Hard Asset: A Cobra Elite Novel

by Pamela Clare

  You love her.

  Adrenaline punched through him.

  Oh, no. Hell, no. He didn’t do love. He did sex. Good sex. But just sex.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  He listed all the reasons he couldn’t love her, all the reasons he shouldn’t love her. She was out of his league, a beautiful Harvard-educated attorney from a wealthy family. He was a farm boy who’d gone into the military and now worked as hired muscle. They lived half a world apart. There were things about him she didn’t know, reasons for her to hate him. Hell, he struggled to hold it together in the real world.

  He ran all of this through his mind, hoping it would clear his head, take away this emotion, set his head straight. But it didn’t.

  He loved her.

  Unable to resist, he kissed her awake. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She glanced around. “What time is it?”

  “No idea.” He ducked down, kissed a dark nipple.

  She smiled, stretched, raised her arms above her head, offering herself to him. “I’m all yours.”

  God, he wanted her, but he couldn’t touch her again. If she knew what he’d done, she wouldn’t want his hands on her. She thought he was a hero. He wasn’t.

  He sat up. “Shanti, I can’t. I…”

  Great time to have a pang of conscience, idiot.

  Fuck.

  Was he truly going to tell her? She would hate him. It would drive a wedge between them. Then again, maybe that’s what they both needed.

  She sat up, concern on her face, her dark hair covering her breasts. “What is it?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not a hero. I’ve done things that you would…”

  She rested a hand on his arm. “I’m listening.”

  God, how was he going to do this? He’d only ever talked about this with his CO during the after-action review. The army had absolved him of any wrong-doing, so he’d tried to forget it. But the guilt had never gone away.

  “I fought with 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, what you all call Delta Force.” He’d never told a woman which unit he’d served with, not even Mandy. “Before I joined Cobra, I spent a decade carrying out secret operations on behalf of Uncle Sam, moving in and out of war zones—Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria. I was good at it. I enjoyed it. Most of the time, anyway.”

  “I’ve seen you in action. I have no trouble believing that.”

  He drew a breath, tried to steel himself. “We did some work in Syria, took out some high-value ISIS targets, broke up their communications, took out their explosives and weapons caches. That sort of thing.”

  Why the fuck was he doing this? The two of them could never be together, so why expose himself? Why not just enjoy the moment?

  Too late to back out now.

  “We hit a bombed-out village, blew up a cache of explosives. Intel said the village was deserted, apart from fighting-age males, probably all ISIS.” Connor’s stomach knotted. “We came under fire during our exfil and got pinned down—at least five fighters firing AKs at us from the cover of a bombed-out house on the edge of town. I …”

  His body started to shake.

  Did you think this would be easy?

  “Someone had to do something.”

  She laced her fingers through his—an anchor. “Naturally, that was you.”

  Connor’s heart began to hammer. “I volunteered to make my way around to the other side to take out the hostiles with a grenade or two. The Unit guys kept up a steady fire on the house while I worked my way toward the place. I took cover behind a rock wall, a pile of rubble, really, then tossed a grenade.”

  Frag out!

  Connor saw the boy clear as day in his mind as he stepped out, looked around.

  “I’m here, Connor. You can tell me.”

  Connor let out a breath. “In the next moment, a little boy stepped out of the house. He couldn’t have been more than four or five years old, just a little guy. He looked around at the world we adults had broken with big brown eyes and then—”

  Shanti waited. “And then?”

  Connor’s throat went tight. “I couldn’t call the grenade back. I couldn’t do anything but watch him die. I’ve killed children, Shanti. I’ve killed children, too.”

  It took all his courage to meet her gaze.

  There were tears in her eyes. “Oh, Connor. It was an accident. You didn’t target that boy. You didn’t walk into that house, point a gun at his head, and pull the trigger. I have no doubt that if you could have saved him, you would have.”

  Connor shook off the absolution that she offered him, self-loathing seething inside him. “He died because I—”

  “He died because terrorists who wanted to kill you and your fellow soldiers hid in his house and used him and his family as human shields. That’s a violation of Protocol One of the Geneva Convention.”

  Her words brought him up short. “Is that … is that true?”

  She smiled, tears on her cheeks. “I’m a human-rights attorney. I specialize in war crimes and crimes against humanity. I do know something about it.”

  Shanti’s heart broke for Connor. It hurt to see him in so much pain, rage and despair on his face, his body tense and trembling. Now Shanti understood what Elizabeth had meant. Connor’s military service had left him wounded on the inside, where no one could see it, where the world could conveniently ignore it, even as it asked him to risk his life again and again.

  Fighting back her tears, she raised his hand to her lips, kissed it. “You are not a monster, Connor. I’m so sorry that happened. I can’t imagine how awful that must have been. But it’s not your fault.”

  His jaw was tight, his lips a grim line, and she could feel the war he waged inside himself. “If I had waited just a moment, if I hadn’t been so quick with the grenade…”

  She leaned in, cupped his jaw. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t beat yourself up. You don’t deserve it. You threw the grenade, yes, but the ISIS fighters put that boy in danger.”

  Then it came to her.

  “Why did you tell me this now?”

  “It felt wrong to kiss you, to have sex with you, when you probably wouldn’t want me to touch you if you knew.”

  The ache in her heart grew stronger. “You told me so that I would know I was sleeping with the enemy. Is that it? You wanted to give me a chance to tell you to go to hell.”

  He nodded, his jaw still tight. “I know the ICC ran background checks on all of us before they hired Cobra. I know they researched our military records. The army absolved me, so there’s nothing about it in my file. There was no way for you to know.”

  She wanted to tell him that he was almost certainly suffering from post-traumatic stress, that his grief over the boy only proved how big his heart was, that she loved him.

  What?!?

  Oh, God! She loved him!

  She was in love with Connor.

  She felt a moment of panic but pushed it away. Connor didn’t need to deal with her emotions right now. He sat there, naked, both physically and emotionally, his heart torn from his chest and lying at her feet. He’d thrown it there so she could have a chance to reject him like his former girlfriend had.

  She scooted closer to him, ran her hands up his arms. “It didn’t work. I’m not going to push you away, Connor. You are still a hero in my eyes.”

  It wasn’t enough to tell him.

  She would have to show him.

  She got up on her knees, pushed him back onto the mattress, and straddled him, stretching out on top of him. She claimed his mouth, kissed him the way he had kissed her, slowly at first, letting it build as he came alive in her arms.

  His hands grasped her hips, but he let her set the pace.

  She kissed her way down his throat to his sternum, her hands exploring him, soft skin and coarse curls beneath her palms. He smelled of soap and sex and salt, the scent of his skin stirring something inside her. She wanted him.

  She licked a nipple,
felt his belly jerk tight, licked it again, then the other one, lavishing the same attention on him as he’d given her. It turned her on to feel his body’s response—his hard cock, his quick inhale when she nipped a sensitive tip, the tremors that passed through him with each flick of her tongue.

  But she wanted more.

  She kissed her way down his ribs, over the ridges of muscle on his belly, and along those obliques just above his hips. Every inch of him was precious to her. The little mole next to his navel. The scar on his abdomen. That tempting trail of dark curls that led to his erection.

  She looked up, saw him watching her with blue eyes that had gone dark. Without breaking eye contact, she sat up, took his cock in hand, and began to stroke him. “Show me what you like.”

  His brow furrowed, he reached down with one hand to guide her, increasing the pressure. “Oh, yeah.”

  His eyes drifted shut, one hand fisting in the sheets, his hips thrusting into her hand. But she wanted more for him. She let him savor this for a while—then bent down and licked the head of his cock.

  His eyes flew open. “Shanti.”

  She smiled, did it again. “You taste like me.”

  He shivered.

  She repositioned herself between his thighs and took him into her mouth, stroking the length of him with her fist and her lips, swirling her tongue around the swollen head, doing her best to get the pressure and the rhythm right.

  He caught her hair, moved it aside so that he could watch. “You are so hot.”

  She kept it up, taking cues from his hips when he wanted her to go faster, harder. She could tell he was near the brink, all those amazing muscles going tight.

  He raised her head off him. “If you don’t stop—”

  “You don’t have to pull out this time.”

  His belly jerked at those words. “Shanti.”

  She went down on him again, his fingers fisted in her hair now, his breathing ragged, his eyes closed again.

  He arched off the bed, biting back a groan, his cock jerking in her mouth as he came, his body shaking with pleasure.

  She took all of him, keeping her mouth on him until his climax had passed. Then kissed her way back up his body again, her heart full. “You’re still my hero.”

  “You are way too good at that.” Connor felt lighter than he had in years.

  Shanti’s reaction had blown him away, lifting a heavy weight off his shoulders, stripping away years of guilt and rage. She hadn’t condemned him. She hadn’t blamed him. She hadn’t withdrawn from him. Instead, she’d supported him, offered him understanding and compassion. She’d also given him the best head of his life.

  God, he loved her.

  Admitting that to himself made his heart soar—and scared the shit out of him.

  They lay in bed for a time, her head on his shoulder, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine, their conversation drifting from the joy of indoor plumbing to the fact that coriander and cilantro were the same plant to what it had felt like for Shanti to grow up being a part of two different worlds—always being asked where she was from, having people assume she was Latina, being viewed as a foreigner when she was in Bangladesh despite her citizenship.

  “I always had the feeling that my grandmother was disappointed I wasn’t somehow more Bengali. She called me her American granddaughter. She spent the rest of her life grieving for the grandchildren she’d lost.”

  “I’m sure she loved you, but that’s one hell of a loss to overcome.” Connor kissed her hair. “We should get dressed before Mya shows up with supper. I’m not sure how she’d feel about this. We’re in a monastery, after all.”

  Connor needed help with his robes, while Shanti managed just fine on her own.

  Connor looked down at himself. “I feel ridiculous.”

  “You make a very sexy monk. Look at those biceps.”

  A short time later, Mya brought their supper—tea, potato curry with peas, fresh vegetables, sliced guava, fish soup.

  “Two meals on the same day.” Shanti took Mya’s hand. “Thank you, Mya. You and your father have been so kind.”

  Connor and Shanti took turns feeding each other, some part of Connor amazed by the simple joy of sharing a meal with her. They had just finished when he heard it.

  Engines. Men’s laughter. Loud voices.

  He stood, went for his rifle and handguns, and checked them. If anyone came through the door, he wanted to be ready. He moved over to the window, careful to stay out of sight, using his infrared scope to see in the dark.

  Son of a bitch!

  “General Naing. He’s down in the courtyard.”

  That bastard Dempo had betrayed them. He’d given them everything they needed—food, shelter, a place to rest, even laundry service—just to keep them here until Naing could arrive.

  “What?”

  “Get your boots on, grab your gear, and let’s go.”

  A knock.

  Connor stepped back, raised his rifle, finger on the trigger. “Go down the back stairs, and don’t stop for anything.”

  Shanti hurried toward the secret stairway when Mya spoke.

  “Please, I’ve come to help.”

  Connor shook his head. “Shanti, go!”

  Shanti darted past him, hurried over to the door, and unlocked it.

  “Damn it! You’re supposed to obey my orders!”

  “Sorry, not this time.”

  Mya stepped inside, fear naked on her face, the bag that held their clothes hanging from her shoulder.

  Connor glanced out into the hallway, shut the door, locked it. “What the hell is going on? I saw Naing out there.”

  “The general and some of his men have come unexpectedly, seeking my father’s blessing to help him find you. My father does not believe they will search the monastery. You may remain if you choose. I have brought you food for your journey and robes to hide your hair and faces if you choose to leave us. Your clothes are here, too. They’re clean and dry. Wear them beneath your robes. I will take you to the tunnel and down to the river where a small boat awaits.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’d rather head out on our own.”

  It had been a mistake to bring Shanti here.

  “And if you run into anyone, do you speak our tongue? A monk and two nuns traveling will not draw the attention of soldiers, but a man and a woman...”

  Okay, she had a point there.

  “Give us a minute to pack up and change.”

  Mya stepped out the back door, while Connor and Shanti finished gathering their belongings, dressed, and put on their robes once more. When they joined Mya, she adjusted their robes and handed them each a saffron-colored robe made of thicker fabric. “Cover your hair and draw this close around you.”

  Connor wasn’t easily able to reach his Glocks dressed in all of this, but it did hide his rifle. He took his flashlight out of his pack, handed it to Shanti. “Let’s go.”

  Down the stairs they went, back down to the large room with the five doors, and into the tunnel with the fish painted above it.

  Mya was small, but she moved quickly. “My father did not betray you. I knew that’s what you would believe, and I cannot blame you. He was forced to serve with General Naing as a boy and feels no affection or loyalty to him.”

  “But Naing still believes he’s an ally.”

  “Yes, and, because of that, he trusts my father.”

  “Why don’t the others at the monastery know that Ashin Dempo is your father?” Shanti asked.

  “It would be viewed unfavorably for him to use his daughter as his assistant. But because my father has helped dissidents and outsiders, he trusts no one else. It is not out of ego, but to protect the lives of others.”

  “You’ve done this before.”

  “Yes.” Mya didn’t elaborate.

  This tunnel wasn’t as long as the previous one. It sloped gently downhill, its walls painted like the walls of the other one—skulls, battles, gruesome creatures gnashing their teeth. Yeah, Conno
r had lived through that day once or twice.

  Ahead, he saw the entrance. “Shanti, douse the light.”

  They made their way in darkness to the gate, which Mya unlocked. “If we run into anyone, I will talk for us. Do not pull out your weapons. I will say we are taking a sick monk to see a physician.”

  “Shanti, be ready for anything.”

  They stepped out into the night.

  20

  Shanti followed close to Connor, doing her best to behave like a Buddhist nun as they made their way down a dirt path toward the river. Above them, a half-moon hung lazily in the sky, its light enough to keep her from tripping on rocks and tree roots, the night full of the sounds of frogs and insects.

  After a hike of maybe five minutes, they left the jungle behind, the world opening around them. Boats and structures made of bamboo and fabric dotted the riverbank, people walking here and there. They’d spent so much time avoiding people that being out in the open like this put Shanti on edge. What if they noticed her boots and Connor’s? Or her handbag? Or the cuffs of their jeans sticking out beneath the robes?

  Then again, if monks had cell phones and laptops these days…

  A group of four soldiers walked toward them, rifles over their shoulders. Adrenaline shot through Shanti, made her heart race. She kept her gaze on the ground, tried to conceal her face. The soldiers greeted them, Mya answering.

  The seconds ticked by, Shanti barely able to breathe.

  They walked on, their voices fading.

  “The boat is over here.” Mya led them down the muddy bank to a small wooden skiff. “Climb in. I’ll untie it.”

  Connor helped Shanti step into the boat, the small craft rocking precariously, throwing her off balance. “Sit in the center.”

  He sat in front of her, while Mya pushed the boat away from the riverbank before stepping in with bare feet. The skiff floated out into the river, was caught by the current, and began to glide downstream, Mya at the rudder.

  Shanti let out a breath. “I was afraid those soldiers would recognize us.”

  “People see what they want to see,” Mya said.