Double Cross (Hard Target Book 1) (10 page)

Her inner muscles clenched around the smooth slide of his fingers and pressure built inside her, pressure she wanted—no
needed
to release before she lost her mind.

“I’m waiting.”

Waiting? Waiting for what? Oh, yes. He’d asked her something. A question. “You,” she whispered through dry lips. “I want you.”

“Then you’ll have me. Put the condom on my dick.”

She did as she was told, though she had to use her teeth to rip the package open, and her trembling fingers fumbled as they first touched him. She managed to fit the condom over his glans and roll it down the thick length of his penis to circle the base. Cory couldn’t help herself. She touched his sac, and grew bolder at his hissed intake of breath. She cupped his scrotum in her hand, amazed at the soft skin surrounding the hard testicles enclosed inside.

“Fuck, babe,” he growled. “Hands on the headboard. Now!”

Duke felt the bed move, figured she was doing as told. He found her legs, made sure they were spread wide. He dipped fingers into her again. She was so fucking wet. For him. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He fitted the head of his dick against her and pushed in. She gasped, but he leaned over her and swallowed the sound with a kiss.

She felt so damn good surrounding him. He pumped his hips, sliding in and out of her, elbows and forearms braced on either side of her shoulders.

The hair on his chest abraded her skin, and her nipples liked the feeling. A lot. Cory gripped the bars of the headboard until her knuckles ached. Close. She was so close to something spectacular. Arching her back and curling her hips to match his strokes, she forced air into her lungs. She felt like she might pass out and that would so not be a good thing. She wanted to experience every moment of this, imprint it on her memory, her heart, her very soul.

Duke stopped mid-stroke as her scent slammed him with a sense of déjà vu. His fingers were tangled in her hair, her full breasts smashed against his chest. He felt the stutter in her breath as she stilled beneath him. Silence stretched between them and still he remained unmoving, the need to conquer, to command ebbing away as other memories swamped him. Memories of sweat and heat, of blood and pain, of a woman with gentle hands soothing him, of a woman as much smoke and mirrors as flesh and blood.

Cory sensed the shift in Duke’s focus and wondered what had happened. After long minutes, she took a chance, breaking the tension with a whispered question. “Is something wrong?”

Burying his nose in the soft skin where her neck and shoulder joined, Duke inhaled. Could he trust a memory conjured by a brain that proved to be full of holes since that ill-fated mission? He pushed up on one elbow. “Probably gonna lose points in the romance department for saying this, but you sort of remind me of someone.”

She didn’t breathe for a moment. “Someone special?”

The words whispered across his conscience. He’d never been able to explain his very visceral reaction to Cory Prince to himself. How could he do so to a woman he’d picked up for a one-night stand? “Naw. Nobody special.”

“Oh.”

He arched his hips, pulling out of her tight pussy before pushing slowly back in, ignoring the hint of hurt feelings in that one syllable. He pumped again. “You know this isn’t a thing, right? There’s nothing between us.”

“Yes, right. I understand.”

And there went the memories cascading through his brain again. He sped up, pushing deeply into her, chasing the flashbacks to the far reaches of his mind. Duke rolled his hips, nudging her G-spot with each thrust. His balls tightened, and heat built at the base of his spine. He increased his tempo. She was panting, no longer trying to match him, but simply laying there, the muscles inside her stroking and caressing him as they clinched around his dick.

“Fuck, angel baby. Fuck, yeah. Come, dammit, come.”

And she did. Her eyes squeezed so tight she saw sparkles, her pulse and blood racing, heat flooding her as he throbbed inside her. Shaking, gasping for air, tears filling her eyes, Cory lay sprawled, damp, naked, conquered on the cotton comforter on Duke’s bed. His hands gentled as he caressed her, and she drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Duke lay awake for several hours, thinking about the woman occupying his bed. Once he was certain she slept, he rolled away from her. He cleaned himself and returned to bed, listening to her breathe. Eventually, his muscles unknotted, and his thoughts quieted. Damn but it had felt good. He’d found something he’d been missing since his injury. He owed this woman. Angela. Angel. Yeah, she’d been an angel tonight. He dropped off to sleep, and the ghosts of his past remained quiet.

He awoke before dawn, rock hard and desperate to fuck her again. Even in sleep, her arms had stayed over her head, her hands gripping the bars of his headboard, surrendering in sleep, as she had surrendered to him earlier. He straddled her, ran his hands over her face, her throat, her breasts. “My angel.”

Cory woke as he settled across her hips. She saw his face, intense, focused, etched by the pale light seeping through a crack in the curtains. He looked like a statue of a Spartan warrior, especially when she finally saw the scar across his ribs. Her hands were stiff as she unwound her fingers from the bars above her head. She rubbed her palms up his thighs, rough hair tickling her skin. With the tip of one finger, she traced and smoothed the puckered skin.

“Don’t.” He growled at her, his massive paw grabbing her hand and squeezing as he dodged her touch.

She’d made him angry. “I’m sorry.” Was that her voice? Raspy, low. She swallowed, but found she had little spit in her mouth.

“I don’t want your fucking pity.”

“I wasn’t offering any.”

“I’m going to fuck you again.”

“I want you. Is that what you need to hear? I want you to fuck me. Do it.” Why was she angry? She didn’t know, but she was.

He shifted, fitting his hips between her thighs. Fisting his erection, he pressed the head to her pussy, drove himself into her. Shoved her knees wider, over his arms, and pounded deeper.

Cory cried out, the shock of his penetration piercing her to the very core as he plunged in and out.

“Harder,” she demanded, still furious. She yanked his hair until his mouth crashed down on hers. She bit his lip, and demanded, “Harder.”

A shudder shot through his entire body, and what little control he had left snapped like brittle bones. Caught up in his own bitter need he ravished her mouth, her body. Pounding in and out as he heard her cry, felt her spasm around him.

“Again,” he ordered, pounding hard as he felt her tighten again. “With me.” He found her hands, linked fingers. “Come with me.”

He let go, surrendered as she had, gave himself up, as she had, and they tumbled into oblivion together. He lay spent, all but paralyzed, on top of her. As his pulse continued to pound in his ears, nearly rendering him deaf, he managed to roll off, pulling her with him so she was cushioned by his body rather than pinned beneath him.

The raging storm inside him had blown itself out. Calm filled him, and for the first time in months, he knew who he was, what he was. The woman rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and nestled in, sated and content despite their fiery lovemaking. His hand was gentle as he stroked over her back, and she murmured her approval.

He was ready now, ready to face the treatments from Doc Pemberton, ready to face his future, light or dark. He drifted off to sleep.

Hours later, when Duke awoke, he was alone. His smile was a wry one as he wondered if maybe—just maybe—the woman he’d brought to his bed had been an angel after all.

DUKE GRIPPED the armrests, forcing his breathing to remain steady. The chair reminded him of a dentist’s and that didn’t help his anxiety. Not that he had anything against dentists. Doctors? Now that was a totally different dislike. He’d been compliant for a month, appearing every day in Doc Pemberton’s little chamber of horrors, submitting to treatments he only half understood.

“Won’t be long now, Duke.” Doc Pemberton’s encouragement washed over him. “You know, I don’t want to dredge up the past, but I never apologized.”

Brows furrowing despite the doc’s orders to hold still, Duke wondered what the man had to apologize for. Unless he already knew the experiment had been a big, fat fail.

Doc patted his shoulder. “I never told you that I worked on the original research team.”

“Ah, Doc? What the hell are you talking about?”

“The labs, Duke. In Nevada.”

He came straight up out of the chair. “What the fuck?” Duke tore at the bandages covering his eyes. Huge arms surrounded him from behind, pinning his arms at his sides.

“At ease, Duke. Let the man finish.”

Tank. Tank was in the room. Tank had been there underground with him, had drowned in those saltwater tanks just like he had. Until the gills kicked in. He breathed, jerking away when another hand touched him.

“If I’d known, Duke, what they had planned, I’d have done more. I left after the first round of tests on live subjects. Dogs. Cats. I never believed they would try it on humans. I’m a doctor—a medical doctor. I also have a Ph.D in genetics.” The older man inhaled a shaky breath. “What they accomplished, though…You are a wonder, Duke. So is Tank. Dalton. And now there are others.”

Duke’s ears pricked at that. “Others? What the hell, Doc? Did those bastards keep up the experiments?”

“Yes and no. You are aware of the Wolves?”

“Oh. Yeah, the marine. Captain Connor. I heard about what he went through.”

“He is truly a miracle. Not that the others aren’t. One, the fact he survived physically, but two, did so with his mind intact.” The hand tightened slightly on his shoulder. “Please, Duke, sit back down. What was done to you men was a travesty of scientific experimentation, though a successful one, despite being ethically reprehensible. The gene manipulation is what allowed you to survive the injuries you received, and I believe it’s what will allow you to regain your eyesight.”

With Tank’s assistance, Duke settled back into the chair. “They fucked with that too, Doc. My vision.”

“I’m aware. They enhanced your eyesight. Helpful for a sniper. With Dalton, it was his directional abilities—his inner compass if you will. Tank here received extra strength and endurance from some changes to his adrenal gland. Each of your original team members had something added.”

Heat seared across his chest, followed by chilling cold. An anger so raw he couldn’t breathe surged through his veins at the memory of his murdered teammates.

Tank grabbed his hand, squeezed, as he vowed, “We’ll avenge them, Duke. That’s a promise.”

Duke squeezed back in silent agreement. As metal clinked against metal, he tensed, squeezing harder.

“Easy, son. Just the scissors I need to cut away the gauze. Once I have the bandage off, you’ll still have cotton pads over your eyes. I’ll ask if you can discern any light. If you can, I will turn off the lights to remove the pads. I don’t want your retinas strained anymore than they have been. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I understand.”

He heard the snick of metal scissors cutting through tape. With a hand to the back of Duke’s neck, the doctor lifted his head slightly to unwind gauze. Removing his hand so Duke could lean back against the headrest, the doc waited.

“Anything?”

Duke’s eyelids fluttered as he fought not to open them. A smudge of light leaked in around the bottom of the bandage and his slitted lids. Relief left him breathless. “Ah, fuck me. Yes.”

Dark descended, but Tank didn’t let go of him. “The doc turned out the lights, Duke. Hang on. He’s gonna take the pads off now.”

Moments passed. The weight of the pad was removed, and he fought the urge to rub his eyes. Something warm and moist passed over them, followed by some sort of ointment.

“Keep your eyes closed, Duke. I’m going to flash a light over them. Tell me if you are aware of the illumination.”

White and red flared in his left eye, and he winced. Duke was ready when the same thing happened to his right. “Yes. Both eyes.”

“Good. You can open them. Slowly. The room is pitch dark so don’t stress. I’ll increase the lumen intensity in small increments. If you experience pain or sensory overload at any time, tell me. This is important, Duke. You have to tell me. There is no being a hero here.”

“Yessir. Understood.”

Ten minutes later, Duke was squinting, taking in the objects in the gloomy examination room. Twenty minutes after that, with the blinds partially open, he tested 20/10 in low-light conditions when visual acuity was supposedly at its poorest.

Duke couldn’t keep the grin off his face, nor could Tank or the doctor. He accepted the heavily UV filtered sunglasses Doc Pemberton handed to him with instructions. “Stay out of the sun as much as possible for at least a week. Low light indoors or wear the sunglasses. Yes, you can swim, but only at night and with no lights in the pool. These drops twice a day, morning and evening, and the ointment at bedtime. I still want to see you daily. Welcome back, Duke.”

“Thank you, Doc. Damn. Yeah. Thank you.” Duke slipped on the glasses and headed outside.

Dalton sprawled in a chair too small by half out in the waiting room. He jumped to his feet, his expression morphing to worry as he saw the dark glasses. “Ah, damn, dude.”

That stupidly happy grin split Duke’s face again. He just couldn’t contain it. “How many fingers are you holding up, Cali Boy?”

“Uh…five.” Dalton held up his hand for a high five slap followed by a knuckle bump. “Damn straight. Welcome back, Duke!”

The three former SEAL teammates hugged, thumping backs and exchanging hooyahs and hell-yeahs.

“Mother’s waiting, Duke.”

He glanced at Tank. “She already knows?”

“Yeah. I was under orders to text her the minute we knew. She wants to talk.”

They walked back to Mother Goose’s. Despite the ball cap pulled low over his eyes and the dark glasses, Duke’s eyes were streaming by the time the three of them reached the bar. Bear set bottles of cold beer in front of them and offered a clean towel so Duke could wipe his face.

Dalton slapped him on the back. “You need to find that cute little redhead and celebrate.”

His hand froze with his beer halfway to his mouth. He whipped around to stare at the other man. “Redhead?” His voice had as many ice chips sliding down the word as the bottle in his hand.

“Ah, yeah, dude. That little cutie I saw sneaking out of your room a few of weeks ago? You’ve been holding out on us, dawg.”

“Well…fuck.” A redhead? Angel was a redhead? He didn’t see that one coming, and no freaking pun intended. So much for his fantasy of luxurious black hair. Come to think of it, the mysterious woman’s hair had been wavy. That should have been his first clue. He glared at Bear.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Hell, Duke, I did ask if you were sure. And why would I care if she’s a ginger?” He combed his fingers through his own rust-colored hair. “I’m kinda partial myself.”

The big man wandered down the bar to set up a tray for one of the waitress, but called back over his shoulder. “You know, I haven’t seen her in here since that day.”

Mother appeared in a doorway leading to the back room, interrupting the conversation. “I need you three back here. Now.”

Duke led the way through the beaded curtains and down a short hallway. Mother opened a door and held it for them to enter. Inside, the room was set up for conferences with a big table, over-sized and comfortable-looking desk chairs, and white boards. Mother gestured to three empty chairs.

“Sit. Duke, you haven’t officially met the rest of the team. Round robin, boys. You know the drill.”

A lanky man with dark, shaggy hair and amused green eyes raised a hand in a casual salute. “Fraser Kincaid, though m’mates mostly call me Kin. Former British SAS by way of Edinburgh. Oh, and I’m a Wolf. Mother likes me to get that right out there with colleagues so they don’t get all twitchy.” His grin was both sardonic and infectious.

Duke was thankful for the dark glasses because his eyes were wide with surprise. A Wolf. Interesting.

“Lochlan O’Toole. Irish Army Ranger. I like t’blow up things. And like my Scottish friend, I t’would be a Wolf as well.” This guy looked Irish—sandy hair with blue eyes full of both mischief and awareness.

The next guy wore aviator sunglasses shoved on top of his head. His dark curly hair, dark eyes, and tan skin put Duke in mind of a Mediterranean heritage, which was confirmed when he introduced himself. “Dominic Karras, but everybody better call me Dom.”

“Because he is one.” The man sitting next to Dom interrupted.

“Shut up, Carter. I was US Air Force. I fly anything with wings and a few things without.”

“Bo Carter. Same for me only not as many ratings. I sit next to the stud here and make sure he stays awake on long flights.” Carter had warm brown skin, a shaved head, and dark eyes that missed very little.

“Brady Starr. We’ve met, actually, though you weren’t in shape for a formal intro. I was the PJ who hauled your ass out of Africa last year.” Starr looked like an overgrown kid with light hair and an aw-shucks demeanor to go with his drawl.

“Shane Benedict. I was a pararescue jumper too, same crew with these three. Then Mother recruited us.” He didn’t drawl. Pure Bronx all the way and dark hair to Starr’s light.

“Otherwise known as the Bullshit Twins.” Kin nudged Shane’s shoulder, his eyes twinkling with good humor. “And I’ll be warnin’ ya now, don’t be playin’ poker with ’em. They tend t’cheat.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Children!” Mother’s voice cut through the good-natured banter. “There’s one more team member, but he’s out of the country at the moment. Uri Ben-Asher, formerly a member of the Israeli Defense Force, with a period of service with Mossad. Ben-Asher has some interesting…abilities, but I’ll let him share them during the course of your training.”

She glanced around the table then focused on Duke. “You know Dalton and Tank, of course. Duke’s talent lies in his ability as a sniper. It doesn’t hurt that these three are also specifically adapted to underwater work.”

The other men erupted into seal-like honks and hoots before Mother’s glare silenced them. “Training begins tonight. We’ll adapt to doctor’s orders for now so you get days off. Be ready to leave for the key at sundown.”

“Have we got a mission, mum?” Kin’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

Mother just glared. “Y’all get the hell out of my bar. Duke, you stay.”

Duke settled back into his chair as the others shuffled out with slaps to his shoulder and murmured words of welcome.

“Shut the door behind you, Dalton.” Mother waited until their voices drifted away. She slid a folder across the table so that it stopped in front of Duke. “Here.”

While Duke opened and read the information inside, Mother crossed the room and poured a cup of coffee from a carafe. “You want?”

He looked up to see what she was talking about. He had to swallow hard before his voice worked enough to say, “Yeah, thanks.”

The typed words on the page swam, and he blinked hard. Eye strain. That’s all it was. Tears were not streaming down his cheeks. They’d been set up. SEAL Team Atlantis. They’d been sent into Africa with no plans for their extraction. Tank and Dalton told him how they got out—laying low and getting to the embassy in the Sudanese capital via UN convoy. And he now understood why they’d been split up and sent on those other missions where they allegedly died.

While the Navy hadn’t necessarily left him blind on purpose, they also didn’t make a very concerted effort to restore his sight. They’d expected him to die in the hospital. When he didn’t, they relied on his spotty memory and the grief and guilt of losing his team to keep him in line. Considering the apathy he’d experienced, they’d almost right about him. If it hadn’t been for Mother…

He looked up at the woman sitting across the conference table. “Why?”

“Because you’d become inconvenient. Plus you knew about the Wolves. And the Area 51 labs that were destroyed by that same group of Wolves. Your team did a hellava job covering up the situation in Virginia, Duke, but The Powers That Be figured it out.”

“We’re fucked.”

“Not anymore. You work for me now.”

He studied her. He’d pegged her somewhere in her fifties or sixties with no-nonsense blue eyes and silver hair that bespoke a wealth of experience. What he wanted to know is what kind of experience and how she gained it. “Who are you, Mother?”

“Fair enough. My name is Madelaine Gander. I’ve been Mother Goose since I ran a squad of deep cover agents for the CIA thirty years ago. Before that, I was an undercover operative. I currently represent a multi-national defense group that goes in where individual countries can’t. We take on terrorists, drug cartels, spies, and any other bad guy that needs personal attention.”