Raven (Kindred #1)

by Scarlett Finn

  If she believed for a second that he had used her body against her to extort information then that doubt was erased when he thrust her face away and glared down at her with a vicious devotion bleeding from his drowsy eyes.

  The heat of his gaze provoked her into trying for another kiss, but he held her back and the victory in his smile made her stab her nails into the sides of his neck. Dragging them down to the neck of his tee shirt, she snagged it downward and then with an open mouth, she lunged up and closed her kiss over his throat.

  The rumble of his satisfied growl vibrated her lips, but she lapped her tongue up and sucked her mouth away only to spread kisses across the front and side of his neck.

  “Bet you’re glad I let her in now,” Art said.

  His smiling voice came from behind her, so she guessed he was still seated on the couch. Giving in to her desire for Brodie freed her in a way that erased all burdens from her life. Sitting on the back of this couch, wrapped around the man she was tasting, felt so right. This was what safety felt like. What security and stability felt like.

  This may have started as an enigmatic attraction, but it had grown into something more. With every fact she learned about him, her appetite was whetted to learn another and another. One more word. One more kiss. She wasn’t sure it would ever be enough. Until she had stood here facing his spitting fury, she hadn’t known the depth of her own obsession, now it was undeniable.

  “Are you staying over?” Brodie asked, sinking his lips into her hair and she stopped her kissing to tip her head back.

  She hadn’t come here with the intention of being intimate with Brodie again. But the intensity around his darkness grew and Zara comprehended the truth behind his question. If she stayed now, she was staying for good. He’d told her that once she was in there was no getting out. It seemed that time had come.

  More sure of her desire and infatuation with this man than she’d been of anything before in her life, she didn’t hesitate to reply. “Yes,” she whispered and as her lips settled together, she let her smile breed his.

  “Starting a new tradition?” Art asked.

  Using Brodie’s body to keep herself secure on her perch, Zara twisted enough to catch sight of Art’s knowing expression. Brodie’s arm slid away from her back, forcing her to cling tighter to him. But he pulled one of her arms away from its embrace and skimmed his hand downward until it touched her palm. His thick digits splayed and insinuated themselves between hers. She hadn’t expected to feel lumps and callouses adorning his skin, but he worked with his hands so she shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “You’re gonna get lost in this house a dozen times before you learn the route from here to the bedroom,” Brodie said and he snagged the back of her neck to pry her body away from his so he could look her in the eye. “Don’t ever get scared in this house.” She nodded, but was daunted by the prospect of this labyrinth of a building. “We have every eventuality covered. Every exterior door and window is alarmed or booby trapped.”

  “Booby trapped?” she repeated and thought about her fear at the gate. It turned out there was a chance she could have been decapitated by a flying axe after all.

  His expression remained static. “You have nothing to fear if you trust me.”

  Playing with him, she asked, “The booby traps will know if my confidence in you wavers?”

  “No,” he said, glowering at her as he squeezed her neck to chastise her for her tease. “The traps are in peripheral parts of the building we rarely use. You won’t have clearance to enter sensitive areas, which might be rigged. But I’m telling you not to go snooping.”

  She had never been so grateful for a lack of security clearance in her life. “Ok.”

  “Come on,” he said. Releasing her hand, he crouched to wrap an arm around her ribcage. But before he could lift her up, she pushed his chest and loosened her legs.

  Going to his bedroom would lead to intimacy and when Brodie was touching her, rational thought became impossible. She had to tell them about the guy in Purdy’s before leaving this space or she probably never would. “Wait,” she said, shaking her head. “I have to tell you something.”

  He huffed. “You can’t talk while I walk?”

  “You can’t go to Canada.”

  “Oh, shit,” he said and let her go to walk away.

  Holding on to the couch, Zara hooked her heels up on the edge of the wide back. “You can’t.”

  “I thought you came here for…” Flipping around, he opened his arms in a shrug. “Why don’t you want me to go, baby, huh? You think I can’t take out three nerds?”

  “One of those guys is a black belt,” she said. “But it’s not your abilities I’m concerned about.”

  “Then what is it,” Art asked, giving her a chance to tell her story.

  “I was at Purdy’s tonight,” she said and knew that needed no more explanation because they knew her schedule as well as the guy who had accosted her did. “And I was approached by a guy who told me to give you a message.”

  When Brodie’s body heat radiated to her, she turned back in his direction. “What message?” Brodie asked.

  His curiosity was an improvement over his previous irritation. “The last thing he said was that Canada’s nice this time of year,” she said. “That has to mean… he has to know about your mission.”

  Almost on top of her, his sudden anger began to tinge his features as though he was preempting the answer to his next question and assuming the worst. “Did you talk to anyone?” Brodie asked through narrow lips. “Did you tell anyone about—”

  “About what?” she asked, practicing her own glare. “No, I didn’t tell anyone about what happened last night in my apartment. Why would I? I would have to admit how you got that information, wouldn’t I?”

  Art chimed in with a statement cryptic enough to make Brodie proud. Now Zara understood who had taught her lover to be so vague. “It’s got to be—”

  “No,” Brodie said, pinning a scowl on his uncle. But by cutting him off, Brodie actually gave credence to Art’s unspoken suspicion of the perpetrator’s identity by responding to the prospect without it having to be uttered. “He wouldn’t have approached Zara.”

  “Sure he would,” Art said, leaning over the back of the couch beside where she sat. “What else did he say, girlie?”

  Trying to remember the conversation, she turned her lips into her mouth to buy herself some time. “He said… payback’s a bitch and he has his eyes on your prize,” she said and when Brodie backed off this time, she saw the deliberate look he dropped to his uncle.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Brodie said.

  “There’s one thing,” Art said.

  Zara was lost because again they were carrying on their conversation as though they were alone. “Have you got time to track him?” Brodie asked.

  Art exhaled in defeat. “No. He’s a fucker.”

  “What else is new,” Brodie muttered.

  “I don’t understand,” Zara said, seeking an answer on their faces. “Who is he? He said he didn’t care about the device or who it killed.”

  “He’s a guy set on revenge,” Art said. Brodie was walking away from her again, so she turned and slid a leg over the couch so that she was sitting astride the backrest.

  “How do you know who he is?” she frowned and tilted closer.

  “Slick looking motherfucker with a scar right here,” Art said, lifting his chin to indicate the line of the scar on his neck and she nodded. “His name is Griffin Caine. He’s something of a groupie. He followed Brodie’s work for years. But he was just too erratic to be brought inside.”

  “He threatened Brodie’s life,” she said. “But he… called him Raven.”

  “Brodie’s been Raven for years,” Art said. “Sometimes even he forgets who he really is.”

  “Being back here, so close to home and dealing with CI… it must be bringing back memories,” she said, glancing at Brodie, but he was retrieving the bottle of scotch an
d not listening to them. Bringing her legs up, she crossed them and balanced in her seated position atop the couch.

  “It hasn’t been easy for him,” Art said, watching his nephew pour out a large measure. “When we first heard what Grant was doing… We were in Egypt and… it’s funny how your demons can find you no matter where you are, isn’t it?”

  “I can talk to Grant,” she said, lowering her volume and hunching a little closer to Art. “I’m not convinced he’s a lost cause. If we can figure out why he’s doing this—”

  “He’s doing it to punish our father,” Brodie said. She had thought he wasn’t paying attention but it turned out she was wrong. He tossed the liquor down his throat and poured out another measure. “He’s doing it for spite. Our father died for this damned piece of metal and plastic and Grant wants to show him that it was for nothing. That our father’s sacrifice meant nothing.”

  Absorbing this declaration, she considered how well the brothers knew each other. “How do you know that?” she asked. “You said last night that—”

  “Because he’s right,” Brodie said, rotating the glass full of scotch back and forth in his hand. “Grant is right.”

  Art jumped up from the couch to head in his nephew’s direction. “Did you hit your head tonight? Breathe some crazy-making fumes? You don’t support this. People will die! Innocent people!”

  Snapping around, his fury burned from his eyes. “Yeah,” Brodie retorted. “But if Caine knows about it…” he glanced past Art to focus on her. “He thinks she’s fair game.”

  “You invited this,” Art said with impatience, yanking the bottle of scotch away and sending the bullet Brodie had discarded on the counter, clattering onto the floor.

  “You’re saying this is my fault?” Brodie said, slamming his glass on the counter.

  “You knew it was a possibility. You knew that as soon as you found a woman to care about—”

  Depressurizing his anger, Brodie exhaled his resolve. “This is what he’s been waiting for,” Brodie said, retrieving his glass and turning his mouth down into it. He didn’t deny Art’s declaration that he cared for her. “This is why he’s been dogging me for years. Killing me wasn’t enough.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Art said, speaking in solidarity. “But you’re not going to fall apart now. Caine is the least of our problems. We’ve avoided him this long. We’ll just keep avoiding him. You know that half his fun comes from the chase. He’s not going to put a bullet in Zara until you’re there to watch it.”

  Her observational role suddenly became interactive. “In me?” she asked, scrambling off the back of the couch to dart toward the men. “Why does he want to kill me?”

  “It’s a long story,” Art said. “Needless to say, their feud is rooted in a situation involving a woman.”

  “Feud?” Zara asked, resting a hand on the countertop to support herself in case this story got any worse, although she couldn’t imagine how it could.

  “Caine was in love with her and she didn’t want him,” Art said. “The story is irrelevant to the fact that he hounds Brodie at times like these because he enjoys watching people suffer. It would be the highlight of his life if Brodie made a mistake.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she sought an explanation. “Why would—”

  “Because he has anger management issues and narcissistic tendencies,” Brodie said while examining the contents of his glass.

  That sounded like someone else she knew. “It’s a wonder you two were friends,” she muttered.

  He didn’t entertain her sarcasm. “We were not friends,” Brodie grumbled and drank more of his alcohol.

  “We focus on this mission and deal with Caine later.”

  “This mission is fucked from the start,” Brodie said. “We still can’t figure out where the fuck Grant is stashing the device in the city. The fucker is smart. He knows better than to digitize anything. Frank taught him the virtue of doing things old-school.”

  Brodie elevated the glass toward his lips. Zara put a hand on Art’s chest to urge him aside. Then she slipped into the narrow space between Brodie and the counter to seize his glass before it could reach his mouth.

  “Well, it’s not in the bottom of that bottle,” she said, handing the glass off to Art who hurried it away before Brodie could snatch it back. “That’s one place down.”

  “What are you doing?” Brodie asked her and his body swayed forward, pinning her to the solid granite at the small of her back. “Worried if I drink too much that the equipment won’t work when we get upstairs?”

  “I’m looking forward to finding out,” she said, scratching her nails up the fabric of his tee shirt and around his neck where she linked her fingers and used his strength as leverage to pull herself higher. Pouting, she fixated on his mouth and exhaled a murmur of want.

  Seeing him stressed made her want to calm him. She wanted him to relax, to erase his worries and remind him of her warm body because she wanted to be a sanctuary for him. Brodie was an outlaw, the kind of man who wouldn’t shy from any fight and she was in awe of his abilities.

  To be a part of his life, to be a place of safety and comfort for him, would be a privilege. From what she’d gleaned from him and from Art, Brodie hadn’t exactly had an easy life, but she wanted a chance to offer him security and relief.

  His hum of pleasure encouraged her. “Come on,” she whispered. Hoping he’d trust her enough to let her in, she tried her best to be unthreatening in her seduction. The last thing she wanted to do was set him more on edge. “Relax for me, beau.”

  The force of his arm clamping around her stole the air from her lungs and he hauled her up to join their mouths just as she wanted him to. The bitter liquor still flavored his tongue but she reveled in that taste and the broad masculinity of the man who lifted her from her feet and onto the kitchen counter. Quickly putting himself in charge, he parted her knees and dragged his teeth on the inside of her lower lip as he broke their kiss.

  Art appeared in her peripheral vision, but even as Brodie turned to look at him with business written all over his face, she couldn’t stop staring up at this man who was beginning to take her over.

  “We still have time,” Art said. “Tuck and I will take care of business. We’ll find out where it is.”

  “Who is Tuck?” she asked, exhaling her hormonal mist to pay attention to the conversation again. “Where is he?”

  “Tuck uses the alias Swift,” Art said. “He is our computer whizz, the guy who got into your computer at CI.”

  “Oh,” she nodded, stroking Brodie. “Is he here?”

  “No, he went back to his own lady tonight,” Art said. “He hasn’t been with her for a while and he promised her a visit.”

  Perking up, she glanced at each of the men. “He has a lady?” she asked, reassured that if he had a girlfriend he had to have some redeeming qualities.

  “Kadie,” Art said.

  “What’s she like?”

  “We’ve never met her,” Brodie said, sliding a hand up her back to grasp her neck again. “Tuck likes to keep a nice thick, clear line between Kadie and anything that could get her hurt… which is basically everything in his life that isn’t her.”

  Squinting, she moistened her lips. “And she’s happy with that?” Zara asked. It took a strong woman to watch her man go off into battle regularly without any idea of where he was, what he was doing, or who he was with.

  “Who knows?” Art said with a shrug. “Swift is a private guy, so I wouldn’t ask him too many questions when you meet him.”

  This was a night full of surprises; at least this one wasn’t unpleasant. “When am I going to meet him?” she asked Art, but looked at Brodie.

  “He’ll get back into town tomorrow,” Brodie said.

  Art’s concern was increasing. “Everything depends on us finding this piece of kit.”

  Her role in this situation had been to get information, so she felt compelled to do what she could to get more. “I’ll find it,” Zara sai
d and lay across the counter to snag her purse, which was still on the opposite edge of it. Brodie took her hand to help her right herself and she began to dig in her purse.

  “How are you going to do that?” Art asked her.

  Pulling out her cell phone, she held it up. “I’m going to call Grant and ask him where it is.”

  She started to speed dial, but Brodie plucked the phone out of her hand before she could connect the line. “Two pieces of advice,” he said, giving the phone to Art, who took it away toward the couch. “First… and this is more of a house rule… don’t ever call anyone outside the Kindred Circle from this house, you hear me? No one.”

  Not used to such orders, she saw one immediate problem. “How do I know who is in the Kindred Circle?” she asked, leaning back on her hands.

  “Here’s a clue,” Brodie said, gesturing between himself and Art, who was returning to them. “You’re looking at the only two members you know.”

  That didn’t help because she couldn’t contact these men even if she did want to. “I don’t have either of your phone numbers.”

  He didn’t exactly light up, but he swept her hair over her shoulder with the back of his hand and scrutinized her neck. “Excellent, so there will be no confusion,” Brodie said.

  Ready to push boundaries, she teased to see how far he would let her get. “What if I want a pizza?”

  Brodie wasn’t for playing. In fact, he did deadpan better than anyone she’d ever met. “Then you go down to the basement, get in a car, and drive to the pizza place.”

  If she did spend any more time here, she would have to get used to there being a no takeout rule, which wasn’t great because she was a terrible cook. “What’s the second thing?” she asked.

  Planting his hands on the counter on either side of her hips, he loomed over her. “Don’t go running to Grant every time you need to fix a problem.”

  That seemed to be more subjective than the previous rule. But it was an old habit. Grant and she had worked together for five years and when she was uncertain of something or needed help, Grant was the man she called because all of her issues were CI related—her life had been dedicated to that company for half a decade.