Taken by Fire Page 9

  No, the problem was the other big shit going on that Gabe wasn’t privy to. There were secret meetings, conversations that stopped when he walked into the room—again, all normal, except normal typically didn’t make Dev moody to the point of shutting down.

  And fuck it all, Gabe was tired as hell of the walk of shame back to the dorms and the label as Dev’s boy toy. Although he had gained respect—along with a great deal of well-deserved trouble—after his unauthorized mission to the Amazon, he still wasn’t officially with Devlin.

  Gabe remained in the excedo quarters, spending time at Devlin’s when invited. He trained hard, tried his best to be friendly to the other agents, and he felt more and more unsettled on a daily basis, rather than the other way around.

  He craved privacy. He craved Devlin in a way he hadn’t thought possible. And all of that was taking a heavier toll than he’d imagined it would.

  “He’s got a damned good job and a safe place to hang his hat. He’s just young. Impatient,” he’d heard Dev tell Marlena.

  “And you’re old and impatient,” she replied. Marlena had always defended him to Devlin, but even she couldn’t persuade Dev to give Gabe what he wanted most—a home.

  Another few minutes. He touched Dev’s shoulder. Nothing. Cleared his throat.

  Nothing.

  Ah, fuck it. He shoved the covers aside and began to root around for his clothing.

  Devlin finally woke from his reverie, turned on his back. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to my quarters, the way I do every night.” The words came out more harshly than he’d wanted, dammit. He’d been trying to show Dev that he was cool with this couple-times-a-week thing. That he didn’t want to rush into anything more serious. That he wasn’t falling in fucking love for the first time in his natural-born life and he was more scared of that than—

  “Hey.” Dev touched his arm and Gabe jerked like he’d been burned. “Gabriel—I wasn’t trying to read you. I promised you I wouldn’t.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, shoved his pants on and grabbed his shirt. His shoes were somewhere by the front door. “I gotta go.”

  Dev didn’t try to stop him.

  The safe house was three miles from where they’d been held, but they’d gotten there relatively quickly even with Mel slowing at every café and asking if they could eat. The answer had always been the same, which was “When we get where we’re going.” Mel seemed to have no sense of self-preservation or she’d have put running ahead of her stomach.

  At least her constant stops hadn’t caused them any trouble, and they hadn’t been followed, from what Stryker could tell.

  Still, he couldn’t afford to take any chances, and between that worry and the arousal clouding his brain, he pulled Mel to him the second he got the door secured.

  She didn’t fight him. No, she seemed to melt into his kiss, even as he yanked the shirt out of her jeans. She wanted him, and he wanted her to get the worried look off her face, liked when she responded to him like that …

  Her attachment to him was not good. Sex would cure this touchy-feely crap by, well, touching and feeling. But that would be coming from a totally different head.

  “You need this,” he murmured.

  “Stryker, wait—” She was pushing against his chest with her palms and he pulled back immediately because he wouldn’t be one of those guys like Maurice. No matter that he had to have an orgasm soon or else he’d explode and not in the good way.

  “Did I hurt you?” he demanded, and Jesus, so much for the no touchy-feely crap.

  “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just … I was worried about you back there with Maurice. You froze and it had nothing to do with me.”

  It had everything to do with her. And it had been humiliating. He never froze up like that.

  She looked so damned concerned that it pissed him off. He wasn’t the one with the problems.

  “Honey, pointing out my flaws right now isn’t the best way to assure your orgasm.”

  Mel ignored him. “Your friend who died—he had the same powers as Maurice did, didn’t he?”

  “Akbar didn’t die. He was murdered.”

  She blinked hard. Obviously waiting for him to add by you, but he didn’t. He wanted to, but it wouldn’t come out.

  He’d been inside of Mel. There was no way Phoebe was that good at pretending to be innocent. The second Phoebe had taken possession of their body, his own had chilled. With Mel, despite the ice, he’d started to melt a little.

  And he was really, really confused.

  “I’m sorry, Stryker. You seemed upset. And you’ve been good to me.”

  He wanted to tell her to not talk, to shut up, to stop being nice to him. Instead, he took her into his arms again, did a slow grind of his hips to press his cock to her sex, and heard her gasp. “That’s better.” He slid his hand under her shirt, fingers around her nipple, and she moaned. “I don’t want to talk.”

  His other hand went down her jeans and found her cleft. He fingered the wet heat and she gripped his shoulders. Murmured, “Please …”

  “Right. Please … want to—no, need to—fuck,” he breathed into her ear.

  She shuddered. “Yes. Hurry.”

  Hurry? Hell, yeah. There was no other choice. Bedroom? Probably a good idea, but since he couldn’t see one from here, it would be too far away. The living room floor, the wall, hell, the kitchen table would do fine.

  Stryker spun her, hooked his foot behind her calf to take her down to the carpet, but at the last second, his scalp tingled with warning, and he froze.

  Froze to the click of gun safeties being flipped off.

  Not again. How many times could someone be captured in twenty-four hours?

  “We got it, Stryker. Back away.”

  Mel blinked as Stryker straightened, keeping one hand on her arm. “Put down the fucking weapons. She’s not going to hurt anyone.”

  Sweat dampened her palms when the three men fanning out in the room didn’t lower their pistols—all of which were trained on her. “Who are they?” she whispered.

  Stryker nodded at the two closest guys, who were both in jeans and T-shirts. “Wyatt and Ender. They’re ACRO. The other one … TAG, I’m guessing?”

  “Avery.” His English accent was as crisp as his suit.

  “Dev sent us to find you after you disappeared.” Wyatt, his lanky, tall build lending the impression that he was always in motion, kept his gaze on Stryker, but his weapon never wavered from where it was aimed at Melanie’s chest.

  “Obviously,” Stryker growled, “I’m fine. I assume you have a jet standing by, so tell me where it is, and get the fuck out.”

  Ender smiled, but it wasn’t a nice one. “No can do, buddy. We have orders to get you both back to ACRO. So step away from the Itor agent, and we’ll package her.”

  Package?

  A rumble came from deep in Stryker’s chest. “She’s not dangerous right now—”

  “Goddammit, Stryker!” Ender’s blue eyes flashed. “You know the fucking rules. You could be compromised, so release her and let us handle it.”

  Mel swallowed. “Compromised? I don’t understand.”

  Stryker’s voice was grim. “If any ACRO agent suspects another of being under the influence of an enemy’s psychic power, they can take control of the mission. Ender thinks I’m compromised, isn’t that right?”

  Another not-amused smile from the blond hard-ass. “Why else would you be trying to get into the pants of the bitch who murdered Akbar?”

  The building rumbled, and Wyatt held up a hand in a placating gesture. “Easy there, man. You know we’re just looking out for you.”

  “Fuck off,” Stryker snapped. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Do you?” That from Ender, who gave Mel a glare that could freeze lava. He was just looking for an excuse to shoot her. “I consulted with our TAG buddies on the flight over. Seems they’ve been looking for an Itor agent who matches her description for two years now.
This agent seduced one of theirs, played the part of an innocent victim who needed help escaping the clutches of an evil agency. They found him impaled on the tines of a pitchfork.”

  For the first time since the agents arrived, Stryker looked uncertain. As if he was thinking of her goldfish and that maybe he’d been played or brainwashed or something. A thread of panic snaked its way through her veins. He was her only ally, and if she lost him now, she might die before she had a chance to either help them take down Itor or make Phoebe’s life as miserable as hers had been.

  Mel cleared her throat. “I’m on your side. I can help you—”

  “Shut up.” Wyatt’s voice was utterly calm, but her voice box had seized up, painfully so, and she knew that somehow he was responsible. “Stryker, step away. Last chance to do this the easy way.”

  The building rumbled again. “Dev wants her alive.”

  “We know that,” Wyatt said.

  Stryker barked out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? And I know accidents happen.”

  “There won’t be any accidents if you cooperate.” Ender barely got the sentence out when all hell broke loose. Ender broke Stryker’s hold on her as Wyatt threw her to the floor. She heard curses, shouts, and then Avery was thrown into the wall. The sound of fists hitting flesh rose above her scream, which cut off when Wyatt did whatever it was that affected her.

  “I’m telekinetic and biokinetic,” he growled into her ear, even as he wrenched her arms behind her back, “so I can do anything I want to your organs, your blood, your bodily functions. Cooperate, and this will go easily. Fight me, and I’ll enjoy making you piss yourself before I explode your lungs, Phoebe.”

  “Leave her the fuck alone!” Stryker’s voice cut off with an oof, and then there was more fighting, cursing, and finally, as some sort of icy-cold device closed around her wrists, silence.

  She felt two pricks in her arm, knew exactly what Wyatt had dosed her with. “Nullox doesn’t negate my power,” she ground out. “And sedatives don’t work either.” Phoebe had undergone some sort of training or procedure that had made them resistant to many drugs and poisons. The trade-off, however, was that they were hypersensitive to other drugs, herbs, and some foods.

  “Yeah?” he said. “My biokinetics will work.”

  Yep, they did, because the next hour or so passed in a haze—she might have blacked out, and at some point, she realized that she was no longer in the safe house Stryker had taken her to, but a luxurious private jet.

  Where she’d been cuffed, including by her ankles, to a seat. Stryker was across from her, holding out a bottle of water.

  “You okay?”

  Nodding, she not-so-covertly glanced around for his friends. She found them, one behind her and one in front of her, both watching like hawks. “Yeah.” She winced at the twinge in her throat. Wyatt’s biokinetic gift was a killer. “Is that water for me?”

  Stryker held it to her lips as she took a few swallows. “You were out for a couple of hours.”

  “I’m sure your friends were happy to keep you company.” Jerks. Automatically, she reached deep to check the charge on her power, and though she was still nearly empty, the couple of hours she was out had given her a little juice. Not enough to defend herself, but maybe she could cool down the bottle of water.

  “Didn’t say a word to them,” he muttered.

  “Okay,” Ender said. “She’s awake now, and healthy as a witch, so stop with the tantrum silent treatment and tell us what the fuck is going on and why you’re playing nursemaid.”

  “Because she’s going to help us.” Stryker spoke forcefully through clenched teeth, almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

  Ender shoved to his feet. “Jesus Christ. Dev had better send you to the psychics for deprogramming.”

  Stryker’s head came up, his eyes blazing, and before he did something that rocked the plane right out of the air, Mel spoke up. “Stryker’s right,” she said softly. “I want to take down my father as much as you do.”

  Stryker cringed, and she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. Ender’s eyes narrowed. “Your father?”

  When Stryker shot her a covert look that said to keep her mouth shut, she did exactly that. And how weird that twenty-four hours ago he’d been bent on killing her, and now she was trusting him to keep her safe.

  “If Dev didn’t fill you in, there’s a reason,” Stryker said, “so drop it.”

  Wyatt braced his arm over the back of a chair and leaned heavily into it. “You want to take down your father too. Too. Huh. Now, see, there are a lot of scumbags on this planet that ACRO wants to take down. But I thought it was really fucked up that Dev would want you alive, given what you’d done to Akbar.”

  Mel didn’t bother explaining that she hadn’t done anything to Akbar, because if Stryker had doubts, these guys would definitely not buy anything she said in her defense.

  “I said let it go,” Stryker growled.

  Wyatt continued as if Stryker hadn’t spoken. “So the fact that he didn’t want you strung up like a butchered pig means that your father is someone big. Real big. Like, Itor big.”

  “Fuck.” A sharp inhale came from Ender’s side of the plane, and when she looked up, she actually did a double-take at how pale the man had gone. “Alek. Your father is Alek Kharkov.”

  “Dammit, Ender,” Stryker muttered. “I told you to leave it alone.”

  Wyatt whistled, low and long. “No wonder Dev wants her alive. Even if she doesn’t give up intel, she’s worth a mint in leverage … damn.”

  Ender, who had been such an ass, who had been looking at her as if choosing the right size blade to slit her throat, was strangely silent, and watching her in a whole new, unnerving way.

  “I’ll help however I can,” she said. “Phoebe is the Itor agent. I hold no loyalty to them. I’ll do what’s best for ACRO.”

  “What’s best,” Ender said, in a voice that was strangely sad, “would be to kill you before we land. Spare a whole lotta pain.”

  Stryker went taut, and though Mel couldn’t move very far, she nudged his foot with her toe. “Hey.” When he didn’t react other than to glare at Ender, she nudged again, and he finally swung his gaze around to her. “I know you people don’t believe that I want to help, but I’ll tell you right now that I will not beg for my life again. If you have to kill me, do it. Please. Phoebe can’t be allowed to go free.”

  Dev had been in the office since midnight, right after Gabriel left the bed. He’d been concentrating so hard on the pages in front of him that he barely noticed the office begin to come to life around him.

  “The plane’s a few hours out. The package is under control.”

  Marlena had coffee ready, and more important, the news of the day the minute she walked into the office, which was exactly the way Dev wanted it. No chitchat, no bullshit, just give it all to him straight, the good and the bad.

  It was amazing how quickly things could go downhill. It was why, more often than not, he worked so late—it gave him the ultimate illusion of control, the feeling that he could ward off evil simply by remaining awake, aware, and in charge.

  Of course, shit went just as badly when he was awake, but he found it easier to deal with.

  “The house on the north corner’s been rented,” Marlena continued, knowing Dev liked to keep up with everything that went on in the compound, no matter how minute.

  She slid the lease in front of him. He stared at the name on the dotted line and wondered how the hell he’d missed this. “What’s this all about?”

  “I figured you’d know.” Her voice was mild but an eyebrow was cocked in a way that told him she was seriously annoyed with him.

  “Well, I don’t.”

  The boy wasn’t trying to steamroll him, wasn’t trying to worm an invite to live with Dev—he knew that for sure. Gabriel was guileless enough to ask if he thought it was in the realm of possibility.

  It wasn’t that Devlin didn’t think it was—it’s just he h
adn’t been doing a lot of thinking about his personal life.

  “Well, maybe there’s a problem you don’t know about,” she pointed out.

  “He’s pissed at me. Again.” Dev drained his coffee and Marlena poured him more.

  “You need to court him, Devlin,” Marlena said. Obviously, Chance had been doing some courting of his own, because he’d never seen her happier.

  “Court him?”

  “Yes. Dinner. Movies. Not just overnights.”

  “I work late every night,” he pointed out, and Marlena sighed and looked at the ceiling.

  “You of all people know how to be creative. Make the most of that time so he stops feeling like a booty call.”

  Did Gabriel feel like that? Dev pondered for a few minutes, and yeah, okay, he guessed he could see what Marlena was talking about. “Has he said anything about it to you?”

  “He doesn’t have to say it. I lived it, Devlin, remember?” she told him softly. “You’re giving him your body, but that’s all.”

  “Maybe my body is all I have.”

  “That’s crap and you know it. If you love him, you need to tell him everything.”

  “Everything is classified information.”

  “And you get to decide who has clearance,” she shot back. “When we finally get Itor where we want them, you’re going to be putting your life on the line. Asking him to do the same in the biggest battle ACRO’s seen to date. Tell him.”

  Dev sighed deeply. He’d known the day was coming, told himself he didn’t want to scare his lover. But in reality, saying all of it out loud to Gabriel could actually scare the shit out of Dev, more than he wanted to admit.

  “Oz was the romantic one.”

  Marlena raised an eyebrow at that statement, shook her head, and left the room, and yeah, it was hard to believe that big, black, leather-wearing Oz was Mr. Romance, but it damned well hadn’t been Dev.

  More than once, Oz had lured him from the office with soft promises—and if Dev hadn’t responded, Oz would simply throw him over the desk, fuck him until he was too tired to protest, and then take him home.