by Norris, Kris
For Kam, it could have been the bitter aftertaste of that drink. A medicinal smell. Hell, a freeze frame of her passed out on the floor—menacing silhouette looming in the background. Something that would have pushed him into action. Would have had him grabbing that drink. Dumping it out. Confronting the fucker who’d bought it. Thought he could take advantage of her.
Fuck that. No one was taking advantage of her.
Another tilt of the floor. The slide of the wall along his back. Six caught them both before they’d slumped onto the carpet. Managed to right himself. Tug Kam against him. She stared up at him, all glazed green eyes and ruby red lips. A tilt of her head, then a smile.
And it was as if the damn sun exploded in front of him. Just lit her up in this aura of pure gold that highlighted the copper amidst the blonde. Made that amber ring around her eyes sparkle. Six had heard Cannon describe Jericho’s smile like an inner spotlight, but this… It was supernova. Because what was looking back at him—in those fucking gorgeous eyes—wasn’t friendship. Or even idle interest. It was undeniable scorching desire. More telling than she’d ever been.
And all directed at him.
Sure, the drugs had switched off her filters. Shut down any inhibitions keeping her guarded. But they hadn’t manufactured the depth of need shining in those green depths. In the dreamy way she lifted her lips, alternating her gaze between his eyes and his mouth—as if she was trying to figure out how to kiss him. How to close those scant few inches separating his mouth from hers.
And he wanted to. Wanted to slant his lips over hers, delve inside. Lose himself in her soft skin. In the taste of warm woman. Drown in her. And he would have. Would have hiked her up on his shoulder, turned and marched down the hall. Let them into their room then pinned her to the door. Let her decide if she wanted it fast and hard, or slow and steady.
She was on board. No doubt. That look. Her body pressing against his, rubbing across his erection. Christ, when the hell had he gotten hard, again? Second time tonight from nothing more than her being close to him. The hint of possibility.
Just his fucking luck. She finally gives him the equivalent of a green light, and he can’t act on it. Can’t so much as kiss her. Allow himself to skirt that line. Not when he knew she wasn’t in her control. Couldn’t make a conscious decision.
They needed to get inside. Lock the doors—sleep it off. He could investigate the situation in the morning. When his mind wasn’t fuzzy. His thoughts scattered by the drug. By the woman running a lazy finger across his chest. Humming as she drew patterns on his neck.
Six gently grasped her hand. Stilled it. “Easy, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed.”
Which had been the wrong thing to say because her lips lifted higher. Her body pressing harder against his as she giggled. Actually fucking giggled. “About time you asked, partner.”
Had she actually sounded breathless or had his hearing been affected, too? Because he swore her voice had dropped an octave. Had been more a heavy sigh than words.
Six shook his head. “None of that. You’re not yourself.”
She giggled—again—slumping even more against him. “Maybe I’m just tired of fighting this.”
“Or maybe, someone spiked your damn drink. Come on, I’ll—”
Movement. Whether it was real or something about to happen, it hit him full force. Men coming their way. Fast. Organized. Quick-walking in formation. Definitely a team. The dull tap of feet. A slight rustling sound of fabric over holsters. Mumbled voices—accented. Words he was sure weren’t English. Though, disturbingly familiar. Some form of Arabic. Dari maybe.
It all had him moving. Lifting Kam—limbs dangling at her side as she went limp in his arms—then heading down the hallway. Their room was at the end. Still several more doors away. Too damn far with his head foggy. His vision blurring at the edges. He could take a stand. Fight. And normally, he wouldn’t think twice.
Didn’t matter how many guys. What they were packing. If he’d get shot in the process. He’d make sure Kam didn’t get hurt. Stayed safe. If he had to crawl all the way back to Seattle with her in his arms, he’d manage it because she was his responsibility.
His. Period.
But fighting in his condition—with his senses quickly deteriorating. His reflexes slowing. His damn body shutting down… He wasn’t in any condition to fight. Not and win, and Six wasn’t stupid. Wasn’t too proud to acknowledge that his best form of offense was a sound defense. That getting them inside the room—a place he might be able to defend from while he called in reinforcements—was his best chance at keeping them both alive.
Were those footsteps closer? Right behind him? Had he stopped moving? Because he couldn’t tell. Couldn’t seem to get his mind to focus on anything other than leaning against the wall. Trying not to trip onto his knees. On holding Kam tight.
Definitely footsteps. Close. On top of him. Hands tugging at his arms. Trying to drag Kam away.
Fuck that. Six blinked, slid down the wall a bit, but kept his hands locked on Kameron. Kept trying to move forward. A face appeared in front of him. Dark hair. Eyes. The same ones he’d seen in the bar. Winking at Kam. Watching her.
More movement off to his left. A blurry shadow rising. Lifting over him. There was a glint off the overhead lights. A flash of silver cutting through the haze. Then nothing.
Chapter Four
Why was the room so hot? And what was that constant thrumming noise inside her head? The hard press against her cheek?
Kam tried to open her eyes. Failed, fading back into the darkness only to be roused when someone groaned. Loud. Right in her ear. More of a vibration than an actual noise, but it jerked her awake. Had her prying her eyelids apart—blinking the surroundings into a blurry haze.
Men. Seven or eight all gathered in the room. At least, she thought that’s how many there were. It was hard to tell one from the other when their shadowed silhouettes kept merging then separating. A mass of black moving amidst white.
Another rumble beneath her ear.
She focused to her right, inhaling sharply. She was splayed across Six’s chest, her head tucked into his shoulder. One of his arms beneath her chin as they came together over his lap. Her hands were next to his, both zip-tied together, the long black ends sticking straight up.
It took Kam a few moments to process the information. Realize that something was wrong. That they shouldn’t be arranged like that. Shouldn’t be on the floor, doing nothing with strange people around them. But just when the messages started to get through to her brain, to actually make sense, her thoughts derailed. Just faded into the warm feel of Six’s body against hers. The smell of cottonwood on his sweater. His skin. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if he sweated the aroma out through his pores because it enveloped her. Surrounded her in that perfect essence that was all him.
Voices. Then hands lifting her up.
She wanted to protest. Wanted to stay with Six—resting against him even if he wasn’t doing anything. Was out cold.
Which registered as odd in the back part of her brain. The part that wanted to grasp onto coherent thought and shake her with it. Get her to react. Do anything other than slump over the guy’s shoulder who heaved her up—draped her across his back.
Were they moving? She was bouncing slightly. Swaying left then right, her hair swishing against her cheek then fluttering away. Dull carpet passed below her, the guy’s black boots leaving the odd bit of dirt behind. Crumbs of brown against the gray.
Kam blinked, came to as the guy shoved her into the backseat of a large SUV. Once again, leaning into Six. They’d squished four of them on the bench seat, her and Six in the middle. The vehicle hummed to life, rocking gently as it started to move forward.
The men were talking. Strange words that didn’t make any sense until she realized they weren’t speaking English. Yet, the tone, the accent, the damn language sounded familiar. Firing another part of her brain into action. The one that had spent a decade in the service�
�had listened to that dialect for years.
Not that she could follow what they were saying. Not with her head clouded. Everything moving slowly. She’d hear a word she recognized, but by the time it took shape, the conversation had moved on.
Still, the words that did penetrate the fog in her brain weren’t encouraging. Capture. Alive. Mission. Questioning. They all suggested the kind of encounter she’d successfully avoided during deployment. The kind that spiked the inklings of fear in the pit of her stomach.
Until Six quietly groaned and twitched, and all her focus would switch back to him. To the warmth of his body. The beat of his heart beneath her cheek. The way his muscles flexed every so often, as if he was trying to move without making it obvious.
Had he just whispered her name? A raspy breath of air that made the interior of the SUV hot? Overly small? They’d been sitting still for a long time, as if waiting for instructions on where to go, but they’d begun moving, again. The steady hum of the tires against the pavement. The constant chatter of people beyond the windows. The flash of lights inside the vehicle—neon. Casting shadows across the seats. The men’s faces. She still couldn’t make out many details—other than on Six. On the thick stubble along his chin. The occasional twitch of the corner of his mouth.
Was it moving? Forming more words she couldn’t make out? Because it looked as if he was trying to talk to her. Out of one side. But, damn, every bone in her body felt liquified. Just like her brain. Caught up in a warm euphoria that short-circuited any negative thoughts as soon as they took shape. Quelled any hint of fear that bubbled beneath her skin or warned her they were in danger. The kind that ended with blood and suffering.
Ended with Six dead.
That jolted Kam a bit. Roused her enough to take stock. They were moving through a parking lot toward the Strip—at least that’s what it looked like. What she thought was the only available exit. Brightly lit casinos surrounded them on the adjoining street. There were vehicles everywhere. Cars. Trucks. Making it impossible for the guy driving to turn right—join the heavy traffic. Not that she knew where he’d be going along the Strip. Were they meeting someone? Sightseeing? Lost?
And what time was it?
It was dark, though the lights cut through the night. Illuminated the sidewalks and crowds ambling along the walkways. Horns blared in the distance, one of the men in the car yelling back an obscenity.
They were definitely speaking a form of Arabic.
A rough hand on her jaw, swiveling her head to the left. She blinked a few times, the guy’s face washing in and out of focus. He said something—more of those odd words—then addressed someone else in the car. Other voices then another hard pinch of her chin.
The guy grunted. “Do you know who we are?”
Was that a trick question? Because she could barely remember her own name. When she didn’t answer, he shoved her back against Six, mumbling a few heated words to the other men.
A nudge. Subtle. Just a slight press against her arm. She glanced up at Six, caught a glimpse of him looking down at her. Eyes slitted. Barely open, but she saw them. Got lost in the color because, damn, the man had beautiful eyes. Like rich coffee. Earthy brown.
Another nudge, and she blinked. Realized she’d been staring into his eyes for god knew how long. Enough time the driver had finally turned right—was slowly traveling along the Strip. Six’s eyes narrowed, then shifted, looking toward the guy to his right, then her left.
That meant something. She knew it did. He was mapping out some kind of strategy. His intentions. She just couldn’t quite follow, getting lost in his eyes, again. Until something dripped on her arm.
Kameron glanced down, staring at the red droplet. Wondering what the hell it was when it hit her. Blood. Six’s blood. A scan of his face highlighted a lump on his forehead. A laceration in the center slowly trailing blood down his face. When had he gotten hurt? And why hadn’t she noticed before? She’d been staring at him for a while, hadn’t she?
She didn’t remember much, but she was fairly certain he hadn’t been injured earlier. That they’d been walking back from the bar, then… Her mind went blank. Nothing but empty space encased in shadows.
The car changed lanes, the motion roiling nausea through her stomach. Crested acid in the back of her throat. She fell against the guy to her left only to get pushed back into Six, a raspy curse sounding beside her. As if it was her fault she was bouncing around. Unable to control her movements.
Another nudge. More eye movement. Not enough the men would notice. Just her. All that intensity focused on her face. And damn, she didn’t want it to stop. To think about what he was trying to tell her because just having him stare at her—all that brown filling up the interior of the vehicle. Overpowering the neon reflections flashing past the windows. It made everything else fade.
She smiled, head bobbing to one side. Warmth spread up from her core, and she half wondered if she might just pass out. Close her eyes. Drown in the heat burning beneath her skin. Drawing her under. Until it was more than a nudge against her side.
An elbow. Sharp. Hard. Right between her upper ribs, and damn, it hurt. Sort of. She felt the pain, but it slowly morphed into giddiness as she looked up at him, again. Christ, he was stunning. That lethal gleam in his eyes igniting that part of her DNA that she hadn’t known was there. That appreciated a blatant show of male dominance.
The air felt charged, and she knew Six was about to make a move. Challenge the men. She just wished she cared more. Because nothing seemed important other than staying flush against him. Leaning into his warmth. His heartbeat strong and steady against her chest. His breath washing over her. And after fighting her feelings—staying removed from any kind of emotional response for the past few years—this level of sensation trumped everything else.
A clicking sound then the vehicle slowing, turning. Pushing her against the creep beside her, again. Knocking him into the window when Six gave an added shove on her side. Was he trying to break her damn ribs? Because the force slammed the guy’s head against the glass—had him twisting to face Kam. Raising his fist as blood dripped from his nose.
She reacted. More on muscle memory than actual thought. Her version of a Pavlovian response from a couple of years’ worth of training. Of not wanting to be vulnerable. Unable to face any threat. Those damn four days she couldn’t forget—put completely behind her.
It was slower than usual, but he hadn’t been anticipating it. Hadn’t believed she’d be able to move at all. It wasn’t pretty, but that moment of shock—of him assuming he had time, didn’t have to hurry—was enough to catch the bastard in the jaw with both hands. Snap his head back. It hit the window a second time, harder than before, the dull thud echoing through the cab.
Kameron turned toward Six as the interior erupted into a battlefield. Six elbowing the man next to him. Breaking the zip-ties, then wrestling with the creep. Fighting over the gun. It fired, clipping the driver—sending them into the curb. The vehicle jumped the small rise, hurtling forward. People screamed as they scattered in every direction, the horn sounding when the SUV crashed into a lamppost—propelled Kam forward.
If Six hadn’t grabbed her. Tugged her into his arms as he rolled them so his back hit the seats in front of them—preventing them from continuing forward and smashing into the windshield—she would have cracked her face on the glass. Or gone straight through it. Guaranteed concussion. Possible broken neck.
But he held her firm, her body protected within his as he took the brunt of the shock when the vehicle lifted then settled hard on the ground. Shattered glass sprayed through the cab, covering them in tiny squares that reflected the neon light. Made a kaleidoscope of colors dance across the roof.
Six grabbed her arms, raised them to shoulder height then snapped them down and out—breaking the tie around her wrists. It hurt, but she was free.
“Move.”
Move? Why would she want to move when she was happy lying there? His arms banded around her.
His breath warm across her neck. Every inch of him was hard, again, and she wanted to enjoy the play of muscles against her back. Drink in that hint of cottonwood. Drift off with his heartbeat as music because she was tired. Bone weary and more than ready to sleep.
“Damn it, Kam. Now!”
Kam blinked, trying to process the words as Six heaved them upright, kicking the guy he’d been wrestling with in the head when he stirred. Blood splattered across the window, the drops slowly sliding down the glass.
Not that she had long to process it. Two seconds and Six had the door open, was booting the unconscious man onto the sidewalk then dragging her across the seat. Another two and they were out. Tripping a couple of feet away. The wind picking up her hair, cooling the sweat beading on her skin. She wasn’t sure why she’d been sweating. If it was the fight or being in Six’s arms. Having all that firm muscle wrapped around her. Didn’t care because he was moving in close, again. Patting his hands down her body then pulling her flush against him.
She smiled despite his frown. “Six—”
“Shit, you’re still completely out of it. Do you even know what’s going on? The kind of shit we’re in?”
Was he upset at her? Didn’t he want her close? Touching him, because she definitely wanted him touching her. More of his arms snugged around her. Encasing her in a wall of male muscle. “What?”
“Exactly. Stay close. And don’t leave my side for a second, got it? This isn’t close to being over.”
Not leave his side? Hell, yeah, she could get behind that order. In fact, she wanted nothing more than to get close. Lover close. Be his damn second skin.
She smiled, leaning against him as she drew a finger along his chest. “Yes, sir.”
A twitch of his lips, then his eyes widening, a curse lighting the air as he transferred her hand to his. “Tangoes on the move. Time to run, Kam. And don’t even think about stopping.”