Anew: Book Two: Hunted

by Litton, Josie

  All pretense of casualness dissolves. I straighten and reach out to him. “What did that?”

  At the brush of my fingertips along his ribs, he stiffens. “It’s nothing.”

  “No, really, what did that?”

  Ian shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. “Weapons blasts, ninety-nine percent of which was absorbed by my armor. The rest is inconsequential.”

  But it wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t been wearing the armor. Any one of the small marks could have been a lethal blow. All the air goes out of my lungs but a moment later, it rushes back accompanied by a healthy dose of anger. He was in a battle in the middle of what is supposed to be one of the safest and most civilized places on earth. An actual battle!

  “What the hell is going on?”

  I don’t realize that I’ve spoken out loud until Ian takes my chin between his long, hard fingers and lifts my gaze to his.

  “I’ll find out,” he says solemnly, “and I’ll deal with it. You don’t have to worry.”

  I don’t mistake the words for mere reassurance. They’re a promise that he will keep at any cost. The thought of him going into danger yet again fills me with dread but Ian seems to feel none of it. To the contrary, he appears entirely focused on the moment.

  He releases me and in the same motion holds out his arm. “If you wouldn’t mind--”

  I stare at the patch of tanned skin, lightly dusted with hair, visible where the sharp folds of linen meet and have a sudden, almost irresistible urge to press my lips to the veins hidden just beneath there, to feel the pulse of his life’s blood.

  “Amelia--” He says my name cautiously, as though he is unsure what is going on in my mind.

  He may be but I’m not. I know exactly what I want.

  Even so, my fingers shake as I unfasten first one, then the other cufflink. I hand the pair to him. He slips them into the pocket of his trousers and shucks off his shirt, tossing it onto the floor

  I inhale deeply. Ian bare-chested should come with a warning label. No man has the right to look that good. Inevitably, my gaze lowers to the impressive bulge visible against the finely woven fabric of his trousers. A wave of heat moves through me. I want him, all of him, naked, ready, in my hands, my mouth, my body. Now.

  But Ian has other ideas. The breath I’ve been holding without even realizing it leaves me in a rush as he slips his hands under my knees, unbalancing me just enough that I fall back onto the bed. Before I can react, he drops down in front of me.

  Holding my legs apart, he says, “Your panties are wet.”

  I gasp at the smug pleasure in his voice but even more so at my reaction to it. If I thought that I was aroused before--

  He lifts my legs over his shoulders and nuzzles the inside of my thighs. He must have shaved before leaving for the Crystal Ball. I miss the soft rasp of scruff where my skin is so sensitive but this is good, too.

  I try to move downward, wanting nothing so much as to take his magnificent cock into my hands and guide him to me, but he stops me. Holding me still, he says, “I need this, this way. To be sure.”

  Sure of what, I wonder? Of me? He must know that I am his, freely and of my own choice. I’ve done everything I possibly can to assure him of that. Haven’t I?

  What more can I do or say or give to him? What part of me hasn’t been his? A flush moves over me as I recall that there actually are some things we haven’t done…yet. Is that what he wants? Me in every possible way? Nothing held back, nothing forbidden?

  The thought is darkly exciting, if more than a little daunting. But I trust Ian and if he wants--

  His fingers slip under the thong and part the folds of my slit, probing lightly, stroking me.

  I gasp as my back arches. After ten long, agonizing nights of twisted sheets and dreams from which I wake in the grip of arousal so intense that it’s painful, his merest touch there is almost enough to send me--

  Almost but not quite. I tremble on the edge, wanting, needing…

  He withdraws as a moan of frustration tears from me. I try to grasp his hair but his hands close on my wrists. He growls, “Be still.”

  Our eyes meet down the length of my body, mine so filled with need, his-- I’m far less sure of what he is feeling…or planning. Before I can wonder, he pulls the thong to one side and suddenly thrusts the tip of his thumb into me, making a mockery of his command. My hips come up off the bed, swiveling in a vain attempt to deepen his penetration. A dark flush spreads over his lean cheeks. Watching me intently, he murmurs, “So impatient.”

  I subside but reluctantly and am rewarded when his tongue follows the path of his finger, stroking from top to bottom before beginning to circle around my clit. Slow circles, fast circles, feather light one moment, pressing hard the next…round and round but never coming close enough.

  “Ian, please!”

  He lifts his head and meets my eyes up the length of my straining body. “Please what, sweetheart?”

  “You know…”

  His gaze is scorching hot. The air between us feels as though it is vibrating with our mutual need. “Tell me,” he demands.

  I hesitate, wondering if this is the time to remind him that I am not naturally submissive but before I can do so, the raging arousal of my body blocks out every other consideration.

  “Please let me come,” I whisper.

  I feel his smile against my heated skin as he ducks his head again and catches my swollen clit between his teeth, nipping lightly before he sucks hard.

  There is no sweet build-up, no languorous climb. The orgasm that hits without warning clenches every muscle in my body and bows my back. The effect is explosive. Intelligence, reason, sanity itself all dissolve into nothingness. I become a creature of pure carnality.

  The cry that rips from me turns into a long, gasping sob. Dimly, I’m aware of Ian, resting back on his heels, watching me as I come. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his mouth slightly slack. I can see my own juices glistening on his lips.

  As the last spasms finally subside, he eases the thong down my legs and tosses it aside. I reach for him, desperate to feel his weight on me, his cock thrusting into me, but he catches my wrists in one hand and presses me back down onto the bed. Before I realize what he intends, he slips two fingers into me and strokes unerringly against the spot where I am so acutely sensitive.

  With the echoes of that first orgasm still resonating, I don’t think that it’s possible to come again so soon but Ian proves me wrong. The second hits even more ferociously. Blackness threatens at the edge of my vision as I cry out helplessly.

  “Feel,” he murmurs against the taut skin below my naval. “Just feel.”

  I don’t have any choice. The days and nights without him have left me so primed that I’m helpless to deny him. His lips move against my skin, his voice sinking deep into me, dark, explicit, shredding whatever tiny kernel of resistance I have left.

  “Your pussy is like hot, slick velvet,” he murmurs. “I love seeing you like this--swollen, quivering, soaked with the pearly juice that’s oozing out of you.” The flat of his tongue laps at me. Pleasure pools low in my belly and radiates upward, arching along my spine.

  “I can’t--” My voice catches as all the breath goes out of me. Ian tongue-fucks me with ruthless intensity as he rolls my clit between his thumb and index finger.

  I can’t come again. I won’t survive it but my body is no longer my own. His head is burrowed between my thighs, the powerful muscles of his back flexing under taut skin. I’m on the verge again, so near…

  “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, “come for me.” He drives his fingers into me again, hitting the spot exactly, and I clench hard around him as lights explode behind my eyes. Before the waves of pleasure even begin to subside, Ian slides the thumb of his other hand along my pussy, coating it with my juices. Separating the cheeks of my ass, he probes gently and slips into me just the smallest distance. The shocking, forbidden sensation drives me up yet again. Coming on top of everything
else, it’s too much.

  “Ian!”

  I hear my own voice from a distance. My senses overwhelmed, my body shattered, I fall away into oblivion.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ian

  The man I see in the mirror over the bathroom sink looks better than he has any right to. Watching Amelia come again and again is a hell of a mood booster, and not just because she’s the most sensual women I’ve ever known. I’ve taken a step toward believing that I can be with her and still stay in control. One step, that’s all. I don’t mistake it for anything more but it gives me hope. Never mind that my cock, still hard and aching, may never forgive me.

  I finish splashing cold water on my face, towel dry, and head downstairs for the debrief. Everyone else is milling around shooting the breeze while they enjoy the high that comes with a job well done. I dump my armor on a chair and nod to Hollis to begin.

  We start with what matters most. “Five injured,” he reports. “All being seen to in Medical. We might have a couple of guys off duty for a few days but that’s it.”

  I take a moment to give thanks and at the same time make a mental note that the Research and Development team deserves another bonus.

  “Good, what about the other side?”

  “We counted twelve dead before we withdrew. Plus there were another fourteen bodies of civilians in the Crystal Palace before it exploded.”

  “Everyone else got out?” If they did, it’s thanks to my men.

  “Looks like it. A few more were killed or injured by falling debris but most got away unharmed.”

  “All right then. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  Hollis activates the screen that takes up one wall of the conference room. Officially, my company controls several surveillance satellites that we use for mission-appropriate tasks. Unofficially, I have backdoors into many others, including one in geo-synchronous orbit over the city that gives us a detailed, time-lapse view of exactly what went down at the Crystal Palace in the minutes before it exploded.

  “The assault force haloed in from stealth fliers,” Hollis says as we watch the shapes of men falling from high altitude, their chutes low opening at the last possible moment to give minimal warning of their approach. “They took up position around the building and immediately jammed the main entrance as well as several side doors. Only one was left open. Our men waited to engage until the first flash grenade was launched. At that point, when there was no possible doubt that we were dealing with hostiles, we opened fire.”

  I nod. We all take a moment to acknowledge the shock that the attackers must have felt when what they would have expected to be a cakewalk turned into a fight to the death. One that more than a few of them lost.

  The images continue to flow as I go around the room, listening as each of my lieutenants reports on his team’s part in the engagement. The consensus is clear. The Crystal Palace was attacked by a professional force that nonetheless was unprepared to deal with serious opposition.

  “They were good,” one of my guys says, giving credit where it is due. “But I didn’t get the sense that they’d worked together a lot. There wasn’t much cohesion.”

  We all know what he means. Group cohesion turns individuals focused solely on their personal objectives into members of a team willing to sacrifice for a larger purpose. It’s essential wherever the stakes are high and performance is critical, which is why we’re never done drilling for it. That’s paid off big time tonight but then it always does.

  “They seemed to only be prepped for a quick in-and-out against a soft target,” another lieutenant says.

  Both observations agree with what I saw and they beg a key question. As the sat feed continues, I ask, “What about their objective? Do we have anything on that?”

  Mercenaries like the man I saw commonly have no identifying marks, even their fingerprints have been removed. They don’t exist in any DNA banks. Figuring out what they were after likely will be the only way to unlock the identity of whoever sent them.

  Gab says, “The chatter we intercepted suggests that they intended to take control of the Crystal Palace and everyone in it.”

  “For what purpose?” I ask. “Hostages?” Most of the city’s elite were in attendance, people wealthy and powerful enough to be valuable bargaining chips. But to what end?

  “Could be,” she allows. “But some of what we heard suggests that they were really after only a handful of individuals.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t know,” she says. “The targets were referred to by code names.”

  “If they were only after a few people, why blow the whole place up?”

  “They were ordered to when it became obvious that the mission was failing,” Gab says. “The order came in the open, not encrypted, which suggests that it was spur of the moment.”

  “As in someone was watching in real time, didn’t like what they saw, and wanted to destroy any evidence of what had gone down?”

  Gab nods but she adds, “Or whoever was running the op just lost it and went off the deep end. My thinking is tending in that direction, which could mean that we’re dealing with someone who isn’t entirely rational. But we need to do more analysis.” She pauses for a moment, listening to the feed coming in through her head com.

  Frowning, she says, “MPS officers are removing the bodies of the attackers and what’s left of the dead civilians. They’re not waiting for any forensics, nothing, just dumping the remains into security vans.”

  Sanitizing the scene is par for the course but it won’t limit the panic that will already be setting in as news of what happened spreads through the city.

  She listens again, then says, “Okay, this isn’t good. They’re bringing in dead scavs and arranging them around the ruins of the Crystal Palace.”

  We’ve all seen some really fucked up stuff but this is a new low in a city that bills itself as among the most cultured and refined places on earth.

  “One guess who the city council is going to blame for the attack,” Hollis says. He doesn’t mask his disgust.

  “At least publicly.” I say. Behind the scenes, they’ll be scrambling to find out who was really responsible. The short list of private companies with the resources to conduct such an operation starts with Slade Enterprises. I know without asking that the sat feeds have already been scrubbed of any evidence that it was my men who took out the attackers. All the same, between my take down of the HPF and what’s happened tonight, I expect to hear from the council before long. I need to put together a strategy to deal with them.

  “We’re not going to figure this out right now,” I say. “Everybody check in with your families and get some rack time. Until this is over, we stay on high alert. I don’t want anyone below par. We’ll reconvene in eight hours.”

  The nods and grateful looks that go around the room tell me that my consideration is appreciated. I don’t ever question my men’s level of commitment but I also never abuse it. They’re the best in the world at what they do and they deserve to be treated as such.

  The room empties except for Gab and Hollis. The three of us help ourselves to more coffee and settle around the conference table. The sat feed is still running. It’s jumped to real time. Where the Crystal Palace stood a few hours ago there’s nothing left but a smoking ruin surrounded by the grisly remains of poor bastards who could never have come close to pulling off such an attack but who are the fall guys anyway.

  “The council just happened to have a bunch of dead scavs on ice to use like this?” Gab asks. Her skepticism couldn’t be clearer or more deserved. The ugly reality is that the bodies are likely still warm, having been rounded up and killed expressly for that purpose. After all, who’s going to miss a few dozen scavs except those who are equally powerless?

  They’ll have heard by now, the men, women, and children who scratch an existence from what their “betters” throw away. Some will flee off-island, others will burrow deeper into whatever sanctuaries they can find. They’ll wai
t it out as they do whenever the city authorities see fit to blame them for some fuck up and declare a crackdown. But this is bigger than anything that’s ever happened before. I’m skeptical that the city’s residents will buy the idea that scavs could have pulled off such a coordinated and well-armed attack, let alone its explosive ending. Whoever made the call to blow up the Crystal Palace definitely didn’t do the powers-that-be any favors. Their ability to maintain control is about to be pushed to its limits and just possibly beyond.

  “The council must have seen this coming,” Hollis says, voicing what I’m thinking. “Not the particulars, obviously, but they had a heads up that something was going to happen. That’s why they put more cops on the streets.”

  “But not where they would actually have made a difference,” I point out. “If we hadn’t been at the Crystal Palace tonight, the outcome would have been very different.” I turn to Gab and tell her what has emerged front and center in my mind. “Charles Davos and a half-dozen other men left right before the attack began, through the only door that wasn’t jammed.”

  Her eyebrows arch. “You think they’re responsible?”

  “Possibly. If they are, they were smart to put in an appearance so no one would remember afterward that they weren’t there and ask why.” Grudgingly, I add, “But they could have been the targets and someone warned them just in time for them to get away. Whatever the case, you should be able to identify who left with Davos from the sat feed. Once you do, I want to know every association they share, every communication between them, anything that links them. If they’ve pissed in adjoining urinals recently, I want to know about it.”

  She grimaces but nods. “Nice image, boss. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  I’m running down a mental checklist for anything I’ve forgotten when Hollis says, “This sure has been a night for surprises.” He shoots me an amused look. “Top among them, Miss McClellan. It’s not every day that I get outflanked by a ballerina.”