Enslave Me Sweetly (3 page)

“What about Sahara Rose?”

“Gone, her house abandoned. She packed in a hurry, that much was obvious.”

“Wonderful,” I muttered, almost afraid to ask my next question. But I had to. I needed all the facts. “What about the human woman at the warehouse? The survivor?”

Leaning back, he rested his hands behind his head and gazed up at the ceiling. His lips pressed tightly together as a long, protracted silence enveloped us. “You don't want to know,” he said softly.

I pushed out a breath and shook my head in disgust—disgust with myself. With EenLi. “She's dead, isn't she?”

Michael nodded, his expression apologetic. “I'm sorry, sweetie. Her wounds were too extensive. She died before we got there.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and fought back a razor-sharp crest of regret. “What was her name?”

“Don't torture yourself this way. You did what you could.”

“What was her name?” I insisted.

“Amy,” he supplied, reluctance heavy in his tone. “Amy Evens.”

Amy Evens. She'd been young, probably no more than twenty-five, with pretty blond hair and wide blue eyes. Like every young woman, she'd probably dreamed of love and a happily ever after, yet she'd been raped, abused, and had died alone.

My disgust and hate for EenLi grew in intensity, but most of all, my disgust for myself grew. I was to protect the innocent; that was part of my job. I closed my eyes, hoping to block the images hovering there, images of both women alive and chained to the wall, neither knowing Death had knocked on her door. I'd failed in every way there was to fail. I had failed to kill my target; I hadn't even managed to save one human life.

These wounds of mine…I deserved every one of them and more. A resolution to make it right solidified within me. “What do we do now?” I asked, once again facing Michael.

“My guess is EenLi's still in New Dallas, putting together another crew. I want you to go there, find him, find those damn portals, and finish your job.”

A moment passed before his words sunk deep enough inside me that I was able to respond. Shocked, I said, “You're letting me have another shot?”

“You know his MO better than anyone. You know his habits; you've studied him. Plus, I know you. You'll want a chance to fix this, and I love you enough that I want to give it to you.”

“I—” I pressed my lips together. The fact that Michael trusted me enough to right my wrongs propelled a thrill of pride and happiness through me, and I had trouble finding the words to express my gratitude. I guess I'd assumed his protective instincts would surface, and he would command me to stay behind.

I truly loved this man.

“Do you think any of your agents are secretly working with EenLi?” I asked. “That would explain how EenLi knew to trade places with Mris-ste.”

“I already have a man on it, so don't worry about it.”

I nodded. “Thank you for giving me another chance,” I said, allowing all of my appreciation to seep through my voice. “I know I don't deserve it. I'm not going to let you down.”

“Don't thank me yet,” he said wryly. “You'll be working with a partner.”

What? “Absolutely not.” Shock quickly replaced all of my happiness, and I jolted upright, winced, and glared over at him. “I work alone. Always.”

“Not this time,” he said, resolute. Final.

“I'm perfectly capable of finding the portals and killing EenLi on my own.” I
needed
to do it on my own. I couldn't allow someone else to fix what I had created.

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared over at me. “Then why isn't he dead?”

That was entirely beside the point—even though he was right. “I will not work with one of your agents.”

“Yes,” he said calmly, assuredly, “you will. Lucius,” he called without removing his gaze from me. “Come meet your new partner.”

As if the man had been standing behind the entrance, guarding it, the thick metal doors instantly slid open. He strode stealthily inside, not emitting a single noise: not the swish of clothing, the plod of footsteps, or the rhythm of breath. He was as human as Michael, but where my boss was lean, this man was solid muscle. Where Michael was average height, this man was tall. Where Michael was aging, this man was all vitality.

He stopped at the foot of my bed. The scent of pine soap and sheer maleness wafted from him. He wasn't near enough to touch, but I could feel the warmth of his skin, beckoning me, lulling me. That warmth, that scent…I recognized them. A moment passed, and I sucked in a breath.

He
was the one who had carried me.
He
was the one who had given me sugar water last night.
He
was the one who had stripped away my clothing. My stomach knotted at the thought of his hands on me, undressing me, seeing my naked flesh. A shiver of awareness fired down my spine.

His lips were soft and lush, as pink as flower petals. The rest of his features, however, were granite hard, boasting deliciously rough planes and harsh angles. Cheekbones carved from stone. A nose sculpted from steel. Black eyebrows slashed over his eyes, eyes so blue they could only have been created from ice chips, regarding the world with an I've-seen-it-all acerbity. Right now those eyes bore down at me, into me.

He wore a tight black T-shirt, the same inky color as his chopped hair and form-fitting jeans. Simply standing there, he exuded a masculine intensity that shouted,
I'll fuck you or kill you—take your pick.

I suddenly felt vulnerable. Exposed. It didn't matter that I was covered by clothes and a sheet. I was lying in a bed; I was injured. And he knew what I looked like naked. More than that, I was not operating at full strength and probably resembled a sick tabby kitten, mussed and disheveled.

I forced a cool facade, hoping I exuded regal composure. I didn't know this man, and I didn't want him seeing me as anything less than controlled.

“Have you ever killed anyone, Sparkie?” I asked, hoping to put him on the defensive. He'd take over if I let him.

Not a glimmer of emotion lit his features. He remained in place, silent, unconcerned. Distant.

With a conscious effort, I tore my gaze from him and attempted to ignore his very existence. “I don't need or want a partner,” I told Michael.

“Tough,” he said, his expression hard.

“I work alone,” I said again, my tone colder than ever before. I was surprised ice chips didn't form from my breath.

“Not anymore,” he replied again.

“I will not—”

“Your protests will change nothing, sweetie. I want you to work with Lucius, and so you will. That's an order.”

“He'll get in my way.”

“He knows what he's doing.”

“I doubt that. Men like him are all brawn and no brain. How can I do my job if I have to watch his back too?”

The man finally deigned to speak.

“Listen,
cookie
,” he said, his voice rough, low, as if his vocal cords had once been damaged. “The day I need you to save my ass is the day I'll find myself a new job. Maybe cloning flowers. Maybe walking robotic dogs. I'll decide when the time comes. Until then, you take care of yourself, and I'll take care of me.”

With that, he exited the room as quickly and silently as he'd entered.

The moment the door clicked shut, I pinned Michael with a fierce stare. “Did he just call me ‘cookie'?”

Michael's lips twitched, and amusement turned his hazel eyes to a bright, vivid green. “You deserved it after that ‘all brawn and no brain' crack.”

“How can you expect me to work with that man?”

The twitching became a full-blown smile. “Consider it penance for your sins.”

I didn't let his amusement soften me, though I did love to see him happy. “I'll tell you one more time, Michael. I don't need a partner.”
Let me do this
, I silently beseeched.

Something deep and dark flashed across his features. “You'll work with him, or you'll work for another agency. Understand?”

He meant it. Michael never threatened. Only promised. And with it put like that, I couldn't refuse. I nodded stiffly. My hands fisted at my sides, but resolve slowly moved through me. “Can he do anything besides look pretty?” And tough.

“I guess you'll just have to wait and find out.”

“That's comforting, Michael. Very comforting.” I knew Michael, knew when he was turning stubborn. Anything I learned about Lucius, I'd have to learn on my own.

He sighed. “If you're on edge with him, you're less likely to make mistakes with him.”

How wonderful to hand out little gems of wisdom at a time like this. Thanks. For nothing. “Any other bits of ingenious ramblings you want to toss my way before I kick you out and get some rest?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. He always liked when I reverted to my old spoiled-princess ways. “I want you operating at full capacity in three days. Otherwise, I'll let Lucius have the mission all to himself.”

He left me alone then. With his parting words, he had sealed my fate. I'd be back in fighting shape within
two
days and not a moment more. Whether it was feminine pride or simple arrogance, I would not let Lucius have this mission for himself.

I still had something to prove. More now than ever.

I would not be a failure. Not again.

“‘Cookie,' my ass,” I muttered.

L
ater that night I forced myself out of bed. My muscles screamed in protest, but I managed to stay upright. The white T-shirt I wore hit my knees, leaving the rest of my golden legs bare. Darkness and moonlight mingled together, offering a hazy cocoon. Only silence touched the air. The rest of the house slept peacefully.

My movements slow and halting, I maneuvered down the mahogany staircase and into Michael's office. I loved this room, with its intricately carved desk, the high shelves filled with real books—not the holobooks sold in stores—and the fresh scent of leather. I traced my fingertip over the world globe, over the maps of the universe lining the walls. Over the chessboard. Michael and I had spent many nights in this room, talking and laughing. Strategizing.

No time for reminiscing, girl. Get to work.
I plopped into the plush chair behind the desk. After bypassing his ID scans and voice-activated computer—just like he'd taught me—I searched for a file on Lucius Adaire.

All information had been permanently deleted. I wasn't surprised. Michael didn't want me to know about Lucius, so of course he'd removed every piece of information. Smart man, my father.

Frustrated and overtaxed, I slipped back inside my room. I needed a few hours sleep before morning arrived. Just before I reached the four-poster bed, however, I stilled. I was not alone. I sensed heat, smelled pine.

My eyes narrowed on my uninvited guest. Looking casual and unconcerned, Lucius lounged in the padded chair beside the bed. I scowled over at him.

“Find anything?” he asked smugly, as if he knew what I'd been doing.

I didn't bother answering him. I climbed onto the bed, the mattress adjusting to my weight, and closed my eyes, though I remained alert. The covers were warm and soft, a soothing caress against my skin.

“What do you think you're doing?” he demanded.

“Sleeping. You're welcome to stay and watch like the pervert I'm sure you are.”

“I don't think so. Get up.” Leaning toward me, he reached out and shook my shoulders none too gently. “Get dressed. We train.”

A man of few words. How quaint. “You want to pretend to be my physical therapist and give me a massage, I'll let you touch my shoulders. Other than that, keep your hands to yourself. Got it?”

“Not a morning person?”

“I'll let you know in the morning. For now, I'm resting. Get out.”

“Are you always this bitchy?”

I didn't take time to find my calm center. I simply came up swinging, jerking myself into a sitting position and letting my fist fly. I nailed him in the jaw. His chin didn't even turn, but I winced on impact. His bones were more solid than steel, and I wasn't at optimum strength.

Had he had enough time to stop me completely? Probably. Had he had enough time to move away? Most assuredly. My movements were slower than usual, my reflexes dulled.

A glimmer of humor lit his eyes, making the blue appear almost purple. “Get your ass out of bed. In the shape you're in, other-worlders will eliminate
you,
not the other way around. I'll meet you in the basement gym in half an hour.”

“Get out of my room.”

“Half an hour,” he said. “Don't be late.”

When I heard the doors close, I forced myself out of bed. I felt sorer now than I had been five minutes ago. I blamed Lucius, of course. But damn if I didn't look forward to training with him. I loved a challenge. In my current state, I probably couldn't beat him. I could do a lot of damage, though, I thought, grinning.

I saturated my wounds with a cyanoacrylate adhesive—a superglue for injuries—and took a lingering shower, luxuriating in the steaming, rose-scented liquid. Most people had to bathe with dry enzyme and glyceride spray. Michael could afford water, thank God. Showering was almost a hobby of mine.

I'd been told Raka was a planet with more water than land. Perhaps bathing was something all Rakas enjoyed. If my parents had survived their night of terror, I could have asked them. Would have given anything to ask them. A pang of remorse hit me, just as it always did when I thought of my parents. I missed them terribly.

When I climbed out of the tub, I felt more limber, less awkward. I glanced at the wall clock. Three forty-five. I couldn't help but smile. Thirty-
three
minutes had passed since Lucius had ordered me to be in the gym. I imagined him pacing, waiting impatiently for me.

Reaching up, and experiencing only a slight twinge in my side, I secured the length of my gold hair from my face and rummaged through a dresser filled with clothes. In all of his homes, Michael kept a room and wardrobe just for me. I donned a red sports bra and matching spandex shorts.

My stomach growled. I'd had nothing more substantial than sugar water in days. As I entered the kitchen, the smooth, marble tile was cold against my bare feet. Real coffee, not the synthetic blend, simmered in the silver pot sitting on the platinum countertop, saturating the air with a thick, caffeinated aroma. I wrinkled my nose in distaste. How anyone could drink that crap, I didn't know.

With the press of a few buttons, a turkey sandwich slid onto the counter hatch. I sprinkled it with sugar and managed to eat half before my stomach protested.

Forty-nine minutes had passed.

I finally sauntered my way into the basement gym. I was grinning.

Lucius was there, pounding away at the punching bag, looking sexy as hell. How annoying. With his irritating personality, he should be ugly. Hideous. His bronzed skin stretched taut over muscles and sinew. Several scars laced his ribcage. Sweat glistened and traced small rivulets down his bare chest and back, catching in the waist of his black shorts. He didn't spare me a glance.

I spent the next two hours stretching on the mat and centering my energy, forcing my body past the barriers my injuries had set. At times, I found myself unsteady and shaky. A good shaky, though. The kind that let me know I was alive. I'm sure Lucius would have preferred I make use of the weights, maybe the virtual boxing ring.

Usually, I did train in the ring. I didn't want to go that route today. Instead, I pranced off the mat and to the bar across the far wall. I stretched one leg up, glancing over at Lucius. I nearly gasped when I realized he was watching me, his eyes heated and intense.

My gaze slitted on him. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Let's practice,” he barked. “If you think you can handle me.”

“I've been handling men like you for years, Sparkie.”

A muscle ticked in his temple. “Let's get a few things straight,
cookie
. You don't like me and I don't like you. You don't want a partner, and I sure as hell don't need one—especially an arrogant female other-worlder with no talent that I can see.”

“Then why did you agree to work with me?” I ground out.

“A paycheck is a paycheck, baby, and your daddy is paying out the ass to have me here.”

“We're paid by the government,
baby.
Get your facts straight.”

His lips pursed, and he cut off his next words.

“At least you got the better end of the deal,” I muttered.

“How's that?” He arched a brow. “You failed your last mission, and I've succeeded every damn time.”

I worked my jaw in irritation. Like I really needed a reminder of my failure. Like it wasn't front and center in my mind, even in my dreams. “In all my years as an agent, that's my only failure. One I plan to rectify.”

“You've succeeded at easy cases, sugar. That's nothing to be proud of.”

Bastard. “Have you even made a single kill?”

“If you have to ask, you're not a good judge of character.”

Cold, hard death gleamed in his eyes, speaking of innumerable kills. My hands clenched at my sides. “I've made kills, too. Many, in fact.”

“I'm curious,” he said. “How did you eliminate those targets of yours? Annoy them to death?”

Scowling, I closed the distance between us until we were nose to nose. Our breath mingled, and I could feel the vibration of his strength. I could not seem to hold my usual cool facade with this man. I responded to him whether I wanted to or not. “Why annoy them when I can use my knife—when I can take a human like you, cut you up, and sauté you for breakfast?”

He studied me for a long, silent moment, his eyes raking over my curves with heated intent. “That's one glorious ego you've got there.”

“I've earned it. You, however, have probably never—”

“That's enough, children,” Michael said, suddenly filling the doorway.

We both spun around and faced him. With a feigned nonchalance, he leaned against the thick wooden frame. He held a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and an unlit cigar with the other. “I leave you two alone for a few hours and you turn on each other. Work together on this or find yourselves new jobs.” He shook his head and gave me his complete attention. “I meant to give you more time, but something's come up.” Now he turned to Lucius. “Finish your training, then explain to Eden what I want done today.”

With that, he left us alone.

“Explain now,” I said, glaring at Lucius. I would have run after Michael, but that would amused my
partner,
I'm sure.

“Anyone ever tell you if you're nice to a man, he's more likely to be nice to you?”

“Please explain what Michael wants done,” I said, the words ripped from my throat.

“Not until after we train,” he said, drawing out each syllable with relish. He eyed my injured side. “You, cookie, are in desperate need of it.”

I had to swallow back a rush of curses. How did he keep getting the upper hand? “I'm ready when you are,” I said through gritted teeth. As a Raka, I didn't have special, instinctive fighting skills. As a trained assassin, I
did.
I would not be the easy mark he obviously considered me. Injured or not.

He claimed his place on the large blue mat in the center of the gym.

Gathering my energy, centering at last, I placed myself just inches away from him. My strength was not at the level I wanted it, but for now it would have to do. I considered my battle strategy. Focus. Keep my thoughts clear. Don't allow an emotional reaction.

“I won't go easy on you,” he said. “I don't care that you're a woman, and I don't care that you're injured.”

I'd trained with holograms more fierce and lethal than this man, so his warning didn't frighten me in the least. “You plan to take me down all by your little self?” I laughed. “Good luck, Sparkie.”

Uttering a low growl, he sprang at me.

In one fluid motion, I leaned to the side, effectively avoiding impact. He whizzed past me and tripped on his own feet. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You let your anger get the better of you.”

Pivoting, he advanced on me. I kicked him in the stomach, but that didn't slow him. He reached me all too soon and grabbed me by the shoulders. This time I couldn't evade him; he moved too quickly. He tossed me down, and I hit the mat with a smack. I winced at the sharp ache in my side but quickly leapt to my feet. And just like that, before I could drag in a breath, he was on me again, shoving me down, his hands wrapping around my throat to choke me.

“You're too slow,” he said.

I knew that. The slower I moved, the more time my opponent had to consider his next action. I broke Lucius's hold with a quick thrust to his elbow. Not enough strength to break his arm into two pieces, but enough to hurt. Then I kicked him in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. When he regained his momentum, he launched at me. Twisting, I sprang up and sidestepped. Gave another fluid twist. Kick.

Contact.

My foot slammed into his midsection, knocking the air from his lungs. As he doubled over, trying to suck in air, I lunged, elbow raised. With one downward slice, I connected with his cheekbone.

He howled.

I grinned. “Still too slow?”

“Not a bad move,” he said, rubbing his cheek. After a moment of staggering, he stood to his full height. “Let's see what else you've got.” He went low, spinning on his heels, at the same time performing a booted strike. Anticipating such a move, I jumped.

Not far enough away, however.

The heel of his boot ground into my calf. My knees knocked together, buckled, and I propelled onto my face. Cool foam met hot flesh. I lost my cockiness.

He jumped on me, his chest pinning my face to the floor. His warm breath fanned my ear, my cheek. Everywhere his skin touched mine acted as a live wire, singeing me, making me ache—not in pain, but in lust. I had trouble drawing in a breath, but when I did, I inhaled the savageness of his scent. The wildness.

“What should you do in this position?” he said calmly.

I should place one palm against my cheek, then extend my other arm and roll myself over. But his long, thick fingers were surprisingly gentle as they slid down my arms, and I remained in place, doing nothing. His touch wasn't like that of an enemy, but like that of a lover.