Savor Me Slowly

She glanced down…down…damn, he was tall. Finally she saw the ankle in question and winced. Broken, yes. Ravaged, most definitely. That ankle was going to make her job more difficult. “Gonna make me carry you out, then?” The words were a challenge, meant to goad him into hopping out if he had to.



“Fuck you,” he said. At least, that’s what she thought he said. Hard to tell.



Her gaze slid over the rest of him. He was well over six feet of pure muscle and brawn. Could she carry him? She was strong. Her creators had made sure of that, but…



His head angled toward her, and his discolored, mutilated lips edged into what might have been a frown. Le’Ace was machine, animal, a bit human—though many would disagree about the last, and all three parts of her sensed his affront.



In this, at least, he was predictable. Alpha male that he was, he couldn’t handle a blow to his masculinity.



But it was something else in a long line of somethings that she hadn’t expected from him. Alpha. His file had said “gentle” and “unflappable.” Even “calming.” The man glaring down at her was none of those things. Guarded, determined, easily razzed. Yeah, he was those.



“Well,” she insisted. “Much as I’d like to take you up on your offer, you didn’t really answer my question. Shall I carry you?”



“What do you think?” he asked in that damaged voice. “Never mind. You might try. No. I’ll walk.”



“Good boy.” She released him.



He swayed to the side and would have fallen if she hadn’t grabbed him again. Le’Ace sighed. Nope, he wouldn’t be walking. The spirit might be willing, but his flesh was too weak. What was the best way to handle the unpredictable Jaxon and the upcoming battle with his other captors? Her mind raced with options. There weren’t many.



All the while Jaxon stared at her, disquieting her, clearly trying to take her measure.



“I guess I need to switch to plan B,” she muttered.



“What’s plan B?”



“I haven’t decided yet. All I know is the ending.”



“And that is?”



“We get out safely.”



“I don’t trust you,” he gritted out. “This could be a trick.”



Great. He was going to be difficult.



Part of her was relieved. Finally, he was acting like the humans she dealt with on a daily basis. Which meant she knew how to handle him.



“Could be a trick,” she told him. “Only time will tell.” Leaning sideways, she tilted him toward the crumbling wall. Weak and damaged as he was, he could do nothing to stop her. She propped him there, made sure he was steady, then strode to her bag of tools and towels.



Statistical read of the surrounding area, she demanded to know from the chip implanted inside her brain. A chip that monitored her activities as well as the energy pulses of everyone around her. She cleaned her bloody hands with a rag. Thankfully, the chip was programmed to only give knowledge when she asked. Otherwise, constant streams of information would bombard her at all hours of the day and night.



The reply was instantaneous, not a voice, but a sudden realization. Four Delenseans and two humans. Upstairs.



Likelihood of attack within the next few minutes?



Eighteen percent. No hostility detected.



Good. Warn me if someone approaches.



Sensors on…now.



Le’Ace reached back into the bag, withdrew a syringe and a bottle of black-market rinaloras.



“What are you doing?” Jaxon demanded.



“Helping you. No need to thank me.” She couldn’t believe how much stamina he possessed. Anyone else with those types of injuries would be dead or sobbing. He had teased her; he now refused to back down. She could only imagine what he’d act like when fully healed and almost wished she’d be allowed to find out.



Truly, she’d never encountered a man quite like him. So strong, so irreverent, utterly capable, unerringly honorable and loyal, yet a little dirty-minded. Where was the reserved and respectful man A.I.R. touted him to be?



Perhaps the torture had changed him, she mused, but she wouldn’t have placed money on that. He’d been gone eight days. That wasn’t enough time to transform a trained agent drastically, no matter what had been done to him. After all, he’d endured similar torture before and hadn’t morphed into irreverence incarnate.



Was she being given a glimpse at the real man, then?



If so, that begged the question of why he usually hid who he really was. And why he was now revealing his true colors. She was intrigued, and she hated being intrigued. He was a job. He could not be anything else.



Her owner would not allow it. Fucker.



Once she had Jaxon safely tucked away, she’d call Estap, her boss and current owner, and Jaxon would be picked up. Most likely, she would never see him again.



“Marie,” he snapped. “You’re drifting now. Do you name your needles?”



“No.” Slowly she turned to him. She held the now full syringe in the light, checking for air bubbles. “And look. My name is Mishka, but everyone calls me Le’Ace.” The moment the words left her, she cursed under her breath. She shouldn’t have told him that. Her real name was privileged information, and he wasn’t privileged. So why had she just blurted it? Why did she suddenly long to hear this amazing man say it? Just once?



“What kind of name is that?” he asked.



Sooo not the response she’d secretly craved. She ran her tongue over her teeth in an effort to hide her irritation. “Appropriate.” She was her creators’ ace in the hole.



“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “Answer me this time, at least.”



“Or what?” When he offered an angry hiss in reply, she sighed and said, “I’m putting you to sleep, okay?” Anyone else she would have left down here, awake—why waste good drugs?—then she’d go upstairs alone and dispatch the enemy. Jaxon, however, she didn’t want to leave suffering.



Besides, weakened as he was, she suspected he still might be able to drag himself into hiding while she was distracted.



“I said I’d walk,” Jaxon said, determined. “I won’t fight you.”



“Your ankle is wrecked, and I can’t take the chance you’ll remain calm.” Just as determined as he was, she approached him. “I’ll get you out of here, don’t worry. And just think, when you wake up, your wee fairy Cathy might very well be at your side, kissing your brow, sprinkling you with her magic dust.”



He tensed, his broken body somehow the picture of absolute menace. “How do you know about Cathy? I haven’t seen her in months.”



One of her shoulders lifted in a shrug as she stopped in front of him. Only a whisper separated them. “I know a lot about you, and I know a lot about Cathy. You called her fairy, she called you agent.” Le’Ace had liked nothing about Cathy and almost everything about Jaxon. Brave, loyal, fearless. Rare qualities in a man, as she well knew. “When I take a job, I learn everything I can about everyone involved. What I don’t know is how you spent a year of your life with that girl. Five minutes in her presence and I wanted to slash my own wrists. Every word out of her mouth is a complaint. She’s condescending and frigid.”



The last sentence had barely left Le’Ace when she realized Jaxon had curled his black-and-blue fingers around her gloved wrist in an effort to prevent her from moving her arm, keeping the syringe a safe distance away. He shouldn’t have been able to move so quickly or without her knowledge. His touch shouldn’t have so entranced her, but it did.



He couldn’t know that the arm he held was mostly machine and he couldn’t have stopped it with a bulldozer. He couldn’t know she allowed the touch, unable to force herself to pull away.



“Let’s talk about this,” he said.



“No time.” Usually Le’Ace hated being touched and would only endure it when ordered for a job. Because when her boss commanded her to do something, she did it without hesitation. Always. The little chip in her brain allowed nothing less, the consequences for disobeying too severe.



Just thinking about the chip’s capabilities swept a wave of bitterness through her. I’m just a pawn. She hadn’t been ordered to let Jaxon handle her, but she was somehow more helpless than ever. There was warmth in his touch. Warmth and inexorable strength that seeped past her glove, the metal—all the way to her marrow. For a moment, she entertained the fantasy that he could defeat her demons and finally free her.



Wishful thinking only led to disappointment. That she knew well.



“You’re drifting again,” he muttered.



Shit! She never drifted when in the presence of another. Yet she had with him, several times. There was something calming about him, just like his file claimed. Her eyes narrowed on him. “If I’m worrying about you trying to hurt me or trying to escape me,” she found herself telling him, even though she’d told him they did not have time to discuss this, “I won’t be able to fight your captors to the best of my ability.”



“You’re not fighting them alone.”



Concern? For her? Totally unnecessary, a first, and absolutely surprising, but sweet. She frowned. “Believe me, it’s better this way.” She flexed the coils in her metal wrist, a silent command for release.



His fingers spread but he did not let go.



“You don’t want to drug me, Le’Ace.”



He said her name as if it were a prayer, and she shivered. Not again. Earlier he’d told her that she should unchain him and his voice had been mesmerizing. Like now. Some deep, hidden part of her had reacted, wanting to give the man whatever he asked for. Like now.



Again, she found herself asking the chip: is he alien?



Zero possibility. Only human chemistry detected.



What was he, then, that he could compel another’s actions with this voice? What was he, that he could heat her blood and entrance her body? “I may not want to, honey, but I’m going to.” Her free hand hung at her side, and she worked her fingers over one of the rings she wore, exposing the tiny needle under the enlarged diamond.



“I’m not letting go. I’ll stay here, like this, all night.”



“You don’t have to let me go,” she said. Act. Do it.



She didn’t.



She stared up at him. I need a tune-up; I’m slipping.



What would it be like to kiss him? The question flooded her unexpectedly, rising from the same hidden place affected by his voice. Desire swirled and mixed with her blood, infusing throughout her entire body.



This has to end, before you do something stupid. Forcing herself into action—fast, no pause—she lifted her arm and jabbed the ring into the thick vein fluttering at the base of his neck.



His eyes widened, and he hissed.



“I’m sorry,” she told him. “Just so you know, I don’t name my rings, either.”



“You…bitch.” His eyelids flapped closed, open, closed.



“The syringe contains the painkiller and antibiotic solution, nothing more. The ring has the sleeping aid.”



“Tricked me,” he accused, his voice all the more slurred.



“Saved you.”



His muscles were loosening, his lids now sealed shut. He fought the intoxicating slumber to the last, trying to hold on to her, tight, so tight, but finally he drifted off, chin falling to his collarbone, fingers disengaging, and arm falling to his side. Again, she was amazed by his fortitude.



Le’Ace gently eased him to the floor, careful of his broken bones. “I really am sorry.” So much strength. A shame to take it away, even for a little while. Sighing, she jabbed the syringe into his upper arm, emptied it, then tossed it aside.



She wanted to linger, to study him more fully. Truly, he was a puzzle, a sexy puzzle at that, and leaving a puzzle unsolved was abhorrent to her. Just a job, she reminded herself. Had to be that way. She was no good, tainted, and had more baggage than a world traveler. She was bad for men, because the longer she stayed with one, the greater chance there was of being forced to screw him over.



She’d been raised in a lab, had never had a boyfriend. Hell, had never wanted one. If she were ordered to kill him, or worse, if she were ordered to fuck someone else while dating him…



She hated those jobs the most, vomited every time they were over.



Enough. If she continued down memory lane, she’d end up screaming uncontrollably, current job forgotten, the past a whirling vortex of misery, sucking her into darkness.



Scowling, Le’Ace popped to her feet and strode away from Jaxon and back to her bag. Thomas and company had known her as Marie the Executioner, one of her many aliases. They’d trusted her implicitly, for she’d done many jobs for them over the years, always with success. To sustain the identity, she’d had to. A murder here, a torturing there.



“Marie” was privy to the information the government couldn’t get any other way—such as Jaxon’s kidnapping and location—so she’d done everything required for the identity with a happy, I’m-loving-this smile.



Well, Marie had been privy.



No one would trust her now, but the sacrifice had been deemed worth it before she’d ever stepped foot onto the compound. Her bastard of a boss had wanted Jaxon alive if possible. Not for Jaxon, of course, but for himself. Estap desired the very secrets Jaxon had so far kept hidden.



If Thomas hadn’t broken him, she doubted Estap could. Which meant she was saving him now only to, perhaps, kill him later.



Statistical reading.



No change.



Excellent. She withdrew several pieces of her guns from a strip of black cloth. While Thomas might have trusted her, he hadn’t allowed any type of guns inside his home. Like ID scans, they scared him. She’d had to disassemble both of hers and hide the sections between her knives.