Chapter Two
Marcus “Tin” Grant had never been so relieved as when he saw Katarina fling her Louboutins off and sprint through the grass toward him.
He was compromised as fuck.
And he knew it.
He’d been in love with Katarina Dupree since the first time the dark-haired vixen had taken him down hard.
She didn’t want that kind of love. She wanted brotherhood, safety. He’d vowed to give that to her if it killed him.
Or anyone else who got in their way.
It was pathetic as shit and he knew it. What kind of man longed for a woman who’d never want him? She loved him, Tin knew that. She’d die for him, the same as she would any of the team.
In love with him? It would never happen. She was too damaged. But damaged people made the best mercenaries. That’s what they were now, operating under no flag. No government. They were a law unto themselves.
“Good work, Nickel.” He shoved his gear into his bag.
“Yeah, you too.”
“Hustle that ass. We’ve got a flight out of Heathrow in three hours.”
“If we miss it, we can always stowaway on a cruise ship and take the long way home.”
“Woman, I’m not cruising anywhere with you. We spend enough time together. Someday, I’m going find a woman who can stand me, marry her, and have fat babies. I won’t find her hanging out with you.”
He wanted that woman to be her, but he knew better.
She snorted and held out her hand for her phone. He handed it to her and after a few seconds of typing, the doors on a BMW 1 series unlocked. “As if. You’d miss this life. You’d miss me.”
“I would miss you. But unless you want to have fat babies…”
“You’re such a girl. For real, Marcus.”
“Why? Because I want a home and a family?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You didn’t grow up like I did. You had all those things. You see what’s left of these tattoos? That was the family I had and I turned my back on them.”
She slid into the driver’s seat. “I know. But my house wasn’t the Brady Bunch either. You know what happened when I dared to think for myself. How they turned their backs on me after what happened with Wellington.”
“I know.” He reached out a hand to touch her, to comfort her, but he let it drop. All touch was painful to her since Operation Phoenix. Two of her vertebrae were crushed and it had somehow shifted all of her receptors to only receive pain. He tried to be mindful of that and not touch her unless she asked.
Sometimes, she did ask, and he never said no. He was the only one she could stand to let touch her and so he learned the massage therapy that the doctor had recommended. Even though it hurt him to touch her, knowing he couldn’t ever really have his hands on her the way he wanted. Sometimes, he hated himself for wanting her that way. For thinking of her, objectifying her the way others did.
Especially when he woke in the night with his cock in his hand and spilling to images of her.
“Why do the babies have to be fat?” she teased, lightening the tone.
“Look at me. I’m 6’6. I was ten pounds when I was born.”
“If I ever would’ve had any man’s babies, it would be yours. Until I heard that. Hell to the no. What’s wrong with you?” She started the car and headed toward Heathrow.
“You think about having my babies?” he asked softly. He shouldn’t have asked. As much as he wanted to hear her say that she did, he didn’t want the context. He didn’t want to be some donor, something she settled for because they were great friends. He valued their friendship, he valued the part of her that she shared with him, but he wasn’t willing to settle. Not if things went beyond the bounds of friendship.
“I’ve thought about having children eventually. I just don’t want the man that comes part and parcel with having babies.”
Right in the balls, that one.
“I didn’t mean…” she started.
“Yeah, I know. I know what you’ve been through.” She didn’t need to explain herself. Not to him.
“If we ever get out of this gig, we’d be good parents. We’re not too broken for that, I don’t think. And I thought about you because you’re my best friend. You’re a good man.”
“And your southern high society father would have two strokes at the thought of you mixing his genes with a black man. Especially a black man like me.”
“Like you?” She gave him a glance. “You mean a man who saved my life? A man who puts his life on the line for other people every day? A man like that?”
“A man who used to be a Blood Enforcer. A man who was as bad as you think he is good. A man who has tattoos to prove his rise in the ranks. 68th Street Blood. That’s me.”
“No. You were just a kid and you didn’t have any other options.”
“Yeah, I can see us sitting down to Christmas dinner.”
“Fuck Christmas dinner. And fuck those people who turned their backs on us. We’re our own family.” She was so fierce.
Maybe she wasn’t as broken as he thought she was, and maybe he was a little more fractured than he realized. Because the idea of sitting down to Christmas dinner with this woman and their children almost choked him with emotion—with want.
With hope.
“But don’t get any ideas. I like this mercenary gig. It works for me.”
“Yeah, it works for me, too. For now.” There would come a time where he’d have to let go of one dream. Either the nuclear family or the family he had with her would have to go. They couldn’t exist together. When that time came, losing either would break his heart. But he was prepared to make the choice.
“For now.” She snorted again. “Whatever. You can’t tell me you don’t like the rush. Or that you don’t want to take Red Wolf down.”
“Of course I do. For what they did to us.” He was silent for a moment. “You.” Marcus exhaled heavily. “There’s going to come a time when we catch Red Wolf. When justice is served. Then what?”
“Don’t underestimate the power and attraction of revenge.” She muttered a string of profanity when she missed the exit from the traffic circle.
“I haven’t.”
“There’s always going to be another bad guy to chase.”
“Isn’t that hopeless?” Tin had to believe that what they were doing made a difference. If it didn’t, they were risking their lives for nothing.
“No. If the ocean needs to be bailed out with a thimble, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Then what do you have left for yourself?”
“That is what I have left for myself. Everything else was taken from me a long time ago. Red Wolf saw to that during the Syrian op and Phoenix just finished me off.”
“You say that like it doesn’t matter to you.”
“Are we going to do this here?”
“Either here or in code on the ten-hour flight home.”
“Every couple months you want to have this discussion like something has changed. It hasn’t. And it won’t.”
“Contrary to popular belief, you’re not dead.”
“No, not dead. The pain tells me I’m still alive. And I haven’t learned how to be grateful for it.” She found the turn. “Motherfucking traffic calming bullshit.”
“Yet. You’re not grateful for it yet.”
“You’re so sure of me.”
“The same way you’d be sure of me.” But he wasn’t. He said the pretty words, but he knew her fractures went deep. They weren’t scars, they were still open, bleeding, putrefying wounds.
They were both quiet on the flight home. Neither slept. Nickel fidgeted in her seat, unable to get comfortable. He knew she had to be in some serious pain. She wasn’t the fidgeting kind. Years upon years of training, and having it drilled into her head what it meant to be a lady... Ladies didn’t fidget. Ladies didn’t slouch. Ladies were never permitted to be comfortable, in Marcus’s opinion.
If he could take that pain from her, he would. In a second. Even if it meant he had to bear it himself.
He thought about what this next mission would bring for them. He already knew where her mind was and what Titanium would think of this. This thing Yukodvich was hosting was a goldmine of information, and an unfettered view into some of the most brilliant criminal enterprises.
Especially Red Wolf.
But there was no good way for this to end.
Even if they managed to infiltrate the party, even if they managed to kill Red Wolf, Tin was afraid of the sacrifices they’d both have to make. They couldn’t pose as any sort of crime lord and his arm candy—these guys all knew each other very well. So they’d have to blend in, they’d have to be forgettable.
Posing as security, or any other staff wasn’t going to get them in. Yukodvich was notoriously good at spotting people who didn’t belong and killing them horribly. The last DEA agent who tried to infiltrate his organization ended up as a meal for the gators.
So that left them with one other choice. They—she—would have to be a commodity.
Property.
Something to be bought, sold.
And used.
It would be like throwing her to the wolves.
He knew Nickel was no hen, no soft delicacy. She’d had to use her body on other missions and she chose to do that, but these people treated women like disposable objects. They could take away her choices again and she’d have no way out.
Bringing down Red Wolf wasn’t worth that to him.
Nothing was.
Marcus didn’t see any way out of it unless they passed off the mission to someone else and he knew now that Wellington was involved, she’d never let it go. It would be worth it to her.
He was afraid this would be the mission she didn’t come back from. If she came back in body, she wouldn’t in soul.
He kept trying to find another way, chewing it over and over like a piece of gristly meat until they arrived back in Dallas.
They rode their bikes back to the compound and Titanium decided debriefing could wait until they’d had some rest.
Marcus was grateful, it gave him time to keep chewing on his problem and have a solution ready to offer that both he and Katarina could live with.
“I’m glad we’re not debriefing until oh-six-hundred. I couldn’t sleep on the plane and I’m fried.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Too tired to work on my back?”
Too tired? No. But having his hands slicked in the essential rose oil she liked so much while he slid his fingers over her skin—he wanted her too much. Maybe he was too tired. Too tired of wanting what he wasn’t supposed to. Too tired of wanting what he could never have.
She frowned when it took him a minute to answer. “I’m sorry, I know you’re tired as shit, too.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m just hungry.” He gave her a genuine smile. “You get ready while I grab a protein shake.”
“That’s what she said.” She winked at him.
He snorted and headed to his cottage. He liked that she felt safe with him, trusted him. She joked with him and most of the time, she pretended like her PTSD didn’t exist. But he wondered if that would all be shattered if she knew about the fucking hard on in his pants right now.
No, he didn’t wonder.
He knew. It would all be over for them. Their friendship, their partnership, their brotherhood… it would be gone.
Maybe it was already. Keeping his feelings from her was the same as lying. He was lusting after her on the down low. Thinking things about her he had no business thinking because he knew she didn’t want him like that.
But he did it anyway. He couldn’t stop.
After she left, he’d lie in his bed, inhaling the sweet scent of the rose oil and jerk off thinking about her. That was his number one fantasy, trite as it was. She’d ask him for a massage, just like she did now, and it wouldn’t be enough for either of them.
Magically, somehow, he’d be the one whose hands didn’t hurt her. He’d bring her only pleasure.
Only there was more to this fantasy. It wasn’t just one night of passion, it wasn’t about a moment’s culmination. It was about forever. She’d realize she loved him and they’d have a life together, a family.
All the other things he’d been told his whole life not to want. That he couldn’t have them because of who he was, what he was.
He’d never been interested in dipping his cock just to get it wet. Even when he’d joined the Bloods. The females who were part of the gang were fair game and he’d never been interested. He didn’t want a “baby mama” or a fuck.
He wanted everything he saw on TV. Everything other people had. A house in a place where drive bys didn’t happen, where his children could play outside and ride their bikes without making sure to stay on the right side of Troost so they didn’t cross into the wrong territory.
He even dared to dream about a life where his children didn’t have to live in fear of the police and wouldn’t be hassled for living while black.
The streets he’d grown up on, the cops didn’t even respond to 911 calls. If they were going in, they were going in hot and with a tactical response team prepared for war.
Katarina put her hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on in your head? You’re standing in the middle of the kitchen and you haven’t moved for five minutes.”
He looked down and saw the concern in her blue eyes. “Nothing. Just thinking about my mother.”
“You haven’t spoken to her since you left for Basic, right?”
“Since I blooded out.” It hadn’t mattered to the gang, his brothers, that it was the judge’s decision to send him to Basic. It hadn’t been the judge’s decision to leave the gang. It had been his. He saw a chance for the future he’d always dreamed of and he’d taken it.
They’d left him beaten and bloody, near death, but at least they’d dumped him near Truman Medical Center. He’d crawled to the emergency room, holding his throat closed. When Tre had done it, sliced his throat, he’d known what he was doing. He hadn’t wanted to kill him. If he had, Marcus would be dead.
Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she reached up to touch the scar on his throat. “She turned her back on you.”
“She felt I turned my back on her.”
The pity in her eyes burned him. He couldn’t stand to see it there, didn’t need it. Maybe because that’s what he imagined she’d have for him if he ever did confess what he wanted from her.
“Well, fuck her too. Fuck my parents. Fuck yours. We’ve got Elite and each other.”
He nodded and swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“There’s something else up your ass, Tin. I don’t know what it is and I don’t know why you won’t tell me. It feels kind of shitty that you won’t trust me when I’ve ripped out a piece of my soul and handed it to you.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “It’s not like that, Little Bit.”
“Don’t get cute when I’m dealing home truth.”
“Just let it go. I’ll work through it. If I need you, I’ll ask. Now go lay your ass down if you want this back rub.” He softened his words with a genuine smile.
She arched a brow, but seemed to realize she wasn’t going to get anywhere. So she went to his bedroom and he gave her a few minutes to get ready.
When he entered, she’d spread herself out in the middle of his bed—always the middle—and her back was bare, all that lovely skin splayed before him. But he refused to see her like that now. He shut it down, the part of him that wanted her. The part of him that needed her.
Because this was what she needed from him.
This was how she dealt with the pain. This helped her and it was something he could do, something she asked of him.
He wouldn’t sully it.
Not in the moment anyway. Right now was for her. Later, alone in the silent dark with a smear of Vaseline and his bastard, traitorous thoughts, would be for himself.
He kept the massage oil in his dresser, hidden under his socks. So when she wasn’t there, he forgot about it. Wasn’t tempted to smell it, or use that instead of the Vaseline.
Marcus grabbed the oil and asked her softly, “Are you ready?”
“Yeah. It’s the muscles around my shoulder blades and neck that hurt. I’ve got a migraine from hell and my fingertips all feel like they’re burning.”
His lust dissipated with her pain. He just wanted to make it better.
He smoothed the rose oil over his hands and began to work on the areas she’d specified.
“That’s a one. Make it a five.” There were times when different pressures felt differently to her. Today, his first touch was a one. Sometimes, it was too much. Sometimes, the barest contact was excruciating for her. Sometimes, she didn’t feel it at all. He let her set the pace, the pressure, as much as he was able.
Marcus increased the pressure and she moaned softly. He couldn’t tell if her sounds were pleasure, pain, or both. So he kept doing as she’d asked, waiting for her to tell him if it was too much.
He worked her over, her skin and tight flesh becoming more and more malleable as he smoothed out the knots, and hopefully some of the pain. She’d been examined by the medic, even specialists, and it was determined that after the surgery she’d had to repair her crushed vertebrae, she shouldn’t feel this much pain. It was psychosomatic.
And she didn’t deny it, but she didn’t know how to fix it.
She exhaled heavily and he felt the tension start to leave her body as she relaxed into his caress.
“We’re going to catch Red Wolf. I can taste it,” she murmured.
“Don’t think about that now. Let go. Let me help you.”
“You are.” She shifted and crossed her arms under her chin. “Thank you for doing this. For not making me go to someone I don’t know. You know how much I hate being touched.”
Yeah, he did. “You’d do it for me.”
“Probably not. If I had to rub your back, I’d be at it for days. You’re a giant.” She teased him.
He sprinkled a few more drops of oil on her back and resumed his work. Trying not to notice the enticing curve of the side of her breast, the elegant dip of her back…
A not so elegant snore gurgled from the back of her throat and he realized she was asleep. The ultimate sign of trust. He eased off the bed, his cock throbbing, his body tight and needing release.
“Don’t go,” she murmured.
He closed his eyes and exhaled. It would not do either of them any good for her wake up with his boner against her ass. “Bathroom.”
Marcus was greeted with another snore.
It would serve them both if he handled the problem before he slept. Masturbation was a normal bodily function and was nothing to feel guilty about.
Except when he took his cock in hand, his palm still damp from the rose oil he’d rubbed into her back, his hands sliding along all the delicious lines of her body, he had plenty to feel guilty about.
There was already so much pre-cum combined with the rose oil, he didn’t even need any Vaseline. Marcus stroked down his length with a practiced motion. He didn’t tease himself into the fantasy, didn’t try to draw it out—this was an inconvenience. It wasn’t for pleasure.
Yet, it did feel good. So good, even as he tried to stop thinking about her. The way his bed would smell after she was gone. Like her, and roses. He stroked faster, willing himself to come, to be done, but his cock wanted more. Wanted more of the fantasy, more of that oil, more of everything.
He thought about how she’d taste, slick and wet on his tongue. He imagined her straddling him, taking control and demanding that he eat her pussy. His cock jerked in response, his hips bucking up into his own hand.
Marcus imagined her pretty thighs cradling him, his tongue lapping at her, and those sounds she made would be only pleasure.
He gritted his teeth to keep from growling low in his throat and jerked harder, faster, forcing his orgasm—gut tight and his whole body clenched as he spilled over his hand.
Breathing deep and slow, he forced his heart rate back to normal, cleaned up and washed his hands before going back to the bedroom where his heaven and hell lay waiting for him.
When not on a mission, he preferred to sleep naked, but he changed into a pair of boxer briefs and slid into the bed.
She sighed in her sleep and turned into him, blanket wrapped tightly around herself.
They’d slept together on missions, had huddled together for warmth and safety. But this was the first time she’d fallen asleep after her massage, in his bed, and had asked him to stay with her.
He stared out into the darkness for a long time before he slept. As close as he was to her at the moment, within a breath of touch, he’d never felt farther away.