over her shoulder, no doubt taking in the four men entering the alley.

  She licked her lips and his still hard cock, throbbed. He ignored it.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Just go along with them and you won’t come to any harm.”

  “Why would I go with them?”

  He gripped her elbow and turned her, tugging her forward toward them, her every step dragging, reluctant.

  “You don’t have a choice, sweetheart. This is nothing personal, but we need to know who you’re working with.”

  “I’m not working with anyone. Really, I’m not. Honest.” She held out the bag with a shaking hand. “Just take your money and let me go.”

  He watched her closely; there was something not quite right. She was talking, but her words held no conviction, as though she was going through the motions, and her mind was elsewhere.

  “Please, Ethan.”

  Definitely something wasn’t right. She was a fighter, and clearly, however much she was trying to beg, it didn’t come naturally. At least his erection had subsided.

  Fergus stood, flanked by the three other men at the entrance to the alley. They would all be armed, but Fergus had his gun hanging loosely at his side. Ethan felt the moment she saw the weapon—she went completely still in his hold.

  Her gaze flicked past the group, caught on something. A huge Harley pulled up outside the bar. Two people, a man driving and a tall woman clinging behind him. They returned his stare, but he couldn’t recognize them beneath the helmets.

  When he looked back at Suzi, she was studiously staring at the ground.

  He glanced back at the bike, but it was already pulling away, and she relaxed in his grip.

  Were there others involved? Well, no doubt they would find out.

  He didn’t understand his reluctance as he handed her over to Fergus. She was a hooker, a potential threat. Nothing more.

  But it was done now. At that moment, a black van pulled up at the head of the alley and the rear doors opened. Would she make a fuss? Right now, no one was taking any notice of them, but the street was busy, and that could change in an instant. Fergus clearly thought the same. He nudged her in the side with the pistol, and her lips clamped closed. Fergus urged her into the back of the van and she clambered up, then turned to look at him.

  As he caught her expression, a niggle of unease nudged him in the guts. He’d learned not to ignore his gut feelings. What the hell was she thinking now? She appeared almost calm, then, as she caught his attention, the calmness vanished, replaced by panic, though it seemed as if she were acting, and not particularly well.

  “Make sure you’re not followed,” he said to Fergus.

  Fergus gave him a surprised look, as well he might—Ethan had never questioned his work before—then jumped into the back beside her, pulling a hypodermic syringe from his inner pocket.

  At the last second, Suzi broke her connection with him, looked away, caught sight of the needle, just as Fergus jabbed it into her upper arm.

  Her reaction hadn’t been fear, but resignation.

  She was the strangest woman he had ever met. As the doors were about to shut, he called out, “Don’t do the interrogation without me.”

  Fergus frowned. “You sure? Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Tell them to hold off until I’m there. I’ll make room in my schedule tomorrow. And Fergus…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell them to treat her well.” At least he could do that—until the time came to treat her badly. Shit.

  Fergus raised a brow, but then nodded. The doors closed and the van pulled into the road. As it disappeared around the corner, he turned away, pressing a finger to his forehead. His body still throbbed with lingering desire. There were a number of women he could call up if he wanted sex, but none of them appealed to him at the moment, and the sting of need eventually faded.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed home, vaguely aware of his bodyguards taking up position at his back.

  How she would feel when she awoke. Alone? Afraid? Or something e
lse entirely?

  …

  Get out of my fucking dreams, you goddamn motherfucker.

  The bastard had been kissing her again. Whispering sweet fucking nothings, weaving his seductive skills through her sleep.

  Her drugged sleep.

  Bastard.

  She couldn’t believe she had lost it so completely. One crappy kiss, and every rational thought had run for cover. Not that it would have made much difference. Not against four of them, as well as Ethan. She hadn’t sensed the other two—they must have been too far off—but she hadn’t exactly been paying attention. She should have been ready for anything, though. Only she was tired. Not sleeping well. Had wanted it over.

  Maybe Rose could have gone up against five men, especially with Dave to back her up. She could zap that many, but it exhausted her. Or Dave could have shot them. Maybe he would have shot Ethan—is that what had held her back? Because she didn’t want her goddamned dream lover shot dead? But really, it hadn’t been an option. Shoot-outs in busy London streets were not a good idea. Even if they were willing to risk hitting innocent bystanders, not to mention hitting her—she’d been right in the middle of the group—they couldn’t risk the exposure.

  So she’d told Rose to back off. Let them take her. Rose hadn’t wanted to, but had given in finally, when she’d seen the odds. At least Sadie had managed to transfer all the information she had on Ethan before Rose had rode away. They would find her.

  And Ethan had no clue about the telepathy thing, so she had a huge advantage. She could read the guard’s minds, find out where she was. When Jake got back within range, he would trace her. She just hoped the whole torture thing wouldn’t be too bad.

  Anyway, it served her right.

  Never go on a mission without backup. Jake had told her that more than once. And she hadn’t listened, because Ethan Weiland was her fucking dream lover, and maybe in the back of her stupid mind, she’d wanted him to be a good guy.

  When in reality, he was as bad as they got. The baddest of the bad. One of the leaders of the Conclave.

  She wasn’t the best mind reader in the world, but all the same, she’d gotten a good insight into the workings of the Conclave while she’d been in his head. He’d been born to the group, grown up believing in its right to rule the world.

  And while she had picked up some doubts, she guessed his loyalty was bone deep.

  She took a deep breath. Time to take stock of her surroundings. She was still dressed—thank God—except for her boots and jacket, which someone had obviously taken off, and she was lying on a narrow cot. She pushed herself up, wincing at the pain in her head and rubbing at her upper arm where they’d stabbed her with the needle.

  Her head was vaguely fuzzy, but the drug was wearing off rapidly. The Tribe all had super-fast metabolisms and also vastly improved healing abilities. She’d be feeling much worse if she were a normal human.

  She was in a cell, about nine feet by nine feet, with plain white walls, a door opposite where she lay, with a glass window in the center and an alcove at the back where she could see a toilet and basin. The room was bare of furniture except the cot attached to the wall and a small table beside it. On it stood a bottle of water.

  At the sight of it, she realized she was immensely thirsty, her throat dry, mouth parched. She picked up the bottle, unscrewed the top, and took a long gulp. It cleared the last of the cobwebs from her head. Reaching out, she found the whispers of a few minds, but they were too distant for her to pull out anything concrete. Getting up, she dragged on her boots, stretched, paced the small room, and tried not to think about being tortured. Then she paced some more.

  She’d never been good with being confined. In the months before they’d broken free of their government controllers, they’d been under lockdown. She’d gone stir crazy being contained to barracks. Now, she could feel the familiar sensation of panic building inside her. At least then, she hadn’t been alone.

  Finally, when she thought she might start banging on the walls, she sensed someone approaching. Three someones actually. One she recognized from yesterday, Ethan’s personal assistant—Fergus Baker. Ex-military. There was also a doctor and a guard. Neither knew much.

  By the time the door unlocked, she was sitting composed on the bed. Fergus frowned when he saw her. Clearly, she shouldn’t be looking this bright, this soon. She forced herself to wilt a little.

  “Thanks for the water,” she said.

  “Ethan said we were to make sure you were comfortable.” And he couldn’t understand why.

  “Aw, isn’t he a sweetie.”

  He shook his head. He thought she was crazy. But he also didn’t understand Ethan’s behavior. He turned and nodded to the doctor, a tall skinny man with dark hair and eyes like a rabid ferret.

  After placing his bag on the table, like he was a proper doctor with a patient, he shone a torch in her eyes, took her blood pressure, listened to her heart. He was checking to make sure she was okay for the interrogation. That she wouldn’t collapse with a heart attack when they tortured her. How sweet. They cared.

  He’d be there, just in case, and he was looking forward to it. The man was a fucking perverted sadist. He licked his lips. Maybe he’d get to see her breasts. She didn’t even want to think about that.

  She sat on her hands, fighting the urge to snap the skinny guy’s neck.

  She could do it before the guard reacted.

  They wouldn’t kill her. They still wanted information.

  She came out of his head, because it wasn’t doing her any good in there—glimpses from previous interrogations he’d been lucky enough to sit in on kept popping up. And it was making her queasy. But it also hardened her against her dream lover. These were bad people. Which meant Ethan was also a bad person.

  She tried the guard. He was nothing but a paid grunt. He’d served under Fergus in the army and was loyal. But she did get the location of the place. They were in Kent. Not too far from London. Hopefully, Jake would pick her up.

  Fergus was confused. She wasn’t behaving normally; she should have been more panicked. She could do panicked.

  “Why am I here? Where am I? Please, I didn’t mean any harm. I saw the chance to get a little bit of money and grabbed it. But let me go, and I won’t say anything to anyone.” She spoke fast, reached out, touched his hand. “Just let me go.”

  “Can’t do that.”

  What a surprise. Funny thing was, Fergus wasn’t a bad man. He just believed in Ethan, who had saved his life while they were both in the army. Ethan had been in the army? She hadn’t picked that up. If Ethan said this needed doing, then Fergus would do it. He was a little worried that Ethan wasn’t thinking straight, that he was thinking with his cock and not with his head. She had a brief image of herself and Ethan in the alley last night as Fergus had seen them. Wrapped around each other, kissing, his hands digging into her ass, holding her so close as if they were one. She had a flashback to how that had felt, heat and wetness and… It had been far better in reality than in her dreams, and she hadn’t considered that possible. She’d been primed, that was all.

  Don’t go there. Never again.

  “Please.”

  “When the time comes, tell them what they want to know.”

  “If I tell them, they won’t hurt me?”

  She read the answer in his mind. No. It wouldn’t stop the torture, but it might make it less messy.

  “No, they won’t hurt you,” he lied. The bastard. “I’ll send someone with some food.”

  And they all trooped out.

  How long until Jake found her? Too long she was betting.

  …

  His father’s office was in an unassuming building right in the center of London. Old and only a few stories high—his father said he didn’t feel comfortable in high-rise office buildings after 9/11. But then, he had been there on that day in a business meeting. It was bound to have a profound effect on a person, and in fact, on the whole Conclave as an organization. They
had come to see that mankind was teetering on the edge of total annihilation. How long until some crazy terrorist group decided to go nuclear or to release some man-made virus into the atmosphere that would wipe everyone out? He knew those weapons were already in existence. Hell, the Conclave had developed numerous ones, some which were indiscriminate, some of which would target certain genetic types. As yet they’d never been used, but he was aware there were those in the top echelons who believed that they needed an act to show that they could destroy the world and so bring some sort of order into the chaos.

  It sounded a good idea in theory, if you didn’t dwell too much on the collateral damage. Ethan had voted against it. There had to be other, better ways.

  As he entered the outer room, the door to his father’s office opened and a woman stepped out. She quirked a brow as she saw him.

  “Ethan, how lovely to see you.”

  Not.

  Tall, blond, and slim, in a smart black suit, she was stunningly beautiful. He felt like backing away slowly, as you would from a cobra. He nodded, but didn’t offer his hand. “Lauren.”

  Lauren was one of the strongest proponents of the “act now” strategy. Ethan considered her a dirty bomb waiting to go off. If he ever were in charge, one of his first actions would be to diffuse her. He imagined she was aware of this. If there were one person he suspected, over the others, of being complicit in his mother’s death, she stood before him now. He’d just never come up with a motive—his mother had not been an active member of the Conclave.

  Lauren gave him a small smile and then slipped past him. He felt better once she had left the room.

  The old man was waiting for him, though he didn’t appear all that old. In fact, he looked much younger than his eighty years—tall and lean in a dark gray suit and maroon tie. Had he had some sort of treatment? Ethan had heard rumors that the Conclave was doing research into longevity. He’d no doubt be told more when the project came to fruition.

  Would he want to live longer? He wasn’t sure.

  “What did Lauren want?” he asked his father as he entered the office. It was unusual for members to meet face-to-face except for at the annual conference.