Touched by Lightning

by Avet, Danica

  “You’re welcome,” Murphy shot back wryly. “Always glad to help where I can.”

  They were all silent for a moment as they maneuvered through the woods, following the path Gyda had taken. Brit didn’t want to talk, not until he got a better handle on his shit, but Murphy hadn’t been a trainer with the O.T. so long for nothing. The man knew when others were hiding things from him and had learned his best interrogation techniques at Joe’s manicured hand.

  But then he proved he didn’t need keen observation skills. “Weird how she managed to pull her shirt up before she passed out,” he remarked quietly.

  Brit stopped dead in his tracks, his gaze falling to Gyda, whose shirt was snagged just beneath her breasts, revealing her pale belly and the numerous scars there. The blood rushed through his ears, blocking out any sound except the frantic pounding of his heart. He’d known they were there, knew they had to be horrible, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of those scars lining her stomach like careful ticks on a wall. Four columns of perfectly spaced, precise cuts marched along her belly, two columns to either side of her cute navel. They were old and faded and that was the only thing good about them.

  Beads of sweat gathered along his hairline as he struggled with his instinctive urge to find who’d done this to her and kill them. Right now. It didn’t matter to him if they were already dead either. He wanted to avenge this girl who felt she had to fight her own battles. His arms tightened around her, drawing her even closer as though he could wipe away her scars and past just by holding her. Remembering the wonderment at the moment of her orgasm and the rage when she realized what had happened, Brit knew he’d have to do a hell of a lot more if he was going to bring her into the light permanently. If it could be done at all.

  Strangely enough, it was Murphy who brought him back from the brink. The big man clapped a hand on Brit’s shoulder that jolted him out of his thoughts and muttered, “We’ll teach her to trust us.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” Ted added as he brushed past them. “I’ll go ahead to make sure the kiddies haven’t set themselves on fire while we were gone, or Paul’s tongue magically healed, allowing him to talk again.”

  The men pulled ahead, leaving Brit and Gyda behind, giving him the perfect chance to fix her clothes. She didn’t budge while he knelt to brace her against his leg to free up one of his hands, which he used to tug her shirt down. Guilt tugged at him yet again. Gyda deserved only the best from him. She hadn’t had a conventional life and it was up to him to show her how much she was missing out on. Stealing third base while she was shackled and scared out of her mind wasn’t the way to do it.

  He traced his fingers over the scars he could feel through her shirt and made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t touch her again until she understood her value to him and to the O.T.

  Good luck with that. The voice wasn’t Joe’s this time. Nope. It was all Brit the Horny Teen who couldn’t get the image of Gyda’s face as she came out of his mind. Shit, he had a feeling the next eight weeks were going to feel like the longest of his life. But as he lifted his girl into his arms once again, he realized he didn’t care as long as she ended up as his when it was over.

  Chapter Eight

  It was the screams that woke her. They were hoarse and tortured and heartbreaking. They pulled her from her sleep like a puppeteer pulling on strings, forcing her to sit straight up before her body shook off the chains of sleep. But when she opened her eyes, the door to the room she was in burst open and light burned her retinas.

  “Gyda, are you okay?”

  She didn’t need her still-adjusting eyes to know it was Brit who spoke, or Brit who touched her, because his voice was ingrained on her memory and the low-level hum of his power warned her seconds before his hand found her shoulder. For a moment, just a split second, she forgot everything but the pleasure his fingers had brought her in the woods. It was just about the last thing she remembered before falling asleep and it had the power to make her pussy grow slick all over again as though she hadn’t gone off like a freight train packing a ton of dynamite.

  But the memories hadn’t let go of her in her unconscious state. Tora had fed them, poked at them like a child with a stick, making her remember all the pain and humiliation she’d had heaped on her over the years. Brit, despite his soft-spoken ways and gentle touches, was just like all the rest. He only wanted what he could get from her, which was sex. All men were obsessed with sex, even the ones who didn’t seem to have much of a drive at all. Deep in the darkest corners of their souls, they were all sexual animals who were looking for the right moment to take what they wanted.

  Tora wasn’t buried as deeply as she normally was and Gyda didn’t fight with the Beast for full control. Looking into Brit’s warm, apologetic eyes, she knew she’d need all the help she could get to keep him at bay. Because if he came at her again with the drugging pleasure of his power and touch… She wasn’t sure she’d be able to resist for long.

  “Baby, are you okay?” he whispered as he sat next to her on the bed, brushing hair off her forehead. “I heard you screaming. Was it a bad dream?”

  The concern in his voice, as though he actually gave a damn about her, was enticing. She couldn’t remember the last time someone worried if she had a bad dream. She didn’t dream. Everything that happened in her head when she closed her eyes was memories dragged out of the dungeon of her mind. Then she frowned. He said he’d heard her scream. She hadn’t screamed or spoken in years, at least not from fear. She distinctly recalled crying out and talking as he pleasured her, but she always held her fear and horror inside. She’d had to in order to survive.

  What does that matter, idiot? He’s just trying to soften us up so he can fuck you over, Tora snarled in her mind.

  Gyda refused to answer her. Everyone talked to themselves, but if you answered yourself you were crazy. She didn’t want to be crazy or turn out like that dude in the Lord of the Rings movies.

  Keep telling yourself that, Sméagol, Sixteen taunted, turning her attention to Gyda instead of Brit, who continued to look at her with concern.

  “Gyda?” he asked again. His gaze analyzed her face, lingering on her lips and she swore his pupils dilated, darkening the chocolate-brown irises. “Are you okay, honey?”

  She tensed and pulled away, recognizing that look in his eyes. Sex. He was hungry for it and he’d do like everyone else had, pin her down and hurt her for his own pleasure. He must’ve realized she was about to start fighting him, because he let go immediately and stood, stepping away from the bed.

  Gyda rolled across the mattress, landing on the floor between the bed and the wall. The ease of her movements had her looking at her hands and feet to see she wasn’t shackled anymore. Relief threatened to take away some of her anger, but she clung to it as she took in the rest of the room.

  It was another prison, albeit much more luxurious than the one she’d awakened in back at the O.T. Headquarters. It had actual furnishings, which seemed to be as solid as mountains. No particle board here. The dresser, headboard and small chest of drawers all appeared thick and unbreakable. Which meant she wasn’t going to be able to smash them apart to escape. There was a window, but even as she noticed it, she took in the solid bars blocking escape that way. The door Brit had entered through was also thick as hell.

  Despite the trappings that told her this was a new prison, she didn’t feel confined in here. Probably because the sheets had flowers on them and there were curtains on the window that matched the bedclothes. It looked charming, like something you’d see at someone’s house. Not Estelle and Leo’s house, which was classy, but Gyda had seen those same kinds of sheets and curtains hanging from clotheslines as she traversed the country.

  And Brit stood in the center of the room looking as though he belonged here. Well-worn jeans with threadbare spots next to the fly clung to him like a second skin. His t-shirt was faded and had splotches of old paint clinging to the fabric even as it molded to his defined torso. He wore
a baseball cap on his head, appearing more like what she’d think a country boy would look like than someone who hung out with drug dealers. The tattoos that twined around his arms were the only things that showed he was a man who’d done and seen things most country boys hadn’t.

  “You were out for a while,” he said to her in that soft, soothing drawl she found both irritating and irresistible. “If you need to use the restroom, I can bring you. Sorry there’s only one here. This is my hunting cabin. I had Joe send someone up before we left to fix this room up for you.” She just bet they’d had to fix it up for her. Her expression must’ve given him an idea of what she was thinking, because his cheeks darkened. “The rest of the group is stationed around the cabin.”

  That is, she was surrounded and if she managed to sneak out of the house, she’d still have to get through a dozen O.T. Tactical Unit members in order to get away. Tora, despite bitching about Gyda being crazier than a loon, immediately set her animalistic mind to building an escape plan. Gyda let her have at it. Because she wasn’t staying here no matter how much she yearned to enjoy the gilding of her cage. Sixteen wasn’t being any help despite her skills at planning because she seemed to think Brit was just what Gyda needed. Tora, on the other hand, snapped at the leash Sixteen put on her, wanting to get away so they could continue their quest for vengeance.

  He sighed and took his hat off to run his fingers through his hair, his frustration with her silence obvious. “Look, I’m sorry…” He looked at her and away, his cheeks turning even darker. His Adams apple bobbed as he gulped, but he brought his gaze back around to meet her gaze again, hungry resolve in his eyes. “I’m sorry for what I did to you in the woods.” He cleared his throat and settled his hat back on his head. She wasn’t staring at his biceps that bulged and flexed with the movement and the warmth in her belly had absolutely nothing to do with attraction. “There’s some powerful chemistry between us, sweetheart,” he finally said on a near growl. “And it just got the better of me. I swear I won’t touch you again until you want me to.”

  With each word he spoke, her jaw dropped a little more until she was gaping at him, her brain firing on all cylinders as she processed his belief in his attractions. Okay, he was hot. He had that power thing mingling with some country-boy charm, which she found extremely sexy despite her natural repulsion of all things male. He knew how to ply his electricity in such a way that it made a woman cream with want. His body… The man had a body to die for and those tattoos just begged her to explore them with her fingers and tongue.

  Even his confidence was sexy to an extent. Her brain rejected that thought. He was assuming she’d just fall into his lap like some slut. Because you totally did twice before, idiot, Sixteen reminded her with a satisfied chuckle. All that man has to do is lay a kiss on you and you’re a goner.

  Her cheeks flushed at the reminder because it was true. He’d kissed her twice and both times she’d fallen prey to his power and that fucking chemistry she wasn’t prepared to defend herself against. It wasn’t as though it was something she’d come into contact with before. Sixteen was the sexual one, the one who discovered the men who wanted to be dominated by a woman. Gyda just let her have her way and pretended it never happened. So yeah, she had no idea how to fight attraction like this.

  And he planned to use it against her. Holy shit.

  “So what’s it gonna be, sugar?” he drawled and for a moment she thought he was talking about with them, what they were going to do. Then he clarified for her. “Bathroom? Food? More fighting so I have to knock you out again?”

  She was pissed at him, but at the same time, she really did have to go. She could stand here doing the pee dance, or she could be an adult and plot her escape rather than hope for the best. Like she’d done when she bailed in the van. So she nodded and rounded the bed, but didn’t approach him.

  “Well?” he prompted when she stood in front of him, trying not to dance in place.

  Gyda pointed to the door.

  He shook his head. “I want you to tell me what you want.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him and folded her arms over her chest. He had to be joking. The two times she’d spoken around him had been anomalies, freak accidents brought upon by strong emotion. She’d kept her silence for a long time before he came along and despite what happened in the woods and while she slept, she’d damn well continue.

  “You screamed tonight,” he said when she kept her lips locked. Then something gleamed in his gaze, a wave of thick male satisfaction hitting her like a ton of bricks. “And you gave me encouragement in the woods.”

  The warm rasp of his words slammed into her, causing her body to heat up again. No, it wasn’t a slow warm up but as though someone had just dropped a hot coal in her underwear. Slick, steamy and— She squeezed her thighs together against the hunger her body felt for him.

  She suddenly recalled something the shrink she’d seen after she was rescued said, trying to help her realize her fear was something she’d been trained to feel. Dr. Kenard had told her a story about a guy called Pavlov who had a dog he’d trained to salivate every time he heard a bell or some weird shit like that. Why you’d want a dog to drool was anyone’s guess, but that story only made her think of the way she felt when Brit was around. As though her body, in a short span of time, had developed an instant reaction to him.

  His lips quirked in a cocky smile that both pissed her off and thrilled her. Because it told her he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  She looked as though she wanted to punch his lights out. It was at odds with the slumberous cast to her eyes. She hadn’t fully awakened yet. Her hair stuck out at odd angles, there was a crease from the pillow case on her cheek and her lips were soft and she’d never looked sexier to him. Even when she glared at him like now, like before, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  Because she was his. She didn’t talk. Hadn’t spoken a word for years, but she’d talked to him as he gave her pleasure. In that moment, he hadn’t realized how precious her cries were, but recalling the way she’d begged him, pleaded with him for it, she’d gifted him with something greater than her orgasm. She’d given him the key to her… Maybe not her heart, but Gyda had shown him a back door, a way to sneak past her defenses to get to the woman beneath the tough exterior. Her stubborn refusal to speak now was proof of that. She’d only spoken because she’d been under intense pressure to let her pleasure out in any way she could. Intense pleasure he’d given her, pushing her to do something she seemed to want to avoid.

  Brit couldn’t help his smile. What man could? And it only pissed her off more. But he wasn’t as worried about her anger now, now that he knew the way to make her soft and wet for him. His power rushed to the surface as though ready for another round with her, his cock hardening.

  “I know you can speak,” he murmured when she glared at him in mutinous silence. “I’ve heard you cryin’ out for me. You liked me touchin’ you, liked my electricity dancin’ on your skin.” Her pupils dilated, swallowing the pale-green of her irises.

  His heart picked up pace, sending his blood rushing through his body, most of it headed south to his dick. He’d said he wouldn’t touch her again unless she wanted him to. He hadn’t said a damn thing about not telling her how much he wanted to touch her. Was it a fair fight? Hell no, but all’s fair in love and war and all that shit. Not that he was in love with her. Yet.

  “Your skin is so soft,” he reminisced, voice going thick and husky with lust. “Did I tell you that yesterday? It’s like silk. Almost too soft for my hands to touch because I don’t want to mark it up with my calluses. And warm. God, you were so soft, and wet and warm.” His voice dropped another octave as renewed desire filled him at the memory of how she’d melted in his body. “And when you came…” Brit shook his head and shifted his legs a little farther apart to give his cock a little breathing room. Her gaze dropped to his fly and a wave of color stained her cheeks, but she didn’t look away from his groin, as thou
gh she were fascinated by his erection. “Hearing you come was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life, baby, and I can’t wait to hear it again. This time, though, I want you callin’ my name.”

  That made her gaze jerk back up to his face, eyes wide with surprise and a touch of feminine fear. Her breath came hard and fast, making her tits rise and fall above her crossed arms. If she only knew how sexy she looked like that, like some innocent being tempted… Which he supposed she was. She’d only ever been used. She’d never been carefully seduced to pleasure, taught the many ways a woman could experience orgasm. He might not have been much of a seducer, too blunt for it, but he wouldn’t mind trying with her.

  She took a deep breath and opened her mouth. Brit’s heart stopped because she was about to say something.

  “Well? Is she comin’ out or what? I’m making French toast and you can’t eat that shit cold,” Murphy called out from the kitchen.

  Gyda’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and her rosy cheeks grew pale before the color rushed back times a hundred. The eyes that had been soft and hungry narrowed to slits as her fury roared back to life. Brit cursed Murphy for his bad timing. It was why he was called Murphy’s Law behind his back, because the big man was usually the cause of shit going downhill without even realizing it.

  Instead of letting Gyda see his frustration, Brit slanted another falsely arrogant smile at her, just to get a rise out of her. What could he say? He liked to live dangerously. He wouldn’t have joined the O.T. if he wanted to live forever.

  “Hope you can handle your business in the bathroom before the French toast gets cold, ’cause Murphy’s right. It tastes like shit if it isn’t eaten hot.”

  * * * * *