by Skye Warren
She would have looked twice at the bag of military-grade guns and other supplies. Because she hadn’t known that he was working with Ford in black ops. Still a soldier, after all.
The place smelled musky, but it was clean enough.
She stared into the darkness, listening to the sound of running water. She imagined rivulets running over dusky skin and hard-packed muscle. Heat speared through her—and worry too. Years of being in the army had made Nate ruthlessly efficient. He could soap up and rinse off in a matter of minutes, so the fact that he’d been in there for half an hour was telling.
It meant his knee was hurting him.
She’d been tempted to go in with him, to run her hands along his slick skin, to get on her knees and make him forget his pain. But he wouldn’t like her seeing him this way. Hurt. Weak. At least that was how he’d see it. The truth was, he was incredibly strong.
God, how could he not be hurting? He’d held her in his arms. He’d run with her. She might be slender, but she was a grown woman. And his knee had never healed fully—would never heal fully considering it had been shattered and left to fester for days before he got free. It was a miracle he could walk.
It was a miracle he was even alive.
And he’d almost died today. Because of her. Because of the work she loved so much. It had been her dream as a child, to expose the injustices she saw around her, to shine light into the darkness.
Except Nate was her light in the darkness. How could she risk him?
How could she give him up?
The fact that he was black ops didn’t change the fact that he could die. She’d already known he could defend himself, but could he defend her against an army? The faucet squeaked as the water stopped. Nate’s shadow blocked the light as he dried off his tall, broad body. The sliver of light went black.
The door opened. She felt more than saw him move across the room. Stiff. Slow.
Metal springs creaked as he slid into bed beside her. Naked.
It was impossible for her not to know he hadn’t put on clothes. He wouldn’t have had any that were clean. And she could feel the heat of him emanating beneath the sheet. And still, he didn’t reach for her. Did he think she was asleep? Did he want to keep his pain a secret, even now, in the dark?
Part of her wanted to give him that space, but the pull was too strong. Too acute.
Her body moved without her knowledge, covering the distance between them, moving her palms to his furred chest. In the light he had tattoos that proclaimed his love for his country—his love for her. In the dark he was purely man—soft skin over hard muscle, gentle movement as he breathed.
“Sofia,” he muttered, a warning.
Except after what they had been through, she felt like being reckless. Her lips met the indent beneath his shoulder, in that place where his muscle crested. “Nate.”
A shudder ran through his body. “You could have died today.”
Her heart clenched, because she knew what he wanted.
And she knew she couldn’t give it to him.
When she had first met him, she’d still been a junior reporter at the Daily. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed no matter how many crap assignments Andre had given her. He’d given her some page-filler assignment on the groundbreaking ceremony for Dawson Tech’s new building. She was supposed to write about how great Dawson was, about the glossy building design, about the fancy ultra-natural landscaping.
Fuck him, Nate had said in that Southern drawl he got when he was extra pissed. Give him two fucking sentences about the new building, then write whatever the fuck you want.
That’s what she’d done, using the groundbreaking as a springboard to a think piece on sexism in the booming Austin tech industry. She’d held her breath with Remy, waiting to hear what Andre was going to say.
He hadn’t called her into his office that time. He’d come out with a printout of her article, copyedited in red pen—he was old-school that way. And he’d said, You aren’t fired, Mendez. Just make sure this happens again.
“Do you remember the groundbreaking article?” she murmured.
He made a coarse sound. “I remember the other news outlets picking up your story like it was their fucking idea.”
She laughed silently. He was so protective of her. And she loved that about him.
Only then did she remember, a flash of light in the dark, where she had seen the man in the picture on that hidden file. The one that had been worth blowing up a newspaper data center, worth invading her apartment. Worth killing her over.
Mark Dawson. A younger, grinning Mark Dawson.
Her body tensed, wanting to investigate the lead immediately. But then Nate would come with her. His knee was already bothering him after their sprint. He’d already been shot at, endangered, because of her story. Because of her.
She wanted to comfort him the only way she knew how, the only way that would work. Her lips found his shoulder, his chest. Her hands worked over the ridge of his abs, lower.
“I want you too much,” he said hoarsely, his voice a rough caress in the dark. “I couldn’t be gentle with you. I couldn’t…stop.”
He didn’t need to move for what she had planned. She pulled the sheet down, moving between his legs. She heard his breath catch, felt the hitch in his body. “Let me,” she whispered.
He groaned. “Fuck, gorgeous. You ruin me.”
His words ricocheted through her body. She was ruining him—and she’d have to leave him. That was the only way to keep him safe.
Not tonight, though. Tonight he was hers.
She put her fists around his cock, already thick and throbbing beneath her touch. He rocked into her hands, thrusting upward. She slowed her strokes, bending down to kiss the tip of his cock.
A low growling sound rent the air. “Suck me, gorgeous. Take me in that sweet mouth. I need you.”
Still she teased him, letting her tongue lap the satiny crown, resisting.
Then his hands tangled in her hair. With a grunt he pulled her down. She opened her mouth as he slid inside, leaving the salty proof of his arousal on her tongue. Powerful hips thrust up in small increments, his control strained, thigh muscles trembling beneath her palms.
He found the rhythm he wanted, and in those melodic moments she found the surrender she needed. It was a joining, a fight, pulling her close even while he stole her breath. Every moment they had spent apart tugged her scalp, his hands in her hair. And every sweet moan and helpless grunt drew her back to him.
She only had time to register the slide of his crown as he left, the absence of him, before he flipped her over on the bed. She turned quickly, landed softly, the front of her body cradled in sheets warm from him. His hands spanned her hips, fingertips bruising; then her hips were in the air.
He shoved a pillow under her, his movements jerky.
Her hands opened and closed against the sheets, grasping nothing. “Nate?”
“Let me,” he said roughly, mirroring her request.
How could she deny him? She could refuse him nothing, not even when he mounted her from behind, his cock a thick presence at her entrance.
His thrust forced a sharp sound from her throat, both protest and retreat. “Too much,” she gasped out. “Wait.”
He pulled back out and pushed in harder, faster. “Can’t,” he grunted. “Can’t stop.”
She squeezed her eyes together, forcing hot tears onto the bed. It wasn’t the worst pain she’d ever felt, wasn’t close to the foreign burn of strange men, the flash of red bandannas. But God, somehow it hurt the most. As if she could feel every sting of betrayal, of violence, that was buried deep inside the man behind her. He pushed his own darkness into her, and she took it, she took it—she reveled in the jagged edges of it.
His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her back as he thrust forward. She couldn’t have controlled this any more than she could have made the ocean stay still. He moved her as soundly, as surely as nature itself, and she floated on the force of h
im.
She didn’t know how long she drifted that way, her body impaled on his, around him, holding whatever shape he gave her. All she saw was darkness, all she heard was the slap of flesh. All she felt was him, his weight and presence surrounding her, his need lapping at her skin.
Her orgasm swept over her in a rush of arousal. The word climax lost meaning. There was no shape to her, no beginning and, God, no end. Her inner muscles vibrated in helpless response. She came for minutes, for hours, the whole damn night while he fucked her from behind like a machine.
No, not like a machine. A machine would be mindless, unfeeling. He came apart behind her, holding on to her like she was the only thing that could put him back together. His emotions filled the shadows of the room, enemies lurking in every innocent corner, danger an intimate companion.
When at least he came, he roared with both pain and pleasure, with a haunting release that reverberated through her, a rare and precious peek into the heart of a man. Not just any man. This man. This soldier. This fighter. This jaded hero who wanted to stop caring, but he just couldn’t. A lesser man would have turned away from the world, would have crumpled under the weight of his injuries, his loss. But Nate cared about his country, the people in it, so deeply. He couldn’t stop, just like she couldn’t stop loving him. Breaking up hadn’t changed that. Nothing would.
But how could she be with him, when it put him in danger? She needed to go after Mark Dawson, needed to nail Moreland now more than ever. How could she risk Nate’s life?
Her brother had died for her.
She wouldn’t let Nate die too.
Chapter Twenty
He woke her in the night, his lips on the back of her neck, his body hard and wanting behind her. His large hand slipped down her stomach before he touched between her legs. She was already wet for him, already soft with desire. Her hips rocked into his hand, begging for more pressure. Coarse fingertips circled her clit until she sobbed her release.
He started to climb over her, but she stopped him. “Wait.”
His eyes on her were hot as she left the bed, naked, and crossed to the black bag of weaponry and equipment. She bypassed the guns and ammo and knives. She’d been looking for handcuffs, but rope would have to do.
When she stalked back to the bed with the twine of black rope in her hands, he gave her a devastating grin. “You want me to tie you up?”
God, yes, please. Her body turned liquid at the thought of being at his mercy. Except she needed something else more than pleasure. She needed redemption.
“Something like that,” she said, straddling his large body.
Maybe he didn’t worry because he was so much stronger than her. Or maybe it was just a testament to how much he trusted her, but he didn’t stop her from tying his wrists to the bed frame. Instead his lips captured her nipple, sending sparks of desire to her core.
It was a knot he had taught her, the couple of times they’d gone out on Lake Travis.
Then she leaned back, examining his muscled body, all tied up. She would have wanted him to tie her up, but she couldn’t deny the beauty this way. His arms were a work of art, his chest broad and strong, his waist tapered with tight muscle.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous this way,” he muttered, studying her body.
A blush heated her cheeks, probably all the way down to her breasts. Her nipples tightened under his heated gaze. “You know I care about you.”
He stilled beneath her. “God, Sofia.”
She hesitated, feeling torn. “I think I love you.”
A grunt, a recoil, as if she’d punched him in the stomach. “You’re telling me this now, when I’m tied up.”
Without answering, she bent and pressed her lips to the center of his chest, then down his abs, until she reached his cock. A single kiss to the tip, licking the salty pearl away. An apology. A goodbye.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Fuck, fuck. Don’t be sorry, gorgeous.” His eyes darkened, arms straining against the bonds. But she’d tied them tight, using knots he had shown her. He wouldn’t get free. “I love you too. I’ve been going fucking crazy wanting you. Always half a second away from going to your house and begging you to take me back—or fuck, from tying you to the bed.”
That made her smile. “It would have been good that way. Better than this.”
Then she backed up off the bed.
Awareness seeped into his hot gaze. “What are you doing?”
“I have to go, and I can’t…I can’t let you get hurt.”
“Jesus, Sofia. You think if you take one wild risk after another that you’ll stop being that girl in the closet, that victim? Do you? That if you take down enough fuckers like Moreland, you’ll finally win?”
She blinked, somehow not surprised that he had her figured out. She’d whispered her darkest fears to him under cover of night, naked in every sense of the word. It didn’t change anything. “I’m sorry.”
Nate’s eyes burned. “Because you’ll always be that girl, Sofia. But the thing is, I love that girl. She fucking survived. She’s beautiful and strong. And I need her to stay alive, so stay with me.”
It always came back to that, the way he had wanted her to choose between him and the paper, the way he’d wanted her to back down from a fight. Except how could she truly be strong if she was always afraid? “I’m sorry,” she repeated softly, meaning it this time.
He must have seen the determination in her eyes, because he fought the rope with a curse. “Don’t do this, Sofia. Don’t fucking do this to me.”
She turned and got dressed, ignoring his cursing and the ominous clanging of the bed frame against the cheap wall. But she knew this was the best for him. That made it easier for her to slip out of the room, locking the door behind her.
* * *
Then it was just a matter of walking to the closest bus stop.
She felt a little bad about taking his cell phone, but he’d thrown away the SIM card in hers. He would be able to track his phone eventually, but she hoped she’d be done before then.
The first call she made was to Remy. Voice mail.
“Remy, it’s me. Where are you? Shit’s getting crazy.”
Moreland is dirty, and I think I figured out the link he doesn’t want us to find. It has something to do with Dawson Tech, and I’m heading over there now. That was what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t be sure they weren’t listening. She couldn’t risk endangering her friend before she knew Remy was safe.
“Be careful,” she said before hanging up.
Then she called Andre, who picked up on the second ring. “Who is this?”
“Sofia Mendes.”
“Fuck,” he said. “Where the hell are you?”
“I’m on the move,” she said, not sure how much to give away.
“Well, get in here,” he barked. “They found men at your apartment. One dead. One in custody.”
“I can’t come in yet. There’s something I have to check out.”
“Fuck, Sofia. I already thought you were dead once. Come straight here. We can get you protection.”
Not against this. “I’ll call you when I know more.”
He swore again. “Is Remy with you?”
Her blood went cold. “No. Was she injured in the blast?”
“That was me, laid up in the hospital. She came to visit me; I remember that much.” A heavy pause. “And then she fucking disappeared.”
I wouldn’t want her to end up as one of my…investments.
Was that what had happened to Remy? She hadn’t been on the Moreland story, but she had sat across from Sofia. Maybe it was open season on anyone who even knew her. Or maybe Remy had actually found a clue, something that connected Moreland to the explosion.
The bus pulled up to the curb, its interior gleaming dully against the night.
“I have to go,” she said, interrupting his protests. “I’ll be careful.”
On the bus she used the phone’s browser to look up the
article she had written for the Daily. There was a quote from Mark Dawson. I do whatever I can to help women advance in technology, within limits. My first priority is to my company, of course.
Christ, he even talked like Moreland.
How had she not seen it before? Unfortunately, there was no shortage of men who used bullshit doublespeak. And then the tech article had been a few years ago. She’d seen no connection on the surface between a rich tech CEO who drove a Tesla and a senator who had dirty ties to Mexico. Clearly there was something deep, something dark, between them.
The bus took her toward the outer edges of downtown, the stop abandoned and dark. There weren’t even streetlights leading into the night. A cab could have brought her closer, but she couldn’t risk being seen.
Birds hooted from shadowed trees. Small shuffles in the gravelly terrain told her rodents were awake. Judging by the size of one possum, its eyes bright, some of those rodents were as big as dogs. She shivered, walking faster.
Would Nate have gotten free? She’d only been gone thirty minutes, at most.
He’d be furious with her, but he’d be safe.
Her footsteps sounded loud by the time the glass building pierced the horizon, its glass windows glinting in moonlight. Crunch, crunch, crunch. She moved farther away from the road, where coarse brush at least hid her steps more than the rocky ground.
As she rounded a hill, the parking lot came into view. Empty, of course.
Not many workers in the office in the middle of the night.
So what did she expect to find? She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. This was what Andre had taught her, to follow the clues no matter where they took her. And it was what Nate had taught her, to give them two sentences and then write whatever the fuck she wanted.
This was her story.
Whatever was happening, it was coming to a head. With Moreland in town, with his inventory at risk, this was her best chance to find out the truth.
And if she didn’t find out, she would forever be in limbo, the threat looming over her head. She would have failed her mission as a journalist.
In some way, she felt that she would fail Nate too. He’d fought for freedom on foreign soil. This was her part, fighting crime and corruption right here in America. Maybe if she actually did this, she would be equal to him. Maybe she would be worthy of him.