Chapter 6 Brax
Brax
“Fuck.” I shout as I flip out of the tree. My feet barely hit the ground before I’m charging into the action.
Tati has already taken out two people, their necks snapped, as I draw my katanas from their Sayas. She’s slicing the throat of another when she takes me in, and I know instantly there’s no recognition—I am the enemy too. Then she disappears in the sea of men.
They don’t seem to want her dead. All their movements are to immobilize and not kill. Which is both reassuring and stressful, because it means Mikah has finally decided to make his move.
Slashing through what feels like an endless stream of fuckheads, I work to get to my beacon—Tati.
I’m not pretending my obsession with her is rational or reasonable, but who gives three fucks about R-squared? This isn’t fucking statistical analysis, and I’m not running any regression models. Unless it’s perfectly predicting that Tati Al-Adil is mine.
My left hand swipes up and out, my sword cutting through the carotid of the person before me, while my right elbow catches another in the throat before slamming the tip of my sword through his chest. I don’t watch to see if he crumples to the ground—the thud of his body is all the confirmation necessary.
Person after person is dealt with. They’re either dead or have escaped with what they came for.
Whipping my head around, I notice the missing floorboards. She wasn’t the target—the information she came here to collect was. But I won’t lower my guard until I’m certain they aren’t coming back.
Heaving out a breath, I begin to turn and lower my mask, but an elbow cracks me in the back of my head, forcing me to quickly spin out of the way of her next blow and sheath my katanas.
“Who the fuck are you?” she barks, but doesn’t allow me to respond. Instead, she follows up with a series of side kicks, which I dodge with ease. She’s a skilled fighter, but I’ve been trained longer than she’s been alive.
Another quick mixture of kicks and jabs follows each missed connection. Throughout the sparring, she never loses her composure—a testament to her discipline and training.
Dodging the fist she throws at my face, I sidestep, wrap my arms around her chest, and bear hug her.
“It’s me, little fox,” I murmur in her ear while she squirms. I know she doesn’t hear me when her elbow jams into my stomach, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
It’s not enough to break my hold, but I’m going to have one fuck of a bruise.
“Let. Me. The. Fuck. Go,” she snarls. “Or I’ll castrate you and use your balls to tee up at the Traveler’s Championship.”
“That’s oddly specific, watashi no ai. Don’t you think?”
Not one to quit, she lowers her center of gravity, catching me off guard and flipping me on my back.
Splattered in blood, she straddles my chest, pinning my hands, and I put up no resistance, even when shards of glass puncture my flesh.
I’d welcome hell itself if it meant she’d be mine.
“If you wanted to ride me like you did that couch cock, you needn’t fight me. I’ll surrender to you willingly.”
Her eyes, more hazel-brown than green today, peer down at my masked face in surprise as my words seem to finally register.
“B?” she questions, still not fully believing I’m not the enemy.
Taking advantage of her disbelief, I lift my legs, wrap them around her waist, and twist until she’s beneath me. Her chest heaves, nipples hard, rising up and down in a cadence that threatens to hypnotize me. “The one and only, little fox.”
“Why did you stop me?” The question—more accusatory than inquisitive.
My cock hardens at the challenge in her fiery gaze. “You were clearly outnumbered. Should I have left you to be taken?”
Huffing, Tati bucks her hips, an attempt to free herself, but I’m immovable. “They never would’ve gotten the chance. And now I’ve lost—”
Tears well in her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. She clears her throat, sniffing away her vulnerability as she takes in the empty space that used to hold the Gordons’ safe.
“—lost my last chance to get something I needed.” Her voice is far more in control—her composure—her mask— fully back in place. “And I can handle myself. You didn’t need to charge in like I was some damsel in distress.”
“A damsel in distress—I doubt anyone could ever label you with that moniker.”
Her jaw ticks. “Then, I’ll once again ask why you got in my way?”
Releasing her arms, I sit back, not allowing the full weight of my body down on her legs, but keeping her planted in place until I’m ready to release her.
That’s never going to happen. She’s ours—my mind and body in firm unison.
Lifting my mask, I allow her to see me for the first time—my once neat bun—a mess, half up, the rest in my face. “Your stubbornness is only cute when it’s not wrapped in stupidity, little fox,” I declare as I fix my hair.
Tati’s face blooms red, which I’m sure is equal parts indignation and embarrassment. I lower my body until my chest is pressing into her, giving me access to her ear. “I’ll never take chances with your life,” I whisper before nipping her ear.
She shivers before pushing me away. “You can get off me anytime you’re ready.” But the lust is already there. A spark, kindling. Waiting to catch. A moment we’ve spent years building toward.
I glide my finger up her stomach in slow concentric circles until I’m just beneath her breasts.
“Is that what you really want, Tati?” My question—a challenge as much as it’s a taunt.
“Do you want me to get off you?” I cup her firm breast, massaging it while I lower my mouth, wrapping my lips around the raised peak poking through her thin white tank top.
Her breath hitches, her hips roll, but she doesn’t respond to my question verbally, and we can’t have that.
Smirking, I release her breast, chuckling when she whines. I grip the collar of her tank and begin to tear the offending cloth impeding my access.
“Do you—”
Rip.
“want me...”
Rip.
“…to make…”
Rip.
“—you come?”
The punctuated cadence crescendos—her tank in tatters, exposing her sports bra.
“Fuck,” I blurt out at the sight of the black sports bra crisscrossing along her sternum, making Tati’s already full breasts appear more voluptuous as her heaving breaths make her chest rise and fall.
It also makes for easier access. And I make a mental note to buy her ones that require a key that only I possess—a chastity belt for her breasts.
I like the idea so much that I’m already thinking of who can manufacture it so that it’s breathable and offers all the comfort without any of the access.
Lowering the cups of her bra, her tits in all their supple glory lie before me, and I can’t help but caress them.
Eyes raised, meeting her lustful gaze.
“Answer me,” I growl, pinching her nipples until she moans, a mixture of pleasure with a hint of pain. But the stubbornness remains.
“My little fox wants to play chicken on the front lawn of her childhood home, surrounded by body parts,” I tease. “Then I’m happy to oblige.”
Feral to explore parts of her I didn’t get to worship three years ago, I wrap my lips around her nipple and suck, nipping at the raised peak while I pluck and pinch the other until she’s squirming with need.
She moans—low, guttural—and the sound lights me up. More writhing. More wanting. More her. My dick hardens, growing past the point of pain, and I recognize how close we are to claiming our coveted—breath, sanity, salvation—whatever this is.
“Oh fuck,” she gasps, and I suck harder, swirling my tongue to lessen the bite of pain that comes from my teeth. “Please. More,” she begs, but she doesn’t answer my question.
“Answer...”
Suck
“…me…”
Nip
“—Tati.”
Blow.
Peering up at her, I see the want to say “yes” but the will to say “no” wins.
I contemplate throwing the question out the window until she smirks—a catlike smile that says she one hundred percent knows what she’s doing.
Touché. But two can play that game.
I reach for the knife on my belt as I rub her clit through her leggings. “You’re gonna be dirty for me, Tati.”
It’s a command, not a question—a declaration.
Tati hums, bliss painted all over her face. She wants this just as much as I do. She’s just being a brat—one that gets off on the thrill of the chase. And I get off on the thrill of hunting her.
That night three years ago piqued my interest. The years I’ve spent studying her, learning all her ticks, turned obsession into the need for possession.
Holding the waistband of her pants, I lift my hand away from her sweet, responsive pussy, and cut right down the middle of the stretchy fabric, revealing black boyshorts that match the style of her bra, and just like it—in my way.
I slice through the cotton material, finally giving me full access to her body. Wasting no time and sparing no words, I hook her legs over my shoulders and bury my face into her pussy, already wet for me. The tang of her juices is a present for my taste buds.
“Fuck yes. That goddamn tongue—” she curses. “—this… it’s…” Tati’s words jumble as I growl, happily feasting. My tongue pumps in and out of her entrance before switching to lick her clit as I slide two fingers inside her.
Hooded lustful eyes, more green than their usual hue, plead… beg… demand I make her come.
I thrust my fingers deeper, wrapping my lips around her clit and rolling my tongue until I hit the right spot. Her body stiffens, her walls contracting, ready to tip over the edge.
“Holllyyy fuckinggg shhitttt,” Tati shouts, and I know she’s right where I need her.
Then, I pull my fingers out and lift my head, lowering her body until her back gently hits the floor.
Shock and disbelief form on her face as I stand.
Standing, I remove my jacket and cover her before turning and disappearing out the same window I arrived through.
The phantom taste of Tati’s pussy lingers across my tongue, punishing me for not allowing her to come last night—not allowing her juices to fill my mouth and drip down my chin.
In teaching her a lesson, I denied myself the pleasure of savoring her. But I’m no masochist, so I won’t make the same mistake tonight. As she hunts—I hunt.
“We’ll have a team on standby,” one of the three women with Tati states.
She nods, unloading the last of the items from the trailer.
Her bike, an ATV, and all the fun toys an assassin can dream of.
Throwing blades, hunting knives, garrotes, brass knuckles, and of course, Guilie.
“I should be good,” Tati replies, inspecting each gun before holstering them—two on the sides of her waist, one in the back, and one strapped to her right thigh.
She’s a goddamn dream in her all-black form-fitted tactical suit. Images of her covered in the blood of prey as she sucks my dick flash, and I have to shake my head clear. Like a true gentleman, I’ll keep the hard-on for my lady. I'll save the ache for her. Always her.
Tati runs through a few more logistical plans with her team before they hop in the Jeep Wrangler they arrived in.
I wait, watching as she strategically hides weapons, the ATV, and her bike before inspecting the various traps she’s rigged on her hunting ground. An area that spans a radius of fifteen miles around the perimeter of the farm.
I smirk when holes she’s filled with spikes, nails, and broken glass come a hair’s breadth from some of my own traps.
Four hours later, I follow Tati back to the property she purchased three years ago. It looks no different than a rural countryside home. Far enough away to escape any suspicions Mikah would have.
“You can come out already,” she huffs. “I know you’re there.”
That’s my girl.
Her perception and awareness of her surroundings have sharpened to a level that I’m proud to say surpasses mine. It’s not surprising, given the organization she works for.
Keres is the Diamond Standard. They are invisible until it’s too late. And Tati is one of their top assassins.
Hopping from my perch, I lower my mask and grin. “Miss me, little fox?”
She furrows her brow—a dimple appearing when her lips thin.
She’s annoyed.
“What are you doing here? Any other night, I would relish in your company, but not tonight—it’s too important.”
Holding up a hand, I reply, “I mean no offense. And I completely understand why tonight’s so important for you—it’s important for me too.”
Shock registers in her green eyes, and before she can ask, I continue. “Griff Loomis, Fredrick Rogers, Jackson Wallace, and Mikah Gordon owe me a blood debt, and I’ve come to collect.” I don’t elaborate any further. Emi is still too fresh a wound.
Concern etches her features, her gaze softening, but only for a fraction of a second before the mask slides firmly back into place.
“I’m not sure what or who they’ve taken from you, but tonight I will dance on their spleens as I bask in sending them to their bloody ends. It’s what they owe me, and I won’t accept or compromise for anything less.
Tilting my head, I aim to diffuse the situation, finding a balance that we both can mete out our vengeance. “Sharing is caring, Tati. I need this almost as much as I need you.”
She stares, unblinking—frozen to the point not even her chest inflates. And we stand there, gazes locked—not in a battle of wills or wit, but in understanding. Our pain and loss mutually resonate—our thirst and need for retribution kindle in a twisted, macabre dance.
Then her eyes light. “Let’s make it a game, a contest if you will.”
Arching a brow, intrigued with her train of thought. “What are we talking about here? Rock, paper, scissors? Thumb wrestling?”
That earns me a snort quickly followed by a laugh. “No, asshole. Like Duck Hunt. But the winner of the round is the one who gets the kill.”
Rubbing my stubbled chin, I grin and retort, “Let’s up the stakes, each one of these bastards is worth a certain amount of points.”
“The way they’re killed should count as points too. Oh, and we can’t kill each other,” she exclaims, and I nod.
“The person with the most points at the end gets whatever they want,” I add.
Tati’s gaze narrows. “Within reason,” she rebuts.
Undeterred, I simply state, “Then you better win, little fox. Because if I do…” I let my words trail off as I lift my mask. Then, I turn around, disappearing into the forest.
Hunting Season has begun.