by Angel Lawson
Still feeling the wear of her burn-out from before, she walks back down the hall and gets back into Draco’s bed. She doesn’t ask. She doesn’t care. She just wants to be surrounded by the warmth of his delicious-smelling blankets. She wants to feel safe, even if it’s just for a few moments.
She hears voices in the hallway; Casper’s soft, frustrated stammer and Draco’s patient replies. Then the click of the back door as the hacker returns to his bunker and a shadow crosses over the threshold.
“You think he’ll ever come out of there again?”
He crosses his massive arms over his chest and leans against the door frame. “After meeting you face to face? I dare him to keep away.” He watches her carefully. “I know it’s been impossible for me.”
She rolls her eyes but can’t deny the hammer of her heart in her chest. She takes a chance and holds her hand out to him. He stares at it for a long, hard moment before walking over.
“Lay with me?”
To her surprise, he slips off his shoes and pulls back the covers. His body is large and there’s no way for him not to intrude on her space. She shifts to give him room but his hands grab her hips and he keeps her close.
“Change of heart?” she asks. There’s conflict running in his emotions, something different than before. He wants her—he always has, and the shield still remains--but there’s something else bubbling under the surface. A burst of something new.
His hand squeezes on her hip and she feels a jolt that runs between her legs. He’s so close and he smells so good. “When I saw you hurt today, I almost lost it.”
“I wasn’t hurt. Just stupid. I did it to myself.”
He shakes his head and she reaches out to push a lock of hair off his forehead. He leans his face into her hand and for the briefest of moments he closes his eyes.
Draco, she realizes with sudden clarity, is exhausted.
The thought hits her like a bolt of lightning. He’s worn out, spent, completely depleted. And why wouldn’t he be? All that time with Demetria, doing her bidding and trying to keep her on track. The mind-games, the crazy Lost Boy bullshit. Then he found us and dealing with Casper and he’s not like her or Quinn or Owen. He doesn’t have a safe place. A home that’s fun and silly and filled with video games and an adorable cat.
He’s all alone, with his books. His work.
No wonder he has up that fucking shield.
She strokes his face, runs her fingers through his hair, and slowly his shoulders relax. She takes a moment to run her hands over his chest, feeling the hard, defined muscles.
Unlike Quinn and Owen, Astrid isn’t sure where to go next—where to take it. She wants him and she knows, for a fact, with the heat and feel of his cock pressing into her thigh, he wants her back, but her senses tell her he needs something else. Something more, and she wants more than anything to give it to him.
“Come here,” she says, inching closer and snuggling into his chest. He wraps his arms around her and he exhales, the deep releasing kind that only happens when you’ve found peace.
If that’s what he needs, that’s what she’ll give him.
For now.
Until he’s ready.
Chapter Thirty
Owen
He’d hoped to sleep in, but the six-pound weight on his chest starts moving and licking his chin with sandpapery kisses.
He groans, “Are you fucking kidding me, cat?”
Harry stares at him and meows. It’s the cheese meow. He knows it well. “Go find your mom,” he says, rolling over, which forces the cat to the ground. He meows again.
“Dammit.”
Owen trudges from the bed, down the hall and into the kitchen. Quinn sits at the table, eating a heaping bowl of eggs and sausage. The cat darts in and out of his feet as he walks. “I don’t know why this cat is always trying to kill me while I’m actually trying to feed it.”
“Don’t look at me,” Quinn says. “I don’t get one thing about that animal.”
He opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a piece of cheese before making small balls. Harry jumps up on the counter and Owen blanches. “Fuck no cat, I’ll feed you but not on the counter. Gross.”
There are lines he won’t cross.
The cat hops down and begins eating. “Where’s your mama, anyway?” he asks the cat.
“Astrid didn’t come home last night,” Quinn says.
Owen jumps up. “What?”
“Casper texted after you went to bed. She stayed over.”
Makes sense. They watched the video of Jensen confessing his past to Astrid. It was a lot to take in.
“With him?” he asks.
Quinn rolls his eyes. “Nope. Draco.”
“Huh.” Not that he’s surprised. Astrid had been pushing him pretty hard. It’s just that Mr. Perfect didn’t seem into the idea. He seemed into her but not the complexity of their relationship. “Well, it’s clear we need him. Hopefully she can establish some trust.”
“After everything Jensen told her, I doubt Astrid’s going to trust anyone ever again.” He rubs his head. “I’m just not sure what we do from here.”
As usual, the decision isn’t up to them. Casper texts them both.
Head to the Lair. Shit just got real.
“Not again,” Owen mutters, reaching for the box of sugary cereal Astrid keeps over the refrigerator. “I was really hoping shit would just stay not real, you know?”
Quinn laughs and puts his plate in the sink. “You shouldn’t eat that crap.”
“I know, but something needs to make me happy, and I have a feeling whatever Casper is about to tell us isn’t going to do it.”
*
The warehouse isn’t in the Swamp. It’s down by the marina and packed with boats. They sit four stories high, one platform on top of the other, most expensive.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Charger asks over the com for the third time. He’s near the transformer on the outside of the building.
Owen understands his concern. This isn’t their typical target. It’s too clean. Too upscale.
They spent the day arguing about coming down here. In the end they took a vote whether or not they should check out the building for the bomb materials. Casper’s dark web intel said it was being held here. Owen’s spidey-senses tell him something’s off. He suspects the others know too—they just don’t care.
“I’m positive,” Casper says.
“So it’s a trap,” Owen declares. He just wants to say it.
“Yep,” Echo replies from her rooftop position. “Definitely.”
“And we’re going in?” he clarifies.
“Affirmative,” Draco shoots back. He’s stationed by the back door. “It’s not a trap if you know going into it.”
No one responds to that logic. Or illogic? Is that a thing?
Owen grimaces. He’s on the roof of the building across the street. His job is to help everyone get in the building unnoticed. It’s evening but not late enough for the place to be completely empty. Why now? Because according to Casper, the men building the bombs are coming in tonight and then planting them at the stadium for the game tomorrow. The clock is ticking.
“Everybody ready?” Casper asks, synching up their masks. The screen comes to life and Owen adjusts to the digital reality in front of him.
“Ready.” Charger says.
“Yep,” Echo adds.
Draco chimes in, “Yes.”
“On three,” Owen says, getting everyone’s positions. He braces himself and drops the veil, blocking the others from visibility. The work they’ve done with their powers. It’s made them so much stronger.
“I’m dropping the map,” Casper says and their vision is filled with a blueprint of the building. A red dot shows them where to find the materials they’re looking for.
“There are three people on the left side of the building. I’m tracking their heartbeats,” Echo says.
“On it,” Charger flips off the transformer for the oppo
site side of the building. It falls dark.
“Thanks, they’re on the move,” she says. “Mr. Perfect?”
“Don’t call me that.” He grunts. “I’m inside.” Owen releases the shield once he’s past the guy working at the gate. Charger emerges from the shadows. Owen creates another shadow, one that gets the guys attention, and he wanders off, curious. Charger follows Draco in.
Once they’re out of view he watches Echo scale the building and slip in a ventilation window near the top floor. She slips inside and touches her com.
“Everyone’s inside. I’ll meet you there.”
He gets confirmation back and turns to scale the side of the building but a shadow moves to his left followed by the loud click of a gun. He feels it pressed against his head.
“On your knees,” a voice says.
He drops and a man in a black Task Force uniform stands before him, gun held to his head. “Don’t even try any of that fancy shit, got it?”
Owen doesn’t respond but when the guy calls in his position he flicks his fingers, making the tiniest of rips in the air just beyond the rooftop wall.
“Yeah, I’ve got one of them up on the roof. Yeah,” he says, “he’s contained. If he tries anything I’m taking him out. What? Fuck, I know the orders but we’re not working under Jensen anymore. These freaks are disgusting. The mayor can kiss my ass. You hear me?”
They argue and Owen takes the chance to expand the size of the tear. It’s not a silent task and the guy looks around. “What was that?” The gun is inches from his forehead. “What are you doing?”
Ah, his ability spooks him. It should, after Demetria and her dragon.
“Wish I could stay,” Owen says with a smirk. “But I’ve gotta run.” He rushes past the solider. Gunfire cracks and the breeze from the bullet flies past his cheek. He dives head first into the hole, pinpointing a spot on Casper’s map in his mind. He has no fucking idea if this will work, but he’s got to try.
Chapter Thirty-One
Astrid
The power fails and she’s left with the blinking little red light that acts like the X on a treasure map. They aren’t looking for gold, but for explosives. Up near the ventilation shaft she catches the tang of fertilizer. Following her nose and the map, Astrid jumps down to the top boat storage platform. Then another.
“I can smell it,” she says to Casper over the com. “If it’s a trap, this is the real place.”
Watching—listening—for anything, she keeps an ear out for heartbeats, footsteps. So far there’s nothing but her breathing, until she spots the stealth movements of Draco and Charger below. A large shadow darts across the open space of the lower level. Too big to be a normal man. It’s one of her boys.
“I’ve got eyes on you,” she says over her com. “Well, one of you. Everyone alive and well?”
“Yep,” Charger replies. “There’s a back room. I’m thinking that’s our target?”
“According to the map,” Draco replies.
“Charger, keep your currents under control. There’s real explosive material down there. I can sense it.”
“Got it, babe.”
She doesn’t hate it when he calls her that.
Wrapping her hand over the edge of the boat, she hangs for a moment and then drops, landing louder than she’d like.
“Smooth,” Casper says.
“Shut up.”
“One more level and—shit. Hold on. Something’s going on with Pan.”
“Casper?” she asks, but he blinks out. “He’s gone. No eyes.”
“Drop down,” Quinn says. “We’re right below.”
If that’s true, he and Draco are cloaked by the shadows, but their dueling heartbeats give her a direction to focus on. She pushes off the platform and says, “Heads up!” before falling into the dark.
Thumpthumpthump
She closes her eyes and falls, letting her senses guide her.
She could adjust, she could land on her feet, she could do many things but instead she sails through the air and lands in two very strong arms.
“Gotcha.”
She smiles up at Mr. Perfect. “You sure do.”
His hands skim over her ass as he releases her to the floor but that moment grounds her—grounds them. They haven’t had sex yet but the intimacy they shared in the bed the night before notched up their connection. Little by little, she’ll chip away at that shield. She can wait.
“You ready to call Jensen once we confirm?” Quinn asks.
“Yeah, once we confirm and contain. We’ll call it in and get everything secured. Then vanish, like we were never here.”
That’s the plan, nothing more. No huge heroic moment.
Draco flashes a light on the door and Quinn pulls a tool off his belt to smash the lock. He whacks it hard, the metal bending and then breaking in two. Astrid stands guard, listening for someone, anyone. But the place is quiet.
Too quiet.
“Hurry up,” she says, not liking the way it—something—feels. “Let me get eyes on it and call Jensen.”
Quinn kicks open the door and a small workroom is revealed. Two long tables sit in the middle of the room. Everything needed to make a bomb lies on the table. Copper wiring, piles of sharp metal pieces and containers of chemicals and powders she assumes is some sort of accelerant.
“Take pictures,” she says, removing her phone from the pocket in her vest. She passes it to Draco and touches her com. “Casper, Pan…we’re in. What’s your status?”
No reply.
“Casper?”
She freezes, feeling the change in the air. Hearing the rip, no, a tear? The hair on her arm stands on end and she senses Draco and Quinn stop as well. “Something’s wrong,” she says, but there’s no time to think about what. The air crinkles, ripples, and right outside the door she spots the shimmer.
The spot expands and a figure, blonde hair, green suit, rolls out fast and hard, smashing into the door frame.
“Pan?”
She races over and checks the air behind her. Draco is already there, holding his shield, waiting for something to follow but nothing—no one—does. The ripple vanishes.
“Are you okay?”
He nods, eyes wide with panic. “I think so. The Task Force is here. They’re coming. I barely escaped.”
“Through a portal.”
“Hell fucking yes! A portal!” his face lights up. “I did it!”
“Get the pictures and get out,” she tells him, helping Owen off the floor. Astrid runs her hands over his body, feeling his chest—heartbeat and his pulse by his neck. She looks in his green eyes and touches his gloved hand. His knees are a little wobbly, god knows what his body is going through.
“Do I check out?” he asks her.
“I think so.”
He tugs her hand. “We need to go.”
“We can’t. We have to secure this.” She waves her hand behind her. Owen and Draco are finished taking photos. “We can’t walk away from this much explosive material.”
Owen looks pleadingly at them. “They tried to shoot me. Kill me. This isn’t a game. We’ve got to get out of here before it’s too late.”
Footsteps shuffle at the door and they all move into a defensive stance.
“Tie them up,” Rowe says. Three soldiers flank him, holding weapons. He points to Quinn and Owen. “Especially those two.”
Like a well-oiled machine, there’s no hesitation when Owen tosses up the shield, giving both Quinn and Draco a chance to attack. Quinn can’t use his powers but he is still a massive physical threat. Astrid touches her com, “Cas, we need you.”
“Stop!” Rowe shouts, pushing a man forward. Quinn doesn’t stop until he gets a good look at the man and he frowns, frozen, with his arms around the neck of one of the soldiers. Draco is mid-punch, but he pulls back. The man is tall and lean. African-American with smooth dark skin. His eyes are equally dark—hollow. There’s not a trace of fear in them when he pulls the front of his jacket, revealing a bom
b attached to his body.
“You’re not getting out of this one,” Rowe says, walking around his human bomb. “And we’re not going to kill you. That has never been the plan, understand?”
“What is this?” Astrid asks.
“This is what you get for meddling in my business.” He nods at his men and they quickly bind each of their hands together. The material on the ties is strong, better than the plastic of zip ties. It feels like something Casper would make. Impenetrable.
He forces them on the floor. Not their knees, but their asses on the hard, cold surface.
“So you’re going to blow up the stadium?” she asks. “I knew you were a dick but I didn’t realize you were a psychopath.”
Owen snorts next to her. He’s punished with a punch to the head by one of Rowe’s men.
“No, sweet, sexy, feisty Astrid, I’m not going to blow up the stadium.” He leers at her with wide teeth. “You are.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Astrid
The weight of the bomb hanging against her neck makes her skin itch. It’s not the fear of the bomb, it’s the odd sensation of having something close around her neck and then the faint scent coming off the explosives along with the fear rolling off her friends.
The bomb itself is a clever contraption. Small and built into a collar. If she didn’t know better she’d think Casper made it. It’s connected to a remote that can start it off a timer or just detonate instantly. Rowe has threatened both.
She grimaces when she swallows back the rage and thinks about how she wants to shove the explosive in Rowe’s mouth and watch him burst into a million pieces.
The van hits a bump and she flinches and closes her eyes.
“Sorry about that!” the driver says. He’s the man that Rowe shoved in their direction. Still strapped, he navigates the van toward the stadium. He’s surprisingly calm.
The four of them are sitting in the back of the van on the floor. In a strange twist, Rowe unbinds them when the collar is secured around their necks—as if wanting an excuse to trigger the bombs. They could act—but they’re living explosives and the fear rolling off everyone in the van isn’t for themselves. Each of them would die to save someone else, but this? This won’t end well for anyone. There’s enough explosive material in the collars to take down the entire stadium and everyone in it. If Rowe’s plan works, the result will be catastrophic.