Lara Adrian's Midnight Breed 8-Book Bundle (275 page)

The roof of the sedan was buckled and smashed, creating only a small amount of room for her and the other human male, who was struggling to get a grip on her legs. She was fighting him off with one foot while attempting to claw her way out of the nearest window. The human gave up as soon as his flat gaze slid to Brock. Releasing
Jenna’s ankle, he ducked back to scramble ass-first through the gaping windshield.

“Minion,” Brock snarled, hatred for the soulless mind slave making his blood boil even hotter with fury.

These two men were definitely Dragos’s loyal hounds. Bled by him to within an inch of their lives, they would serve Dragos in whatever capacity he required, obedient to their dying breath. Brock wanted to speed the escaping human to that final moment personally. Kill him with his bare hands.

He damn well would, but not until he made sure Jenna was safe.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, stripping off his leather gloves with his teeth and tossing them aside so he could touch her. He smoothed his fingers over her pale, pretty face, then reached down to catch her under the arms. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I’m fine, but my leg is pinned between the seats. Go after him, Brock. That man is working with Dragos!”

“I know,” he said. “He’s a Minion, and he doesn’t matter. But you do. Hold on to me, baby. I’m gonna get you free now.”

Something metallic popped outside the car. The loud
ping
echoed sharply, then another one sounded, and still another.

Bullets.

Jenna’s eyes found his through the thin smoke and fumes that were closing in on them inside the wrecked vehicle. “He must have another gun on him. He’s shooting at us.”

Brock didn’t answer. He knew the Minion wasn’t trying
to hit them through all that metal and machinery. He was firing on the car itself.

Trying to create the spark that would ignite the exposed gas tank.

“Hold on to me,” he told her, bracing one hand against her spine as he reached with the other for the crushed seats that had Jenna trapped. With a low growl, he ripped them loose.

“I’m out,” she said, already scrabbling free.

Another bullet struck the car. Brock heard an unnatural gasp from outside—a rush of air that preceded the sudden, swelling stench of thick black smoke and the gust of heat that said the Minion had finally hit his mark.

“Come on!” he said, grabbing Jenna’s hand.

He pulled her clear of the vehicle, both of them tumbling out to the pavement. A plume of fire erupted from the overturned car as the gas tank exploded, shaking the earth beneath them. The Minion kept firing, bullets zinging dangerously close.

Brock covered Jenna’s body with his own as he grabbed for one of the semiautos holstered on his gun belt. He came up onto his knees, ready to shoot—only to realize that his sunglasses had come off in the tumble from the car. Between the wall of heat and roiling smoke, and the searing light of day, his vision was virtually nil.

“Shit,” he hissed, wiping a hand across his eyes, straining to see through the agony of his scorched vision. Jenna was moving beneath him now, scrambling out of the shelter of his body. He reached for her, his hand casting out blindly, coming back empty. “Jenna, damn it. Stay down!”

But she didn’t stay down. She took the pistol out of his hand and opened fire, a rapid hail of bullets that cracked loudly over the roar of flames and heated metal beside
them. Across the lot, the Minion cried out sharply, then went utterly silent.

“Gotcha, you son of a bitch,” Jenna said. An instant later, Brock felt her fingers wrap around his. “He’s dead. And you’re burning up out here. Come on, let’s get the hell out of this place.”

Brock ran with her, hand in hand across the open lot, toward the Rover. As much as his pride wanted him to argue that he was good to drive, he knew he was too cooked to even attempt it. Jenna didn’t give him a chance to protest. She shoved him into the back of the vehicle, then jumped behind the wheel. In the distance, the howl of police sirens sounded, human authorities no doubt responding to the apparent accident near the docks.

“Hang on,” Jenna said, throwing the Rover into gear.

She seemed unfazed by the whole thing, cool and collected, the total professional. And damn if he’d ever seen anything so hot in all his years. Brock lay back against the cool leather of the seat, grateful as hell to have her on his side as she stomped on the gas pedal and floored it away from the scene.

T
he drive back to Boston had taken the better part of four hours, but Jenna’s heart was still racing—her concern for Brock still fresh and unrelenting—as she swung the Rover through the iron gates of the compound and headed around to the fleet hangar in back of the Order’s private estate.

“We’re here,” she said, parking the vehicle inside the large garage and cutting the engine.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, checking on him for about the thousandth time since they’d set out from New York. He’d been quiet in the backseat of the SUV for most of the trip, despite shifting around in obvious
agony as he’d tried to sleep off the effects of his ultraviolet exposure.

She pivoted around in her seat to have a closer look at him. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll live.” His eyes met hers through the darkness, his broad mouth quirking into more of a grimace than a smile. He tried to sit up, groaning with the effort.

“Stay there. Let me help you.”

She crawled into the back with him before he could tell her that he could manage on his own. He looked up at her in a long, meaningful silence, their eyes connecting, holding. All of the air seemed to abandon the space around them. It seemed to leave her lungs, as well, relief and worry colliding inside her as she stared down into Brock’s handsome face. The burns that had been livid a few hours ago across his forehead, cheeks, and nose were all but gone now. His dark eyes were still moist and leaking wetness from their edges but no longer bloodshot and swollen.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, feeling her emotions break and begin to rush out of her. “I was so scared today, Brock. You have no idea how much.”

“You, scared?” He reached up, ran his hand tenderly along the side of her face. His lips curved, and he gave a faint shake of his head. “I saw you in action today. I don’t think anything really scares you.”

She frowned, reliving the moment when she’d realized he was coming after her in the SUV, sitting behind the wheel in broad daylight. But her worry for him then had grown to something close to terror when, after the car she was in had flipped, Brock was there, as well, willing to walk through lethal UV rays in order to help her. Even now, she was awed and humbled by what he’d done.

“You put your life on the line for me,” she whispered,
turning her cheek into the gentle warmth of his palm. “You risked too much, Brock.”

He came up off the seat, catching her face in both of his hands. His gaze was solemn, so very earnest. “We were partners today. And if you ask me, I’d say we made a pretty damn good team.”

She smiled despite herself. “You had to save my ass … again. As far as partners go, I hate to tell you, but you got the raw end of that deal.”

“No. Not even close.” Brock’s eyes held her with a deep intensity that seemed to reach right into the core of her being. He stroked her cheek, brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips. “And for the record, you were the one who saved my hide. If that Minion didn’t take one or both of us out, the sunlight would have finished me off for sure. You saved both of us today, Jenna. Goddamn, you were amazing.”

When she parted her lips to deny it, he moved in and kissed her. Jenna melted into him, lost herself in the warm caress of his mouth on hers. The attraction she felt for him hadn’t faded a bit since they’d been together in his bed, but now there was something even more powerful behind the swell of heat that flared within her. She cared for him—truly cared—and the realization of what she was feeling took her completely by surprise.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to feel such a strong bond to him, especially not when he had made it clear he didn’t want to complicate things with emotion or expectations of a relationship. But when he broke their kiss and looked into her gaze, she could see that he was feeling something more than he’d been prepared for, too. There was something more than desire flickering in the amber light of his absorbing brown eyes.

“When I saw those Minions drive off with you today, Jenna …” The words drifted into silence. He exhaled a soft curse and pulled her close, holding her against him for a long moment. He nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. “When I saw them with you, I thought I’d failed you. I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to you.”

“I’m here,” she said, lightly stroking his strong back and caressing his inclined head. “You didn’t fail me at all. I’m right here, Brock, because of you.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, an unrushed joining of their mouths. His hands were tender on her, weaving into her hair and moving softly over her shoulders and spine. She felt so sheltered in his arms, so small and feminine against the immensity of his warrior’s chest and thickly muscled arms.

And she liked the feeling. She liked the way he made her feel safe and womanly, things she’d never really known before, not even with her husband.

Mitch. Oh, God …

The thought of him made her heart squeeze as though it were caught in a vise. Not because of grief or longing for him, but because Brock was kissing her and holding her—making her feel worthy of his affection—when she hadn’t yet told him everything.

He might feel differently if he knew it was her own selfish actions that had caused the accident that killed her husband and child.

“What is it?” Brock asked, no doubt sensing the change that was coming over her now. “What’s wrong?”

She withdrew from his embrace, looking away from him, knowing it was too late to pretend everything was all right. Brock was still stroking her tenderly, waiting for her
to tell him what was troubling her. “You were right about me,” she murmured. “You said I have a problem with needing to be in control, and you were right.”

He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat and lifted her face to meet his. “None of that matters.”

“It does,” she insisted. “It mattered today, and it mattered four years ago in Alaska, too.”

“You’re talking about when you lost Mitch and Libby,” he said, more statement than question. “You think you are somehow to blame for that?”

“I know I am.” A sob crept up the back of her throat, but she choked it back. “It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t insisted we drive home that day.”

“Jenna, you can’t possibly think—”

“Let me say it,” she interrupted. “Please … I want you to know the truth. And I need to speak the words, Brock. I can’t hold them in anymore.”

He said nothing more, sober as he took her hands between his and let her tell him how her stubbornness—her goddamned need to be in charge of every situation—had cost Mitch and Libby their lives.

“We were in Galena, a city several hours away from where we lived in Harmony. The state troopers had put on a fancy gala there, one of those annual attaboy events where they hand out medals of commendation and take your picture with the governor. I was being recognized for excellence in the department—the first time I’d been singled out for any kind of award. I was convinced it would be good for my career to be seen by so many important people, so I insisted to Mitch that we attend with Libby.” She pulled in a fortifying breath and slowly pushed it out. “It was November, and the roads were nearly impassable.
We made it to Galena without too many problems, but on the drive home …”

“It’s okay,” Brock said, reaching up to sweep aside a loose tendril of her hair. “You all right?”

She gave him a wobbly nod, even though inside she was hardly all right. Her chest was raw with anguish and guilt, her eyes burning with welling tears. “Mitch and I argued the whole time. He thought the roads were too bad for travel. They were, but another storm was on the way, which would only make things worse. I didn’t want to wait out the weather because I needed to report in for my shift the next day. So we headed home. Mitch was driving the Blazer. Libby was in her car seat in back. A couple of hours onto the highway, a tractor trailer carrying a full load of timber crossed into our lane. There was no time to react. No time to say I was sorry, or to tell either of them how much I loved them.”

“Come here,” Brock said, and gathered her close. He held her for a long time, his strength so comforting and warm.

“Mitch accused me of caring about my career more than I did him or Libby,” she whispered, her voice broken, the words hard to get out. “He used to say I was too controlling, too stubborn for my own good. But he always gave in, even then.”

Brock kissed the top of her head. “You didn’t know what would happen, Jenna. You couldn’t have known, so don’t blame yourself. It was out of your control.”