Dark Hearts (Part 4) (The Bleeding Love Series)

by Storm, Franca

  Not total submission. She knows that. That’s our unspoken compromise. She gives what she can there and I give her the pleasure she craves.

  I shift her weight in my arms, holding her against the wall with one hand as I slide my other down to her pussy. I drag my fingers through her wetness slowly and with barely-there pressure, torturing her. I watch her throw her head back.

  “Damon,” she whimpers.

  I thrust a finger inside her suddenly and she screams. “Yes, baby?” I pull out and add a second, before thrusting back inside deep. I pump in and out of her at a brutal pace.

  When I grind my hand against her clit, she starts bucking against me wildly.

  “More!” she shrieks. “Oh God. Please, Damon! Please!”

  And there it is. Begging.

  “Good girl,” I tell her as I pull my fingers out of her.

  She whimpers and shifts restlessly in my arms.

  “Hands above your head,” I command.

  They leave my neck and she raises them instantly.

  “Mmm…I like you obeying me, baby.”

  I grab her wrists with one hand and pin them there against the brick wall.

  Then I dig my fingers into her hip and thrust inside her, driving balls deep.

  “Yes!” she shrieks.

  As I start to fuck her at a slow, easy pace, I whisper in her ear. “Was that you begging again? I’m not sure that qualifies, Alana.”

  She grunts with frustration and starts fighting my grip on her wrists.

  I shower her tits with attention and the pleasure quickly has her forgetting about her fight.

  “Give it up to me.”

  “Fuck!” she screams with frustration. “Yes! Whatever you want. Do whatever you want.”

  Wow. This is new. “You’re sure? Whatever I want?”

  I feel a shiver run through her as, no doubt, the many dirty possibilities are running through her head.

  “Yes. I want it all. Please.”

  I release my grip on her wrists and put them around my neck.

  “What are you—?” she asks, confused.

  “Aww…baby. Right now, all I want to do is feel you around me. I want to take my time with you and savor every moment of it.”

  She shakes her head. “Damon, this isn’t…a goodbye.”

  “What?”

  “The way you’re talking, it’s like you’re saying goodbye. I don’t do that. No goodbyes before missions. It’s a jinx.”

  I stroke her hair as I start to thrust harder, picking up my pace. “Why would I say goodbye? I’m coming back, Alana.”

  She nods slowly and bites her lip.

  “Baby, you worry too much.”

  “Just be careful,” she murmurs.

  “Always.”

  I wrap my warms tightly around her.

  I feel her start to meet my thrusts and we fall into our rhythm together.

  So fucking perfect.

  Chapter 10

  ~Damon~

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Come on,” Dean mutters from behind me.

  I roll my eyes at his ridiculous impatience. “Stick to the plan,” I hiss at him.

  I’d expected this from him.

  His unwillingness to stick to the plan that we’d ironed out earlier.

  It calls for a covert approach to infiltrating Cartwright’s compound and taking out him, Forest and Halton.

  Dean has a reputation for going off mission once an operation gets underway.

  During my research on him years back when he’d first come into contact with Alana, I’d found dozens of files documenting him doing just that.

  He’s impatient and cocky. Plus, once he’s in the field, he has a habit of letting the adrenaline rush and heightened testosterone levels of it take him over. When that happens, he results to a bull-in-a-china-shop approach.

  Well, I’m sure as hell not gonna let him pull that shit on this op.

  There’s too much at stake.

  All of our futures. Our lives.

  “What the fuck is he waiting for?” Dean mutters.

  “Jesus Christ. Give him some time,” I tell him. “And keep your fucking voice down, while you’re at it.”

  Shit.

  We’re both crouched down at the far-east corner of the compound in front of the chain-link fence surrounding the property. I’m in the process of cutting through the fence. The actual entrance is over on the other side. The gates there are manned by heavily armed guards packing automatic weapons. That’s not even the main issue. Dean and I are more than capable of disarming them. No, the issue is the direct COMM link each of them has to Cartwright and his guys inside the compound. Intel Dean obtained from Ivan during his torture session with him.

  If we took out one of them, it would immediately alert the entire compound that something had happened. And that’s the last thing we need. To say Cartwright’s guys outnumber us would be a hell of an understatement. Hence, our covert approach.

  I’ve just finished cutting through the wire when I hear a sharp whizzing sound nearby.

  “Fuck. Finally,” Dean comments.

  It sounds again.

  I look to see two armed guards positioned on the east side of the compound, fifty feet from us, drop hard. Fatal head shots, courtesy of Mark acting as our sniper up on the roof of the abandoned apartment building across the street.

  He’s just started the countdown.

  It won’t be long before the two guards will be expected to return radio contact and check in with Cartwright. And they won’t be doing that now that they’re sprawled out stone-cold on the concrete in the courtyard.

  My earpiece buzzes in my right ear. I tap it and answer, “Report.”

  “Two targets on the north side neutralized,” Mark tells me.

  “Received. Standby on south targets.”

  The south targets are the two guards manning the entrance. I’ve ordered Mark to keep an eye on them, instead of taking them out, because they’re within sight of the guards at the gates. If something happens to them, word will get back to Cartwright instantly, just like it would if we took out the guards at the gates themselves. Mark will only put a bullet in them if they become an immediate threat. As for activity on the west side, the two guards there aren’t an issue, as Dean and I are on the east side, nowhere within their vicinity. The more we take out right now, the greater the chance of us being discovered before we’ve reached our first targets—Andrew and Sam. Once we’ve taken them out, then we move to the second phase of the mission—taking out Cartwright and all his followers. No one left alive. While his guys are paid muscle, a bunch of them are also very loyal to him. We can’t risk leaving them alive and leaving the possibility open of them coming after us for killing their boss. No, it all ends tonight. No loose ends.

  I turn to Dean and tell him, “He’s taken out the two at the rear as well. We’re good to move.”

  I lead the way through the hole I’ve cut in the fence, into the courtyard beyond. It’s dimly lit from a half dozen muted floodlights positioned every few feet along the width of the area. We stick to the shadows, our black tactical gear blending in well to the night. Several black Sedans parked in the area also provide us excellent cover.

  I gesture to a metal security door at the far end of the east side of the building.

  Alana reached out to her contacts earlier and managed to get a hold of the blueprints for the compound. That door opens onto a hallway of storage rooms. When Mark and I did our recon, I noticed two thermal images in that location. All other thermal traces were clustered within the same vicinity, in a different area of the compound. But these two were cut off from all the rest. We’re assuming then that they are Sam and Andrew. It must be where Cartwright is keeping them.

  I draw in a breath to calm myself. I’ve been on ops with very limited intel, like we have here. But this time it’s far worse, because the stakes are so high. Fuck me. We’re assuming so much. So much guesswork. Let’s just hope we’re right.
r />   Dean lifts his chin at me, letting me know he’s ready.

  We break cover, crouching low as we dart over to it, moving as quickly and quietly as fucking possible. As soon as we make it over there we flatten our backs against the side of the building and scan the area to ensure the guards on the south side, by the gates, weren’t alerted to our movements.

  Nothing. We’re clear.

  As I reach into one of the pouches in my tactical jacket to retrieve my pick set, I see Dean draw his gun suddenly.

  He turns to the door.

  I realize what he’s planning to do.

  I step into his path, blocking his way. “Are you crazy?” I hiss at him.

  He blows out a breath of frustration. “You’re being way too fucking cautious, Damon.”

  “Too cautious? There are over twenty of them in there and two of us. Do the math, Dean. The element of surprise is our best approach here. We have no other advantage.”

  He glares hard at me and steps up to me, getting in my face. “Is this about that, or you?”

  “What?”

  “You gonna choke on me?”

  I push him back. “Fuck you.”

  “You do and we’re both dead, Damon.”

  “I’ve got this.”

  “I hope so, cuz me and you ending up dead doesn’t bother me as much as what the fallout of that’ll cause—Alana’s death. You get me? This is our one shot to end this. You fuck it up with your PTSD bullshit and we’re not just buried. Alana is. And your kid. So, you better fucking bring it in there.”

  His words strike a major fucking nerve and, before I can stop myself, I’m fisting my hand in his tactical vest and slamming him into the wall hard. I snarl down at him, “I’ve got this! Okay? I can prove it right now by putting a bullet in your head, if you want. Just say the goddamn word.”

  “Good,” he says, smirking back at me.

  That’s when I realize he did that on purpose. He used his talk of Alana to rile me up, to bring that fire out of me, to test if I still had it in me. Devious bastard.

  I shove him to the side and pull my pick set out of my pouch and get to work on the door.

  It’s been a while since I’ve done this and I’m a little rusty. I hear Dean grunting with impatience from beside me, but he doesn’t say anything. At least that’s something.

  Two minutes later, I have the lock picked.

  “Ready?” I ask him as I pull my gun and reach for the handle.

  “I was ready two fucking minutes ago, Damon,” he grumbles.

  I just roll my eyes. Stick to the mission.

  I haul open the door and cautiously step inside with Dean at my back.

  The second it screeches open, a hefty weight slams into me from the left. My back smacks against the wall adjacent to the door.

  I jerk my head to the left to see a half a dozen more of Cartwright’s muscle barreling in through the far door at the end of the corridor.

  The one on me throws a punch that smashes into the side of my face. I grunt as my head snaps to the side.

  I slam my hands into his chest, knocking him back hard.

  But then another two are on me, trying to subdue me and rip my weapon from my grip.

  “So much for the covert approach,” I hear Dean say as he’s slammed into the wall by three big guys.

  Shit. Did Cartwright somehow know we were coming? Is this a set up? Or, is it just that our time is up and they’ve discovered their guys are down and they have a security breach?

  No time to figure that out right now.

  I see Dean smirk. Smirk? Now? Wow, the rumors are true. He really does get off on brutal violence.

  “Better look away, Damon. This isn’t gonna be pretty. Not for somebody with a weak stomach.”

  Argh! “Whatever you’re gonna do, just fucking do it!”

  I watch then as he adjusts his grip on his gun that’s currently being forced to aim at the floor by one of the guys pinning him against the wall. He wrenches it free and shoves it between one of the guy’s legs.

  I grimace as I realize what he’s going to do.

  He fires. Right into the guy’s dick.

  Jesus Christ.

  The blood curdling scream that rips from him is beyond stomach churning. He drops hard, thrashing and screaming.

  Dean, the sadistic fucker that he is, winks at me and says, “Told you.”

  He pistol whips one of the other two guys on him, across the side of the face, forcing him back. And then he fires a bullet between the eyes of the guy on the ground. At least he put him out of his misery.

  He starts in on the other two guys then, brutal blow after brutal blow, fighting like the animal he is.

  I plunge my fist into the ribs of one of my opponents. He wheezes and wavers on his feet. Another hit has him on his ass.

  The strange thing is, none of them even reach for the guns strapped to the holsters at their hips. It seems like they’re just trying to subdue us. Why? What the hell is Cartwright playing at here?

  I punch another in the throat and he falls to his knees, choking.

  Grabbing the other one by his shoulders, I slam him into the wall and snarl, “Forest and Halton. Which fucking room?”

  He doesn’t get the chance to answer me, as commotion from the end of the hall interrupts us. Four more of Cartwright’s muscle storm down the corridor. Fuck.

  We don’t have much time.

  They’re just going to keep coming.

  Dean and I might be good at what we do, but we’re not the spring chickens we used to be. Cartwright knows that. He knows we don’t have the stamina to deal with a lengthy assault.

  I eye Dean.

  I watch him sweep his foot at the back of one of his opponent’s knees, destabilizing him so he falls forward. His knuckles clip his jaw, making the guy grunt. Then he roundhouses him away from him. It has the guy crashing into the security door and landing in a heap on the ground.

  And he’s done. All his opponents are down.

  His eyes widen as he catches sight of the four new assholes closing in on us.

  “Find Forest and Halton! Take them out! I’ll hold these fuckers off!” I call to him.

  He nods, agreeing immediately.

  I don’t need to say more.

  It was always the plan for him to take them out.

  Shooting two prisoners who’ve likely been tortured…two helpless men…is right up his alley. He’s nothing if not the ultimate cold-blooded killer. With him doing it, unlike with me, there won’t be the slightest chance of hesitation.

  I move into position to cover him and hold off the four guys, as he takes off and starts searching through the rooms lining the corridors for our two targets.

  The first guy slams into me, driving me hard into the concrete wall.

  Fuck. This is gonna hurt.

  Chapter 11

  ~Alana~

  The door flies open.

  I react on instinct, spinning 180-degrees and shifting my aim to the intruder.

  “Dean,” I breathe, my aim wavering a little.

  I hadn’t expected them so soon. The room is soundproof, so whatever chaos him and Damon had caused outside in the corridor to make it in here, I hadn’t been able to hear.

  “Alana?” he answers, shock playing on his face as he kicks the door shut behind him and stalks into the room, completely ignoring my Glock pointed at him. He lowers his own gun to his side as he takes in the scene before him.

  The open vent stack behind me, which I climbed through to access the room. Me standing in the darkest corner of the room behind Andrew Forest and my dad who are asleep, cuffed to hefty metallic chairs that are screwed into the concrete floor. They’re bruised and bloodied. Not by my hand. They were like that when I arrived. A result of Cartwright’s torture, no doubt.

  I shift my aim from Dean, returning it to the backs of their heads.

  “How long have you been in here?”

  I shrug. “Maybe twenty minutes.”

  A
look passes between us and I don’t like it. I know he gets that I’m struggling to do it. To end them both. Why the hell else would I have been in here for this long? Every second I’m here is a risk of getting discovered.

  He moves closer. “Wanna let me take over, gorgeous?”

  “No!” I yell. “These are my kills!”

  “Alana….”

  My dad’s voice. He’s woken up.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way. We can…we can work something out.”

  “Nice try,” Dean says.

  My dad lifts his head and snarls at Dean, “You piece of shit.”

  Dean steps up to him and growls, “Piece of shit, huh?”

  “That’s right. You made my daughter a killer.”

  “And what the fuck does that make you? All the hell you put her through? Your own fucking daughter, you sick bastard!”

  Oh my God.

  I’ve never seen Dean like this before.

  I mean, I’ve seen him angry, but never in an actual state of pure, unadulterated rage. His hand is shaking with it as he holds his gun in front of my dad’s face.

  It affects me, seeing him this way, because I know he’s feeling it for me.

  He’s hurting for me.

  “I did what I had to do,” my dad says.

  Dean roars and smashes his gun across the side of my dad’s face, making him grunt and choke out a mouthful of blood. “You almost fucking broke her, you demented shit!” He eyes Andrew. “Didn’t even come for her when this fucker had his hands and everything else all over her!”

  An involuntary gasp escapes me at his mention of Andrew touching me. I can’t bear to hear it. Any reference to it is too much for me to keep buried down deep. I can’t compartmentalize it.

  It has me stepping around them so I can look them in the eyes finally. I press my gun to Andrew’s forehead.

  Dean steps back to give me room.

  And then something unprecedented happens.

  Andrew opens his eyes and looks right at me.

  Fucking hell.

  Those eyes.

  I’ve seen them too often in my nightmares.

  But they look different now. They aren’t how I always see them, how I always remember them.

  They aren’t black and dead. Soulless.