“I’m Sarah Steele, you lunatic, I look hot no matter how I wear my hair.”
“Damn straight,” he answered before he closed his eyes again.
He was going to be fine, and eventually—when she could remove the image of him nearly dying on the street out of her head—so would she.
Three months later…
“What do you propose to do with your new purchases?” Zach fingered the paddle she handed him before looking at her, his expression guarded.
Sarah sat next to him. “I propose to spank your behind. What did you imagine I wanted to do?”
She loved getting these reactions from him. He always objected when she pushed a limit, and then he always adored the final result. If he really objected, she backed off. He still hadn’t done so. Some day, she might tell him he really preferred being submissive in bed. Not then. He’d lived through an explosion and getting shot, she didn’t want to risk giving him a heart attack to boot.
“We talked about my ass being out of the question. A couple of times, if I recall.”
She set the paddle down. “Something to think about.”
Before she knew what was happening, he flipped her over onto her back. The soft mattress of their bed caught her, and she squealed. “I’ll give you something to think about. Two things, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” She wrapped her legs around his waist. “Such as what?”
“The first.” His face fell serious in what she thought of as business Zach. It came close to when he actually assumed his Zinc persona. Although, Zinc had total focus and a real tendency to end up kicking someone’s ass. Serious Zach was less likely to throw a punch. Neither version was ever an issue to her. He always treated her as if she was the best damn thing he’d ever seen.
She loved the fuck out of him.
“The four assholes who harmed you won’t be bothering anyone ever again. Money trail followed. Loose ends tied up.”
Not the most romantic thing ever said, yet great news nonetheless. “Awesome. And the second thing? More shop talk while I have my legs wrapped around you?”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small black box. “How about my latest buy?”
Slowly, he opened it until she saw a diamond ring. In her life, Sarah had never really imagined a proposal moment. Lots of girls wanted the whole romance deal, she had wanted poker nights. But with her man?
“Damn it, Zach, you’re making me cry again.”
He shook his head. “That’s not an answer.”
“I haven’t heard a question.” She ran her hand across his arm. A perfect guy—even though he snapped at her when his head hurt and could manage a funk akin to no other—had been made for her. Did he really think there was a chance she wouldn’t say yes?
“Will you marry me, Sarah Steele?”
“I will, Zachery.” She leaned forward to kiss him hard on the lips. “Thanks for asking.”
“Well, you gave me back my bike. I give you a diamond ring. Seems a fair trade.”
“Hey.” She pinched him, and he grinned from ear to ear.
“I love you.” He slipped the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly, as she’d known it would. She loved him too. And spent the rest of the night showing him so.
I am Sarah Steele. I am Zach’s. Or he is mine. Both, really. Any threat will have to go through Elite Metal to find me. I’m good to go.
Volume Three
1
Russell “Francium” Burke stood in the center of the dressing room while the tailors and salespeople fussed over him. He was about to spend thousands of Titanium’s dollars to appear exactly the way he needed in order to summer in the Hamptons. Some events would require a tuxedo, whereas others might need a suit—and never the same one twice. The trip also involved the acquisition of polo shirts, shorts, khaki pants, a seer-sucker jacket, and some shoes.
He loosened his jaw and breathed through his nose. Men, like the one he was about to become, didn’t sweat the small things like the cost of their clothes. If Titanium did, then too damned bad. He could find someone else to spend the summer schmoozing with the assholes with too much time and too much money to be ethical.
No one pretended as well as Francium. He’d been doing it his whole life, and now he got to do it for the good guys. Well, the semi-good guys.
His phone dinged, and he looked down at it as the second seamstress started on the hem of his left leg.
Why am I getting pinged on my credit card that you have just spent thousands of dollars at Tom Ford?
Since operation Too Fucked Up In Russia had gone from bad to fucked, Francium’s boss, code name Titanium, had lost his vision. He was totally blind. And yet somehow, he never missed a thing.
I’m being downright frugal. I’ve got to project the role. Being seen here isn’t bad either. Could have been 10k if I’d let them design my own personal tuxedo.
It took a full minute before Titanium answered. He must have been fuming. Or talking to his wife-slash-assistant-slash-nurse-slash hot number woman in his life. Titanium and all of his various men worked on the same projects Francium did, but they took twice as long to get results. Maybe because they spent so much time falling in love and not enough time killing bad guys.
Of course, his own team had started doing that as well. Russell shoved thoughts of Wen and his woman out of his head and returned to the matter at hand, which happened to be Titanium and his purse strings.
Surely there was something you could have found that looked as good as the Tom Ford and didn’t cost Tom Ford prices?
He rolled his eyes. I don’t remember you complaining about my price when I was pulling your ass and the rest of your team from death on the cold ground in Russia. If you want half-priced service, I’d be happy to take a long break, eat some dinner, watch some television, and get to Red Wolf sometime in the middle of August.
He could feel Titanium’s annoyance over the text messages. In person, the other man would probably have lowered his voice and made Francium stand there for a while without speaking.
We’ll talk when you get back.
Francium had never been military, but his years with the CIA had taught him discipline and not to be insubordinate when the boss gave you an order. He’d cow-tow as necessary. Titanium would probably have him inventory the supply house to teach him a lesson on expenditures. He’d eat his shit if it meant getting the job done correctly.
The buzzing of an air conditioner and the chitchat of people making purchases tempered the loud bang of sensory overload from the always hopping Manhattan outside. The salesman who had helped him pick out the tuxedo brought Francium a scotch, meant to relax him, anesthetize him from the pain of the purchase, and loosen his purse strings so he bought more. If only they knew the man writing this particular check was in a compound in Texas.
Titanium could probably use the scotch.
The warm sting of the alcohol slid down the back of his throat. He smiled like he enjoyed the sensation. Francium only drank when he was on the job. Left to his own devices, water and tea were his drinks of choice.
His phone buzzed again, and he exhaled loudly, smiling at the seamstress. “I suppose I’m never really not at work.”
She grinned at him, kneeling on the ground in front of him. He liked a woman on her knees but not for hemming his trousers. His best friend, Wen, had texted him.
You left without even saying goodbye?
Yeah…it had been a shitty move. Wen had been Russell’s friend since forever. They’d been lovers once, but that had been more like a comfort fuck than anything else. These days, they were more like brothers. Francium had always preferred women, but he’d fuck anyone who moved if the day called for it. Sexuality was fluid, and so was he.
He’d never not told Wen where he was going or when he expected to be back before. The thing was, Wen had gone and fallen in love. She was a great girl. Russell even liked her. But how the hell was he supposed to deal with Wen now?
Happiness had ne
ver been on either of their radars before. Running and hiding suited Russell. He wasn’t above hightailing it when the need presented itself.
Didn’t want to bother you. Seemed you were busy.
Wen, a defrocked priest, would see Russell’s response for the pissed off passive-aggressive move it was.
For real on this?
Francium shut off the phone. Enough was enough. He didn’t do emotions, and he wasn’t going to come off like some jealous ex because his best friend was happy. Russell’s job was going to take all summer, it would be enough time for him to get his shit together and be back in control when he returned.
The tuxedo was ready to be tailored for him. His job had officially begun.
Standing on the porch of the deck overlooking the ocean, Russell watched his target from across the beach. Remington Reagan—every time Francium even thought the name, he snorted, he’d have to get his response under control—fucked his very good-looking wife up against the wall of their seven thousand square foot home. Unlike Francium, who had rented the house—thank you, Titanium—for the summer, the Reagans owned their beach house. They also owned their co-op in Manhattan and their ski home in Vale. Of course, they were getting later and later in their payments.
Remington was being fed information—or rather his underlings were—leading to bad investments and loss of income. Since the money he invested, well eighty percent of it, was Red Wolf’s, the big boss was going to need answers soon. His pockets were getting mighty empty. They’d come to all this information thanks to Zinc, who had, in the process of rescuing his then girlfriend now wife, Sarah, had pulled a ton of information off an island where Red Wolf’s now-dead lawyer lived. Sarah put a bullet between the man’s eyes, and their intel had doubled.
Oh, the dramatic love stories of his colleagues and friends…That wouldn’t be happening to Francium. Leave lovelorn nonsense to others.
As long as the Reagan’s underling continued to make such bad calls, they’d all be fine. He’d soon be fired, and Francium would walk right in because he was going to be Reagan’s best friend. Six months in place, then Reagan would have an accident. Oh, not one that would kill him—although he was such a scumbag, Francium wouldn’t miss him—but it would put him out of work. Red Wolf would then turn to him. They’d have his finances by the throat.
Bye-bye money, bye-bye Red Wolf. Or at least, it would help. His team was taking care of the rest. It might even be possible to shorten the timeline, if Russell could get really friendly, fast.
In the meantime, Reagan had three mistresses and a hot wife he was not satisfying in bed. Russell strolled to the edge of the porch, sipping his tea and watching. Francium loved to watch. Truth was, he was a total voyeur and not at all ashamed at letting his freak flag fly when circumstances allowed.
Lara London-Reagan had the best legs he’d ever seen. Currently, they were wrapped around her husband’s waist while he slammed her into the wall over and over in his Neanderthal-esque fucking, if it could even be called that, display. Francium wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a woman so completely uninterested in sex before.
Was she frigid, or was Reagan’s banging routine not what she was into? He didn’t suppose it mattered. His intel told him Lara was a nice woman. She’d been an art dealer, once upon a time, before she’d been Mrs. Reagan.
She’d helped return art stolen from Jewish families during World War II by the Germans. Not every dealer would do that, not when there were millions on the line. He’d been impressed. Why did she marry such a scumbag? Francium sighed. He’d never understand romance. Fucking, yes. Loving, no.
He set down his teacup on the table next to him. This was deadly dull. He liked to watch, but usually at least both of the parties he spent time with were having a good time. It was their own fault if they didn’t close their curtains. Francium sat in his chair like he had nothing better to do in the world than sit there and observe.
Reagan’s underling sent information to Francium earlier in the day. Red Wolf’s portfolio would be down another few points. Tap by tap, it looked like incompetence instead of an attack. Acting anonymously, Zinc demanded Danny Clyde, the underling, do this or they’d tell his wife and then the authorities about the other women—all twenty-four of them, and not all of age. When this was over, Francium would turn old Danny right in. He didn’t like men who dated fifteen-year-old girls. Three more months, and those kids’ parents would know.
He didn’t like the way predators hid, whether they were the rich or the poor kind. At least prey should know they were under attack. Red Wolf had been the predator for too long. He wouldn’t be around to harm anyone else.
Lara turned her head, looking out the window and caught his attention. Her eyes widened when they made eye contact. A distance away, it was hard to see him, but not impossible. Francium groaned. This was going to be a problem. He was going to go from nice new neighbor to creepy guy next door. Best thing to do was to quickly walk inside like he was embarrassed for having seen her.
Except she smiled at him. With his forehead pressed into her shoulder, her husband couldn’t see what she did. Lara bit down on her bottom lip, her entire demeanor suddenly changing. As her husband continued his attempt, Lara suddenly became engaged in the act. Only…it wasn’t Reagan’s lovemaking exciting her. It was Russell. He’d been a voyeur long enough to know the difference.
Well, if she liked to be watched, he’d give it to her. Francium sat back in his seat, put his feet up on the nicely placed footstool, and watched.
Her cheeks got pinker, and her head arched back where it leaned against the wall. He couldn’t hear her, but he’d bet she’d gotten louder, wetter. If she’d been one of his women, he’d have directed her ahead of time for certain acts to increase both her pleasure and his. Things she’d be doing to Reagan right now would get Francium off watching, and make her own excitement double. He couldn’t instruct her, but he liked that she wanted him to watch.
Red-headed, five foot seven, thin, with long limbs and small but perfect breasts, Lara was the stuff of fantasy. He was a man who dealt very well in the idea of pretend. That was the thing about watching. Anyone could be anything. Debbie the lawyer and Jon the cook could be perfect, for one genuine moment, when they lost themselves to pleasure. He got off on seeing it. His cock hardened in his pants. She was going to come, very soon, and his body had taken note. God, she was beautiful.
Her mouth opened. She was close. Francium leaned even further forward. When was the last time he’d been so enraptured? His last trip to his favorite club had been downright dull. Lara was close, she was…
Reagan came, nearly collapsing on his wife, who he lost hold of. She slipped down the wall, and Francium groaned. The fucker hadn’t held out until his wife was ready to come? Russell placed his palm over his eyes.
She appeared so disappointed, and Francium was, too. He needed to know what Lara London-Reagan looked like when she came. Reagan walked away, leaving Lara standing in the living room. She turned to the window, her eyebrows raised. Lara smirked at him before she turned on her heel and sauntered away.
He was stunned. Who was Lara London, and why did he suddenly, in the middle of a mission, need to know more about her?
Lara walked peacefully into her very large closet and sank down onto the floor. What the hell was wrong with her? Her hands shook, and she placed her head on top of her knees. First, she agreed to have sex with Remington, something she’d sworn after the last time she would never do again, and then she’d been turned on because she caught the neighbor watching them. Why had she liked that so much? She should have been so seriously mad he had dared to not just stand there and stare, but he’d sat down to watch.
The way she had stared back—she’d practically encouraged and certainly consented for it to continue. Hell, she had liked it so much.
Now her husband was going to think it had been his magic cock to make her all hot and bothered. He could blackmail her to stay in this marriage, could make her pretend
she had feelings for him, but he couldn’t get her turned on anymore. Those days were long gone. The day she’d found out about his illegal dealings.
She didn’t even know why Remington came to her today, it had been months since he wanted her. Something with him was off…
And what was the deal with their new neighbor? She knew very little about him. The rumor mill in their East Quogue moved fast. The realtor who rented him the house had told one of her acquaintances he was a single man, worked in finance, and he’d be staying there all summer. No one had told her how incredibly handsome he was, or the way his gaze seemed to move through her like he could see all her secrets and wanted her anyway.
Lara groaned. This was so ridiculous, and she had things to do. Forcing herself up, she took a fast shower, scrubbing her body until she felt clean. Or the closest thing to it. She hadn’t been clean in five years. When had thirty years become so old?
She slipped her Lili Pulitzer maxi dress over her head and let it fall to the floor around her feet. A quick spin in the mirror showed her she was all put together. Her arms looked fit, thanks to her trainer, and no one would criticize her choice of attire. Pairing it with Salvatore Ferragamo sandals, she officially looked the part she was stuck playing for the time being.
Lara steeled her shoulders. Someday, she’d be back in a little apartment in New York City, wearing jeans and a white tank top before she went out to a movie. She wouldn’t be making small talk on a veranda with people she hated.
One last glance in the mirror before she pasted on a smile and let the driver take her to another summer party where she had nothing in common with anyone.
“This is what happens when you sell your soul, Lara.” And yes, she’d gotten to the point where she spoke to herself in the mirror.
Time had a way of moving without her paying much attention to it. Hours could pass, and it felt like she blinked. Today was not one of those days. For once, she was intently focused on the conversation around her.
The Men of Elite Metal: Platinum, Zinc, & Francium Page 20
