Guns For Angels

by Viviana MacKade

  Her hand on his arm burned, soothed, hurt and gave solace. Her palm rose over his chest, where the beating was fast.

  “There’s not just black or white in us. There’s black and white. I accepted my black, it’s time you accept your white.”

  He covered her hand with his not to stop her touch, but to share it. “Being this out of control worries me. Thinking it might cost you your life terrifies me.”

  “It scares me, too, but hiding doesn’t change a thing.”

  He needed to believe her. It had been too long since he’d known something other than sorrow, and she was offering things he was afraid to want. She made it look so easy, made it sound so right.

  He wanted to believe her.

  Chapter 18

  Ann stared at Mark, her chin up.

  Silence was upon her. Sizzling. Charged. Full of terrifying possibilities. The heavy, cinnamon curtain locked the world away.

  Standing in front of her in the dim light of the room, Mark could have been a statue of warm granite, a sculpture of the god of battle in a pagan temple – the pride, the strength, the valor.

  She didn’t want to fight but if he walked away, she was ready to. Nothing was more powerful than the truth, and the truth was that she loved him.

  With no weapon but her heart, she would show him, promise him more than tomorrow. She would use it to do something she’d never done before: conquer. He was stubborn and scared, but she was not going to lose him just because of that.

  Underneath her palm, his heart was furious. His hands were clenched in fists at his sides. His stern eyes were so far away it was heartbreaking.

  Ann understood his desperate attempt to shield behind the danger upon them. It was real, but it wasn’t why he fought so hard. In that bedroom, he was more scared than in any battle he’d faced because he had no clue on what to do, no defense, no control. And Mark was all about that.

  The fact that she understood, though, didn’t mean she would let him back down. Not tonight.

  The attraction screaming in the air wasn’t just the natural reaction of two healthy adults forced in the same bed, night after night. It wasn’t a need of hungry bodies, but a need of starving hearts.

  She didn’t know how to reach him, how to breach that wall, so she followed her own need.

  Her hand slid up, to his shoulder and his neck. She stood on her tiptoes looking for his mouth. A brush. A touch. A nip. A bite. Until his will quivered and his touch responded. Until he started to take.

  When her mouth left him, Mark felt like smashing the ground and shattering. Every drop of blood in his veins rose up. He grabbed her, one hand a fist in her hair and the other a cage on her back, crushed her mouth with all the fury but none of the control that had ruled his world up to that moment. The world she’d wrecked.

  Anger still roared to push her away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. “This is dangerous,” he growled. “This is wrong.”

  “Does it feel wrong?”

  He allowed only a slight, tight shake of his head, then her hands cupped his face. “Because it’s not,” she said. “Because it’s right. We are right.”

  He lost the battle. Winning was a state of mind, and he simply didn’t have it in him to stay away from her any longer.

  As her mouth got greedy, her body soft and pliant, the ground opened under Mark’s feet. It wasn’t the dark, endless abyss of a failure, though. He floated into the bright heights of victory. He gave in, and triumphed.

  Changing pace, his mouth brushed her cheek, her eyes, her hair with dreamy slowness. The feather touch of his lips dried a shiny tear of happiness running along her face.

  He guided her hands behind his neck, slid his arms around her.

  His kiss was a plea for redemption – all the things he’d done, all people he’d lost. He would never forget, but in the heated answer of her mouth laid the sweet promise of peace, of acceptance. With one kiss, he became a bare land after a whirlwind – clean, ready to be rebuilt.

  So he tried to take more, more of that mercy, more of that mouth.

  He bent down, closed her tighter in his hold and lifted her, weightless and delicate, to lay her on the bed.

  “Tell me you’re staying,” she breathed in those moments when his mouth left hers.

  “I am.”

  When he pulled away, a flash of alarm crossed her eyes. “Where are you going?”

  He answered by helping her up. Brisk hands freed her of her t-shirt, shorts, underwear until she had nothing on her but his eyes.

  Her breathing broke off, her body tensed in the dawn of that first contact.

  With care, with aching devotion, his fingers pushed a strand of blond hair behind her shoulder. Air left her lungs in a strangled chuckle.

  When she reached for the buttons of his shirt he caught her hand. “Don’t move,” he ordered.

  And she didn’t. She reveled in the abandon of his eyes, nearly cried when his fingertips ran on her belly, a scorching trail of hunger going up, up, until it was on her breast.

  Hard palms ran over the skin of her legs, her waist, brushing, touching; his soft lips savored her inch by inch.

  His hot breath, his kisses, lingered where she was wet and burning. He didn’t stop when her thoughts buckled, but fastened his hold on her hips as her fingers dug into his shoulders. Merciless, his mouth stayed on her until her world whitened, compressed to a blade of pleasure and exploded in shards of breaths and pulses. Her mind went red, and she yanked at his hair, pulled him up, stormed his mouth and his shirt.

  He took it all, absorbed the violence of that crimson wave, nearly drowned; he tried to lead the pace back to a slow siege but once again that night, he lost.

  She didn’t want slow, she didn’t want care. Right now, she wanted one thing, and one thing only: to have him inside her, his weight and his fierceness. She wanted the warrior.

  Her confident fingers worked the button of his shirt. As he’d done to her, she undressed him until he was naked, gloriously ready in front of her eyes and at the mercy of her clever hands.

  She touched him – the chest carved in stone; the muscles bulging on his arms and the steel of his forearms.

  She kissed him – the hard silk of his skin; the scars whispering his story of blood.

  She fed her eyes, feasted on his smell only to grow hungrier, until her skin was feverish and the cool AC breeze ignored.

  Mark hissed a sharp intake of air, grasped her wrist before she took him into her hand. “Lay down,” he commanded with a hoarse voice.

  He hunted down his wallet; the plastic paper of a condom rustled.

  Her eyes stayed with him as he came back to her, as he lay on her, as he–slowly, slowly–joined their bodies until they were one, until pleasure was too thick.

  Until they surrendered.

  * * * * *

  Dawn breathed coral and mauve whispers in the pale, blue sugar sky. The window framed it in a real life watercolor. Ann had followed the blushing sky, its shade changed every time she lazily opened her eyes. She sighed with pleasure, snuggled deeper into the warmth of the man at her side when the AC kicked on.

  A smile, slow and pure like a morning star, bloomed on her lips as strong fingertips traced idle lines on her back.

  Only half awake, she glanced around at the new room; she pushed her will as far as realizing it wasn’t really darker than the last one. Older, but warm and cozy. It had a Spanish feeling, she thought. The bathroom’s barreled door, the high brass bed, the iron sconces scattered on sandy walls.

  Her interest in the room crashed down when sexy lips followed the trails drawn by hands on her arm, up to her shoulder and neck; morning bristle prickled her skin, made her giggle. She could have been on a bed of bugs and snakes, and wouldn’t have cared.

  “Good morning,” Mark said. “Coffee before shower?” His voice was always smooth in the morning, a thing that never ceased to amaze her.

  She cleared her throat, trying to clean it from the drowsiness. “Is it
weird that we have a morning routine already?”

  “It’s not the first time we’ve woken up together.”

  She adjusted the sheet to snuggle closer. “I like it better this time.”

  “It’s not half bad.”

  “About that coffee.” She yawned, entwined their fingers on his chest. “Does it mean you’ll leave the bed?”

  “Afraid so.”

  She pushed her face on against his shoulder, where it was safe from the prying light. “Five minutes. Ten, tops.”

  He chuckled, and nuzzled at her hair. “I thought last night would energize you.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. If anything, I’m heavily sedated. With sex. I haven’t slept this good in a long time.”

  When his hand toyed with the hair at the nape of her neck, she stretched against it, warmed by the lazy pleasure of his touch.

  “I’d like to help you sleep some more, but we have to go.”

  She kicked away the sheet, entwined her leg with his. “Nobody’s going to die if we stay here another fifteen, twenty minutes. Unless they break into the room this minute, that is.”

  She kept her eyes closed, but mentally kicked her mouth for her choice of words. His whole body tensed, the touch lost the casual sweetness. She hoped she could still save the dreamy mood of that morning. “Relax, Mark. If they haven’t come by now, I don’t think they will in the immediate future. At this point, I can’t say I care.”

  “Well, I do. I’m serious, angel, we must go.”

  But he rose on his elbow, his fingers skimmed down to the small of her back and strolled up to her neck. A shiver of pure pleasure and relief shook her skin as her breathing grew heavy. “If you want me to move, stop that.”

  “Or, I can keep on doing it.”

  “I thought we had to go.”

  “Few more minutes won’t kill anyone.”

  Gathering up all her strength, she opened one eye to look at him. “I’m impressed. You know it’s not going to take only a few more minutes, though.”

  He yielded to the truth with a sigh and lay on his back. “Do you know what I’m grateful for?” he asked, solemn.

  “What?”

  “Yoga.” He gave her a glance full of admiration. “You bend and twist like a cat, girl.”

  All puffed up by his compliment, she smiled smugly. “I know. And you, sir, are big and strong like a bull.”

  He blinked a couple of times. Then broke into a laugh so rich and loud she found herself laughing with him with no clue about why.

  “What? I wanted to hold on to the animal metaphor.”

  “It’s just that you don’t look like someone who can do and say certain things. You look like an angel.” He skimmed a finger over her lips. “God help me, but you’re not.”

  “Yes, well, I was raised by hippies, remember? There’s nothing shameful in pleasure, if there’s respect.”

  “I love your parents, along with yoga.” He pulled her back on his chest. “They were really into the hippie thing?”

  “Oh, man, a lot. It was weird, in a sweet way.”

  As memory bloomed, she doodled around the scars on his abdomen with tender fingers. Mark forced himself to ignore the tension building up. He had promised he would listen, and he would even if it cost him his sanity.

  “We had our vegetable garden, dad would take us to see flowers and birds, and tell us about loving all the creatures, mom made us clothes. We didn’t have a single black item in our hand-made drawer. She said life was too beautiful to waste time with black.”

  “Never had trouble with other kids?”

  “Why would we? They loved coming over, play in the garden.”

  She was lost in a thought for a long instant, and her touch stopped.

  “People have always been good to us,” she said then. “Maybe that’s why it’s hard for me to fight, because I never really had to. Now is different.”

  He kissed her golden hair as his heart twitched at the sad note running under her voice.

  “So, how come they named you with the most classic names?” he asked, hoping it would be enough to distract her. “I’d expect something like Rain and Rainbow, not Mary and Ann.”

  “They always said that was their way; we had to find ours, and a name stays forever. They didn’t want us to be branded by their lifestyle. Plus, they liked simple things.”

  “Very considerate.”

  “They were great. You would have liked them, and they would have been happy their little girl was safe. I’m not sure about understanding each other, though.”

  He frowned. “What about that?”

  She looked at him, and her voice was full of common sense. “They were free and airy. You’re full of duty, and rules, and control. It is a difficult mediation.”

  “I know when I can bend the rules.”

  “Do you? Really? See, I didn’t get that.”

  He loved the way her curls brushed his skin as she shook her head. “I’m here, right? Naked and in bed with the person I swore to protect – not very professional or safe. And I’m already running ten minutes late on my daily plan.”

  “You have a daily plan?”

  “You learn that surviving’s nothing more than good planning. The Boss always says that.”

  He closed up in a silence full of sorrow, full of doubts. His team, his friends, were still under the gloomy shadow of suspicion.

  And when he left with half a smile and his gun, she gave him his space.

  Ann lay quietly, knowing the only thing left for her to give him was her support because her heart was already his.

  Chapter 19

  Alone with the bathroom mirror, Mark rubbed his face to avoid looking at it.

  Keep his dick in his pants and his head on his shoulders. Keep the distance. Yeah, right.

  Not only he’d gone against all that was clever and full of sense – keeping her away. No, sir. One more minute, and he’d have used some crazy, heavy word.

  Now, sex was one thing from there to love, the road was long. It didn’t matter that he wanted to grin like a fool, or that the simple thought of her made his knees weak. Sex didn’t equal love.

  Still, he wanted to be with her. Desperately. Not exactly the plan he had in mind when it all started: help the girl, see ya.

  Well, his initial plan sucked. He liked the new one–being with her no matter what–a lot better, even if it was way worse.

  Mark turned the shower on, thought about taking a bath with Ann instead. But then he remembered the mess they were in and cursed, stomping under the jet of water. He’d see to killing who was after them, and make them suffer for forcing him to postpone that bath.

  If they didn’t manage to kill Ann and himself first.

  He leaned against the shower tiles as panic rained on him, heavier than the water. Happiness was a new development, and it terrified him. Would it be the death of them? He nearly rooted up the shower handle when he turned it off.

  Okay, he wasn’t smart enough to stay away from her, but he knew how to fight. It was what he did best. Double concentration and double effort, that was how he was going to end the crap building up around them. He felt it up to his chin already, and it stank.

  He would keep her, both of them, alive. And when it was over…

  Mark paid no attention to the mint of shaving gel sneaking into his nostrils as he worked it to a thick foam. The old razor rasped away stubborn bristle, small drops of blood blossomed and were ignored.

  A new life. The idea played in his mind, lazy at first, then louder and louder.

  Did he want a new life?

  He’d joined the Marines because protecting people was his calling. The blood, the ghosts, and a rotten conscience were the price to pay to fulfill his destiny. Adrenaline, and the responsibility of saving lives his reward. Hypothetically, could he live without all of it?

  Not all fights involved killing. As for the adrenaline, he had never been so high like the night before. Danger, he could do witho
ut, happily. And he had in his hands the most important life of all, Ann’s.

  He shook his head against that stupid train of thoughts, forced his mind to go back to more urgent matters.

  Gage Noxell. Taking the bastard down wasn’t going to be a picnic.

  Mark rubbed at his hair with a towel, threw it over the rail. It would have been a lot easier with his boys. The Team’s involvement still didn’t make any sense, unless someone was helping with this mysterious cargo.

  No way. Falcon was somber, but honest to the bone. Snake was a fiercely loyal clown. The Boss? Out of the question. And yet…

  Doubt was eating him, heavier to carry than any truth, a truth Noxell had.

  A plan was taking shape in his mind when the door slammed open. “Mark!” Ann shouted, running into the room.

  Reflexes honed by war whetstone sprang into action. He pushed her behind his back, reached for his gun. With a kick he closed the door and grounded both of them in the far corner of the room, his body leaned forward, tensed, ready to attack.

  Squeezed between the wall and his back, Ann poked at his shoulder with a fingertip. “Mark?”

  “You hurt? Where are they?”

  “Who?” She wriggled out from the corner and shoved the gun down with a slow, firm push. “Nobody’s here.”

  Adrenaline didn’t fade away, but took another color. From the black tone of fear, it went to the sparkling red of anger in the space of a blink.

  “Are you out of your damned mind?” he charged. Lightheaded, he pressed the back of the hand holding the gun to his forehead, breathing hard. “You never, ever, break into a room like that, understand?”

  Her look was even and her words unruffled. “You’re too tense.”

  “Am I?” he shouted.

  “Don’t raise your voice. There’s no need, I’m standing right here.”

  “I could have shot you.”

  She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t go shooting around like a crazy cowboy.” Excitement flushed back on her face and she grasped his arm. “I dreamed of Mary.”

  “Yay,” he cheered flatly, trying to take his heart back from the floor, where it had fallen few minutes earlier and didn’t want to get up.