by J. M. Madden
“Potential on the right,” he whispered into the mic.
His team clicked to acknowledge, but they didn’t react too strongly. Big Kenny started moving a little closer, subtly. Fontana didn’t turn his head to look, even though he wanted to.
But the danger didn’t move in. It followed along as they continued down the trail.
Fontana didn’t relax his guard, though. He knew that as soon as he did that Truckle would move in, because if he was sensing him, there was a strong possibility that Truckle was sensing him as well. If they had been part of the same research group, there was a very strong possibility that his abilities had developed the same way.
His mind was racing as they drew closer to the old air strip. They had to be less than a mile away at this point.
They reached an open meadow where they hadn’t had to chop their way through, and he felt frustration from the right. It had to be Truckle. He wasn’t sure how to cross the expanse without being seen, and circling around it would take too long. Then Fontana felt pain, and the sense of the man following them fell away. Was his body still contorting as it dealt with the injection he’d been given? The man had been following them for fifteen minutes with no indication of it. Maybe the adrenaline had worn off.
He had a split second to change course and attack when he knew he had a chance of taking the mercenary down safely, without endangering the rest of his team.
“Kenny!” And he took off running toward the danger. “Madeira, get to the chopper!”
He didn’t pause to look to see if she listened, he just took off running toward where he could feel the energy writhing, struggling. He hurdled trees and crashed through palmetto as he tried to pinpoint the location. There, to the right and back, down over that little bank.
Truckle knelt on the ground, one hand down, the other still curled around his weapon. Lines of saliva hung from his beard where he’d just thrown up, and Fontana could see blood on the ground beneath him. He was looking directly at Fontana as he crested the rise, though, and drew his weapon up.
Fontana had a split second to decide whether or not to take the rifle fire, and he stayed his course. Big Kenny was literally right behind him, and if he did dodge, Kenny would take at least one round to the chest. Even with the vest on, he wouldn’t survive it, but Fontana might.
Time began to crawl as he sped up those last few feet, in the hopes of derailing the shot.
Truckle pulled the trigger.
Fontana tensed, waiting for the shot to hit, but it never did. Zero, crashing out of the brush from the left, slammed into Truckle a split second before Fontana. Fontana was running too fast to veer off course, so he ended up crashing into Truckle and Zero both. There was a bit of a struggle as they fought with the mercenary over the weapon, but Zero managed to get it out of his hands as Fontana drove a fist into his jaw. He felt it break beneath his fingers, and he felt the mental pain from Truckle, then the release as he fell unconscious.
Fontana looked up at Zero, and held a fist out. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
Zero bumped his knuckles, grinning. “We cut behind him when we separated, and I could see his trail. I sent Shane crashing on ahead as a distraction and I took my time, watching. I think we both timed that just right.”
On the ground, Truckle’s body arched in pain, even unconscious. They needed to get him secured. Fontana patted his borrowed equipment. “I don’t have cable ties.”
Zero handed him a set, then hunkered down to put some over his ankles. “I’ve only got two.”
Fontana secured his wrists and handed the weapon up to Kenny, who stood behind him protectively.
“What the hell do we do with him?”
Fontana sighed. “We take him back to the camp, get the docs to knock him out with drugs and hope the CIA has a way to control him when he gets back to the states.”
None of them were happy about the options, but Kenny and Zero each hooked an arm under Truckle’s. Fontana grabbed his feet and they headed back to the trail.
The sound of Margarita’s engines whirring to life was one of the best sounds he’d ever heard, and seeing Jordyn’s grin beneath her flight helmet one of the best sights. Shane stood guard outside and helped the men get Truckle into the passenger compartment. Fontana crawled in behind, because if the man roused, he wanted to be here to try to control him.
“Fly us over to Mourinda, Jordyn.”
“Roger.”
They were in the air within seconds. It only took a few minutes to hop a few miles over the river to the other airstrip, and Jordyn set the chopper down like a pro beside the much larger Chinook. CIA Officer Maxwell, Rose’s counterpart on site, looked at them with a frown on her face as they carried Truckle back into the camp and placed him on the ground in front of her.
“Is this the one that took out two of my officers during his escape?”
“Yes,” Fontana told her. “He needs to be sedated. Heavily.”
Frowning like she’d rather just shoot the man and get it over with, she called for one of the nurses standing nearby. “Get me Giraldi.”
Fontana felt awareness return to Truckle, but the man didn’t by move or sound betray that he had woken. He continued to lay there, quiet.
“Why does he need to be sedated?”
“Because he was injected with a cocktail of diseases,” Fontana told her. “Tetanus, Shingles and something else debilitating. I forget what the doctor said. His body is fighting it off but he’s still dealing with a massive amount of pain.”
She blinked down at the man, but her smooth face betrayed none of her emotions.
“He also needs to be sedated,” Fontana continued in a warning tone, “so that he doesn’t overwhelm anyone mentally.”
Maxwell made a face and planted her hands on her hips. “I’ve been briefed a bit on this, but can you clarify?”
Truckle tensed like he was about to do something, and Fontana dropped down onto the man’s back, wrenching his bound arms high to make him focus on the pain. Running his left arm inside Truckle’s bound arms, Fontana rested a hand on the man’s shoulder and leaned into the arm bar. Truckle cried out and struggled, but Fontana knew he had him secure. The rest of his team stood close, ready to help.
“I’m not fucking doing anything,” Truckle cried, spitting dirt from his mouth. It wasn’t moving exactly right, thanks to Fontana’s fist from earlier.
“You were about to.”
“Get the hell off me, you bastard.”
“Not right this second,” Fontana said calmly. “It didn’t have to be this way, Truckle.”
“Yeah,” the man gritted out. “You would have been fine leaving me in pain just like you did the last time.”
Fontana’s conscience prickled, because what the man said was truth. “So you were at the other camp when we broke out.”
“Yes,” the man beneath him hissed. “You looked right at me, didn’t say a word, then kept right on walking.”
“I thought you were at death’s door.” I tried to speak to you like this and you didn’t respond, he continued, curious to see if he would react.
Truckle went completely still beneath him. Even his breathing stopped as he twisted enough to look up at Fontana.
Did you hear me?
“Yes.” Yes.
“You didn’t respond and there was no way we could have carried you out of there. We were lucky we were on our feet at all.”
Truckle put his head down into the dirt, and Fontana could feel the confusion in him. Then the building resentment.
“If you’re not a dick, I’ll turn you over.”
Truckle nodded once, and Fontana could feel the agreement. He released the arm bar and turned Truckle over so that he could sit on his ass. The mercenary glanced at the faces around him, as well as all the guns.
“You all act like I’m the Bogey Man or something.” He grinned at them, then a spasm of pain rippled through him and he had to gasp for breath. When he could finally control himsel
f, he glared at Fontana.
“We suffered there for months after you left,” he said eventually. “They brought in other test subjects, but my buddy Rafferty and I were the only ones showing progress. We were the only ones recovering. We eventually got strong enough that she offered us an opportunity to get out of the cage.”
The mercenary looked away and wiped his mouth on his shoulder. Fontana crossed his arms, waiting for him to continue.
“If we helped the doctors reverse engineer the serum, which you guys stole when you escaped, and be their willing volunteers, they would give us a job and our lives back. We had to work for the Collaborative, of course, but it wasn’t so bad after a while. We had all the food we wanted and a decent place to live. We were fine for a couple years. Then Rafferty went loco and I had to blow his brains out across the lab.”
“Why did he go loco?” Fontana asked.
Truckle shrugged and a hard, uncompromising look came into his eyes. “I think he was having a flashback or something. They’d strapped him down for a test. Anyway, they kind of frown on killing doctors in a research facility. Mattingly appreciated that I stopped it, though. So much so that she brought me into her inner circle of guards, promising that if I ever wanted a chance at the four escapees, and you in particular, I could have it. Made it easy too, keeping track of the trail of havoc you left behind you. I’ve waited years for a chance at you.”
Fontana shook his head, amazed, and still feeling guilty. “I had no idea, dude. If I’d known you could have survived the trek out of the jungle, I would have thought about breaking you out. But it took us weeks to get out of that jungle. Weeks, on foot. And it wasn’t like we had it made when we got home. We didn’t.”
Truckle stared at him for a long time, before looking out over the camp. His emotions were in a huge tangle, and Fontana’s weren’t much better at that moment. Needing something, he looked around the faces. Jordyn stood just in front of Big Kenny, and was looking right at him, a sympathetic look on her face. If he could have gone to her then and wrapped his arms around her for comfort he would have. In a heartbeat.
Truckle was a dangerous individual, though, and he was willing to talk, so they would let him. Giraldi joined the group, a medical kit in his hand.
Truckle’s face tightened, and fury curled his lips beneath his beard. “So, you’re going to sedate me and do what? Put me in one of those cages so that you can study what the company did to me? Isn’t that ironic? You motherfuckers. Just kill me and get it over with,” he growled. “I’m done being everyone’s bitch.”
For the slightest second empathy filled Fontana’s heart, and it was exactly the opening Truckle had been waiting for. With a mighty heave he strained every muscle in his body, snapped the cable-tie restraints and lunged to his feet. Straight at Jordyn.
Fontana had his weapon up faster than he’d ever drawn it before, and he fired without conscious thought. Truckle went down in a heap at Jordyn’s feet, Fontana honoring his last request.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jordyn could tell that Fontana was glad that he’d killed Dustin Truckle. She wasn’t as sensitive to others’ emotions the way he was, but he had to be dealing with a massive amount of guilt at the same time. And relief. She knew she was relieved that Truckle hadn’t reached her.
There had been something she’d seen in the man’s eyes though. Some sense that he wasn’t actually going to hurt her, but he was going to make everyone think he would.
She ran her fingers over Fontana’s knuckles. It had been a long, quiet flight back to Venezuela and her uncle’s little haven. The team had all been lost in their own thoughts. After Fontana shot Truckle, Officer Maxwell had pretty much told him to go home. That he’d done enough. So, here they sat on her uncle’s noisy glider rocker, trying not to move it.
Jordyn didn’t like the guilt he was feeling. It was written all over his handsome face. What he’d done to protect himself when he was in the camp years ago was completely up to him, and he shouldn’t feel responsible for anyone left behind.
“You need to stop this,” she told him. “The way it ended was the way it needed to end. You got closure, and Truckle did as well. He probably wouldn’t have survived being in another prison somewhere. Right?”
“No,” Fontana agreed.
“I hate that he used you as a tool for suicide, but that’s exactly what he did.”
Fontana blinked and turned his head to look at her. “I realize that. And to a certain extent I expected it. Maybe even subconsciously… I was looking for the situation we found ourselves in. I really was sympathetic to his situation, and I have to wonder if he wasn’t manipulating me a little. I thought he was naïve about our mental capabilities, but maybe I was the one that was naïve.”
“I think you could have taken the same actions in that situation.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Maybe since I gave Giraldi and the CIA my blood offering they’ll leave me alone for a while.”
Jordyn looked at him askance. “You really think so?”
Fontana shrugged, not sure about much of anything anymore. Well, he was sure of one thing. He loved holding Jordyn’s hand. Her palm was textured, but not unpleasantly, and it was small enough that he just curled it up in his fist. It felt right. He held her hand up in the light, running his fingertips over her glossy nails. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”
She snorted. “I don’t know about that,” she murmured.
“I do,” he said firmly. “This hasn’t been anyone’s idea of an ideal situation but you’ve made the best of it and we prevailed. We completed our mission.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Now to take the company down.”
“I have a feeling Officer Rose is already working on it. Along with Wulfe and his secret informant.”
“The CIA is going to be busy for a while.”
Fontana nodded, his thoughts on things other than the operation. This was the first time the two of them had had even the slightest bit of privacy. The men were out in the hangar relaxing with Pablo and his secret stash of homemade cookies the neighbor lady had made him.
“I want to take you out somewhere,” he said abruptly. “Somewhere that you have to wear a dress.”
Jordyn groaned. “A dress? Seriously? I’m not much of a dress kind of girl.”
He looked down at her, smiling. He loved the look on her face. “Yes,” he agreed. “A dress. Something that shows off that beautiful ass of yours.”
Jordyn tipped her head back and laughed, and he had to cup her head in his hands and bring her mouth to his own. She tasted of toothpaste, one of the first things they’d done when they reached Pablo’s place. She’d also taken a shower, and she wore a threadbare Wonder Woman t-shirt and a pair of black nylon running shorts. He thought he smelled some type of citrus fragrance, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Probably shower gel or shampoo. Jordyn wasn’t much of a perfume type.
“You’re beautiful,” he sighed, rubbing his cheek against her own. “And you smell fantastic.”
“You’re hard up,” she snorted.
He prodded her to her feet, spun her around with her hand and cupped her ass in his palms, pulling her against him where he sat. Jordyn took it one step further, though. She straddled his hips in the ancient glider, grinning down at him as she rested her heat against his hardness. The metal beneath them screeched in protest, jarring in the quiet night.
Fontana’s brain shorted out as he held her cupped against him. Yeah, she was right, he was hard up. But it was her he wanted. No one else.
I still want to lick you.
Fontana froze as he heard her words in his mind. “Well, let’s see what we can do.”
Pushing up and out, he surged off the glider, holding her to him as he maneuvered through the door. Then he carried her down the hallway to the guest room he’d been given. Allowing her feet to touch the floor at the side of the bed, he waited for her to say something. Or to pull away. But she didn’t do either of
those things. Instead, she pushed closer and stretched up onto tiptoe to press her mouth against his own. Fontana got lost in the kiss, his emotions ricocheting around in his body. He wanted to fuck her and love her and just… absorb her. There was nothing about this woman that he didn’t like or admire, and for the first time in his life he thought he could see a future with someone.
The situation they were in wouldn’t allow them to relax their guard completely, but he felt like Jordyn Madeira accepted him for who he was. He was not a good guy, but he supposed he had enough decent characteristics that she could overlook his not so decent ones.
Her fingers were moving over his abdomen and one finger stroked just inside his waistband. If she went just a hair further she would find the tip of him, laying off to the side. Fontana knew that it would be all over if she stroked him there. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. Fontana stroked a finger down her chest to the tip of her nipple, pronounced beneath the soft fabric of the shirt and sports bra, then he cupped her breast in his hand. She had the boobs of a much taller woman, and he was dying to see them.
“Take the shirt off,” he told her, voice rough.
Reaching across her abdomen, she did as he told her, tossing the shirt away. Yes, there they were. Cupping both of her breasts through the fabric of her bra, he stroked her nipples.
Jordyn dragged in a sharp breath, her stunning eyes going soft with pleasure. He was glad this made her happy. It certainly made him happy. Squeezing a finger beneath the tight elastic band he lifted it up over her breasts to high on her chest. Her dark areolas were tight with pleasure and he leaned down to take one into his mouth.
Jordyn cried out, her fingers stabbing through his hair to hold his head against her. That was fine. He didn’t want to leave anyway. But he did want to taste the other one, so he shifted. A fine quivering started in her body, and he wondered if she was wet.
He glided his hands down her ribcage and over her ass, pushing her shorts away. He pulled back enough to look at her panties. They were mostly maroon, but had big pretty designs across the fabric in other shades. “I love this color,” he said as he stroked the maroon band.