ALTERED BY FIRE: UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 1

by James Tate

  Natalia could be the strongest woman on the planet and still like being told what to do in the dark. I want to be a nice guy, but sometimes the need goes beyond my want for justice.

  "Stand up?" she asks, still somewhat playfully.

  But this isn't going to be playful. This is going to be quick and fast and dark. Maybe then, I can take her back to bed, lay her down, and make love to her. For now, no. No, that's not happening.

  "Take your clothes off," I breathe, unbuckling my belt, nice and slow.

  Natalia matches my pace, taking off her top and tossing it aside, baring her breasts in the scattered stripes of moonlight that fill my bedroom. Of course she's not wearing a bra. The suddenness with which she's exposed turns my cock to fucking diamond, so hard that if you added water, I could cut granite.

  Calm yourself down, Mace, I whisper in my own mind, but Natalia is already dropping her sweats and flashing me her bare cunt and those gorgeous swells of her creamy hips. She's round and soft in all the right places; I want my hands on every inch of her.

  There's a bit of coiled rope on the floor near the junk pile, none of that soft, silky shit that Hawke collects for his needs. No, this is rough, old rope and I'm not prepared for any of this. I just grab the coil and toss it over my shoulder before I finish opening my pants up.

  My cock springs free, thick and velvety, with a bead of pre-ejac glistening at the tip.

  "Come here."

  "You like to give orders?" she asks, but I ignore her, watching as she sways toward me in the shadows, hips moving seductively. Her eyes glitter as she stares down at my shaft. I'm not trying to have an ego here or anything, but my dick is larger than any other man's in Hawke Security.

  "Sometimes," I say, because while I have no desire to be the leader of this little group, I do want to give the orders occasionally. Reaching up, I cup the side of Natalia's face with one, large hand. "Trust me a little?" I ask, and she nods. Not because she really trusts me, but because she's given up on life and doesn't care.

  I want to change that.

  I want to see this woman, so full of fire and passion, fight for her own life. Maybe if I give her a reason to trust me, she'll at least have that.

  Grabbing Talia by the hair, I keep a firm grip and push her into the heavy wooden cross, slamming her back against the wood. She groans, but she doesn't fight me as I release her and start to tie her wrists to the wooden arms, one on each side, fully outstretched.

  It's so sacrilegious that I know I'm going to hell.

  And I don't care.

  Using the long length of rope, I get Natalia bound to the cross and then tug, lifting her up by both arms so that her feet are just barely off the ground, putting her at the perfect height to fuck.

  I step in close and push her knees apart, putting my cock at her opening and then thrusting deep into the molten liquid of her core. I'm only halfway in before Natalia screams, straining against her rope bounds and forcing me to slow.

  "Relax," I whisper, the thick length of my shaft throbbing. I feel like I'm about to blow my load right now, this girl's so damn tight. Leaning in, I press my lips to her neck and breathe her in. Her skin smells so fucking good, like soap and flowers; I can't get enough.

  When Natalia takes a breath and unclenches her muscles, I shove in the rest of the way, curling my fingers under her thighs and pumping my shaft in deep enough to hit the end of her. She's just barely long enough to take my whole length, so tight that she almost can't handle my girth.

  I move slow at first, my muscles trembling and sweat pouring down my body. If I move any faster, this'll all be over, and I don't want it to be over. She looks like a goddamn saint up there on that cross, a goddess I want to worship.

  No, I was never meant to play the part of a priest. This, though, this could be my religion.

  Natalia's head leans back against the cross, her closed lids cracking open to stare at me as I drive into her over and over and over again.

  "Faster, harder," she says, and my self-control shatters. Her muscles squeeze around me, trying to lock me down as I pump with fast and furious strokes, taking her so deep that she cries out and then screams, orgasming and showering my cock and balls with her juices.

  Taking my right hand, I curl my fingers around her hair and jerk her head to one side, biting down on her shoulder as I finish with a few, last hard thrusts. The door to my bedroom swings open as I'm coming, crashing into the wall with the sound of crumbling plaster.

  When I glance over my shoulder, I find Hawke and Arsen standing there.

  Our fearless leader has his gun in his hands, his breathing labored, sweat dripping down the aquiline length of his nose. Arsen just leans against the wall like he doesn't give a shit and yet, they're both here. Go figure.

  "We're just finishing up," I say, pausing and wondering if I should kiss Natalia.

  But no.

  Not just yet.

  Instead our eyes meet, and I can tell she knows this is just the beginning of all the things I want to do to her.

  I slide out of her and step back, fixing my pants and staring at the length of her pale, white body bathed in stripes of moonlight, naked and hanging from a cross.

  "My turn next," Arsen purrs, stepping close, but I reach out and grab him around the throat, slamming him into the wall. He doesn't look scared, no, more like he wants to kill me later, but I just lock eyes with him and let him know how damn serious I am right now.

  "When Natalia is with me, she's mine. Don't you dare fucking touch her." I shove Arsen out the door, and then exchange a look with Hawke. "This time, it wasn't an order," I whisper as he curls his lip at me, locks the safety on his gun, and then storms out of the room.

  I close and lock the door behind him before moving back to Natalia. She looks like she's half-asleep in those rope bonds of hers, so I untie her, carry her over to the bed and then curl around her, like a beast watching over its mate.

  God forbid a man tries to take her from me tonight.

  After I'm done, there won't be much of him left.

  Chapter 16

  WESTON

  There's so much more to this job than I'd originally thought. Yeah, I always knew taking down Konstantin Petrov was going to be rough and yes, I always knew we would take him down. How could we not, after he crashed one of our gigs with his crew, shot and killed Portia.

  That's a sin no man could ever live down, not with Arsen and Hawke on their asses. When that man finally dies, it's going to be bloody as hell.

  Playing with one of the piercings in my lip, I look up at Hawke as Arsen slides a plate of French toast in front of me. I think he likes to cook and act domestic because one day, he'll add some arsenic in it and kill us all and we won't even see it coming. He's that flipping crazy that he'd sit back and plan something that slow and awful.

  But whatever. My GSW is fucking killing me, I'm hungry, and I'm about to get my ass chewed out for letting Natalia take those keys.

  "You're too relaxed," Hawke tells me, his hands on his hips as he glares down at me like I'm a naughty schoolboy. I want to tell him to grow the fuck up, but Colt gives me this don't you dare look. I flip him off and Hawke slams his palm down on the table. "Stop with the high school bullshit," he snaps, "and listen to me. You allowed Natalia to take those keys."

  "She was sucking me off," I drawl, taking a sip of my coffee. Colt raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. He's ten times more volatile and cheeky than I am, but yet, he's also a few years younger and still follows every order to a goddamn T. Yes, Colt and I are similar, but I'm more relaxed. I like to take things slower, see how they go. "And it's not like anything happened, so let's let it go and move on. Mass is in like, ten minutes." I check my watch and then sigh, draped in those stupid effing black robes and a goddamn wig to cover my green hair. "If Konstantin really is planning on showing up here with his minions, shouldn't we stay focused on that?" I pause, because there's this thing with Natalia weighing on my mind. Hawke isn't going to like me br
inging it up, but there it is. "And if he is showing up, then this whole 'make Natalia fall for us' bullshit doesn't matter, right? I mean, what's the point of all that if we think the big baddie might fall right into our laps?"

  "Let's just bring her on the team and she can be like Portia," Colt starts which is the dumbest fucking thing in the world to say. I give him a look across the table that clearly says shut the fuck up, but it's too late.

  "She will never be like Portia," Hawke snaps, running his hand over his hair. Arsen stiffens, but just keeps cooking. I prefer it that way anyway, when he doesn't say anything. The bastard's too scary when he talks. "Natalia is a fucking tool to be used and discarded."

  "You don't actually want her on the team?" I ask, so confused. Hawke is clearly attracted to this girl—we all are—so why not bring her on? There's nowhere else for her to go, especially after all this. Her family will be dead, the feds will be interested in finding her, and she'll be easy pickings for any of the mob's rivals.

  And yet, Hawke doesn't seem to give two shits when I know for a fact that he does.

  "No," he snaps, nostrils flaring as he stands up straight and stares down at me like I'm the problem here, like I'm the person experiencing extreme denial. "The last thing we need is some spoiled ass princess riding our coattails. Portia came to us with skills and knowledge, with training and practice. This girl, she's a suicidal nightmare just waiting to happen. And yeah, maybe I let myself get caught up in her. Making her fall in love with us was supposed to make gathering information easy and yet, we've got nothing. She hasn't told us a damn thing. If Konstantin does show up here—and that's a big if—then we're lucky as hell because we don't have any other leads."

  "I'd just as soon see her dead as on the team anyway," Arsen says mildly, tossing another plate down on the table. Mace curls his lip up and looks about two seconds from punching the other man out. Colt just stares across the table at me, like I have some say in the matter, like I could actually get Natalia to be part of Hawke Security with the rest of us.

  "As soon as we're done here, we'll dump Natalia in some backwoods Midwestern town and leave. Maybe she can find a place for herself there?" Hawke says, picking up a mug of coffee and then pausing at the sound of loud footsteps approaching the kitchen.

  When Natalia walks in, she seems cheerful. She's smiling and there's a bounce in her step, but it almost seems … too much. There's a piece of paper in her hand, too, a list. When she sees me staring at it, she smiles.

  "Good morning." She holds up the list. "Groceries I need, if there's any possibility of us going out to get them?"

  "That could be arranged," Mace grunts as Natalia sticks the page in the pocket of some jeans he bought for her. They're a little tight, emphasizing the round curve of her ass, and the generous swell of her hips.

  "I'm planning on attending mass this morning, if that's okay?" She glances over at Hawke, and he nods sharply. "I'll sit in the back, so I won't be a bother."

  "Taking a sudden interest in theology?" Colt teases, turning on his full charm. Goddamn it. He gets attached to people too easily. It's one of his strengths and his weaknesses. "Because I'd be happy to join you and uh, bring about some enlightenment."

  "Oh no, Father," Natalia says, pouring herself a glass of orange juice and batting her eyelashes at him. "I wouldn't want to trouble you." With a wink, she takes her juice over to the door and lets herself into the church.

  "Weston," Hawke snaps, and I rise to my feet. "You're in charge of the service this morning. Colt, go make sure Natalia stays in the church—and that we don't get any unexpected guests."

  He storms off, heading out the back door to do God only knows what.

  "Let's go," I tell my best friend, leading him into the church and catching Natalia's gaze from the back row. There's something about her expression that tells me that maybe, just maybe she heard some of what Hawke said? I might be a tad lazy, and a little too laidback, but I'm not stupid.

  "Don't fuck this up," I tell Colt, but he just rolls his eyes and shrugs me off, pulling away to go sit with Natalia in the back row.

  Me, I get to stand at the front of the room and preach about things I don't believe in.

  Fuck this.

  As Colt starts to make his way to the back of the room, slow and casual and smiling, Natalia stands up … and bolts outside the church.

  Chapter 17

  NATALIA

  I'm not sure why I run, but I do leave the list of my father's highest-ranking men on the pew before I go.

  I guess hearing that I'm a useless princess, a throwaway, it's struck too close to home—especially after last night. There's no way in hell I can outrun Colt or West or any of the guys, so instead, I zone in on an older woman climbing out of a van.

  Because, please, I'm the daughter of a mob boss.

  As soon as the woman steps foot onto the cement of the church parking lot, I'm slamming into her and snatching her keys at the same time. Even though I know it's fucked, I push her aside and climb into the van, locking the doors just as Colt manages to catch up to me.

  "Tzarina, what the fuck are you doing?" he asks, but I'm already starting the vehicle and pulling out of the parking lot, driving over the curb to get past the rush of cars making their way in and out of the narrow opening.

  Sort of like Mace made his way in and out of your narrow opening, huh? I shake my head at how stupid I was last night. As soon as I saw Mace execute Dmitri, I should've left. And not because that man didn't deserve to die, but because I realized I'd walked out of one tumultuous, violent subculture and right into another.

  And then all those things Hawke said about me in the kitchen?

  Just because they were true didn't make them hurt less; it made them sting a thousand times worse.

  I am useless, aren't I? I don't have any skills except snorting coke, partying, and fucking. I was never trained to be anything but a glittering pet.

  As I drive, I swipe my hand down my face and wonder if I'm truly thinking straight right now … or if I'm throwing a fit. Am I pissed that Hawke thought he could get me to 'fall in love' with him and his merry band of assholes? Fuck yes, I am.

  But what he couldn't have known is that I don't think I'm even capable of loving anyone. I'm as damaged as the rest of those men back there, just as messed up. Well, maybe not as messed up as Arsen, but that's kind of a given. If they'd just given me a chance, they could've asked for that information. I won't actively hurt my own father with my bare hands, but I'm also on their side: I do want to see him brought down.

  They could've just fucking asked me, and yet, they have some stupid, elaborate plot going, one that ends with me being driven to the middle of nowhere and dumped. And if that's not code for putting a bullet in my head, I don't know what is. There's no way they'd let me live knowing all the things that I do.

  So I keep driving, even though I sort of want to go back.

  I take an obscure back road that leads into the country. And for a while there, as the buildings and houses fall away to fields of green, I feel myself starting to relax. The suicidal thoughts haven't left me, the dark urges, the pounding inside my chest when I imagine laying out a few lines in the bathroom … But at the same time, if I don’t care about dying then why did I run?

  "Because your feelings were hurt? Please," I snort, but deep down, I figure it's probably true. I let those guys get under my skin, and now I'm all butt hurt that they were using me. Well, fuck them. I was using them, too.

  For about an hour, I just drive when no destination in mind.

  It's only when I decide to turn down a quiet, gravel road and park for a moment—just to clear my head—that I see another car turn down right after me. Could be somebody heading to their farm or their forty acres … but maybe not.

  When I left, I stole one of the guys' guns from a holster on the card table on my way out. So I'm not completely helpless, but the thought of shooting Colt or Weston makes me really fucking sad. Or Mace. Oh God, last night wit
h Mace … Although maybe I would shoot Hawke or Arsen, just for good measure.

  But, of course, when the door to the vehicle opens, it's not any of my guys that step out: it's a group of men that I well recognize from my father's meetings. He's literally sent in the big guns to drag me out of here, men as ruthless as Dmitri but without any pretense of being normal. These are the guys he only sends in when he needs a situation dealt with, but doesn't care how it turns out.

  Meaning, I could be raped, killed, tortured. This is my father's last resort.

  Before I can even start the van, one of the men—I don't know his name, any of these men's names—shoots my tires out while a second man makes his way toward me, shoes crunching the gravel beneath his feet as he goes, slow and calculating.

  I have to be careful because if he gets close enough, he very well might just shoot me through the window. Or fuck, there could be another man in that car with a sniper rifle. I duck down and crawl between the seats, shoving aside fast food garbage and a half-empty bag of Pampers diapers.

  "Natalia Petrova," one of the men says, tapping on the back window as I curl myself into a ball under the center seat, my stolen gun at the ready. It's in that moment that I really have to decide. I have eight rounds in this weapon, enough to hurt or maybe even kill a few of the men pouring out of that car.

  I don't have enough to stay alive or stay out of their hands, if they intend to take me back to my father. But I do have enough to put the barrel of this gun between my lips and pull the trigger. Just like I said I would. I have enough ammo to die. But now that it comes down to it, do I really want to?

  I hesitate for so long that a shot's fired through the window on the sliding door of the van, and a hand creeps in to open the lock. What I don't hesitate to do is shoot this guy just above the knuckles, shoving myself up and heading straight for the passenger door. There's another man outside this one, but I fire a shot through the glass and then another into his neck before I bother to open it, taking off across the field and wondering when I'm going to feel those first agonizing shots in my back.