Authors: Shannon Mckenna
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Suspense, #Action & Adventure, #Contemporary
Blood and Fire (13 page)
He wished that Nadia had had the initiative to defy orders and put bullets into Parr’s and Ranieri’s brain stems on the spot. But he could hardly fault her for doing as her team leader had directed.
Zoe’s snorting and whimpering grated on him. She needed aggressive behavioral modification and changes in her meds. To be fair, he had perhaps overdone it in the sexual rewards. To show off for Michael, he’d basically inflicted a twenty-minute orgasm on the poor girl. She could barely stand up. It would be no wonder if her brain chemistry was somewhat altered.
It occurred to him, staring down at her, that Zoe might do for Reginald’s contract, assuming they would accept a female. Zoe’s skills were formidable, and her flaws were easy to downplay. He gazed at her dewy, writhing body. Zoe could offer frills to the Amesbury Group CEO that Reginald could not. At least not to this client, who favored women.
King had been acquainted with Michal LeFevre, the CEO of the Amesbury Group, for years. In spite of LeFevre’s three hundred pounds of quivering bulk, his greasy comb-over, liver spots, and his seventy-four years, the man had an insatiable appetite for beautiful young women.
King wondered if the man knew how it would feel to have the young woman’s passion be unfeigned, the orgasms real. If LeFevre had Zoe’s DeepWeave sexual imprint commands, he could experience that wonder firsthand. Zoe would be his adoring slave.
LeFevre would never be able to refuse. In fact, King might even up the price. He’d never factored his operatives’ sexual programming into his contracts. It was risky, uncertain, and he preferred to keep the Levels Eight, Nine, and Ten mortal control commands, such as the one he’d just issued to Reginald, strictly to himself. But Zoe might not work out in the long run anyway. Her overheated sexuality and helpless sobbing hinted at deep inner instability. It might be best to use her up all at once. Recoup what he could of his investment. Cut his losses.
But first, Zoe would rid the world of Lily Parr and Bruno Ranieri.
Fury flared afresh. Reginald, Cal, Tom, Martin. Four of his mature male operatives. Two from the special series. It was a staggering loss.
Watching Reginald blow his own brains out had not even begun to soothe his anger. He only wished he could kill that incompetent piece of shit more than once. King looked down, noticed that he was erect. Anger often had an energizing effect on him. He stroked his penis thoughtfully as he approached the sobbing woman on the floor.
But Michael had left scarcely ten minutes before, sweaty and spent, and Zoe had not even washed. It would be unhygienic.
The com buzzed. Nadia. Too soon to be reporting on the successful completion of her task. Which meant there was a problem.
“What is it?” he barked.
“Sir, I’m outside the Wygant Street house,” she said. “The police were here when I arrived.”
King was so appalled, he had nothing to say. “How . . .”
“It seems that the bullet Reggie fired went through the bedroom window.” Nadia’s voice was apologetic. “It also went through the bedroom window of the neighbor’s house across the street. The woman who lives there called the police. She’s being treated by the EMTs for cuts from the broken glass. They’re wheeling Reggie’s body out now.”
King closed his eyes. His blood pressure was climbing, his ears roaring. Reggie had managed to fuck up, even in death.
“What do you want me to do, sir?” Nadia’s voice swam through the haze of red with a few seconds of delay. “Sir? Are you still there?”
“ to headquarters. I’ll send you a new team leader tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. I am so—”
He cut off the connection, uninterested in whatever else she had to say. He nudged Zoe with his toe. “Get up.”
She gazed up, tear-blinded, nose running. “But, sir, Reggie—”
“Shut up, and get on your feet. Or are you too emotionally destroyed to take Reggie’s place as team leader?”
Zoe gasped and scrambled to her feet with gratifying swiftness. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice suddenly clear as a bell.
Finally. The attitude he liked to see. “I want Parr and Ranieri gone. Vanished. No trace. No witnesses, no publicity, no bodies. Fast.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stared at her, panting with rage. On impulse, he swept the table clear. Dessert plates, coffee service, wineglasses, burning candles, all crashed to the floor. He wrenched his pants open, shoved Zoe back against the table. She draped herself back eagerly, opening wide.
It was a relief at first, but after a while, the pounding began to bore him. Zoe’s moist, quivering body was so wet, so eager, so yielding. She perceived his brutality as pleasure. If he lashed her with a whip, she would beg for more. He needed resistance tonight. Conquest.
He was losing his erection. It made him want to strangle her.
He pulled away, leaving her whimpering, on the verge of her fifth orgasm. And he had not even used the programmed phrases to elicit them. This was pure spillover. Innate sexual heat and emotional excess. Typical of Zoe. Dirty little slut. “Get dressed,” he ordered her.
She jerked up onto her elbows. “But I . . . but please, can’t I—”
“No.” He buttoned his pants, did up his belt. “You’ve had enough for tonight. You must earn your treats.”
“Yes, sir.” She struggled into her tight dress as he entered commands that would give her a higher level of access to relevant files.
“Go wash,” he said. “The car will be waiting in twenty minutes to take you to the airport. Study the files en route.”
Zoe was looking confused. King manufactured a smile to settle her nerves. “If your assignment is a success, we will dine again, and I will give you a full Level Ten reward sequence. The whole thirty verses.”
Her eyes went wide, dazzled. “Oh, sir,” she whispered. “Really?”
It was a bit iffy to overuse sexual rewards. In fact, such an overwhelming experience could actually damage her. But sex seemed to be Zoe’s most powerful motivating force. And matters were very urgent.
“I’ve never given the whole sequence to any of my agents before,” he said throatily, stroking her cheek. “But you, my lovely Zoe, are special. A real treasure. So finish this business. And hurry back.”
Zoe scurried to comply.
10
“P
ull over here,” Bruno said. “At the mall.”
ull over here,” Bruno said. “At the mall.”
“Here?” Alex Aaro scowled over his shoulder at them. “You’re being pursued by hit men, and you want an Egg McMuffin?”
Bruno exhaled through his teeth. He bitterly regretted having called the guy. Aaro was not his friend, nor even Kev’s friend. He was Kev’s brother Davy McCloud’s friend, an old Army Rangers buddy. He’d helped them out in the zombie masters debacle and gotten the shit blown out of his property in the process, so he’d racked up pity points to offset his terminally bad attitude. Plus, he’d helped the McCloud brothers and their friends on other strange exploits, the tales of which were so improbable, Bruno still couldn’t bring himself to believe them. Nutzoid McClouds. They baffled him. But Kev fit right in, even after an eighteenyear hiatus. Which, of course, only pissed Bruno off all the more.
Yep, Aaro was resoundingly not his friend, but that was what made this dickface the safest one to call, if Lily was to be believed about the apocalyptic surveillance bullshit. He had his doubts, but those attackers had been focused, trained professionals. Not drug-addled street scum. It was weird enough to make him very careful.
In spite of the explosions and the pitched gun battle at his remote forest home, Aaro had, amazingly, stayed out of the press. He kept a low profile, being freakishly paranoid, the McClouds said.
And that meant something, coming from those guys.
“We need clothes,” he said. “At the Gresham outlet mall. We’re a mess.”
“Retail therapy for the stress? What’ll it be, Victoria’s Secret?”
He was not rising to the bait. “Clothes,” he said evenly. “Normal, warm winter clothes. I can’t use my cards until I know what the fuck is going on, so you’ll have to front me.”
Aaro swerved into the mall entrance. “Let me get this straight. You call at the crack of dawn with a story about bodies on the streets of Portland. You demand taxi service, because out of nowhere, the whole world wants to kill you and your schizo girlfriend, too.”
Lily bristled. “I am not schizo!”
“And now we’re going for a shopping spree at the mall, at my expense. Shall we get a latte and a ginger current scone at the coffee bar? An acupuncture treatment? A massage?”
Bruno stared at the guy. “I can’t drag her up to Tony’s cabin in a miniskirt and heels. There might be snow up there.”
“Bruno, he’s right. Stopping for clothes would be silly,” Lily said. “Let’s just save that for when we—”
“You’re spattered with blood!” he yelled. “Your coat is canvas, with no lining! You don’t even have any goddamn underwear!”
Lily jerked loose of his encircling arm. “You bastard!” she hissed. “I do, too!”
“That thong you’re wearing does not count,” Bruno retorted.
Aaro jerked to a stop and gave them a knowing look. “Glad to hear the hit men haven’t cramped your sex life any.”
“That was before!” he snarled back. “The hit men came after!”
Aaro flinched, lifting his hands. “Don’t give me the blow-byblow. God, look at me, in my sad celibate state. Forced to buy hot lingerie for Bruno’s bare-assed girlfriend.”
“Don’t bother,” Lily told him. “I’d rather die than wear it.”
Aaro turned his sharp, narrow gaze on her. “If death is what you wanted, your new fancy boy fucked that up for you back at the diner. So what would make you feel like living again? Culottes? Tap pants? Stretch lace? Red satin? Go wild, honey. You like thongs?”
“Watch it, Aaro,” Bruno said.
Aaro’s eyes flicked to Lily’s crotch. It was hidden by the folds of her blood-tered canvas coat, but Lily’s battered knees still snapped smartly together. “Oh, I do,” he said. “Whenever I get the chance.”
She gave him a thin smile. “When hell freezes over, buddy.”
“Ooh. Scary,” Aaro murmured. “You tell her, man, because I’m way too intimidated to say it to her face, but she should keep her panties on in these dangerous times.”
“Up yours, asshole,” Lily retorted.
Bruno put his finger over Lily’s mouth. Anger had given her a nice rosy glow, which had to be a good thing, up to a point. He held up his hand to forestall whatever snide and hateful thing Aaro was opening his mouth to say. “You are out of line, man,” he said quietly. “Shut up.”
Aaro’s mouth tightened. “I knew it,” he said. “I knew, as soon as I saw who was calling, that this would be another massive goatfuck with international implications. It always is, with McClouds.”
“I’m not a McCloud. I share no genetic material with those freaks!”
Aaro dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “You might as well be. The curse rubs off on anyone they hang out with. You’ve been exposed, so you’re already fucked. And so am I.” He glanced at Lily, not without sympathy. “You too, from the looks of things.”
“That’s stupid,” Bruno muttered.
“Yeah? My home, my vehicle and my privacy got bombed to rubble the last time I answered a phone call from one of you clowns!”
“You were reimbursed in full! They threw money at your head to make up for that! You have no reason to feel sorry for yourself!”
“You can’t reimburse privacy,” Aaro said darkly. “Doing favors for you guys is costly on a whole lot of levels.”
“Look at it this way,” Bruno said. “I’m a client, OK? Bill me by the hour. Name your fucking rate. Save your receipts. I’m not asking any favors, so I won’t unleash the curse. No favors, no curse. Simple.”
“Nothing’s simple about broken bodies on the street.”
“I told you,” Bruno protested. “They were trying to kill—”
“Yeah, I get the white knight thing, but was it necessary to snuff the guys? Was your brain functioning at all? You’ve got no idea who they were, what they want, or from what direction they’ll come the next time.” His eyes cut to Lily. “Or do you?”
She shook her head, her lips tight.
“Great. So now, instead of having somebody to interrogate, you’ve got a possible murder rap. What a trade-off. Why didn’t you just beat the shit out of them? You, my friend, have fucked up.”
Bruno bit back a snotty retort. He was still afraid to think about the entity that had taken over his body during that fight. And he didn’t want to get mired in explanations and selfjustification. Waste of time and breath. There was nothing he could say to Aaro that wouldn’t be whining, or excuse mongering. He shook his head. Later for that.
“OK, then,” Aaro said sourly. “Whatever. By the hour, up the ass, receipts itemized. What do you want me to buy?”
“Sensible winter shoes.” Bruno turned to Lily. “What’s your size?”
“Six, but seriously, I really don’t want—”
“A big sweater for her, some drab color. A wool knit cap. A winter coat. Down, with a hood. Black nylon, something big and puffy. Jeans for both of us. I’m about your size, for her . . .” He looked her over appraisingly. “Ten for her. And get me a sweatshirt.”
She jumped. “Hey. That’s not my—”
“Yeah, I know you’re more like an eight, but I want them loose,” he snapped. “This is not about showcasing your ass.”
“Speaking of her ass,” Aaro interjected. “You haven’t told me how you want the underwear.” He eyed her, chewing his lip.
Lily lunged for the door. “I’m done. Have a nice life, gentlemen.”
Bruno caught her as she grabbed the handle, and yanked her back. His arm locked around her, clamped over her heaving ribcage.
“Let go of me,” she said. “Right now.”
“I can’t,” he said. And it was the literal truth.
Aaro made a disgusted sound. “You’re cooked, buddy. Your judgment is deep-fried in testosterone. Not a pretty sight.”
“Go earn your hourly fee and get out of my face,” Bruno said.
The slam of the van door cut off a string of obscenities, which then faded away into the distance.
The silence in the van was punctuated by Lily’s rapid breathing. The thrum of her pulse was too fast. She was shorting out. Muscling her around probably wasn’t helping, but he couldn’t stop. He was shaking, too. His heart banging just as hard.
She pried at his wrist. Her hand was icy cold. He covered it with his and opened his jacket, pulling her back so she could soak up some skin-on-skin heat. The contact had its predictable effect.
He tried to keep his lust locked up in the privacy of his own head, but Lily could pluck horndog impulses right out of the airwaves with the precision of a pair of surgical tweezers. She shifted against him, moving uneasily against the throbbing heaviness in his groin.
“Sorry,” he offered. “All that talk about asses and underwear. I’m suggestible. Plus there’s the combat buzz. Gets you every time.”
She scowled at him through tangles of bright hair. “Just a physiological phenomenon? Nothing personal? Gee, that’s so flattering.”
He started to laugh. She winced when his hand tightened on her shoulder. He lifted it, angry at himself for having forgotten the bruise.
He pushed her coat open and plucked the shirt down. Oh, ouch. It was bruising already. He laid his hand over it. No pressure, just warmth. “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “I wish I had some ice for you.”
She started to shrug, thought better of it. “I’m not sorry. If they’d hit your skull, you’d have gone down, and we’d both be dead. Or worse.”
“There’s worse?” He smiled. “That’s a positive way of looking at a big hematoma. You working on that glass-half-full attitude?”
She snorted. “Hardly. Speaking of attitudes. Aaro? Holy shit, Bruno. Where did you dig this guy up? He’s horrible!”
“Sorry about that,” Bruno said ruefully. “He was always sort of a clam, but today he’s totally on the rag. Still, he has the resources that I need. And did you come across his name from your research on me?”
“Nope,” she said. “Never heard of the guy.”
“That means he was the right one to call.”
They stared into each other’s eyes. The energy buzzed, hot and strained. It was wrong, stupid, irresponsible, but he leaned forward, breathing her in. Her lips prted. Her eyes had a wild, misty glow.
He kissed her. The zing of contact knocked the cage door wide open, and something big and muscular came barreling out, snorting and pawing. Something that wanted what it wanted and didn’t give a shit about doing the right thing. He tugged down the tattered stretch lace of her shirt, pulling until the points of her soft, perfect tits popped out. Took a whap to the face. Barely noticed it, he was so intent on tasting her nipples. Sweet and taut in his mouth. He flicked his tongue over the rigid buds and suckled until her fingernails dug into his jacket.
He pushed her leg up onto the seat, shoved up the skirt. Didn’t have far to go. Sexy woman smell, mixed with perfumed girly bath products. Her pussy glowed from their exploits in Tony’s apartment. The gusset of the thong was lost in her plump, juicy folds. She made a breathless sound as he plucked the gusset away and took a long look at damp ringlets, her pussy lips poking out like a hothouse flower.
“Stop this,” she said. “I thought you wanted answers.”
“I thought I did, too,” he said. “Then I looked under your skirt.”
He wooed her into another kiss for a couple of honey-sweet, wet, sticky minutes, until she gathered her wits and shoved at him again.
“Now is not the time, Bruno! If that guy Aaro came back while we were involved, and saw us, I’d have to kill myself just to save face!”
“How about I kill him, instead?” he suggested. “We’ll just take his van, dump him, and run. What’s one more body, more or less?”
Lily blinked at him for a few seconds. “Um. You’re kidding, right?”
Aw, shit. He flung his head against the seat and shut his eyes. So, he really was that terrifying. How fucking depressing was that.
“Now is a really bad time to joke about that stuff, Bruno.”
“Fine. I won’t kill him.” He brushed his knuckle over the smudged mascara on her cheekbone. “Don’t be scared of me. I’m not dangerous.”
“No? Three dead guys on the ground in barely over a minute?”
He rocked back, jarred. That event had nothing to do with the person he thought he was. A good fighter, yes, but he approached martial arts more as a sport than anything else. He wasn’t dangerous. He was the class clown, the smart-ass, the charmer who would do anything for a laugh. Not a killer.
But those guys were dead. He could call it self-defense, but he hadn’t been thinking self-defense. He hadn’t thought at all.
He’d just killed. So easily. Smoothly. Like some part of him was used to it.
He stared at her lips, her tangle of glossy hair. He tended to distract himself from uncomfortable feelings as quickly and forcibly as possible. Sex was an awesome distraction.
He tried to look harmless. “I’m not dangerous to you,” he told her.
“Bullshit,” she whispered. “You could destroy me.”
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