by S. M. Butler
Her world spun as he dropped her onto the bed. His hands wrenched the rest of her blouse open, the last remaining buttons flying everywhere and then he pulled the cups of her bra down and bit into her nipple, soothing it with his tongue before his teeth scraped the sensitive skin again.
She screamed, arched her back, but he grabbed her wrists together in one hand and held her stomach down with his other. Then he laved over her breasts for what seemed like forever, the pleasure mounting just high enough to drive her insane.
Then he lifted away, releasing her. “Clothes off. Now.”
She rushed to comply, shimmying off the remains of her blouse, her skirt, and the bra. When she was naked, she glanced at him as he stroked his hard cock for her. His body was huge, from his wide shoulders down to the massive cock he stroked. The clothes he wore downplayed just how large of a man he was. His shoulders were taut, his arms bulging as he moved his hand over that long cock.
She could have watched him do that forever. Her fingers drifted down to her core, sliding into the wetness. He shook his head. “No. You don’t come until I say you do.”
He leaned over to the nightstand and pulled out a blue square. He never took his eyes off her as he ripped it open and rolled the condom on his cock. Then he leaned over her, his large arms rippling with strength. Her pale skin was in direct contrast with his, though as she touched his chest, ran her fingers down his body, she reveled at the smoothness of him.
He didn’t say a word as he dipped his head down, taking her mouth with such dominance she moaned against his lips. His tongue thrust into her, like she wanted his cock to do. She reached between them, stroking him as she angled his entry into her body.
He broke the kiss with a loud moan as she slid the tip of him along her sex.
“You sure?” he asked. “I know what I said, but it’s your choice.”
“I want you inside me,” she whispered against his mouth, but it was far more demanding than she thought she was capable of.
He positioned himself between her legs and she guided his head into her body. She arched her back as he slid so deep, so fucking deep she thought she was going to split into two. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.
~*~*~
Jesus, he’d never felt anything like Bridget before. No other woman compared even the slightest. She was tight and hot like raw fire. He was so glad he hadn’t taken her that first time, when he’d wanted to mount her from behind and fuck her over the table. Because this was so much better, so much hotter.
He was starved for her.
He pulled back and slid in. Repeated that. Pulling almost all the way out, then pushing into her as she adjusted to his girth. His body wanted to take over, to slam into her like a rutting animal, but he kept the penetration slow and easy, steady.
Her impatience spurred him on, made him want to piston those hips into her delicate flesh, but he was not a weak man. He pressed his lips against hers, hard and desperate to feel her all over him. She complied, her legs twisted at the ankles behind him, against his ass as she urged him back inside her.
He palmed her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her breasts as he straightened his back to look at all of her while his cock pressed into her body. Fuck, he almost lost anything semblance of control as she arched her back, her breasts bouncing in time with his thrusts. Such beautiful round orbs. He could have spent hours sucking and licking those breasts.
He slid his hand to her clit, rubbing it in circles while she writhed on the sheets of his bed. His control snapped as she came, his name on those sweet lips. He dropped to his elbows, sliding his arms under her arms and grabbing on to her shoulders from behind as he fucked her.
He pushed hard and she took everything he gave and asked for more. Her sweet moans and her nails digging into his back finally sent his orgasm tackling him from behind, as she screamed her way into her second climax.
Together, they went into a mutual free fall while he drove his cock into her body, and she milked every bit of his orgasm from him.
He’d wanted to last longer. He’d wanted to make it through another orgasm or two of hers before he had his. But as he dropped his head into her soft sunshine hair, his lips against her throat, he couldn’t regret any of it.
Slowly, he disengaged, holding the edge of the condom as he pulled out of her body. Both moaned in regret, but condoms were not meant for a second round. He pulled it off carefully as he walked to the bathroom and dropped it in the wastebasket.
When he came back, she was still in the same position she had been. He slipped onto the bed and pulled her against his chest, like if he held her there forever, the world would simply pass them by, and they’d never have to return to the world above them.
But that wasn’t how it worked, was it? He was still Nathan Hawk. She was still the sister to one of his Reapers. How could he subject Bridget to what her brother had become? What he’d done to the man after recruiting him? None of the Reapers were psychologically stable. It was something he looked for, but this one… this Reaper… he’d created him for Bridget. She’d wanted her brother safe and alive, not rotting in some French prison. This had been the only way to do it.
He still remembered the look on her face when he’d told her what Muldoon had done. The pain, the disappointment… he never wanted to see that on her face again.
Maybe that was the real reason why he kept her so separate from the rest of his secret empire. He didn’t want her to see him as he really was, as who he had become after his wife died. When it was just the two of them… he could pretend that he could be the man she wanted. The man she deserved.
22
Bea stopped when she heard her name, her hand going to her gun at the small of her back as she turned toward the voice.
Joanne Gardner waved her hand as she hurried down the sidewalk to her. She stopped just in front of her. “Hadn’t seen you around in a few days, sugar. Not since the festival.”
“I’ve been busy,” she said. “Working a lot.”
“Hmm… Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Joanne giggled. “It’s alright, sugar. The whole town is talking about you and Axel!”
“Me and Axel?” Bea parroted, confused.
“You guys look so happy at the festival. I admit, I was a little surprised, seeing as you don’t come out in town much.”
Bea blinked. “I—I…”
“Well, I have to get going. Mr. Gardner is waiting at home for me. It’s our date night.” She waved again and took off down the street. Bea stared after the woman. It was like getting hit by a tornado and left to pick up the pieces when these women spoke.
Shit, she was in way over her head. Now she had to contend with the townspeople too? It wasn’t enough that Axel was going to hate her when he finally realized what she was, but now the entire town would see their breakup. If it was really a breakup. How did you break up with someone you weren’t ever truly with?
An ache in her chest pulsed in time with her heart beat, but it was so much more than that. Was this guilt? Guilt that she was who she was, that she’d done what she had in her life? She had never claimed to be a saint. She was about as far from a saint as she could get.
Yup, she was definitely in way over her head.
As the tingle at the back of her neck started, Bea stopped. Gripping her gun at her side, she slid the strap off and lifted the weapon out of its sheath. Then she turned, raising up the gun with one flawless move.
“Beatrice Li. I was under the impression you were dead.”
Bea stared at the woman in front of her. Genevieve hadn’t changed much, not even the faint French accent. Or the sly smile that hinted at so much more knowledge than she had. Her hair had changed to a platinum blonde color, her eyes still that bright green they always were. But the high fashion from that photo was gone, replaced by a black, long-sleeved collared shirt worn loosely, and tight black slacks that covered leather work boots. This was the real Genevieve.
“I wished you were dead for months,” Bea heard herself say. “What are you doing here, Genevieve?”
Genevieve didn’t appear to have a weapon, but Bea knew better than that. Even if she hadn’t shown it yet, Genevieve was always armed.
The woman smiled. “Obviously, for work. But imagine my surprise when my work led me to you. Rumor had it you fell off a building and plunged to a fiery death. Yet here you are.” The woman’s eyes moved up and down once on Bea. “Not even a scar on you.”
Bea didn’t move, didn’t twitch. She trained her weapon on the woman and stayed her course. “You can’t have him, Genevieve. I don’t care who you’re working for, you can’t have Axel Martinez.”
Genevieve smiled and put her hand over her chest. “Yes, I admit, I almost backed out of the deal when I found out you were protecting him and had some sort of… connection with him. You’ve lost so much in your life… I don’t want to be the one that causes you more pain.” She paused, and Bea knew better than to say anything in that moment. The woman licked her lips as if she were testing out her next words before she said them. “But I’ve never backed out of a job. I can’t start now, even for Beatrice Li.”
“Please don’t,” Bea heard herself whisper. “Don’t make me kill you.”
Genevieve smiled again. “My lovely Beatrice… I named you, I taught you, I fed you… It seems only fitting that as I was your beginning, I should be your end.”
Bea fired her weapon, the suppressor fitted on it holding the boom of the gun at bay even as the bullet shot out of the barrel. But Genevieve was not unprepared, she sunk into a squat, kicking one leg out for balance as something slammed into Bea’s shoulder.
Bea stumbled back. She glanced down at her shoulder as she dove for cover behind a car. A fucking throwing star.
“A throwing star? Really?” Bea heard herself say.
Genevieve laughed, a lovely melodious sound that chilled Bea straight to her bones. “I love the classics.”
Something ricocheted off the metal of the car and dug into the brick wall of the bank building. Shit. She was using a suppressor too.
“I don’t lose, Beatrice,” the lovely voice said. “You know that.”
She pulled that star out of her flesh with a hard wince of pain. “Fuck!” She dropped the thing to the ground with a clang. Warm blood slid down her arm, but at least it didn’t feel like another slice of her arm when she moved. No, it was just agonizing pain and the lightheaded feeling of losing blood.
“Everything will be just fine. I’ll make it quick for you.”
“Go fuck yourself, Genevieve.” She peeked out over the hood of the car and an answering gunshot had her ducking beneath it again. That hadn’t come in the same direction as Genevieve’s voice. Which meant she had a partner out there, keeping her pinned behind a car. So, the end goal wasn’t to kill her, just keep her contained.
She pulled out her cell phone, her hand shaking as she dialed. Then the phone was shot right out of her hands, the bullet slamming into the small device, shattering it in her hands. She let go and covered her face in reflex to avoid getting glass in her eyes.
“Oh, Beatrice. No calls for help. And I’m offended that you would try, really.” The voice was closer now, which was the point of the sniper shooting at her, wasn’t it? To keep her there, to keep her secluded from protecting her charge. This was the play. Maybe she didn’t know about the other Reapers. Maybe she thought Bea was doing this on her own. But Genevieve wasn’t that dumb. She’d know Bea would have backup. Shit, Genevieve had taught her that, hadn’t she?
There was no way out of this, not without making a very big mess on the street. And the last thing the Reapers needed was a big mess in a small town that led back to them.
Genevieve rounded the corner of the car, a small gun in her hands. Bea put up her hands, her finger off the trigger of her gun. Her shoulder raged in pain, making her arm shake. She looked up as Genevieve stepped toward her, at the woman who had been more mother to her than the woman that birthed her. Then laughter bubbled up out of her. Genevieve stopped, her face inquisitive.
“You won’t get Axel this way.”
The other Reapers would never let it happen.
Genevieve lowered her gun and knelt beside her. “You don’t think so?”
Bea’s head spun as the blood loss took hold. “I know so. I told him what I was, what I am.”
Genevieve didn’t seem phased. “It won’t matter. He has feelings for you. He will come.”
Another shadow passed over them and Genevieve looked up. Bea followed her gaze up to a shadow of a man. His height was frighteningly tall, way past tall and into Godzilla territory, or at least that’s what it felt like from her precarious position on the ground.
“Beatrice, this is Liam.”
His hair was dark and long, falling over intense green eyes. A long scar from the tip of his right eyebrow down the side of his face tightened the skin on his face enough that it pulled all his features just a little bit too much to be natural.
The mammoth of a man bent over and took her gun. She didn’t fight him. She really didn’t have the strength and she just didn’t have the will anymore. Without her in the way, Genevieve would face the rest of her team before she could get Axel, and she was pretty confident that she’d never get past them. It was better this way.
Liam dropped the mag and emptied the chamber before he pocketed both pieces and the round that had been in the chamber.
Bea pressed her good hand against her bleeding shoulder and looked back at Genevieve. “What happens now?”
“Time to come home, Beatrice,” Genevieve said, simply, “and face the consequences.”
Bea nodded as exhaustion took hold of her. “Right. Of course.”
As Liam bent over to grab her, he slung her over his shoulder like she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. The change in elevation and blood flow through her vision into a tail spin as they walked to a nearby vehicle. Deposited into the trunk, she glanced up at the face of her new captor.
“She can’t own you forever,” she whispered, her voice weak. “Her hold on you is only as strong as you make it.”
His lips tightened, which was the only indication he’d heard her. Then the trunk door slammed down and into the darkness she fell.
~*~*~
Axel stared at the map, not really seeing the different locations that he’d put there on the screen himself. His brain was on overload, completely lost to anything reasonable. Maybe he was just exhausted. He didn’t even know how long he’d been in this room. Like the briefing room, it had three large screens that covered one wall, but instead of the U-shaped table, there were four consoles on standing desks scattered around the room with a wall of electronics behind them. He’d dove headfirst straight into the Star Trek rabbit hole, complete with talking computer.
But if he was honest with himself, the computer had a pretty hot voice, complete with a British accent. He wondered if the AI had a body too, one that was petite and muscular, with an ass to die for.
Fuck.
“This isn’t working,” Axel stood up, his back cracking with the movement.
Chris looked up at him from his seat. “Do you have a better idea?”
Oh, right. He said that out loud. He sighed. “Sorry, I just… I can’t concentrate on this bullshit anymore. I need to know who these people are.”
Chris looked away, his stormy eyes going to the big screens. “Do you know that tattoo?” Chris nodded his head toward the picture of the man with the forearm tattoo.
Axel shook his head, even as he tried to get a better look at it. His only memory of the thing was seeing it on the video. He couldn’t even remember seeing it during the shooting, though that wasn’t surprising. His memory of the shooting was pretty faded also, though he would remember the screams for the rest of his life as if they had happened five minutes ago.
“It’s a Russian tattoo. It’s not well-known, which was why that guy could hang around a
military installation under the guise of a contractor without anyone realizing who he was. Only top brass would have recognized it and that’s if they saw it. These guys were covering them up.” Chris leaned back in his chair. “I’ve had Sierra running facial recognition on all those guys from your video, and so far, nothing. These fuckers… They don’t exist.”
“Like Russian versions of you?”
Chris shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“What about Nathan?” Axel asked. “He has some serious connections. Maybe he can…”
“Nathan hasn’t been picking up my phone calls,” Chris said flatly. The tension in his shoulders made Axel sink into his seat again.
“Maybe I should try,” Axel said.
Chris looked like he was about to answer but when his mouth opened, nothing came out. Then it shut with a click of his teeth. “I’ll try him again in a bit.”
Axel started pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. He was missing something, something that would tie what happened to him with what was happening now. It wasn’t enough that he was a witness to a crime nine years ago. Something else was going on that they didn’t see that would be impacted by him knowing about it.
His head shot up and toward Chris. “Docks!”
“Docks?” Chris shook his head. “We’re hours from the water here.” He frowned. “What are you thinking?”
“Okay, think about it. Those containers they were guarding,” Axel leaned over the nearest standing desk and pointed toward the pictures they’d taken from the video. “They’re the kind you load on a container ship. So, they had to go somewhere after that… after what happened. Where did they go?”
Chris leaned forward toward the screen, as if he could pull the answers out himself. “Sierra, can you isolate the container numbers from that video?”
“I’ll analyze the video right away, Agent Hardy. It may take some time.”
“That’s fine,” Chris said as he stood up. He faced Axel. “We should get something to eat while she works on that.”