Storm Gathering

by Rebecca Zanetti

  The towels were thick and fluffy. Of course. She dried her hair the best she could and then wrapped a towel around herself, wandering into the bedroom. There she stopped cold.

  Greyson sat on the bed, his long legs stretched out on the floor and crossed at the ankles. Next to him, he'd placed a stack of clothing, including what looked like clean yoga pants. “How was the shower?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

  She bit back a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool air. “Amazing. To think we once took such things for granted.” Flutters filled her abdomen, and her skin sensitized.

  His eyes darkened to a deep gray barely tinged by the bluish-green. “You look scrubbed clean.” The rumble turned to a gritty hoarseness.

  They'd just spent an entire night in bed doing things that might've been illegal at one point. How could her body be thrumming like this? Her nipples hardened, and her thighs softened. A pulse began between her legs. What was it between them? Why was this so intense? The idea caught her and held on—what was happening? She trusted her brain and always had. But there wasn't an easy answer here.

  “You're sure thinking hard,” he mused, his erection clearly outlined beneath the faded denim.

  “I don't know where we stand,” she murmured, her body and her brain fighting for different kinds of release.

  He held out a hand. “I do.”

  She swallowed. Was that ominous? Hesitating for only a moment, she moved forward and accepted his hand.

  He tugged, fell back, and planted her on top of him. It was like landing on a solid brick wall. A surprised chuckle bubbled up.

  “You move fast,” she murmured, her mouth right above his.

  His tickled into a smile. “Survival has required speed.” Then he flattened his big hand on the small of her back, easily holding her in place.

  Only the towel shielded her. “I'm feeling a bit vulnerable,” she breathed, losing the humor.

  His gaze caught and captured hers as his other arm went up behind his head. “You are vulnerable. In every way possible.”

  She frowned. “Let's not get carried away. I'm educated, determined, and I know how to fight.”

  “Show me,” he said, almost gently. “Let's see you fight.”

  What was he trying to prove? He had her pretty much immobilized with one hand, and if she struggled, she'd just lose the towel. From this position, she'd require leverage to even try to knee his groin. “Let me stand up.” She had kicked him in the face once, and she could easily do it again.

  “No.” He lifted and placed a hard kiss on her mouth.

  Fire shot through her, liquefying into instant need. How did he do that? “You're making a point, and you'll have to be more direct,” she said, her voice way too breathy.

  “I'm trying to be subtle,” he murmured, stroking up her spine and back down, applying just enough pressure for her to feel his strength.

  She shook her head, and her wet hair brushed across his T-shirt. “I don't do subtle. Never have.”

  “Ah.” He reached her lower back and kept going, brushing over her butt to her thighs and back up.

  Her eyes wanted desperately to roll back in her head, and only with supreme effort did she keep his gaze. Her blood rushed through her veins, coursing need through her entire body. His hand on her butt nearly made her groan. “Greyson?” She tried to put snap in her voice and totally failed.

  He shifted beneath her just enough to move her clit directly above his hard shaft.

  She bit back a gasp as tremors shook her legs. Her clit pounded, and her muscles tensed as she forced herself to remain still and not move against him for relief. Any reprieve.

  “I made some decisions today,” he said as if they had all the time in the world to chat.

  She swallowed. “That doesn't sound good.”

  “Depends on how you look at it.” His hand spread completely across her lower back, and his fingers curled over her rib cage. “I've been struggling to find the safest place for you. Vanguard is contained but has been attacked and is now weakened. Merc territory is widespread with vulnerabilities, but we have trained soldiers.”

  She tried to lever up and glared when he held her in place. Even desperately aroused, she could find her temper, damn it. “I'll find my own place.”

  “Then it hit me. It's so obvious.” He smiled, looking more like a wolf than a friend. “The Bunker. You're staying here.”

  She blinked. They were underground surrounded by concrete and metal. Sure, it was pretty in some places, but it was still under the earth. “I'm not agreeing to that.”

  He didn't so much as twitch. “It's the safest place. I have it locked down, and nobody can get in or out without my say. There's good food, warm water, and decent medicine. It's the perfect place for you—for me to keep you safe.”

  She lowered her chin. “While you go hunting Zach Barter and fighting gangs.”

  He nodded. “In a nutshell.”

  Not a chance in hell. “I won’t agree.”

  He studied her. “I'm not asking you to.”

  Oh, he did not. He so did not. “You seem to misunderstand your rights here,” she snapped.

  He flashed his teeth. “I told you what it meant to belong to me. That was your choice.”

  “Good sex isn't a promise of forever,” she said, her body way too warm against his. She wanted to go stiff, but next to him, she was all softness. Her body would not work with her, damn it. When he told her of his possessiveness, of being all in or all out, she’d figured she would handle him later. Was it possible to handle Greyson Storm?

  “I warned you.” His gaze dropped to her lips and then rose. “And that was before I knew you were carrying my child. Even if I didn't before, I have every right to protect you now. Period.”

  She knew. Yeah, she knew he'd turn into an asshole Neanderthal about the baby. Or not care. There were only two ways for him to go, and now she knew which one. On the one hand, she was glad he wanted to be involved. On the other, he so did not get to just take over.

  A sharp rap sounded on the door.

  “What?” Greyson bellowed.

  “We rerouted the scouts here, and they have news,” Damon yelled back. “We have to go. Now. I have folks opening the garage door.”

  Greyson growled and stood in one fluid motion, putting her on her feet. “Damn it. I'm sorry about this. I'll be back in a couple of hours.”

  Moe blinked. “Where are you going?” How was this making any sense?

  “Don't worry about it.” He gave her a hard enough look that she almost backed away. “You stay here. Get in that bed, and get some sleep. If I return in a couple of hours and discover you've disobeyed me, again, you won’t like the result.” Without waiting for an answer, he stalked from the room, leaving irritation in his wake.

  She watched him leave and then reached for the stack of clothing. Why start following his directions now?

  * * *

  Greyson stalked out of the room, pissed beyond belief that he didn't get to finish his discussion with Maureen. He'd hoped they could agree and then spend the night exploring each other again. He had a raging hard-on and a fully blown temper when he met up with Damon.

  Damon held up both hands, even though they were full of two bulletproof vests. “Whoa there, Rambo. Take a deep breath.”

  Greyson growled.

  “You sent scouts to set up a meet with the president, and apparently the guy doesn't sit around.”

  Greyson stilled. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “The meeting is in an hour in Lancaster,” Damon said grimly.

  Greyson eyed him. “The president came to us. To meet.”

  “Took a helicopter,” Damon affirmed. “Rumor has it, a big one with a lot of troops.”

  Lancaster was about an hour inland. “They've had time to secure an area, that's for sure. Where do they want to meet?” His mind spun. If this were a trap, he might not make it back.

  “Fox Field,” Damon said.

 
; The airport? Fuck. Plenty of sniper positions at the small regional airstrip. It was a good choice. “If things go south with the meeting, we can steal a helicopter,” he mused.

  Damon handed over a vest. “You know how to fly a chopper?”

  “No, but I could figure it out if I had to.” Probably. Who the hell knew? Grey shrugged into the vest, jogging toward the armory. “We can afford to take teams from here in two Humvees. I'll need automatic weapons and two of the rocket launchers.”

  Damon nodded. “I'll get the shortwave radios.”

  Grey paused. “I need you to stay here.”

  Damon stopped cold. “Not a chance. I have your back.”

  Ah, hell. “Exactly.” Grey turned toward his best and pretty much only friend. “This is a crazy mission, and there's a chance Atherton will just put a bullet in my head and be done with it. If that happens, somebody must lead the Mercs. It has to be you.”

  Damon snapped the Velcro into place on his vest and started down the corridor again. “That doesn't work. It's you and me. We've always gotten out of scrapes together. If the president puts a bullet in your head, I want to be there to put one in his.”

  Grey shook his head, hustling behind his buddy. “What about the Mercs?”

  “They're soldiers, not family,” Damon said. “If we disappear, somebody will step up and lead. Or they'll align with Vanguard. Or just go on their merry ways. The Mercs are a strong band of soldiers just trying to survive. We created that.” He clapped Greyson on the arm. “The Mercs have to change. If we're dead, they change. If we come back, you know we have to shake things up.”

  Greyson listened, trusting his buddy. “We've built something good.”

  “Then we'd better survive this so we can make it even better.” Damon shoved open the door to the armory. “Let's get suited up.”

  Grey clapped a hand on Damon's back. “Thanks, man.”

  “I love you too, buddy.” Damon reached for a thigh holster and a handgun. “We have to move.” Then he paused. “Maybe you should stay here. Considering the baby and all.”

  Grey secured his own thigh holster. “No. If I'm going to make the world somewhat safe for that child, then I face some tough choices right now.” If he decided to align with the president and go against Vanguard, Maureen might never forgive him.

  But at least she and the baby would be safe.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sometimes the enemy is the only good choice. I'm sorry about this, Miss J.

  —Greyson Storm, Letters to Miss Julian

  A deserted airport around midnight was oddly still. The moon was high, the air dry, and the silence threatening. They drove up to the main building and cut off the engines of the two Humvees. The soldiers instantly filed out, taking positions. One went to find the helicopter—and hopefully secure it.

  A cacophony of hooting owls started up.

  Damon craned his neck, looking around. “Owls? There would never be owls at an airport.”

  “Not before Scorpius,” Greyson returned. “Now animals are retaking the world.” Shit, those fuckers were loud. He stepped from the vehicle and lifted his flashlight to peer inside the building. Nothing. Adrenaline flooded his veins, and he settled into the moment, finding his calm.

  The door opened.

  “Creepy,” Damon muttered.

  Grey nodded and walked toward the door, acutely aware of every inch. A flashlight shined in his face, and he paused. “Turn it off, or I shoot you.”

  The light didn't change.

  “Freely? Put down the light,” a man called from inside.

  Atherton. Grey remembered the guy's voice from when the news still broadcast on televisions. Heat swept through him, and it took a second for Grey to recognize the feeling as fury. The president had kidnapped Maureen and threatened her. Grey had been shot saving her.

  He swallowed. This was more important than revenge.

  The light faltered and then went out.

  Greyson moved forward and reached the door, seeing an armed guard on either side. Beyond them, at a reception area, sat the president, illuminated by several battery-operated lanterns. Two more armed guards flanked him. There were no doubt several guns pointed at Grey that he couldn’t see at the moment. He stepped fully inside.

  Atherton motioned him over with his good arm. The left one was still in a sling. “Commander Storm. Please join me.”

  “Commander?” Damon muttered under his breath.

  Greyson strode forward, his hands loose at his sides. “You don't know my rank or anything about my term in the service. Let's not pretend you do,” he said.

  The president lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, I know plenty. Please sit.”

  Greyson sat on a commercial purple sofa while Damon took up position behind him. He studied the president. Early thirties, brown hair, blue eyes, fighting shape. Even with what appeared to be a fresh scar across his face, Bret Atherton looked like a rich kid who'd inherited the family business. His gaze was cunning and direct. “So, you're the president,” Greyson said. “Kidnap any women lately?”

  Atherton smiled, flashing a dimple. “No. Have you?”

  Greyson didn't react. “Heard you crashed a helicopter.”

  Atherton leaned back in his muted gray chair. “I did. Damn Vanguard.”

  “Did the VP make it?” Grey asked.

  Atherton shrugged. “Lake is tough to kill.”

  That wasn't a yes. It also wasn't a no. “Where is he?” Greyson asked.

  “Right here.” Vice President Lake emerged from an office, looking way too alive. He moved fluidly, his arms and legs obviously intact. But burns marred the flesh of one arm and his neck; wounds that still looked painful.

  “Shoot. Thought you'd died,” Greyson said, his hands itching to choke the jerk out. He'd frightened Maureen.

  “From one little helicopter crash?” Lake stopped at the president’s side, a gun in his waistband. “It'll take more than that to end me.”

  Greyson rocked back on his heels. “A knife would do.”

  Lake flashed his teeth. “Perhaps. Would have to be the right blade.”

  “Let's move on to more important matters, gentlemen.” Atherton rolled his neck and then winced, his shoulder visibly tightening above the sling. “I suppose Vanguard is trying to rebuild.”

  “I assume you know they are,” Grey said evenly. “You planning on attacking again?”

  The president's eyes gleamed. “I truly am. Lynne Harmony and I have some unfinished business.”

  Oh yeah. Grey had forgotten Atherton and Lynne dated briefly before Scorpius. The scenario came rushing back to him. “I can't remember. First, you wanted her to be your wife. Then you decided she was dangerous and just wanted to kill her. Which is it now?”

  Atherton swept his good hand out. “It doesn't matter. But I've found a First Lady much better than Lynne would've ever made. It's funny how life works out, right?”

  Wasn't that the fucking truth? Grey counted the guns he could see, calculated probable hidden weapons, and didn't like what he came up with. He'd walked Damon right into a death trap. “You should know. We have weapons pointed at the building, and my soldiers have already rigged the area to explode if necessary.”

  The men flanking Atherton straightened but he didn't twitch. “It's not necessary to threaten. I wanted to meet you face-to-face and make an offer. I don't expect an answer tonight, and you're free to leave at any time.”

  That was reasonable. Surprisingly so. “All right.” Grey sat back, charting a path between his weapon and the president's heart. He'd be able to get off a shot, but one of the soldiers would hit him and maybe Damon, as well. Though Damon was quick. “What's your offer?”

  “You give us access to the Bunker, support us in our next attack against Vanguard, and we'll give you all the weapons, explosives, and air support you need,” Atherton said.

  Grey lifted an eyebrow. “That's it?”

  “No. I'll also send soldiers to help guard Merc territory,
and we'll share our farming resources.” Atherton leaned forward. “I'm the Commander in Chief. The one you've vowed to follow. I've read your file.”

  “I doubt that,” Greyson said with no arrogance.

  “I've seen enough. Your vow covers times of war, and that's where we are. You know it.” Atherton's voice was smooth, cultured. Intelligent.

  Greyson studied him, and the guy looked back without blinking. Definitely convinced of his path. “Are you crazy?”

  “Not any more than you are,” Atherton said, somewhat seriously. “I'm stronger and faster than before Scorpius, and I strategize better than I ever have, even though I wasn't bad to start with. I want to put this country back together and need a strong military to do it. It's a goal you should not only understand but also support.”

  Damon remained deadly silent behind Greyson.

  “Why did you kidnap Maureen Shadow and Vivienne Wellington from Merc territory?” Grey asked, his hands relaxed on his legs. The place smelled dusty and stale, and he fought the urge to sneeze.

  “Dr. Wellington has information about Scorpius, treatments, and escaped serial killers that I need. Or at least she did before she went insane from Scorpius,” Atherton said. “I didn't mean to take Shadow's sister. She was just there at the time.”

  “How is Miss Shadow, anyway?” Lake asked, his gaze calculating.

  Grey focused back on him. “Just fine. Thinks you're a dumbass.”

  Lake's head lifted. “I sure would like to see her again.”

  Temper rushed through Greyson's veins, but he hid it, keeping his gaze almost bored as he looked back at Atherton. “I'll let her know.”

  Triumph filtered across Lake's face. “When we took her from you, you covered her with your body instantly. Tell me, Commander Storm. Is she as good of a fuck as she looks? Those lips alone have kept me up at night. Happily.”