by Zoe Dawson
“Why don’t you take a quick one. The chopper will be here in thirty, then we can move onto the next leg of this op.”
Fast Lane looked reluctant to sleep. Iceman wondered if it was because of nightmares. He knew about that.
“You knew these people?” Iceman asked. Fast Lane settled next to him, propping his back against a partially demolished wall.
“Yes, some. The commander better than others. They were our eyes and ears when we went after our HVT.”
“I’m sorry for your losses.” He indicated the pilot with his chin. “And her?”
Fast Lane’s mouth tightened, and his eyes went tender. “She’s my ex-wife.”
“No shit. Small world.”
“It is in the Nightstalker community.”
“Have to say. That’s pretty badass. Amazing pilots.”
“She’s that for sure. Always at the top of her class. Held her own out there with Rose and Slater. We came along just in the nick of time.”
Dodger woke up and nudged Max. “Let’s go walk the perimeter, mate,” he said.
Max grumbled, but Jugs was up and ready to go.
“Your partner is a better operator than you are,” Dodger groused.
“Right, he outranks me, so I guess we’re walking the perimeter.” Max shoved Dodger, who laughed.
Iceman chuckled. “Our dog handler is Cooper ‘Skully’ Sullivan. His MWD is Bonesaw or Bones for short.”
Fast Lane chuckled. “Nice. Very fitting.” He closed his eyes and slipped into sleep.
“Where am I?” Rose said, trying to lift her head.
“At the airport, still in Somalia I’m sorry to say.”
She groaned and brought her hand up to her head.
“How are you holding up?”
“Senior Petty Officer Kit Snow…Iceman?”
“One and the same, ma’am.”
She tilted her head to look up at him and smiled. “Thanks for saving my life.”
“I didn’t save your life, Officer Sinema. You did that on your own. I just caught you when you passed out.”
Her brown eyes studied him, and it was clear she liked what she saw. It wasn’t ego. He just knew.
“You married, Iceman?”
He smirked. “Hell no.”
“Yeah, maybe you can look me up when I don’t have a concussion…and have showered.”
He figured she was out of it, rambling. She did have a head injury. He wouldn’t mind seeing her, though at least once. She was beautiful, strong and brave. But he was more of a womanizer, lover boy, skirt-chaser, strap-whore.
“You are brutally handsome,” she said, closing her eyes. “All those angles and strong lines adding up to bad boy door kicker.” She was quiet, and he suspected she’d fallen back to sleep. “Iceman doesn’t fit, though.” Her words were nothing but a low mumble.
“How so?” he asked with a smile.
“You’re much too warm and comfortable.”
He chuckled softly as GQ and Kodiak jogged into the shelter. “We set Slater with the other bodies, boss,” GQ reported.
“You made good time. Go walk the perimeter with Mad Max, Jugs, and Dodger. Stay hydrated,” he ordered.
They jogged back out.
Thirty minutes later, in the distance Iceman heard the sound of chopper blades. One medevac for Pitbull and Officer Rose Sinema. The others for the fallen Americans and Somalis who lost their lives.
“Man, you need to get some sleep,” Dragon said, turning his head to look at 2-Stroke.
“I took a combat nap. I’m going back down there to see if I can hear what the hell they’re talking about.”
Dragon sat up. “All right but be careful. I think that Russian bitch has a sixth sense. She keeps looking out the window.”
2-Stroke shrugged, not caring a whit about Zasha and how she slept at night. She tortured him and his fiancée for weeks. “She’s being paranoid.”
Dragon snorted. “I’d say she’s justified.”
2-Stroke checked his knife, the load in his suppressed sidearm. “Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean someone isn’t watching you.”
“Haha, yeah. All I need is the go ahead and I’ll aerate her brain.”
2-Stroke slipped down the hillside and sneaked along the edge of the compound, easily avoiding the guards. He crept up to the structure that housed the man who looked like a scientist. If he wanted answers, he was sure the man would have them.
He carefully peered through the open window. The man was at a desk. Suddenly, the door opened and Darko walked inside.
“Mr. Stjepanić. What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to find out what your progress is, Dr. Kodro. Zasha is getting impatient.”
“I only need a few more hours. We’ve almost extracted the amount of uranium you require. Another few hours should do it.”
“See that you’re done by then, Doctor.”
2-Stroke slipped away from the window, his gut clenching. Uranium? Fast Lane needed to know this intel a-sap. He went around to the front of the structure. He couldn’t believe his luck. Stjepanić was all alone. No guards in sight. He made a split-second decision.
He lunged out of the darkness and got the bastard in a chokehold, dragging him back into the shadows. The man fought, but he went down. 2-Stroke went to pull out a zip-tie and just barely missed Stjepanić’s knife slicing at his jugular.
2-Stroke grabbed his wrist and punched him twice in the face. He staggered back. “I’m so glad you decided to resist.”
Stjepanić’s eyes widened. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“I’m a ghost and I’ve come for you, asshole.” 2-Stroke jumped back as he feinted with the knife. Then Darko turned to run, but 2-Stroke was on him before he could take three steps.
This time when he choked him, he made sure he was out. Zip cuffing his hands behind his back and his ankles, 2-Stroke then gagged him. Throwing him over his shoulder, he double-timed it back to Dragon.
“What the fuck did you just do?”
“You like that?”
“Slick as snot.” Dragon laughed. “I’d like to punch his lights out.”
“Get a hold of Fast Lane. I know why the terrible two are here and he needs to know pronto.” He dumped Darko on the ground. “Come sunlight we’re going to have a problem.”
As soon as Aella touched his body, he was wide awake, but he didn’t move. He was currently on his stomach. She was running her hands over his back and butt.
“What’s up, babe?” he asked sleepily.
“You, I hope,” she whispered, her breath hot on his neck.
He groaned softly.
She touched his hip and nudged him to turn over. When he did, she took every inch of him into the silky, wet heat of her mouth. He groaned at the unbelievable friction she created with her lips, tongue, and fingers as she slid up and down his throbbing dick. She added suction, and his body tensed as he fought against the overwhelming urge to come.
“Babe, enough,” he ground out.
She gave him one last lick, then rose above him. Her expression tender, she caught his face between her hands and stared at him, then she leaned into him and gave him a hot kiss. Opening his mouth against her, he ran his hand up her back, urging her toward him. But she didn’t yield. Unsteady, she tightened her hold on his face and withdrew, then smoothed her hands down his shoulders and across his chest, her mouth soft and warm as she brushed her lips against one nipple. The jolt of sensation made him grit his teeth, and he sucked in his breath when she touched it with the tip of her tongue. Gripping her arm, he opened his eyes and looked down at her, his vision hazed with sensation as she continued with her slow, soft exploration.
She slipped her fingers down to his dick again and Saint clenched his teeth and sucked in a deep breath when she took his hard, pulsating shaft in her hand, stroking him with a tight hold. Saint’s face contorted at the sharp, intense pleasure that sizzled through him. Aella continued her torment on his nipple an
d cock, her eyes dilating, her pulse quickening.
Saint rose up on one elbow and caught her behind the head, pulling her toward him.
Releasing her pent-up breath in a rush, Aella braced her hands on either side of him and moved on top of him. Closing his eyes against the onslaught of sensation, Saint turned his face against her and wrapped her in a hard embrace.
Inhaling raggedly, he clutched her against him. A tremor coursed through her, and she drew her knees up and pulled out of his hold, her hair cascading around her face as she rose above him.
Another tremor shuddered through her, and she rose up, then lowered her weight on him, taking him deep inside her. Deep, deep inside her.
Breaking out in a sweat, Saint clenched his jaw against the sharp, electrifying surge of feeling, his shoulders coming off the bed as she moved once, twice against him. Her heartbeat a frenzy in her chest, his pulse thick and heavy, he tightened his fingers through her hair in a white-knuckle grip, turning his head against the pillow.
“Fuck, babe,” he murmured.
Bending over him, she stroked the palms of his hands with her thumbs, her breasts grazing his chest. “You’re doing pretty well without a head’s up.”
He laughed softly, then groaned as she tightened her hold on his hands, her breath catching as she flexed her hips, her hot, wet tightness gripping him, stroking him, drawing him closer and closer.
An agony of sensation shot through him, and he rolled his head again, the chords of his neck taut, and he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. He wanted to give her a few moments of pleasure, then ride out the hard, swelling need.
Then she moved again, taking him even deeper inside her, and he went under, the fever claiming him. He groaned and flexed beneath her, driving inside her. He couldn’t stop.
Her bare breasts were crushed against his chest, her knees bracketed his hips, and the urge to possess her in the basest way possible overwhelmed him. Tangling his fingers in Aella’s soft, thick hair, he held her head in his hands and slanted his mouth across hers in a hot, deep kiss.
Her hands braced against his shoulders, and her fingers dug into his muscles as he surged into her, again and again, holding her hips and tearing a moan from the back of her throat. His strokes became faster, longer, ruthlessly demanding. With each thrust he felt himself grow harder, thicker, until lust and need collided into white-hot heat and an all-consuming pleasure that threatened to engulf him.
He reached down and found her core, his thumb pressing, rubbing until she stiffened above him, crying out as she came.
Lost in the rush of sensation, lost in her. She wrenched her mouth from his and tossed her head back as he arched into her one last time, high and hard and infinitely deep. A guttural growl tore from his chest, and his entire body shuddered as he came, harder and stronger than ever.
She still moved against him, prolonging his scorching release as it went on and on, wringing him dry and leaving him weak and devastated.
15
Sitting up with her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin on her knees, Aella watched Saint sleep, not really amazed at how contented she was to do just that. Being near him shaved away doubt and fear. Well. Almost. She couldn’t get ahead of herself here. This whole commando thing was so sexy, the way he was so competent and low key. Her lips curved, and she tucked the blanket a little higher on his chest. He looked so relaxed, the lines between his eyes that always showed when he was in deep thought were gone, yet there was nothing boyish or innocent about him, even asleep. Late twenties, a few scars and new bruises, Saint was effortlessly a man—strong, skilled, and sexy—and he made her more aware of herself as a woman. But then, that was the reason she had been so attracted to him.
She was caught between a rock and a hard place with both her need to bring Darko to justice and the confirmation she had denied when Saint had walked out of Walter Reed without a problem.
She was a realist. It was a lot of messiness to sort out. Maybe it couldn’t be fixed, and she felt like she had years ago…breakable.
Getting to the root of her evil would mean she would have to think about things she didn’t want to think about, had totally eradicated from her reality so that she could be her own person without the mindset that had been ingrained in her. Stay for a while, then move on. Don’t let anything matter too much because you’ll just be leaving it behind.
So, maybe it was true, going home again was impossible, but she hadn’t had a home, permanent roots. Even DC, to her, was nothing but a layover. Everything was disposable, except her ambitions—material things, living space, boyfriends. It had all been effortless until…Saint.
She had to sort it out because she couldn’t go back to her job with ghosts. There was a comfort in being reborn, in starting fresh, just as there were supreme drawbacks.
Not to mention, she hadn’t said a word about David. She closed her eyes, realizing that David had also been a layover. It wasn’t fair to him, not by a long shot, but she consoled herself with the notion that sometimes denial was a way to stave off change. They were just dating, not even exclusive, but there was no contest between the two men. Even if David was easy, uncomplicated, Aella preferred a tougher time with Saint. The man wouldn’t be easy, but God, he would be worth it.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Saint asked.
She had thought about it on and off for six months. What if he had brought up a future with them? How would she have reacted? “Why did you leave me at Walter Reed with just a goodbye?” He’d made no reference to that non-conversation, and it made her feel even more vulnerable.
He pushed up on one elbow, sliding his hand down her shin beneath the blanket. “There would have been nothing but heartache, Aella.”
“There was nothing but heartache…anyway.”
“We have different ideas of what our separate futures held for us. I left that can of worms unopened.”
“I see. So, you thought I wouldn’t be open to a conversation? It would be unproductive, so you let it go.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He glanced at her for a moment, then looked away, his expression suddenly strained and unreadable. A peculiar hesitancy hung between them as he took her hand, the muscle in his jaw tensing as he stroked her knuckles with his thumb. The brush of touch only made tenderness curl around her heart. Had he been as miserable as she had been? “I thought we were on different wavelengths. We had to be realistic. We don’t have conventional lives, babe.”
“The distance—”
He was so solemn. He held her gaze for a moment longer, then he glanced down as he tightened his fingers around hers. “The distance was only part of it.”
As Aella watched him, the earlier feelings of uncertainty rose up in her, and she experienced an unaccustomed sense of insecurity. That by itself was very unsettling. During her life, insecurity had been as foreign to her as was loneliness. But ever since she’d met this man, she had bouts of uncertainty that left her feeling strangely exposed and…threatened.
She was almost afraid to ask. “What is the other part?”
Emotion darkened his eyes and his mouth compressed with regret. “You need a flexible partner. Operating isn’t accommodating. Uncle Sam owns me until I get out. Fact. He tells me where to go and what to do.”
She nodded. “I understand it wouldn’t be easy, but wouldn’t it be worth it?”
He smiled, his eyes locking on hers as he trailed a finger down her cheek, his touch tender and lingering. He hooked his knuckles under her chin and lifted her face. His breath feathered across her lips for an instant before his mouth touched hers with infinite gentleness. It was as though she was insulated from every other sensation except that, and she closed her eyes, letting go of every conscious thought. His warmth and strength surrounded her, his touch like silk against silk, yet for all the softness, there was an underlying strength, a depth of feeling. When he made love to her, he always made her feel that, above all
else, he was silently reaffirming what she was now recognizing as his commitment to her, that he would always be there for her, no matter what. A fierce ache constricted her throat, and she tried to will it away, knowing that for now, she was safe and protected.
“What are you saying exactly?” he asked.
There was a knock on the door and Yasmiin called out. “Aella, come help me make breakfast.”
“I’ll be right there.” She smiled, then met his gaze. “We can talk more about this later. We have a walk to the military base ahead of us. Are you open to that?”
He slid his hand down her spine comforting and a reminder of last night when they meshed so well. Who was she kidding? They always meshed well, every single time. Though she didn’t need the tactile sensation. He was imprinted all over her body. In such a good way. For a breath, he met her gaze and understood where her mind just went.
He smiled, lifted himself up and brushed his mouth over hers. “I’m open to that,” he murmured, and she went soft inside.
When she emerged from the house, Yasmiin was waiting. She smiled at Aella.
“You slept well, or did you do much sleeping?”
“You’re a very cheeky young woman, Yasmiin.”
She chuckled and slipped her arm through Aella’s as they began to walk.
The clouds on the western horizon were still undercoated with slate gray, while the upper eastern layers were burnished with a scary red…like blood. She swallowed. The sun had barely cleared the horizon, but already the air hung heavy, as if one spark could set it on fire. There was no breeze to feather her hair, just an itch under her skin reacting to an unnatural stillness, even the animals were quiet as if a predator were nearby. Was there another approaching storm, and this was the uneasy calm?
As if feeling either the tension in the air or in Aella’s body, Yasmiin shook her gently as they walked. “There is no need to get defensive. Love should never be locked away, only shared.”
Aella turned to look at her young friend, her words crashing into her. Aella almost couldn’t breathe with the weight of how she felt about Saint compressing her chest. She wanted to break away and flee back to him, back to the shelter of his arms, back to his steady presence and solid strength.