Hidden Currents

  "Move," he snapped to Jonas. "Got you covered."

  Jonas took off running toward him, and Aleksandr and Jackson sprayed the area behind him. Jonas leapt the last meter.

  "Where is that son of a bitch?" Jonas demanded. "Is he dead?"

  "I don't know. Ilya? Are we clear?" Jackson asked.

  A bullet whined past, this time coming at them from the villa's second floor.

  "I thought you cleared that house," Ilya growled.

  "That sneaky son of a bitch," Jackson cursed. "He could hold us here forever."

  "I'll get him," Ilya said. "Abel, come around."

  The helicopter zipped through the sky. Jackson crawled around the pile of boulders, using his knees and toes and elbows, rifle ready, circling around to get in a better position. Jonas fired a couple of shots to lure the target out. As soon as he slid back behind the rock, the enemy popped his head up to take the shot. Jackson shot him.

  "Clear," he said. "The son of a bitch can go to hell."

  "You're clear here," Matt said. "Move, move, move."

  Aleksandr took the lead, Jackson with Elle tight behind him and Jonas, as usual, brought up the rear. Overhead, Ilya in the helicopter did another pass over the area, looking for Gratsos and his bodyguard. They'd gone into a hole somewhere and Ilya was fairly certain that if it was a Prakenskii guarding him, no one would find the Greek.

  Matt and his team fell in behind the rescue team to protect them, spacing themselves a small distance apart. Abel kept the helicopter above them as they ran out onto the dock and boarded the waiting boat. The wind had really picked up and ripped and tore at their clothing as they positioned themselves for best protection.

  Jackson went down in the bottom of the boat to cover Elle, shielding her body from the others as they made their way out to sea. The waves rose up, choppy and merciless, and the rain poured from the sky. Several hundred meters from shore, Tom detonated the charges on the small dock. It went up in a blaze of fire.

  Kent grinned at Tom. "That was a thing of beauty."

  The waves rose up behind them, hurling them through the water, throwing the boat as fast as the wind pushed at them. All of them had night-vision glasses to their eyes, keeping the helicopter in sight, speeding to the rendezvous point.

  "Dropping Jock now," Rick said.

  "Man over," Matt called. "Move this thing."

  Rick hovered almost low enough for the skids to touch the water to allow Jock to bail out. He went into the sea and Rick took the helicopter up fast to give the boat time to move in quickly and retrieve his partner. His heart was beating fast. He was relying on the word of two army buddies that the women could force the helicopter away from him when he bailed out.

  "You can do this?" His mouth was dry.

  "Go when I say," Sarah said. "Don't hesitate." Hannah would have to direct everything they had to push the helicopter away from the pilot without catching him in the wind. That meant precise timing.

  The pilot made the sign of the cross and brought the helicopter in low again, over the roiling waves. For a moment he was afraid he might not be able to move, but then the adrenaline kicked in. "Hail Mary," he shouted, half in prayer, half in bravado.

  "Go!" Sarah shouted.

  He burst into the air. Folding arms over his head, keeping his body pencil straight, he leapt out away from the helicopter. Behind him, the wind howled and blasted the side of the helicopter with hurricane force. The roar hurt his ears, but the blast pushed the big body of the metal bird sideways as it fell from the sky.

  The water closed over his head.

  The helicopter crashed into the water a good distance away, but he felt the drag on his body as he kicked strongly to the surface.

  "Second man in the water," Matt reported.

  The wind howled and moaned. Jonas frowned as a wall of water nearly took them out. "Sarah, tell Hannah to back off. We're getting slaughtered out here. The waves are nearly swamping the boat."

  "She's trying, Jonas," Sarah snapped. "This isn't easy. The storm's taken on a life of its own."

  It took both Matt and Aleksandr to haul Rick into the boat. They wrapped a blanket around him and he wedged himself beside Jock, a rifle in his hands.

  Elle came to, fighting, gasping for breath, unseeing, fists flailing. Jackson held her to him, cradling her against his chest, rocking back and forth, although he was fairly certain it was to comfort himself, not her. He had been in her mind, knew what they'd done to her, but seeing her broken body, her face swollen and bruised, the raw wounds of the whip marks across every part of her body and the evidence of manacles around her wrists and ankles made him sick. He'd actually been sick, heaving his guts out over the side of the boat, his eyes burning and the air choking in his throat.

  "You're safe, baby," he crooned softly. "I've got you safe. Open your eyes, Elle, look at me. I've got you safe." He repeated it like a mantra, a litany.

  Her lashes fluttered. She groaned. The boat bumped hard on a wave, throwing them all around the boat. Several of the men swore as seawater poured over them.

  Elle gasped and looked around, obviously not comprehending. Jackson bent closer and used the much more intimate form of communication. She seemed drugged, disoriented, very far away. We've got you safe, baby. We're away from the island and heading for the ship.

  She stared up at him for what seemed an eternity and then recognition kicked in. For a moment, tears swam in her eyes. Where is he? Stavros? Did you get him?

  We will. We have to get you out of here.

  Elle's expression changed. Her eyes turned emerald bright, like two jewels pressed into her pale face. She struggled out of his arms and stood up, ignoring the men in the boat. Facing the island, she raised her arms high. At once lightning forked across the sky. The wind funneled straight through the arc she formed with her arms and headed in a concentrated rush for the villa.

  The air pressure in the boat was tremendous, pressing down on them, the force of the wind vibrating through their bodies as it passed overhead and hit the villa head-on. Glass and steel exploded as if charges had been set on the very foundation. Elle refused to stop, even with Jackson pulling at her. She faced her enemy and flattened everything standing on the island with the force of her rage. Trees exploded. Cars and trucks flew into the air and crashed back to earth.

  "Elle, stop," Jonas said. "She's bleeding, Jackson."

  Jackson could see her face now. Blood streamed from her eyes and mouth and nose, even from her ears. He felt the pain ripping through her head as lesions opened in her brain, but she refused to stop, lashing out at the man who had nearly destroyed her.

  "Holy shit," Kent said. "Look at that. I'm in love here."

  Jackson caught Elle's arms and dragged her back against him, pressing his mouth to her ear. "Stop now, Elle, or I swear I'll knock you out. You aren't killing yourself over him. Stop now, damn it."

  Elle slumped against him. Don't let my sisters touch me. Too dangerous. And I can't bear if they feel what I feel. Promise me. Blood pumped out of her nose. Only you, Jackson, no one else. Swear it or I keep going.

  Jackson closed his eyes. "I swear it, Elle."

  6

  "THIS is ridiculous, Elle," Sarah said, her voice sharp. "You have to go to a hospital or at least to one of our homes where we can take care of you. You're not in any shape to stand out here arguing, let alone take care of yourself."

  Elle kept her arms wrapped around her waist, rocking her body back and forth as if to soothe herself while she looked up at the Drake house. "I'm not going in there, Sarah." She shook her head, ducking to hide her expression, but Jackson caught the sheen of tears. "Don't tell me I don't have a choice. I've had enough of that for a lifetime."

  The sisters had been arguing for fifteen minutes and Elle was so pale Jackson was afraid she might faint if they kept it up. He took over, using his hard, authoritative voice, one that brooked no argument, one that signaled he meant business--and he did. "You have lots of choices, Elle. Stay here
in your home. Go to one of your sister's homes. Go to the hospital or come home with me. Any of these will work for us, but you going off alone is not an option. Pick something and let's get it done."

  Elle felt small and lost in the middle of her family. The house loomed over her, the windows lit, watching her. They were all watching her. Seeing her. She needed to get away from them before it was too late. Her sisters. She loved them so much and she couldn't do this to them. Not to Libby, who would try to heal her, or Hannah and Joley, who were both pregnant and already sick. They would feel what she'd felt, see the internal damage, not just what was on her body, but the depravity, stamped so deep into her soul she had no hope of washing it away.

  Elle looked helplessly at Jackson. They can't see inside me. Not all of it. Not like it happened.

  You're wrong, baby, but come with me then. You can't be alone right now. You know that. You should be in the hospital.

  It hurt to use telepathy. Her head throbbed and ached, but she didn't want to hurt her sisters any more than necessary. I'm probably pregnant with his child. She held his gaze. Looked straight at him, refusing to look away, wanting to see his rejection, his disgust. Instead his ice-cold eyes warmed and he reached for her. Elle stepped back and shook her head. Birth control doesn't work and he used me . . .

  His gaze slid over her and she shivered a little under the piercing stare, drawing the blanket she was wrapped in closer around her, as if she could hide from him--from them all.

  "Elle's going home with me."

  Sarah stepped toward her younger sister, but stopped instantly when Elle shrank away from her. A mixture of emotions crossed Sarah's face and Elle looked as if she'd been struck.

  Jackson stepped between them, his body partially blocking Elle from her older sister's view. "I know this is difficult, Sarah. She needs medical attention, and obviously Libby's touch to heal her psychic scarring as well, but right now she needs a little space."

  "From us?"

  There was a wealth of hurt in Sarah's voice and he felt Elle's instant reaction, as if in her mind, she'd curled up into the fetal position and held herself tightly. "Sarah," he lowered his voice, tried to be gentle, inwardly cursing that he wasn't a gentle man and probably the least equipped of all of them to deal with their combined emotions. "All that matters right now is Elle and what she needs." He turned and swept Elle into his arms before she--or anyone else--could protest. "I'll see that she's taken care of tonight, and tomorrow we'll sort all this out."

  Elle shocked him by not protesting his authority--something she would have fought to her last breath before. Her sisters parted ranks for him as he took Elle away from the Drake sister estate, back to his pickup. He was gentle as he deposited her on the seat.

  "Let me get your seat belt for you, baby," he said and reached across her, careful not to bump her body. She hadn't let anyone touch her on the ship or on the airplane, not even on the small plane that Joley had hired to take them back to the landing strip close to their hometown. She'd barely spoken, looking fragile--looking broken. He ached inside every time he looked at her.

  Elle caught his hand to prevent him walking around to the driver's side. "I'm not the same."

  His fingers curled around hers. "It doesn't matter, Elle. I've been there, remember? You're never going to be the same. It doesn't work that way." He caught her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, waiting until she stopped avoiding his gaze. "We'll do this together. We'll get through it together."

  She swallowed hard, her expression so sad it was heartbreaking when he hadn't realized he had a heart to break. "And if I'm pregnant?"

  "Then it will be our baby. I know you'd never give it up or get rid of it, so I'm with you on this one all the way. Ours, Elle, not his."

  "You're sure? When I don't even know what I'm like anymore?"

  "I'm sure. Give me a chance, Elle."

  She shook her head. "I'm so broken, Jackson. Inside and out. I don't know who I am anymore. You don't have to do this."

  His mouth tightened. His jaw set and a muscle ticked there. He stared her down without blinking. "Make no mistake, Elle, I'm helping because I do have to do this. You're mine. You were always meant for me . . ."

  She put a trembling finger against his mouth. "Elle Drake was meant for you. She's gone--dead. She's not here anymore."

  The hands framing her face tightened. "Whoever you are, whatever you want or need is standing in front of you, Elle. I'm not asking for anything right now, only that you let me help you through this. We'll sort the rest out later."

  "Protect my sisters, Jackson. That's what I need from you right now. They can't touch me until I can build my defenses. They can't be inside my mind."

  His fingers slid reluctantly from her face, so thin now, so ravaged. Her eyes were too old, too sorrowful, dark circles under them. He shut the door and signaled to his dog to come around to the driver's side. Aunt Carol had looked after the animals for them all while they'd been gone, and she stood, along with the Drakes, tears in their eyes, watching from the porch. Even the house seemed to be weeping. He glanced around the yard, overgrown with vines and flowers and shrubbery, an explosion of color and a wealth of herbs. Every plant seemed to be looking toward Elle, even in the dead of night. As he looked at the house, he swore it trembled, as if it already knew the legacy was fading away.

  Swearing under his breath, he refused to look at the sisters, holding hands, watching him take their sister from them--from her home. He slammed his door and started the truck.

  "You're certain this is what you want, Elle? To be with me? You've had a hell of a time and you need someone gentle. If you put yourself into my care, I'm going to take care of you. I'll do what I believe is right." He stared straight ahead, not wanting to see fear--or distrust--or even acquiescence. He had wanted Elle Drake to come to him without the legacy, without her sisters, without him having to accept everything that came with her, and here she was, huddled so small and vulnerable in his truck, delivering herself into his hands and he felt the wrongness of it. If she came with him, he was going to make this right. He was going to do everything in his power to make the prophecy of the Drake family happen. "Elle?" he prompted. "Your choice, baby. Can you feel their love for you?"

  "I can't feel anything but what he did to me, what he took from me."

  "You're not allowing yourself to feel." He pulled down the driveway slowly, giving her time to change her mind, but when she said nothing, he turned onto the narrow highway overlooking the ocean and picked up speed.

  Elle didn't answer, burrowing deeper into the blanket instead, closing her eyes, allowing herself to drift away. Her head ached, and she could barely draw breath with every movement of the truck. She wanted to crawl into a hole like a wounded animal and hide from reality. The world seemed too big, too open, as if she didn't know how to move in it. She could feel the house pulling at her, wanting her to come back. The wind touched her face through the open window, beckoning to her, calling with faint feminine voices, and she hated herself for causing her sisters to cry.

  She could feel Stavros, hear his voice. He was inside her mind, her body, maybe even her soul and she would never be able to get him out. All the times he'd touched her--hurt her--forced her to do things . . .

  "Stop it, baby," Jackson said gently. "That doesn't help."

  "He's all over me. In me. How am I ever going to get away from him?" There was despair in her voice. Without being aware of it, her fingernails tore at her skin as if trying to rip Stavros off her.

  Jackson reached over and laid his palm gently over her hand, stilling her. At once her mind was flooded with him. His scent. His strength. He poured into her mind in much the same way she'd poured into his so many years earlier when he'd been a prisoner of war. A victim of brutal torture, of unspeakable things, and his mind had been close to shattering. She had come to him and when there was nothing left of him, she had filled his mind with all of her, with her strength, her unique scent. Her will to survi
ve. She had given him everything she was.

  Now he gave himself to her just as completely, filling every corner of her mind, saturating every cell with his masculine presence, with every emotion, holding nothing back. Not keeping back the details of his capture and torture, not even the worst of the depraved acts committed against him. He opened himself to her, allowing even his rough, raw sensuality and his fears that even after all her experiences, he would be too much for her to handle inside her mind. He shared his life, his thoughts, letting her see the stark, painful childhood and the wild running through the bayou, as well as the violence of the biker camps his father raised him in. He hid nothing from her and Elle soaked in his strength, in his honesty with her.

  He knew he had nothing else to give her but who he was. He'd shared those moments of depraved brutality when Stavros had killed a man he'd forced her to touch. He knew she was terrified Stavros would find her and drag her back--no--kill everyone she loved. And she was risking his life by being with him, trading his life for that of her sisters.

  "I'm sorry, Jackson. I am. I'm not strong enough to be alone and you're the only one I have that might be able to stand up to him. Jonas could lose Hannah or I'd go to him . . ."

  "Don't, baby," he soothed. "We're in this together, we always have been whether we wanted to admit it or not."

  "He'll kill you. You know that, don't you?" Her voice shook just thinking about Stavros and her mind felt shredded. She clung to Jackson's strength, to the darkness in him. He was brutal and raw, with a violence that more than matched Stavros's. Unlike the Greek, he didn't bother to hide it--certainly not from her. It wasn't the truth that she would have risked Jonas, and she couldn't bear the lie between them. "I shouldn't have implied that Jonas . . ."

  "Don't explain, Elle. I'm in your head. You're in mine. We share the same skin right now, and your risk, being with me, is just as great. I have a threat hanging over my head as well," he reminded her quietly. "My father crossed another gang and they killed him for it. I took several of them out before they got me. I didn't die and they know it. They've been looking for me and anyone with me is in danger."

  Elle's gaze slid over him. He was looking straight ahead, out the window, ignoring her and the ocean below them as they wound their way along the ribbon of highway toward his home. "And you're just telling this to me now?"