Sloth

by Lana Pecherczyk

  “You tell me. It was her prompt that gave the antidote to the serum, right?”

  Sloan nodded.

  “And she argued with her father when he ordered her to inject me.” He shrugged. “It might be nothing, but I have a feeling it means something. She’s having doubts.”

  Sloan bit her lip. “We found out their base of operations is in the city. It’s a tower facing the South-Side. We were going to infiltrate it to rescue you when we saw the news. We’ve set up surveillance and sat on the information for weeks and have seen her go in and out multiple times.”

  “What will you do?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “If you can accept a murderer, a sinner like me, then she is redeemable.”

  The pain in Max heart leeched into Sloan and she whispered, “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, Max. I almost killed Barry. When you were gone, I snapped, and just like that, I almost killed him. No one was safe. If anyone is the monster here, it’s me.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  Sloan didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to believe it too, but after what Daisy had done to Max… if Tony hadn’t put two and two together with the note, Max would be dead. He wouldn’t be here in her arms. She would have no qualms exacting revenge on Daisy, just like Max had done for his friend.

  It wasn’t right. They both knew it, yet they were powerless to stop it.

  They both lifted their gazes to the starry night, an indigo blanket someone had poked holes in. It reminded Sloan of something Tony used to do when they were younger. After they’d escaped the lab that created them, they would build forts made from sheets and knitted blankets over chairs and tables. While she was underneath, he’d stand outside and shine a torch through the blanket. Light sparked like little stars through the gaps in the weave and he’d tell her a story, making funny voices for each character. He’d been a showman even then.

  It made her wonder what sort of professions they’d all have if it weren’t for their DNA. Tony was an actor, obviously, but she wasn’t sure if he really enjoyed it. It seemed like it was more of a means to an end—a reason for him to keep his other identity secret. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if Tony was really Tony, or an actor in his one man show.

  Shaking her head, she refocused on the stars.

  “This is what life should be about,” Max said.

  “What? Us together?”

  “That, and being out here in nature. No cars. No people. No tech.”

  Sloan bit her lip and he noticed.

  His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What did you do?”

  She leaned behind the log and dragged her backpack closer. Opening it at the zip, she pulled out an iPad. “I brought games.”

  He gasped and held his hand to his chest with mock offense. “You don’t think I’m entertaining enough?”

  “No, I do. Of course I do. It’s just that we used to have so much fun. You need to relax a little. Trust me, I know the consequences of being wound too tight.”

  For a moment, he frowned and turned back to the stars. She could sense his conflict.

  “You know you want to.” Sloan pulled out the second iPad and held it to him, waggling it in a teasing way.

  He darted a reluctant glance at her and took it. “Maybe I do.”

  A full out grin broke across her face. “I even pre-downloaded Fortnite on there for you. And I set up your account.”

  “Okay. Now I’m scared.” He took the device. “What username?”

  “Oh, you’ll see.”

  “Maxi-Pad? Are you kidding me?”

  She shrugged. “What can I say, mess with the best…”

  “Ha! Well, the joke’s on you because we have to join some sort of group together.”

  “A squad.”

  “Right. Tell me more about this game.”

  Animated with the joy of her favorite game, she launched into an explanation, rattling off random facts until finally, they fell into companionable silence to play. Battle after battle, they fought, working together like old times. Sloan helped him pick up the finer details, teased him about being out of the gaming scene for so long, and helped him win a few battles. They did it as a team of two, every time. They were having so much fun that they didn’t notice the rain clouds forming above their heads, or the first few drops of rain until it came down in a downpour, drenching them from top to toe.

  Jumping up, screaming like children—her screaming like a child, Max mocking her in a high pitched voice—they rushed to the tent, and crashed through, zipping it closed behind them. Trying not to drip everywhere, it was clear the devices were ruined. The water had leeched into the speaker gap and glitched the screen. Max was laughing uncontrollably, but Sloan wasn’t.

  “No!” Sloan whined. “This is all my fault.”

  “I think, maybe, it’s a sign.”

  “A sign for what? Check the weather forecast before going on a camping trip?”

  He took the device from her hand to place gently down in the tiny gap between their bed roll and the tent edge. He dug around the bedding until he found his torch and turned it on. It was then she noticed the heat in his eyes as he looked at her.

  “I think it’s time for us to get out of our wet clothes,” he murmured.

  Suddenly the tent was incredibly small, and the little torch lighting their space was so very bright. Summer rain pattered on the tent. Max’s body heat reached across the small divide to bathe Sloan’s skin.

  “And then what are we going to do?” she asked.

  When his head dipped toward hers, everything inside her broke apart. Her breath hitched. He came lower, and then his lips touched hers.

  The kiss started chaste, precious, but when she let a moan slip, he turned rough and demanding. He grabbed her face between his hands and claimed her until they were panting and gasping against each other.

  “Shirts,” she demanded. No more waiting.

  He stripped her shirt from her body, only breaking the kiss to lift it over her head. She did the same for him, peeling his shirt off, and then went back to his mouth. For a long, suspended moment there was nothing but each other, their kiss, their skin, and then Sloan pushed firmly on his chest until he fell back on the mattress.

  She straddled him. “I need to...”

  “Look your fill, and while you’re at it, take note of the silk sheets.” He smirked and lifted his hands above his head in the perfect pose of male repose.

  Cocky bastard.

  As if she cared because she did want to look—she wanted to drink her fill.

  He’s real. He’s here, and he’s all mine.

  The shadows cast his abs into sharper relief. A moan of appreciation slipped out of her mouth and she rubbed her hand over his velvety skin, sliding it and learning it all the way down to the brown fuzz near his waistband.

  “I love it when you look at me like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Gives me fantasy fuel for years to come.”

  “Fantasy fuel?”

  He turned away. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Like what?” He refused to meet her eyes and she wanted to reach out with her senses, to cast light on his emotions, but held back. He should tell her on his own terms.

  “Hey,” she whispered, and flexed her fingers on his skin.

  His abs bunched, and his fists clenched at his side. A deep shuddering breath wracked his body.

  “Max? What is it? You can tell me anything.”

  Slowly, he dragged his gaze back to her. “Any time I’ve been stuck in a situation I didn’t want to be in—whether it was back on tour, or… being beaten by your sister… I used images of you to get me through. I’d fantasize about us being together. Over and over. Sometimes we were in a place like this. Now that we’re here…”

  “You don’t want to wake up for it to not be real.” She’d just thought the very same thing.

  He nodded.

  And her heart broke.

  “Max, I’m
real. I’m as real as any of these scars on your body. As real as that tattoo on your skin.” She touched a raised line of flesh under his rib. “This looks fairly new.”

  “Was from a piece of shrapnel from an IED.”

  “And this?” She let her finger feather down to his belly button, where the hair tried, but failed to cover a round puckered scar. Not quite the shape of a bullet wound.

  “Screwdriver.”

  “Someone attacked you with a screwdriver?” Then a fierce frown tightened her brow. “Was it Daisy? I’ll mess her up if it was.”

  “No.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “Daisy surprisingly never went for permanent damage. She only beat me in a way that looked worse than it was. I fell onto a screwdriver when I was putting together some Ikea furniture back in Australia.”

  She snorted and he laughed too. It was enough to break through the tension. Enough to relax her shoulders and draw attention to the hot male specimen, reclined before her. Her man was ripped. A body carved from rock. All ropy muscle and strength. His eyes, bright and filled with lust, watched her with intense heat.

  “I have to say.” She scraped her nails lightly down his front. “I think you look better in real life than on video.”

  “The view from here is bloody good, too. In fact, it’s like a dream.”

  He kept going back there, back to his fantasy, and it worried her. She climbed up him until her hips met his. “Stop it. I’m very real, I can assure you.” To make her point, she rocked her pelvis into his until he threw his head back on the mattress with a long, drawn out groan, fingers digging into her hips.

  “Bloody hell. Keep doing that.”

  This was one feeling she’d never box up. She wanted it fresh and vivid. She grabbed hold of his shorts, only to tug them down his thighs recklessly before getting completely naked herself.

  He watched with avid fascination, eyes like hot skewers burning right though her. No one had ever looked at her like that. Never. Only Max.

  Flattening her body against his, she went in for a slow, languid kiss, melding their tongues together with hot, erotic strokes.

  And, oh, it was good.

  He tasted incredible.

  He grabbed her thighs and positioned her with rough confidence until her core met his erection. Sparks ignited. Sensations bloomed. He was hard, so hard, and his ridge rubbed her in exactly the right way. He moaned and thrust upward, only the thin fabric of his briefs blocking their most intimate parts. She was damp, and he could feel it. But instead of going there, his fingers tangled through her wet hair while his tongue rolled against hers, savoring her taste. Then their bodies rolled—him on top, then her—until he broke free and kissed down her neck, to her ear, to her shoulder. He explored her body with his mouth, scratchy stubble, and expert hands. Confident hands. He knew exactly how to touch her, where to touch her, and it was fucking fantastic. Better than any game.

  Stupid iPads. What had she been thinking?

  Sitting up, they ended with her on his lap and him bracing her back with his hands. She almost passed out with pleasure when his tongue traced a pattern in the dip of her neck... and he hadn’t even touched her where it counted.

  Oh God. Where did it count?

  Back down her front, he took her nipple into his mouth.

  Yep. There. It counted there.

  “Oh, shit. Keep doing that with your tongue,” she gasped, arching into him.

  He twirled and whirled until her limbs went liquid. She couldn’t hold herself upright any longer, and he switched their positions so they were back on the mattress, and he was on top, in control. He took his pleasure all over her body, learning each inch of skin, each shiver of desire, and every desperate and embarrassing sound she made. She had the sense he was storing up the details, saving them, and it made her sad.

  “Hey.” She lifted his head to hers, locking fevered eyes. “There will be more times. Plenty.”

  “I know, I just…”

  “Stop holding back. Just fuck me.” She let the floodgates of her lust open and speared her desire into him. “I’m ready, Max.”

  His eyes glassed over as the sensation hit his system and he growled, nudging his hips into hers. “I brought protection this time.”

  “We don’t need it anymore. I went on contraception while you were recovering.”

  He didn’t wait for anything else. He dug his hand into his briefs, tugged them down half over his ass and pulled himself free. She widened her legs, giving him access, and then in a slow, torturous move, he entered her.

  Fully sheathed in her, he lowered until the weight of his body crowded her. He clutched her head so she had nowhere to look but his scorching hot eyes. Then he pulled out, and in. Over and over again, he plunged, hitting her sweet spot, watching her reaction, soaking it all in. And, as she came alive, as the sweet pressure of bliss built inside, he knew. She let him feel it. His rising fever echoed in her soul with each, urgent movement until they came apart together, at the same time.

  Afterwards, he held her. His ragged breath hitched. He made little sounds caught between a groan and panic. And he never let go.

  “Hey.” She lightly rubbed his back. “You okay?”

  He nodded against her neck. “It’s been years, Sloan. Fucking years and we’re finally here.”

  Increasing the pressure of her embrace, she nuzzled into him. “I know.”

  “Finally.”

  “And it’s going to be like this for the rest of our years.”

  The tension left him. His hot breath tickled her neck and then he took her hand and kissed her ring. His arm came up to brace over her chest, and she glimpsed the tattoo on his forearm. The nightingale bird, and the two dates.

  “What’s the tattoo about?” she asked softly.

  “The bird is Gale. The dates… they’re, um… the first date is when my parents died. The second date is when you first dropped into my Call of Duty game, I heard your sexy voice, completely froze, and then you shot me in the heart.”

  She looked over at him, frowning. “You want to remember the day I shot you in the heart?”

  “It’s never been the same,” he answered. Her breath hitched, she planted a soft kiss on his pec, and then she leaned her ear right where the heart was, listening to it thud-thud with a strong, steady rhythm.

  “Sounds good to me,” she whispered.

  “It is now.”

  “I love you Maximilian Johnson.”

  “I love you too, Sloan Lazarus.” He kissed her lightly on the lips, and then he added, “Marry me, Sloan.”

  “I thought we were already engaged.”

  “I never actually asked you.”

  She smiled. “You know the answer to that, but in case you need to hear it. Yes.”

  A genuine smile transformed his face, hitting her in the heart, but she couldn't help herself. She added, “On one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “Never put pineapple on pizza again.”

  His brows snapped together. “As if that will ever happen. Do I need to explain to you all the ways pineapple belongs on pizza?”

  She grinned. “Please do. Right now, there’s nothing else I want to hear about.”

  And her man actually did. The great pineapple debate raged well into the wee hours of the night, only to be interrupted by more love making. By the time Sloan finally drifted to sleep, she knew that life was more than ones and zeros. It was messy. It was gray. They might still have the Syndicate to deal with, but with Max, life was perfect.

  Epilogue

  In a discarded dark underground laboratory of the Syndicate’s black site, a small furred shadow darted about the legs of a white leather clad woman, gorging on meal scraps left over from feeding time. It scampered into open cages, sniffing the places the beasts left behind, cautiously testing for the scent of predators. Nothing remained except scraps of food, urine and the tang of blood.

  The white woman went to cages containing fresh smelling plants. A clang happened
. And then the woman left, leaving no sound in the room.

  Until a scattering near the cage caught the rat’s attention. Something moved, and a small piece of kibble rolled from beneath the cover of leaves. Scampering, small sections of the room at a time, the rat darted closer to the food and sniffed. Satisfied it was safe to eat, it nibbled, completely unaware of the vine tendril above its head, unfurling.

  The rat was still nibbling when the vine wrapped around the furry body, tightened and contracted. The rat was no longer breathing when the plant pulled the rat’s corpse into the shadow of its foliage and began feasting.

  WHAT’S NEXT?

  Sloan and Max have their happy ever after, but all is not as it seems in the Deadly Seven humble abode.

  In the next book, we learn all about Tony and his dark doubts… he might even be thinking about quitting the Deadly Seven!

  Then he’s forced to work with a certain strong willed ex-CIA woman, Bailey Haze, and you could say changes are coming for Tony.

  Look out for book five in The Deadly Seven series, Gluttony. Coming Soon.

  Head to my website to learn more.

  Characters & Glossary

  The Deadly Seven

  (Appearance in order of age from youngest to eldest)

  ENVY: Evan Lazarus

  SLOTH: Sloan Lazarus

  GLUTTONY: Tony Lazarus

  GREED: Griffin Lazarus

  LUST: Liza Lazarus

  WRATH: Wyatt Lazarus

  PRIDE: Parker Lazarus

  DESPAIR: Daisy Lazarus

  Mary Lazarus:Adoptive Mother of the Deadly Seven and ex assassin for the Hildegard Sisterhood

  Flint Lazarus: Adoptive Father of the Deadly Seven

  Other Characters:

  Dr. Grace Go: Surgeon at Cardinal City General Hospital. Mate to Evan Lazarus.

  Lilo Likeke: Investigative reporter at the Cardinal Copy. Mate to Griffin Lazarus.

  Misha Minski: Yoga instructor, exotic dancer and Mate to Wyatt Lazarus.