Chapter 5 #2
Roger’s smirk deepened. He dropped his arms, leaning forward just enough that the table creaked under his weight.
"The boss likes having Donovan along," he said, like it was obvious.
"He’s better at taking orders without question.
The rest of us?" A shrug, one shoulder rolling.
"We tend to push back from time to time. "
I exhaled through my nose. "So, you’re the problematic ones."
"Problematic?" Roger’s eyebrows shot up, all mock offense. "I prefer ‘independent thinkers.’"
"Independent my ass," I muttered, but there was no heat in it. I knew the type. Hell, I was the type.
Roger chuckled, the sound warm and rough. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."
"Well, if you met my boss, he would tell you my independence spells my self-destruction."
“Well, maybe you are too independent.”
There has to be a way out of here.
“How do you guys get in and out of here? I mean, I know you can fly and Quantum Knight has his flying bicycle. But how about everyone else? Johnny said that garage is the only way out, and you have to fly to get out of here.”
Roger swallowed some more food before answering. “Well, the garage also has a small jet that can carry four of us if needed. There are also stairs, where Johnny can zoom up and out. Pretty easy for him to go wherever he wants. I can help the guys in and out too if needed.”
“Oh,” I said. That wasn’t helping information at all.
“It is Sebastian that has it the worst. He really can’t leave here without assistance; otherwise, he would freeze into ice.”
I dropped my fork. “What?”
Roger realized he said something he shouldn’t. He paused, and then answered. “The base is in the Arctic. It is a small piece of land that the base is built on. We are basically an iceberg.
“Arctic? Like Superman’s secret lair?”
Roger made a face like it was ridiculous. “No, not like Superman. I don’t know why it was picked. But it was Quantum Knight’s decision. He picked the spot; he built it.”
“He built it by himself?”
“I guess?”
“Ugh, you people are unbelievable. None of you knows anything. No wonder you get slapped around by Capital Punishment.”
"Hey, we all got our roles. We will defeat this Capital Punishment guy. We just need to keep grinding. It is like what I always say: the first yard is physical, but the last yard is personal."
I blinked. I shot him a look. I knew that saying. Once he said it, the pieces clicked into place.
I knew who he was.
Not Riven. Not the superhero with the easy grin and the power to bench-press a semi.
RC Rattler. The kid who’d led Alabama to a national championship before his leg snapped like a twig on live TV. The guy who’d had Nike deals and ESPN specials and a future so bright it’d practically blinded everyone looking at him. The man who’d vanished after that night in the woods.
My pulse thrummed in my throat.
"You’re him," I said.
Roger’s back stiffened. He turned slowly, blue eyes locking onto mine. For the first time, there was no smirk. Just a flicker of something raw.
"Depends on who you think him is," he said, voice low.
"RC Rattler," I said. "All-American. Heisman runner-up. The guy who threw for three hundred yards in the Hawaiian Bowl with a separated shoulder." My mouth twisted. "The guy who disappeared after his draft stock tanked."
His jaw tightened. "A lot of people forgot about me," he admitted. His fingers flexed around his napkin. "Figured everyone had."
I barked a laugh. "Yeah, well. I'm not everyone."
"You got that right." He laughed softly. His gaze flicked over me. "You follow football?"
I rolled my eyes. "No. I followed you. I was in high school when you were playing. All my friends had a huge crush on you."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Fuck. That was not the play I’d meant to make.
Roger’s breath caught. His shoulders squared. "Really? Did you have a crush on me?"
My eyes rolled again. "Had a crush on you," I muttered, suddenly fascinated by my thumbnail. "Back when I was just a dumb kid."
"You had good taste back then." He chuckled. "Then you probably forgot about me and went off to date rock stars or something."
"Oh, please. Guys like you don't date girls like me. I should have recognized you, but I didn't. Hell, it was over a decade ago that you played. One day, you were this hotshot, then there was that incident."
The incident. Christ. Why was I putting my foot in my mouth?
His expression sobered. "You really think I wouldn't like girls like you?"
I shrugged, hyper-aware of my tattoos, the way my hips took up space. "Come on. You had cheerleaders throwing themselves at you. I was the girl with the nose ring and a resting bitch face who spent Friday nights reading books."
Roger’s gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower, slow and deliberate. When his eyes met mine again, there was a heat in them that made my breath stutter.
“I always liked girls like you,” he said, voice rough. “The ones with the edge. The ones who didn’t give a shit about the status quo.” His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure he should. “I just thought girls like you wanted to date rock stars or something.”
"Nothing wrong with rock stars, but I would be crazy to turn down the hot quarterback with the All-American smile." I choked out a laugh. “Actually, I remembered watching you play in the Hawaiian Bowl, wishing I was there. I still haven’t made it to Hawaii.”
The air between us thickened, charged with something that wasn’t just nostalgia. My pulse was a drumline in my veins. I could smell him. Clean, musky cologne.
Roger’s smile turned slow, predatory. “Yeah? And I would be crazy to turn down a sexy woman covered in tattoos.”
My hazel eyes locked onto his, and I let my fingers drift over the ink on my forearm, the black and gray swirls of the serpent coiled around a dagger. This was my favorite. “You like my tattoos?” I asked, voice low, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it anyway.
The second Roger’s fingers brushed against my arm, tracing the edge of my tattoo, I felt that familiar spark, like a live wire under my skin.
His touch wasn’t just casual. It was intentional.
The kind of touch that said he’d been thinking about this, about me, long before his hand ever landed there.
Roger’s smile spread slowly and easy, like he was savoring the question. His blue eyes flicked over my skin, tracing the lines of ink like he was memorizing them.
“Love them,” he said, and his voice had that rough edge to it, the one that made my stomach tighten. “You look hot as hell.” The words settled between us, heavy and warm, and I could feel my pulse kick up a notch.
My lips curled into a smirk. I wasn’t one for smiling much, but damn if he didn’t make me want to. “You’d look better with your shirt off,” I shot back, watching his reaction like a hawk.
He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.
One hand grabbed the hem of his shirt, and in one smooth motion, he peeled it off, revealing the kind of body that made my mouth water.
Broad shoulders, defined chest, the kind of athletic frame that came from years of training, not just hitting the gym for vanity.
The scars were there too, faint silver lines along his ribs, a reminder that he wasn’t just some pretty face. He was a man who’d been through shit. A man who’d done shit. And right now, he was looking at me like I was the only thing in the room worth his attention.
I didn’t give him time to overthink it. I stepped into him, my hands already sliding up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under my palms. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back, just leaned in, his breath warm against my lips before he kissed me.
And fuck, could the man kiss. It wasn’t soft or hesitant.
It was hungry. His lips crashed into mine, his tongue pushing past my teeth like he was staking a claim, and I moaned into his mouth, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He tasted like mint and something darker, something that made my head spin.
His hands weren’t idle either. One gripped my hip, pulling me flush against him so I could feel just how hard he already was, the thick outline of his cock pressing against his jeans.
The other slid up my back, tangling in my hair, tilting my head just right so he could deepen the kiss.
I bit his lower lip, just enough to make him groan, and then I was pushing his jacket off his shoulders, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of his jeans.
He broke the kiss just long enough to yank his boots off, then his socks, before his hands were on me, peeling my top over my head, tossing it somewhere behind us.
His fingers found the clasp of my bra next, and the second it hit the floor, his mouth was on my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse point while his hands cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they were hard little points, aching for more.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled against my skin, his voice rough, and I could feel the vibration of it all the way down to my clit. My hands dropped to his belt, unbuckling it with more urgency than finesse, shoving his jeans and boxers down his hips.
His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the head already glistening with pre-cum. I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking once, twice, just to watch his breath hitch, his abs tightening under my touch.
“You like what you see?” I murmured, my voice all smoke and sin.
Roger’s answer was a growl, low and possessive, before he spun me around and pressed me against the kitchen counter. The cold stone bit into my bare skin, but I barely noticed. His body was a furnace against my back, his cock nestled between my ass cheeks, hot and insistent.