Degrees of Wrong (41 page)

The bitch of the situation was that if she died now, it would be for nothing. She hadn’t found what she was looking for, or a clue to point her in the right direction. In other words, she’d die in vain.

Not bloody likely.

The man started into the alcove. Wynn raised the stunner. Her thumb slid over the power control, ramping the voltage to full. If he wasn’t going to fuck around, neither was she.

He raised his arm. A light shone in her eyes, blinding her momentarily. As yellow spots clouded her vision, she let her finger hit the pulse trigger and heard his grunt and then the thump as his body hit the ground.

She bent over his supine form, feeling his pockets for identification. He had none. Not surprising. Whoever hired him wouldn’t want his identity known should he fall to an assassin. Too bad she didn’t have the luxury of killing him at this point. If she killed him, there would be no way to know who had sent him. Discovering the man’s employer was paramount.

She tapped the communicator disguised as jewelry clipped to her ear. “Cash, I need a body pickup.”

The reply that came through was a groan. “Is it dead?”

“No, just very knocked out. Can you get a bead on my location?”

“That’s affirmative.” There was a brief pause. “Take off your locator and put it on the body. Then get the hell out of there. Our contacts tell us the
polantaria
are on their way.”

“Copy that.” Wynn pulled the bracelet locator off her wrist and threw it onto the body. She lifted the cowl of her tunic over her head and left the safety of her hiding place.

The low whistle of the
polantaria
vehicles sounded in the distance. Cash hadn’t been kidding.

The
polantaria
were the island equivalent of the royal security forces and they didn’t suffer fools and murderers lightly. The old belief of an eye for an eye was alive and well and living under King Cadson’s rule. Actually, they made the old German Gestapo look like a band of Boy Scouts. It was amazing how they tended to look the other way when enough credits were put in their outstretched hands.

Payments the U.S. Jumpers were known to make on occasion, if it suited their purposes. At this time, it didn’t. The less the security forces knew about the plans to take the amulet, the better off for all.

The Amulet of Skia was believed to be a myth. Rumors began circulating about the time the Muloons threw in their lot with the exiled Vice Chancellor Rehelm of Didan that the amulet not only was real but had been discovered. No one in a place of authority had authenticated the tales, but that hadn’t stopped treasure hunters from both dimensions crossing over to try their luck at finding it.

For the Jumpers it was a matter of dimensional security. The Muloons must not get that amulet.

The sounds of the
polantaria
came closer. What had tipped them off? Was it just a coincidence, or had they discovered the shop had been hit?

Wynn headed south out of the market district and then turned west along the residential section where large white stone buildings were built six stories into the air as low-cost housing. Most of the inhabitants were workers from the docks, fisheries and marketplace. Their lot would never change.

In Cordona, there was very little room for advancement. It reminded her of the U.K. in the Regency and Victorian Eras—except with more sunshine. But the class systems that were in place were well and truly engrained and dictated by the auspices of the Alterrian royal family.

She continued to walk, moving from the main straightaway to the back alleys until she came to the upscale business district where her hotel was located. Her feet burned, the soles numb and tingling in her flat little sandals. The pain of working in a principality of Alterrian was that one had to dress the part. Her uniform would make her stand out like a rhino on the space shuttle. Which wasn’t always a bad thing.

She looked over her shoulder as she hurried into the hotel lobby and started for the bank of turbo-elevators. An arm reached out from a freestanding telecom station and wrapped around her throat, cutting off her scream.

Jigsawing her body back and forth, she tried to break her assailant’s hold. The hold only tightened as he moved her into a dark room and closed the door.

Strange, exotic scents assaulted her senses. Images waved before her eyes. Oh God, she was going under. They were using some kind of hypnotic hallucinogenic incense to drug her.

She’d heard of this technique before. It was how the flesh traders were able to bind their victims and get them to ports all over the planet without the person even realizing they’d been abducted.

She raised her hand to her communicator, only to have it smacked away.

“Do not even pretend to call anyone.”

Hands moved over her ear, snatching the jewelry from the mooring. She let out a yelp of pain when he tore the junction from her implant. It was like trying to rip her eardrum out by way of her frontal sinuses. The artificial equilibrium provided by the implant failed. Instant and debilitating nausea doubled her over onto the floor.

This was no time to be incapacitated.

She fought down the dry heaves. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead and back. Her shirt stuck to her skin. She thought she moaned.

A fierce Alterrian curse shot out like a cannon blast. Lights came on, sending Wynn into another spiral of agony. Why didn’t he just fucking kill her and put her out of her misery?

Someone bent down beside her. She dared not open her eyes to look.

Warm, calloused hands cradled her head. “Wynn? Wynn?”

She tried to open her eyes, but when she did the vertigo hadn’t receded. Who would know her name here?

“Please, wake.”

“I
am
awake.” Speaking caused the dry heaves to return. Her captor turned her over before the first wave of retching began.

He started to lift her.

“No! Don’t move me.”

He placed her back on the ground. A strong hand gripped her shoulder. “What is wrong?” The words were spoken in soft Alterrian Standard.

Did she recognize that voice?

Oh God, it couldn’t be.

When hell reigns on earth, love is a luxury they can’t afford.

Hammer Down

© 2012 Moira Rogers

Children of the Undying, Book 2

While the tattered remains of humanity huddle underground, hiding in their virtual world, Devi prefers living topside, making dangerous hauls through the demon-infested wasteland earth has become. The wealth that comes from smuggling supplies to those shunned as summoner-born or demon-touched doesn’t hurt, either.

The man she meets to arrange one of those under-the-table hauls is complicated…and handsome as hell. Literally. A glimpse of the predator beneath his silver gaze and she’s tempted to break her cardinal rule: never mix business with pleasure.

Zel’s first look at the wild-haired hauler threatens to distract him from his mission—and reminds him just how long it’s been since he got laid. As the leader of an outcast settlement, he can’t afford to trust too easily. Devi’s got a reputation for running a tight, disciplined crew, but her very willingness to deal with him means she has something to hide.

Not to mention a hot, tempting package like her could be the cleverest trap his enemies have ever set.

Warning: Contains demon bars, virtual (and literal) fights to the death, forbidden love, renegade AIs, a badass truck-driving heroine who will do anything to protect her crew and the half-demon warrior who will move heaven and hell to make her his.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Hammer Down:

“It shouldn’t matter.” His voice grated, suddenly angry. “God damn it, it shouldn’t fucking
matter
.
You
shouldn’t matter.”

It hurt, even though she understood the sentiment perfectly. “Thanks.”

He snarled again and covered the space between them in two long strides, crowding her against the wall. His hands slapped the wall on either side of her head, but he didn’t touch her. “Liar. Or are you going to tell me you want
me
to matter?”

She opened her mouth to give him a kind lie, to tell him he didn’t matter in the least, not to her. “No. I wish I didn’t give a damn about you.”

“You don’t. You don’t know me.” He pressed closer, nothing but hard muscle and heat stretched out against her. “We both got it bad, sweetheart. If you want to take me for a ride and get it out of your system, I’m game.”

“I bet you are.” He’d obviously given the matter some thought, which was more than she was capable of at the moment. Her body had gone into sensory overdrive, cataloguing every bit of tactile information it could gather about him.

And it wasn’t enough. She wanted to know what he tasted like, mouth and skin. Whether she could find softness anywhere on his body, or if he was all hard. There was only one way to find those answers, so she lifted her hands to his shoulders and pushed, testing his strength.

He didn’t budge. His lips curved into that wicked smile she’d first seen at the Pit Stop, and his hands skated down to grasp her hips. One quick jerk lifted her off the ground, onto his solid, muscular thigh, and he crushed his mouth to hers.

Heat blazed through Devi. Nothing, not even the way she’d spent the last few days craving him, had prepared her for the way she reacted to what should have been a simple kiss. His tongue touched hers and her knees went weak, leaving her grinding down on his leg. He knew how to take a woman’s mouth with single-minded determination, waging all-out war on her defenses. His thigh began to move against her, and he matched the thrusts of his tongue to that slow, deadly rock.

Devi jerked her mouth from his with a gasp. “Harder.”

“Bossy.” He bit her lower lip, and his chuckle rolled over her. “You want something, you take it.” He fit his mouth to hers again as his rough fingers curled around the back of her neck.

He liked being in control, but so did she. When she rocked against him this time, she dropped her hand and caressed the hard ridge of his cock in time with her body’s movements.

She swallowed his hissing moan, and a heartbeat later he snatched up her wrist and pinned it against the wall. “If that’s how you want to play…” He moved his other hand from her hip to her ass, dragging her into his next grinding thrust.

A little creative wiggling put her legs on either side of his, and she arched off the wall. She wanted to play, so badly that once wouldn’t be enough. She’d fuck him fast, round off the sharp edge of hunger twisting her belly. Then she could take her time, learn all those things she couldn’t leave without knowing.

He groaned, a rumbling noise that was half pleasure, half something darker, but he let her wiggle as he lowered his lips to her ear. “Impatient, aren’t you? Do you usually fuck men who roll onto their backs for you?”

“Sometimes.” She moved her hips once more, and a bolt of pleasure shuddered through her. Anticipation prickled over her skin and tightened her nipples.

“Lazy bastards. Not that I wouldn’t let you ride me, sweetheart.” He squeezed her ass. “But not until I’d had my fingers between your thighs. I bet you bite when you come.”

The mental picture his words painted was intoxicating. “And you like the thought of my teeth on your skin.”

“Depends on where you sink ’em.” He worked a hand between their bodies, his knuckles skimming the edge of her pants. “Where would you let me sink mine?”

“I’m not nearly so picky.” Flip, easy words, handy for hiding how deeply his touch shook her. “Bite me wherever you want.”

“That’d be just about everywhere.” His fingertips were hot as they grazed her bare skin. Rough breaths fell against her cheek, almost panting, proof that he wasn’t nearly as unaffected as his cocky, casual tone implied. “Fuck, I wanted to do you slow, but I’m losing my damn
mind
. Can’t think about anything but being inside you.” He traced his tongue around the shell of her ear and proved the words with a low groan.

The wet trace of his tongue made her hands clench in his shirt, and the fabric ripped a little. “Shit, sorry. Take it off.”

A rough denial as his fingers jerked at her pants. “If you weren’t wearing these, I’d be fucking you already.”

Devi bit his jaw. “You’d be fucking me already if you didn’t talk so much.”

“And I’m talking—” He froze, his hand halfway into her pants, and cursed as his gaze jerked to the door.

She heard it a second later, pounding footsteps coming down the hallway. Zel backed away and eased her to the floor. She wanted to withdraw, smooth her hair and take a moment to compose herself, but there could be trouble. If there was, it was likely to affect her crew.

So she jerked open the door as Cache skidded to a stop outside of it. “What happened?”

Cache couldn’t hear her words, but she apparently had no trouble interpreting her meaning. Her fingers flew, three quick gestures in a row.
Tanner. Guard. Fight.

“Fuck.” Devi grabbed her vest and shrugged into it with a quick glance at Zel. “Tanner’s found trouble. A fight with a guard.”