Raven (Kindred #1)

by Scarlett Finn

  Either he ignored her mood or he didn’t care, because he carried on without addressing it. “The guys are heading back. We have a debrief. It’s time to go home.”

  “I am going home, back to my apartment,” she said and tried to back off.

  But while still straddling the bike, he lunged toward her to hook his solid arm around her waist. He hauled her close and held her against his thigh so she was near enough for a kiss.

  His breath heated her cheek. “That place isn’t safe for you tonight. Only one place you’ll be safe tonight, baby, and that’s on your back under me.”

  Grinding her teeth, Zara didn’t want her fury to explode in this public arena. “Let go of me,” she murmured.

  “You’re pissed,” he said and his smugness wasn’t concerned. “Atta girl… use it.”

  Bending forward, he pressed his face into her hair and tried to kiss her neck. But she tilted her head toward him to refuse his mouth access. Slapping her palms onto his leather jacket, Zara shoved at him enough that his arms and expression loosened, but he didn’t actually let her go.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” she demanded, using the anger as he’d suggested. “I can’t believe I ever listened to anything you had to say. You were there tonight. Did you hear the same thing I did? Those men are dangerous and they plan to level the world. How dare you expect me to go anywhere with you! You want to know where I’m going? To the cops! As soon as I heard what this was about I should’ve gone to the authorities to let them deal with it. But I didn’t, I got swept up by you and by this idea of vigilantism and adventure, like I could make some kind of goddamn difference. People have already died and maybe—”

  “What?” he snapped, echoing her mood. “The cops could’ve saved them? Those guys were crooks, all of ‘em. You go to the cops now and what are you gonna tell them? You have no evidence, not one shred, and you won’t have anyone to back up your story. You’ll sound like a nut!”

  Undeterred, she pushed her shoulders back. “Better a nut with a clean conscience than a crook with a guilty one.”

  With his own anger, Brodie argued with her. “You go to the cops now and that’s it, you’re out. Grant won’t take you back. You’ll lose our protection. And you’ll become enemy number one to every man you met tonight. How long do you think you’ll last out there by yourself?”

  “Better dead than useless,” she said, smacking the earpiece onto his leg then reaching around to unfasten the diamonds. He flicked the earpiece away but stuffed the diamonds into his pocket after she handed them over.

  “The ear piece begins to breakdown once it’s deactivated,” he said. “It uses your body heat as a power source.”

  She didn’t care about how anything worked anymore. Zara just wanted to go back to her mundane life. “You can take down the cameras you have watching my apartment too.”

  Narrowing his eyes, the snarl returned to his voice. “We’re a little busy trying to save civilization,” he said. “Call your cable guy for tech support.”

  Shaking her head, she refused to feel guilty. “You have no right to be angry at me. I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do,” she said.

  “I didn’t ask you to abandon the team,” he said, his voice growing huskier.

  Distraught and disoriented, she didn’t know what to think anymore. “Your team… they’re your team, not mine. When you’re through and I’m useless to you, you’ll move on… they’re your team,” she said and let her gaze fall to the thick breadth of his thigh wrapped in dark blue denim.

  In a maneuver that surprised her, he grabbed hold of her chin and forced her head up until their noses almost touched.

  “You don’t think you’re a member of the goddamn team? Five people have had boots on the floor in my house over the last twenty years. You want to know how many women I’ve fucked in that bed? One. You. I’m sorry if we didn’t roll out the red carpet, baby. We’re a low profile bunch. Most fuckers in this world think I’m dead, fewer people than that know Tuck’s real name and Art would never have brought you in if he didn’t intend on keeping you. You want to end your association with me, pretty baby, that’s just fine. But don’t you dare insult those men who have trusted you with their identities and therefore their lives… You came to us. You sought us out.”

  His rage was offense. This was his way of processing hurt. But she couldn’t let him change history as it suited him. “You researched me, you have a camera opposite my apartment,” she said without retreating from her staunch position. But he was right. Art, Tuck, and Brodie had trusted her with their secrets. Zara just hadn’t realized how profound that was and hadn’t understood that it inferred her acceptance on the team.

  “What we do is look out for each other and you are a part of that now, Zar. That camera protects you. It was designed by my cousin, Zave, who lives in the twin house,” he said, tracing his fingers up to her cheekbone. “We call him Falcon. He’s a hardware genius. He designed, developed, and built every device we use. Priority one for the Kindred: we watch each other’s backs. Falc can build anything we ask for and Swift can write any software to run it. Between them, they have built the Kindred an impressive arsenal of weapons and gear to reinforce priority one. Like your necklace and the earpiece, those kept you safe. If you weren’t a part of the team, you wouldn’t have had any of it.”

  Her anger had lost some of its steam, but she still had questions. “Why didn’t you shoot tonight? I thought the plan—”

  “If you’d told me to shoot, I would have,” he said. Both of his hands touched her cheekbones, he let them drift down in an arc, allowing his thumbs to trace the apples of her cheeks.

  Touched, aroused, angry, confused, it was all so exhausting. Losing herself in him was easy, especially when his focus on her was absolute and she felt powerful to have such a man enraptured in her.

  “Without question?” she whispered.

  “Without question,” he said and his eyes descended to her mouth.

  “Because I’m part of the team?”

  “And because you’ve got me by the balls, baby,” he said.

  Reading a softness in his features that she’d never seen before, she was reminded of his voice in her ear promising that he was with her, and of his refusal to take his eye from the gun scope while she was surrounded by those dangerous men.

  Drowning in his scrutiny, she wasn’t sure he was aware of the conversation anymore. Whispering her hope, she exposed her own vulnerability to him. “Could it be that another part of your anatomy is in play?”

  “My mouth?” he asked, perplexed by her statement.

  He didn’t see how she was in knots for him, didn’t understand how much she needed him to admit his devotion to her because until she knew he wanted her beyond this mission, she would be in a continual state of tension, of fear that he might turn his back on her when all of this was over. “Your heart,” she said, abandoning her anger and relaxing her weight to his thigh where the rumble of the bike carried through him to her.

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? If you’re leaving the team, we’ll never see each other again.”

  Because he would shut her out or because he didn’t think she would live long if she followed through on her threat to go to the authorities, she didn’t want to ask which he meant.

  Leaving the team was probably a good idea for her, if for no other reason than it might spare her a heartbreak, but she was fast losing her ability to defy him. “The cops have the resources—”

  “Trust me,” he said, narrowing his eyes and his lips at the same time, imploring her to believe him. “Come inside, all the way. Commit to us.”

  Zara knew that talking in terms of the team made it easier for him to ignore the truth of what was happening between them. Without the heat of her anger, she longed for the comfort and security of the Kindred, and of him.

  “What do I have to do?” she asked.

  He reached to the back to free the helmet meant for her then held it towar
d her. “Get on the bike and come back to base.”

  Holding eye contact for another few seconds, she relented and took her helmet to pull it on before using her grip on his shoulder to climb onto the bike.

  He turned up the collar of his jacket and hunkered low while Zara wrapped her arms around his torso. He pulled her arms tighter and revved the engine a couple of times before taking off. She still had so many questions about what had happened tonight and what their plan would be going forward. Hoping that she would have the chance to figure everything out at this debrief, she resolved herself to not making any decisions until after it.

  Just because she was not as worldly or street smart as these guys didn’t mean she should be dismissed. She had people skills that none of the men had displayed. Constant conflict and working in intense situations had hardened them all and any social skills they may have once had were diminished. Art was kind, Tuck seemed indifferent to her. But Brodie could barely hold a conversation without it being overtaken by some emotion or other, and he had the discretion of an M1A1 tank on a freeway.

  Taking up with a bad boy intent on taking down terrorists and quitting her job had not been on her New Year’s resolutions list. Her life was unrecognizable to how it had been just a few weeks ago. Her eyes had been opened and now that they were, she couldn’t close them again. Grant did not intend to listen to her or to be swayed by her. She just hoped that the Kindred were different.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Get on in here. What took you two so long?” Art asked when she entered the manor kitchen under Brodie’s arm.

  The lower part of the kitchen island was laid with four place settings. Art and Tuck were already gobbling down the food in their shallow bowls and a bottle of wine stood between the two vacant place settings. Art got up and went to the stove to pile two pasta plates full of spaghetti and meatballs. Bringing them to the empty spots, Art put them down and returned to his own meal.

  “This is the big debrief?” she asked when Brodie sat on a stool and reached for the red wine. “Spaghetti and meatballs?”

  “Would you rather have something else?” Art asked her, slurping up a noodle.

  The food wasn’t what surprised her. The lackadaisical manner of the men who had just gone through the same night she had was what perplexed her. “No, I… I was just expecting something else.”

  “A darkened room with a swinging light bulb?” Tuck asked. “That comes after. Right now, we eat.” Tuck pointed to her seat with his fork then twirled it in his plate to gather up more spaghetti.

  “Sit down and eat, girlie,” Art said.

  Going to the couch, she supported her weight on it and bent to take her high-heels off. “This dress is silk and cost a month’s salary,” she said, wiggling her toes, which were screaming with delight at being granted their freedom. “There’s no way I’m getting spaghetti sauce on it.”

  Brodie left his food and went to a tall, broad closet in the corner, saying nothing about his intention. “But you got on the back of his bike?” Art asked and Tuck smirked with him.

  Brodie closed the closet then tossed something black in her direction. She caught it and opened it up while he went back to his food.

  “Problem solved,” Art said when she revealed the fabric to be one of Brodie’s tee shirts.

  Pulling it on to protect her dress, Zara was grateful for the food because she had some nervous energy to replenish. “How does this work?” she asked, gulping the wine that Brodie had poured for her.

  “You start by not getting drunk,” Brodie said, taking the glass away from her and putting it back on the tiled surface. “Get some food in you or you’ll pass out. Alcohol’s the only thing you’ve had tonight.”

  The sight of the trio’s satisfaction made her appreciate what the sustenance offered after a stressful night. “What’s the worst that can happen to her in here?” Tuck asked. “You take advantage of her? You’re gonna do that anyway.”

  Brodie didn’t deny it. Art smiled at his nephew, which made her look at him too. She was surprised to see him looking right back at her. “What?” she asked, glancing at her plate as she twisted her fork in the pasta.

  Brodie was still examining her and the scrutiny was making her squirm. “I'm just trying to imagine what it would be like to have you not giving me grief while I fuck you.”

  Tuck laughed and Art appreciated the joke, but seemed to be waiting for her reaction. With a slack jaw, she glared at her lover. Brodie was the one who talked during sex and he definitely gave her more grief, but she understood banter and was happy to play the role he painted her into.

  “When you stop needing a step by step tutorial, maybe I’ll stop giving you grief,” she said, turning her frown upside down much to the amusement of Art and Brodie.

  Brodie wasn’t dissuaded from his mighty position. “High maintenance is what you are. You’re full of demands,” he said, dropping an elbow to the counter and his fork into his plate.

  “In bed is the only place in the world where I’m sure you’re paying attention,” she said, elevating her chin and narrowing her eyes. “I know how to get what I want and when to ask for it.”

  Brodie’s long arm trespassed in her personal space. He hooked a hand beneath her stool and dragged it across until it bumped his. “You know where to find what you want,” he muttered.

  His face sank and she leveled her posture to align her mouth with his. “Right here,” she whispered, resting her weight on him while her nails dragged over his leg to the inside of his thigh.

  “Atta girl,” he exhaled and eliminated the remaining space between their mouths.

  He did love to kiss and she could lose herself in the sensation of his fierce tongue as it toyed with hers. His hand slid across the back of her stool and she loved how the arc of his arm created a barrier between her body and reality, and she was in no hurry to get back.

  The bitter wine on her tongue and the tangy sauce on his intensified the experience of taste and scent in the potency of their kiss. Even though she hadn’t tried the food yet, she would have to compliment the chef. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

  “I guess we should get down to business,” Art said and she forced herself to stop kissing Brodie when she registered Art’s authoritative tone. Brodie wasn’t as affected, his arm snaked up, and he pressured her cheekbone to ease her back into their kiss.

  With her hands on his chest, she succeeded in putting less than an inch between them. While he might be used to being so open in front of Art and Tuck, she was conscious of how quickly their ardor could escalate and wasn’t sure she’d be able to conceal her want. “You’ll have me all night,” she mumbled on him.

  “I plan to have you a helluva lot longer than that,” he said. With his eyes open, he kissed her bottom lip, then deferred to their audience and shunted her back to her food. Except by now, she was so out of breath that she couldn’t focus on the plate. “Eat.”

  On his command, she took her fork from the bowl and did as he told her to on autopilot. Stabbing a meatball, she took it into her mouth and when the medley of flavors filled her senses, she released a long moan that stopped all of the men in their tracks.

  Swallowing the meatball, she swirled her pasta around her fork, eager to take more now that she knew how good it was. “This is incredible,” she purred, opening her mouth wide to slide her fork inside slowly. Closing her mouth around the cuisine, her eyelids sank down to meet and she moaned at the pleasure of the taste extravaganza.

  “Wow,” Tuck said with a laugh in his voice that made her eyes open.

  The hacker was wearing a smile, which was countered by the assassin’s glower. “What?” she asked Brodie.

  “I’m the only guy allowed to see that face,” Brodie grumped.

  Art was grinning, making it appear that Brodie was the only diner with a problem. So choosing to ignore him, she smiled at the chef. “It’s really good,” she said to Art and he bowed his head in appreciation.

  “Yeah, we fig
ured you liked it,” Art said.

  “You’ll need to write down the recipe,” she said, though she knew she would never be able to master his skill in the kitchen if this was any measure of his capability. “Is there anything you can’t do? You seem to be amazing at everything.”

  “Are you flirting with him?”

  Whirling back to her previous view, Brodie’s expression hadn’t changed much, though it was edging closer into outrage. “I’m not flirting,” she said, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as she glanced at the other two men seated with them.

  “The guy is practically my father,” Brodie stated. “You were on a date with my brother tonight. First my brother, then my mentor and—”

  “It wasn’t a date,” she said, shoving an elbow on the edge of the counter to lean closer to him. “And I was simply complimenting Art for preparing this delicious meal. It tastes better than the only thing you’ve ever put in my mouth—”

  “Ok,” Art said, rising to his feet with his hands open, in a gesture probably meant to calm them all. “Let’s get the business stuff out of the way, after that you two can bicker like a married couple as much as you want.”

  “It’s great television,” Tuck said, clearing his plate.

  Before he said anything else, Art went to the stove and retrieved the pot of food to put it in the center of their dining space. Touching her shoulder to get her attention, Art gave her a squeeze. “There’s plenty more, girlie, fill yourself full.”

  “Now you’re doing it!” Brodie said and his fork clattered into his plate. Tuck laughed and she sucked up her spaghetti then used a fingertip to wipe the sauce from her chin before she spoke.

  “You’re the best lover in the room,” she said, supporting her weight on the crossbar of her stool to push toward him. Smudging the sauce from her finger to his lips, she smiled after he sucked her digit in a seeming show of acceptance. When he released her, she sat back down and began to gather more pasta onto her fork. “At least I think you are. You’re the only one I have experience with.” Filling her mouth with food, Zara smiled at Brodie, causing Tuck to laugh again.