Handcuffed by Her Hero

by Angel Payne

  “Not anymore.”

  His breath left him on a whoosh. So this is what it felt like when they talked about world-sized weight leaving one’s shoulders. He was a legitimate member of the First Special Forces Group again—a restoration he had no idea he’d missed. The whomp of emotion in his chest told him otherwise.

  “You serious?” It was an effort not to choke out the words.

  “A hundred and ten percent,” Garrett confirmed.

  As fast as it had vanished, the weight returned to his shoulders. He gladly bore the burden this time. Humility and gratitude sank over him like warm blankets after February jump practice over the Sound.

  “I owe one of you fuckers about ten cases of beer.” He declared it in as dry a tone as he could to hide the depth of sentiment. Like that was going to make a difference with Hawk.

  “Shit.” His friend stung out the word with derision. “I’m gonna chalk up your lack of manners to the fact that your last scene was with the pain queen of Seattle, and now you’ve lost all sense of decorum. Do I need to give you a refresher course on how we do things? Have you forgotten so damn easily? Repeat after me, Sparky: there’s no limit to the good we can do—”

  “When we don’t care who gets the credit,” Z finished in a bear’s snarl. “Colonel George Marshall. You want the time and date he said it, too?”

  “Nah. Gold star in your box, Sergeant Hayes.”

  “Shut the hell up and tell me who it was, Hawk.”

  There was a long pause. He could feel Garrett’s conflict through every satellite wave that connected them. “It was Rhett,” he muttered. “But you didn’t hear it from me, you stubborn pud. And I’m taking away your gold star.”

  An affectionate smile spread over his face. Rhett. Figured. The unit’s tech and communications guy wore his BDU’s more like a tuxedo and asked for his beers as if ordering a martini on the rocks—but the arena where his style shined the most was any piece of an op involving a code to crack, a firewall to breach, or an intelligence labyrinth through which to sneak.

  “Double-Oh-Seven worked his magic, eh?”

  Garrett gave an appreciative groan. “Dude, it was beautiful. He found an exterior security camera feed from a building three blocks from the Bastille. By the time he was done enhancing the footage, it looked like the camera was six feet away, instead. There was no denying what happened. The attack on Rayna, the way you pounced to her rescue…it was movie magic, man.”

  “So the police had no choice about admitting the truth.”

  “Bastards’ balls were nailed to the wall.”

  “What about implicating Mua in that shit? If he was in a single frame of that stuff—”

  “Sure as hell was. More than one frame, too. It only shows the back of his head, but we couldn’t—”

  “Care about your goddamn lives?” Z cut in. A movement in his peripheral snagged him. Rayna had come downstairs, dressed now, and studied him with troubled curiosity from the other side of the slider. He turned and walked further out on the deck. “Hawk, are you out of your collective minds?”

  “Chill your grill, Zsych. We’re not a bunch of hobos on this train.” The guy snorted hard. “We didn’t take the footage to the PD.” His pause practically blared his shit-eating grin. “We went straight to the news outlets with it. Not local, either. I’m talking CNN’s crew. And Fox. And MSNBC. Dude, they were more captivated than the day the royal baby was born. You’re the newest vigilante hero of the nation.”

  He let himself sink into one of the covered deck chairs. It was soaked with morning mist. He barely noticed. “Huh?”

  “You’re practically Batman!”

  “Not funny.”

  “Wasn’t meant to be. As a matter of fact, we think it was enough to spook Mua, too. After the vid hit, the Seattle PD had no choice but to issue a public apology to you, hot on the heels of an APB for him. Clearly, one of his remaining inside minions got off a call to him, because one of the private air charter companies matched a photo of him to ‘a handsome bloke’ coming in right before the security nets got thrown down. They say he flashed a lot of cash for an expedited hop to Tokyo. Third battalion’s already in Tokyo, so they’re set to intercept once he’s there. By this time tomorrow, that scum sucker’s going to be carving his legacy into the walls of a max security bunker.”

  He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Does this mean we can come home? That I go come back, report for duty and do my job—and that I can know Rayna will be safe when I do, too?”

  Garrett’s empathetic hum, possible only from another soldier who loved what they did, was a welcome balm on his overwhelmed brain. “Yeah, Z. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  “Thank fuck.” He stood again, welcoming the familiar surge of adrenaline that helped prep his body and mind for a mission. In this case, it also helped him start a timeline for getting some appointments set up for Rayna at Bastille, to meet with the right Doms and talk to the right submissives. Sage could help her with a proper wardrobe as well as the other basics. Gratitude flooded him again. He wouldn’t be around to see any of it, which was a damn good thing. When he returned—if he returned—she’d be the happy property of a loving Dom who could give her everything she needed and deserved from the lifestyle. And eventually his gut would stop feeling like an over-cinched loaf of bread because of it.

  “Okay,” he said into the phone, “we’ve got forty-eight before reporting in, right?”

  “Uh, yeah.” His friend’s voice got edged with a weird lilt. “Technically correct—though there’s a special project I’ve gotta ask your help with first, Z.”

  He cracked his neck. It didn’t help clarify the mystery in Garrett’s voice. He let a long moment go by, allowing time for his friend to continue, but mild static was the only sound filling his ear.

  “Okay, you going to elaborate any time in the next century? Because I’ve got every scenario going here from building a gazebo in your yard to disposing of a dead body.”

  Hawk snickered. “Points for creativity. But I’d rather tell you in person. How soon can you get to our place?”

  “Does three hours give you enough time to dirty up your play room then get presentable?”

  “Hmm. It’ll be tight, but I can make that work.”

  “Fucking sadist.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered good-naturedly…but the thought hit, as he looked back inside and beheld the tousled, gorgeous redhead within, that right now he was the greatest masochist that ever lived.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lots of glass. Lots of light. Lots of white. Mua’s mansion looked more like a place that should overlook the waters of Biscayne Bay instead of Puget Sound.

  Luna squirmed atop a blinding love seat decorated with a pastel blue pillow. None of it felt right. Why did anyone in Seattle decorate their place like a hospital?

  Only one answer made sense. Compensation issues. When a man’s fortune was made on filth, it made sense that his household bleach receipts matched the booze orders.

  She was getting a damn headache. Her heart began to pound.

  Maybe it was her common sense coming back to life.

  What the hell was she doing here? Why hadn’t she seen the weakened defenses through which Mua had crawled in to get at her? Why hadn’t she told him to go fuck himself and licked her wounds from Saturday in private?

  Because she hadn’t expected to be alone after Saturday. And Mua’s smooth, slick smile was better than her empty, quiet loft.

  Shit, how she yearned for that loft now.

  She needed to get out of here. The whack job needed to find somebody else to play in this sand box with him.

  She’d furtively started looking for a quiet way to get out of here—when Mua’s tech guy shut off the speakers that pulsed with the eighties technobabble and motioned his boss to the wall of gadgets, cameras, and speakers they all referred to as “the starship.” Luna rose too, thinking whatever suddenly
captivated the freak with the teased hair and the psycho killer eyes would do the same for Mua. If she got lucky, she could turn a trip to the loo into a walk out the front door.

  Two things stopped her from the follow-through. First, a glance from Mua told her if she thought about running for it, she wouldn’t be living in peace for an extremely long time to come.

  Second, and much easier to swallow, tech boy cranked up the volume on the feed to which he’d been tuned. Because of that, Zeke’s voice boomed through the room.

  “…are you out of your collective minds?”

  A rich baritone laugh answered Z, layered over mild static that denoted a tapped phone call. Luna forced her face to remain impassive. Garrett Hawkins. The guy sounded happy for once, something she felt like smiling and sobbing about. He’d been through hell to get to his joy with his destined love. She knew that struggle well.

  The conversation between the two men continued. Luna steeled every muscle in her body every time Z spoke. It wasn’t an easy task when the growls and demands he issued to his friend swooped her mind back to that magical hour they’d shared at the Bastille. Her blood sang. Her pussy plumped. Every inch of her sex throbbed.

  Mua slid her his I-know-what’s-going-on-in-your-panties grin before patting psycho killer on the shoulder. “Excellent work, Stephan.”

  The guy chuckled as Garrett and Z wrapped their exchange with the confirmation that Zeke and Rayna would be coming back today. “The dumb shits fell for the decoy at the airport faster than orks under a paralysis spell!”

  Luna closed her eyes in order to mask her shudder. Thank fuck Mua hadn’t told her to practice her special embrace with Stephan.

  “They certainly did,” the man murmured. “And now things are falling nicely into place, hmmm?”

  Something in Mua’s tone pulled her eyes back open. The man’s expectant gaze awaited hers. He’d clearly directed the question at her as much as Stephan. She licked her lips fast, her nerves still jangled and her heart still stopped from hearing Z’s voice again. Her body never reacted this way to anyone else. She was coded for him. He had to see that. He had to.

  “You’re really sure this is going to work?” She leveled it at him as a demand more than a question.

  Mua’s serenity remained unchanged. “One thing I love about my work is the certainty of human psychology, and the beauty in making simple plans because of it.”

  She crossed her arms. “This plan is as ‘simple’ as a Mission: Impossible script, Mua.”

  He matched her pose. “The plan will work, darling.”

  She wondered why his assurance only made her stomach tighten. “And Zeke won’t get permanently hurt? Even if worse comes to worse, the damage will be no worse than a Taser jolt, right?”

  “We’ve been over this several times, Luna.” He dipped his head, looking full of vice principal disapproval, giving her a delightful trip down the path of awful high school memories. “Have I not guaranteed that we’ll both have what we want?”

  Just like all those times in the VP’s office, she craved a cigarette and compensated by squirming. Fine. For all the man’s creepy vibes, he was right. Events were happening exactly as he said they would. His insight into her teetered on scary, which didn’t make it easier to find a damn thing to like about him. But she didn’t like wheat grass shots or cleaning out the cat box, either.

  Sometimes life required a girl to suck her shit up.

  “All right,” she finally conceded. “I’m in. I’m ready.”

  His reassuring smile returned. “Yes, darling. You certainly are.” He moved his hand from Stephan’s shoulder to her elbow. “Your bedroom is being prepared for you. Get a good night’s sleep, lovely Luna.”

  She politely slipped from his hold. There was nothing flirty about his move —she mused that Psycho Killer with his skinny jeans and lush hair would be in more danger of that—but the man’s touch still reminded her of being licked by a snake.

  “You know, it’s been nice of you to put me up, but I have a comfortable place of my own. I’d get much better sleep if I were in my own bed at my loft.”

  “That could be arranged.”

  She flashed a hopeful stare. “It could?”

  “Certainly. I’m not a monster, Luna. And you’re not a prisoner. In the interest of your safety, however, we’ll send Vadim along for the night. I’m quite certain he’d like to see your little loft.”

  She moved back from him by a step, gulping against a wave of helpless anger. Damn it, she should be used to the stuff by now, but it coiled just as painfully in her stomach as the first time she’d let Mua lay out this crazy plan. But if everything worked…

  When everything worked…

  Zeke would be hers.

  For that, she’d risk a damn ulcer.

  For that, she’d let Mua plant a whole cactus garden in her stomach lining.

  She raised her head and met the man’s refined gaze. Then took a huge breath. Another.

  “Which way did you say my room was?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Rayna had never been so happy to see the gatehouse at Sage and Garrett’s place.

  The drive down from the cabin had been a giant training game in the art of awkward. And awful. After Zeke filled her in on the jaw-dropping news from the call with Garrett, he’d all but ordered her into a shower so they could get on the road as soon as possible. He assured her he’d clean up downstairs and leave her alone to bathe and change. She’d gone without questioning, though stopped at the top of the flight to sneak in a peek while he wasn’t looking. She wished she hadn’t. He scrubbed the dining room table where they’d shared so much passion as if it were now a murder scene.

  She’d sobbed through every minute of the shower.

  Things got even weirder during the trip itself. Z went straight for the Friend Zone as soon as they hit the main road, talking back to the radio DJs with dry one-liners and even asking if she was looking forward to seeing her own bed again. She’d managed an evasive hum as a reply—while her chest imploded and her muscles constricted with the effort not to bawl all over again.

  Medically, she knew what was happening. She’d existed on a mental diet of adrenalin, endorphins, and exhilaration for five days, an emotional sugar high from which she now crashed. Hurray, she got an A on that test—which her heart immediately pleated into an airplane and hurled. He asked about her damn bed? How was she supposed to look at her bed again without remembering him in it with her, warming every corner with his big, magnificent body? How was she supposed to sleep at all without aching for his arms around her, his legs entwined with hers, his lips on her neck?

  Was she supposed to think of taking another step as this new person she’d become without his touch to guide her?

  The man apparently had an answer for that.

  Z threw the subject into the conversation between a bouncy tune by the newest pop-folk darlings and one of her favorite wailing Halestorm songs. Talk about perfect. Or pathetic. Or both.

  I like the kick in the face…

  She got the rundown of the Doms at the club who’d be “ideal fits” for her.

  Just know that I’ll make you hurt…

  Then the list of things she’d need to go over with Sage, along with “any other pertinent questions” she had.

  When you say you’ll make it worse…

  She’d see, he told her. She’d be challenged. She’d grow. She’d be happy. And when he got back from this mission and showed up at the club again, she’d thank him for doing this for her. She’d tell him he was right about this.

  She’d answered him by twisting the Volume knob higher.

  I don’t miss you, I miss the misery!

  Maybe if she let the radio scream it loud enough, she’d believe it.

  As the song ended, Z threw the Jag into park in front of Garrett and Sage’s condo.

  “Yo, Fashion Sparkle Zekie! You made it!”

  Garrett’s warm Iowa accent broke into their thick tensio
n. He’d just finished the quip when Sage’s squee of delight pierced the air, too. Rayna looked up and smiled. Her friend’s energy was always contagious, though today Sage seemed ready to make the jump to light speed from it. Her dark blond hair was pulled into a cute, messy bun and she wore a butter-colored sweater that enhanced the tawny glow in her skin.

  “Hiiiiii!”

  Sage pulled the Jag’s door open and hauled Rayna into a hug. They pulled away and looked each other over out of habit, though now it was nice to see her friend covered in happiness and a few new curves instead of bug bites and plant scratches.

  “Hi, yourself,” Rayna returned. “Wow. Sweetie, you look great.”

  Sage grinned. “You took the words out of my mouth. Hmmm. Maybe Zekie should haul your ass up that mountain more often.” Her smile turned into a wince as she glanced over to Z. “And while you’re there, you can find a discreet way to burn some of those shirts.”

  Zeke tugged at the collar of his button-front shirt, swirled with a pattern of bright red and yellow squares separated by blue starfish. “I knew you’d like this one, Sage.”

  Sage rolled her eyes and tugged Rayna toward the door. “Sure. I’m completely into the ‘Picasso meets Sesame Street’ thing.”

  Rayna joined her friend in a devilish giggle. She looked back, wondering what her open taunt would incite in Z now, if anything. She hoped for anything other than the fake grin he’d been flashing since they passed Lake Stevens.

  He wasn’t grinning.

  He stared at her with such deep intent she wondered how a hole hadn’t burned open in the back of her head. His lips parted to reveal his locked teeth. In an instant she was mentally back at his feet, kneeling between his legs, gazing at his face as he prepared to lower her mouth onto his body. Bound to him. Connected.

  His.

  She released a deep sigh. Attempted a little smile.

  He tightened his jaw and looked away.

  She swallowed and told her heart it was time to stop beating again.

  That was actually a good move, considering the scene she walked into next.