by S. M. Butler
“Please, Nathan…”
“Promise me, Bridget,” he said. “Promise me you’ll never wear panties in my presence again.”
A second finger joined the first inside her, pumping in and out in a lazy rhythm that catapulted her to another level of arousal and yet, she still couldn’t quite make it to the edge she needed to fall over. She moaned loudly, suddenly glad she’d shut the door when she’d come in.
“Bridget?”
“Yes, please, Nathan!”
“Now, that’s what I like to hear,” he said, his fingers spearing into her, his thumb stroking her clit. This time, he let her build high, his fingers taking her up to the top. Then he stopped and her world spun, until she realized he’d put her on the table. He pushed up her skirt higher until it was over her hips and the cold air hit her bare wet skin as he spread her legs. “You’re going to come for me now. In my mouth.”
The second his tongue touched her center, she cried out, her back arching. She braced herself on her hands, leaning back so she could let Nathan deeper into her. The pressure in her chest, in her womb, in her breasts, everywhere all over her body, built to an undeniable and insane level as he licked her.
Then he sucked in her clit and she exploded in his arms, his hands digging into her hips to keep her still while he licked her through her orgasm. After what seemed like hours of coming for him, she fell back on the table, completely boneless and owned.
Owned by Nathan. Wasn’t that how it always was for them? He’d said it at the beginning. She was his. She had been his for years. But somehow, he’d found a way to own her all over again.
Fuck. She was in big trouble.
16
Bea stared into the small ten-foot square room from behind the observation glass. Inside, Harry was laying on the bench. He had contusions all over him, which meant Jack had given him the best treatment he knew. And yet, still he said nothing. But Bea had known that was how it would go down.
She took off her weapon’s belt and set it on the counter. Jack stood by, his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. He narrowed his gaze on her as he slid his ass on the counter and pinned her with a hard stare. “You sure about this, peaches? He’s not been all that forthcoming.”
“I’m sure. I know what questions to ask.”
This was her chance to find out what game Genevieve was playing. If the woman had wanted Axel dead, she could have done that a hundred times over by now. No. There was something else at play here.
“All right,” Jack said, sighing loudly like he was being put out. “I’ll watch from here. In case.”
She didn’t want to have this conversation with Jack there. No one knew about her past with Genevieve. Not really. And Harry… well, she wasn’t sure how much he knew about her other than the name Genevieve had given her. But they were like distant family in a way. All the kids that Genevieve had trained and used over the years… They all had at least that in common.
Bea walked next door and palmed the scanner on the door. It buzzed beneath her hand and the lock clicked open. Harry glanced to the side, his dark eyes glittering in the light and his body stilled. She walked to the center of the room, mere feet from where he was. Then he sat up.
“You know why I’m here?”
“You’re the next round?” Harry replied, one corner of his lips turning upward into a cocky smirk. “You’re supposed to be dead, Bea.”
“I am dead. To everyone that it matters.”
“Not to her.”
Genevieve knew. So that was why she hadn’t sent another hit squad after Axel.
“Not many people can surprise Genevieve, Bea.” Harry chuckled, then winced with a hand on his ribs. “I’ll wager you just became her next mission.”
“What does she know?”
“She knows everything. You know that better than anyone else.”
“You were always a dumb fuck, Harry.”
“I was smart enough to be in her bed,” he replied with a shrug. “Great sex and it keeps me in the loop of things.”
“She doesn’t care about you. She doesn’t love you anymore than she loved any of us.”
Harry laughed. “Who cares about love, Bea? This is about power and control. I’d fuck you too, if you’d let me. I bet you’re a fucking battle cat in the sack. I’d love to wrap my fingers around that slender little neck of yours while I bang your fuck hole.”
“Such fucking class, Harry. Where is she?”
Harry smirked again. “You can’t be that anxious to see her again. She’s still hanging on to the last time you saw her.” He winced again as he stretched out his side. “Your boy knows pressure points really well. Was he one of hers, too?”
“No,” Bea replied.
“Pity. He’d have done well.”
“Where is she, Harry?”
Harry shrugged. “Around. She’ll have you brought to her when she’s ready for you. You know that.”
Bea shook her head. “I don’t take orders from her anymore.”
“She’s probably going to want to kill you.” Harry said it so matter-of-factly, like he’d spouted off directions for a recipe. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by it, but why would he be? He was one of the star pupils Genevieve had trained. He’d completely bought into the shit that Genevieve told them, like Bea had once. Once upon a time, Bea had been like that, too.
“I’m not that easy to kill, Harry,” Bea replied. “I’m going to take her down.”
Harry laughed. “She taught you everything you know. Sorry, sweetie, but you are exactly that easy to kill.”
As Bea left the room, Allen stepped out into the hallway, his frown deep as he regarded her. She took a calming breath and faced him, holding her chin up. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Peaches, I’m not judging you. God knows, we all have our secrets. But… you lied to us. You knew this guy and you didn’t say.”
“Nathan—”
“Fuck Nathan. That motherfucker isn’t here all the time. He doesn’t know how it is for us.”
She nodded. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
“This woman you were talking about…”
“Genevieve Rochelle. She raised me.” She exhaled slowly. “Get the guys. Meet me in the common room. I’ll tell you everything.”
Jack regarded her for a long second, like he could pull apart the layers of her soul with only his gaze. Then he nodded and walked away, down the hallway.
She swallowed hard. Nathan wouldn’t like it, but she was done lying to the team that watched her back. Lying about her past had ruined everything so far. Her team. Axel.
Her chest seized up on itself for a second. Her eyes burned hot, but she fought it until it abated. She rubbed her chest with the heel of her palm like she could make the pain inside go away.
No more lies, she told herself. No more lies.
~*~*~
Axel slammed the door to his apartment shut as he stormed through the place. Then he stopped. The window had been fixed. The bullet holes in the walls gone, like they hadn’t ever been there. The glass was gone, the bloodstains on the carpet non-existent. Was that new carpet too?
Nathan had cleaned up the mess. Or at least, he’d paid to have it done. Was this really his life? A fucking mechanic in a dead ass town? He was a Marine, for fuck’s sake. Was this really where he had ended up?
It was his choice, he reminded himself. He wanted slow. He wanted quiet. When he’d left the Marines, he had been a mess. His whole unit dead except for him. By friendly fire. Supposedly.
He went to the fireplace, pushed aside the logs, and pulled out his box. This was all he had left of his friends, his Marines. They were all gone except for what he’d managed to save in that box. He pushed the lid up, the metal hinges squeaking. A sketch from Bannister of a naked woman he’d wanted to tattoo on his forearm. Axel smiled. He’d been trying to talk that mother fucker out of that tattoo for three months.
You’ll never get a good civilian job with a naked woman
on your arm, he told him.
I’m never leaving the Marines, so it’s all good, bro, came the reply.
He hadn’t ever left, had he? He hadn’t ever gotten the tattoo either. He set the sketch back into the box and pulled out a letter. That was from Pyle, meant for his wife. He hadn’t survived to mail it to her, and Axel had been too much of a coward to deliver it himself. The pain of losing his buddies was too much to bear. He hadn’t wanted to see one of their wives fall apart on him. He could barely hold it together himself back then.
The last was a small camcorder. Fucking Wilson was always shoving that thing in their faces. He would film hours of shit that was the most boring crap ever and send it home to his wife. He said she’d loved the way the men were together. That it made her feel better that her husband was surrounded by men that loved him as much as she did.
He closed his fingers around the camera. His hands shook as he opened it. It probably didn’t even have battery life.
Nope. Sure enough, the viewer didn’t even stir.
He pushed himself to his feet and walked over to his desk, sliding into the seat while he reached underneath to where his phone cord always was. He pushed the cord into the camera and waited as it absorbed the power and slowly came to life.
His heart pounded as the screen came to life and he flipped the switch from camera to player. How many times had he tried to watch this? How many times had he looked at that camera and never been able to open it before? He’d not realized what he’d had on the card until nearly a year after he’d been medically discharged so it had always been his personal punishment, having that visual reminder of what he’d lost. Nine years, and he was still running from the past.
Was that what Bea was doing too? Running from her past?
“Don’t, mother fucker! I’m talking to my wife!” Wilson’s voice was a break in the silent void of his apartment. The wind blew hard against the camera’s mic, creating a rough whistle. The camera shook as the two men on the camera fought for control of it.
He smiled. It was him and Wilson. Wilson won, though, which was going to be the outcome all along. He’d just been fucking with the guy. Wilson steadied that camera and spoke into it. “Hey, baby. Miss you. Things been pretty boring here. All quiet and shit. Um, stuff. The guys and me, we got your package, with the books and the candy bars. Thank you. Like for real. They loved it and I think they might be falling in love with you too. I told them you were mine, though, and they can go fuck themselves if they think any differently.” Wilson aimed that last sentence at the Axel in the camera shot. Axel-in-the-camera laughed.
Axel’s heart squeezed as Wilson kept talking. He knew this moment. And it was creeping closer and closer. Tears stung his eyes as the shouts started up. Wilson and he had swung toward the contractor’s area in their horseplay.
As the screams and gunfire filled his apartment, Axel’s tears fell. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the end of it, even though he knew he could stop that recording at any time. He’d usually stopped it long before now, his chest imploding on itself, the pain too great to keep going. But something kept his finger off the stop button and as much as he hated to relive that moment, he kept going listening to the screams and the gunfire.
And when the screams finally stopped, Axel opened his own eyes, his vision blurred by the tears still falling. Eleven Marines lost their lives that day. He had been laid up for months after and even now, there were ghost pains in his back where the bullet holes had found home. He wasn’t sure how he’d survived it, honestly.
When he glanced down at the still running recording, something else caught his eye. The camera had fallen to its side, half covered by sand. A boot passed by, the barrel of a rifle swung into view. He’d never seen this part before. He’d never been able to watch through the massacre. And he was unconscious long before the screams had stopped when he’d first lived through it.
“Finish it,” someone said. A male voice, slightly accented. He couldn’t place the accent. He nearly dropped the camera as another shot rang out and the camera jerked. Wilson hadn’t been dead?
“This one is alive still,” another voice said, with the same accent. Was that a Russian accent?
Axel wished he could see as the boot left the front of the camera and went over to the far right of the view. The far right, where he remembered he had been. Even though his brain knew he wasn’t dead, so that shot had never come, a brief moment, he prayed that the gun wouldn’t fire in the video, like it would have changed the outcome. Then the shouts beyond started.
“Shit, they come. Let’s go.” Footsteps receded and then the scene filled with Marines, corpsmen, and a lot of confusion. Someone kicked the camera and then it all went dark.
Axel sat there at his desk for what seemed like hours, though it was probably only minutes. Friendly fire. That’s what the report had said. But that camera was proof otherwise, wasn’t it? The contractors they’d protected had fired on them, executed the survivors. That wasn’t the work of friendly fire.
Shit. What did they want to keep quiet so badly that eleven Marines had to be summarily executed?
He was the last one alive. Was that why he was being targeted now? Did he know something about that day? Maybe he’d seen something.
Well, fuck.
He wasn’t a victim. He was a fucking witness.
17
Bea sat in the common room staring at the black screen of the TV. How had she fucked things up so royally? Sleeping with Axel was the least of her problems. She’d basically chased the guy away when she was supposed to be protecting him. But how did you protect a man that didn’t want it? Worse, that didn’t want to have anything to do with you because you couldn’t tell him the whole truth?
Something had been different yesterday… Something had flipped inside her and she hadn’t been able to be objective. All day long, she’d been able to relax and maybe for the first time in her life, she’d had fun. She’d wanted to be seen as who she was, instead of the killer she’d been all her life. But what if that was all she was?
Talking with Harry had made things worse.
That dull pain in her chest tightened around her heart, especially when she thought about Axel’s face when he said he was quitting. The anger in his voice, the fury in his eyes. He probably hated her now. She didn’t really blame him for it. She knew what she was. Yet… she didn’t want him to leave, and not because being with the Reapers was safer for him. No, on that, she was being entirely selfish.
Hardy and Allen came in first, their conversation slipping away as they saw her in the chair. Allen’s hard face gave nothing away, but did it ever? Really. The man was as hardcore as any of them. The only time she ever really saw any softness to the man was when he looked at Chris’s girlfriend, and that was more of a fatherly thing than anything else. Those two had some weird bond that even Chris didn’t understand. Jack had some hard edges to him, and she was more than happy to stay on the other side of the room from him. She had a feeling his hard edges would cut the shit out of her at the moment.
Didn’t they all have some hard edges though? They all had a past, though none of them were quite as squeaky clean as their illustrious leader. This fucking team was a hodge-podge of nightmares, herself included. Why she had deluded herself into thinking that she should have even a modicum of normalcy was beyond her.
And now, Axel had seen just a little bit of those nightmares in her, even if he didn’t know the real specifics.
“Where’s Levi?” She asked.
“Here,” Jordan said as he came into the room. He was his normal cheerful self as he plopped on the couch and put his feet on the coffee table. “Why are we meeting in here?”
“Nathan is in the briefing room on a call,” Hardy replied.
“Doesn’t he have his own stuff to play with?”
“Yeah, us,” Jack replied.
“Sierra?”
“Yes, Agent Li?” The feminine voice was loud enough to stop their conversation.
They all focused on Bea, which made her heart pound just a little harder.
“Pull up the files on Genevieve Rochelle, please.”
She smacked Levi’s feet off the coffee table and pressed the release button underneath the table. The top slid open, emitting the projector light from underneath. Text, pictures, and maps filled the area in the middle of the room.
She stared at the pictures. She hadn’t thought about the woman who’d raised her in a long time. She focused on one picture. It looked like it was from Paris a few years ago. Genevieve was dressed to the nines, as she always was outside of the job, her blonde hair swept up and away from her face. A smile, filled with bleach-white teeth transformed her mentor’s face into something that wasn’t dangerous, that wasn’t a killer’s expression. Her arm was out, like she was about to greet someone.
“Who is she?” Hardy broke the silence.
“She’s me. Or… maybe I’m her.” All three of her teammates wore identical expressions of confusion. It made that pain in her chest sharper, deeper. “Genevieve Rochelle picked me up out of the streets when I was twelve. She taught me everything. I learned how to steal shit first, then how to con and lie my way through life, then how to kill. I was on a job for her when I was recruited by Nathan.” She took a breath. “I couldn’t kill the target.”
“Bea—” Jordan started.
“Wait,” she said. “I’m not the only one she ever picked up. There have been many over the years. We were all very loyal to her. She was very good at conning us too. It wasn’t until I was in that bedroom, staring down at a six-year-old child that I even considered not doing what she asked of me. My hesitation almost cost me my life. I was discovered in that bedroom, they chased me until I was hanging off the edge of a building. That’s when I met Nathan.”
“We all have pasts, Bea. What does this have to do with the guy downstairs?”
“Harry is like me. He’s one of hers. He’s a killer, a thief… you name it, he’s done it. And he’s loyal to her.”