Storm Gathering: Scorpius Syndrome Book 4

by Rebecca Zanetti

  She glared harder, if that were possible.

  Damon stiffened next to him. “Incoming.”

  They had a truck in the lead, another behind them, with the jeep secured between the two because of the woman. Grey hated being in the middle, but after one minute with Maureen, he had decided to drive the vehicle containing her.

  “Use the binoculars,” Grey ordered.

  Damon reached into the jockey box and took out a pair of Army-issued binoculars they’d found on a base months ago. “One truck, speeding at us, two guys with shotguns in the back. Standing,” Damon said. “They’re not here for a tea party.”

  “Shit.” Grey scrutinized the sand dunes on either side. There was no cover. He looked at Maureen. “Have you had any trouble out at the lab?”

  “No,” she whispered, the color leaving her face. “It’s too far out for anybody to know about.”

  Yeah. That’s what he’d thought. It had taken him over a month to track her down, and it hadn't been easy. When he’d decided to make a move on Moe, he’d sent Damon back with the jeep to bring enforcements. Somebody had seen them. “Somebody caught wind of the two trucks coming in today.”

  “Affirmative,” Damon said, no inflection in his deep voice.

  It hadn’t been Damon, but he didn’t bother defending himself. The guy had been LAPD and probably saw more shit before Scorpius than afterward. After four months of fighting together, Grey trusted him as much as any soldier he'd ever fought with. “Ideas?”

  “Only one thing to do,” Damon said.

  Yeah. Fuck. He’d only had the woman in his possession for thirty minutes, and he was about to get her into a firefight. Grey brought the walkie-talkie to his face. “All stop. Trucks cover, jeep in back. If they engage, no prisoners.”

  The four men in the trucks were well trained, and he trusted them as much as anybody these days.

  The truck in front of him swerved and blocked the road sideways. Grey jerked the wheel of the jeep and drove off the road, waiting until the second vehicle passed him before pointing the SUV in the opposite direction. He stopped the engine. “Maureen, what kind of protection do you have back at the lab? Anything we didn’t see because of the surprise infiltration?”

  She didn’t bother to answer him.

  Damon jumped from the vehicle and started yelling orders for the four other men to take cover and get ready to shoot.

  Grey turned and reached for Maureen.

  She fought him, struggling, punching out.

  The woman had a decent uppercut. She nailed him, and his jaw snapped shut. “Damn it.” Manacling her arms, he dragged her over the center console and out of the jeep, all but carrying her around to the front, which faced back the way they’d come. Nothing but sand and dunes met his eyes. He set her on the ground. “Get low and keep your head down.”

  She bunched to run, her eyes wild.

  He grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her skin was incredibly soft. “If you run, they’ll shoot you.” The woman sucked in air, her chest heaving. He waited several precious moments and tightened his hold until she finally focused and gave a short nod. Good. “Stay behind the jeep, and you’ll be covered.” Yanking his Glock from the back of his jeans, he strode over to Damon, who was partially ducked down behind one of the trucks. “Status?”

  Damon jerked his head toward the oncoming vehicle, which had stopped to face them about fifty yards down the quiet road. Two guys with shotguns leaned the weapons on the top of the cab, pointed at Greyson's group. “They’re thinking,” Damon muttered.

  Grey nodded. They’d need to get closer to shoot. Probably hadn’t thought they would meet resistance quite yet.

  “Should we go to them?” A guy named Schmidt asked from the far right, his gun pointed around the side of a truck.

  Greyson would love a good fight, and he wanted those shotguns, but Moe had to be protected. He’d promised. “No. If they retreat, let them.” Might just be decent people wondering if his trucks had been going somewhere safe with food. Like anywhere was safe…or had enough food. “They choose their destinies.” Today, anyway.

  Damon shrugged. “They see the trucks and the guns. It'd be suicide for them to attack with only a couple of shotguns.” He began to lift the binoculars again. “Though they may be desperate enough to do it.”

  Grey didn’t want to have to kill anybody in front of Maureen. Why, he’d figure out later. Only part of his former job as a sniper had been shooting people. Another part was shooting targets to influence people. “Hold tight.” He slipped his Glock back into place, unzipped the plastic window of the jeep, and lifted out his rifle.

  Damon whistled. “That's a pretty one. Thought you Marine Scout Snipers only used the M40.”

  The rifle had been about to be retired when all hell had broken loose. Not that he didn't have one back at headquarters. “A month ago when you were scouting up north, we raided a couple of houses near LA that had a lot of guns.” Grey brought out the Mk.21, holding the sniper rifle with care.

  Damon lifted the binoculars and peered through. “Two guys inside the truck. Can't make out faces or weapons.” He glanced over. “You going to shoot them?”

  “No.” Grey moved toward the nearest truck and set the weapon down, crouching to see through the scope. Holding the rifle, a sudden pang hit his gut. God, he missed Ferris. The guy was the best spotter in the world. At the reminder, Greyson settled himself, taking precious moments to calculate distance, light, range, wind speed, and direction. Hell, there wasn't wind. But there was always gravity. He focused and squeezed the trigger, purposefully hitting just to the right of the enemy truck. Sand flew up in every direction, partially covering the front window.

  “You missed,” Damon said mildly from behind him.

  “Nope.” Grey straightened and quickly reloaded just in case. “Don't want to leave them helpless in the desert.” But hopefully he'd made his point.

  Movement showed in the truck, and the two guys in back ducked down.

  “They're leaving?” Damon asked. “That was easy.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Maureen asked, sounding way too close.

  Grey looked over his shoulder to see her coming his way, crouching down. “Go back—”

  “Shit,” Damon muttered.

  Grey swiveled back to target. Suddenly, one man stood up in the back of the truck, a grenade launcher over his shoulder.

  “Shit. Retreat!” Greyson yelled.

  The guy fired.

  Grey squeezed the trigger a second later, taking the guy out. The truck to Greyson’s right exploded, flipping over in a flash of fire. Heat smashed into him, and only training kept him from ducking. Somebody shrieked in pain and then fell silent. Fuck. He reloaded, hitting the other standing guy center mass. The guy flew back and out of sight.

  Damon ran over and dragged Schmidt away from the burning tires, patting out flames along his torso.

  The enemy truck started again, and the driver punched the gas, driving straight for them.

  Grey settled and shot the driver between the eyes. The guy slumped forward, and the truck slowed. Without missing a step, Grey reloaded and then squeezed the trigger. The passenger died in a second.

  Four dead.

  The truck finally rolled to a stop.

  Greyson stood and turned. Damon stood over a partially burned body. “Status?”

  Damon wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead, his deep brown eyes sober. “Two of ours dead.” He jerked his head toward the mangled body of another soldier, still burning by the ruined truck. The stench of burned flesh and tires clogged the air.

  The soldiers from the right moved Grey’s way, their gaze on the fallen guy on the ground.

  Pain cut into Grey’s gut. He’d lost two. Good soldiers, and men he’d trusted. Failure settled heavily on his shoulders, but he let nothing show. Never let anything show. Yeah. He’d learned that lesson multiple times in his life.

  Maureen leaned against the back of the j
eep, her face whiter than paper and her eyes open wide. In the hazy day, they were a stunning aquamarine.

  Grey shoved all emotion away. “Get the guns, rocket launcher, and anything else of value from the other truck. Put our dead in the back of our remaining one, and we’ll bury them at base.”

  Damon started moving around the still burning truck. “The gas tank already exploded,” he muttered, not hitching his stride. The other two soldiers went for blankets for the bodies.

  Greyson headed for Maureen. She shrank from him, and he slowed his pace. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  She blinked, her pupils expanded.

  Keeping his voice firm and low, he gently grasped her arm and pulled her to stand fully upright. “You’re in shock, but you’re safe. I told you nothing would happen to you, and it won’t.”

  She focused on him, realization filtering into her eyes. “Unless my brother doesn’t do what you say.”

  He straightened.

  She pressed forward, color finally filling her face. “What if he doesn’t, Greyson? You going to shoot me like you did those men?” Her hair tumbled around her shoulders as she shook with her anger. Or was that terror? “You going to take me out?”

  Loss, fury, and desperation ripped through him with claws. It was his fault there were now six dead men nearby. Even the ones who didn’t belong to him could’ve been saved somehow. He stepped into her. “Not for one fucking second do I need a bullet to take care of you.” Grasping her elbows, he lifted her right off the ground. The woman weighed less than the chocolate Lab he’d had years ago.

  She kicked out, nailing him right below the knee.

  The instant pain calmed him, somehow reassuring. She was okay and no longer cowering. Good. Yet he’d sworn at her. Miss Julian would be so pissed at him.

  Yet Southern manners were a luxury that no longer existed. Keeping Maureen aloft, he studied her.

  She glared right back, her expression projecting her intent.

  “Don’t kick me again,” he said softly, letting the threat show in his eyes.

  She paused, thoughts scattering across her face.

  On some level, one she’d probably never admit, she must feel somewhat safe with him. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be glaring and seriously considering kicking him again. He cocked his head to the side. Why? He’d kidnapped her, and he’d just taken out four men. Yet her internal struggle was real.

  He saw the second she decided that spirit was more important than survival and decided to kick again. Going on instinct, he tossed her up, released her arms, and manacled her hips, stepping right into her.

  She gasped, pinned to the jeep, her thighs on either side of his hips. “What the—”

  “I said not to kick me.” The position caused him more pain than it did her, unfortunately. With her thighs spread and her core so close, his dick perked right up. Damn it. He swallowed, keeping his hold firm but not bruising. This close, he could smell her. Woman and…bluebells. The wild kind. “We’re having a problem right now, sweetheart.”

  She swallowed, the fine line of her delicate throat moving. “Let go.”

  “I’d like to,” he lied. “But you keep pushing. Just how far do you intend to take this?”

  Chapter Three

  All scientists need to keep unemotional records for later study. What a load of crap.

  —Maureen Shadow, Notes

  Maureen couldn’t breathe. There was just too much happening. Smoke rolled from the fallen truck as fire roared through the interior and smelled like burned rubber. Heat poured off the man holding her against the jeep as if she weighed nothing. Her legs were spread, nearly around him, and warmth filtered into her face. She averted her eyes from the guys lifting bodies into the one remaining truck. “Let me go.”

  “No,” Greyson said softly. How come the softer his voice became, the deadlier he sounded?

  She lifted her chin. No matter what happened, she’d never cower. Never. Her heart hammered, and not all of it was from fear. There was just something about him. Even after she’d kicked him as hard as she could, he hadn’t lost his temper. Not an inch of him seemed angry. It was as if holding her aloft had just been the most expedient way to keep from being kicked again. Who was he? “Release me,” she whispered.

  Damon strode toward them with shotguns and some big, black rocket thing over his shoulder, the sun glinting off his sunglasses. He wasn’t quite as tall as Greyson, but was wide across the chest and muscled.

  She couldn’t take both of them down, even if the other two soldiers weren’t around.

  Damon approached, black eyebrow visibly lifting over the glasses. “This is weird.”

  If Maureen thought Greyson would get embarrassed or put her down as his buddy approached, she was definitely mistaken.

  “We’re having a difference of opinion,” Grey said quietly, holding her in place, her legs all but wrapped around his waist.

  Temper and an uneasy awareness filtered through her. He held her so easily, his strength impressive. She shoved both hands against his chest and pushed as hard as she could.

  Nothing happened.

  It was a long shot, but maybe Damon could help her. The guy looked like some sort of hero, and he moved with grace. He also seemed to be sticking close as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do. “Damon? I don’t know you, but this is improper. Could you help me?” She kept Greyson’s gaze as she asked.

  A flash of humor lit Greyson’s intriguing eyes.

  Damon shuffled his feet. “Well, now.” He shoved his glasses up on his head, showing soft brown eyes barely a shade darker than his skin. With his angled jaw, he looked a little bit like a movie star. Well, what used to be a movie star. Now, everybody was a soldier. “When a lady asks for help, I do like to oblige.”

  Triumph filled her.

  “But,” Damon said, “Greyson saved my life, and I don’t see you as actually being in danger. What’d she do?”

  “Kicked me,” Greyson said easily.

  “Ah,” Damon said. “Well, I guess that's one way to keep from being kicked.” He cleared his throat. “Do you guys mind moving this around the jeep a little? I’d like to put this stuff in the back.”

  “No problem.” His hands flexing, Grey easily pivoted and walked around the SUV, pressing her against the plastic door of the driver’s side when he got there.

  Were these guys joking? Having fun? “I’m about to punch you in the nose,” she told him primly.

  “Darlin', you never tell somebody before you punch them in the nose,” he said, his voice lowering.

  She knew that. Everybody knew that.

  “So I’m thinking you’re not really going to hit me,” he said. “Which tells me a couple of things.”

  Just who was this guy?

  He continued. “You’re scared, but you’re trying real hard to hide it. I get that. You’re proud and stubborn, and you want me to know it. I get that, too. Hell, I admire it.”

  She blinked. All right.

  “But here’s the rub. I’m telling you a couple of things, too.” Pressing her to the jeep, one of his hands released her hip to clasp her nape. His hand was wide enough to hold her whole neck with room to spare.

  She couldn’t move. Her lungs seized. “What’s that?” she asked, shocked as hell when her voice didn’t tremble.

  He breathed out, his chest way too close to hers. “You can’t win, baby.”

  Her temper rose, and her eyes widened. “Listen—”

  “No. You listen.” He waited until she snapped her mouth shut before continuing. “You’re coming with us. You can’t control that.”

  She kept silent because there wasn’t much to argue with.

  “You’re staying with me until I let you go, and you can’t control that.”

  Her nostrils flared, but she kept silent.

  He gave a short nod, his fingers caressing her nape. “What you can control, what you’re gonna want really badly to control, is the way you behave once you’re in my te
rritory.”

  The absolute conviction in his tone was terrifying.

  Her instant fear moved right into frustration. “Are you threatening me?” she asked, her teeth grinding in the back.

  “Yes.”

  Her hands were still against the thin material covering his chest. Beneath the meager black shirt, his torso was ripped and predatory. Strong. She could curl her nails in and scratch him, but as a defense went, it sucked.

  Damon poked his head around the front of the jeep. “I’m sending the remaining truck on before us. You guys, ah, about ready?”

  “In a second,” Greyson said quietly. “Get in the jeep.”

  “Sure thing,” Damon said cheerfully, disappearing around the front again. There was something watchful about the guy. Something that gave her hope.

  She focused on Greyson. “I don’t think he’d let you hurt me.”

  The sun moved behind Grey, casting his rugged face into shadow. “He’s ex-LAPD, and you’re right about him,” he said softly. “But here’s the thing.” His fingers stopped moving on her neck.

  Adrenaline flooded her. “What?”

  “I wouldn’t let me hurt you, either.”

  What the hell? “So, we’re at a stalemate.” This was so damn confusing.

  “Not really. The point I’m trying to make—that I’m not making very well—is that your idea of hurt and my idea of hurt might be two vastly different things.”

  The spit in her mouth dried up. Completely. Panic engulfed her, and she started to struggle. Arms, legs, elbows…she used them all.

  He held her, patiently waiting her out.

  Frustration shot heated tears to her eyes, and she blinked them back. She punched her fists into his chest, and her knuckles instantly protested. He didn’t so much as blink. After a couple of minutes, she halted, her chest heaving. “You are such a dick.”

  “Yep.” He hadn’t moved an inch. Was he even breathing? Barely. He was just way stronger than she was.

  She subsided. Physically fighting him was a waste of energy. But she had a brain. “I’ll survive anything you do to me.”