by Jaime Rush
He chuckled at Eric’s rule against sexual involvement—until he thought about his offer to sate her hunger. Chucklehead. And that reminded him of kissing Zoe the night before. He’d wanted to teach her a lesson, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. As soon as his mouth touched those bee-stung lips he’d been dreaming about, logic fled. It was all he could do to pull back. One kiss, teach her a lesson or something like that, and then out again. As his tongue did its own thing, he wanted to tear off that sexy little tank top and get good and sweaty on the couch.
He glanced down. Good job, Rand, give yourself a stiffie.
Eric was right. Caring about any of them meant a brain tangle, and none of them could afford that. From now on, no flirting, kissing, or stiffies. Focus on what you’re doing. He watched Lucas and Amy talk to Braden.
What the…?
Rand’s muscles locked as Zoe stalked across the street. Through his binoculars he watched her make a scene. What the hell was she doing? She was supposed to be over there in her safe hiding spot, sticking to the plan, not pummeling Braden.
He time-shot forward ten seconds. Braden grabbed her, his arm locking around her neck. It felt like someone reached into Rand’s chest and tore out his heart. He couldn’t breathe.
His body tensed to rush forward. Stop. If this is a setup, he’s not the only enemy around. You won’t help them by getting shot.
He helplessly watched the scene unfold as he’d seen it. The guy had a gun. Rand couldn’t see it, but he knew that was why Amy and Lucas were going inside the house.
The door closed.
She-it.
His phone vibrated.
He crept toward Eric’s hiding spot behind a company van that was parked in front of the next building. He time-shot forward again. A bullet tore through Eric’s shoulder.
“Eric, get down!”
Rand heard the bullet hit the metal building a few yards away. The guy was using a silencer. Had to be; the gun was too quiet. A shadow moved to his right several yards behind him. He had someone on his tail, too, and he’d just given away his position. He fled to the end of the hedges. A silhouette slipped around the corner of the building. His gaze went to the house across the street. Damn, he needed to get over there.
Petra rang his phone. “I just heard a shot coming from the house!”
Zoe!
A bullet whizzed by him. He had to focus, to stay alive if he was going to be able to help them. He raced across a small expanse of asphalt and dropped down next to the van Eric had been hiding behind. His pursuer wasn’t a big guy, but he was fast. Mouselike footsteps tracked him.
Rand edged the building to stay in the shadows and ducked behind a bush at the street corner. His finger shook as it poised over the trigger.
Kill or be killed.
Eric called the person on his chain: Petra. “Get back to the car. We’re not leaving you behind this time.”
“Okay. But Eric, there was a shot inside the house.”
“Maybe it was one of us.” He disconnected and crept closer to the street. If it was one of them, they’d be leaving the house by now.
A shadow raced across the street toward the house. He narrowed his eyes, imagining the man going up in flames. Wait. What if he set Rand on fire? Dammit, he couldn’t take that chance.
He got to the corner of the building. A car drove down the street, two women at the wheel. Not the enemy. Eric crossed the street, using the passing car as cover.
He crouched next to the first house on the street, surveying for enemies. A man crossed the street roughly in the same place he had. His pursuer. Setting him aflame would definitely get the neighbors’ attention, though. He shot at him, and the man fell. Eric sprinted around to the back of the first two houses on the block, approaching Braden’s house from the rear.
He didn’t know whether the man in Braden’s house was an enemy Offspring or a CIA guy.
Eric.
He jerked at his name. Cold dread prickled his skin. Not someone nearby, but someone in his head. Just like at the asylum.
Get out of my head, you asshole.
He couldn’t let the enemy Offspring get the best of him this time. He had to keep control.
Control? Funny you should say that, Eric. You have no control.
He shook his head, trying to fling away the voice, and crept along the back side of the property. Did they know where he was? Not exactly, or he’d already be dead.
He wanted the guy who’d tapped into his head, wanted to crush his throat in his hands. For now he’d have to settle for the regular guys. He looked in the window and saw Lucas slowly getting up from the floor. A tall, dark-haired man directed him to the couch where Amy and Zoe sat. Lucas had blood on his temple, but he was moving, so it couldn’t be a bullet wound.
He focused on the guy holding the gun on his people. Burn, baby, burn.
No fire, Eric. Go in gun blazing, blow the guy away.
He looked at the gun in his hand. He could always use his pyrokinesis as backup.
A sound snapped his head to attention.
CHAPTER 14
R
and heard a shot and saw a man drop in the street. Not a silenced gun. One of theirs, then. The guy started crawling in the opposite direction, injured but not mortally. Quick and Mousy cursed and ran over to him in a crouch. Rand couldn’t make out what they were saying. He aimed the gun at his pursuer as he helped the injured man. Shoot the guy! Do it.
His finger trembled. A dog barked.
He’s one of the bad guys. Take him down.
His arm faltered. Shooting a guy in the back…man, he just couldn’t do it. The guy sprinted across the street toward the residential side. No way could Rand take the chance of killing some innocent bystander.
Once the guy disappeared into the shadows, Rand time-shot ahead. All clear. He followed the guy. Circling around, he crept up to the rear door of the house. He wasn’t sure if his heart was thudding from running or fear. He didn’t have time for fear.
Lights had come on in two houses after the gunshot. One shot could be a car backfiring. Still, someone might call the police. They had to clear out before the cops arrived.
He couldn’t see movement, but he heard the guy creeping through the backyard. He had to get rid of him. He patted the ground and found something that felt like a small rock.
Quick and Mousy walked up the steps to the back door. He opened the door and peered inside, closed it. He looked at the bushes surrounding the rear of the house: a perfect hiding spot. Rand’s body tensed as the guy came closer. One step. Two. With a flick of his finger, Rand sent the rock behind Quick and Mousy, who turned at the sound.
Rand leapt out and coldcocked him with the side of his gun. He grabbed him before he hit the ground so he wouldn’t make any sound but let him drop the last few inches. He couldn’t risk the sound of another gunshot that might disable the guy in a better way, so he slammed the gun to the side of his head again. Then he grabbed his gun.
He looked up to see a gun pointed at him.
He looked farther up to meet the eyes of the guy who was going to trash him—and let out a soft laugh of relief. The gun dropped several inches. Eric.
Eric nodded toward the guy on the ground. “Good job. They’re inside. There’s only one guy that I can see. I’m going in the front.”
“I’ll go in this way, cover you from the back.”
Eric ran around the corner. Rand launched up the steps to the door. Holding his breath, he turned the knob and stepped inside. A second later, Eric threw open the front door, his gun pointed at the guy holding the gun on Zoe, Amy, and Lucas. It was a standoff. The Braden imposter wasn’t backing down.
“Drop the gun!” Eric shouted.
“Pull the trigger, and I’ll take at least one of them with me.”
Rand slunk down the hallway. The three on the couch came into view, and the sight of Zoe at gunpoint nearly caved him in. She looked up, caught his gaze, and her fear tore him
apart. She averted her gaze so as not to give him away. He raised his gun to their captor. This guy he would shoot.
“No!” Eric’s face contorted. Slowly, the hand holding the gun shifted. His arm trembled, his teeth gnashed together. “No,” he growled.
What the hell?
His head twitched, like it had in the asylum hallway when he said someone had gotten into his mind. His arm kept moving, away from the enemy and toward…Zoe, Lucas, and Amy.
“I won’t…” he gritted out. “I won’t do it.”
The guy was in his head again. The enemy Offspring was telling Eric to kill his comrades. Rand raised his gun, and God help him, aimed it at Eric. His stomach churned as he watched Eric fight what looked like a ghost.
Even though everyone in the living room watched in horror and confusion, the enemy kept his gun aimed at the three on the couch. “What’s he doing?” he asked.
No one answered.
Eric turned his hand inward, his whole arm shaking. His eyes bulged in horror.
Lucas shouted, “Eric…come out of it! Dammit, Eric!”
The Braden imposter shoved his gun closer to Lucas. “Shut up.”
Rand couldn’t say anything without giving away his presence. He kept his gun aimed at Eric, fighting a similar battle. Could he hit Eric’s gun?
Eric pulled the gun around, inch by inch, until his intention washed over Rand in a cold wave. The barrel of the gun turned around, aimed right at Eric’s face. Rand shifted his arm to the right and shot the enemy, then raced toward Eric. He sailed through the air, aiming for the arm holding the gun.
He reached it, shoving it down. The gun went off. Rand landed against Eric, who collapsed to the floor. Amy’s and Zoe’s screams sounded as though they came from miles away. Blood gushed from Eric’s thigh. The bullet had hit an artery, likely fatal.
Rand dropped to the floor and pressed the bottom of his shirt against the wound. “Someone, get a towel!”
Amy ran into the kitchen.
Eric arched and groaned in pain. He was lucid enough to let out a string of curses.
“Stay calm, dude. Don’t move.”
Eric sucked in shallow breaths, his teeth gritted. “It’s just my leg. It’ll be fine.”
Rand wasn’t going to panic him by telling him the truth. He’d heard about that football player who’d been shot in the leg and died.
Lucas made a call on his cell phone, his voice breathless. “Petra, get to the house now. I can’t explain, just get here.” His voice cracked on those last words, his gaze on Eric.
Rand looked at Zoe, whose face was ashen as she also stared at Eric. “You all right?”
She only shook her head, not shifting her gaze. She was in shock.
Amy dropped down beside Rand and pressed the towel against the wound. “It’s too much blood!”
Rand’s shirt was soaked in it, and the spill on the hardwood floors kept growing despite the towel. Eric’s face was losing color by the second, turning an ashen gray.
Rand looked at the man he’d shot, draped over a trunk in the living room, blood pooling beneath him. His stomach heaved.
No time for that.
He did take the time to grab the imposter’s guns and jam them into his waistband. The Camry screeched up the driveway.
Eric tried to sit up, but his head wobbled, and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. Rand grabbed him before he hit the floor. “We lift him on the count of three.”
Lucas grabbed hold of Eric’s legs, Zoe took some of the weight from the middle, and Rand positioned his hands beneath Eric’s shoulders. “Onetwothree!”
They hoisted him up. Rand’s wobbly legs staggered beneath the weight, but he gained his balance and pushed on. Amy kept the towel pressed against the wound as they carried him out the door.
Zoe said, “His skin is cold and clammy.”
Petra met them halfway down the sidewalk. “Put him in the back! I’ll work on him.”
Luckily, the fence going up both sides of Braden’s property shielded them from view.
Petra helped support Eric’s weight the rest of the way to the car. “He’s having trouble breathing! Hurry!”
She was right. His breathing was coming in shallow pants.
Once they had him laid out on the seat, Rand closed the door. He shoved two guns at Lucas. “I took these from the CIA dudes. We’ve got to get out of here. I’ll meet you at the shelter.”
Zoe grabbed his arm, squeezing tight. “I’m going with you.”
Seeing that she teetered on the edge, he took her hand, and they ran across the front yard and the street.
More lights blinked on in the surrounding houses. Two gunshots had definitely gotten their attention.
The Camry screeched away as he and Zoe reached Blue’s hiding spot. No time for helmets. He jumped on, and she climbed on behind him, holding on so tight it hurt. He started the bike and raced off.
He rode as fast as he could and still maintain control. He felt spasms moving through Zoe’s body. He couldn’t tell whether she was crying or what. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, pushing everything down inside him: the horror of shooting a man, seeing Eric shoot himself, and the bone-deep need to stop and hold Zoe.
He shouldn’t be here. Dammit, he shouldn’t be in this situation, having to shoot people, running for his life, wanting to scram and wanting to pull Zoe and the rest of them closer.
He rode for several minutes, trying to orient himself. Her tremors intensified. He had to stop; she was going to fall off the bike. Where was the park he’d found when he was wasting time before returning to the tomb? He spotted the sign for Truxtun Park. He turned into a deserted parking lot near the tennis courts. The lights were on, but no one else was there.
As soon as he stopped the bike, she jumped off and ran toward an opening in the woods.
“She-it.” He killed the engine, put down the kickstand, and raced after her. In the lights, he could see that it was a path, but once he entered the woods, it was barely discernible. So was she, in her black pants and dark shirt, which had been the point. He followed the sound of her raspy breaths.
“Zoe! Dammit, what are you doing?”
His chest already hurt; the last thing he needed was physical exertion. But here he was, because he couldn’t let her get lost or hurt. He heard her gasps and footsteps ahead. The girl could run, but he was faster.
That’s what you do, Rand. You run, a woman’s voice from the past reminded him.
He closed the gap, reached out, and grazed her shoulder. “Zoe! Stop already!”
“No.”
The fear and emotion he heard in that one word did another number on him. He stepped up his pace and grabbed her around her waist. They both stumbled, but he fought to hold their balance. He sure as hell didn’t want to tackle her twice.
Pinecones whizzed past him. Her crazy energy. She wriggled, pushing away from him. “I can’t do this! I need to get away. Please let me go.”
He held on tighter, closing his eyes at the feel of her trembling body and the sound of tears in her voice. “No.”
She was too tired to really put up much of a fight, but she was giving it her best. “I need to be alone. I can’t…can’t…” She disintegrated into sobs.
He pressed her face to his chest. “It’s okay, babe.” Tears. They ripped through him. He wanted to take them away, wanted to shush her, but he couldn’t do either. “I know. I know.”
He did know. He lifted his face to a break in the trees and the night sky, stroking her back and whispering, “I know,” over and over, lost in the images of the last hour: Zoe getting grabbed by that thug. Being held hostage at gunpoint. He’d almost lost her, almost lost all of the Rogues.
He didn’t even realize he’d started kissing her hair between words. Comforting kisses, calming kisses, along her hairline, across her cheek as she looked up at him. The taste of salt, the moisture of her tears, and the softness of her mouth. The little sound she made, a whimper, then a groan.
Suddenly they weren’t comforting kisses anymore. They were desperate kisses, and hell, he was as desperate as she was. Desperate to feel alive, to taste something they’d nearly lost. She gripped his face in her hands and kissed his chin, his cheeks, eyes and the spike in his brow…
“Zoe,” he groaned. We shouldn’t be doing this. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong reason.
Instead of saying that, he trailed his fingers into her thick hair and crushed her close for another kiss. He could lose himself in that lush mouth of hers, and God help him, he was. She pulled off his shirt, then hers. The moonlight hit her pale skin and dark lace bra, reminding him of every sexy vampire he’d ever read about. Especially with her black hair. He tore off the bra and sucked her puckered nipples. She groaned, her fingers kneading his scalp. “Rand…more…more.”
He tasted the sheen of sweat on her skin and needed to taste more of her. He nibbled the swell of her breasts and trailed his tongue over the soft skin, all around the edges, into the indent between her breasts and over to the other one. He slid down to his knees, trailing his tongue down her stomach as he went. His hands slid down to her sweet ass, squeezing her the way she’d done to him. He dipped his tongue into her belly button and circled the perimeter.
He wanted to rip down her pants and bury his face in her mound and feel her bare ass and bury himself inside her, too. He heard her soft, rapid breaths, felt her fingers tensing in his hair.
Dude, don’t do this. It’s wrong.
He rubbed his face against the front of her pants, fighting sensibility.
I need this, too. Remember, I’m a selfish son of a bitch.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, reining in the explosive energy tearing through him. He fought to remain still, to not stroke her or move his face or anything.
“What?” she whispered, fear back in her voice.
God, she thought he’d heard something.
He looked up at her. He couldn’t see her face for the moonlight behind her. “We can’t do this.” Borrowing from his conscience, he said, “Wrong time, wrong place, wrong reason.”