by James, Tate
Fuck.
His hands grip my hips hard, burning finger-shaped marks into my skin as that friction builds between us, and the glass beneath my hands slowly, slowly, slowly begins to give way.
We should be using a condom, if he's fucked so many other women since last time, I think, but that thought is soon obliterated by a wave of fire building at the base of my spine and unfurling through me like an inferno.
Arsen, the master of flames.
He grabs me by the hair, groaning and coming hard, releasing himself inside of me while my own orgasm trails just behind ... and then is put to an abrupt halt as he pulls out and simultaneously jerks me back.
The window shatters, sharp shards of glass scattering across the scuffed hardwood floors and raining down on the roof like rain.
Arsen releases me, and I fall to my knees before a sea of shimmering glass. It reflects the moonlight as I shake and pant, my body throbbing with desperate need.
When I glance over my shoulder, he's simply standing there, his pants done up, his face a severe frown.
"Careful, princess. Fragile things do often break." And then he turns and takes off as boots pound up the stairs. Mace shoves past him with a huge shoulder, only to find me with my pants around my ankles, shaking on the bedroom floor.
"Goddamn it," he growls out, scooping me up and into his arms. It feels wrong, to have him hold me the way he is with another man's cum between my thighs. "Six weeks in that institution did nothing for you, did it?"
"Institution?" I whisper, and Mace flicks his dark blue eyes down to mine. There’s a fire burning there, but a cold one, like a dangerous ember that threatens to turn everything else into an inferno. It just needs a little help.
What if I were to offer some?
"He's been locked up for six weeks in one of the company's mental health facilities. Most of that time spent in solitary fucking confinement because he's goddamn insane!" Mace yells this last part out, and my face flushes.
If Arsen were in solitary confinement, then he definitely wasn't fucking, snorting coke, and drinking himself into a stupor, now was he?
I feel relieved.
In reality, I should be terrified that I'm in some sort of dominant/submissive sexual relationship with a man who needs to be locked up for six weeks to keep him from snapping.
"You haven't touched me for weeks," I say, almost an accusation. No, definitely an accusation.
"Natalia," Mace starts, his voice a grumble, his body a mountain of muscles, so big that I just barely catch sight of Hawke disappearing down the stairs behind him.
"Fuck me, please," I say, feeling my body pulse with need. Mace looks at me for a long, hard moment, and then curses under his breath. He's going to turn me down, isn't he? And why shouldn't he, when I'm still aching from Arsen's hard fingers, the rough push of his cock inside of me ...
"Get your asses downstairs now!" Hawke bellows, and I jump. Mace sets me on the edge of the bed, happy to have an excuse not to respond to my request, and then turns his back on me while I hobble to the bathroom to clean up.
Fucking Arsen.
I'm gritting my teeth, and am in a seriously pissed off mood when I come downstairs. Arsen has the audacity to be at the stove, whipping up something that smells so good I almost forgive him for leaving me sans orgasm.
As soon as I see him clutching that spatula, an apron thrown over his muscular shoulders, my nipples harden to diamond points. One day, this obsession I have with the crazy man is going to get me killed, I think to myself.
"Finally, Natalia chooses to grace us with her presence," Hawke growls out, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his gray eyes painted with fury.
Uh-oh.
I think I might be in trouble.
Chapter 4
Natalia
Six weeks isn't long enough to fully stamp out my natural reactions, but thankfully it's enough that I grab hold of the sassy comeback before it leaves my lips.
"Something to say, recruit?" Hawke asks me in a dark, dangerous growl. His eyes are hot and angry, and it makes me want to push all his buttons.
"Nothing at all, sir," I snap back at him with a defiant lift of my chin. My gaze holds his in silent challenge despite the fact I know he'll make me pay for it later. Sadly, these days that means a grueling work out session. Clothed. Non-sexual. Nothing even remotely close to that rendezvous we'd had on the church altar... the one that'd killed a nun from shock.
Heaving a sigh at the memory, I bypass the empty seat between Hawke and Mace and squeeze my ass into the tiny gap on the wooden bench against the wall. Right between Colt and Weston.
Okay so there really isn't enough space for me to fit so I end up practically sitting in Weston's lap. Not that he seems to mind, if the arm he snakes around my waist is anything to go by. Heat seeps into me, and I make a very blatant move to cover his hand with one of my own.
"We have plenty of available seats, Miss Petrova," Hawke bites out, not even trying to hide his temper anymore. He waves a tense hand around the room, pointing out all the vacant, mismatched chairs around the overly large dining table.
"She's fine where she is," Weston answers for me, his hand tightening against my now much firmer abs. When I say that Hawke and Mace have been training me, I mean it. I've never been so fit in my life, and my body’s reflecting that in muscle tone.
Surprised at Weston taking my side, I bite my lower lip and watch Hawke like, well, like a hawk. Things have been getting more tense by the day between us, and now that Weston, Colt and Arsen are all back under the same roof I feel like shit's about to hit the fan.
Whatever our team leader’s reply was going to be, Mace stops him with a heavy hand on his shoulder. Their eyes meet in that intense bro stare that somehow carries whole conversations without a single word being spoken, and after a long moment, Hawke shrugs his friend’s hand off his shoulder and turns back to us all.
"Right. Now that we're all here, let's discuss the mission."
My jaw falls open. That's it?
"Colt, good to see you back," Hawke continues like he's already forgotten I just challenged him. "I checked over your discharge forms and understand you've been cleared for active duty assessment in one month. That correct?"
"That's correct, boss," Colt replies with a sharp nod, his posture straightening as he seems to come to the same realization I have: Hawke is all business today.
Hawke's lips tighten, the only indication that he's still pissed off. "Good. You can be assessed the same day as Natalia."
I suck in a sharp breath at this information. This new information. Four weeks to perfect all the skills Hawke and Mace have been drilling into me day and night since the confrontation with my father’s men. Why in the ever loving shit wouldn't Hawke have warned me?
"Is that a problem, Natalia?" Our tattooed control freak team leader gives me a look that's so shuttered I find myself totally off balance.
What's the right answer, here? Is he offering me an out? Or setting me up to fail? Fucking Hawke. Fuck!
"No problems here, boss." My voice comes out uncertain, breathy, but the reassuring nod Mace gives me from behind Hawke eases the tension thrumming through my body.
He sees me, even if he pretends not to.
Hawke stares at me a moment longer before giving a terse nod and turning his attention to Arsen.
"Save it, bossman," Arsen sneers, leaning against the yellowing, ripped wallpaper with one dirty boot up against the skirting board. He flips an old fashioned lighter out of his pocket and touches the flame to the cigarette balanced on his lips. "You did your worst, and here I am. Back on active duty." He blows out a stream of smoke and offers Hawke a smug smile. "Try harder next time."
"That was far from doing my worst, Arsen. That was to help you. If I wanted you off the team I would have just shot you in the head and blamed Konstantin's men." Hawke looks totally bored with the conversation, and I'm beginning to understand that he and Arsen threatening to kill each other happens on a dai
ly basis. If not more.
"So, once Colt and Natalia are cleared for duty, we're back on the job?" Weston's chest rumbles against my back as he speaks, his fingertips stroking the bare skin below my shirt and above my waistband. A movement that doesn't go unnoticed by Hawke whose jaw ticks as he glares at Weston's hand for a moment.
What the fuck his problem is, I have no idea. He's made it pretty damn clear he's no longer interested in me like that.
"Not exactly," Mace answers instead, his voice as soft as a bag full of broken rock. "Konstantin has gone to ground, none of the surveillance teams have any confirmed sightings since the night..." he trails off with a small grimace in my direction.
"Since the night our little broken bird flew the coop and almost got Colt killed," Arsen finishes for him, sending me a shit eating grin. "Bet you feel all kinds of shitty about that, huh?"
"Not really," I quip back, crossing my legs at the knee and pretending like I don't feel this throbbing ache between my thighs. Maybe it’s a blessing to be so tight after only a few weeks of celibacy, but damn that left me sore.
Imagine if I'd tried to break my celibate stint with Hawke ... or Mace?
My eyes slide his way, and I find myself caught on that deep, blue gaze of his again. I'd like to unpack it, see what makes him tick. And yet, I can't even get him to fuck me anymore. What the hell is going on here?
After a moment, my attention slides down to this bulge in his crotch that I somehow missed before. So he was turned on by me then, wasn't he? I think, just before Hawke throws a knife across the room, and I find the point embedded in the wall near my head.
Like, really fucking close to my head.
"What the hell was that for?" I blurt, shoving to my feet with the rush of adrenaline. "You could've killed me!"
"I'm far too skilled to make a mistake like that," he deadpans, and then he's storming over to me and towering above my small frame. "Do you have a sex addiction problem, Miss Petrova?" he asks, and his voice is far from kind.
“Takes one to know one,” I quip back, and the fury in his gaze is off the charts. Dangerous. Yet again, I get the feeling that I’m playing with fire here.
"Boss," Colt begins, but the look Hawke shoots him stifles whatever protest Colt was about to make. At least he considered standing up for me, I think just before Hawke reaches out and grabs me by my upper arm, probably bruising me. No surprise there, my body is a mottled collection of cuts, bruises, and shiny pink scars from all the training we've been doing. Not to mention I still have some chafing on my wrists from ...
"I'll ask you the question again. Do. you. have. a. problem controlling yourself?"
"No." I snap the word off the end of my tongue, wishing I could shove him back, and knowing it wouldn't do any good. "Do you?"
Hawke's brows knit together, and his mouth curves into a severe frown. He's a gorgeous man, with that aquiline nose, that square jaw, those lips that I can't take my eyes off of, even when he's scowling at me.
"Sex addiction is a problem. Ask Arsen: it got him sent to rehab more than once."
"Ahh, come now, boss," Arsen scoffs, pushing off the wall and stalking over to stand near us. "Don't tell me you're going to punish the new recruit for having a healthy sex drive?" He licks his lower lip and glances between me and Hawke. "And please, for the love of all things sinful and unholy, don't tell me you hired on the smallest, most pathetic, most spoiled princess in all the world with no ulterior motives? I thought the whole point of having a woman on our team was so that we could have someone around to fuck when we're on these bullshit undercover missions?"
My turn to feel my jaw clench, my hands fisting by my sides. I'm used to being treated like crap, tossed aside. Women aren't exactly treated well in my father's line of work. But I guess even here I'm going to be treated as disposable pussy.
"Fuck you both," I snarl, starting to move away and pausing only when Hawke's strong fingers curl around my upper arm.
"Where do you think you're going?" he growls out at me, gray eyes flashing.
"To work out," I snap back. To prove myself. That thought stays quietly hidden in the dark recesses of my brain as Arsen smirks and moves away, happy at having gotten his jollies off on treating me like shit and simultaneously pissing Hawke off in the same breath. Good for him.
"Mission debrief," Hawke snaps, raking the fingers of his other hand over his short, military style cut hair. It's like ... I'm one of the few things that can snap his ironclad control. What, exactly, that means I'm not sure. "Sit your ass down."
He releases me and spins, fully expecting me to heed his order, and then returns to the table in the center of the room.
"As I was saying ..." Hawke growls, and I mentally add in before I was so rudely interrupted. He really is an asshole porcupine, isn't he? "We don't have a lot of time." His eyes lift up and scan the room, pausing on Colt first then me again. "And for those of you who are unaware, an exam in our world generally consists of a real world assignment—albeit something lesser than collecting the head of an infamous mob boss."
"Oooh, who are we killing this time?" Arsen asks, perking up considerably at the thought of bloodshed. Weston reaches up to grab my arm and then yanks me into the warm confines of his lap. I'd say the move was possessive, but ... surely not?
"Shady Cove Motorcycle Club," Mace grunts, and Colt raises a brow, his green eyes bright, a sheen of sweat on his brow as he leans against the wall and pretends like this small act isn't exhausting him.
Sigh. Men.
"Who the hell would pay us to go after a motorcycle club?" Colt wonders aloud with a scoff, reaching up to swipe his palm over his newly shorn blond hair. "Especially one I've never even heard of."
"Money is money," Hawke snaps, flipping an iPad around so we can all see the screen. There's a map pulled up with both our location marked as well as a few points of interest. "And this is big money for a small job, the perfect way to bring Colt back into the fold, and test Natalia."
"What's the job, exactly?" Weston asks, curling one of his big, tanned arms around my waist. A shiver takes over me, but I refuse to acknowledge it. I swear, Hawke is watching me, waiting to see more of my 'sex addiction' habits. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. Besides, there's nothing wrong with a woman who has a healthy libido.
"Take out the officers, dismantle the organization, and dismantle any operating meth labs." Hawke's mouth tightens. "Our client is a very rich—very rich—widow whose son OD'd on some bad product. She wants revenge, and she's willing to pay for it."
"So when do we move in?" Arsen asks, licking his lips and making Mace growl in response.
"When Hawke damn well says we do," he snarls back, giving his crazy teammate a deadly look.
"For now, we'll continue our training with Natalia," Hawke continues without skipping a beat. "Arsen, you'll perform some surveillance, and Weston can assist Colt in getting his ass back up to snuff. Any questions?"
"Who paid for my father's head?" I ask suddenly, because it's just occurred to me. If these guys work for a company who takes money to carry out these sorts of jobs, then somebody must really want my father dead. I mean, there are hordes of somebodies really, but someone with enough money to pay professionals? Has to be a rival boss, I'm sure of it.
"Irrelevant," Hawke says, lifting his iPad up and turning away toward the door. "Warm up and meet me in the gym in five."
"But it is relevant. You wouldn't have mentioned who our current client is if it wasn't," I continue, rising to my feet. Weston follows me up, and he must give some sort of look over my shoulder that makes Hawke pause.
"Knowing who's paying us makes their motivations clear," he says hesitantly, eyeing me up and down, like he's considering all the ways he wants to destroy me in the gym today. If only he'd continue that destruction in the bedroom. "Your father's friend and business associate—Tommy Mogilevich—that's our current client."
My skin prickles with chills—Tommy Mogilevich, the boss of the Leontiev Gr
oup. Fuck. He is most definitely not who I expected. I met Tommy a handful of times, under the guise of Uncle Mogi. I knew he wasn't my uncle, but my father had created a very close relationship between their two organizations—one group from the West Coast and one from the East, a mutually beneficial arrangement.
My mouth goes dry and my throat feels suddenly tight.
"Don't forget that this time, our motivation isn't quite so pure," Arsen says, his voice like venom, dripping down my spine and making me shiver. "Konstantin killed Portia. He has to pay."
And the way Arsen smiles ... I can tell he's got some creative ideas in mind on exactly how to make that happen.
* * *
I can’t sleep.
There’s too much energy in this house now that all the boys are back. I end up lying in bed—on an extremely crappy mattress no less—staring up through the darkness at the water-stained ceiling. The only light comes from the moon, shining through the wavy old windows behind my bed.
After a while, I decide that it’s pointless to try to sleep with old memories clawing at my psyche, and fresh fears threatening to derail what little progress I’ve made. Screwing a bunch of dominant assholes for a few weeks doesn’t exactly equal life growth, does it?
Groaning, I sit up and rub at my sore muscles, hating Hawke for putting me through today’s workout yet knowing that if I want to make it here, I have no choice. In fact, I need to train ten times harder if I want this to work.
I’m smaller, younger, female.
I’ll always be at a disadvantage if I don’t make myself try harder.
Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair, energy seeming to prickle through my bare toes as I place them on the hardwood floor. I know I’m imagining the sensation, but it feels real enough.
Hawke’s hatred for me, Arsen’s insatiable lust, Colt’s desperate need to be liked, Weston’s quiet jealousy … and Mace’s strained avoidance.