Trace sat up, unable to pretend any longer. Resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his clasped hands between his legs, he looked at Marissa. “When we found out, I went after you. RT and I. By the time I got to the safe house, you were gone. We’d received an anonymous tip that you were going to be taken.”
“Why didn’t anyone warn me?” she asked, her eyes glistening with what Trace could only assume were tears. Or possibly fear.
“We tried. Clay called, but they’d cut your phone line by then. Your father called in some favors, had the locals do a welfare check, but by the time they got there, you were gone. The tip we received was bullshit. Or partly bullshit, anyway. But that’s not the point.
“One of the neighbors gave us the details on a car they saw at the house. Dom and Austin hacked the cameras and we went on the only leads we had. I found you,” Trace said, glancing down at the floor. “You were drugged and put in the trunk. The dumb ass who took you had stopped for dinner. RT came for you and I went after the man who grabbed you.”
“Did he…?”
Trace stared back at Marissa, reading her facial expressions, understanding what she was asking. “He didn’t hurt you, Marissa. Aside from drugging you and putting you in the trunk, he didn’t touch you.”
Marissa seemed to process that for a moment. “Were you hurt?” Marissa asked.
“Shot. A superficial wound,” he told her, subconsciously reaching up and rubbing the arm where the bullet had gone cleanly through the muscle. “I killed that bastard, too.”
He peered over at Marissa again, noticing a tear trailing down her face. Unable to stand seeing her cry, Trace moved over to her, dropping to his knees in front of her, cupping her face in his hands.
“This wasn’t your fault, Marissa. No one could’ve predicted any of this would happen.”
“But I’m the one who was digging into this,” she argued softly, her voice quivering. “I’m the one who suspected the Adorites were involved but didn’t tell anyone. I’m the one who knew about the guns. I didn’t say a word, but I swear, it wasn’t about the story, or breaking it wide open. I honestly didn’t know where to look, what could’ve possibly gone wrong. I wanted to save myself, didn’t want to put anyone else in danger.”
Her sob broke his heart.
“That’s what you do, Marissa. It’s also what we all do,” he assured her. “We didn’t tell you for this very reason. You can’t carry the burden. You can’t ponder the what-ifs. Nothing will change the past. But we can move forward. We can find this bastard and take him down.”
“I want that more than anything,” she replied, another sob interrupting her words.
“You deserve to get on with your life, Marissa.”
“What does that mean?”
Trace knew what she was asking, knew she wanted him to tell her where this thing between them was going. The fact of the matter was, he truly didn’t know. He wouldn’t know anything until they got her out of harm’s way.
“Do you care about me?” Marissa asked, her voice stronger than before. “Has any of this meant something to you? Or am I just a way to pass the time?”
Trace’s frustration flared hot and bright. Sliding his hand into her hair, he tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I’ve always cared about you,” he told her roughly. “This thing between us, it’s not temporary. Not by a long shot. But I still don’t know what that means. I won’t make you any promises, Marissa. Not until we take this bastard down.”
Marissa nodded, her eyes locked with his, tears lingering on her long lashes.
Trace wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he would die before he allowed anything to happen to her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t put himself out there like that. Not yet.
They would have to be on their toes tomorrow if there was any chance that they’d catch Duchein. And that was the plan. They would take this bastard down, no matter what it took. But there wasn’t any room for distractions. And what Trace felt for her, what he sensed she felt for him, that was a distraction.
Marissa’s throat tightened as she swallowed. “Make love to me, Trace.”
Those few words had Trace’s entire body hardening, adrenaline flooding his veins.
Shaking his head, Trace decided to be totally honest. “I’m not sure I can be easy with you right now.”
“I don’t need easy. Or gentle, Trace. I just need you.”
When Marissa leaned forward, her lips crushing against his, Trace’s control instantly snapped. Abruptly getting to his feet, he pulled her with him, never breaking his mouth from hers. Their tongues dueled, their combined need churning into something brutal and brilliant. Time seemed to speed up and slow down all at once, and the next thing Trace knew, he had Marissa pinned against the exposed brick wall, his hand cradling the back of her head, his fingers threaded into her hair as he pulled roughly, taking control of the kiss.
Her fingernails dug into his arms, but the pain only spurred him on as he pressed his body to hers, grinding his rock-hard cock against the softness between her thighs.
“Touch me,” he ordered, stealing a breath before delving back into her mouth.
Marissa’s hand slipped into his sweat pants, her soft, cool fingers gripping his cock roughly as she stroked him from base to tip. Trace’s body ignited, a firestorm of emotion surging alongside the pleasure of her touch.
Releasing her mouth, he moved his lips to her neck as he lifted her T-shirt, jerking it over her head and tossing it to the floor. He abruptly undressed her, admiring every inch of the smooth skin he unveiled before standing to his full height once again and shoving his sweat pants down his legs before stepping out of them.
Pulling her along with him, he stopped at the end of the sofa, turning her away from him and nudging her forward. She caught herself with her hands, gripping the cushioned arm and pressing her naked ass outward, inviting him.
“Fuck,” he growled. “Don’t move.”
With single-minded focus, Trace retrieved a condom from his wallet on the bar, sheathed himself within seconds, and returned to her. Once again, he gripped her hair, pulling her head back as he shifted his legs, sliding the head of his dick through her slick folds.
“You’re wet for me, Marissa. So fucking wet.”
Taking a deep breath, Trace tried to calm himself but feared, no matter how hard he tried, that wasn’t going to happen. This, right here, right now, wasn’t making love. It wasn’t fucking, either.
No, this was Trace’s way of staking his claim on this woman.
Marking her as his for eternity.
□«»□«»□«»□
Marissa’s body trembled with need. She craved Trace, the feel of his hands on her, his mouth, the ruthless truth she saw glimmering in his eyes. Everything about him called to something inside her. And when he’d said he couldn’t be easy, couldn’t make love to her, Marissa had realized that she’d needed this. This rough coupling. She wanted to see the true, hedonistic side of Trace that she’d seen the first time he’d taken her.
And this was it.
As he pressed against her, the head of his cock pushing inside her, Marissa jerked her hips back, forcing him deeper.
“Yes,” she groaned. Her scalp tingled from the mixture of pleasure and pain that fired her synapses as he tugged on her hair, forcing her to bow her back as he filled her. “Fuck me, Trace. Oh, God. Fuck me hard.”
An animalistic growl sounded from behind her as Trace released her hair and dug his fingers into her hips before impaling her, slamming into her as deep as he could go. Marissa gripped the arm of the couch, locking her elbows so that she could meet each thrust with her own.
“Harder,” she pleaded.
Trace gave her what she asked for, fucking her hard and deep, slamming into her, pounding furiously as his pace increased until they were nothing more than movement and friction. Delicious, mind-numbing friction. It was viciously beautiful, a joining unlike anything she’d ever known.
&n
bsp; Trace’s hand pressed against the middle of her back, forcing her down. “Bend over more,” he insisted, moving closer to her as she leaned down.
Once she was bent over completely, her face hovering inches from her hands, his body consumed hers as his chest pressed to her back. His arms came around her, his hands covering hers, their fingers twining together, while his hips still drove mercilessly forward and back, her body taking everything he could give her.
“Marissa.”
The way he said her name, although rough, wasn’t much different than last night when he’d made love to her so sweetly. There was still that same emotion in his tone, the need, the desperation. It was the same thing she felt for him. It didn’t matter how he claimed her body; it was the simple fact that he was taking her so completely that spurred her forward as the waves of pleasure crashed through her, building stronger, higher, more potent with every powerful thrust of his hips, every slide of his cock inside her.
“Trace. Oh! I’m gonna…” Her words lodged in her throat when she felt his breath on her shoulder.
“Come for me, Marissa. Fuck yes, baby. Come for me!”
Marissa’s body once again took over, her orgasm gripping her, a tidal wave of sensation pounding through her veins as she succumbed to the glorious onslaught. It was more than she expected, causing her knees to go weak, but she managed to remain on her feet as Trace slammed into her once, twice, a third time before his body stilled, his teeth nipping her shoulder as he growled his release.
Thirty-Seven
Ryan sat in the chair opposite Isaac Rhames, fuming as he thought about what the man was responsible for. The hell he’d put Marissa through for the past year.
The bastard deserved to spend a few minutes alone with Trace, endure the wrath of the man who clearly loved Ryan’s sister.
Not that Ryan had any intention of going easy on the guy. Marissa was, after all, his sister.
“You’d think there’d be more to say,” Z stated as he casually leaned against the wall, staring at Isaac.
“I’ve told you everything,” Isaac mumbled.
The guy was sporting a black eye and a pair of handcuffs that kept him secured to the table in front of him. The table was bolted to the floor, which meant the guy couldn’t get far. The black eye had come from Ryan. The moment he’d laid eyes on the smug little bastard, he hadn’t been able to hold himself back. Z had allowed him to get a couple of swings in but had promptly pulled him back. It had been Z’s touch that had drawn him out of his anger.
Not that Ryan had any intention of reflecting back on what it had felt like when Z’s big arms had circled his chest, pulling him away from Rhames.
Nope. Not happening.
“Not everything,” Z stated harshly. “Who the fuck sent you to us?”
“I told you. I work with—”
Ryan launched to his feet and slammed his palms down on the table directly in front of Isaac. “We know who you’ve worked with. I want to know who hired you.”
According to Isaac, he’d been working with a hired gun named Barry—last name supposedly unknown—feeding him information on Marissa’s whereabouts for the past year.
“Barry’s not behind this,” Z insisted. “Who is?”
Isaac’s eyes dropped to the table. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise me one thing.”
“No fucking promises,” Ryan shouted. “You’re personally responsible for the attempts on my sister’s life. Man up and accept the fact that you fucked up. You screwed people. You’re a goddamn snitch and a fucking mole. You don’t get promises. You don’t get a fucking thing!”
Ryan stood up straight and took a deep breath before pacing to the far side of the room.
“Dan Duchein.”
Ryan didn’t immediately turn around. He’d expected to hear the name, but he’d needed confirmation that the man they’d finally pinned this on was in fact the one they needed to go after. Fucking with the ATF wasn’t ideal, but if they had a rogue agent, then it didn’t really matter.
“You worked for him?” Z asked.
“Yeah,” Isaac stated softly. “But I knew him before that. We were … friends. I was between a rock and a hard place. He got me a job, covering up some of my … past.”
“What past?” Ryan asked, turning to face Isaac.
“A … hit and run.”
“Someone die?” Z questioned abruptly.
Isaac merely nodded.
Fuck. Not only was the asshole a snitch, he was a murderer.
“Alcohol involved?” Ryan asked, not sure he really wanted to know the details.
Again Isaac nodded.
“So you killed someone and Duchein covered it up for you?”
“Not really. Yes. Actually, he did. But then he blackmailed me,” Isaac stated, his tone harder than before. “He fucking blackmailed me. Said he’d turn me in if I didn’t do something for him.”
“Which was find Marissa?” Ryan couldn’t believe this shit.
“Yeah. He told me he’d doctor my resume, help me to get a job with Sniper One.”
Son of a bitch. They’d walked right into this.
“But I was the one to call and tell Bryce that they had found her in Oklahoma,” Isaac said in a rush. “I wanted to warn you.”
“You think that makes it fucking better?” Z growled. “You had a battle with your conscience and you think that fucking makes it better?”
Ryan sensed Z’s outrage. The man was visibly holding himself back, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he stared down at Isaac. Ryan knew just how he felt.
“What’re you gonna do with me?” Isaac asked, a hint of fear in his dark eyes.
“Don’t know yet,” Ryan told him truthfully. “But tonight, you’ll have one last job.”
“What’s that?” Isaac inquired curiously.
“You’re gonna show your true colors. Be the rat that you are,” Ryan stated firmly, glaring at the other man.
“How do I do that?”
“Trust me, you’ll find out soon enough.”
With that, Ryan nodded at Z and walked out of the room. Z followed close behind, locking the steel door that would keep Isaac secure until they were ready to let him out.
“What now?” Z asked, his emotions once again locked tightly away.
“I’m gonna call Clay. He’ll come over and keep an eye on him until the party. We’ll have Clay and Tanner escort Rhames to Max’s. And from there, you’ll find out what happens at the same time I do.”
Z nodded. “Good plan. I look forward to it.”
Ryan fought the urge to smile. He liked Z’s intensity, the emotion he kept locked up tight until it was necessary, but most importantly, he liked the man’s loyalty.
He liked it probably a little too much.
Thirty-Eight
Tuesday afternoon
“I wouldn’t have said this before today, but I think this hidin’ out thing is good for you,” Courtney acknowledged with a grin as she pulled Marissa’s hair up into some complicated cluster on the top of her head.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Marissa smiled back.
“Okay, fine. Maybe it’s all the time you’re spendin’ with my brother that’s puttin’ the color back in your cheeks.”
That color Courtney was referring to chose that exact moment to flood her cheeks as Marissa blushed profusely. It was an automatic reaction to the mention of Trace. That was the only logical explanation.
Courtney had come over two hours ago, to spend some time with Marissa as well as help her get ready for the party at Max Adorite’s house. Upon her arrival, Trace had taken the opportunity to go to the office, leaving her in Courtney’s capable hands, while Conner—as an added precaution—sat patiently in the living room. To her utter shock, Trace even kissed her prior to leaving, right in front of his brother and his sister. Marissa had blushed then, too.
“So, is this serious?” Courtney questioned, meeting Marissa’s gaze in the mirror while she finished stickin
g bobby pins through Marissa’s hair.
Marissa nodded.
“I thought so. For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. I know you’ve loved my brother for a long time.”
“Loved?” Marissa asked, unable to hide her smirk.
“Call it a crush or whatever you want. I know better than that. You’ve loved my brother since you were fourteen years old. Has he told you he loves you yet?”
Marissa dropped her gaze to the vanity in front of her, shaking her head slightly.
“He will,” Courtney said, a wealth of conviction in her tone. “He loves you, too. I hope you don’t doubt that.”
The truth was, Marissa did doubt that, but she knew that was just her insecurities rioting. She’d known Trace her entire life, knew more about him than he probably knew about himself, and yes, if she closely inspected his responses to her, she knew he cared for her. More than just friends or acquaintances. More than mere lovers.
But Marissa was doing her best not to focus on that aspect of her life at the moment. Her goal was to help Sniper 1 out this guy who was trying to kill her so that she could move on with her life. Until that was taken care of, she knew everything she did, everything she wanted was on hold.
“And ’Rissa, we’re gonna catch this guy.”
Marissa lifted her gaze, meeting Courtney’s once more. “That we are,” she said assertively. “Tonight.”
“There. Your hair’s all done.” With a pat on the top of her head, Courtney took a step back, and Marissa got to her feet, admiring her best friend’s handiwork.
“I hope you don’t expect me to be able to do that to your hair.”
“Nope,” Courtney said, her face glowing. “I’m wearin’ mine down tonight. Just need a few minutes with a curling iron and I’ll be good to go.”
“So, what dress did you bring me?” Marissa asked, staring at the two bags hanging from the top of the closet door. From the minute Courtney had arrived, Marissa had been curious as to what her friend had chosen for her, but sneaky as she was, Courtney had refused to let her see, insisting it was a surprise.
“I’ll show you the shoes, first,” Courtney told her, unzipping the duffel bag she’d brought with her.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 32