by J. B. Havens
“I took some time to reflect on this. You were right, in a way. What you two are doing is not much different from what I’m doing with Beatrice. We’re not a regular military unit so I expect there are certain… allowances that can be made. I’ll leave it up to you two to determine if and when you become an item or whatever. I don’t want to know about it. What I don’t know, I don’t have to report. Dismissed.” Jackson rose and waited for us to leave the room.
We walked out into the mess hall side-by-side. I briefly considered grabbing Jordon’s hand, running to my cabin, and tearing his clothes off. Instead, I plopped on the couch beside Flynn, who was mashing buttons on a controller and shouting at Pierce to cover him.
Jordon stood behind me and placed both of his hands on my shoulders. He squeezed firmly and began massaging them, digging his thumbs into the tightness around my neck. A moan slipped from my lips before I could stop it; thankfully, the sound was covered by the explosions coming from the TV and the curses pouring from Pierce’s mouth. Both Rook and Jones were absent from the hall.
My mind was whirling with possibilities. Should I take Jordon to my cabin? His had other people in it. We wouldn’t have privacy there. Should we leave the hall together or separate? How secretive did we need to be? Was I ready for this? Was Jordon?
Jordon’s breath was warm on my ear and I shivered in response. “I can practically hear you thinking. Relax. Nothing needs to happen this second or even this week.” He kissed my neck gently, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot beneath my ear before continuing to speak. “I want you so much right now, I can practically smell you on my skin. I want to wake up with your scent all over me and your body pressed to mine. Once I have you, there is no going back. I’m willing to wait until you’re ready. For as long as that takes. Do you know why?”
I shook my head no, unable to speak past the rapid pulse in my throat.
“Because you’re worth waiting for. And the wait will make your surrender all the sweeter.” With a final brush of his lips against my neck, he was gone.
Chapter 8
Wesley watched from the guard shack as the team filtered out of the mess hall, making their way to their cabins. Earlier, he had seen Jordon and Mic go behind the buildings, followed soon after by Jackson. Mic had come back out looking flushed and anxious. It seemed that Jordon and Mic were an item, or about to be. He could work with that. The time was rapidly approaching for him to implement his plan. The bitch was going to pay for what she’d done. She and her team of dancing monkeys.
Rook was one he needed to watch out for. He was deadly; Wesley could see it in his eyes. There wasn’t much the man missed. He was careful to stay out of Rook’s sight. Wesley feared that if the dark-skinned half-breed managed to catch him in his eagle-eyed stare, he would see the dangerous animal within.
As a guard, he wasn’t privy to details of their operations, but from what little he was able to gather, he knew that they were not scheduled to leave for a mission, though there was something in the works. The time was finally right; he would begin taking the first steps in his plan tonight. Hammering the nail into the tire of Mic’s Jeep had been a spur of the moment idea. The real fun would begin tonight. Steel wouldn’t know where the hits were coming from until it was too late to dodge them.
****
Jackson entered his cabin. The sight greeting him was one that made the weight on his mind lighter. Beatrice was curled up on the couch reading a book. The cover had a buff man on it, which made him chuckle.
“If you wanted to see a half-naked man, you could just ask,” he said as he toed off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head.
“Hmm… I suppose so, dear,” she muttered, not looking up from her novel. He threw his shirt at her and it landed on her lap, covering the book. She looked at him; surprise, then pleasure, crossed her features. “No one told you to stop, Fisher.”
“Stop what?” He asked, walking closer to her and motioning for her to stand.
“Taking your clothes off. You’re only part-way there.” Beatrice turned from him and sashayed down the short hallway to their bedroom. That always threw him. Never in his life had he shared his living space with anyone; living in various barracks with other grunts didn’t count. At first, he thought it was going to be a strain on them. They were both so used to being alone; but they had seamlessly meshed together. Jackson loved seeing her in his bed when he got up in the morning. She brought him a peace he had never thought to find.
Jackson kicked off his pants and climbed into bed with an already naked Beatrice. He pulled her close and let her scent and the soft sounds purring from her throat banish his dark thoughts. For a time, a preciously short period, he could let go and forget about the troubles plaguing his team. He could forget about Russia, the mounting secrets, and Mic’s unending need for revenge.
Later, Jackson lay on his back, gasping for air, his dark skin glistening with a slick layer of sweat. He grasped Beatrice’s hand, loving the way her pulse was racing nearly as fast as his own.
“What happened with Mic and Jordon today?”
He was surprised by her question. Beatrice had eyes and ears everywhere it seemed.
“I caught them. He had her pinned against a tree; they were about to strip down and have at each other right there in the snow.” Reaching down, he pulled the blanket up and over a now shivering Beatrice.
“What did you do?” She turned her head, looking at him with her hair scattered about the pillow. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He loved that he was the one to bring the flush to her cheeks and the sparkle to her eyes.
“I asked them if they were serious or if it was just an itch that needed to be scratched. Mic surprised me. She said it was serious.”
“Really? I could have told you that, Fisher. She wouldn’t be resisting so hard if it wasn’t serious.” Beatrice wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
“I told them that as long as I didn’t see it, I didn’t have to report it.”
She rolled to her side, facing him, with her hands resting under her cheek. “Who do you report to, anyway?”
“Several people. I can’t tell you much more than that.” His thoughts jumped to the phone call he needed to make. He had to report that they’d identified one of the traffickers. This mission, if it occurred, would be overseen with more scrutiny than any of the previous ones. The team was used to executing missions in whatever manner they saw fit, without their every move being scrutinized and commanded.
“What’s about to happen? I know something is going on. Do you have a new mission?”
“I’m not sure yet. This is… a delicate situation. More so than what Mic and the team are used to. It’s a mess politically. I don’t know what’s going to happen. If anything.”
“I know you’ll do what’s right, honey. For the mission and our family,” she said before kissing him soundly.
As Jackson gathered her close once more, he pushed thoughts of his report aside. He knew that once he made that call, hell was going to unleash on them. He wanted a few more moments of peace before their world turned upside down.
****
I reclined on my couch in the dark, my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling. Jordon was at the forefront of my mind as usual, but I made the effort to push him aside. I told my hormones and girly parts to shut the fuck up. Right now, my focus needed to be on getting to Russia and finding Anton. We’d start with him and work our way up the chain of command.
Rozalina’s eyes haunted me; I had seen such pain and despair in them. Her family was gone; she was alone in this world and carrying an awful weight. After we took out the Russians, I would personally make sure that she was happy and safe.
There were a lot of variables to consider here. Right now we were on hold, waiting for the green light to get our asses to Russia. Grabbing the remote, I switched on the stereo as This is War by Thirty Seconds to Mars began to play. Cranking the volume up, I wandered into my bedroom
and opened the closet doors. Dropping to my knees, I reached deep into the back and pulled out a black duffel bag. To the uninitiated, it looked like your average gym bag, but it was so much more.
Opening it, I dumped the contents out onto my bed. Two pistols with extra boxes of ammo, cash in dollars and euros, and numerous IDs fell out. I had passports in different names from six different countries. I was Nancy Foster in the United Kingdom, Annabelle Blanc in France, and Freja Nilsson in Sweden. There were identities for Germany, Italy, and Australia, also. Three burner phones with chargers topped the pile.
Most operatives had bags like this. You just never knew when something might happen and you would need to disappear. I also had bank accounts in each country that I had a passport for. I could get on a plane and start a new life at a moment’s notice.
I was afraid that this might be the mission that would force me to choose between what was right and just, and Steel Corps. I double-checked that all my papers were current and in good shape. The pistols needed to be cleaned and oiled. They were both standard Glocks, serial numbers gone and untraceable. Going back out into my living room, I added the machete and Phillips’s Sig Sauer to the bag. I refused to leave them behind. If I could pry Phillips’s star off the wall of the war room, I would.
Wash it all Away by Five Finger Death Punch began to play. I tapped my foot to the beat and sang the lyrics under my breath, and kept packing. I would be ready if the time came.
Hard knocks on my door interrupted my thoughts. Turning the music down, I opened it to Jordon standing on my doorstep. He was freshly showered and his hands were tucked into his pockets.
“Come in. I need to talk to you.” I led him back to my bedroom. I had intended to do this tomorrow, but now was as good a time as any.
“Talk, huh? Then why are we in your bedroom?” He smirked at me.
“You’re not here for that. Wait, why did you come here?” I was so focused on the mission and preparing my bag that I didn’t consider that he would be here for a different reason.
“I wanted to see you. Thought you might want to talk or something… about today…” His words trailed off as he took in the disarray on my bed. “What’s all this?” He asked, holding up the passport for Sweden. “Going somewhere?”
“Maybe. I don’t know yet. Do you have a bag like this? A bug-out bag?” He wasn’t looking at me; the money and weapons on the bed were holding all of his attention. He picked up the machete and pulled it out of its sheath, studying the blade. It gleamed under the low light of the room, the sharpness of the edge broken up by nicks along its edge.
“No. I don’t. Do I need one?” All thoughts of why he was here seemed to have fled.
“Yes. I know that Pierce, Flynn, and Jones do. I’m sure Rook does too. You need one. I have a guy that can do your papers and get you clean weapons. Pack as much cash as you can.” I started shoving the stacks of bills back into the bag, and piled the passports on top.
“What the fuck is going on, Mic? What am I missing here?” He pulled me back from the bed, holding me by my upper arms.
“I need you to be ready. I have a bad feeling about this mission. The way Jackson is acting… playing it all so close to his chest. There is more at work here than he’s telling. I’m prepared to go to Russia on my own if Jackson doesn't let us. I’m not asking any of you to come with me… but if I go, Steel will be dissolved. You need to be prepared for that.”
“I go where you go. Period. Get me the number. I’ll get the papers.”
He didn’t ask any further questions, just took me at my word. I gave him the name and number of my contact who would get him passports and weapons.
“His name is Justin. Don’t ask how I know him or from where. Even Jackson doesn’t know about him. He’ll want a wire transfer for the full amount before he does any work. Then he’ll look up your current passport and use the photo from that. You should get some of the same countries I have; it’s good to have a decent variety. Tell him Mic sent you. He doesn’t do business with people he doesn’t know or who aren’t referred by someone he trusts. Take care of this tonight. We don’t have much time.” My adrenaline was spiking—my twisting, anxious gut feeling propelling me onward. Over the years, I had learned to trust my instincts even when all the evidence suggested otherwise. I wasn’t going to ignore it now.
“Bea, relax. It’ll be taken care of. I promise.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you believe me. If you didn’t, I would have just gotten the papers for you anyway, but this is easier.”
His laughter brightened his face and lightened the mood. I loved how his eyes sparkled when he laughed, how the fine lines near his eyes crinkled, and how he tipped his head back.
“I love that sound,” I whispered.
“What sound?” he asked, moving even closer to me.
“Your laughter.” I stepped back, breaking the moment. He sighed loudly and crossed his arms over his chest. My eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Are you ever going to stop resisting?”
“I thought you said my resistance would only make my surrender all the sweeter.” I left the bedroom and went to the kitchen. My mouth felt dry and full of sand all of a sudden.
“True. I did say that.” Jordon followed me, taking the glass of water that I had poured before I had a chance to drink. I watched his throat move up and down as he swallowed. My eyes were drawn downward, over his broad chest and his thick arms with their swirling tattoos. His stomach was tight and flat; his muscled thighs pulled his pants tight.
“Enjoying the view, baby?” The endearment fell from his lips casually, the sound of his voice saying the sweet word making my heart skip a beat. No one had ever called me ‘baby.’
“Yes.” I couldn’t deny it. Didn’t want to.
“I scare you, don’t I?”
My eyes snapped back up to his. Their green depths held compassion, warmth, and understanding. “Sort of. Physically, you don’t scare me. It’s… you. Who you are and what you mean to me—that scares me. In fact, it terrifies me.” I turned my back to him, feeling shy and confused all at once. What the hell is he doing to me?
“You scare me half to death too,” he whispered. “I think it’s normal.”
“Normal for what?” My hands were shaking slightly. I was afraid of his answer and anxious for it at the same time.
“For people like us… who have feelings about each other.”
I gripped the counter with both hands, my knuckles turning white. He grasped my shoulders, turning me around to face him. He wrapped those large hands of his around my waist and lifted me up onto the counter. “There, now I can see you better.” Nudging my knees apart, he stepped between them. His palm slid up my neck to my face, cradling my injured cheek gently and lightly touching my bandages.
“Chris…” My words wouldn’t come, they were stuck firmly in my throat.
“I nearly died that day in Mexico. When I saw you tied to that table… my heart stopped, and it was at that moment I knew.” He touched his forehead to mine and dropped his arms around me. Gathering me closer to him, using my hips as a handle. “How’s your leg, is this okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”
I was confused at the abrupt subject change. “What?”
“Your leg. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m fine. Keep talking.” I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer and emphasizing my point.
“I knew then I couldn’t live without you, Bea. I knew I didn’t want to go through this life without you in it with me. I need you.” He feathered kisses along my neck and shoulder, pushing my shirt aside to get better access.
“God… Chris.” I couldn’t talk; my head was spinning and my heart was beating so hard that I could taste my pulse on my tongue.
“You know what I’m saying. You can feel it, can’t you?” His breath against my neck and chest caused my skin to pebble with goosebumps. I shivered in his arms, but not from the cold.
“Yes.” I manag
ed to force that one word from my throat. My hands turned to claws, pulling at his back, drawing him closer to me.
“Fucking say it, baby. I need you to say it. You need to say it.” Kissing me hard, he slid his hands under my ass and picked me up off the counter. His tongue slid along mine; his teeth bit at my lips. It was not a gentle kiss. It was hard and pulling. Demanding I give into him… surrender and hand him everything. My heart and soul. Little did he know, he’d already ripped them from me.
“I love you…” I gasped the words, spitting them out like a benediction because this moment was holy in its perfection.
He groaned into my mouth and laid me on the couch, his weight pressing me down into the cushions. I didn’t even remember him carrying me into the living room. Clawing at his shirt, I jerked it off and threw it aside. My hands were greedy, exploring every inch of him I could reach. Hot skin and tight muscle greeted my palms. I dragged my nails down his back, arching my pelvis tighter against him. His gasping moan was music.
My clothes disappeared under his hands; there was no stopping this time… for either of us. This moment had been coming for so long. Boots and weapons clattered to the floor. My bra was tossed aside, quickly followed by his boxers.
“Bea, god. Finally. I’ve wanted you for so long.” My hands found his length and squeezed him tight, stealing his breath.
“If you can talk, I’m not trying hard enough. Shut up, Jordon.” Lifting my legs high around his hips, I drew him down and guided him inside me. Neither one of us needed foreplay. We’d been ready for this moment for far too long.
“Fuck,” he swore, moving against me, through me. Drawing my leg up and onto his shoulder, he surged forward. My eyes rolled back, my chest aching with the need for oxygen; but I was unable to draw a breath.
“Christ…” I shouted. I was coming apart as sweat rolled down our bodies. Music surrounded us, Breaking Benjamin’s Dance with the Devil pushing us higher, our bodies slapping loudly together. This was no gentle lovemaking. This was need and lust coupling into an inferno, binding us into one.