Variations (Base Branch Series Book 9)

by Megan Mitcham

  “Ms. Sorensen?” a woman’s voice interrupted the recording.

  “Yes,” she nearly cried into the line. “Yes, it’s me. Marina Sorensen.”

  “Marina, this is Taylor Strong.”

  “Taylor, thank you.” It had been a lifetime since Marina had hired the private securities firm—cloaked as a technologies corporation—to rescue her sister from the Brödraskapet thugs.

  Nightmares from the day the call had come into Cara’s private line haunted Marina’s dreams, sleeping and awake. The lowlifes promised to release Elin, the sister stolen from her once before by her own mother, if Marina gave them Cara’s location. Marina had known that Cara, a former spy, and Luck, a Cara-trained cluster of muscles, could protect themselves better than her little sister could. She’d tossed Brödraskapet the information without reservation and sprinted toward the pickup location.

  Too bad men who sold women into slavery on a daily basis held no qualms about not holding up their end of the bargain.

  Unable to return to Cara for help and out of options, Marina turned to the avenging ghosts she’d heard the spy whisper of, Stronghold. It had taken time to track them down. Desperate, Marina offered Taylor Strong all the money Cara had given her to start a new life to rescue Elin from the Brotherhood.

  Marina had exited the train station on her way to the airport to reunite with her sister and flee Sweden with Stronghold’s help when two Brotherhood bastards had shoved her into the backseat and charioted her back to hell.

  “It’s good to hear your voice.” Taylor pulled her back to the present. “We’ve had a computer scanning for your signal since we were disconnected three months ago. How are you?”

  “I’m okay.” Her sob negated the statement.

  “I’m pinging your location now. Stay on the line as long as you can. Do you know where you’re being held?”

  She didn’t dare tell the woman that she’d escaped from the Brotherhood. As much as she’d needed rescue from them, she needed it from Oliver for wholly different reasons.

  “I’m in Sweden.”

  “Please, don’t tell me you’ve been at the warehouse where they kept your sister this entire time. We checked the location the moment you didn’t show.” Taylor sounded morose.

  “No. They held me in the back of a bar for a long time. Now, I’m in a fancy townhouse. I don’t know where exactly, but Markus—Tor’s brother—flew out of the Bromma Airport a week ago, I think. Maybe a week and a half now.” Without the help of her tick marks, the days ran together.

  “Do you know where he was headed or what alias he flew under?” Taylor begged.

  Ice stiffened her spine at the reminder of why she’d risked everything to rebuild the phone and connect with Stronghold.

  “He was headed to the States. Taylor, please tell me Elin is safe.”

  “Elin is more than safe, Marina. I can’t wait for you to see her. She’s stunning in every way.”

  A lump formed in her throat, making it impossible to speak, swallow, but not sob. They came hard and fast. Marina pressed her mouth to the mattress to muffle the sound.

  “We’ll get you too. I promise. How are the Base Branch operatives treating you?”

  “What?” Her sob stalled. “What is the Base Branch?”

  “Special Forces for the United Nations. The good guys.”

  “You know they have me?”

  “Yes, you’re in capable—if not a little bit gruff—hands.” Taylor harrumphed.

  So they were the good guys. Good, and oh so bad for her headspace.

  “Are you still coming to get me?” Marina’s voice quaked.

  “Absolutely. The Branch Director knows we’re getting in on the action; he just hasn’t acknowledged it yet. First, we have an open contract, and Stronghold doesn’t leave jobs unfinished. Second—”

  “But I can’t pay you.” Another sob wracked her body. “The Brotherhood drained my account.” She’d bargained with them, of course, to gain a month’s reprieve from the manhandling.

  “I was getting to that,” Taylor chided.

  Footfalls, heavy ones, thundered down the hallway toward her. Marina pressed the phone to her ear and crouched behind the bed. Why did this have to be the only room with no en-suite?

  “You’re getting the future family discount,” the woman said.

  “What do you mean?” Marina whisper-screamed into the line.

  “My little brother will do anything to please Elin. Bringing you home is at the top of that list.”

  “My sister is too young to…” The footsteps stilled on the other side of the door.

  “Oh, they haven’t done any more than stare at one another, but if stares could ignite a fire, we’d all be cinders.”

  She knew exactly what Taylor was talking about. Oliver scorched the distance between them with one such gaze. And then his gaze shifted to the phone.

  “I have to go.” Marina hated losing the connection to the life she wanted, to her sister, to safety, but she needed to survive to make it there. Oliver’s glare and ground gulping strides threatened to douse that hope.

  Taylor called to her through the line. Marina tossed the phone to the floor, stood using the bed for leverage, and stomped on it with her bare foot. A sharp pain radiated up her leg. Plastic lanced the tough skin of her heel. Reverberations steeped agony into her already injured thigh.

  “What the fuck!” Oliver’s arms corded her middle. In an instant, her feet dangled above the wood floor and scattered bits of the phone. Anger poured off him in heavy pants and waves of heat.

  Instinctually, she hunkered into the fetal position and braced for the blows.

  The bed squeaked under their combined weight. Oliver’s front cuddled to her back. His hand smoothed across her freshly shaved calf.

  “Bonnie, how many times do I have to tell you I’m not going to hurt you?”

  Marina lifted her chin to find him snarling at her foot, which he held gently between thick fingers.

  “But you’re mad.”

  “I’m fucking pissed. That doesn’t mean I’d lay a hand on you.”

  “But you are laying a hand on me.” And it shot a thrill through her tormented body.

  “So I am.” Oliver tucked her head under his chin and cradled her to his chest. His scent filled her lungs. He huffed out a long breath. The moist air hit her exposed hip, spiking her heart rate.

  He held her for nearly a minute without a word. His heart thumped against her ear as frantically as her own did. The longer she stayed in his arms, the closer she nuzzled to his warmth.

  “Who’d you call?”

  Marina shook her head. Her lips grazed salty hot skin.

  “Damn it, Marina. Talk to me. Let me in,” he begged.

  “I can’t.” If she allowed him any closer, she’d never weather the vulnerability.

  “Yes, you can. You did earlier. Just a little.”

  “And look how that turned out.”

  “Is she okay?” Hunter’s deep baritone pulled Marina from the crook of Oliver’s bearded jaw. The stocky man walked to the shattered phone and crouched.

  “She’s fine.” Oliver pulled her tighter against him. “We need to go.”

  “We can’t go.” Hunter’s full lips pursed.

  “We’ve been compromised.” Oliver pointed at the piece of phone in his partner’s hand.

  “Marina, who’d you call?” Hunter centered her with his amber gaze.

  Right. Like she’d tell him if she wasn’t going to tell Oliver. Hunter was funny and nice and safe. He made her feel…nothing, which was great. Oliver made her feel too much, too fast.

  Hunter’s head shook. He stood. “We can’t leave until we get Tor.”

  “Some things are more important than the mission,” Oliver growled.

  Her cheeks heated. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, so she folded her arms across her chest and tucked her chin.

  “Did you forget what he did to Tyler? Hell, man, did you forge
t what he did to Marina?” The man’s thick black finger centered on Oliver’s chest, where she curled into a ball.

  “Then fucking go find him and end him, for me,” Oliver bellowed. “So we can leave. So we can take her home.”

  Marina didn’t have a home, never had known a place where she could let her guard down and be herself. Whoever the hell she was. She didn’t really know.

  “I need intel,” Hunter said, aiming his hiked brow at her.

  “Goddamnit.” The muscles in Oliver’s jaw worked, but his grip tightened protectively around Marina.

  Something vibrated between her and Oliver, other than anger and confusion. He extracted a shiny new cell phone, readjusting her to sit on his lap. “Pray it’s intel.” He gingerly depressed a button, and he pressed the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Tucker?”

  Oliver’s teeth ground audibly. A stern voice barked orders through the line. Her avenger’s gaze flitted from her to Hunter. “Yes, sir. We were aware.” He grimaced and then added, “After the fact. We were evaluating the situation.”

  Dimples hollowed his hair-covered cheeks. His tongue prodded the area between his teeth and cheek. “Ten-four.” He tossed the device to the bed and leveled his stormy gaze on her.

  The protection she’d felt moments ago vanished, replaced by vulnerability.

  “What?” she chirped.

  “Stronghold is coming in hot to run point on your extraction.” His cloudy eyes shifted to Hunter. “We’re to get Tor, if we can, but be ready for pickup in twenty-four hours regardless.”

  A loud thump echoed. The phone hit the wall. Paint chips flew. Ten or more pieces rained to the ground, making her attempt at destruction laughable. Hunter raked both hands over his head, turned, and stalked from the room.

  “I’ll be right back.” Oliver lifted her from his warmth and set her on the bed. He followed his partner without a backward glance.

  Great. Now, they both hated her. Why wouldn’t they? She hadn’t trusted them with her limited intel. They’d been unknowns. Sure, her gut had said friendly, but she’d learned the hard way too many times not to trust her instincts.

  If Taylor trusted them, maybe she could.

  Marina eased off the bed. She used the furniture and walls as crutches, shuffling her way toward the raised voices…and smacks of flesh. What?

  11

  “What the fuck’s your problem?” Oliver grabbed Hunter’s rock-solid shoulder and spun him around in the center of the pristine living room.

  “Mine?” His buddy’s head lifted. A sour laugh erupted from his stretched mouth. “That girl has you twisted, brother.”

  “Watch it,” he warned.

  “If she were a dude, and you had the same intel of a known traitor”—Hunter shoved a finger against his sternum—“you’d have patted him down head to toe to pillow and then chained him to the refrigerator.”

  “I’m not the only one on this mission, asshole.” Oliver shoved his arm and his accusation away because they hit dead center.

  “You wouldn’t let me get close enough to pat her down before.”

  Had Hunter carried her out of that building, Oliver would’ve been able to keep his head, the mission, and his friendship on point. But so much had changed. He no longer wanted the status quo. He wanted Marina, even after she’d screwed them.

  “She’s—”

  “Don’t you dare say special,” Hunter spat. “She’s a piece of strange.”

  The roar ripped from Oliver’s chest. His fist connected with Hunter’s jaw. The stalwart face snapped to the side and then back.

  “Guess not.” Hunter waggled his jaw.

  In less than a blink, his friend moved like the pent-up animal he was. A heavy hand landed on Oliver’s belly, and he staggered into the couch. Its feet shrieked, leaving two grooves across the wooden floor. The burn and churn of bile settled his nerves, focused his rage.

  Hunter didn’t wait, he moved in fast. His hand wrapped the back of Oliver’s neck. Hunter’s elbow pressed into Oliver’s clavicle.

  Oliver mirrored his friend’s moves instantly, locking him close.

  Their shoulders butted. Their arms tangled in lumps of strained muscles around each other’s necks and arms. They circled. Shoved. Slipped. Gripped. Then doubled their efforts to maim.

  “Stop!” Marina’s plea grazed his brain, but the unaccomplished bloodlust remained. His. Hunter’s. The Brotherhood’s. Any would do right now.

  The two men continued to grapple.

  “Tor dropped off the grid three days ago,” Marina hollered.

  Both men stilled but maintained their punishing holds. Their chests heaved, lifting their sturdy shoulders and binding the corded bands stretching their shirts.

  “He does that from time to time,” she continued. “Usually, there’s a threat or problem he’s dealing with. When it’s fixed, he’ll reappear. More people will end up dead, missing, or under his thumb.”

  Oliver released Hunter and straightened. “I should have beaten your ass sooner.”

  “Tried,” Hunter tossed with a sneer.

  They turned their attention on Marina. She stumbled forward from the wall to the cockeyed couch and gripped it like a brace. Her chin lifted to the heavens as though looking for strength.

  “Markus,” Marina’s voice quaked. “He’s Tor’s brother and business partner, a really brutal—”

  “Piece of shit,” Hunter offered. “We’re familiar with Markus Royan.”

  “Well, he flew out of Bromma headed to the United States a week and a half ago. No one has heard from him since.” She shrugged. “Tor might be in the States, looking for Markus. He might be in one of his bunkers.” Hunter’s lips parted. “Before you ask, no. He has at least five, and I don’t know the location of even one. He never took any of the Brotherhood members with him, which pissed them off.”

  “You couldn’t have told us this earlier?” Oliver wiped a smudge of blood from his lip.

  “I don’t trust easily. I told you that,” she explained.

  “You also said we couldn’t trust you.” A snort cleared the blood trickling from his nose. “So what changed to make you trust us?” Oliver took a step toward her. She stepped away.

  The retreat hurt worse than any punch he’d ever taken. He pulled up short. “Not much, I see.”

  “I didn’t have anything important to share.” She shrugged.

  “Let us decide that.” Oliver shoved his hands in his pockets. “Markus is dead.”

  “What?” Marina’s shoulders straightened. The corner of her mouth quirked. “How?”

  “He and his crew took someone else dear to Cara,” Oliver whispered.

  Marina covered a gasp. “Please, not Rin. Not her daughter.”

  Both men’s heads shook.

  “Luck? He could take it. Rin's an innocent, just like…” Her lips clamped shut as if she’d almost said too much. She shook it off and continued. “Is he okay?”

  “Luck is fine. They took Tyler, one of our friends. They beat the shit out of him then held him as bait for Cara. Like they did to you.” His gaze dropped to her legs. The couch and feet between them didn’t diminish their impact. He had a memory that’d lock those things in the vault.

  “Is your friend…” She let the question trail off.

  “Cara saved him and killed Markus.” Oliver took another step toward her.

  Even though Marina talked a tough game, the hurt played across her face like a tragic accident. Slow. Devastating. Unstoppable. She stumbled to a cushy chair and fell onto the seat. Cara had chosen to save a man Marina didn’t know, that Cara herself probably didn’t much know, over Marina. Her gaze studied the tightly woven fabric as if it was a maze that, once solved, granted the secret to eternity.

  “She was shot and nearly killed in the battle.” Hunter stepped up even with Oliver. He gave Marina a crooked grin. “She’d have come if she were able.”

  “She owes me nothing. Neither do you.” Marina straightened. “So please don’t fight
because of me.”

  “We weren’t fighting. Just working out the kinks.” Hunter winked.

  Oliver didn’t necessarily agree, but he kept quiet.

  “I sweet-talked a receptionist at the station.” Hunter’s white teeth peeked out from behind pouty lips. “Most of the bastards will be released in the morning. I’ll roll at first light. See who I can get cozy and alone. Somebody has to know something.”

  “Until then, I’ll stay out of your hair.” She shifted to stand and, no doubt, retreat.

  “Not so fast,” Oliver growled. “Since trust is limited, I’m sticking close.”

  12

  “Go to sleep, Bonnie.”

  Oliver’s gruff order slipped through the darkness and over Marina’s exposed calf. It worked its way past the crook of her knee, under the suffocating comforter, around the crest of her hips, and to the core of her swollen folds.

  “I am,” Marina groaned.

  “Liar.” He could have—should have—used the word to cut her. After all, she’d lied to him by omission at every turn. Instead, he teased her with a playful tone. His anger had melted away as they’d readied for bed—her with a quick brush of the teeth, and him with a full, mind-altering shower.

  Marina blamed that shower for her current state. Her mind had played her like a trumpet, flashing fantastic images of his naked form under the whooshing spray. What she imagined it looked like anyway. She’d huddled under the covers, shielding her eyes from the crack between the door and frame. When animalistic grunts snuck between the gap along with curls of steam, she hadn’t been able to turn away one moment longer.

  Her clit pulsed, remembering the way Oliver’s head hung between the taut bridge of his traps. His hair formed a blond waterfall around his face. He’d braced a palm on the glass, fingers spread wide. The muscles running wrist to shoulder and shoulders to ass cheeks bunched. Powerful thighs pistoned his hips forward. The perfectly carved bubble of his butt stopped them and drew them back from his fist. Marina hadn’t seen it or the heavy cock he stroked with near vicious pumps, but she’d heard his rough pleasure and near pained climax.