Christine Feehan

by Deadly Game

  Ken removed the knife and tossed it to Eric, but retained possession of her wrist. “Stay the hell away from her.”

  Jack swore aloud, a long and creative curse that was anatomically impossible. Ken glanced at him. “Watch your mouth.”

  “Don’t you fuckin’ tell me to watch my mouth. What the hell were you thinking? You walked right in front of my gun and you did it on purpose, you son of a bitch.”

  “I was thinking I’d defuse the situation,” Ken replied, his tone as mild as ever. “She’s supposed to escape, Jack. That’s what we do when we’re captured. I figured she’d try it eventually. I just didn’t think it would be this soon.” He glanced at Eric, who was still rubbing his throat and looking horrified. “There’s no doubt she can push drugs through her system with remarkable speed, is there? You got your answer without taking more blood.”

  Ken was touching her, his fingers a vise around her wrist, so she felt the anger in him, a river of it running deep and fierce, when on the outside he appeared as cool—as cold—as ice.

  CHAPTER 4

  Ken leaned toward Mari, creating an intimacy between them, as if they were the only two people in the helicopter. “Are you all right?”

  Mari closed her eyes against the sound of his voice. So concerned. So incredibly gentle. He wasn’t gentle. There was nothing gentle about him. His hands still clamped her wrist to the gurney and her head felt like a bomb had gone off inside of it. She turned her face away from his, determined not to be taken in by his false concern.

  He shifted even closer; she could tell by his scent. It was suddenly everywhere, all around her, inside of her. She felt the warmth of his breath on her temple, the feather-light touch of his lips. His lips were soft except for one slight rasp over her skin, making her aware of the knife scar running across his mouth. That light rasp sent heat curling through her body. Her womb actually spasmed. She didn’t want to respond to him. She didn’t want to feel anything at all other than the need to escape. She didn’t want to feel guilty for having used a razor-sharp blade, reminding him of the way his body had been so mutilated.

  “It’s all right, Mari. No one blames you for making a try. It’s what we all do, what we’re trained to do. At least wait until you’re a little stronger and we sort this entire mess out. You wouldn’t get very far the way you are right now.”

  If she waited until she was stronger, they’d have the time to make certain there was no chance of escape. As for being stronger, her body was repairing itself faster than they guessed. The leg was bad—she might not be able to use it—but there were ways …

  His lips brushed her ear this time. “I’m reading your mind, you know.”

  She jerked her hand in reaction. Ivy, before Whitney had killed her, had been able to read people as well as objects, simply by touching them. It was more than possible that Ken had that talent. And then he would know how she felt when he touched her.

  Humiliation rose and mixed with anger. She whipped up her broken hand without thinking, aiming for his nose, wanting to smash it into his skull. He was her enemy and she would not buy into the attraction between them again. Or maybe she was just mortified because there was no mutual attraction between them; it was entirely one-sided.

  He caught her wrist with almost casual strength, slamming both arms above her head and pinning them there, bringing his body nearly over the top of hers in a much more dominant position. It made her seethe with anger. She had to fight back the impulse to lunge forward and bite him like a rabid animal—or maybe claw the clothes from his chest to see if the web of scars she was certain covered his chest and belly disappeared lower into the narrow hips and across his groin.

  “Stop struggling.”

  “Get off of me.”

  “Calm down first. I just saved your life, you ungrateful little wretch.”

  He was laughing at her. Damn him to hell, he was laughing at her. She could see a glint of humor in his eyes. He didn’t smile or change expression, but she felt his laughter, and it made her want to explode—or maybe press her mouth to the softness of his, just to feel the caress of that heated rasp once more.

  Furious with herself, she nearly came up off the bed, adrenaline pouring through her body, but there was no give in him. She remained pressed against the gurney as if he didn’t notice her struggles. “You. Get. Off. Me.” She bit out each word from between clenched teeth. “I swear I’ll tear out your heart with my bare hands.”

  His brilliant gaze drifted slowly, almost possessively over her face. “You don’t want to be talking to me that way; you’re turning me on.”

  Her heart accelerated and her breasts tingled with anticipation. His chest was so close. A breath away from her aching nipples. It was perverted to feel like this, to be a man’s captive, to have him slam his elbow into her head and still have her body react like a cat’s in heat. In that moment she hated herself, hated the way she despised Brett and the other men. She understood now, understood how desire could take over every sense and push aside discipline and training, until all one could think about was assuaging a chemical need.

  Did he know? Was he feeding the addiction deliberately with his nearness? If so, he was playing a very deadly game. She forced her body to relax and looked up at him, frowning, hoping she looked intimidating. “Black widows eat their lovers.”

  He released her wrists and drew a finger down her cheek, the pad of his finger sliding over her lips, lingering as if he belonged there. When she looked at him, when he touched her, she felt the anger slide away before she could catch and hold on to it. He did something to her, made her feel whole and at peace. Maybe it was a psychic talent peculiar to him. Could Whitney do that to a person? Could he make it so that she trembled with need and yet felt whole inside just by touching this one man?

  “I don’t think I’d mind all that much if you ate me,” he returned, his voice almost a purr.

  Once more she felt the electric current running between them, sparking along her skin and heating her blood into a thick, molten stream. A shiver of need went down her spine. She could only stare at him, feeling vulnerable and feminine instead of like the soldier she knew herself to be. She’d never felt like this, so female she couldn’t relate in any other way to him then seeing him wholly as a man. She didn’t dare speak, afraid he would realize she was trembling from his touch, not from fear or anger.

  He caught her chin in his hand and tipped her head to one side to examine her temple. “You’re going to have a bruise. I’d let the doc look at it, but I think we can manage without him. Do you need more pain medication?” His fingers moved over her throbbing temple, taking some of the sting away.

  “No.” It was a blatant lie, but she looked him right in the eye, because she couldn’t handle this man when she was on drugs. She needed her wits about her if she was going to survive.

  “We’re going to move you, Mari, and it’s going to hurt.”

  “I’ve been hurt before.”

  A flash of something crossed his expressionless face, a quick glimpse of an emotion she knew was important, but she didn’t get a good enough look to identify it. But he wasn’t made of stone—that was for certain. “Are you ready?”

  Mari noticed that it was the doctor, not Jack, who took up the position at the foot of the gurney. Jack looked grim and held a gun in his hand. There was no question in her mind that he intended to use it on her if she made one wrong move toward his brother. A part of her admired that; another part filed the information away for future use. She was a solider and it was her duty to escape. She no longer had loyalty to her job, but she did to her unit, and she was determined that Whitney wouldn’t catch her in a trap, no matter how addicting the bait—because this had to be another Whitney sadistic setup.

  Mari nodded and touched her tongue to her dry lips. She’d rather be tortured than feel this way, confused and helpless and so feminine she ached with need. She understood torture and duty and discipline. There was no way to understand the heat in her bo
dy or the blood pounding in her veins. Her awareness of Ken was incredible, as if her every sense—every cell in her body—were tuned to him.

  She tried to steel herself as they lifted her, but nothing could prepare her for the pain ripping through her, driving out everything else, robbing her of breath and thought and for one moment clearing her head so she could be who she was—strong and stoic and in control. She was the one the other women looked up to, the rebel refusing to give in to Whitney’s latest demands. She was the one encouraging the idea of escape—if that was all that was left to them—and she was the one who promised that if they all helped her get a chance to see the senator, she’d convince him to free them.

  The other women believed in her and she had let them down by being captured. It was possible Whitney had already killed one of them, but he’d been away from the compound, and as long as no one told him she was gone, they would all be safe. The men would be frantically looking for her—not wanting Whitney’s wrath to fall on one of them. His punishments were sometimes lethal.

  Now that she knew what it was like to be so absorbed in another human being, to need to feel his touch, hear his voice, while he seemed to be indifferent to her other than as a prisoner, she wanted to take back everything she’d said and done the past couple of years regarding the men helping Whitney with his breeding program.

  The men were prisoners as much as the women, they just didn’t realize it—but Whitney’s experiment couldn’t continue. She knew it with a certainty. It wasn’t natural and it was fundamentally wrong to take away choice. Even if she fell in love—and she wasn’t certain that was possible with the way she felt about men—she would never get over wanting Ken. It gave her understanding and compassion that she’d never had before for the men unnaturally paired with the women. How could any of them find happiness?

  Ken watched the conflicting emotions flit across her face as he helped carry her into the small house where they would wait for ground transportation while Nico threw off the hunters. He’d continue his flight plan to another location, a house Lily had also rented. When Mari’s team got there, it would be empty and Nico would already have the helicopter back on the base where it belonged. He’d lay low for a while in case they decided to grab him to extract the information. Nico wasn’t a man easily found. He was only waiting for the doctor to get moving so there would be little time to realize he’d made a stop somewhere.

  Ken found it difficult to watch the beads of sweat break out on Mari’s face with each step they took. She had refused more pain medication because she wanted to be alert. He could read her confusion and humiliation. She was undeniably attracted to him, with the same frightening addictive rush he felt each time he inhaled her scent. He understood now what had driven Jack to go to such lengths to keep Briony. Jack had managed to walk away from the woman who was everything to him once, but he couldn’t do it twice. Ken wasn’t certain how his twin had managed the first time, but he knew he had to find the same strength.

  He couldn’t have her. It didn’t matter that she wanted him, or that he could persuade her—he couldn’t have her. He didn’t dare. Jack had come through it, but he was different. Jack hadn’t believed he was a good man, but Ken had always known that Jack was. Ken had watched him carefully for any signs of the legacy of madness their father left them. He had stayed close to Jack and smoothed his way in every situation, making certain Jack didn’t have to do any of the things he preferred not to do, so there would be no reason for him to feel the burning rage—rage so deep it burned cold, not hot. Rage so ugly, it was beyond madness and as relentless as hell.

  Jack had the same ice in his veins, the same ability to turn off emotion with the click of a switch, a trait that was dangerous but manageable, but Jack knew how to protect others. He watched out for the men in his unit, for the one woman who had saved them so many years ago when they were still raw teens out for blood and revenge on the world, and he watched out for anyone else they stumbled across in their lives that needed protection. He looked out for everyone, including Ken.

  Ken hid his rage behind a ready smile and a quick joke, and he guarded his brother with his life. He looked out for one person, and that was Jack. He loved his twin fiercely, protectively, and was determined that Jack would have a good life with Briony and their children. Ken would keep his brother and his family safe—even from him and the certain knowledge he had that their father’s insanity lived inside of him. It was a monster he dealt with every day, knew intimately, and could barely conceal or control.

  “You’re frowning.”

  Mari’s voice startled him out of his introspection.

  At once his smooth mask slid into place. It was ironic to him that the very mask people now saw revealed what was beneath the skin as well, but no one bought it. “I don’t frown.” He would have to be more careful. If she caught him slipping, so would Jack, and that wouldn’t do.

  “The doctor is going to examine you one more time, and if he can, he’ll remove the catheter and the IV.” Jack’s voice was ultra-calm. He had his gun out, his hands rock steady and his eyes cold. “If you so much as twitch, I’ll kill you.”

  She turned to look at him, forcing a smile when she wanted to scream with pain. “Maybe you’ll be doing me a favor.”

  Something dangerous flickered in Jack’s eyes. “You don’t want to play games with me, Mari. I don’t know anything at all about you. Briony is my world, and if you are in any way a threat to her, you’re gone.”

  Briony. She couldn’t think about Briony. Her twin was somewhere in the world, far away from all of this insanity. She was safe and happy and had a husband who adored her, not a stone-cold killer with silver slashing eyes and without a single shred of mercy in him.

  The doctor moved in close to her. It took a moment before she realized just how humiliated she was going to be. He was removing the catheter with both men in the room. She wore little beneath the thin cover.

  “Take a breath,” Ken advised. “We don’t exactly have a choice here, and in any case, we’ll be seeing to your needs until you can walk again.”

  “How long did you have someone helping you with bodily functions after they chopped you into little pieces? Did they remove all of you or just parts?”

  The soft snick of the gun was loud in the suddenly quiet room. The doctor gasped and studiously avoided looking at Ken. It wasn’t hard for anyone to imagine just what body part she was asking about.

  Mari would have given anything to be able to take back the words the moment they left her mouth. She was lashing out in embarrassment, trying to hurt him, trying to get some reaction from him. It was petty and beneath her. She didn’t care about his scars, although she had to admit she did wonder if they had cut him everywhere. She couldn’t imagine a sadist like Ekabela—a man capable of genocide—not doing as much damage as possible to another man he hated and feared.

  That drove out every other thought—Ekabela had feared this man—yet she was deliberately provoking him, prodding a coiled viper with a stick, digging into a predator’s wounds just to cover her own humiliation. She looked up at him, uncaring that the room seethed with tension and his brother wanted to pull the trigger. The two men were very connected. Jack must feel a stab of pain cutting as savagely as the knife that had cut his twin each time he looked at Ken. She would feel it if someone had tortured Briony and left visible evidence behind.

  “Take the catheter out, Doc,” Ken said, his tone mild. “And don’t you think it’s a little dramatic to hold a gun on her, Jack?” He sighed and brushed more stray strands of hair from her face. “Jack likes to shoot first and ask questions later. I’ve sent him to a couple of psychiatrists, but they always send him back and tell me there’s no help for him.”

  She couldn’t apologize, couldn’t say the words in front of the others. She could only look up at his carefully expressionless face and wish Jack would pull the trigger. She doubted Ken allowed himself to be hurt by much, but her barb had gotten to him. He didn’t
show it at all, but Jack had and that seemed worse. As if her thoughtless comment had gone so deep Ken couldn’t show his reaction.

  He was her enemy. She repeated the words over and over as the doctor removed the IV and catheter. All the while she kept her gaze locked with Ken’s, seeing every detail, the perfect bone structure, the heavy dark lashes in contrast to his gleaming silver eyes. There was latent sensuality there, but she knew those grid patterns on his face were all most people were ever going to see.

  “What did my sister say when she saw you?” She whispered the words aloud, needing to know, knowing the question would be misconstrued, but it would tell her the truth, tell her things she needed to know in order to keep going on her course. She had to be right about Briony’s character.

  “Damn you,” Jack hissed, taking an aggressive step forward. “Shut the hell up, before I do it for you.”

  Ken cut him off with one smooth step, blocking his twin’s path to the bed, the only reason, she was fairly certain, Jack hadn’t knocked her out with the gun butt.

  “Briony never seems to notice unless someone else does, and then she turns protective like a mama tiger,” Ken answered. “Does it bother you so much?”

  She should have said yes. She desperately needed protection, some kind of armor, some distance between them, but the lie wouldn’t come. “No.”

  Jack took a breath and let it out, shoving the gun out of sight and turning away. “Doc, you’re out of time. Stay low until you’re contacted that it’s safe. You know the drill. Thanks for all your help and I apologize for the knife. I underestimated her abilities.” His gaze bored into her. “It won’t happen again.”

  She flicked him a glance. “Sure it will. You’re a big caveman and I’m just the little woman, too stupid to know how to fend for myself.”