The Omega Team: Hot Rod (Kindle Worlds Novella) (3 page)

She probably shouldn’t have snapped at him, but she hadn’t been able to restrain herself.

Why are you so bitter?

Ohh. If he only knew.

But then he wouldn’t care. Not really. His silence all those years ago had proved as much.

Sometimes she hated him so fiercely she could barely stand it, and now—now that he was by her side, so close—it was hard to resist the opportunity to jab at him.

But they’d be cloistered in a small cabin for a month.

Her best option would be to just ignore him.

Trouble was, he was a hard man to ignore.

Even as a boy, he’d been irresistible. That crooked smile, those dark, simmering eyes, the silk of his hair. He’d reached the glory his teenaged body had promised. He was enormous, heavily muscled and tall. And though his features were still as beautiful, they had a savage cut to them. The scar slicing through his left cheek, nearly a dimple, only made him seem more mysterious and fascinating.

No.

She yanked her thoughts to a screeching halt.

No. He was not attractive. Not beneath the surface, at least.

It would serve her well to remember what kind of man he really was.

And, even though there were three Omega Team warriors to protect her, she knew the only person in this debacle she could really trust was herself.

No one else really gave a damn about her.

Especially not Matt Fucking Devereaux.

Chapter
Three

The safe house was as dismal as Matt remembered. Two bedrooms, a small bathroom with a leaky toilet and a kitchen-cum-living area, all furnished with mismatched furniture that had seen better days. It was nestled in a clearing in the woods outside the small town of Salvation, Texas that, on the map, was found just to the south of the middle of nowhere. They’d passed through town coming in, and that hadn’t changed much either, with the possible exception of a new bakery. Oh, and the stoplight. That was new too.

Obviously, not a lot going on in town.

Not that it mattered. They would only be leaving the cabin for supplies.

He and Vixen pulled in first, which was annoying because Ace and Coop were supposed to have arrived before them to clear the area, and also because he was damn tired of being alone with her—gum popping and all. So, after he cleared the interior of the cabin and before he carried her luggage and the groceries into the place, he told her to sit tight while he did a perimeter check.

To his annoyance, when he glanced back at the cabin, she was watching him through the window. Clearly visible. Hell, her shiny blonde curls were like a beacon in the gloom.

She might as well be wearing a target and singing an aria.

He stormed back onto the porch, threw open the door and bellowed, “Are you crazy?”

For some reason, his totally logical question seemed to surprise her. Those doe-like eyes widened and her lips parted. It took some effort, but he ignored all that and focused on her response. “What?”

“Jesus Christ, woman.” He stomped over to the window and yanked the curtains closed. “You know someone wants to kill you. You know the area hasn’t been checked. Why on earth would you stand there in full view?”

His fury lit the fuse on hers. Her eyes narrowed and her fingers curled into fists. “How dare you yell at me for that?”

“I’m not yelling.” More like howling.

She marched over to him and confronted him, toe to toe, nose to nose. Or nose to chest. She was short, after all. “It’s your fucking job to keep me safe. If you need me to do or not do something, you have to tell me. I’m not a fucking psychic.”

“Okay, missy. How’s this for clear direction? Keep the fuck out of sight. At least until we are sure the area is safe. And hell, even then. In fact, just go to your room and stay there.”

“Fuck you, jarhead.”

“I already fucking told you, I was not a fucking marine.” He didn’t know why he was letting her get the better of him. He never lost his temper, and he never spewed profanities like this…but her attitude was fucking pissing him off.

He wanted to turn her over his knee and wallop her bottom—

Oh. Fuck.

It scalded him, the blaze of lust that ripped through him.

And suddenly, he lost the reins.

Though he knew better, though he knew he shouldn’t, though he knew it was insane, he grabbed her shoulders, yanked her against him and kissed her.

It was savage and harsh. A punishment, really, and while one part of him was mortified at this effort to dominate her in a physical way, to show her, once and for all, who was boss, another part of him liked it. Loved it. Squirmed in delight.

She tasted sweet. Her mouth was soft, velvety. Her lips were lush pillows. Her body, sealed to his, was like an armful of heaven. It was a scalding moment of exquisite pleasure, especially when she softened and kissed him back.

But then, he should have known. He should have suspected she was hardly the kind of woman who allowed such liberties without her pound of flesh.

Her knee—and a particularly bony one, as it happened—came up quick and hard, connecting with his tender bits.

The air whooshed from his lungs and painful shards of light blinded him as agony raked him. He tightened his hold on her, but only to keep himself from falling to the floor in a writhing lump of misery. He held her and shook as he recovered himself. And then he released her. Stepped back and gave her some space. Gave himself some as well.

Hell, he deserved that.

He forced himself to meet her eyes. “I apologize,” he said. Nearly a croak.

To his annoyance, she smirked. “No need to apologize,” she said. “Just be aware that if you ever touch me again, next time, when I unman you, it’ll be with a knife.”

Funny thing, he totally believed her.

And he vowed to himself never to touch her again.

Oh, not because of her utterly unveiled threat. But because he’d enjoyed that kiss—that fraction of a second when she’d kissed him back—way more than he should have.

No doubt about it. She was a dangerous woman.

If he wanted to emerge from this mission unscathed, he needed to keep his hands, and his lips, to himself.

Sam did go to her room, but not because Matt had commanded it. She needed to get away from him, and fast.

She was mortified that she’d kissed him back. Only for an instant, only because his scent and his touch and his taste had somehow reached down deep into the desolate well of her soul and stroked a long-languishing memory—but she had.

It infuriated her how quickly she’d abandoned her vow. All her hate, her bitterness, her anger at him had just evaporated and she’d gone back in time. Become again that girl who had never been truly hurt. A girl who trusted. A girl who loved. A girl who gloried in the kiss of the boy she worshiped without any suspicion of her impending doom.

Stupid girl.

Oh, how on earth could she stand being so close to him? Spending so much time with him?

How could she stay here and not kill him?

Because once he’d let go of her and set her away, all that hate, bitterness and anger—that had so quickly deserted her—had returned. It had coalesced into a spitting acid and settled heavily in her belly.

It would probably be wise to stay in this room and avoid him completely. She glanced desultorily around at the austere furnishings. It was hideous, but she’d seen worse.

After her father’s death, and after the insurance company had refused to pay out—suicide, they’d claimed, the bastards—she and her mom had been homeless for a while. Hell, this ratty cabin was like a palace compared to some of the places they’d had to stay.

It hadn’t gotten much better by the time Mom met Jimmy, her second husband, because by then, Mom had turned to the needle to ease her despair. From upstanding military wife to junkie in less than a year. And once she was with Jimmy, there was no hope for her. That slime bag had used Mom’s weakness, and the drugs, to control her. To drag her down with him into a hell of his own making.

And Sam?

Jimmy had used Sam too.

She dropped on the bed and hugged her knees and forced herself to remember the happier times. A strong, handsome, smiling father who seemed like a valiant knight. A laughing mother who adored her ranger husband. A daughter who was cossetted and loved.

It didn’t take much for a dream to go to shit, did it?

She’d stepped from the enchanted castle right into the terrifying, dark and clawing woods that fairy tales were infamous for. Her new life had been filled with ogres and trolls and evil witches, with nary a Prince Charming to be found.

It was wrong to fill young girls’ heads full of such fancies. True love and white knights were just as farfetched as magical spells and dragons. At some point, that poor deluded waif was going to learn the truth about the world and if she wasn’t lucky—or cynical—the truth would destroy her.

Sam hadn’t been a hardened soul then. Hadn’t been prepared to handle such an ugly world filled with junkies and whores and desperate people who would do anything for oblivion. It had nearly consumed her.

Thank heaven for Jon. God only know where she’d have ended up if not for him. In a gutter somewhere with a needle in her arm, probably.

But even Jon hadn’t saved her. He’d simply given her the opportunity to save herself. And she’d taken it. It had required courage she hadn’t known she had to confront Jimmy. To face him in a court of law. To lift her hand and point her finger and send that soulless fuck to prison for fifty consecutive life sentences. Only one of the myriad charges had mattered to her.

Jimmy had beaten her mother to death one night. Right in front of her eyes.

Though she could never have her poor mother back, it had given her a blinding satisfaction to see Jimmy led off in shackles.

After that, the witness relocation program had been a breeze. She’d stepped into yet another unfamiliar world. Adopted a new identity. Become someone else.

By now, it was an old habit, reinventing herself. Playing parts. Lying to everyone. Even herself.

Her battlements were so high and so impregnable, no one could break through.

Which was why she was so angry that Matt had. He’d just sashayed in and cut through her stony barricades as though they were forged of butter and he had a hot knife.

Damn him anyway.

How dare he challenge her fortitude?

How dare he kiss her?

New fury rose, and twined with it was a shard of pain.

Had he kissed her because he thought she was a hooker and therefore would suffer his attentions without complaint? Or had he kissed her because he’d wanted to?

Before that tendril of idiotic hope could sprout, she squashed it beneath an indomitable boot. It didn’t matter why he’d kissed her. It really didn’t.

It sure as shit wasn’t going to happen again.

The sound of car doors slamming roused her, but only as far as the door to her room. She stood there and peered out into the ratty living area as Ace and Cooper tromped into the cabin. Though she hadn’t had a chance to talk to either of them, she’d already pegged them. Grey had helped with some of their background information—though a lot of their files had been classified. Matt’s too. It didn’t matter. Sam was good at what she did, and reading men was something at which she excelled.

Cooper seemed, on the surface, to be your typical gung-ho grunt from the Midwest, full of
yes ma’ams
and affected manners. He was a handsome guy with an outgoing manner, but Sam had no doubt that there, under that dimpled smile, was a hard-ass.

Ace was a different story altogether. He was a hard-ass on the surface and a total bastard beneath. He wasn’t as pretty as his two brothers in arms, with harsh, sharp features and a coarse demeanor. Of the three, he was the one she trusted least. Something in his eyes warned her that he was like a snake who could strike with no warning.

And then there was Matt.

Her gaze flicked to him and her gut clenched.

Though Grey had told these men they were here to protect her from Don Reymundo, that hadn’t precisely been the truth.

Okay, it had been a complete lie. The complete opposite.

She was here to protect
them
.

The fact was, Grey suspected one of these three men was working for the drug kingpin, and had provided intelligence that had fucked up their last mission. It had cost one of Grey’s elite warriors his life. If Grey was right, one of these men, these men he had
handpicked
for his Omega Team, was a traitor.

And
daham
. Had Grey been furious about that.

In response, he had turned to his friend Jon Rudnick, Sam’s boss and the commander of the elite Guardian Angels Protective Services. The two had devised a plan to flush out the traitor.

It was Sam’s job to pose as a decoy hooker, to see if she could identify the mole and, if necessary, protect the other members of the team against any treachery. Grey didn’t want to lose any more of his men, especially not to a traitor’s bullet. As for the real Vixen LaFleur, she was safely ensconced in the Omega Team headquarters, posing as a secretary.

And what a charming creature she was.

It sucked that Matt was one of the men she was supposed to be evaluating, because her feelings about him were so muddled.

She didn’t think the Matt she’d known could be so despicable, but she couldn’t deny the fact that when she’d reached out to him—in utter desperation—he’d turned his back on her. Could he be a heartless turncoat, collaborating with one of the wickedest men on the planet?

Sure as shit, he could be. They all could be.

This mission was too dangerous for her to make assumptions, especially about him. According to Grey, she was to be prepared for an attack at any moment. And
she
was the target. She had her weapons of choice—a SIG Sauer and a KA-BAR—strapped to her thighs. But a month was a long time to be on constant alert.

Damn, it would be nice to have one person here she knew she could trust beyond all doubt.

As the thought registered, she swallowed a derisive laugh.

Yeah. Wasn’t that just the truth? Not just here, in this tense situation, but in life.

Another freaking fairy tale.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Matt snapped. His expression, as he glared at Ace and Coop, was feral. “You were supposed to be here first and do the recon.”