Storm Gathering: Scorpius Syndrome Book 4

by Rebecca Zanetti

  “I know,” he said, his expression unreadable.

  She couldn’t help but punch his chest one more time. “The Mercs are killers.”

  “We truly are,” he agreed.

  “No women are Mercs.” Her voice cracked.

  He paused. “No. All of my soldiers are men. But some do keep women.”

  Her stomach revolted.

  “Willing. All of them are willing.” He leaned in then, his nose nearly touching hers. “I don’t condone rape or anybody harming women. Forget anything you’ve heard about the Mercs. We’re assholes and killers, but we don’t abuse women or kids. Ever.” His voice remained sure and steady.

  Was he telling the truth?

  “I don’t want to go with you,” she said, her mouth working independently of her brain.

  “I know.” No give. Just pure, implacable soldier. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head, her nape brushing his strong fingers. Tingles cascaded down her spine. “Then leave me here. I have important work to do, Greyson.”

  He was silent for several beats. “No. But if your brother does as I ask, I’ll bring you safely back here.”

  She struggled briefly. “You don’t understand. Several crops were damaged when Scorpius ruined the world.”

  He leaned back. “Scorpius infected plants? Crops?”

  “No. Research facilities went under, and protocols were lost. Harmful agents have escaped labs.” That’s all she knew. But it was bad.

  “You think? Or you know?”

  She paused. “I, ah, know. I definitely know.”

  “Man, you’re a crappy liar. Just terrible.” He shook his head. “So you don’t know for sure. Either way, sweetheart. You’re coming with me.”

  “Or you’ll hurt me because we have a different definition for the word ‘hurt,’” she murmured.

  He sighed. “I can make life easy for you with great food, nice digs, and a whole lot of space. Or I can make it difficult. It’s totally up to you.” With that, he somehow swung her around, cradling her, and opened the door to deposit her in the backseat.

  “About time,” Damon grumbled, wiping sweat off his dark forehead.

  “Had a few things to get straight,” Greyson returned, his gaze meeting hers in the rearview mirror. “Right, Maureen Shadow?”

  Irritation bordering on fear remained, and she couldn’t find it within herself to see a way out of the situation. So she crossed her arms and gave him a harsh look, her chin firming, and her back teeth grinding together once more.

  He sighed. “Or, maybe not. But we will. That I promise you.”

  She couldn't meet his gaze any longer, so she turned to stare out the plastic-covered window. Sand spread out in every direction for miles. Within an hour, the sun turned to cloudy sky. By the time they reached the interstate, the sky had turned dark.

  “We're having an unusually strong rainy season in California,” Grey said congenially as Damon continued to watch out his window.

  Maureen didn't even turn her head toward him. She couldn't stop him from kidnapping her, but she didn't have to be nice about it.

  Soon hollowed-out vehicles began to dot the area on either side of the road.

  She shivered. It had been months since she'd ventured out into the very unsafe world. Instead, she’d worked around the clock to fix what had been broken. Then the lab had lost touch, and the information had stopped coming in. So she'd worked harder. In fact, it had been about twenty-four hours since she’d slept. Her eyes grew gritty.

  “Are you hungry?” Greyson asked. “Moe?”

  She ignored him and tried to keep her eyes open.

  He may have muttered something about stubbornness.

  The jeep drove on, the interior warm, the engine a quiet purr. Against her will, her eyelids closed. Just for a moment. Then she'd figure out a way to freedom.

  Her dreams were peaceful and full of nothing. For once.

  Hours later, it had to be, she awoke with a start. Surrounded by darkness and the feeling of man. She jerked and opened her mouth to instinctively scream.

  “You're safe.” The voice was low. Commanding. Strong. As were the arms around her and the chest she rested against.

  She opened her eyes and looked up to see Greyson's stubborn chin. He easily carried her through what appeared to be a luxurious living area in some type of villa lit by candles. Maybe a lodge. Panic clutched her, and she started to struggle.

  “Stop it,” he barked.

  She instinctively stilled. The last thing she wanted was to be dropped on her butt. “Where, ah, where am I?” she asked.

  “Santa Barbara. Merc Headquarters.” He walked down a spacious hallway and nudged open a door at the far end. Candles had been lit and placed in strategic areas, softly illuminating a large bedroom complete with a king-size bed in the middle. The sliding door was open, leading out to what appeared to be a dark deck. A sliver of moonlight glinted off the rolling ocean beyond. The smell of salt and brine wafted in.

  He set her on the bed and backed away.

  Her nails curled into the lush bedspread. Pretty landscapes covered the wall. “I slept all the way to Santa Barbara?” She shoved her curly hair away from her face. How in the hell had she actually fallen asleep?

  “Yeah.” He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms. “You talk in your sleep.”

  She blinked. “I do not.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Okay.”

  The door was wide open to the beach. She tried really hard not to look at it.

  His lips twitched. In the soft lighting, his face was all dark shadows and hard planes. Those odd eyes seemed to glow through the dusk. “I'd very much like to allow you some freedom here, Maureen.”

  She lifted her chin, feeling vulnerable on the big bed. The word 'allow' didn't sit well with her, but she couldn't much argue that he was in charge. Of the entire territory apparently. “So?”

  “So?” Lines fanned out from his eyes. When was the last time he’d slept? “I can't watch you every minute. This here is a learn by experience situation.”

  She blew out air. “I'm about as literal as possible, and I'm totally not understanding you.” He seemed to be trying to tell her something, and she just wasn't getting it. “Would you please stop speaking in riddles?”

  His eyes darkened. “Sure. Do what I tell you to do, behave yourself, and you'll enjoy your time here. Disobey me, and you'll regret it. Profoundly.”

  Every once in a while, beneath the hard tone and rough words, there was a hint of something cultured with him. “Where did you go to school?” she asked, surprising herself.

  His eyebrow lifted. “Do you understand me?”

  “Not really.” She glanced toward the open doors, unable to help herself this time.

  “In this lodge at all times, you're safe. Before dark, you're safe on the deck. Men I know and trust well are guarding this house. If you leave, I can't guarantee your safety.” He looked out at the turning ocean. “If you run, and I catch you, I'll make sure you won't think of running again.” His voice went low and gritty with the words.

  She shivered from the threat. Even so, she wasn't sure what he meant. Would he beat her up? Starve her? Torture her? Something in her, something deep down, didn't think he'd do any of those things. Yeah, he reminded her of her brother. Kind of. But maybe he wasn't anything like Raze. Maybe he would do those things.

  “I guess if I escape, I should make sure you don't catch me,” she said softly.

  For a moment, he didn't react. When he did, he took her by surprise. He looked back at her. A slow and intriguing smile curved his lips, but his relaxed body didn't move. “This is gonna be interesting.”

  Chapter Four

  You'd be really pissed at me these days. Shouldn't have died at eighty years old. I miss you.

  —Greyson Storm, Letters to Miss Julian

  A week after Grey had kidnapped Maureen Shadow, he sat in his home office and read over the reams of paper he had gathered
from one of the nearest greenhouses. A lot of formulas and crap filled his gaze, so he looked away and out the window at the rolling Pacific Ocean. Thunder bellowed above, and the wind forced bruised-looking clouds across the already depressing sky, nearly hiding the fact that it was around noon.

  Damon turned the corner, a sandwich in his hand. “This is the damnedest spring.”

  Grey sighed. “The rain is good, and we can't forget it. At some point…”

  “We could be out of water.” Damon nodded, shoving the rest of the food into his mouth and chewing slowly.

  Grey rolled tense neck muscles. “Did the latest scouts check in?”

  “Yep. Nobody has seen or heard of Zach Barter at any of the encampments. I'm thinking the guy is dead.”

  Maybe. But until Greyson had confirmation, he wouldn't stop hunting. Zach Barter was a blight on humanity. A former scientist, he'd purposefully spread the pandemic while killing indiscriminately. Grey had made a promise to hunt him down, and he would. “Barter isn't dead.”

  Damon sighed. “Maybe. We'll find out, either way. Somehow.”

  “Did you get our guest to eat?” The little horticulturist, or whatever she was, wouldn't leave his thoughts. She'd been in Grey's territory for a week, and he'd treated her like he would any trapped guest. But she had made an escape attempt the day before, even knocking out two of his guys before he'd caught her. Now she’d apparently stopped eating.

  “No,” Damon said, his dark gaze narrowing. “She's a stubborn one.”

  Damn it. Grey had enough to worry about. He stood and crossed around the heavy oak desk. The former proprietors of the mansion had liked oak, teak, and glass. Pictures of famous golf courses adorned the walls. He moved into the hallway just as the front door opened.

  “Grey?” Mason Peterson, one of his top soldiers, poked his head in. “The enemy has breached the gate.” The former dentist grinned perfectly white teeth.

  Grey paused. “Shadow is here?”

  “Yep. And I don't know the guy, but I'd have to say he's pissed,” Mason said.

  Grey shoved the papers into Damon's hand. It was about damn time. “Give Maureen these and tell her to eat if she wants to get any more data to read about the greenhouses.” Without waiting for a response, Grey grabbed a walkie-talkie, the red file, and stalked through the entryway and out the door, following Mason to the waiting motorcycles.

  “We kept him at the south entrance,” Mason said.

  Grey nodded. When he had secured the beach area of Santa Barbara, he'd created three entry and exit points. It had taken semis, trailers, barbed wire, glass, and armed guards to secure most of the areas, but even so, the territory was too large. He should've condensed better, but he didn't want to give up any resources. He started the Harley’s ignition and swung onto the road, letting the rain batter him on the way.

  Finally, he reached the end of a lane heavily fortified and guarded.

  Raze Shadow stood in the rain, his arms at his sides, fury crackling across his face. He looked more Native American than his sister did, except for his eyes. They glittered, deep and blue, promising death.

  Greyson parked the bike and strode forward, leaving his gun at the back of his waist. There were enough weapons pointed at Raze at the moment. “Thanks for coming.” His voice cut through the storm.

  “Where the fuck is my sister?” Shadow asked, his voice a low rumble of rage.

  Greyson kept his gaze. “She's fine. In a room by herself near the beach guarded by men I trust. Nobody has touched her, and nobody will touch her. If you do what I ask.”

  “Ask?” Shadow's eyebrows rose. This close, the guy looked every bit as dangerous as his reputation claimed him to be.

  The rain increased in force, pinging up from the asphalt. Grey handed over the red file. It'd be a good fight if they went at it, but he needed Raze in good shape to take on the president.

  Raze studied him and then took it. “What the hell is this?”

  “At least two months ago, President Atherton kidnapped Vivienne Wellington from what was left of the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit and the Scorpius Protocol Infirmary.” A euphemism for an Scorpius insane asylum.

  “So?” Shadow asked.

  “I can't find them. I have intel that you were working for the FBI until very recently,” Grey said, sure of his sources.

  Shadow didn't open the file. “You heard wrong.”

  Jesus. The guy kept his gaze on Grey but was scoping the entire area. “You were on point to hunt and take out serial killers, and I know it. So don't fuck me around.”

  Raze just stared.

  “You have better intel than I do about Atherton's location since you were working for him. Also, I've seen your file, man. I know how well you hunt.” Greyson kept his voice reasonable.

  “Then you should've thought twice about this,” Raze said lowly.

  Yeah. Grey had known when he came up with the plan that it would end with one of them dying from the other's hand at some point. So long as it was after he fulfilled his promise, he didn't much care. “Find Atherton, retake Wellington, and bring her to me. I'll exchange her for your sister.” It was that simple.

  Raze's chin lowered. “You can't find your own woman?”

  “She's not mine,” Grey said quietly. “But I need her. I think Vanguard is also hunting Atherton, so if you need help, go to them. Infiltrate Vanguard. That's the deal.”

  “I'm going to fucking kill you.”

  Grey nodded and tossed over the walkie-talkie. “Press the red button.”

  Raze pressed the button. “What now?”

  “Raze?” came clearly over the line. “Fucking kill that dickhead of a moron, would you?” Maureen snapped, her voice clear.

  Raze didn't twitch. Not even a bit. “Moe? You okay?”

  “Well, I've been kidnapped,” she muttered.

  Raze kept his gaze on Greyson. “How far are you from where I am?”

  Greyson shook his head. “She has no clue.” The woman had been sleeping when he drove her in.

  “Dunno,” Maureen said. “I'm fine, though. But I'd like you to gut that asshole Greyson for my birthday, if you don't mind. Spill his intestines on the pavement so I can jump around on them.”

  Amusement bubbled through Grey, but he hid it. She truly was something.

  “You got it,” Raze said evenly, tossing the walkie-talkie back. He eyed the guards on either side.

  Greyson caught the device. “Bad idea. If you die, there will be nobody to save her.” Turning on his heel, he made his way back to the bike. “Information about our next meeting and the drop are in the file. Don't let it get wet.” He started the Harley, swung it around, and rode away, feeling the burn from Raze's glare between his shoulder blades.

  Yeah. Dangerous enemy to have. That was life. His front tire skidded on a mud puddle, and he quickly corrected, reaching headquarters in record time.

  Drawing in air, he moved to his room and changed his wet clothing for more faded jeans and a black T-shirt. Then he ran his fingers through his hair and made his way toward the back bedroom, where he knocked and then walked in.

  Maureen stood and faced him. Her hand was down at her side at an odd angle.

  Shit. Did she have a knife?

  He sighed. Her hair rioted around her shoulders, so black that it contrasted intriguingly with her light blue eyes. He started talking, barely listening to her responses, his focus on the weapon. When would she make a move?

  The conversation didn't interest him, but he kept it up.

  Finally, after he didn't say whatever it was she wanted him to say, she stiffened even more. He got tired of waiting. “What are you planning?” he asked quietly, not wanting to hurt her but needing to make a point. If she attacked somebody, she'd better know what she was doing.

  She stepped back. “Nothing.”

  God, she was a terrible liar. “Then I suggest you make a move with that knife in your hand. Let's see where we end up, shall we?” On the last, he lunged.
>
  She fell back and lifted the knife.

  He grabbed her hand, which was wrapped around the hilt. Then he let the point rest against his chest.

  She blinked, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her skin was soft, her knuckles small. “Let go.”

  “Would you really stab me?” he asked quietly, trying to see inside her head. This close, he could smell that wild bluebell scent of hers. Even after using whatever soap and shampoo they had on hand outside in the showers, her natural scent still filtered through. “Moe?”

  “Yes.” Her jaw firmed.

  Her eyes didn't look so convinced.

  “Your brother is fine and is going to cooperate.” One step forward and Grey would be flush against her. His breath heated, and his body warmed. She was stunning, spitting fire at him. “So how about you do the same?” With an easy twist of his wrist, he secured the knife and then released her.

  She pressed her hands against her hips, her lips pursed and looking beyond kissable. “Like I said, I don't think you'd hurt me.”

  He had been paying attention to the knife and not the conversation. “Baby, if you had any idea what I'd like to do with you, you'd be backing away.”

  Her eyes flared and heated. Not just with anger, either. There was interest there, not interest she wanted obviously, but there nonetheless. “Greyson, let me make something abundantly clear. I'd rather turn into a nun than do anything with you. A spinster. An old cat lady.”

  God, she was cute.

  “Understood.” He barely kept his lips from twitching. Oh, he could kiss her and prove her wrong. But, no. He'd kidnapped her, so that kept her safely off limits from him. From anybody in Merc territory. “If you want to limit your exposure to me, then you're gonna want to eat your food and stop trying to escape.”

  She frowned. “Or what?”

  Man, she really wasn't scared of him. He bit back a laugh. Most people trembled at his name these days, but this little, half-his-size horticulturist had just attacked him with a knife. “Or I'll feed you myself, whether you like it or not.” The intimacy of the idea was way too appealing.

  She blinked. “I'd rather swallow broken glass than eat out of your hand.”