Taming the Fire (20 page)

He tugged at her hair to pull her mouth off his, held her there for a second. “You're coming with me.” He didn't give her another option or another way out, just stared into her ginger eyes until that small part of her that wasn't immune to his hypnosis tuned in. “You will not run from me again.”

He'd parked at the edge of the forest—it took them less than fifteen minutes of walking fast through the brambled woods to arrive there. When he opened the passenger-side door, she stared down at the chains—her chains that he'd laid on her seat.

“Do I need to use them now?” he breathed against her neck, one finger running up her side to brush her breast and move toward a nipple. “Because they will be used sooner or later, just like I promised.”

“I… don't need them now. I won't run again.”

He believed her. She'd been running to save him, not running away from him, something that nearly broke his heart. Every fiber of his being wanted to take her home, chain her down and make her fly—wanted to bring her pleasures she'd yet to experience.

He would do that. And then he'd talk to her… make her understand. He went over his plan in his mind on the drive back to the safe house, until he pulled into the garage and locked and armed the house around them. Then he led her into the basement, where Dev had installed a wall strong enough to hold Rik, with the right chains. He'd helped Devlin design the dungeon so it looked lived in, as though it was used often, but this was the first time he'd seen it in person.

It made his blood run hot, seeing his old stomping grounds recreated here. He hadn't wanted to revisit his past, but this was different—this was where he'd thrived. It had gotten old for him because he'd wanted to settle in with one sub and couldn't allow himself.

But with Rik…

Fuck, no
. With Rik
nothing…
she was Itor. She was dangerous—she needed to be captured and contained, and then she'd hate his guts so much there'd be nothing left but scraps of the time they'd spent together. If she survived ACRO and Itor fighting over her.

“So this friend, the one who owns the house… you play together,” she mused, looking around the well-stocked dungeon. There was a St. Andrew's Cross and a spanking bench—two medical tables, and a large bed in the corner, plus various other toys. Whips and masks lined the wall, along with heavy chains that hooked to a stone wall.

He preferred to use Rik's chains—obviously, they'd been proven to hold her and hold her well.

“We've played together with subs, yes. My friend is also a Dom. He's rougher than I prefer, though.”

“You don't like it rough?” She picked one of the leather belts up and ran it over her arm as if to test its weight.

“I like to give pleasure. Sometimes, that comes from pain, but I'm not into pain for pain's sake.”

She turned into him, a palm on his chest. “You've had long-term subs before?”

“No. Never. I was always… it wasn't something I saw myself doing well.” He put his hand over hers. “You're the first person I've been with more than once in any capacity, Rik. Now sit on the edge of the table.”

“I'd rather stand.”

“It wasn't a suggestion. Sit.”

He actually saw her teeth grind together.

She looked as if she wanted to protest, but didn't.

Once she was seated, he caught her gaze. “Just look at me, and breathe.”

“I can't do this, Trance.”

“Call me
Sir.”

Her back stiffened. For a moment, her eyes went wild, and her breathing grew slow and deep, and he knew she was trying to suppress the beast. Then, just as the tension melted from her face, her eyes shot wide again, and she clawed at the collar.

Ryan.

He couldn't fully hypnotize Rik, but he could damn well hypnotize Ryan—if Dev's theory was correct and Ryan was using his gift to see what Rik was seeing. Trance stared into her amber-colored eyes and worked his magic.

The first time he'd realized he had this gift, he'd been six and he'd convinced the babysitter to let him eat junk food all day long. He didn't have real control of it until he was in his late teens—blamed the testosterone and the fact that he had more than normal, thanks to his excedo gene. But he'd used the gift sparingly, and once he joined the military, he used it only during times when he knew his muscle would get him in more trouble than his mind control would.

This time, he knew both his mind and his brawn would bring the trouble, and he was actively courting it.

He continued staring at her until she was calmer, and then he spoke. “Remember that time at the annual picnic? You took off all your clothes and went swimming in the lake and then most of the people at the picnic followed, including your boss. And then later we went to that club called Chaos and you picked up that woman with the purple hair. Remember you telling me about how you grew up in San Diego?”

“What are you talking about, Tr—Sir?”

“Lay back for me, Rik. No more questions.” He waited for her to follow his direction—he'd maintained eye contact the entire time, hopefully taking out whoever was on the other end of the remote for a bit. And if it was Ryan, well, he'd given him enough reminders of ACRO life for the man to begin to suspect something. Even a total mind scrub couldn't take away memories forever, just make them so painful to access that the victim typically wouldn't bother.

But Ryan wasn't typical anything. He'd bother. And Trance had the chance he'd been working up to: Rik, submissive.

He locked the cuff around one ankle and then the other and then locked her wrists above her head. She gave a soft gasp each time the metal clicked shut until she was left splayed open for him. Still fully clothed too, but he'd have fun taking care of that detail.

First things first, though. “Itor are not your people,” he whispered fiercely, the message for both Ryan and Rik. “Come home where you belong.”

* * *

R
YAN'S WORLD TILTED
on its axis, and spun out of control. The guy with Ulrika was looking at Ryan.
Directly at Ryan
. He felt it all the way to his brain.

Remember that time at the annual picnic? You took off all your clothes and went swimming in the lake and then most of the people at the picnic followed, including your boss. And then later we went to that club called Chaos and you picked up that woman with the purple hair. Remember you telling me about how you grew up in San Diego?

Yes… he remembered. Swimming naked… But where? His boss… a guy named… Roland.

Chaos. He didn't remember that. Or the purple-haired woman. But somewhere in the fog of his mind he did remember San Diego. And his mother, who had been pouring the cereal. A warm wash of feeling came over him. He'd loved her. They'd been close, but she'd died just days before he graduated from high school. Cancer.

The fog closed in again, and Ryan floated, somehow aware that the blond guy—Trance, he thought—was doing this to him. Dimly, he felt Coco's hands on his shoulders, heard her calling his name.

Itor are not your people. Come home where you belong
.

Pain blasted through Ryan's head, spiderwebbing across his skull, and then the connection with Trance broke. He sat, stunned and unable to speak or move, except to look down and see that he'd dropped the remote and was now clutching the headboard so hard it had cracked.

Itor are not your people
.

Ryan's stomach churned up his breakfast. If Itor weren't his people, who were?

R
YAN WAS
getting all freaky again, nonresponsive even. This whole head injury thing sure got in the way of, like, his job.

“Ryan, dammit, please.” Meg shook him, more roughly than she had when he'd collapsed on the plane. Nothing. She stroked his hair, moving it off his forehead—it was cool to the touch, so no fever. But his eyes were staring straight ahead and his lips moved, as if he was answering questions inside his own mind.

He sat up, hugging his knees to his chest—his breathing was fast, and when she touched him he barked, “Get the hell away from me.”

“Sorry.” She moved across the room, tried her best to become invisible. This was probably the stupidest thing she'd ever done, stayed with a man who'd kidnapped her—a man who'd once threatened to hurt her.

You took this man's life from him—you owe him
.

But she didn't have to let him treat her like shit.

Slowly, she stood and walked over to him, bent down so her face was closer to his. “You're in pain and you're scared and fucked up—I get that, Ryan. But don't you dare treat me like some sorry-assed scapegoat for your problems.”

“You're part of my goddamned problem!” he roared, catching her by the arm and pulling her toward him.

She didn't struggle out of his grip, but she didn't stop telling him off either. “Poor baby—you're money's all gone. Stolen by a girl. Money gotten by illegal means. Let's not pretend you were feeding orphans, asshole.”

He released her, tried to turn away, but she wasn't having it. This time, she grabbed his chin, forced him to look at her. “Most women I know would've been long gone, would've left your sorry ass on the floor of the plane. Especially after what you tried to do to me. I didn't. You'd better start appreciating that.”

He was breathing hard, eyes averted. When he finally spoke, his voice was still angry, but it wasn't directed at her. “I'm not who I thought I was… I'm not an Itor agent. I think I might be an ACRO Agent.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I met a guy the other night—the one we followed here. He knew me but I didn't recognize him. But I swear, he was just talking to me, in my head.” He stared at the remote as if trying to figure things out. “He was telling me things.”

“While you were out of it, you mentioned San Diego again—the way you did earlier. I know some things about you,” she said finally, wondered if he'd yell at her for holding back.

He didn't, just took her by the shoulders and told her, in no uncertain terms, “Stop fucking around and tell me everything you know about me. Now. Please.”

Yes, she supposed that was only fair. “You grew up in San Diego,” she started, and immediately his fingers eased up.

He muttered, “That's right, that's right,” to himself before turning his attention back to her.

“And you're right—you don't work for Itor, you're an ACRO agent.” She revealed what ML had told her—he'd called when Ryan had gone to get the food, confirming that Ryan was working undercover at Itor when he'd been discovered and captured. “I think Itor caused your head injury…”

“They did a mind scrub,” he muttered. “Motherfucker.”

“I don't know what that is, but it doesn't sound good.” She leaned against the bed and watched him carefully, the way the dark hair fell over his forehead, tousled, like he'd just woken up from a long, deep sleep. In many ways, he had—but she wondered what had happened to him during those long months when ACRO had believed him to be dead.

He's probably all kinds of fucked up, sis. You need to get away from him. Wyatt said they're sending agents in to grab him
.

She'd been trying not to think about the tapes of him she'd seen earlier, with him hurting the women. Although maybe
hurting
wasn't the right word, because, from what she'd read about the BDSM world, some people liked that kind of pain.

Ryan just didn't seem to be the type of man who enjoyed dishing it out… but she supposed she didn't know him very well at all.

“I've got to go.” He was on his feet, rummaging in his bag, grabbing for the keys.

A big part of her wanted him to leave—she'd just sit here on the floor and let him go and then she'd catch a flight to Italy or Greece and hang out there until Interpol got too close.

She just wanted to go home, but she had no idea where that was anymore. “I can help you.”

Ryan stopped, watched her even as his eyes darted frantically from her to the car. “I've got to move fast—there's not much time. Got to chase my past… the key to my future.”

If she couldn't find her own, she might as well help someone find theirs. “Where are we going?”

“I need to find a way into a house—an ACRO safe house.” He moved close, let his fingers rest lightly on her computer and rattled off the address to her. Surprisingly, the Internet came up. Quickly, she began to type, fingers flying, getting into places she shouldn't be. The familiar thrill began to ease over her body as she began to type in codes in an attempt to find the blueprints of both the house and the elaborate security system.

“Can you break it so I can get in? I've got to see the guy who's in there. Now. Got to warn him…”

“It's not going to be easy,” she muttered, her fingers typing a mile a minute. “This system is far more sophisticated than anything I've ever seen. You need codes—security codes, things I might not be able to get access to.”

“You've got something better than that. You've got an ACRO agent at your side—if what's coming back to me is right.”

“Let's hope more starts to come back to you.”

“Let's go—you'll work while I drive. Maybe, between the two of us, we'll be able to break and enter.”

D
EVLIN WAS
at the office long before Marlena, a typical occurrence. Although this time, he'd arrived around two in the morning, after he had kicked Gabriel out of his house.