Exposure (The Fringe Book 2)

by Tarah Benner

“It matters to me,” I growl.

  “But it doesn’t matter to me anymore!” she yells. “That’s the problem. I need some reason . . . some reason to keep me going.”

  “Then find one,” I growl, shaking her shoulders. “Do it for Celdon or Sawyer or . . . Jesus, Harper. Do it for me. I need you!”

  She just stares at me in shock, her face frozen in pain and understanding.

  I don’t know who breaks first. Harper puts a hand on my chest, though whether she wants to push me away or bring me closer, I’m not quite sure. At the same time, I reach up and cup her face with both hands.

  Her skin is unbelievably soft, and those gray eyes are burning so fiercely that my fingers have a mind of their own. They work into the lose remnants of her ponytail and bring her lips to mine.

  As soon as I taste her, I know I won’t be able to stop. This is nothing like the tentative kiss she gave me that night on the observation deck. I’ve replayed that kiss over and over, and this is something else entirely.

  Her lips are hot and just as soft as I remember, but they’re more demanding this time. She isn’t asking for permission. She’s giving in to some long-buried need that mirrors mine exactly.

  Unrestrained panic and joy flare through me, igniting every nerve in my body.

  We’ve been teetering on the edge of this for weeks, and I just jumped off the fucking cliff.

  I yank the tie out of her ponytail so I can thrust my hands into her silky curtain of hair. I drag my fingers through it, tugging gently as I explore her mouth.

  I can’t believe this is happening, but I don’t question it.

  Harper’s kisses are just as bold and intense as her fighting. She isn’t like any other girl. She doesn’t just give in to it; she pulls me toward her and takes what she wants. She bites my lip gently, and her tongue begs for entry into my mouth.

  I open my lips for her, and she takes it up a notch. Her hands trail up my chest, leaving goose bumps in their wake. She drags her fingers through my hair, nails skimming my scalp.

  I moan and move on to her neck, tasting her and trying to commit her scent to memory: a heady vanilla mixed with a slight tang of sweat.

  As I work my way down to her collar bone, she lets out a little whimper that almost sends me over the edge. She tips her head back to give me better access, and I feel it the second she lets go.

  Her fist bunches in my shirt, pulling me closer, and the momentum knocks us both into the punching bag as we slam into the wall. She wraps herself around me, and I hoist her up against the wall using my good leg for leverage.

  Once every inch of her is pressed against me, I can barely restrain myself. My hand slips up the bottom of her tank top and makes contact with her warm flesh. She pulls me even closer, and my fingers glide over the soft skin below her ribs. She shivers, but then her lips drop down to my neck, and my hands climb up hungrily.

  She trails kisses up my jaw, and when her teeth graze my earlobe, I want her so bad it hurts. I want to rip off her clothes and maul her right here, but a distant little voice reminds me that I can’t.

  Reality slowly catches up to my brain.

  I can’t have her right here. I can’t have her at all.

  Tomorrow, we’ll be going out into the Fringe.

  Harper senses my hesitation, and her lips find mine once again. Her next kiss is slower, gentle, lingering. She swirls her tongue around mine and sucks lazily on my bottom lip.

  Her fingers brush the stubble on my cheek, and I grab her face to draw out our last kiss.

  One of my hands is still in her hair. The other is teasing the curve of her breast under her sports bra. Her hips are flush against mine, and I can feel her body radiating warmth.

  I don’t want to push her away and tell her it was a mistake. It wasn’t a mistake so much as a moment of weakness, and I want to let her make me weak all over.

  She already knows what I haven’t said. When she pulls away and meets my gaze with those big, beautiful eyes, I know I don’t have to apologize or explain.

  When I loosen my grip, she unhooks herself and slides down the wall, back onto her feet.

  There’s a long moment of silence as we both just stare at each other. Her hands are resting on my chest, and one of mine is still tucked in her shirt. It isn’t awkward or uncomfortable; we’re just standing there because neither of us wants to break the spell.

  I know it has to be me. I’m the one who made a fatal slipup. I’m her commanding officer, for Christ’s sake.

  I drag in a shaky breath and release her, carefully brushing away a long lock of raven hair.

  “Pack twice as much food and water as last time,” I say. My voice sounds rougher than usual. “I’ll see you at oh-six hundred.”

  She gives me a shaky nod and then glances down at her feet.

  I turn to leave but stop after a few steps. I can’t turn to look at her, or I’ll lose all my resolve not to scoop her up and carry her back to my bed.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Harper. You just have to keep fighting.”

  seventeen

  Harper

  I’m in a complete daze as I load my rucksack for the mission and drag myself to dinner.

  I don’t watch where I’m going. I don’t taste the food. I don’t even know what I’m eating.

  All I can think about is the memory of Eli’s lips on mine. He left his delicious scent all over me, and I can still feel him everywhere.

  This was nothing like the first time we kissed in his compartment. That had escalated quickly, too, but it had been an act for Constance.

  At least it started out that way.

  When I kissed him on the observation deck, that had been a lapse in judgment — more of a question than a kiss — and Eli had pushed me away.

  This time, I know he kissed me. Or maybe we kissed each other, but there was no misinterpreting that burning hunger in him.

  I’m having thoughts I shouldn’t be, and it’s a good thing he stopped when he did. I wouldn’t have stopped. He would have had me half naked before my brain realized we probably shouldn’t have sex in the training center — or at all.

  Now I understand why relationships among Recon operatives are forbidden. Our moments of weakness have definitely complicated our relationship. And instead of thinking about tomorrow, I’m thinking about Eli’s rough, calloused hands exploring my body.

  I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow and awake before my alarm even goes off. I get dressed, throw my rucksack over my shoulder, and head up to the ground level for a quick breakfast.

  When I leave the canteen and reach the airlock doors, I’m not surprised to find Eli already waiting there with his back to me. He turns around when he hears my footsteps, and his eyebrows shoot up as though he completely forgot who would be accompanying him.

  I attempt a small smile, but the combination of nerves and dread make it difficult. To my immense surprise, he breaks into an easy grin I rarely get to see, and my heart practically combusts.

  “Did you pack enough supplies?” he asks in a serious voice.

  I smile for real this time. I should have known that getting hot and heavy in the training center wouldn’t stop him from slipping back into serious lieutenant mode.

  “Yeah.”

  In typical Eli fashion, he doesn’t seem prepared to take my word for it.

  In one quick motion that reminds me of his amazing make-out skills, Eli spins me around and unzips my rucksack. He rifles around in my bag, counting meal packets and hefting the bag of water, and I force myself to breathe normally as he manhandles me.

  After a few seconds, he seems satisfied. He zips up my bag and clears his throat as he spins me back around.

  “I grabbed your gun from the weapons room,” he says, pulling a rifle off his right shoulder and fitting it over mine. The weight of it brings the dread creeping back, but I just nod.

  Seconds later, Jayden whips around the corner in her too-tight uniform. She looks cold and ster
n with her hair in a tight bun, and the style only accentuates her pinched features. Remy isn’t with her.

  She reads us the deployment disclosure in a crisp, perfunctory voice, and Eli and I answer with a flat “I do.”

  “Remember that we have operatives patrolling the cleared zone,” she says. “Don’t shoot any of our people.”

  “Right,” says Eli tersely, reaching around to pull on his mask. I match his movements, and when the mask suctions to my face, my heart rate speeds up automatically.

  Jayden punches in the door code, and I realize I’m wholly unprepared for this mission — physically and mentally. I haven’t had time to resign myself to the possibility that I could die out there . . . or that Eli could.

  But there’s no time. We step into the chamber, the doors close, and the surly ExCon man punches in the next code.

  It’s still dark out on the Fringe, but I feel the oppressive expanse of nothingness as soon as the doors open.

  Eli glances over at me. To anyone else, it would just seem like a casual look, but I understand Eli well enough to know he’s asking if I’m ready.

  I nod and step outside, instantly on high alert for any movement in my periphery. It’s still too dark to see more than a few feet in front of me, which I really don’t like.

  As soon as the airlock doors hiss shut behind us, Eli reaches over and clicks something on the top of my mask. Green light illuminates the ground in front of me, which is how other Recon operatives will identify us in the dark.

  Eli leads us toward the cleared zone, moving a little slower than usual on his bad leg. I look for other Recon people, but I don’t see a single green light out in the desert.

  After half an hour, Eli slows to a stop and checks his interface. We’ve almost reached the perimeter, so I turn mine on, too.

  The mines light up like a Christmas tree, and we navigate around them in silence.

  Eli is tense, but he seems less on edge than the last time he brought me out. Maybe he’s no longer worried that I’m going to have a meltdown since I got it out of my system last night.

  Whatever the reason, I want him to see me as a legitimate partner, not a burden.

  But as soon as we clear the mines, his posture changes completely. He rolls his shoulders and drops his weight a little lower toward the ground. I know he’s thinking about mines the drifters may have reburied and the ambush we faced last time. My skin is crawling with nerves.

  The sun is peeking up over the horizon now, rendering our green lights unnecessary. I feel better that I can see, but it also means we’ll be an easier target for the drifters.

  I match my breaths to Eli’s to slow my racing heart and keep scanning the horizon for potential snipers. It takes much longer than last time to cover the same distance since we’re walking instead of running from gunfire.

  When we finally reach the town, my wariness has reached honest-to-god panic. It seems strange that we’ve gotten this far without being accosted.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think the town was completely deserted. The dusty cars are lined up like empty cans along the road, and the now familiar sign for Shell Street seems to be guiding us along a private tour. Dave’s Diner looks especially bleak with its faded red sign and shredded awning.

  The air is disturbingly breezeless. All I can hear is the slight scuff of our feet on the cracked pavement and the unearthly sounds of air coming through our masks.

  Eli jerks his head toward the mini mart, and I copy his movements as he hugs the brick wall and moves down the block at a shuffle. He must feel just as uneasy as I do, but he still looks in control.

  As we move down the street, my fear is downgraded to alertness. Since we’re not in any immediate danger, I’m beginning to notice the blistering heat and my own parched throat.

  I don’t bother asking Eli if we can stop for a drink, though. Something in the back of my mind is still screaming at me to stay on high alert. Jayden told us the drifters would be here, which means the situation is probably even more dangerous than she let on.

  We continue our patrol of the tiny town, and it takes nearly an hour at our slow, careful pace. Every street we pass is clear, and the restaurant the drifters are using as their base looks deserted. There’s not a guard in sight, and I begin to feel paranoid that the radiation might have killed them all.

  We do one more sweep of the main road and duck into a little diner to regroup. It’s one of those ’50s-themed joints with tacky neon signs hanging in the windows and teal-and-black booths.

  As soon as we’re inside, I know why Eli picked this restaurant. Windows fill every wall from ceiling to booth, providing a panoramic view of the main part of town. The windows are intact — not a broken pane in sight — so I take the opportunity to remove my mask and take a deep drink from my pack.

  There’s a faded, half-broken cutout of Elvis sagging in the corner, and the dusty photos of pre–Death Storm celebrities seem to be staring at me from the walls.

  “This is weird,” says Eli, more to himself than me.

  “You could say that.”

  We sink down into a corner booth. Staring out the window, I watch a light breeze kick up some tumbleweed. It’s the only thing moving out there.

  “Why would Jayden tell us to be on high alert if there aren’t any drifters?”

  Eli sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “Maybe she’s just screwing with us. Or maybe her information is wrong.”

  We fall silent, watching and waiting.

  It drags on for hours, and I feel my alertness slipping into boredom. My annoyance with Jayden is mounting by the second. We haven’t seen a single drifter, and I’m starting to wonder if we even will.

  Just as I’m about to take a break from our endless watch to eat an energy bar, something shifts on the horizon.

  The movement is so small I wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me. But when I squint through the window, I see a boxy shape barreling toward us. It’s far away but quickly gaining ground.

  I nudge Eli and tilt my head in the direction of the approaching vehicle. His eyes widen, and he pulls me down a little so we can watch the car and stay out of sight.

  “It’s headed toward the restaurant,” Eli murmurs.

  “Let’s go!”

  “We need to get a closer look first.”

  I want to scream in exasperation. We’ve been waiting for what feels like forever, and I just want to do something.

  But there’s a reason Eli Parker has lived through so many deployments. He isn’t impulsive like me. He thinks things through.

  That’s why I follow his lead when he dons his mask and creeps out of the diner. We stick to the shadows, moving down the street toward a dilapidated gas station near the restaurant.

  As we approach, I can hear the vehicle idling in the parking lot. It’s the loudest thing I’ve heard all morning.

  Eli jerks his head toward the glass door leading into the gas station, and I put my back against the wall and inch closer.

  Taking a deep breath, I pull on the door handle and open it slowly to avoid disturbing the bell hanging over our heads.

  Eli slips in ahead of me to check for drifters and then grabs my arm and swings me around the dusty counter that still smells faintly of disinfectant. He falls into a crouch, and I kneel down in front of the large window.

  From this vantage point, I can see the vehicle clearly. It’s a large, boxy car covered in dust — an SUV.

  Somebody kills the engine, and three men get out of the vehicle, yelling at someone in the backseat I can’t see.

  They head into the restaurant, and a fourth man gets out of the SUV. He’s wearing a cutoff shirt and toting a huge gun. He walks up to the wooden porch surrounding the entrance, but I don’t hear the door slam again. He must be the guard.

  “Are we gonna go in?” I ask. “There’s only one of them watching the door.”

  “Let’s wait to make sure there aren’t more coming.”

  I let out an impatie
nt huff but don’t say anything. I know Eli is being extra cautious after our last drifter encounter, but I’m dying to know what’s going on down in that basement.

  As we stare out at the horizon, I marvel at the idea of drifters driving around in SUVs. I suppose it makes sense that they would use whatever relics they could find, but it just seems as though all those things should have died along with the rest of humanity.

  “Have you ridden in one?” I ask.

  He looks at me curiously. “In one what?”

  “In a car.”

  I can’t see his entire face, but when his eyes crinkle, I know he’s cracking a grin. “Yeah. Plenty of times. Everyone had one back then.”

  “What’s it like?”

  He glances at me with a fondness I’ve only ever seen after I did something right in sparring. “Fast. It’s fun. I always wanted to learn how to drive, but I never had the chance.”

  We fall silent, and Eli quickly regains his businesslike demeanor. It’s a good thing, too, because I almost miss the shadow of a lone figure approaching the restaurant from the far side.

  He materialized too suddenly to tell where he came from, but he’s moving toward the building with a purposeful stride.

  “Who the hell is that?” Eli murmurs. “And why didn’t we see him?”

  Alarm flashes through me when I catch his meaning. We searched the entire town for drifters when we arrived, but we missed him somehow.

  The figure disappears into the shadow of the porch, and Eli’s anxiousness and curiosity seem to get the better of him. He lets out a stream of air from his nose and tightens his grip on his rifle. “Let’s go.”

  Heart pounding, I slip out of the convenience store behind him and skirt along the edge of the building toward the restaurant. I half expect the guard to jump out and shoot us, but we manage to stay out of sight.

  When we reach the corner, Eli pushes me down behind a dumpster. “Stay here,” he mouths.

  Every shred of curiosity is instantly crowded out by fear. I shake my head, but he gives me a look through his mask that tells me he won’t have it any other way. I crouch down onto the dusty pavement and watch as he slips around the restaurant.