Chapter 13 In Love
IN LOVE
SYDNEY
Sydney needed to get eyes on the pics Tank had of the Haqazzii terror cell. She would be no help to him—or to anyone in BLACK OPS—if she didn’t know who she was dealing with.
As they made their way back to the residential section, she told Tank what she needed. Without hesitation, he agreed. Back in her suite, he opened his laptop, logged in with the longest password she’d ever seen, then he pulled up pics of the terrorists.
“Here’s the problem,” he explained. “They don’t look like this.”
He showed her photos of the terrorist Greystone had taken out months ago, and the three he’d eliminated outside Pittsburg.
“They’re great at disguising themselves,” she said.
“The one today looked more like his actual self,” Tank said.
Sydney grew quiet studying the photos.
“Show me King A,” he said.
She pulled up a picture of him at a party, surrounded by his minion of suck-ups. “He’s the one in the devil mask.”
“How apropos,” he said.
“How long have you been waiting to use that word?”
He chuffed out a laugh.
She wanted to cling to his beauty for as long as she could, letting the joy on Tank’s face bathe her in everything good. But, in seconds, his gaze hardened. It was almost like she could see his brilliant brain churning away, eradicating evil at every turn.
“I want to run a plan by you,” he said.
But Sydney had a plan of her own that she wanted to execute.
Now.
Right now.
She closed her laptop, then his, and peered up at him. “Can it wait ‘til later?”
“You want me to get outta here?” He turned, she slipped her fingers around his massive biceps and pulled him toward her.
When she pressed herself against him, a gritty moan rumbled from his chest, and hit her between her legs.
“Don’t leave,” she murmured, her gaze drilling into his.
For a talkative man, he said nothing. Piercing dark eyes found hers, his breath hitched. Watching him morph from Tank the Hunter to Tank the Beast turned her panties damp. She needed him… in the absolute worst way.
Never before had she gone from a panic episode to desire, but Tank Santini was the new sheriff in town, and she was ready to unleash everything she had on him.
“Yes?” she whispered.
“Always, yes,” he replied. “You feeling better?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because I care about you.”
In that second, she went from falling in love to landing on a fluffy cloud of Theodore Santini goodness.
She had no expectations, she wasn’t looking for a commitment.
She didn’t see babies or a white picket fence.
She’d been chasing and eliminating predators for so long, she wasn’t convinced “normal” was even gonna work for her.
But she did see them spending the next twenty minutes getting lost in each other. And with everything going on, twenty was her new sixty.
“Sydney, are you okay?” he asked, plucking her from her thoughts.
“Yes, well, no. I’m not sure I’m ever okay, but I like you… a lot… and I want to show you. I want to feel you on me, in me—”
He stopped her with a kiss, a mind-numbing assault on her senses. Strong arms held her flush against him, his delicious musky man-scent flooded her nasal passages. She could stare at him for hours and never tire. The intensity of his kiss sent her pulse soaring while her insides came alive.
When he slowed the kiss, then stopped it, she opened her eyes. His loving gaze set her heart afire. She trailed the back of her finger over his cheekbone, down his chiseled face, over his scruffy beard.
“I got you,” he murmured. “And I really like you too.” Then, a wink. “A lot.”
Clothing was shed, his strong muscles pressed against hers, sending her soaring high.
He caressed her back, teased her nipples.
He was laser-focused one her and, when he stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her, she felt protected.
Like they were in a tree fort, squirreled away from the world.
From the horrid men she chose to chase day in and day out, year after year.
He kissed her shoulder, the back of her neck, his warm breath on her skin a delight.
He was a man, a ruthless one, but the tenderness he showed her had her body humming with pleasure.
When he cupped her pussy, she raised her arms over her head, and sunk her fingers into his hair.
She’d never been this open, this vulnerable, with any man.
But she had every confidence he would make her purr.
With his other hand, he fondled her breast, outlined her areola with his finger. Her nipple plumped, her body hummed with desire. She broke away to fish a condom from her bag before he scooped her into his arms and deposited her on the bed. There, he planked over her.
This—him—was all she wanted.
She let go, getting lost in him. And Tank took care of her, like she was his. Like his happiness depended on hers.
With slow and deep thrusts, he pulled sounds out of her that had him groaning from the depths of his soul. He was a big, big boy, and yet, he took his time, ensuring she felt good. That their union was about her, not him.
And she adored him for that.
The build was luxurious, intense, and exhilarating. Twice, he took her to the edge, and stopped. Beads of sweat slid between her breasts as he kissed her with an intensity that had her mewling.
When she bucked off the bed, a devilish smile filled his face, and he began thrusting.
Slowly, then faster and deeper. She raised her arms, rested her hands on the pillow, and she surrendered to the ecstasy.
The orgasm started deep inside, slowly spreading through her.
She cried out, the guttural sounds unchecked.
She felt free, freer than she’d ever felt.
“Baby, I’m coming so good.” When he finished, he stared into her eyes. “You got me too.”
She didn’t want their connection to end. She wanted more of him. She wanted all of him.
Knock-knock.
The door flew open. Caroline stood there, fear spilling from her eyes. Grey loomed large behind her.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Caroline blurted. “I heard you scream.”
Grey started laughing. “La vendetta è una stronza, vero?”
Tank laughed, then said, “Esci e chiudi quella dannata porta.”
Still laughing, Grey reached around Caroline, pulled the door closed. And that’s when Sydney and Tank burst into laughter.
“I didn’t get all of that,” she said. “Something about payback?”
“He said, ‘payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?’” Tank translated. “And I told him to get out and shut the damn door.”
“Payback?” she asked.
“I was with Luciano at a private party,” Tank explained. “I interrupted him and Simone. Months later, I interrupted Greystone and Caroline at Lost Souls.”
Sydney laughed, hard. When she stopped, she said, “You had it coming to you.”
“Nice pun.” He kissed her. “I love that you’re super chill.”
“In general, or about this?”
“Both. You didn’t lose it when they walked in on us.”
“You’re on me, Tank. They didn’t see my body, but my sister got a nice shot of your fine, fine ass.”
Their laughter filled her ears with one of life’s most joyous sounds. This was one of the worst and best days she’d had in a long, long time. She’d take the bad, as long as she could get the good.
The problem with life… there are no guarantees.
Ever.
AT TEN MINUTES ‘TIL TEN, Tank and Sydney entered Santini Ristorante. She’d disguised herself in a wavy jet-black wig with long bangs, green contact lenses, black-rimmed glasses, and makeup that darkened her skin tone to match Tank’s olive one.
She’d dotted her nose in freckles, dressed in a pair of baggy pants, a loose-fitting black shirt, and a black duster.
Instead of walking with her normal swagger, she dropped her shoulders, tilted her face down.
But her situational awareness—like radar—was on full-alert.
While Teddy checked in with his floor manager, Sydney scanned the upscale eatery. A packed dining room, every table full, but one. Sin waited alone at the owner’s horseshoe booth.
Sydney needed to clear the small dining room, tucked in the back of the restaurant. While she had no idea what King A looked like, she had seen photos of the remaining Haqazzii terrorists.
She was packing heat and ready to send lead if necessary. Her larger SIG was tucked in her belly holster, her compact SIG strapped to her ankle, both hidden beneath her baggy clothes.
She was locked, loaded, and ready for anything.
As they approached the owner’s booth, Sin rose, pulled Sydney in for a hug. “How’re you doing?”
“Fired up,” she replied. “You?”
“Ready to put the squeeze on Rocco.” He gave Tank a bro-hug. “How’s Slash?”
“She’s good,” he replied.
When they sat, Tank put his back against the back wall so he could keep an eye out, but Sin pushed back. “I gotta sit there.”
“My restaurant,” Tank replied. “I’m the boss.”
Sin flashed a smile.
“While you two fight for the power seat, I’m going to check out the salon.”
“I’ll go with,” Tank said.
“No.” Before her handsome over-protective guard could push out of the booth, Sydney headed toward the back, slowing to a stop in the doorway of the cozy dining room.
She’d met Tank in this room, and the memories came flooding back. As she took in the sights, she studied the patrons. While she didn’t see anyone resembling a disguised terrorist, she wasn’t one hundred-percent sure.
A table of four men filled the far corner. As she homed in on them, one glanced over. It was her cousin, Robby Waters, the poker whiz.
That’s just effin’ great.
At their family dinner, she’d been wearing her short, light brown wig with bangs.
When he didn’t take a second look, relief washed over her, and she left the salon.
She returned to their booth as a man approached.
Tank and Sin rose, shook the man’s hand.
Colorful tats covered every inch of his skin, visible to see.
“Rocco, this is Sierra,” Tank said.
“Yo,” Sydney said, lowering her voice.
“How’s it goin’?” Rocco asked her.