ALTERED BY FIRE: UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 1

by James Tate

  "I suppose …" I say, trying not to notice the hard spots of Mace's nipples beneath his dark blue t-shirt. He's wearing black slacks and boots now. I guess—like Colt said—there's no point in trying to pretend to be priests behind closed doors, right? "But there's nothing to eat here except uncooked pancake mix. And I'll be honest with you: I can't cook for shit, not even instant stuff."

  Mace makes this grumbling sound that I'm pretty sure is a laugh, but … do mountains even laugh? I have no idea.

  "Get dressed, and I'll take you out."

  My brows perk up at that, and I take a step back, bumping into the refrigerator.

  "I don't want to go out," I say, realizing suddenly how true that is. Even if this place is filled with a bunch of phony priests, my father is out there. And I'm not entirely sure what he'll do to me if I step out into the sunshine. Shoot me with a tranquilizer? Kidnap me? Would he let his men gang rape me? I have no idea, but I've seen him do all those things and worse to men … women … and children. Bile rises in my throat, and I turn away, closing my eyes against the horrific memories.

  "You don't have to be afraid when you're with me," Mace says, reaching out a huge hand and using a single finger to turn my face toward him. His smile doesn't reach his eyes, but it's loose and easy to look at.

  "Me, on the other hand, you should be terrified to be alone with." Arsen is leaning in the doorway, his back to the old wood casing, one boot propped up. As I turn to look at him, he licks the edge of a knife and my mouth drops open. His blonde hair is wet and hanging in his face. When our eyes meet, his grin is wicked and sharp and dangerous as hell.

  My blood starts to pump, and my throat gets tight, but I'll admit it: I'm intrigued.

  "Fuck off, Arsen," Mace snarls, that gentle giant facade falling away as he spins and spears the smaller, but equally deadly looking man with a look that could smelt metal. "Hawke's put me in charge of protecting the girl—and that includes from you."

  Arsen just laughs, leaning his head back against the wood casing and rocking it back and forth as he quietly mouths the words to some song I can't hear. At first, I think this is just more proof that he's completely and utterly insane, but then he yanks out a single earbud I hadn't noticed before and tosses the cord around his neck.

  "What's in the bag, Miss Petrova?" he asks, smiling like a shark.

  "Clothes," Mace answers gruffly, crossing his arms over a chest as wide as the friggin' kitchen table. He looks like he could snap Arsen's neck with little to no effort, but then again, never underestimate crazy people. I've seen many a person make that mistake in the past. My father's right-hand man is clinically batshit. When he found out his wife was watching gay porn behind his back, he put a bullet in her head during dinner. We were having pierogi—she'd made it—and then all of a sudden, there was just blood everywhere. "Don't you have a job to do?"

  "Not particularly," Arsen drawls, giving me a puppy dog look. It's a weird contrast, that expression with his priestly robes, the tattoos around his neck, and the earbuds dangling across his chest. He lifts up an inked hand and wiggles his fingers. "Idle hands are the tools of the devil, and all that. Give me something to do with these fingers, Natalia," he purrs, sliding two of them into his hot, lush mouth.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  Pretty sure I've got a problem.

  I'm addicted to more than just partying and coke and alcohol: I'm addicted to dangerous assholes. Kisten was proof of that. Why the hell did I ever let myself get involved with him in the first place? Clearly I was trying to piss my father off, to rebel and show him he wasn’t the boss of me.

  He sure showed me.

  "Natalia and I are going out," Mace snarls, moving over to stand in front of Arsen. I imagine that's a movement that forces most men back by sheer presence alone. Doesn't seem to do a damn thing to Arsen. He just lifts his head up to look into Mace's dark blue eyes. "Get out of the way of the bathroom."

  "Oh?" Arsen says, quirking a single brow and standing up straight. "Was I stopping Natalia from entering it? I don't recall."

  Mace lets out a vicious snarl that would've scared me shitless if it were directed my way. Arsen barely blinks.

  "I've always told Hawke you were a liability. He leaves your crazy ass to wander until it's time for shit to go down. You're a nightmare just waiting to happen."

  "Have you ever thought I'm so ridiculously useful that he has no choice but to put up with me?" Arsen pauses a moment and then in an instant, the knife in his hand is at Mace's throat. "I could've killed you just now and you'd have never seen it coming." He retracts the weapon, grins, and saunters off, spinning the blade as he goes.

  "Stay away from him," Mace warns, glancing over his shoulder at me. Whatever he sees on my face must scare the crap out of him because he turns fully and comes to stand in front of me, putting two big hands on my shoulders. "I mean it. His name isn't a joke. If you get too close, you'll fucking burn."

  I nod, but inside, I'm already dreaming of the delicious pain in those idle hands …

  Told you I have problems.

  Chapter 6

  NATALIA

  The clothes Mace purchased for me aren’t exactly my style: black flats, a long, black dress, and a wool coat. I look like I’m on my way to a funeral, but it's the thought that counts, right?

  The guys have a fucking huge black Hummer parked like ten blocks away. I'm forced to walk them in the bright sunshine, looking over my shoulder every ten seconds like I expect my dad or one of his cronies to just leap out at me.

  "You really drive one of these stupid things?" I ask when I climb in and look around the vehicle. It's not much of a shocker that the military uses these things; they look like mini-tanks.

  "Plenty of room," Mace growls out, his voice so low and deep that goose bumps pebble up across my flesh and it takes three tries for me to swallow. I almost ask plenty of room for what? but the expression on the big man's face gives me all the answer I need. His pupils are big and dark, bleeding into the deep blue of his eyes.

  Not at all surreptitiously, I glance down at his crotch for proof of his arousal, but I don't see anything and make a small moue of disappointment that causes Mace to grin at me.

  "Heavy canvas. Hides all sorts of stains," he says, and I raise both brows. "Like blood," he adds after a moment which is just as sexy as … well, whatever it was we were both just thinking about.

  Clearly though, my reaction to these guys says I’m insane. I shouldn't be checking out dangerous, unpredictable men when what I really need to do is figure out how to start a new life with nobody and nothing.

  I should've taken money when I ran.

  I’m only now realizing that for the first time in my life … I'm poor. I've never wanted for anything except love. My dad gave me everything and then some—besides his affection.

  We head to a drive-thru, and when I tell Mace what I want, he orders me an extra-large version with a pound of fries, a burger with a triple patty, and a massive chocolate milkshake. I'm not exactly complaining, but I'm full after about ten fries and three bites.

  My stomach is shrunk, and I've been through some serious shit in the last few days. Mace raises an eyebrow, but he's a smart man and doesn't say anything. It's only after we've been driving for a bit that I realize we're heading in the opposite direction from the church and out towards the country.

  My blood goes cold and gooseflesh prickles across my skin.

  "Where are you taking me?" I ask, glancing over at the big man and his handsome face. Why does it look so sinister all of a sudden? And why is my breathing so frantic and wild? Because I don't want to die today, and I have the feeling that if Mace wanted to get rid of me right now, he could?

  "You'll see," he grumbles, flicking on his turn signal as I press myself into the passenger side door and reach for the handle. If I have to, I'll throw myself out and onto the road. It'll hurt, but it's better than being dragged out to the middle of the country and strangled or shot or—

&nb
sp; "A shooting range?" I ask as we turn down a gravel drive and park in a lot filled with trucks and SUVs. "Oh, thank God." My heart thundering, I close my eyes and throw up a prayer. I'm not even sure if I'm doing it right, but whatever. It's the thought that counts, right?

  "Why not?" he asks with a loose shrug, a smile hiding in that thick dark stubble on his handsome jaw. "We've needed a woman on our team for years."

  "And why is that?" I ask coolly. I always expect the worst in people. Old habits and all that. Mace turns the engine off and leans over, his huge, muscular arm diving between my thighs and pulling out a black case from under my seat.

  "New perspective on things," he explains as I sit there gaping and wondering why I'm so disappointed that he didn't do anything else when he was between my legs. "Better for undercover. Fresh blood in the mix. And maybe then if we find a good, solid new member, Hawke'll finally put that bullet in Arsen's head that he's so long deserved."

  Mace opens the driver's side door and climbs out. I follow after, slamming my own door behind me. I'm wearing a bra that's about two sizes too small, my boobs muffining up and over the tops, creating these weird little bulges that are beyond obvious, especially with the sweetheart neckline I'm wearing. Mace, perhaps, doesn’t seem to think it looks so weird, based on the way his eyes linger before he tears himself away.

  Still, I follow him into the building and take pleasure in the fact that there's a woman working the counter. She's wearing baggy camo pants and gives my small frame a look, but it's better than getting that same sort of look from a man.

  As soon as I get out there on the range though, I'll show them all how a mobster's daughter can shoot.

  Grinning to myself, I watch as Mace pays the fees, grabs some new ammo, and hands me a pair of earmuffs. He takes me down to the farthest lane, past a couple of stone-faced dudes firing at paper targets.

  "Alright," Mace says, his voice loud and gruff enough to penetrate the big orange muffs over my ears. He snaps the black case open and shows me a Browning Hi-Power Practical, this gorgeous .40 caliber semi-auto of black and shiny steel. As soon as I see it, I'm just itching to get my fingers around the grip. I decide to have a little fun and wait patiently as Mace hefts the weapon into his hand and starts explaining things I learned about when I was five years old: how to load the magazine, how to switch off the safety, how to hold and aim.

  When he finally hands the gun over to me, I grip it awkwardly and bite my lip, fanning my lashes as I step up to the range and eye the big red and white target at the end of it. With a deep inhale, I lift the gun up in both hands, just the way my daddy taught me, take aim, and then fire off three shots.

  The first one hits dead-center and the second two … go right through the same hole.

  I smirk, flick my eyes over to Mace's stunned face, and then finish off the clip before I drop the magazine into my palm and slam in a new one.

  "Beginner's luck?" I ask with a raised brow, but Mace has already seen right through me, crossing his arms and watching as I shoot a circle around the target, outlining the big red ring with ten shots before I have to reload again.

  "What else do you know how to do, Talia?" Mace asks, giving me a nickname in the moment. I consider it for a second and decide I'd rather not have any of these other guys hear my real name, just in case.

  I activate the safety and set the gun aside, offering up a sly smile.

  "You'd be surprised to learn what I can do, Mace-y," I purr, putting one hand on the thick, hard muscles in his arm and giving him a ridiculous nickname that in no way fits his looks or his personality. But it's funny and cute and he lets me say it without bitching or complaining. In fact, the look in his eyes very much says he's enjoying this moment with me.

  "Are we talking about combat experience?" he growls as I step closer and look up, up, up into his face. "Or something else?"

  "Why don't we head back to your Hummer, and I can show you what we're talking about?" I purr, batting my lashes in a coquette move I perfected years ago. I take another step closer and feel the hard evidence of his interest press against my torso.

  Mace looks down at me for a long moment, his lids heavy with blatant lust.

  "Are you often like this?" he asks me in a rumbling, quiet voice like a faint earthquake.

  "Confident?" I reply, arching a brow at him in challenge.

  "Sexual," he corrected, taking a very deliberate step back from me and causing my jaw to drop. Have I just totally misread those signals? How?

  I frown. "Wait, you're into me. I can tell." I nod pointedly to his thick erection pressing against the fabric of his pants, and he makes no move to try and disguise it.

  "I am. You're a gorgeous girl, Talia, and your marksmanship is …" he trails off with a sexual sounding groan, "but you've been through some bad shit. A blind man could see that you use sex and substances to hide from your reality. Only a real asshole would take advantage of you when you're vulnerable like this, and regardless of my profession, I'm no asshole."

  This makes me pause. Stunned. Speechless.

  What is he saying about his leader? Surely, he heard Hawke fucking me earlier; we weren’t exactly quiet about it. More to the point, what does this say about me that I'm even more attracted to Hawke because he's an asshole?

  Then again, Mace's refusal of me just makes him a challenge, and I love a good challenge. Especially when they come in the form of a six-foot four mountain of hard muscle and sizeable cock. At least, from what I can see through his pants.

  "Come on," he smiles, “clearly you don't need any shooting lessons from me today. Do you want to just fire off some AK-47 rounds for the fun of it? Or we can head outside and hit some long-range targets with a Fieldcraft?"

  Chewing my lip thoughtfully, I eye him up again to check if he’s really sure about turning down my offer. His steady gaze doesn't waver though, so I shrug.

  "Sure, long-range sounds good. My sniper skills could use some work anyway seeing as Daddy only really taught me handguns." I hand the weapon back to Mace to put back in his case and stretch out my back. One thing’s for sure, the mattresses in the church’s sleeping quarters could seriously do with an upgrade. Maybe I could order them some online …

  Ugh, except my father will be watching my credit cards. Yeah, that’s a no go.

  Great, I'm homeless and broke. How the mighty have fallen, eh Natty?

  Mace leads me back out to the hummer, where he lifts a panel in the back to switch his weaponry for something a little larger. He slings the case over his broad shoulder and tosses an easy grin at me.

  "I can easily say this is the best date I've ever taken a chick on before," he comments oh so casually as we head through to the outdoor range where several guys are on their bellies as they fire.

  "Date?" I squeak in shock.

  He sets the rifle case down at an empty spot at the far end and turns to me with a clear challenge in his face. "Yeah. A meal and an activity with a partner you find sexually attractive. That's a date, isn't it?"

  My jaw moves, but no sound comes out. I literally have no clue how to respond to that, and given I've never actually been on a date before. Plenty of sex, just … no real dates.

  "But we just met," I whisper as the surprise begins to dissipate a little.

  Mace just shrugs, kneeling down to take his weapon out—the rifle, I mean—and gives me a lazy, self-confident smile. "What can I say, Talia? You give quite the first impression. Now, get down here and shoot some shit with me."

  "Yes, sir," I murmur, sinking to my knees while still feeling stunned. This enormous weapon of a man is not acting at all how I'd come to expect. I can't help but feel intrigued by that … more than that, his eagerness to be on a date with me after he just heard me fucking his boss is astounding. And wildly arousing.

  Something tells me I’ll enjoy being prisoner to these five fake priests.

  Chapter 7

  NATALIA

  "So what's the deal with you guys anyway?" I ask Weston acro
ss the kitchen table, finally giving into my curiosity. "I know you're not government, and you're definitely not clergy. So what are you?"

  Weston narrows his cognac colored eyes at me, fiddling with his lip piercing and not answering my question immediately. Instead, he drums the fingers of his left hand on the table and makes me squirm under his intense stare.

  "Okay, don't ask?" I guess, shifting uncomfortably in my seat and wishing I could hide under the table or something.

  "Tell me something, Natalia," he says finally, putting a strange inflection on my name that makes me frown at him in confusion. "You were very vocal during that fucking church service I was running earlier. Might I ask if you had any encouragement in that matter?"

  His gaze still holds me captive, and I squirm again awkwardly. My face is flushing with embarrassment, I can already tell, which seems to be all the answer he requires as he nods and finally blinks.

  "I see." He clicks his top teeth on the metal spearing his lip. "Hawke?" Again, I don't answer vocally, but give him a tiny nod of my head in confirmation.

  "Motherfucker," Weston swears, shoving his chair back from the table and pushing a hand through his black and green hair. "I knew it. Excuse me while I go and punch that cunt."

  He gives me no more time to form words, even if I had any, before storming out of the kitchen and almost knocking Colt over on his way in.

  "Whoa, bro." Colt chuckles, looking after Weston's retreating form. "Where's the fire?"

  His mention of fire makes me recall the sight of Kisten burning, and I swallow back a lump of guilt and fear.

  When Weston doesn't respond, Colt looks to me with a dirty blond brow raised.

  "He said something about going to punch Hawke," I inform him with wide eyes. The last thing I want is to cause in-fighting between my captors. I really, really want them all to get along. With and without their clothes.