Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ronan pulled onto the exit ramp. As soon as he could, he cut into the service station right off the interstate. He picked a deserted spot—easy to do since the whole building looked shuttered—and then he reached for Luna.
She should not be crying.
His fingers brushed over her cheek. “No one is taking me away from you.”
Her eyes locked on him.
“Gray isn’t gonna lock me up.”
Another tear trickled down. I didn’t realize how close to the edge she was. He should have realized it. She was a civilian. Life and death—mostly death—tended to be his bread and butter. But she wasn’t made for the world of darkness that surrounded him.
“No, not planning to lock him up,” Gray’s careful voice. “But I do appreciate the eye-witness testimony. It’s the same story Kane gave me. Though in his version of events, the only reason Ronan is still breathing is because he was about a half second faster on the trigger than Kurt Vail.”
She flinched.
His hand lingered against her cheek.
“I want to know how the hell Kurt found you. And the very fact that he was sent after you, Ronan? That tells me that we have a problem.”
“Marcus called me.” He’d parked on the side of the gas station. “Twisted freak wanted proof of her death. Jerk was telling me to send him one of her fingers.” His fingers slid down her cheek. Glided carefully over the curve of her lips. “Told him it wasn’t happening.” I will kill anyone who ever tries to slice a finger from her hand. No one will hurt Luna on my watch.
The brutality of his own thoughts had him tensing and yanking his own hand back. Way to not keep some professional distance between you and the target.
“You think that set off his suspicions? When you wouldn’t send him her finger?” A humming sound then, “Maybe he doesn’t buy that she’s dead.” Worry threaded through Gray’s voice. Gray had recently been promoted at the Bureau. From what Ronan could determine, all the guy did these days was worry.
Well, Gray worried when he wasn’t busy slipping into the darkness as he remembered his time being tortured. Ronan knew his friend was trying to keep his growing darkness a secret from everyone. But you couldn’t hide darkness from someone who understood it so well, and Ronan was well acquainted with the dark.
“I think Marcus was using a tracker to find my location.” The same theory he’d given Kane. “He talked to me just long enough to figure out where I was, probably using that damn new tech of Declan Flynn’s.”
“That shit is problematic.”
“Tell me about it.” Someone would need to rein in Declan, stat. Gray needed to handle that job. The problem? The tech genius had too many connections in this world. Good and bad ones. “Marcus got my location, and then he sent Kurt out to eliminate me. Guessing Marcus didn’t want to pay me the money I was owed.”
“So you don’t think he realizes Luna is alive?”
Ronan hesitated. “He has no proof that she is. I told him I dumped her body in the bayou.”
“He’ll be finding out soon enough that Kurt is dead.”
Ronan smiled. “Good. That should scare the hell out of him. I’ll have vanished, and Marcus will wonder if I’m stalking his ass.”
“Scared people make mistakes,” Gray noted.
“They do.”
“If we had Noah Clyde’s body, this whole damn case would be so much easier to handle.” Annoyance came and went with Gray. “But who the hell knows where he is? Probably cut up into a million pieces somewhere.”
Luna made a rough, choking sound.
“And without his body,” Gray continued grimly, “the case is so hard to make. I’ve had agents on Marcus for ages. People trying to slip into his world. But Marcus keeps staying a step ahead. Winning every damn time.”
Yeah, about that… “I think the bastard might like trophies,” Ronan mused.
Luna’s lashes fluttered.
He reached for her hand. A hand so much smaller than his own. His fingers slid over hers. “Marcus wanted proof Luna was dead. Very insistent about the fact. Wanted me to deliver a piece of her to him.” Never happening. “We all know that some killers sure do enjoy keeping trophies. Might be dumb as hell to keep evidence like that, but with these guys…”
“It’s about compulsion. Not about what is smart or foolish. About reliving the kill. Getting power from the attacks.” A random Gray fact? He had a Ph.D. in psychology and had worked intently for a time in the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the Bureau. He knew his killers and their twisted motivations and desires.
Again, you know the dark, Gray. Don’t let it pull you in too deeply.
“If he is keeping trophies and we find his stash, then we could bury him.” The faintest thread of excitement from Gray.
Better they bury Marcus than have him burying Luna. Or me. “Not like it’s gonna be easy to find.” He released her. Why the hell did he keep touching her? Why did he feel so drawn to her? He needed to stop that shit. Stay focused.
“They never are easy,” Gray murmured, but he already sounded distracted. As if he was busy spinning ideas and plotting in his head—which he probably was. “Stay low until I reach out to you again. Only answer this phone and only pick up calls from this specific number.”
He could manage that. “We’re heading toward Orlando and gonna pick a no-tell motel for the night. Then we’ll reach our destination tomorrow.”
“No.” A sharp retort. “Forget the motel. I’ve got a safe house close to that area. Near the springs. Isolated and equipped with the best security imaginable. Go there for the night. The last time I had a pretend couple staying in a no-tell motel, well, you know what happened.”
I happened. He’d been working undercover on a different assignment. He’d had to rush in and shoot a friend. Not one of his best moments. But he hadn’t shot him with real bullets, so his buddy had only stayed down a short time. Eventually, they’d caught the bad guy so…win?
Tyler Barrett was still pissed about the situation, though. Not that Ronan could blame him. If Tyler knew that Ronan was currently involved in his own pretend-marriage BS, he would laugh his ass off.
Ronan’s gaze cut to the gold ring on his left hand. He wasn’t quite used to the weight of the thing yet.
“I’ll text the address to you. Stay mission focused. Keep Luna alive. And try to keep the body count for everyone else to a minimum, understand?”
He could make no promises when it came to a body count. “Always a pleasure chatting with you, Gray.” He started to disconnect the call.
But Luna’s hand flew out and curled around his wrist. “Grayson, how many cases have you worked with Ronan?”
“He’s not a Fed, Luna.” Gray’s quiet reply. “He’s someone you will never find in any employee database. As far as the Bureau and the CIA and any other government agency is concerned, your new husband does not exist.”
You couldn’t find the paper trail for a ghost. But you could find one for a criminal.
“Trust him,” Gray urged her. “Hasn’t he already proven that he would do anything to keep you safe?”
“Yes.” Luna’s low response.
“Good. Now, Ronan, I’ll have some files coming your way. Background. You have to know your prey, am I right?” Then Gray hung up.
Luna’s hand was still around his wrist. Her left hand. The plain, gold wedding ring gleamed on her finger. A ring that told the rest of the world they were a couple. A lie, of course. But what if it wasn’t?
What if he was really married to Luna?
How would he feel if he was truly married to Luna, and someone was trying to kill her?
The same way I feel right now. Like I want to rip the bastards apart and hear them scream for mercy.
He’d never been particularly big on mercy. A personality quirk. Everyone had them.
“I do trust you,” Luna said. “I’m not going to run from you again.”
“So no more handcuffs, huh? Good to know.” Especially since he’d left them at the cabin. Kane would have handled cleanup at that scene. And what did that smartass think when he found the cuffs hooked to the bed?
“I’m not saying no cuffs ever. I’m sure we could use them for other, um, instances.”
Did a faint flush tinge her cheeks? “Luna, don’t tease.” Another quirk. He’d love to cuff and fuck Luna. Any day. Any time. “You don’t want to play with me.” Not now. Probably not ever. But definitely not in his current mood.
He’d killed a man that day. That kind of act left a savage mark on the soul. It made him too brittle and his control too thin.
“I’m not playing.” A swipe of her tongue over her lower lip. “Pretty sure I told you before that I wanted you.”
“Then you went running from me.” She’d rushed into the bathroom so fast his head had spun. Then, of course, he’d followed. Been afraid she’d fled the cabin. So he’d opened the door.
Hello, naked Luna.
“I won’t run again. Trust me. ”
He’d rather fuck her. But, sure, he could trust her. She needed him. She’d seen him kill to protect her. Instead of terrifying her, his brutal act had made her realize that he was her best chance of survival. Check. Understood. “Let’s get back on the road.” The phone had already jingled with the delivery of the address to the safe house. The sooner they got there, the—hell, the what? The sooner I can fuck her?
No, no. Lines couldn’t be crossed. Rules had to be followed. He was going to keep his hands off his target.
His distraction with Luna had almost cost them dearly before.
He couldn’t afford more distractions.
He could not afford to?—
She’d unhooked her seat belt.
“Luna?”
Why the hell had she unhooked her seat belt?
And she…was climbing across the center console. Sliding toward him. Shifting and craning and then she was in his lap. Straddling him. “Luna.” His hands clamped onto her waist.
“From what I can tell, this gas station has been closed down for a long time.” Her hands gripped his shoulders. “I need to prove something.”
Prove something? Who the hell did she need to prove something to?
Her mouth crashed down on his.
Bad, terrible, horrible mistake. They should not be kissing. She should not be putting that sweet mouth of hers against his. She should not be rubbing that sexy tongue past his lips. She should not be moaning in the back of her throat. She should not be driving him wild and making him want to cross every line imaginable. Break every boundary and fuck her then and there until they were both shuddering with pleasure. She should not be?—
Crawling away from him. Fumbling. Knocking her knee into the console. Rushing back into her seat. Hooking the seat belt. Making the click seem so very loud.
“What in the fuck,” he rasped, “was that?” His dick shoved against the front of his pants.
“I want you just as much now as I did before—before you killed a man.” Fast. “I trust you. I want you. I know that you aren’t some horrible monster, Ronan.”
Oh, princess, you have no idea.
“You’re the good guy wearing the monster mask, but I see you for exactly what—who—you are. You killed to keep me safe. I’m not afraid of you. I still want you just as much as before.”
He needed to get them the hell out of there before he did something crazy like say, oh, fuck her in the car. He could do it. They’d both changed as soon as they’d been safely away from the bayou.
She’d slipped into a dress and sandals when they stopped at a rest stop in Mississippi. Items that had been in the suitcase stuffed into the rear of the vehicle. Meanwhile, he’d put on fresh pants and a dress shirt.
He could shove up her soft cotton dress. Yank away her panties and be buried exactly where his eager dick wanted so desperately to be.
Crossing lines. Breaking boundaries. Do not do it. Do not.
“Want a confession, Ronan?” Breathy. “I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone.”
His jaw clenched so hard that it ached. He got the location Gray had sent him. Pulled up directions. Reversed their ride. Shot the vehicle the hell out of that empty lot and back on the road.
“Not that I’ve had a lot of lovers.” Another confession from Luna.
He shot onto the ramp that led back to the interstate.
“Three, if you need an exact number.”
Had he asked for a freaking exact number? He didn’t want to know anything about the lucky bastards who’d been able to fuck Luna. If he knew stuff about them, then he’d want to track them down. Beat the hell out of them. Bury the bodies.
I am so far gone. She thinks I’m pretending to wear a mask? Bullshit. The mask is the man.
He’d been this way long before his Semper Fi days.
When he’d become a Marine, he’d just gotten even better at killing.
Kane and Tyler were the heroes. They were the ones with heart. I was the one trying to figure out how to act normal and blend in with everyone else when every instinct I possess screamed for me to let go of my control.
To cross lines.
To break boundaries.
To do whatever I wanted.
To take what I want.
He very much wanted to take Luna.
“The sex wasn’t very good with them.”
He almost drove off the road.
“Maybe it was my fault. I-I can’t quite let go. Can’t give up my control.”
Her fault? Screw that. “If they didn’t make you scream when you came, they just didn’t know what the hell they were doing. Not a mistake I’ll make. I’ll have you coming against my tongue and begging for more long before my dick ever enters you.”
She squeaked. Cutest sound.
He seriously needed to ease up his grip on the steering wheel and not say the words that were tumbling around in his head.
But he’d never quite been tempted the way he was with Luna. Just focus. Don’t say anything else to her. Don’t lose ? —
“I’d like that,” Luna breathed. “But only if I get to go down on you.”
Yeah. They nearly died in a fiery wreck right then and there. The visual of Luna going down on him? Of her taking his dick into that hot mouth?
Fuck the lines. Fuck the boundaries. Fuck her.
His inner demon. Breaking free. “Turn on the radio, Luna.” A flat order.
“I said the wrong thing, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I’m not exactly stellar at the sexy talk.”
Oh, she was stellar. “Turn on the radio. And…don’t talk again.” His gaze cut to her. “Because if you say one more damn sexy thing to me, I will fuck you in the car. I don’t care if we are on the side of the interstate or at some shady-ass gas station, I will fuck you.” Was that enough of a monster thing to tell her? He thought so.
He also meant every word.
Her hand snaked out. Hit the radio.
The blasting music filled the car.
But the image of Luna, of her taking his dick into her mouth, of her sucking him, that image stayed in his head as the car ate up the miles.
Kurt had not checked in with him.
Marcus stared out at the Atlanta skyline. So many lights. When he glanced down, he saw cars snaking back and forth on the street below.
Night had fallen. All day long, he’d waited for Kurt to check in with him. But there had been no call to tell him that Ronan Walker had been eliminated. No notice to tell him that the job was done.
The silence worried Marcus.
He didn’t like to worry.
He pulled out his phone, and, as if on cue, it vibrated in his hand. His gaze darted to the screen, and Marcus saw that he’d just been sent an image from Kurt. A smile began to play at his lips. Was Kurt sending him a pic as proof that the job had been done? If so, he couldn’t wait to see the image, though Kurt would know that Marcus liked a more substantial souvenir. Not just a photo.
But a pic of Ronan Walker’s dead body will be a phenomenal start.
He tapped the screen. The image appeared.
“What. The. Fuck?”
That wasn’t Ronan Walker on his screen. It was Kurt.
With blood all over his chest.
Kane Harte smiled as his gloved hand tossed the phone toward the FBI agent. “Let your boss know I just rattled our target’s cage.”
The young agent frowned at him. “I’m not sure you were supposed to do that.”
Kane grunted. Like he spent his time doing what he was supposed to do. That would be one boring as hell way to live a life.
“Agent Stone didn’t say anything about you making contact with Marcus Aeros.”
“He didn’t? Odd. Or maybe he just figured you didn’t need to know every detail of his operational plans.” He ignored the burn in his shoulder. Another day, another bullet wound. At this point, if he wasn’t hurting, Kane wasn’t sure he was breathing. “Marcus needed to know that he was being hunted. Now he does.” You think you’re the one sending out the killers. Well, the killers are about to come for you.
The young agent bagged and tagged the phone.
Time to get moving.
Kane had places to be. Sociopaths to stop.