Taming the Fire (11 page)

“Rik…”

“I don't hear your safe word, boy.”

He held his body as steady as he could while he lifted his arm with no effort and took the bonds with him, metal rings and all. And then he stared at them, as if it had all been an accident. “I'm sorry, Mistress—the chains must've been weak.”

She'd stopped moving the sound against his prostate but still held his cock in one hand and the sound firmly with two fingers so it wouldn't drop farther. And she stared at him, mouth open. When she'd composed herself, she whispered, “Excedosapien.”

He kept his teeth gritted because his life was still literally in her hands, and feigned confusion. “What are you talking about?”

He remembered the first time he'd been branded with that name—it had been a relief and a burden at the same time to know there was a term for what he'd always felt was an affliction.

“It's something that shouldn't be discussed here.” She paused and lowered her voice. “It explains your strength.”

“So you're going to give me some freak name and expect me to think that explains what I've been dealing with for my whole life? You think you understand what it's like?”

“I understand, better than you know,” she murmured.

“No one understands me.” He stared up at the ceiling, bracing himself for what would happen when she took the sound out. “We need to end this. Now.”

It was sheer strength of will that kept him from flying off the table as she pulled the sound out slowly and the orgasm took him over. He didn't bother to hold back this time, let his body rip the other bonds from the table as his cock pulsed and his body strained from pleasure. And then he turned on his side, pressed his cheek to the cold metal and trembled with the loss of control.

Rik's hand touched his shoulder. “I won't let anything hurt my boy.”

Play to the animal. Play hurt
. “I'm not anyone's fucking boy.” He shook off her touch and climbed off the table, grabbing for a towel to wipe himself down.

“Come back here.”

He shook his head but he didn't go any farther, a small concession to her. Maybe she'd invite him to her house—there, in her own environment, her guard would naturally go down. And maybe his hypnotic powers would actually be less than useless. But there would be a bigger price to pay—he was actually submitting to her and a not so small part of him was liking it, and
fuck
, he was already nearly broken.

Until then, he was naked and vulnerable and, dammit, he felt stripped raw.

When she spoke again, there was an invitation but she wasn't willing to take him all the way. Yet. “I know you don't believe me, but… I can help. I have chains that will hold you. I can hold you and I can protect you.”

For maybe the first time in his life, he actually believed that could be true, that she was strong enough to do both.

Whether he was strong enough to hold and protect her remained to be seen. He grabbed his clothes and headed for the shower without a look back at her.

Ryan sat at The Dungeon's bar, keeping an eye on everyone in the place. He'd expected to walk in and feel a sense of familiarity, but there was nothing here that stirred a damned thing. No, the only thing that had been stirred in months was his dick, and that was Coco's doing.

He thought about her, tied and gagged in the plane, wondered how pissed she was right about now. He'd hoped that seeing her would instantly restore his memory or something, but nope. Nada.

Fuck.

He stood, needing to stretch his legs. Needing to find Ulrika, because he knew for sure she was here. He'd turned on her collar's remote control unit the moment his jet had landed, and as luck would have it, she was within range of its signal. He'd instantly been given a view of some guy's hairy ass as Ulrika slapped it with a flog. A few moments later, she'd gone to the bar, and when her gaze lit on a box of matches, he'd gotten the name of the place. God, it was too easy.

“Jesus Christ.
Ryan?”
The deep male voice made Ryan's stomach drop. Friend or foe, he shouldn't know anyone in this dive. Slowly, he turned. Saw a guy he didn't recognize, but who clearly knew him. The guy was pale as a ghost.

“Yeah. Hey, man,” Ryan said. At this point, playing along was pretty much his only option.

“Jesus,” the guy repeated. “I thought you were dead. Does Dev know… did he send you?”

Dev? That sounded familiar. But why? “Ah, yeah.” Way to be smooth. And why would Dev… wait… Dev could be Devlin O'Malley The head of Itor's enemy, ACRO. Suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle slammed together. This stranger was an ACRO agent. And it was way too coincidental for him to be in the same place as Ryan's target.

But why did the ACRO agent know him? Had Ryan been a double agent? Shit, he was in way over his head here and at a serious disadvantage. The only thing he could do right now was bluff, find out what this guy's exact mission was. Capture or kill?

“Look, Dev wants me to back you up. Just tell me what you need.”

“I'm surprised he didn't tell me you were coming.”

Ryan shrugged. “You know how he is.”

“Yeah, I do. Which is why I'm surprised. And why you? Why not Annika or Akbar?”

Good thing it was hot in here, because Ryan was going to start sweating any moment. “My personal background,” he said, casting a meaningful glance at the equipment room. “And I was in the area, now that I'm out of my deep undercover.”

The guy's eyes narrowed, but then he nodded. “Whatever Dev says. I'm going to hit the shower. Why don't we meet at the pub next door in half an hour, and I'll explain everything.”

“You got it,” Ryan said, with absolutely no intention of meeting this guy anywhere. He was going to nab Ulrika, and if that didn't work, he had a little remote-controlled detonator in his pocket. Either way, he was going to accomplish his mission in the next thirty minutes.

R
IK HAD WAITED
until Trance left the room before sinking to her knees on the floor. She'd tried to play tough, to make up for yesterday, when she'd lost control at his flat. Fortunately, all she'd lost control of had been her emotions. If she'd lost control of the beast…

She buried her face in her hands and wished she'd been stronger when she'd seen him surrounded by Syn, Cher and Blaise. Which had pissed her off and made her go to extremes with him. The beast had wanted even more extreme treatment, and now she knew why. It had sensed something in him she hadn't.

Excedosapien
.

Her mind had spun and her legs had turned to noodles. She'd never encountered a Special Ability type outside of Itor, and her first instinct had been to either kill him or run. But she'd sensed pain in him that couldn't be faked, and her suspicion had veered quickly to empathy. She knew how it felt to be an oddball, to feel so alone.

And now she knew why he was coming to the club. He was afraid of his own abilities, the destructive power of his strength, and he needed to learn how to manage it. She got that, wished she could be taught a better way to contain her own inner demon other than sex, domination and the occasional hunt.

She was out of luck, but Trance didn't have to be. She could help him.

She was an idiot for offering, and an idiot for considering it. So much could go wrong. But maybe if she stayed strong, kept their relationship professional and only met here at the club, it could work. Maybe…

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Crouching, she scented the air. Something wasn't right. Her hand hovered near the top of her thigh-high boot as she crept toward the door. She always kept a concealed weapon on her, and today she had a razor-sharp stiletto tucked into her boot.

The hall was empty, save for a security guard. Heart kicking so hard her ribs hurt, she took the corner between the client-room area and the bar. Her senses were tingling, a strange sensation she'd felt before… every time she went on a mission for Itor.

The bar was packed. She hung back, looking for Trance. She saw him talking to some guy near an empty table. His posture was tense, his scent anxious. The other man… he was the source of the danger sensation.

She backed away, her lungs constricting. She might not know how to defend herself, but she had one hell of a flight reflex, and it was screaming for her to get out of there. Clumsily, because in her panic her feet didn't seem to work right, she raced to the employee room.

Coat. Purse. Keys.

She tried to control her breathing, tried to think, failed in both. Oh, God, she was in trouble. She'd kill herself before she let anyone capture her. Then again, those Itor bastards could blow her head off at the touch of a button if they were close enough, so maybe she'd die anyway.

Trance caught her as she whipped open the door and stepped into the hall. “Rik, what are you doing?”

“I-I'm sorry,” she mumbled. “Have to go.” She started past him, but he captured her wrist, his hold firm and unyielding.

“What's going on?”

She swallowed hard, felt the scrape of the dreaded collar on her skin, an ever-present, horrifying reminder that she was on the run, never safe. Never free. Trance's clamp on her arm only magnified her terror.

“Let go of me.” She struggled against his hold, wishing her voice didn't shake. That her knees weren't doing the same.

He blinked as though he hadn't even realized he'd grabbed her, and then he released her. “God, Rik, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“What? Oh, no.” His strength… he'd been worried he'd injured her with his strength. Didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the danger sensation that still crawled over her skin like ants. “Who was that man you were talking to?”

“I don't know.” His voice lowered. “But he was asking a lot of questions about you. I think he saw us together. Are you in trouble?”

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. “It's nothing.” She inched toward the exit, her panic starting to cloud her mind. The dark-haired man might be a nobody, maybe just someone who'd come for her reputation, but if she was building a rep… that was bad too. Itor could find her.

“Bullshit.” He moved with her, a mass of lean muscle and sudden anger. “Don't lie to me. Is someone trying to hurt you?”

A buzz of pleasure replaced the fear for a split second. Trance cared. She felt it in his fury, smelled it in his anger. Damn, she was scared, had been alone for so long and just this once she wanted someone to care whether she lived or died.

Then there was the fact that Trance was… special. Enough to put him in danger. She hated this, but maybe it was time to let someone in. Just a little. She couldn't run off and leave him to Itor—if the newcomer was, indeed, an agent.

“Look, this is going to sound crazy,” she blurted. “But yes, there are some very bad people after me. They use people like us… I mean, like you. You aren't safe if they know what you are.”

One blond brow arched. “That does sound crazy, but we can talk about that later. Right now… the guy strikes me as trouble, even if he's just a stalker.”

“He's more than that.” She measured the distance to the side exit. Twenty steps, at the most. “We have to get out of here.”

“I told him I'd meet him next door in half an hour.”

“Why?”

Trance grinned, like all of this was a game. He didn't understand the gravity of the situation, and she wasn't sure how she'd explain, but she'd work that out later.

“To give us time to bail,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her toward the door. “I'm hoping he'll either head over there or think he has a little time to get to you while I'm waiting for him.”

“Thank you.” She had to choke out the words, because as grateful as she was, she couldn't—wouldn't—forget that the last person who helped her had paid with his life.

T
HEY HIT
the door at a run and exploded into the alley where Trance had saved her the other night.

“This way,” she said, heading for the street. “We can take the tube to—”

“I have a car.”

He took her hand and dragged her in the opposite direction. They dashed up a side street and behind a block of apartments. Ahead, a black BMW flashed its lights and beeped. “There,” he said, keys in hand as he opened the passenger door for her. He hopped in the driver's seat, and in moments, they were on the road.