by Zoe Dawson
The machinery of justice was hunting them, the elite of the elite were bearing down on them. Somehow this godforsaken horror of a country would be where the time ran out.
For him.
For her.
He didn’t know. To her, they were all expendable. She was the tactical director of several missions against the SEALs that had failed miserably.
The shadow of it was on them and they couldn’t escape it. He knew the dice before he rolled them.
There was only one thing she needed.
There was something in the air, like the day her father had been killed. It weighed on Zasha’s shoulders and worked at her like sand stuck in a place she couldn’t get to. Even as the switchblade clicked open and closed, there was something in her gut that was telling her he wasn’t gone.
The monster who haunted the dark recesses of her mind had died…just like that at the hands of her men? So easy to kill, but so hard to eradicate? She felt nothing but anxiety over the loss of her nemesis. How would she hate enough to carry on?
She wanted his screams, his pain, his agony in her ears, in her eyes, in her very pores. She wanted his blood too, all over her. She wanted to bathe in it, and she’d been denied the chance. It couldn’t be over like that.
She knew she was also a monster. Sometimes, in her dreams, she could watch the path of the bullet and follow it through the air, across the endless sea of pain to where it had originated, to the SEAL devil, to the gun in his hands, to the cold calculation in his eyes and the hard, brutally calm set of his face.
And sometimes she was able to go there both in dreams and memory. To a past where every moment with her father was crystal clear, he had loved her, protected her, given her a purpose.
A spasm ripped through her heart, tightening her chest, her throat, but she never made a sound.
It hurt. It always hurt, but she didn’t panic. She never panicked over reality and the brutal aftershock of her father’s passing. She thought immediately of Darko, who had made her strong and taught her how to breathe again.
“Baby?” he said as he leaned toward her.
“I feel like we’re being watched,” she whispered as if someone was listening.
“It comes with the territory. We’re being run to ground.”
She turned, the blade now open with the promise of violence. “That is a defeatist attitude,” she said.
He smiled and she was aware that he tested her all the time. He was brilliant, too kind not to give her hope.
“It’s a realist attitude,” he insisted.
She watched him cross the room, her gaze following every step he took, following the ease with which he unbuttoned his shirt, removed the shoulder holster and set it and his weapon on the table he’d been sitting at. He shrugged out of the shirt and threw it at her, and she caught it with one hand and brought it to her nose and inhaled.
“They’re late,” she said. “Why haven’t they checked in?”
“Delayed?” he said.
“No. They know better than to fail to report to me. They know what I would do to them. Something is wrong, Darko.”
“Maybe. But we’ll deal with it. This job has to get done this time or we’ll have one more enemy to deal with.”
She nodded. With a flick of her wrist, she closed the knife and set it down on a small table by the window.
He reached back and pulled his t-shirt off over the top of his head. With another toss, it landed on top of his collared shirt where she’d dropped it on the floor.
Her own personal demon…his hand went to his belt, and her heart started to slow, her body to go liquid.
He was beautiful, exquisitely so, his dark hair tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, his face more rugged than it once had been, his body more starkly chiseled than any man she’d ever been with, his dark eyes as tortured, as lost as her own.
Temporary fix is what this was.
But what they had between them, the violence, the same thought process, the twisted love was all permanent.
Even as she lost herself in his warmth, she turned her head and looked out the window. Was he really dead and gone? Or had she been duped into thinking so? Her men should have been back by now.
So, who was watching them? Or was she giving into that madness that had been hovering on the edge of her mind since her father left this earth?
9
Saint was back at the blind before the bodies he had left in the woods were cold. He watched the kids and Aella, on guard, their eyes darting and moving around the area. Aella was standing amongst them like a mama bear. Why the hell was he thinking about her in maternal terms again? Damn. She wasn’t going to be the mother of his children. She had other plans. She had every right to make her job a priority. Hell, he did. He was just selfish enough to want a woman he could depend on to take on all the domestic chores he couldn’t when he was working, training, or deployed.
His mind set was just as much a barrier as hers. Something he had to wrap his head around and accept.
They might mesh everywhere else, and there was a burning attraction, but what they ultimately wanted threw cold water on that fire, leaving only smoldering embers. He sighed.
He’d come here to rescue her, not get tangled up again in this never-ending thought process.
He rose and said softly, “Aella, coming in.”
She heaved a heavy sigh, but her eyes widened when she met his gaze. The girls looked scared and huddled together. “What the hell?”
“Blood,” Aella said. “Maybe you should go wash that off?”
He looked down at himself, his hands and nodded. As the team’s medic, he’d long since gotten used to seeing blood on his hands.
He went to his pack and grabbed a clean t-shirt and towel along with soap to remove the camo paint from his face and the blood from his pants.
As he passed her, he touched her arm and squeezed. “We’re good. Do you know how to prepare MREs?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Go ahead and get them something solid to eat. You all must be starving.”
“What about you?”
“I’m fine. It’s more important that you all eat. I’ll scrounge up something when I get back.”
Uba wrapped her arms around his leg and held on. He sent his hand over her head. “It’s all right, sugar. You’re safe. The bad men won’t hurt you.”
She just hung on, her little shoulders shaking. Clenching his jaw hard until it was aching, he experienced a hollow feeling in his gut. Little kids shouldn’t have to live like this. This was only a handful of children, girls. He knew the boys suffered too. Along with losing their families, they were conscripted into a never-ending war that was only perpetuated by them turning into animals by the time they were grown and adding to the unrest and instability of the country. The only times he’d been in this beleaguered country had been for military actions.
This little girl was breaking his heart. He rubbed her head, unwilling to gather her against him with all this blood on him. It would be…obscene to wash her small body in the violence he’d committed, even if it was to save her.
“Come on, sweetie,” Aella said softly, gathering her into her arms. “We’ll get you something hot to eat. It’ll be yummy.”
Trying to stay detached from the emotions rolling inside him, he turned away and started for the river, but before he’d gone a few steps, he felt a tug on his arm. He turned back to find Yasmiin standing there. She let go of him as soon as she had his attention.
“There is no regret or shame in what you have done. There is only survival and what we must do to stay alive. They are the monsters,” she said vehemently. “This isn’t everything our country is. My village is beautiful and prosperous. We work hard to make a decent and fair living, but how can you not fight against oppression, depravity, and starvation? You must. You are a man of justice. I can see that. We are only lucky that we were put into a cell with an American. Thank you for all that you have done.”
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nbsp; She stepped back when Aella called her name, her eyes pits of dark, sweet chocolate. She bolstered him, and he was once again surprised at what he learned on every mission. Always something profound, but this time it was out of the mouth of babes.
He smiled and turned away when she did. In moments he reached the edge of the river, stripped down and crouched at the edge. With the soap he washed the blood out of the t-shirt, then the waistband of his pants.
Then he rose and waded into the water up to his waist and dipped in with the soap in his hands, lathering it up. He tucked the bar under his armpit and scrubbed at his face for a full minute to get the greasy paint off, then rinsed thoroughly.
Then he got to washing the rest of him, making sure the visible blood was washed off. Maybe not clean as the blood he had shed, even for the cause of justice, was still splashed on him, maybe not exactly as a red badge of courage, but a reminder that he protected real people in real time with blood, sweat, and tears.
No amount of pain or suffering of conscience would deter him from that sacred mission.
He was one of Uncle Sam’s, but he fought for the people of the land of the free.
Aella stood there watching him through the trees. She’d left the girls happily eating, Yasmiin in charge. He’d looked…upset when he’d left, and she couldn’t control the urge she had to want to hold him. God, she’d missed him so much.
His back was facing her as she leaned against the truck of a large tree. The sun glinted off his tanned, muscled shoulders and back, the water droplets on his upper body shimmering with every move he made. His rakishly long hair was slicked back, the ends curling damply around the nape of his neck. He was sex and sin personified, the complete embodiment of a gorgeous, tough male in his element.
“He is a very well-formed man,” Yasmiin said from behind her. Aella whirled and frowned.
“Yasmiin! What are you doing here?”
“Curiosity,” she admitted with a soft smile. “Warsame might be a monster, but he is a handsome man, also well-formed. He would have made a terrible husband but might have been a good lover.” She shrugged. “You have been lovers, yes?”
Aella let out a hard breath and leaned back against the tree.
“That really isn’t any of your business. It appalls me that you even think about a man in terms of—”
“Copulation?” she scoffed, the sound harsh. “Please. We have no secrets in our village. We are well aware of what a man and woman do to produce a family. Except my country has perverted that into kidnapping and forced marriage. I must be educated about these things to be able to understand them and how they can happen to me, to my friends.” She lifted her arm and pointed behind her with her thumb. “Uba doesn’t understand. She is much too young, but the rest of them do. We were saved from our fate by you and Saint. We are eternally grateful.”
She reached out and touched Aella’s shoulder, squeezing. “If you find love, the real kind, that is all that matters. Everything else can be worked out. You have some quiet time with your man. I will make sure the children are occupied.” She gave Aella a quick, mischievous smile before she left.
Aella shook her head, still overcome by Yasmiin’s wisdom. The girl had it in spades beyond her years. Fifteen going on thirty. Warsame was a fool if he thought this girl would go quietly. He would have been in for quite a fight of his life if he had gotten his way. Aella closed her eyes and vowed he wouldn’t have another opportunity. She would…she and Saint would make sure of that.
Speaking of Saint. Where was he? She turned back around and sighed at the sight of him.
It was a perfect backdrop for the man she knew, the craggy rocks, the trees and brush all around him. He always seemed untamed to her. He turned around, his eyes searching into the trees. His mouth kicked up, then widened into one of his trademark grins that melted her bones.
He didn’t acknowledge her even though he knew she was there. Her eyes flowed over him, his thick biceps, defined chest and lean belly, the way the water lapped around his hips. She took in his handsome face, the powerful cut of his jaw and beautiful mouth that had given her such incredible pleasure.
A roll of thunder shook the gray sky, and a heavy gust tripped across the water and shook the foliage. He looked up at the sky.
He was finished with his bath, and he started wading out of the river. As the liquid receded, her mouth watered. His entire body vibrated with aggression, like a high voltage wire waiting to snap. She guessed it was the adrenaline that had pumped him up.
She came out of the trees as he cleared the river, his thick, hard erection jutting from his body, his sleek thighs with hard packed muscle mirrored his six-pack abs.
Yasmiin had been right. He was a well-formed man.
She met his eyes and felt a sudden shift between them. Her pulse leapt, and she realized that this was crazy. But maybe a few minutes with Saint would take off the edge and allow both of them to focus. Saint had a way of looking into her, making her feel vulnerable. Those seductive blue eyes of his were intense and searching. It was as if he needed…something. The rain found them then. Large fat drops fell, sporadically at first, then gradually increased to a heavy deluge that soaked right through her hair and clothes.
“Aella…this is crazy. We don’t have time—”
“How about we make time. It’s been so long, Zach,” she whispered.
In a lightning-quick move, he lunged at her, buried his fingers in her hair, and pressed her up against the nearest tree with his hard, undeniably aroused body. It had long, thick branches and dense leaves, the overhead canopy protecting them from the worst of the storm. With a low growl encompassing both frustration and urgent need, he slanted his mouth across hers and sank his tongue deep, kissing her just as recklessly as he had before. His mouth promised sin and unrestrained, carnal pleasure, and she matched him stroke for stroke, chasing his tongue with her own, letting him know she was with him all the way.
The feverish intensity between them sizzled hot, the strength and immediacy of her arousal making her knees jellify. She slid her arms around his waist and skimmed her hands down to cup his damp butt. The muscles tightened under her palms, and the long, hard length of him pushed insistently against the crux of her thighs.
His kisses now mindless, he needed this so much more than she did. Just having him like this, so hot for her was more than she could handle.
Her hand slid down between his legs, and she cupped his balls, playing with him as she sucked his tongue into her mouth.
She’d had no idea how much she’d wanted his distinct taste until just this moment. This man did things to her that she couldn’t block or forget.
Kiss by soft, wet kiss, she worked her way down his body. She captured one of his rigid nipples between her lips, laving the erect nub with her tongue, grazed the tip with the edge of her teeth, then licked him again. A groan rumbled up from his chest as she traversed her way lower, spreading hot, wet kisses on his taut, flat belly and heard him suck in a breath in response. She worked him over until she came to his thick, straining erection, and even that part of him was as gorgeous and magnificent as the man himself.
She wrapped her fingers around the hard, velvet-textured length of him and felt him pulse in her tight grip.
He was hers.
She took him in her wet mouth, his skin hot and salty against the stroke of her tongue. He shuddered and tangled his hands in her damp hair, and she sucked him, taking him as deep as she could, making it as good as she could. She pleasured him with her mouth, teased him with her tongue, and aroused him to a fever pitch of need that made his entire body shake with the restraint, with the pleasure.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re killing me, sugar.”
Leaned back against the tree, he thrust his hips forward, his hand gently cupping the back of her head. He thrust again, and she took more of him. Again, and he went even deeper.
“Fuck me,” he said hoarsely.
She had every intention of getting
him someplace where she could do exactly that, but it wasn’t here. She kept at it, taking him higher, winding him up tighter with her hands and mouth, until inevitably, irresistibly, she took him to climax.
Braced against the tree, he went rigid, the soft male sound of pleasure making her liquid and hot. His muscles flexed and strained, his cock so hard inside the softness of her mouth until he let go of all that sexy, male power.
She held him where he stood, until he was finished. When she released him, he bent his knees and slid down to be with her on the wet sand. Gathering her up in his arms, he took her mouth in a deep kiss. His flattened hand slid between her pants and belly, moving downward. She sucked in a quick breath, and her heart raced in anticipation as his hand slid between her thighs. His fingers skimmed along the leg opening of her panties, and then they were edging under it, delving through her damp curls and gliding along the soft, swollen flesh of her sex.
He stroked her sensuously, fingering her with slow, intimate swirls right where she needed his touch the most, both soothing and arousing at the same time. As soon as she relaxed, he pushed deeper, filling her, and her inner muscles clamped tight around his thrusting fingers. Her head rolled back against his shoulder, and she panted for air, aching to have him inside her.
His big body shuddered, and he buried his face against her neck, his ragged breath hot and damp against her skin.
“So sweet, so wet, so fucking tight,” he rasped in her ear. “I want my mouth on you, but it’s too risky.”
She looked up at him through dazed eyes, the light in the blue depths possessive and bright with desire. Her skin tingled everywhere, hot and alive with sensation. She twined her fingers in his soft, thick hair, feeling breathless and dizzy and unable to do anything but hold on, let him have his way with her body and give in to the need that six months without his touch had built in her.
She moaned against his velvet lips, his mouth taking hers again, hot, hungry and demanding. Pressing his thumb against her core, he flicked it and rubbed it while he fucked her hard with his fingers. Her breathing quickened as he continued to share darker, sexier words with her until her mind and body couldn’t take any more stimulation and she came on a long, intense orgasm that ripped a hoarse, muffled cry against his mouth.