The Devil You Know

by Kit Rocha

  Gray was standing in front of her, four and a half meters away, surrounded by targets. He stared at her, his eyes wide and unblinking. Then he exhaled sharply and shook his head.

  When he spoke, his voice was low, as always, but not smooth. In fact, it held just the slightest hint of a tremor. “Twenty-one shots. Twenty-one hits.”

  The words sounded good, but his body language screamed tension. Maya turned in a slow circle, checking off the targets one by one. Only a handful were solid bull’s-eyes. Most of her shots had hit in the outer circles, and a few had just barely winged them.

  “Well,” she said finally. “I mean, my shooting was a little sloppy. I was kind of extrapolating based on comparable experiences. I could probably do better if I knew what a bull’s-eye felt like at different distances.”

  Gray scrubbed both hands over his face, muffling a slightly hysterical laugh.

  “What?” she demanded, dragging the blindfold off her head. “Hey, I may not be a supersoldier or whatever, but I think I did pretty fucking good for my first try.”

  “You don’t get it.” Gray hooked his thumb at a target, one that displayed a bull’s-eye hit. “Hitting six targets—winging them, not even solid shots, mind you—is considered decent enough for the field. The Protectorate considers you for in-depth training if you hit nine. The record? Is seventeen hits.”

  “Well, I didn’t get that many more—”

  Gray interrupted her. “That was Hwang. Not only is he really fucking good at it, but he’d been training for three years by that point. Like I said…” His eyes gleamed. “You don’t get it. You’re not just okay or good, Maya. You’re a goddamned savant.”

  Maya stared at him, unsure what to say—or think. For perhaps the first time in her life, silence echoed inside her head. The compliment, gleeful and sincere, didn’t provoke an avalanche of memories.

  No one at the TechCorps had spent their time telling her she was amazing. At anything.

  Unable to contain the warmth bubbling up in her, she thrust out her hand and waved the blindfold at him. “I want to do it again.”

  “Whatever you want.” He fixed the blindfold into place, plunging her into darkness once again. Then he spun her around a few times, his hands warm on her arms. “Ready?”

  She steadied herself with a hand against the solid wall of his chest, then nodded. “Ready.”

  Gray vanished. Maya lifted the pistol, her grip easy. She didn’t try to think. She didn’t try not to think. It was like relaxing a muscle she kept painfully tense even in her sleep, and the sudden relief of it made her giddy.

  It was dangerous to let go of her hard-won control. In moments, the memories might surge and sweep her under. But she floated on the bliss and waited for the first beep.

  When it came, she moved.

  Maya closed her eyes behind the blindfold and imagined the room. She conjured it out of the darkness with her too-vivid memory and flowed from one shot to the next. Every kick of the pistol came with a thrill of success. She might not be able to see the targets, but she knew she was hitting them.

  Maybe she was a supersoldier after all.

  Maybe she was something better.

  The crack of her final shot echoed through the space. The beeps fell silent. Maya stood with her feet parted, the pistol out at one side, her breathing a little too fast. Not from exertion. From excitement. “I hit them all, didn’t I?”

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  She didn’t. Maya stripped off the blindfold and tossed it onto the stool. The pistol followed. Then she made a slow circle, studying the targets.

  Twenty-one hits. Twelve bull’s-eyes.

  Her slow circuit stopped when she was facing Gray again. Unable to contain her excitement, she bounced on her toes. “I’m a fucking rock star.”

  He grinned. “Yes, you are.”

  Two steps closer, and her cheeks hurt from how wide she was smiling. “I have actual, literal superpowers.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Excitement overflowed. She felt like she was floating. Like her feet were barely touching the ground. She forgot all the reasons touching him was dangerous. Another step, and Maya crashed into Gray, flinging her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” After a moment, he folded his arms around her waist, lifting her against his body. That penetrated the giddy bubbles in her brain. She slammed back into her body as her awareness of him roared to life.

  They were touching. So much touching. All-over touching, and the muscles of his chest were as solid as she remembered. His arms were warm steel.

  He still smelled like soap and sawdust.

  Math. Math was a distraction. She’d do more math. If Gray was 185 cm tall and she was only 162 cm, the surface area of their bodies crushed together was—

  Numbers disintegrated into stardust when she made the mistake of meeting his eyes. No dark and brooding Gothic terror today. No, Gray’s eyes were warm. Gentle.

  Aware.

  The only thing more terrifying than having an inexplicable, uncontrollable crush on a dying man was her increasing certainty that it wasn’t unrequited.

  Trying to fuck him would break her brain. Loving him would shatter her heart.

  He licked his lips. “Maya—”

  The crash of a door slamming cut him off, and he raised his head with a frown. “Was that over at y’all’s place?”

  “I think so.” She braced a hand against his shoulder, barely holding back a shiver as he let her slide back down his body. Even with her boots solidly on the floor again, she felt unsteady—which was a problem. “If they’re back this soon and slamming doors, that isn’t good.”

  “We’d better go hear the news.”

  “The trail must have stayed cold.” That was chilling enough to sober Maya up. Not that the tingles were entirely gone, but by the time they made it out the back door she was at least steady enough to fake it.

  Conall was standing next to the open van doors, his face tight with exhaustion. He shook his head in answer to their silent question and jerked a thumb toward the warehouse door. “Nina needs a hug. She’s in rough shape.”

  “Shit.” Maya picked up her pace, racing through the warehouse with a perfunctory wave for Tai and crashing through the door to their main living quarters.

  Nina was at the kitchen table, her face buried in her hands and her entire body stiff in a way that provoked an ache of sympathy in Maya’s chest. She caught a glimpse of Dani disappearing up the stairs while Rafe hovered uncertainly at the base, his dark eyes worried.

  Knox was already in the kitchen, pulling down their stash of soothing tea. His worried gaze eased somewhat when he caught sight of Maya, and he tipped his head silently toward the table.

  Maya hooked a chair and pulled it close enough to touch Nina’s shoulder. “Hey. What happened?”

  Nina looked up and tried—tried—to smile. “Not much. We gave it our best shot, but…”

  But chasing down a few trucks that had disappeared into the vast wilderness between here and the Mississippi River was a nearly impossible task. “No buts,” Maya said firmly, wrapping her arm around Nina and pulling her close. “You couldn’t find the trucks. That doesn’t mean it’s over.”

  “No. We’ll regroup and go from there, but we’re not giving up.” Nina took a deep breath. “How were things here?”

  Warmth flooded her face. She almost opened her mouth, but the clink of mugs on the kitchen counter reminded her that Knox was right there, and Gray with him. Her confused hormones would have to wait. “Fine. Tai’s scanning the cookbooks now. I put out word that we have new home-improvement guides, and people have been showing up with their tablets.”

  “Rest,” Knox said firmly. He brought a mug of tea to Nina and placed it on the table in front of her. “You haven’t slept since we left.”

  “You’re one to talk.” She wrapped her fingers around the mug and studied Gray. “What about you? Any more issues with your implant?”


  “Nope. Things here have been uneventful.” Though he still leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest in classic Gray posture, he glanced at Maya.

  And winked.

  The bastard was teasing her now.

  Knox set a second mug of tea down in front of Maya. It was her favorite kind, a peach blossom blend that Ma Kendrick made for Maya in exchange for the occasional tune-up on the solar generator that powered her rooftop greenhouse. Knox had even prepared it exactly the way Maya liked it, with a precious splash of real milk and too much honey.

  Knox was like that. Meticulously observant and relentlessly thoughtful. It would be churlish to reward his gesture by flinging the tea at Gray’s head in an attempt to discourage his dangerous interest. But even that was probably a better life choice than giving in to the temptation to jump into his arms again.

  Yeah, her hormones were seriously out of control. After years of lying dormant, they’d roared to life at the worst time and focused on the most hopeless person. She shouldn’t even be surprised, considering her romantic track record. Falling in big, horny lust with a man whose impending death would shatter her heart was exactly her flavor of self-destruction.

  She wished that knowing that would change something. Anything. But when she peeked at him over the rim of her cup, his gaze was fixed on her lips in a way that practically screamed that he was imagining that almost-kiss.

  Now she was, too. The heat of his body. The iron of his arms as he held her pinned to his chest, her boots dangling above the floor. His mouth—his mouth—

  Full-body tingles raised the hair on her arms, and she fought to hide a shudder as she scalded her tongue with her too-sweet tea. It was a miracle she hadn’t skated into full sensory overload already today. Tingles were nice, but they always became too much. Which was what she had to remember.

  Fantasies were fine. And if she didn’t want to hasten the expiration date on her own increasingly overwhelmed brain, fantasies had to be enough. It was safer that way. For her and for Gray. Because the last time she’d let things progress past fantasy …

  One name, Marjorie. Give me a name, or I break the next bone. And then another, and another.… How much pain can Simon endure, do you think? Shall we find out?

  It was like being dropped into an icy mountain lake. Sweet tingles turned to a chilled shudder, and Maya locked down the memory before it could bloom into a full sensory flashback.

  Loving her had already been the death of one man. She wouldn’t repeat the mistake.

  RAFE

  Dani was going to hurt herself.

  His chest tight with sympathy, Rafe hovered in the doorway of the women’s workout room. He’d been impressed the first time he set foot across the threshold. Everything in the room was state of the art, even for the TechCorps. Automatically calibrating weight and resistance training, treadmills that folded out of the wall, a beautiful array of practice weapons, and a padded floor perfect for sparring.

  Nina was a woman who took training seriously.

  Of course, today Dani was ignoring all of that. She’d stripped off her shirt and shoes by the door and lowered one of the heavily reinforced punching bags. Her body was a blur as she drove her unwrapped fists into it over and over. Too fast. Too hard.

  Her knuckles were already raw. They’d be bleeding soon. If it had been Knox or even Nina, Rafe might think that was the whole point—drowning frustration and failure in the distraction of physical pain. Rafe could even understand it. He’d heaped his share of abuse on his body, just trying to escape the demons in his nightmares.

  But Dani would never have that escape. Because she literally couldn’t feel the pain.

  Rafe stepped across the threshold, his bare feet silent on the mat.

  Dani stopped and stilled the bag’s movement, her fingers digging into the canvas. “Not now, Morales.”

  “If you want me to just shut up and stand here, fine. But I’m not leaving until you’re done pulverizing your hands.”

  “My hands are fine.” She turned and flexed all her fingers in a show of dexterity. “See? It’s the rest of me that’s not doing so hot right now.”

  “I can imagine.” He took another step forward and braced his hands on his hips. “Instead of punching the skin off your knuckles, we could talk about it.”

  A short, harsh laugh tore out of her throat.

  “What’s wrong, cupcake?” Rafe hid his concern beneath his laziest drawl. “Don’t think I can talk?”

  “Oh, I know you can.” Dani glared at him. “You’re all talk, aren’t you?”

  “As opposed to what?” He knew he shouldn’t say it. He knew he shouldn’t. Rafe had never thought he had anything to prove before, but when that hot challenge sparked in Dani’s eyes, it was like his brains melted out his ears. “You want something? Ask for it.”

  Her chest heaved, something between a sigh and a shudder. They stood staring at each other in charged silence, his challenge thrown down like a gauntlet between them. If she asked him to touch her, he would. He wouldn’t know how to stop.

  Lock it down, Morales.

  Dani didn’t need to be provoked into a fight. Or a fuck. She needed someone to take care of her, though God knew she’d combat roll out a third-story window before admitting it. “Come here,” he said softly, holding out his hands. “Just let me check your knuckles, okay? It’s either me or Maya.”

  Her jaw clenched, but she relented, holding out both hands with a short nod. “They’re fine, but knock yourself out.”

  Dani’s hands were deceptively delicate compared to Rafe’s. Her pale skin showed the abuse from the bag all too readily, her knuckles an angry red and scraped nearly raw. Rafe bent her fingers gently and rubbed his thumb across the backs of her fingers. “We’re going to find those kids, Dani. Knox knows how to get the job done.”

  “You’re so sure,” she whispered. “Always. How can you be that sure of everything?”

  “Because the only mission Knox has ever botched was betraying Nina.” Rafe stroked her fingers again and tried not to wonder at the nightmares lurking in her eyes or why the idea of children trapped like experiments shook her so hard. “We’re not leaving kids behind. It’s just not an option.”

  “It’s not just this. It’s…” She shook her head and repeated the word. “Everything.”

  A dozen possible replies came to his lips. Easy, reassuring. But not honest. The honest truth was darker. “Because I have to be, Dani. I can’t entertain the alternative. Too many people are depending on me getting my shit done, and when I don’t…”

  When he didn’t, people got kidnapped. Hurt. People got dead.

  “Like your family.”

  He’d almost forgotten he’d told Dani about his sister—yet another time his good sense had taken flight. Rafe didn’t talk about his family with anyone. Not even Knox. “Yeah. My family.”

  Her fingers closed around his for a split second, then relaxed. “How are they?”

  “I don’t know. Fine, I guess.” He exhaled softly. “I gave my mother my cut from the RLOC bunker. That should hold them over until my youngest sister is grown.”

  “You won’t be able to see them.”

  It wasn’t a question. Because Dani understood. “Conall’s been keeping an eye on the TechCorps with that backdoor into their server, and he swears they’re convinced we’re dead … But all it takes is one fuckup. One careless moment. I won’t lead them back to my family.”

  Dani stared up at him, her soft, blue gaze full of sympathy and commiseration and something else, something suspiciously like longing.

  Or maybe that was just what he wanted to see.

  Then she blinked, and the moment dissolved. She turned away, tearing her hands from his. “If you really want to help me, give me something to hit besides this bag.”

  She didn’t need to fight. She needed sleep. And if Rafe told her to get some, she’d stay awake until she collapsed just to spite him. “I was going to go hit the showers and
then fall into a bed. Just because I can stay awake for three days in a row doesn’t make it fun.”

  “Suit yourself.” She squared up to the bag and took another swing at it, shaking the bag so hard that the chain securing it rattled.

  He watched her for another agonizing moment, his own knuckles stinging with the pain she couldn’t feel. He could stay and give her a better target. God knew she’d be an exciting sparring partner. He was twice her size and easily five times as strong, but her speed—he’d never seen anyone move like Dani. Fast and fearless.

  And if he got his hands on her now, it wouldn’t end with fighting. He was just strung out enough to make a lot of very bad decisions. And as satisfying as a hard fuck on the training room floor might be …

  Rafe had Dani’s number. That would be it for him. She’d ride him hard and kick him out of her bed. Probably slam the door behind him for good measure. Dani didn’t let the men she fucked into her life, and that wouldn’t be enough for him. The fractures would damage their fragile new shared family and hurt the people they loved.

  Rafe had decided the first time Dani stabbed him that he was playing the long game with her. All or nothing.

  Turning silently, he retreated back along the hallway and down the stairs. Maya was still at the kitchen table, sipping from a mug of tea, but she offered him a smile over the rim. “Headed to take a nap?”

  “At least a few hours.” He stopped next to the table. “Dani’s up there scraping her hands raw against the bag. I can’t get her to stop.”

  “I can.” She set the mug down and rose from her chair. “Let’s trade. I’ll take care of Dani, you make sure Gray’s okay. He didn’t want to rest the whole time you were gone.” She wrinkled her nose in an adorable display of irritation. “He made me do training.”

  The low-level dread in his gut jumped at the reminder. He’d tried to compartmentalize Gray’s deteriorating condition, but Rafe had never been good at that. “You got it,” he replied, struggling to hide the hoarseness in his voice.