CHAPTER ELEVEN
Michael gasped as he sat straight up, searching the room around him and realizing he was in a bathroom on the floor, and holy hell, Cassandra was, too. He sucked in air as he tried to gather his bearings.
“Easy,” she whispered, her hand going to his chest where he could feel the light spasms that meant his body was healing.
The scent of her—soft, female, deliciously Cassandra—insinuated into his nostrils and drew him back into the present. Memories rushed over him. The attack, the bullet. The hours hugging that damn toilet while Cassandra soothed him. “How long have I been out?”
“About six hours,” she said.
“Damn,” he murmured. He needed to call Caleb. He reached into his pocket and found it empty.
He started to push to his feet, and Cassandra grabbed his arm. “You were sick like I’ve never seen a GTECH sick before, Michael.”
“I’m fine,” he said, touching her cheek. Damn. “The healing sickness has been getting worse for a lot us. But once it’s over, it’s over.” He pushed to his feet, moved his arms, felt on the mend. “I’m nearly healed, just weak, and in need of food.” He offered Cassandra his hand and helped her up.
“What’s the cause of the reaction?” she asked. She looked tired, the pale skin beneath her eyes now dark from lack of sleep. “It was bad, Michael. I was afraid your heart couldn’t handle what your body was doing to you.”
“The doctors don’t know the cause, but they’re working on it. The best they’ve come up with is an extreme vitamin C deficiency that is much more severe during the healing process.” He patted his pockets. “Have you seen my phone?”
She stared at him a moment too long and then said, “Nightstand.”
Michael frowned, sensing something in her that wasn’t quite right, but shook it off and turned away, the need to communicate with Caleb winning his attention. He walked toward the bedroom, grimacing at the sight of the blood all over the bed, a mess he’d have to deal with before she checked out of the room.
Snagging the phone, he glanced at the clock, noting the early 6 a.m. He was about to hit the autodial for Caleb when Cassandra spoke from behind. “Which brother are you calling?”
Michael froze and turned to her, narrowing his gaze on her pale features. She looked fragile in an inexplicable way that drew his concern, because it was not natural for her. “What does that mean, Cassandra?”
“I was going to call for help, but I saw both Caleb’s and Adam’s numbers in your phone. I wasn’t sure which one would help you and which one would kill you.”
He inhaled at the implications of her words, anger climbing through his veins. “Maybe you should have just killed me yourself while you had the chance.”
“Maybe I should have,” she spouted back. “You called Adam the night you visited me. The night we…you know—in the restroom. Yet you told me you’d left Zodius. So who was I talking to on the phone? Adam or Caleb?”
There was nothing he could say to Cassandra that would matter. Instead, he punched Caleb’s autodial number on the phone and gave her his back.
The instant Caleb answered, he said, “We have problems.” He then relayed his concerns about the new weapon technology and the connection between Brock and Lucian. Finally, he said, “I need Sterling on the line. Cassandra needs to be reassured that I am a Renegade by someone who does not resemble your brother in voice or appearance…” He hesitated. “And ask him to confirm the last night I was undercover inside Zodius.”
He turned and found Cassandra still standing in the bathroom doorway. Their eyes collided, tension shimmering between them as he held out the phone. “For the record, that would be the night before we were in that hotel restroom. You looked at the caller ID wrong. A little too eager to condemn me, I guess. But talk to Sterling.” She knew Sterling from Area 51 and had heard he’d joined the Renegades. “Ask him whatever you want to. Get that peace of mind that I can’t give you.”
Distress washed over her delicate features. “I don’t know what you want from me, Michael.” Strain tightened the words. “How can you expect me not to question you?”
“I’d consider you a fool if you didn’t. Give your trust to Caleb, not me.” This was what he wanted. Her distrust, her hatred. A way to leave without hurting her. He’d get her to Sunrise City, and he’d leave. Get the hell away from her and keep her safe. Work for Caleb from a distance.
She inhaled and walked toward him, taking the phone.
“Hello,” she said. “Is this Sterling?” They exchanged a few words, her side of the conversation softly spoken, edged with discomfort. She ended the short talk and handed him back the phone.
Michael quickly confirmed that all was well with Caleb and ended the call. Preferring to save the confrontation with her over what was, or was not, between them for later—or better yet, never—he flipped the phone shut and shifted the conversation.
“Where is the bullet you removed?”
She shook her head. “Just like that? Where’s the bullet? We aren’t going to talk about why—”
“You needed to talk to Sterling,” he said coldly, “because you don’t trust me. And you shouldn’t trust me. End of conversation.”
Her jaw went slack. “That’s it?” She inhaled, then forced it out. “I see. I get it. This is business. Talk to Caleb. Get Red Dart. Leave the personal out of it. Except when you think it might convince me to help. Anything to achieve your mission. Right? Kiss me. Touch me. Oh yes. Why not just fuck me while you’re at it? Just to be sure I do what you want? Not necessary, by the way. I not only want to stop Adam, I intend to prove to you that you’re wrong about all of this. Adam has manufactured this Red Dart torture story to divide the Renegades from the government. So please! Leave personal out of this. Stop…with us. With our past. Stop everything but business.”
She started to turn away, and he knew he should let her go. He couldn’t. “Cassandra. Wait.” She paused, but didn’t face him. Seconds of tension-filled silence swelling between them before he softly said, “You are my Lifebond, and I would die for you.”
She half-turned, anger glistening in the depths of her green eyes. “I haven’t seen or heard from you in two years, Michael,” she said. “So don’t give me that Lifebond crap, because it obviously doesn’t mean anything. You’re a soldier, Michael. You would die for your cause, and I am a part of that cause right now—though I have no idea exactly what that is. You were with me at Groom Lake. Then you were gone. You were Zodius. Now you’re Renegade. I don’t know who you are. I wonder if you even know.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Your damn bullet is in the glass by the bed. It’s green and spiked. Nothing like any bullet I’ve ever seen before. I’m taking a shower. I have a flight to catch.” She disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Now probably wasn’t the time to tell her she wasn’t taking that flight, Michael thought, as the door shut. Nor was it the time to explain that he wasn’t worried about “who” he was; he was worried about “what” he was. No normal person could communicate with the wind. No normal person felt the sense of unnamed power growing within them as he did, that might or might not, be about the wind. Nor was any other Renegade tainted enough to endure the brutality of living among the Zodius as he had.
But this wasn’t a conversation for now, or ever, in his book. She hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten; she was beaten up over his return. Oh yeah, and the little detail about Adam wanting her dead. She was definitely not going anywhere but underground, inside the Renegades’ Sunrise City headquarters. She’d hate him for that, too. Which sucked. But it was good. She needed to hate him. Then he couldn’t forget himself and throw her on the bed and fuck her until there was no tomorrow, and then do some stupid shit like admit he loved her.
And on that happy fucking note, he walked to the room phone and called the lobby. His shirt was shredded, his pants bloody, and he couldn’t leave without replacing them, without drawing unwanted attention to himself. As expected, an offer of a big tip scored him the promise of new clothes. He added an order for orange juice and hung up. Feeding his metabolism so he could fully heal had to be high on the priority list, as did getting rid of all the blood—which unfortunately might include the mattress. That would all cost money, lots of it, but he didn’t really care about the cash. His money had been his father’s, after all, and what he hadn’t donated to charity, he now used to fund the Renegades. The Renegades couldn’t depend on their own personal resources or government funding. Not when Zodius was recruiting from private sources in any way necessary—be it promises of power or intimidation.
He reached for the green-spiked bullet in the glass beside him and went cold when he felt the rubbery texture. “Hello Mother,” he murmured, bitterly, all too familiar with the technology he held. Upon his father’s death, Michael had inherited a chunk of stock from the company, which still ground his nerves. He hadn’t spoken to either of his parents since the day he’d found out his father was selling to terrorist operations, and his mother had defended him. She’d sworn his father hadn’t known and sworn Michael was lying when he told her his father had admitted he had.
To the day his father had died, that man had been certain that Michael would come around, that Michael was a chip off the ole block. That the army would make a man out of him, and Michael would come back for the good life. Michael didn’t dispute that he was like his father—he felt it, accepted it, knew on some level he removed emotions and acted when necessary in ways others simply could not. He didn’t give that part of himself time to mature, to take root and grow into something that he would recognize as his father.
Michael had sold that stock like hot potatoes, but not without doing a good share of research on its operations and contacts. He’d seen the published data on the Green Hornets, including a number of manufacturing mishaps endured during testing that had gotten it—temporarily, it seemed—shelved. Oh yeah. Green Hornets came from Taylor, all right. Which meant his mother was the one supplying them to Adam. And if she took a clue from his father, she’d sell to the army as well. A bloodbath in the name of money was, after all, the Taylor legacy.
Cassandra stood under the hot spray of the shower, her hands pressed to her face, willing herself not to cry. More confused than she’d ever been in her life. Seeing Michael again was tearing her up inside. She was pretty sure she loved him and always had. And that probably made her insane.
She thought of his vow. I would die for you. She laughed bitterly into the water. Right. Like the man didn’t invite death to come for a visit every day of his life. She was his duty. It was all about duty to Michael. Exactly why soldiers equaled pain. Her mother had warned her, and she’d been right.
“Damn you, Michael,” she whispered, thinking of that day by the elevator when he’d been so damn devastatingly hot. I should have walked away. She pressed her hands to her face again and then mentally shook herself. This was not about her and Michael. This was about protecting the world from Adam. How had she ever walked away and pretended something so big didn’t exist?
She could only hope and pray that the accusations against her father were not true. He was all she had in this world. A little girl’s hero, one she’d felt she’d lost after the Area 51 nightmare. She’d believed he deserved a chance to mend the past, and she’d wanted to help. And she knew there was no choice but to imprison the Zodius. They were now terrorists against humanity. But she wasn’t okay with torturing them. That would be inhumane.
In their own way, all the GTECHs, Zodius and Renegade, were victims of the government’s experiment. Unwilling ones too. They’d been told they were getting immunizations. No, they didn’t deserve to be tortured, and her father wouldn’t be a part of that. Yet…in the back of her mind, she admitted seeing glimpses of a power-hungry man, desperate to save himself and regain his position of authority.
Resolve formed as she reached down and turned off the shower. She was getting on that flight this morning and copying that hard drive. If Red Dart was detailed on Brock’s computer, she could prove there was no torture mechanism. That easily. One hard-drive copy. Then, the Renegades and the government could refocus together on defeating Adam.
Cassandra reached for her towel and started to dry off when she suddenly froze with a realization. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her clothes were in the exterior room—with Michael. Great. Wonderful. She could put her bloodied clothes back on, which really did not appeal to her. Or she could walk out into the room to her suitcase with only a towel to cover her. Flashes of herself and Michael making love, their bodies pressed close, the wildness they’d shared, flickered in her mind. Oh no. The towel was really not a good idea. Her robe made sense. She’d simply tell Michael to grab it from the suitcase.
Quickly, Cassandra towel-dried her hair and cracked the door open. “Michael?” No answer. “Michael?” Still nothing. A fizzle of fear raced through Cassandra. Had he collapsed? Fallen ill again? “Michael!” She yanked the door open, holding the towel tight around her body, scanning, heart pounding a wicked beat against her breast bone. The sheets and blankets were gone, the mattress changed or maybe flipped.
Her gaze swept the room, and still, she did not see Michael. He was not lying on the floor, dead or dying, which was a relief, but neither was he anywhere in sight. Her breath lodged in her chest. Had he left without saying good-bye yet again?
Suddenly, the patio door opened, a gust of wind lifting the dark floral curtains, the sheers beneath fluttering wickedly. Michael stepped into the room, and the wind died. He looked like a warrior, dangerous, primal. He was bare to the waist but for the bandages she’d wrapped around him, his jeans hanging low to display sculpted abdominals, his feet bare, his long, raven hair loose around his shoulders.
And despite the proof that he was not Zodius, that she had no reason to fear him, she did feel fear. So much that she could barely breathe. Fear of what she wanted. Of her inability to resist this man when she knew damn well he was going to hurt her again if she gave him the chance—a realization driven home as he cast her in a heavy-lidded inspection so intimate that her knees went weak.
Instant heat spread through her core and then sizzled like a wildfire through the rest of her body. Her nipples tightened, her thighs ached. In the midst of the flames burning her inside and out, there was relief that at least he had not left her again, no matter how much she should want him to.
She had two options. Refuse to be intimidated by her state of undress and march over and get her clothes, or turn and run back into the bathroom. She had a flight to catch, along with Brock’s computer drive to copy, and Michael had already seen her in her towel.
“You didn’t answer when I called you,” she said, her eyes flickering to his, her fragile bravado already faltering under their heat, her voice raspy, unfamiliar. Her fists balled tighter around that terry cloth at her chest. “I was afraid you were sick again.”
He stared at her, said nothing, an animalistic quality crackling off him, edgy, dark—powerful. Hot. So damn hot. She swallowed hard, the sensual touch of his dark eyes flustering her, arousing her. “Say something, damn it!” So much for keeping a cool head and acting unaffected.
And still Michael did not speak—he simply stood there, immobile, his eyes holding hers, sexual tension between them, magnetic, impossible to resist. The desire between them had always been intense; their lifebond connection simply turned up the heat another ten notches, transforming the desire to something darker, more intense—all-consuming. As if the desire had a life and mind of its own.
Desperately, she cut her gaze and charged toward the closet. Touching him would be a mistake. It would cloud her judgment and skew her ability to judge the man beneath the Lifebond. But she barely made it a few steps before he was there, pulling her into his arms.
“You didn’t really think you could walk out here in a towel without this happening, now did you?” he half growled a moment before his lips came down on hers.
Cassandra lost herself to Michael in that moment, to that hot, hungry kiss, a mating of mouths that she longed for. The spicy male scent of him seemed to pour through her veins like an aphrodisiac. Her hands were all over him, his all over her. It was wildly exciting, intensely addictive. And there was no fighting it, no understanding it. His hands were in her hair, hers in his. Teeth nipped, lips caressed.
The towel disappeared, her breasts pressed against his bare chest, his hands caressed her body as he picked her up, one hand curving along her backside, the other laced through her hair. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist. She didn’t resist; in fact, she clung to him, far more desperate to feel him close to her, to feel him next to her, inside her, than she had been to get away from him.
Somehow, someway, a semblance of real life slipped into her mind, and her fingers shoved into his hair, pulling his mouth from hers. “You left,” she whispered hoarsely. “You left and never said a word.”
Their eyes collided much as their passion had—wild, emotional. “You have no idea how many times I’ve burned to feel you like this again,” he said, low, guttural. “How many times I was hard just thinking about it.”
She shook with his words, shook with the magnitude of the passion between them, though it solved nothing, explained nothing. But her body didn’t care; her body simply wanted and needed. Don’t ask a question you don’t want the answer to. She didn’t ask. Not now.
“Prove it,” she challenged. “Prove it now.”
Cassandra couldn’t get enough of Michael. She clung to him. Burned for him. Breathed him in as his mouth slanted over hers, punishing, hot, as dominating as the man. There was nothing gentle about the way he took that kiss, the way he claimed her. Raw, animalistic passion that burned away the past and left only this moment and then the next.
They went down on the bed, her on her back, his broad masculine frame commanding hers, his lips traveling her jaw, her neck. He pressed her breasts together, lapping at her nipples with his tongue, suckling and licking until her back arched. He rolled the stiff peaks with his fingers, tugged and nipped to the point of near pain, yet it was so much pleasure. She was panting, watching him in wonder, stunned that this was really happening. He lifted his head, his eyes finding hers, her breasts still intimately molded to his palms. Time seemed to stop as the unanswered questions, the unspoken words, burned between them, a spell of sorts, holding them, compelling them to deal with more than the physical need. Michael pushed out of her embrace, standing up and reaching for his jeans.
Emotionally shaken, but no less physically enthralled by the sheer male power of Michael, Cassandra rested on her elbows, her legs still spread where she wanted him to return.
She watched as he shoved his jeans and underwear down powerful legs and bare feet and stood in all his naked glory for her inspection, his cock jutting forward, thick with readiness. Inhaling a lust-laden breath, Cassandra crawled toward him as surely as he was reaching for her. His legs touched the end of the mattress as they came together in a deep, frenzied kiss, one of his hands palming her backside as he picked her up, caressing along the cheek and intimately sliding along the cleft.
Again, Cassandra wrapped herself around Michael, her arms draping his neck. His erection wedged thickly between her legs, and she moaned into his mouth, the anticipation of having him inside her almost too much to bear. He reached between them, used both his fingers and his cock to stroke her sensitive flesh, before he pushed the pulsing head of his erection inside her and sunk deep to her core. Their lips froze in a caress. For several seconds, they clung together, bodies joined in the most intimate of ways, his powerful one wrapped around hers. Every inch of her body tingled with pleasure, a connection beyond anything she’d ever known.
Michael brushed his lips over hers in a long, languid motion, drawing his erection slowly along the inner walls of her body. Cassandra gasped into his mouth as he thrust hard and hit her core—gasped with pleasure, with fulfillment, with need. A wild rush of passion followed, a frenzy of hips swaying and pumping. And in one long, hard thrust of movement, they went down on the mattress, Michael’s muscular legs spreading her in a V, demanding what she did willingly—open for him.
Their bodies moved in wild abandon, hands exploring, caressing, clinging. She lifted off the bed, hips pressed to his, meeting his thrusts, desperate for more of him, desperate in a way that she couldn’t escape. Desperate for far more than the deep thrust of his cock, but for something she knew in the far reaches of her mind was part of their lifebonding process. It was a feeling she had felt before, but never like this, never so intense, never so all-consuming.
He tore his lips from hers, his hair draped around his shoulders, around hers. As he stared down at her, his dark eyes wild, hungry, tormented—she knew he felt what she felt—that he understood her burning need.
Slowly, Michael thrust into her—a long, deep, sensual stroke of his cock that had her arching into him, tilting her hips to take more of him. To get closer. She could never be close enough. And when she wanted more, he pulled back, teasing her as he traveled a slow, torturous path of pleasure along her sensitive core. With only the tip of his thick erection inside her, he paused, before he drove into her once, then over and over, until they were in another wild frenzy.
Riding on the edge of release, Cassandra wrapped her legs around Michael’s, wrapped her arms around his back, moaning as he kissed her again. A deep, torturous, wonderful kiss that took her over the edge of bliss. The combination of his tongue and his hips shattered her control, causing her muscles to spasm around his cock, her body shaking with the intensity of her pleasure. With a guttural moan, Michael pushed deep into her core, buried his face in her neck, and she could feel the pulse of his release.
Time stood still for long moments as they held one another, their bodies vibrating with energy, until slowly, slowly, muscles eased and tension unraveled.
And with the unraveling of passion came the formation of another kind of explosion, and this one had nothing to do with passion. At least not the kind of passion made of pleasure. The kind made of confrontation. Confrontation that started forming in her chest, with the hurt of the past, with the hurt that was Michael.
“Let me up!” she yelled, suddenly claustrophobic. They’d had sex. Fine. It was good. She didn’t want what came after; she didn’t want to look into his eyes, to face the past or even the future.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he purred near her ear. “What’s the rush?”
He rested on his elbows and forced her to do what she didn’t want to do—stare into his eyes. Those damn eyes that always made her think that nothing but the moment mattered. Made her think they had something real when she knew better.
Her throat went all cottony. Her tongue thick. “I have a flight to catch. I need to get ready.”
His eyes glimmered with determination. “You aren’t taking that flight.”
He couldn’t be serious. “Of course I am,” she said. “We need that hard drive.”
“We don’t,” he said. “Brock told Lucian he knows nothing more than we do.”
“He could have been lying,” she said. “We can’t take that chance. The return flight is a perfect opportunity to get that drive.”
“The only place you’re going is to Sunrise City where I know you’ll be safe.”
Safe. He wanted to keep her safe. Right. She glared at him. “I can’t find Red Dart in Sunrise City, and what am I supposed to tell my father?”
“Whatever you need to,” he growled. “Be creative.”
“And then we don’t get that hard drive and the data on Red Dart!”
“We’ll find another way.”
“There is no other way, or we both know you would never have come to me in the first place!” Frustration boiled inside her. “For two years you didn’t give a damn about where I was or what I was doing. What right do you have to tell me anything?”
He glared right back at her, his jaw clenched, his eyes glistening—looking as if he was about to explode—like he might actually, for once, yell back at her. And she wanted him to. She wanted him to say what was on his mind. To let her inside that hard shell of his. But it didn’t happen. He rolled off her and leaned against the headboard.
“You’re not getting on that plane.”
He’d shut her out again. Damn him. Damn him to hell. With a sound of frustration bursting from her lips, she rotated to her knees, facing him. She didn’t know if she was angrier at him for shutting her out again or for being a bossy, arrogant ass. “I am getting on that plane, Michael, and you cannot stop me.”
“Watch me,” he said with dark menace.
She shook her head, agitated. She wasn’t going to argue with him. It wasn’t even an argument anyway—he didn’t talk to her. “No,” she challenged. “You watch me.”
She scrambled toward the edge of the bed and toward the closet. In a flash, he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling her between his thighs. Awareness came instantly, her nipples inches from his face. His hands branding her hips. His brushed his cheek against one of her breasts, his lips against her nipple.
She shivered, and damn him, she struggled to retain her anger. To remember why she had to get dressed. His tongue laved her nipple. Her thighs tingled, her core ached. Need built inside her, and she fought it. She craved this man, his strength, even his damnable bossy, silent treatment. Which meant she was really in need of some counseling, because he was going to hurt her again. She knew it. She figured he did, too. Yet knowing she had a hard drive to copy, maybe even a world to save, she was seriously considering climbing back in bed with him.
Clinging to what resolve she had left, angry at her weakness, she shoved at his shoulders. “Damn it, Michael. I am not having sex with you again. This won’t work. I won’t be manipulated.” He sucked her nipple, all that silky dark hair erotically tickling her skin. Desperate to stop him, before she no longer possessed the will, her hands went to his head. “Stop, Michael!”
He tilted his chin up, a challenge in his eyes. “Is that what you really want?”
She glared. “Yes. I do.” Or she wanted to and that was what counted. “I’m getting dressed, and I’m leaving.”
He arched a brow. “Care to bet on that?”