by Alison Aimes
“I accept those terms.” She swiveled once more. She would see these brutalized people to safety, learn what they knew, and then she would survey the caves where 223 was hiding and put her revised plan into effect. It was a logical agenda—and not at all influenced by a certain too-tempting, wide-shouldered man.
“Wait.” Ryker’s gruff voice was heavy with suspicion. “If you really are intent on helping, scouting is a good idea, but not first priority. I need you to stay and care for them.”
“Care?” Her gaze flickered over the captives. Protecting those who couldn’t help themselves was a part of her creed. But actual caretaking? With someone who might cling to her and want her to murmur comforting words as Ryker was doing? Not really her thing.
She’d been taught an infinite number of ways to cause pain and facilitate death, but no one had taught her how to heal.
“You set them free while I tend to their wounds,” he pushed.
“I don’t think—”
“Here.” He tossed something her way. On instinct, she caught it with her free hand, the familiar, thin metal pressing into her palm. It was the key she’d given him. “Let’s see if you’re as good at getting people out of these chains as you are at putting them in.”
She shot him a cool stare. “I see your humor remains as twisted in the light as it was in the dark.”
“And leans a little to the left. Just like other parts of me.”
Her body flushed, the reminder of his perfect cock causing a low tug in her belly. At the most inappropriate of times. Her gaze flickered toward the others and back to him. “You should learn to guard your tongue.”
“I didn’t hear any complaints about that particular body part when it was lapping at your skin.” Unabashed and unapologetic as ever. Even in front of an audience.
The itch between her shoulder blades kicked up a notch. Especially when she realized she wasn’t as irritated by his arrogant teasing as she should be. Not by a long shot.
She far preferred it over the haunted expression he had every time he looked at the captives.
“P-please.” The youngest of the men yanked at the chain around his neck, drawing her attention. “Get us out of these.”
She might have denied her ex-cellmate, but there was no denying him.
“Of course.” Gripping the key tight, she marched toward the young man. New rules, she reminded herself. Untethered from her employers and old way of life, she could decide for herself what her limits would be. Plus, speaking to them was the only way she was going to get information.
But as she moved forward, a wail of fear rang out. She followed the captives’ terror-filled stares. All were locked on the blood on her knife and hands.
“Don’t be afraid.” Slowing her steps, she sheathed her knife and, key visible, raised her palms. “I’m just going to use this to set you free. Do not fear. Blood splatters are a very common result of the kind of strikes I used to kill those men. It can get a lot messier.” She forced her lips upward in what she hoped was a comforting expression. “As a trained Council assassin, I—”
The young man shrunk back.
The woman’s panicked shrieks filled the air, louder than before.
Off to the side, she heard Ryker curse. “Always with the full introduction.”
She shot him a look. “This is exactly why I suggested I go patrol and—”
“Neither of us mean you any harm,” speaking over the noise, Ryker addressed the others. “You’ve no reason to fear. This female killed the men who were hurting you. Her only intent, like mine, is to free you.”
He was only trying to calm the others. Still, it was confusing, and perhaps even…touching, to have him come to her defense.
Which made her wonder all over again if it would have been smarter to have left him chained in that cell forever.
Good will, and all the other complicated sensations the man sparked in her, were a distraction she could ill afford.
11
Ryker jerked his chin in the captives’ direction. Get to it.
Do not tell me what to do, Jade mouthed back. But she did resume her advance. This time, though, she kept her mouth shut as she closed the rest of the distance.
The young man flinched as she raised her hand to his neck, but he didn’t shrink away.
“What’s your name?” Each of the captives had a jagged S seared beneath the Dragath25 prison number on their arm. It didn’t take much for her to work out that it likely stood for slave.
“Rafi.” The single word was little more than a whisper.
“You never let them break you, Rafi.” She fit the key into the lock of his cuff, determined to use his name as much as possible. “You fought back. I admire that.”
Hazel eyes rose to hers. She met his scrutiny head-on. Let him see the sincerity in her words. His expression remained guarded, but she understood. By the time she was his age, she, too, had already discovered how cruel the world could be.
Finally, he gave a shake of his head, shame bleeding back into his expression. “I can’t fight like you.”
“You can learn.” With a twist, the cuff came free, dropping to the ground with a crash. But the marks around the young man’s throat remained, slashing lines of red-raised scar tissue that unleashed another wave of fury inside her.
Another dangerous fissure.
She fought it, keeping her expression blank. “What do you know of 223’s hideout? Have you been there? Or heard of it? I need you to tell me how to get there.”
The boy shrank, his eyes clouding over with fear. He shook his head. “No, please. I…I don’t know anything. I swear.”
She couldn’t tell if he spoke the truth or not. There was a good chance he’d been threatened with torture and death by his slavers if he revealed anything and, right now, he was more afraid of 223 and his men than her.
She could change that.
But it would mean more trauma. Plus, the boy might simply shut down. Terror was a tricky weapon to wield, especially with long-term victims.
Across the room, Ryker glowered at her as if he knew her thoughts. She glared back.
Damn it. She didn’t have time, or the know-how, to draw these people out. She needed to move. To find a way into 223’s lair before it was too late.
But without her usual interrogation tools, her options were limited.
“There is water in that pile.” Her tone was brisk, though she tried to smooth out any indications of frustration. “Get it and a snack for yourself and then pass them out to the others.”
There was only one way back for people like this boy and coddling wouldn’t lead him there.
She’d learned that firsthand.
Confident he’d do as she bid, she moved to free the other two men, asking each the same questions, hoping someone would volunteer something about where 223 might have taken the weapon.
No luck.
The older man with streaks of gray in his hair refused to even look at her, much less speak. His breathing rough and erratic, he’d moved away as fast as he could once his cuff was released. He’d snatched a jug from Rafi and, moaning like a wounded animal, crouched down and drank swallow after swallow.
She forced herself to be patient.
The final captive, a light-haired man with hollow cheekbones who’d introduced himself as Tyson, proved to be in better shape, but no more interested in talking. The instant the chain was off, the vacant look in his blue-eyed gaze sharpened into something almost feral. His stare locked too long and too hard on her knife.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t do it.” Her grip tightened as his forearm bunched. The man was in his prime and his musculature hinted at hidden physical strength, but he’d been starved and tortured. The advantage was all hers. “It would be a shame to survive what you have only to die at the hands of someone trying to rescue you.”
She surveyed the others, deciding more of a warning would be wise. “That goes for all of you.” She raised her voice to carry. “A
ttacking us is foolhardy. It would only irritate me to have worked so hard to save you to see you throw it all away.”
A few whimpers from across the room, but the man’s body relaxed beneath her grip.
“I will be equally displeased,” she continued, “to discover you have information about 223’s hideout that you declined to share. The sooner I slit his throat, the sooner you’ll be truly safe.”
“Wow. You really suck as this.” Ryker emerged at her side as the kid Rafi scurried forward and pulled the tall, blond-haired man toward the water and food. “You almost make me look warm and cuddly.”
He’d traded the flimsy rag for a pair of cloth pants that rode low on his hips and a long-sleeve shirt that strained at the seams.
Janus help her. He looked as good in clothes as he did naked.
She forced herself to blink.
“You should know threatening them is the last way you’ll get information.” His patronizing tone cleared her foolish haze.
“They needed to understand the consequences of short-sighted thinking.” Though she really shouldn’t have given a damn what he thought.
“Ends versus the means, assassin. We should really talk about that sometime. Along with your communication skills.”
“I need that information.”
“We both do.” The warning in his gaze told her he hadn’t forgotten they were after the same thing. “But these people are traumatized. You won’t learn a thing until they trust you.”
Trust? She usually earned her target’s trust at the sharp edge of her knife.
She watched the female captive look in Ryker’s direction, as if for assurance. Saw him smile back. “They are already more comfortable with you.”
“I know.” He smirked. “Too bad for you, eh, assassin?”
She tamped down on the undisciplined flare of irritation. This was not an insurmountable problem. She would simply remain close and watch. If and when one of the captives revealed what he or she knew to the felon, she would be ready. She would follow, gain access to 223’s hideout, and then incapacitate her ex-cellmate before taking the weapon herself.
She didn’t need trust. She didn’t need understanding. What she needed was to shadow Ryker like the darkness she was. It was the only logical course.
Warm lips pressed to her lobe. “Why don’t I hold on to this while you contemplate whatever scary thing you’re thinking right now?” Before she understood his intent, he’d snatched the key from her hand and slipped it into the small seam at the hip of his pants.
She offered only a vague nod in response. Too distracted by his nearness to muster a more adequate retort. He hadn’t been this close since…since he’d been inside her.
She’d been taught a million ways to kill, but her training had never included how to defend against an onslaught of longing.
Taking in shallow breaths, she fought past the dark need building at her center. Struggling to erase the memory of his big body over hers, his rock-hard ass clenching under her palms as he thrust inside her over and over, filling her, making her come alive.
An illogical part of her wished right then to be back in the dark of their cell, hidden by the shadows that had blurred lines and made it possible to pretend they were other than they were.
But this was the harsh light of day and distraction at such a precarious moment was unacceptable.
She cleared her throat. Tamped down on her need. And allowed herself only the lightest of brushes as her knuckle skimmed his hip—before she dropped her clenched fist to her thigh and stepped away, lengthening the distance between them.
She forced herself to focus on the captives huddled by the wall instead. “None of them will survive a long march in the dust storm.” She kept her voice low so only Ryker would hear.
He offered a clipped nod. “I know a place. Grif and I stayed there when conducting surveillance. It has solid protection and some good views for watching the camp and it’s not too far.”
“We should move out immediately.” She couldn’t deny the small, traitorous flare of satisfaction at the fact that it almost seemed as if they were again working as a team.
“Agreed.” But instead of turning to the others, her temporary partner surprised her by moving closer, his husky voice dropping to a near whisper as his bare chest brushed her arm. “There’s just one more thing.”
“What?” She forced the single word out, her hard-won equilibrium again threatened by his simple touch. She’d have to do better. Find more control and—
Something cold and hard snapped around her wrist.
Jerking her arm high, she took in the chain circling her right wrist, obscuring her dagger skin design. The thick, familiar manacle black and forbidding against her pale skin.
“What is this?” she demanded.
Triumphant amber eyes locked with hers. “Unfinished business. And the end of our temporary truce.”
12
Muscles bunched, Ryker waited for the assassin to come out swinging.
Instead, she studied the chain, then him. “Why would you do that? I told you I would remain to help.”
Her voice was cool. Composed. He’d wanted fury.
A mirror of rage to reflect the way he’d felt when she’d tricked and chained him.
Maybe he shouldn’t have done it, but he’d seen his chance—and gone for it. No way was he buying that bullshit about a temporary truce. She had to be lying. Waiting for him to drop his guard.
She’d already chained him up once. He’d be an idiot to let her pull one over on him again.
So why the hell did that tiny spurt of guilt in his belly refuse to be quashed?
“Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it, assassin?” He tried to regain his smug sense of victory. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re the one who left me in that cell.”
“Alive. With a way out.” The fact that she thought he should be grateful helped piss him off all over again.
“Wh-what’s going on?” It was the kid Rafi who found the courage to speak, his wide eyes locked on the chain around the female’s wrist. “I thought you said she was here to help us. That she was good.”
A scoff from his side. “He certainly never said that.”
Was that an actual sense of humor? Of course, his assassin would exhibit it at the most inappropriate of times.
Wait. What? She wasn’t his assassin.
“You’re safe,” he assured the others. “I will keep you safe. This doesn’t concern you.”
“Your response is inadequate. It still doesn’t answer Rafi’s question as to why you’ve manacled me.” Jade’s voice was composed as ever. “Revenge is an illogical motivator.”
“But it feels good.”
“A bruised ego is the worst kind of reason to take action.”
Please. His ego wasn’t bruised. Far from it. He just… “You know what? You’re done talking.” Pressing his mouth to her ear, he kept his voice low, aware the others were watching. “You want a proper logical explanation? How about this. Chaining someone right after you fuck them is cold. Even for the ice queen. That’s not a bruised ego. It’s just a fact.”
Her expression never altered.
“Second,” he continued, “and way more to the point, I don’t want you slipping away to go after the weapon while I’m busy helping these people to safety. You say you’re staying, but guess what? Council assassins lie. But this”—he rattled the chain between them by flicking his wrist—“ensures that where I go, you follow.”
“It’s a reasonable plan. Nor am I offended you think I would lie. You are right. I would do so if it was required.”
“I’m so relieved you approve my rationale.”
“But I don’t think it’s why you did it,” she added, surprising him into silence. “I think you fear I’ll stay of my own choice, as much as you do that I’ll leave you behind.”
“What?” he scoffed, bristling even as something inside him winced as if she’d actually hit a nerve. “Why don’t you save t
he analyzing for someone who knows how humans actually think and feel.”
No reaction. “You want to keep everything just so. Enemies. Captive and captor. Fuck partners and strangers. Betrayer and betrayed. If I stay with you and the others on my own, you won’t be able to do so.”
“Think what you like. I thankfully don’t give a shit what you think.” But his voice sounded a little too defensive.
A small sigh. “Why were you so upset before?”
The unexpected question on the heels of her other bullshit slammed through him like a one-two sucker punch. “What are you talking about?”
“Deflection is beneath you. Your pain when you saw the others was obvious. If you don’t want to tell me why”—the chain rattled as she shrugged—“don’t, but don’t bother with the lie. Just know their presence is making you act more irrational than ever.”
He sucked down a breath. All too aware of their nearby audience.
He’d had a plan. A sound one. Get out of this room without losing his shit and with the enemy assassin contained and under his control. Stay detached. Remain cool. Remember he was an unfeeling bastard who’d lost the ability to invest in others a long time ago.
It was a good plan—except for the fact that this damn Council female kept screwing it up.
Not just with her ridiculous observations. Or the embarrassing fact that he’d been so relieved not to have to deal with these traumatized people alone, he’d almost been willing to forget what she’d done.
No, her most damaging threat to his plans came from something so subtle, he almost hadn’t been able to guard against it until it was too late: watching her trying to comfort the others.
That colossal awkwardness had brought out everything in him from pity to sympathy, amusement, respect and admiration—and that fucking lust he couldn’t shake.
She might have no damn clue what she was doing, but she didn’t shy away from the challenge—and that, more than anything, kept screwing with his plans, especially the one to keep her at a distance.
“The pain has to do with your wife and son, doesn’t it?” She picked up right where she’d left off. Her quiet, nonchalant assertion sliding beneath his ribs like a rusty knife, as effective as any torturer.