“Did they die?” she repeated. “Please, Sterling. I need to know.”
“No,” he said. “They didn’t die.”
“Thank God.” Her shoulders relaxed marginally, but her eyes narrowed on him almost instantly. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Sterling hesitated, though he knew she had to know the truth to effectively work on an ICE antidote. “Once I tell you this information, Becca, I can’t untell it. That threat to leave Powell alone was nothing compared to what we’re talking about now. This is the kind of secret people get killed over.”
“You’re Special Ops, which means you checked me out before you came here.” There was a slight rasp to her words, as if they were uncomfortable in her mouth. “You must know any liability I represent is short-lived.”
He drew in a breath that ripped through his lungs like a blade, sharp and painful. There it was. The reasons she’d supposedly been in Germany that he’d rejected—an experimental noninvasive treatment for a rare, rapidly progressing lung cancer that hit nonsmokers. He saw the truth of it in her eyes—her death, her fear. Regret, anger, and an undeniable ball of protectiveness settled where his breath had been and then roared through him with the force of a nuclear bomb. She didn’t look sick. She hadn’t lost her hair. The cancer was a cover story—she was working for Adam. Her anguish was guilt, regret. That had to be it. He could pull her back from the dark side, but he couldn’t pull her back from the grave. But her eyes, her beautiful amber eyes told the truth he wanted to be a lie.
Before he could stop himself he was on his feet, pulling her into his arms, lacing his fingers in her hair.
“You’ll die over my dead body,” he vowed, pulling her mouth to his and parting her lips, tasting her with a long slide of his tongue. That was when the patio door and the window above the kitchen sink shattered.
CHAPTER THREE
Distant echoes of shattered windows clamored through the air from around the house as Sterling dragged Becca to the ground, covering her body with his, the skintight Area 51 body armor he wore beneath his clothing offering them both protection from injury. Seconds ticked by in slow motion as foreboding silence settled around them, smoke rising in the air, flooding them in fumes and toxins meant to force Becca from the house. Well, Adam could kiss Sterling’s Texan ass. The only person leaving with Becca tonight was him. As if mocking his vow, another smoke bomb exploded through the patio door and then another.
“I can use some help here anytime now, Damion,” he murmured into the invisible mike he wore, already pushing to his feet. He pulled Becca up with him and silently cursed when his second-in-charge still hadn’t replied.
“What’s happening?” She sucked in air and wheezed, her balled fist on her chest, panic flaring in her eyes. “Oh God. I can’t…breath. We have to get out of here.” Her gaze flickered to the patio door a moment before she bolted.
Sterling lunged for her, shackled her wrist, and dragged her back to him. “Easy, sweetheart, you’re running straight to the enemy.”
“Let go,” she hissed, shoving against him, even as she tried to suck in more air and choked on the smoke. “You don’t understand. My…I—”
“Can’t breathe,” he said, positioning her back to his chest and wrapping her in his arms, before she could make a run for it. “I know, and so do the people who threw those bombs in the house.” He spoke low, against her ear. “The same people who will kill you before they’ll let you help us with an antidote.”
“Kill me?” she gasped, trying to look over her shoulder at him. “They’re trying to kill me?”
“Yes. Kill you.” It was vital she know the extent of the danger and listen to him, to trust him when he’d given her no reason to do so. He turned her to face him, his hands on her arms. “I’ll get you out of here safely. I promise you. But you need to do exactly what I say, when I say it.”
She nodded earnestly. “Yes. Okay. I’m normally not so…I shouldn’t have panicked and run. Tell me what to do.”
Brave and beautiful. Exactly his kind of woman. Sterling yanked a towel off the counter and ran water on it before handing it to her. “Keep your face covered.”
With her hand in his, Sterling silently urged Becca behind him and headed toward the hallway, but not toward the front door where they’d be expected. He rounded the corner, and holy mother of Jesus, he couldn’t see squat for the suffocating smoke that consumed every flipping inch of the house, transforming the hallway into one big cloud of white and gray.
Becca coughed and then wheezed, but even more important than this announcement of their location was her need for fresh air.
He pulled her down to a crouch by the wall in an effort to get beneath the smoke, only to discover there was no “below the smoke.” There was only more smoke. “Are you okay?”
“Alive,” she said. “That’s what counts.”
Indeed, and that was enough to set Sterling into action again, leading her to the stairwell where he paused and tapped the mike by his ear. “Damion, damn it. Where are you?” Nothing. Not one damn word. He started up the steps, but Becca stumbled and almost fell. Sterling quickly wrapped his arm around her, only to feel her go limp in his arms.
“Becca. Becca.” His heart thundered in his chest, his blood frozen with fear. “Don’t you dare die on me.”
He sat down on the step, held her close, and pressed his lips to hers, praying for her warm breath and finding a trickle of air. Yes, thank you, God.
Damion’s voice sounded in his ear bud, welcome as hell. “What’s your position?”
“Stairwell, and about damn time. I need a fast exit. Becca’s passed out and in trouble. I need oxygen, and I need it now.”
“Top floor. Bedroom to your left. Meet me at the window.”
Before Damion even finished the directive, Sterling had scooped Becca up and started running up the steps. Smoke pumped through his lungs like motor oil, but he didn’t slow down. He’d survive; he’d heal. He had to get Becca out of here, or she wouldn’t.
Visibility was near zero at the top of the stairs, and Sterling didn’t hesitate to contemplate what might be in waiting for him. He cut to the left and kicked open the bedroom door to find a thankfully smokeless room…and Damion leaning in at the window.
“The Zodius are MIA,” he said, motioning Sterling forward and offering his arms for Becca. “Retreating or regrouping.”
Or waiting for Becca to come out of this house before attacking again, Sterling thought, hesitating to hand Becca over to him. Sterling’s senses tingled with warning a second before Damion turned away as if he felt it too. The sound of battle followed—grunts, punches, thundering jolts against the wall. Then a yell that grew distant before the silence that followed. Damion and his attacker had gone over the edge of the roof.
Sterling took one look at Becca’s pale, nearly lifeless face, and knew even before he bent close to her mouth that she wasn’t breathing. Sterling shoved aside the emotions stabbing at his chest and forced the trained soldier to react. He rushed her to the side of the bed and settled her on the floor, out of sight of the window. The two guns beneath his pant leg went on top of the bed, within reach and ready for action.
And damn, he wasn’t what one might call a religious man these days, but he was darn sure praying when he bent over her and pressed his lips to hers, alternating a breath with a pump of her chest. “Come on, baby. Come on.” Still she wasn’t breathing. “Fuck!”
In a distant part of his mind, he heard the sound of activity by the window, but he couldn’t think about it being the enemy, couldn’t let a second go by that might mean Becca would never breathe again. Breath, pump, breath, pump. She gasped then, her lashes fluttering and then shutting again, and he brushed dark hair from her eyes. She raised up on her hands, looking around, disoriented. “Sterling…?”
Relief washed over him at hearing his name on her lips, the proof she was alive and present in mind. His instincts kicked back in as he
reached for his weapons.
“Don’t even think about it,” came the growl from above.
Sterling rotated to a squat to find himself staring down the barrel of a weapon held by Tad Bensen, the brawny bulldog, second-in-charge to Adam Rain. He’d known him well during their Area 51 service. Didn’t like him then and liked him less now. “It’s not good to play with guns,” Sterling said dryly. “You might get yourself shot.”
“Bravely spoken by the man without a gun,” Tad said. “Pick up the woman, and carry her to the window. Hand her over to my man. Then, you will return to Zodius City with me for debriefing.”
Translation. Tortured until he gave up Renegade secrets. When donkeys fly. Their eyes locked, held. They both knew there was enough wind coming in the bedroom window to allow Sterling to escape. They also knew wind-walking was potentially lethal for humans, which meant taking Becca with him was a risk, especially in her present condition. Tad jerked one of his weapons toward Becca.
The man seemed to read Sterling’s thoughts. “Just so you know, my orders are to bring the woman back, dead or alive. Adam would rather have her alive, but either way works just fine by me.”
“Nothing like a man who knows how to please his man,” Sterling taunted, trying to keep the attention on himself, not Becca.
It worked better than expected. Tad growled and without warning, shot him in the arm. Sterling’s armor was no protection against the Green Hornet Area 51 bullets that ripped through the material and then his flesh and bone.
“Sterling!” Becca gasped, and he felt her move behind him, press closer to his back.
“I’m fine,” he said, feeling her hand closing over the wound to stop the blood that already oozed down his sleeve, sticky and warm. Pain radiated clear to Sterling’s teeth, but he wasn’t about to give Tad the satisfaction of showing it or a reason to refocus on Becca. “You should really work on self-control, Tad.”
“She goes to the window now, or I unload a few more bullets in your chest and be done with you.”
“I’ll go,” Becca said quickly and started around him.
Sterling shackled her arm. “I’ll carry her. She’s too weak to walk.”
With his eyes locked on Tad, Sterling pushed to his feet, Becca rising automatically with him, behind him. Time seemed to stand still as his eyes locked with Becca’s, silently telling her to prepare herself for what came next. Understanding seeped into her eyes, readiness that defied her physical limitations. And to his surprise, her gaze flicked slightly toward the bed, to his weapons. Surprise, surprise, surprise, indeed. His little Becca was a real fighter.
He bent to pick her up, positioning himself to block her from Tad’s view. At the same moment she grabbed the gun. Sterling ignored the second weapon, unable to get to it and hold Becca. He started for the door, and Becca twisted in his arms and started firing on Tad, clearly trained to shoot.
Tad was firing too, and one Green Hornet and then another, pierced Sterling’s left shoulder blade, ripping bone and muscle with their unique splintering action. But the weight of Becca in his arms, her sheer bravery as she fired his weapon over and over, kept him moving down the stairs through the smoke and furniture.
Another bullet penetrated his armor, ripped into his back. Sterling groaned with the intensity of the impact, with the grind of bullet against flesh, but somehow, he kept running.
He kicked open the front door and charged onto the porch to find Damion here, reaching for Becca. Sterling handed her over, while fighting the ache in his gut that told him it was a mistake. But he was in no physical position to protect her now, and he knew it. With every last bit of energy he had left, determined to give Damion a chance to escape, he turned to face Tad, armed for his exit, but taut seconds ticked by with no sign of Tad.
A bad feeling curled inside him, and Sterling jerked around to check on Becca, sticky blood clinging to his shirt front and back, dripping down his legs. Spots floated in front of his eyes, and he clung to the frame of the doorway to keep from falling, trying to process what he was seeing. Damion wasn’t holding Becca any longer, Tad was, nor was Damion injured, fighting, or trying to save Becca. He was nowhere to be found. Damion had handed her over to Tad. It was the only explanation.
“No!” The shout exploded from Sterling’s lungs in a rush of fury that had him reaching for the wind, but he was too weak to control it.
He charged across the porch toward Becca, but the instant his feet touched the stairs, a bullet ripped through his knee. More spots filled his vision, and he reached for the banister, but found air. He reached for his phone even as he began to fall…had…to tell Caleb…Damion was a traitor. That thought echoed in his mind…in the darkness. He slid down the stairs, his mind barely processing what had happened. Sterling had found Becca and once again let her go…let her down—failed her.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Sterling!” Becca shouted, fighting the grip of the man carrying her away from the house, the one who’d shot Sterling in the bedroom, twisting and turning in a struggle to get free.
Her gaze reached beyond her captor’s bulky shoulders to latch on to Sterling, the sight of him bringing a moment of hope. “Sterling!”
He saw her. She was sure of it, but then he stumbled. He was falling. Becca screamed, realizing he’d been shot again, and watched as a group of soldiers charged him, praying they were his men, that they would save him. He’d taken those bullets for her. She was supposed to die, not him—she was already dying.
The injustice, the terror for Sterling, tore through her, and adrenaline launched her into action all over again. She fought against the bulky man holding her—teeth, nails, fists. She was fighting for her life, fighting to get back to Sterling. God, he was going to die. She just knew it. She had to get him help.
“Fucking bitch,” the man holding her muttered and then flung her across the bed of an eighteen-wheeler that had appeared at the back of her house. She flew across the hard steel floor and hit the wall, gasping, her bones rattling with the impact. Somehow she scrambled to a sitting position just in time to see Sterling’s bleeding, broken body flung across the truck bed toward her, a trail of blood following his body. So much blood…too much blood.
She scrambled to his side, only to realize the big man was standing over her, as if he’d traveled superspeed, jerking her head back by a large chunk of her hair.
He produced a vial of clear liquid. “Swallow it.”
“No!” She tried to shake her head, and he pulled her hair. “No!”
A gun appeared in his hand, and he pointed it at Sterling’s head. “He won’t survive a bullet in the brain. You decide. Does he live or die?”
He meant it. She saw it in his eyes. He hated Sterling. He wanted to kill him, if he hadn’t already succeeded. There was too much of Sterling’s blood on the steel floor pooling around his body for him to survive. Too many bullets were buried deep inside him, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—give up on him.
“I’ll take it.” She held out her hand and received a gloating smile in return. He disposed of his gun and handed the vial to her, but the grip on her hair tightened mercilessly.
Becca sucked down the chilly liquid, coughing at a bitter cold sensation that felt more like fire than ICE in her throat, seconds before the burn in her lungs began.
The man squatted beside her, his big body pressed to her side, his lips to her ear. “My name is Tad, and I’m the man who just cured your cancer and became your drug dealer. That makes me your new sugar daddy.” He held up another vial. “When you start shaking, and you need another hit, we’ll talk about what payment we expect in return. And just so you know, in case you get any ideas about being disloyal to us, if you miss just one dose of your new cure, you die from withdrawal. In other words, we own you.” He motioned to Sterling. “Not him. Not any of his kind.”
His kind. Becca had no idea what that meant. He let go of her and stood up, glaring down at her with a lusty dark look th
at made the ICE in her veins downright arctic. When he finally turned away, he was a blur of movement before the steel doors slammed shut, sealing them inside with the same suffocating effect she imagined her own coffin would deliver. Only a small light flickered overhead.
Her fingers balled in Sterling’s shirt, feeling his wet, thick blood on her skin. Fear and anger collided inside her, exploded from her in a fierce yell. “Who are you people?”
The only answer was the sound of her heavy breathing. It filled the trailer, bounced off the walls and back at her. Her body tingled, her lungs expanded, and she felt air filtering through them without one hint of pain or discomfort. But she felt no hope, no joy. The cure was a drug-induced facade, and this was a nightmare.
“Wake up,” she whispered, pressing her hands to Sterling’s body, to his face, the damn blood clinging to her hands. “Wake up! Damn it, Sterling, wake up!” She collapsed over the top of him, pressed her ear to his chest, searching desperately for a heartbeat, and sighing in relief when she found it. Slowly Becca relaxed against him, his soft rhythmic heart calming her even as the truck began to move, the last thing she remembered before blacking out.
Sterling came awake abruptly, but he didn’t move, didn’t so much as breathe. Training and instinct kept his lashes securely closed, allowed him to absorb the hard and unforgiving concrete beneath his body. Discreetly, he inhaled, reaching with his enhanced GTECH senses to find the familiar scent he’d hoped to never experience again—Area 51, now Adam’s Zodius City.
Stickiness clung to his shirt, but remarkably, considering the number of Green Hornets Tad had unloaded in him, his GTECH immune system had kicked into gear, and his body felt nearly healed. He translated that to mean two things—his body would have needed at least twelve hours of sleep, maybe double that to heal. And in order for that to happen, someone had removed the Green Hornets from his wounds and given him an injection of vitamin C to offset the chronic depletion, common to GTECHs, that worsened in the healing process.