Twisted Mercy (Red Team Book 4) (20 page)

Lion was just dozing off when a sound out in the main room woke him. He listened for it to come again. It was muffled. A sniffle.

He got up to see if someone was sick. There was a healer in the Friendship Community he could summon, if needed. Sickness spread fast in the barracks. He preferred to get ahead of it.

The sniffling was coming from Sparrow, the newest—and youngest—watcher to join the pride. His father had died years ago, but his mom had passed only recently. It was a hard adjustment for him, as it was for all of them.
 

Lion knelt beside Sparrow’s cot, then settled back against the boy’s desk. Sometimes just knowing they weren’t alone helped the boys. Sparrow reached a hand out to him. Lion took hold of it. The boy’s grip was tight at first, then as sleep took him, his hold slowly eased until his hand was slack. Lion still sat next to him.

These boys were his family. Far more so than the blood the girl said they shared. He was afraid for their future if King decided to put a new leader in charge of them. Who knew what kind of man he’d pick for them?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Max heard Hope’s truck park out front of his A-frame. He opened the door, half surprised she had the cojones to show up. She got out of her truck, then just stood there, looking up at him as if she hadn’t yet decided to come in. Max crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, waiting for her to make her decision.

Goddamn, she was hot. Her blond hair was woven in a single braid that lay in front of one shoulder. She wore a white jean jacket that was short, coming only to the bottom of her ribs. A peach tank top stretched over her hips, covering midway down her hips. Her blue jean shorts were folded at the hem, hugging her slim thighs. She came up the stairs to his front door and paused, standing in front of him.

He grinned at her, his body and his mind leaping ahead to the point in the evening when he’d unwrap her protective layers, baring her for his consumption. He was well aware that she was here in payment for his future service; he had no delusions that she would have ever chosen him otherwise. But she was here. And she was his. For the night.

Her gaze swept down over his bare chest to the jeans that rode low on his hips. He was barefoot. He’d showered and pulled on the jeans. No sense wearing more when it would be coming off shortly. He stepped back and motioned for her to enter.

“Hungry?” Mads asked as she stepped inside. “I’ve eaten, but I can cook something up for you. You left some eggs in the fridge.”
 

“No.” She hadn’t eaten all day; her nerves had been too jumbled to allow for an appetite.
 

“Wine or beer? Or water?” he asked, holding up a bottle of Shiraz.
 

“Wine.” He poured a glass and handed it to her. She sipped from her glass as she turned and sent a look around his home. His futon was in its couch position, but it had been made up with sheets. Two side tables, a coffee table, and side chairs, all in a heavy, hand-hewn log style. Two stools sat beneath the breakfast bar that overlooked the sink. Weights and various padded benches took up the small dining alcove. It was a tight space, but Mads made efficient use of it.
 

In the dining area, a structure protruded from the wall, draped in a black cloth. She walked over to it. “What’s this?” she asked, looking back at Mads.

“A rack.”

“For what?”

“You. Tonight.”

She almost dropped her wine. Cold wafted over her arms and bare legs. She glanced quickly at the front door across the room. She could go. She could change her mind, find another way to get to her brother.
 

Or she could stick it out. She could keep her word—and see that he kept his.

“I said no pain.”

“So you did,” he answered without looking at her. He opened a bottle of beer.

“I don’t want to be restrained.”

He picked up his beer, then faced her, leaning against the end of the breakfast bar. His legs were spread wide. And he was sporting a hell of a bulge in his jeans. “Then leave,” he said, watching her as he sipped his beer.

Hope shut her eyes. The danger she faced if she stayed was significant. How easy it would be for him to make her disappear, to play on her needs and fears until he’d harvested her life and hidden her body. Her brother had disappeared into that fog of lost humans. No one had ever looked for him, no matter how many times she’d begged her foster parents to help her find him.
 

In a way, she envied him. He considered the boys he lived with his family. He’d found a place in life that he liked, even one that made sense to him. Maybe she was forcing this, not in the interest of his welfare, but her own. She turned away from Mads and blinked several times to clear her mind and settle herself.
 

Once she got her brother free, if he decided to return to the compound, then it wouldn’t be as a victim but as a man who’d seen the other side and made an informed decision. And if he did go back, she would accept his choice—as long as his strange group didn’t cause others harm.
 

With all their talk of Armageddon, she wasn’t so certain that was the case.

And because of that, she was going to see this through. She looked over at Mads, who was still watching her. She’d never had a one-night stand before. Never even had casual sex. Everything in her life was there for a purpose. She didn’t keep boyfriends once she realized their relationship had no future. This—whatever it was with Mad Dog—was way out of her comfort zone.

Mads lifted a brow. A hint of a grin touched the corner of his mouth. “Are you afraid?”

Heat flooded her face. “No.”

“Then you’re anxious to begin.” He set his beer on the counter.
 

“I’m in no hurry.”

“The color in your face says otherwise.”

She touched her cheek, willing the color away. “Wine makes me flush.”

“Uh-huh.” His low voice rumbled with disbelief. Hope didn’t know what to do or where to look. An unusual tension coiled within her own body. She felt heated and melty and—an odd yearning. Must be the wine.
 

“Come here,” Mads ordered, holding a hand out.

She set her hand in his and felt a shiver spike up her arm when his rough hand touched her soft one. Soon she would feel them on her back, her breasts, her butt.
 

She was
not
anticipating the feel of his hands on her bare skin, she corrected herself.
 

He pulled her toward him, bringing her to stand between his spread legs. Keeping hold of her hand, he lifted his other hand to touch the skin of her jaw. He watched his fingers as he moved his hand lower, down her throat.

He straightened, and she realized again how tall he was. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and shut it off. He opened a kitchen drawer and set it inside. “Put your phone with mine.”

Hope went to her purse and took her phone out. She shut it off and put it in the drawer, then looked up at Mads. “What now?”

He folded his arms. “Take your clothes off.”

Hope drew a shaky breath. She sent a quick look around the room. The blinds were drawn on the windows; not that anyone was likely to wander past them in such a remote spot. “Do you have rubbers?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Um…I’ll just use the restroom first.”

Max pulled the black velvet fabric, exposing the makeshift rack he’d built from a couple of one-by-fours he’d nailed to the wall. A brand-new set of black padded wrist and ankle restraints hung from the four corners, thanks to Val’s surplus of toys.
 

The guy did come in handy on rare occasions.
 

Max looked toward the bathroom. He’d underestimated the girl. He thought she’d have caved long before this. He was still on the fence about going through with this. The scars on the inside of his left forearm burned like new wounds. He rubbed his thumb over the three ridges, one each for the three people he’d loved and failed.
 

The scars had become a talisman, an exo-conscience. They burned in warning any time he hovered near the boundaries of his moral code. He’d set the rack up not for a night of fun, but to scare her into keeping her distance. He wanted her to divulge her secrets, expose her weaknesses to him. He’d intended to restrain her then torture her with kisses and caresses, withholding her final pleasure until she’d told him what he needed to know.
 

The scars burned at his lack of ethics.

Long minutes passed while he waited for Hope to return. He set some candles out, but didn’t light them. She might yet run screaming out of the house, and wouldn’t he look like a fool then. He finished his beer and started another one.
 

And still he waited.
 

The bathroom had no window. The only way out was the way in. He was just about to go knock on the door, tell her she'd won, admit there was no price for his help, when the door opened.

All coherent thought left his mind as his blood flowed south to his groin. She stepped into the room, naked except for his leather vest. He remembered hanging it on the back of the door when he’d showered earlier. On him, it came to his waist. On her, it hit the top of her thighs. His eyes followed the long, lean lines of her pale legs, down her thighs, over her knees and calves, to her feet and the pink that dotted her toenails.
 

Jesus H. Christ.
She’d asked him to save her brother, but who the fuck was going save her from Max? He ground his teeth.
Tell her to go. Tell her you didn’t mean it. Tell her there is no cost for the life of her brother.
He heard the urgent words of his own warning, but there was no bridge from his conscience to his body.
 

She came across the room, toward him. Her hair was loose and spilled over the black leather and worn patches of his vest. She kept her hands at her sides. The vest opened and shifted as she moved. The narrow column of pale skin and brief glimpses of dusky thatch she showed confirmed she wore nothing beneath it.

Mother. Goddamn. Fucker.
No matter what was about to happen or not happen, she’d just saved her brother.

She stood before him, silently waiting for him to make the next move. He wanted to tell her he’d never seen a woman as beautiful as she was. He wanted to say she looked more angel than human. He wanted to say a dozen truths she likely wouldn’t believe, but his stupid tongue was too thick to form the words.
 

Instead, he stated the obvious. “You didn’t change your mind.”

“No.”

“Then let’s begin.” He nodded toward the rack. She took a deep breath as she stepped across the room. He couldn’t decide which way he wanted her to face—toward him or away. The backside of her was every bit as hot as the front. “Face the wall.”

She gave him a dark look, but turned to the wall. He lifted her hands, spreading them out so she could reach the cuffs. “Hold the cuffs,” he whispered by her ear. “I have to decide how I want you.” She did as he ordered. Her position lifted the hem of his vest just above her ass. He touched the luscious curve of one cheek. Pushing a knee between her legs, he spread them apart. “Open your legs.” She did. “More.”

He stroked from one butt cheek, down her thigh, then up the inside to the juncture of her legs, feeling the soft rub of her feminine hair. She was already wet. He pushed a thick finger between her folds, confirming that finding. His breath left him in a slow release. If she’d been dry, if she’d been full of fear, he’d have sent her on her way and still saved her brother. But she was wet, ready for him. And they hadn’t even begun the night.

He cupped her hands under his. “Tell me your safe word.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Make one up.”

She heaved a shaky breath. “Am I going to need one tonight?”

“Yes.”

He felt the shiver that rippled through her. “‘Thunder.’ My safe word is ‘thunder.’”

Max leaned his face against her ear. “Thunder.” His voice rumbled from his mouth, the embodiment of her safe word. “Pick another, sweetheart. A safe word has to be short. Know why?” She shook her head, innocent that she was. He nuzzled her neck, letting his rough beard scrape her smooth skin. “Because it’s hard to talk when you’re gagged.” He kissed the corner of her jaw and felt the shiver that rippled through her.
 

She turned her face to his. “You never said anything about gags.”

“Nor did you.”

“No gags. No safe words.”

He hissed. “You got more rules you want to stipulate before we get started?”

“No.” Her voice was a whisper of warm, sweet breath.
 

He left her and went to light the candles, feasting his eyes on the sight of her as he moved about the room. She looked over her shoulder at him. He did not smile at her, did not reassure her, offered nothing but the silent commitment that he would soon devour her. He dimmed the lights. Her blond hair glowed in streams against his vest in the dark.

He returned to her. She tensed as he approached, tightening the slim muscles of her arms. She didn’t release the cuffs. He touched her arms. Her skin was as soft as the velvet cloth that had covered the wooden stand. His hands could circle her arms, he discovered as he caressed her from her shoulders to her wrists. She shivered, then bent her head forward, leaning in to the wooden supports.

He bent down, touching his cheek to the crown of her hair. Soft and silky, it snagged against his rough beard as he moved his cheek. Holy hell, she smelled good. He couldn’t identify her scent, something sweet and fresh, like a springtime garden. Like fucking heaven. He breathed it in, knowing it was the closest he’d ever get to that hallowed space.

“Turn around,” he growled. “I want to see you.” She did as he asked, her body inches from his. Her big brown eyes, soft in the dim light, looked up at him as he guided her hands back up to free-hold the cuffs.
 

He could feel his heart softening even as his cock lay thick and hard in the crotch of his jeans. He braced his hands on the wall behind her, in part for strength, in part to keep them from blocking the words he was about to say, the ones that eased the burning in his arm.