by Lea Griffith
She pulled away and stared up at him, cheeks red, hair sticking in her tears. “In your eyes lay all of my hope. I had no dreams, still have no dreams, but I had hope then that there would be an end. As I read your file and realized what you had done to Joseph, I laughed inside that you were brave enough to take on a conglomerate of evil and punish them where it really hurt—their pockets.”
“You couldn’t have known if I was a good man though, Gretchen,” he murmured as he stared right back at her.
“He told me. He said, ‘This man is a good man who thinks he can stop me! I want him killed, and you will do it.’ But he’d damned himself when he allowed each of us to earn the right of a single refusal each year. I refused and took my first and only pass. He was incensed, but I left and returned to China, completed that mission. By the time I returned, I learned too late that he’d sent another in my place, and that he’d moved the target to your wife and child.
“It was my fault, you see, that your wife and child died. Had I taken your life, they would still be alive. Mais qu'est-ce un choix à faire. Je n'aurais pas pu faire l’un ou l'autre. It wasn’t a choice I would’ve made, Mr. Beckett. In you were all my hopes, but in your wife and child lay your future.”
“Goddamn him to hell,” Rand bit out. “It wasn’t your fault, Gretchen. Never that.”
She winced, and he realized his hands were clenched on her arms. He released them and gently removed her from his lap. Rand stood and paced, unable to come to grips with what she was telling him. She’d been tasked to kill him, she passed, and Joseph had sent someone after his wife and child. He was a fucking monster.
“Who did he send, Gretchen? Who killed Lily and Anna?”
“I will not tell you that. Not now. There will be a time to enact your vengeance for the death of your wife and child, but that time is not now. There is something much bigger at work here, Mr. Beckett, and I need your help to make it happen.”
She stood there, head high, shoulders back, warrior mode full on. But he’d seen her vulnerable now, knew there was more than that killing indifference she wore like a shroud. Anger sliced through him at the thought she knew who’d killed them and wouldn’t impart the knowledge.
“My name is Rand. I’ve been inside your body, shared orgasm after orgasm with you. You will damn well call me by my name. And Bullet?” He moved into her space, lowered his head until hers fell back as she tried to watch him. “I will call you by yours. You will never again be Bullet to me, do you understand? I know you now. You’ve let me see what’s inside, and you are more than what you constantly try to show. You are Gretchen.”
She started to say something and bit if off, her own anger showing in the stubborn cast of her mouth and the tightening of her chin. She was fucking gorgeous.
“I am nothing. No one,” she protested.
He lowered his mouth to hers, took her next words into him, and gave her back his lust. So much she’d endured. Yes, she was connected to Joseph, but it was a connection she would kill to sever.
And he was going to help her destroy it. Free her and himself from the bondage of Joseph Bombardier. It was the least he could do for the woman who’d looked at his picture and seen her hopes in his eyes. She’d cemented herself in his heart with that statement. No matter what happened, if he had to give his own life to save hers, he would. It would be a final gift to a woman who’d known nothing but hell.
His lips moved over hers desperately. Her taste was sweet and displaced in that moment his bitterness over the loss of his wife and child. They would forever be in his heart, but Gretchen Dearborn, aka Bullet, had locked herself up in the barely beating organ. She owned a piece of him now.
He ripped his clothes off and turned, lying on the bed and pulling her over him. Her brow furrowed and she licked her lips, surprise in her bright blue eyes. She straddled him and blushed when his cock rose between them needy, and begging for attention. He locked his hands behind his head and watched her.
“Touch me,” he growled.
“The touch of a killer, Rand Beckett, can be a bitter poison,” she whispered as she gazed at his body and once again licked her lips.
“But your touch, Gretchen, is the sweetest drug,” he responded in a low voice. “Touch me.”
She moved up his body then, her lower body fully on his, his cock dying a little as her heat bathed it. She cocked her head when he inhaled sharply, and then she smiled devilishly.
“Had I known telling you my sordid history would get me this boon, I would have told you sooner.”
Her words were a gift in and of themselves. She may not realize what she was telling him, but they poured over his heart like a benediction.
“It isn’t your history, Gretchen, it’s you.”
She seemed startled by his words, and another tear fell to his chest.
“I never cry,” she whispered.
“Yes, you do,” he answered.
“I do not deserve this, Rand. I have killed . . . my hands have taken life. I don’t deserve to share this pleasure with you.”
Rand took her hands and folded them within his. “No one deserves this pleasure more than you. Touch me.”
The touch of his hands around hers reminded her of Ninka. Had Remi been a prayerful person, she would have thanked God right then for this. But words locked in her throat, and her hands itched to do as he’d commanded.
She pulled them apart and settled her palms over his pectorals. She squeezed the muscles there, massaged them, and delighted when his nipples furled under her touch. She flicked first one, then the other, and her mouth watered. She loved when he took hers in his mouth. Would he hiss as she did were she to return the favor?
She leaned over, cognizant of the heat between her thighs and the steel hardness of his cock at her entrance. She rolled her hips, pleasure breaking over her when her clit rubbed over the shaft. His own groan rumbled deep in his belly, and she smiled. She’d cast her hopes into his eyes, and now she was here with him.
Slowly, she kissed a line up his stomach and moved to his right nipple, blowing softly on it as she watched his indigo eyes flare with passion. His eyes were such a dark blue that they seemed black in some light and purple in others. His pupils dilated as she flicked her tongue over the nub, and yes, he hissed in a breath. She closed her eyes as she closed her lips over his flesh and suckled. He groaned and reached for her head, pressing her deeper onto him. She nipped him lightly, and his hips bucked.
His shaft was such a temptation. She wanted to taste him, but first she moved to the other nipple, gave it the same loving attention, and loved every indrawn breath and groan she wrung from his lips.
“You tease me. That’s not nice, Gretchen,” he murmured in a gravelly voice.
His use of her name was fast becoming an addiction. She shouldn’t allow it, but found herself frantic to hear it again. She moved back down his stomach, licking around his bellybutton, delighted when his stomach clenched and his hips bucked again.
She wondered if it would be possible to ride him this way, her slick passage moving up and down his shaft, until her orgasm washed through her. Then she could take him deep inside her and do it all over again. His cock flexed, and her mouth watered again.
First, she would taste him. Bestow kisses on his flesh the way he’d kissed and tormented her. She slid down over one of his thighs, whimpering when he lifted it and it rubbed against her. She was so wet with her need.
She touched him gently. Scraped a nail down his shaft, outlined his testicles, and stroked back up until she came to the bulbous head. Thick and heavily veined, his flesh was beautiful. She rubbed her thumb over the head, dipping into the slit there and finding it wet. The head of his shaft was soft and begged for her mouth.
She leaned over and licked the tip before opening wide and moving down his cock. He was too big for her to take without gagging, but instinctively, she relaxed her throat and swallowed. This allowed him all the way in, he pushed up, and she swallowed again, fighting t
he need to gag, loving that he was inside her this way.
He cursed, and she watched as he threw his head back and groaned loudly. She repeated the process, rotating her hand up and down as she lifted off and massaging his sac while she took him all the way in. Rand grabbed her hair, helped her get the rhythm and praised her, his words a fire in her heart and demanding drumbeat in her womb.
She tightened against his thigh, rode it as she took him in her mouth over and over again, bringing him close, and then lifting off to leave him with nothing but her hand. He cursed and praised, begged and demanded, but in the end, she had him right where she wanted him.
Hard, hot, and wet, his cock flexed, and she lifted up and seated herself on it, taking him deep inside her body, deeper than she’d thought possible, and their bodies began a dance as old as time.
Push and pull, lift and fall, they moved as one. He reached for her breasts, big hands closing over them and holding, the action a knife in her heart when he was so gentle. She used his chest for leverage and rode him with seductive rolls of her hips. She lifted up and off, teased the tip of his shaft, then offered him succor when she fell back down.
Sweat dripped from her to him, and when it seemed she could take no more, he pulled her down, said one word, “Gretchen,” and took her lips.
She exploded in a shower of ecstasy, transported beyond this place of pain and loss, to a place where only Rand and Gretchen existed.
And it was beautiful.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“There are twenty-two buildings on a property that encases well over a thousand hectares. The property is booby-trapped and surrounded on all sides by guard stations and electrical trip wires, however, the primary source of security is cameras. It is impossible in a jungle environment to prevent animals from tripping security, so the cameras are manned every hour of every day to determine threat, thus the first line of defense,” Remi said, and released a breath.
No matter how many times she tried to prevent the very instinctive reaction to her defection from The Collective, she struggled to win the battle. Her throat always closed, and her chest constricted. Very real symptoms of the mind fuck that Joseph had put her through.
“At any given time, there are over two hundred guards on the property. Joseph Bombardier believes in protecting himself, and his personal guard is extremely loyal. They’ve become rich, you see, and wouldn’t trade that for anything. With the other members coming in, you can bet that number will swell to well over a thousand. The members will have rooms in the main house, which is over a hundred thousand square feet, filled with hidden corridors and passageways.”
“So, in essence, he has a small country in the mountains of Arequipa and unlimited resources at his disposal for protection. Am I reading into that right?” Dmitry asked in a soft voice, underpinned with steel.
“Oui, rien n'est trop cher quand il s'agit de—” Rand held up his hand and she stopped, confusion running through her.
“English,” he said, and then softened the command with a small lift of the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, nothing is too expensive when it comes to security, and since they all meet in the chamber, it is much easier to sleep under the same roof. Tabs can be kept and all that. Joseph allows no one to sleep off site when the meetings happen. And you can bet he will be extra vigilant now that his First Team has gone rogue.”
Ken cleared his throat, and Remi’s gaze sought him out. His eyes snapped hatred at her, but something in his demeanor whispered of secrets. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but since he’d brought Blade back, something about Ken Nodachi was . . . off. Oh, his hatred was still full out front, but his vitriol was tempered with sly questions and subversive comments aimed at pulling information from her while undermining her confidence.
He didn’t know her very well. In fact, not at all. She wasn’t dependent on anyone for confidence. That was another emotion she’d not experienced in a long, long time because it spoke of the other side of the coin. To have confidence, you must have first suffered from doubt. Joseph had trained both of these out of Remi long ago. There could be no doubt where there lay only training and skill.
But she understood where he was coming from. She waited for him to speak.
“And if you could share with the class exactly why you’ve gone rogue?” Secrets . . .
“I don’t know that the information has any bearing on your objective.” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth. “In other words, it isn’t any of your business. We defected, that is all you need to know.”
He stood then and leaned over the desk. “So I’ll ask again for the fiftieth time. Why should we trust you? Why in the hell should we take what you say at face value?”
Rage filtered through Remi, superheated and undeniable. Her gaze centered on his face, and her palms itched for a weapon. She reached for her Walther before she realized she’s intentionally not strapped it in her holster before coming down here.
Her foresight would save his life today. He probably wouldn’t appreciate being made aware of it, though. Rand stood then too.
“No, Rand,” Ken said in an ugly voice. “She needs to tell me why I should blindly follow her.”
“There are times in all of our lives when we must make decisions based on what’s in front of us, Mr. Nodachi. The truth here is that you are nothing to me. What you’ve lost, what you’ve suffered, is irrelevant in my world. I came here for revenge. And through that revenge, freedom. I thought to offer Trident an opportunity to participate, but make no mistake. I have the means to enact my vengeance alone, so you can either jump on board the train, or watch it leave the station. Either way, my past is none of your concern.”
She’d kept her voice flat, devoid of any high emotion. His brows lowered and his jaw tightened. Anger sat on his shoulders like a heavy weight. He looked downright mean.
“She has lost more than either of us, Ken. You lost a sister and a niece. I lost my wife and my daughter. She has lost her entire life. Don’t browbeat her. She’s suffered enough.” Rand’s voice was strident in the silence left by her statement.
Ken shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. “She could be lying to you. You’re vulnerable in this. . ."
Rand slammed a hand down on the table, and the sound reverberated through the room. “I haven’t been vulnerable in a lot of years, Ken. They’re gone. I can get the ones who did this. You don’t have to trust her, but you should trust me.”
Ken sighed, and his shoulders dropped. Where anger had ridden his shoulders just moments ago, defeat now sat. “Go on,” he said, and sat back down.
Rand sat too, and Remi turned to the board that had been set up. On it were several satellite pictures showing Joseph’s house and outlying buildings. The shack farthest from the main house drew her attention, and had her hands clenching.
“The best way to tackle The Collective is from within. Things have been set into play that will lead to confusion and mistrust among the members. It is the only way to ensure that everyone is looking at everyone else. The list of names I gave you is complete, however there are new players every year. New inductees into the group as others die or are killed. This isn’t the normal meeting. This is all about First Team’s defection. Other teams are hunting us. The ones killed yesterday are only one of at least twenty Joseph has at his disposal.”
She took a minute to draw her thoughts back to the why of it all. Mother’s face flashed through her mind, and she took a deep breath. Where had she left off? Oh yes, giving them information so they could formulate an entry plan. She shook her head slightly. Their plans would be for naught. She and her sisters had long ago arranged this, and their end-goal was too imperative. She would include him, and he would get his revenge, however, it just wouldn’t be how he was anticipating.
She and her sisters would be the ones to take care of Joseph. He was theirs to kill. She’d repeat it as many times as she needed to force everyone to remember.
“There
are more like you?” Dmitry’s voice was hopeful. She wondered at this for a second then discounted the thought that streamed through her mind.
“There are many more. None as well trained, versatile, or accomplished as First Team, but yes, he has others held in the camp. Some as young as ten years old.”
“What the fuck?” Adam’s disbelief struck a chord in Remi, but the fact Joseph took babies and raised them up to be killers was entirely too believable to her. She’d lived it.
“He takes young children by any means he feels convenient, and he isolates them. Here,” she said softly pointing to the shack that gave her chills. “This is where he houses them. Above ground it is a harmless-looking shed. Below ground there are cells where he both breaks down and conditions potential candidates for his assassin teams.”
Silence met her words. The men’s disgust hung in the air like a pall. Remi didn’t turn and look at them. She couldn’t. Somewhere over the last weeks, what one of them thought had become important to her . . . affected her.
Rand cleared his throat. “How many are there at any given time?”
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, allowed the air pulling into her lungs to soothe her. “Anywhere between ten to twenty girls. On my last visit to the shack, I counted twelve. It depends on whether they’ve managed to survive conditioning. If not. . ."
“He kills them, doesn’t he?” Dmitry again, voice cold and deadly.
She nodded her head. Remi had made the lethal mistake once of trying to protect one of the young ones when she herself had been no older than fourteen. It had resulted in two being cut down before her eyes. Her limbs went numb at that memory, and her chest seized.
She’d stood in front of the tiny girl as Minton had raised his gun. He’d glared at her, and Joseph had grabbed one of the others, putting a bullet in her brain before Remi could act. “I’ll kill one for every second you continue to stand there,” he said in a dead voice.