Ash Storm (Chimera Force Book 2), page 8
He grunted, feeling inordinately proud of her.
This woman’s made of courage.
He moved his hands to her arms, easily holding them to the side.
He was pretty sure somebody would be watching. Junior, for sure. Maybe Afsan himself, or that English buddy of his.
“I need you to speak with you, and while I do so, you need to act like you’re fighting me. They will be watching us.”
“What—“
“I swear to you I’m not going to hurt you, Reka.”
That stopped her in her tracks.
“You know my name.”
And he debated for a moment how much to tell her. Telling her too much could ruin everything. But, at the same time, he couldn’t bear to see her so scared. And he also couldn’t do what he had to do if she wasn’t with him on this.
He weighed the pros and cons quickly in his mind, and in the end, went with his gut.
She’s strong enough to hear what you have to say.
But first things first.
“Are you hurt?” he whispered, struggling to keep his voice even.
“What—“
“Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head from side to side. Some of the tension and fear leaked from his body.
“My name is Ash,” he said. “Your uncle sent me to get you out of here.”
Her eyes rose to his, still hooded but now shiny with hope.
Hope wasn’t good. Hope could get them killed really fucking fast. Right now, his taller form still shielded her from the camera, but they couldn’t stay here forever.
They would be expecting him to fuck her.
“I’m going to take you to bed. Keep fighting me.”
Ash saw every single feeling flitting through her face—the hope, the fear, the despair. He steeled himself against what he was going to do.
He pulled both her wrists over her head and held them easily in his left hand, using his right hand to rip her dress off her shoulders, past her waist, until the material pooled at her feet.
He took a step back and made a show of moving his head so the camera behind him would see him staring up and down her body, even though in reality he kept his eyes averted from her nakedness.
She cried out and pulled against his hands. Ash allowed one of her hands to go free for an instant. She slapped him, turning his head sideways, then came back to scratch down his cheek.
Ash winced. It was exactly what he’d been hoping for, and it would help sell their story. And damned if he wasn’t impressed.
Fear filled her eyes as he trapped both her hands again and leaned in even closer.
“I swear to you I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered. “But we have to give them a show.”
He took a deep breath, picked her up, and threw her onto the bed. Instinct had her turning around onto her front and crawling away. Ash stretched a long arm and grabbed onto her slim ankle, pulled her back towards him and flipped her around so she was on her back again.
Then he was on top of her.
Her eyes scrunched closed. A vein pulsed wildly against her neck. Ash could smell Reka’s fear. It made him sick inside.
She whimpered, and her whimper took him somewhere else. Suddenly, it wasn’t Reka he was looking at, but a younger woman who’d also tried to crawl away when she’d seen him, leaving a trail of blood behind her as she did so.
He knew then he’d been cocky and stupid to take this job on. He should have expected this would trigger him. He should have found another way. He should have—
He shuddered, and it was all he could do to stay still, when every fiber in his body screamed at him to move away from her.
The only thing that kept him from releasing her was the knowledge that doing so would likely get them both killed.
Zahra’s not here.
This is Reka.
She’s not hurt, but she will be if you don’t get your act together.
He pulled himself back with a superhuman effort—and found Reka staring at him strangely, almost curiously. He held on to that curiosity.
“I swear to you, Reka,” he whispered. “I will not hurt you. But I’m going to have to pretend to do so.” He sighed. She needed to understand what was at stake. “Or they’ll come in here and kill us both.”
Reka stilled. Her eyes held his, and she gave a quick nod.
He wanted to keep talking—to promise that he would keep her safe.
No matter what.
But they’d already been staring into each other’s eyes for too long.
He had to get his head out of his ass and make this believable.
“Keep fighting me,” Ash warned.
He made a show of holding her in place as he pulled his T-shirt over his head, wincing at the bruises on his side. The third fighter he’d taken on had been a tough bastard.
He made a big show of taking off his belt, then took off his pants and boxer shorts. With one forceful jerk, he pulled the covers from underneath her and got into bed beside her, covering them both with the white sheet.
And he could see the struggle in her beautiful eyes—she wanted so badly to believe him, but she’d been to hell and back in the last few days, and here he was, getting naked on top of her.
“They can’t hear us,” he repeated, knowing she probably didn’t remember what he’d said. “But they can see us.”
As his weight fell on top of her, Reka cried out. Her body shook beneath his and her eyes filled with tears.
Holding her wrists back in place, Ash positioned himself on top of her, trying to hold the weight of his upper body on his elbows, and began thrusting his hips rhythmically against her. His shriveled genitals fell against her inner thigh.
He thrust his hips forward and back, feeling bile rise to his throat with every thrust. And he knew he would never again, for as long as he lived, be able to hold a woman’s wrists in place during sex, even in the safest, most consensual relationship ever.
God.
I can’t do this.
He was about to pull away, consequences be damned, when her luminous, almond-shaped eyes met his.
“You’re not going to hurt me…” she whispered.
“No,” he said. It was all he could get out without sobbing like a child.
Her small hand came up between them, to rest against his chest. As if she could see how hard this was for him and she wanted to lend him her strength.
“You believe me,” he said in wonder.
“I won’t leave without Chloe,” she said quietly.
Then nodded quickly. “We’ll get her out as well.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.” He couldn’t be more specific about the timing. There was so much that could still go wrong. “Be ready and don’t say anything to anyone.”
“My friend Aileen … is she safe?”
“She’s safe,” he whispered. “She helped us find you.”
Reka’s eyes filled with tears. Ash wanted to wipe them away, but that would be out of character. So he kept going. After a few minutes of humping air, Ash pulled his head back and howled what he hoped was a convincing release.
Less than five minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Reka jumped out of bed and flew for her dress, quickly slipped it on over her head. Her beautiful dark eyes were still full of tears. Ash got up, stark naked, and pulled the dresser out of the way.
The guards came inside. One of them stared at the crooked dresser.
“What the fuck did you move that for?”
Ash shrugged, his Italian accent back in place. “I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m—“ He thrust his hips forward. “You know.”
The guard frowned. He looked like he wanted to cut Ash’s dick off. But he also clearly remembered what Ash could do with his fists. “We’re here for the woman.”
“I don’t get to keep her for the night?” He complained. “We only had time for one round, if you know what I mean.”
“Should we tell Mr. Afsan you are not happy?”
Ash raised his hands quickly. “Take her, Take her. No marks, like I promised. Though she’s a frigid bitch,” he said. He prayed they would take her straight back to the other women, and that nobody would hurt her tonight. He didn’t know if he could live with the alternative.
The younger guard knocked his colleague on the arm. “I told you she would be. Gezi chose better.”
Ash forced himself to stand aside as the two guards took hold of Reka’s arms and dragged her away. He thought of all the difficult things he’d done in his life. They all paled in comparison with the effort of staying still when every cell in his body shouted at him to beat the guards unconscious and take Reka away.
16
Ash
“Choose your weapons, gentlemen,” the fight master said.
“I thought I was going to get my own knife back,” Ash said, frowning. “The one your guards took away when I arrived.”
“Unfortunately, we had an issue last year with a poisoned dagger.” The stocky man shrugged. “You get to choose one of the weapons Mr. Afsan is so generously providing … or you can use your fists tonight.”
“Okay, okay,” Ash said quickly, his hands palm up to convey to the man that he was backing down.
He approached the table where the knives were laid out.
He had to show interest in the weapons, even if he had no intention of being here by the time the fighting began. Not that he wouldn’t fight to the death to get Reka out of here.
Every time he closed his eyes, he could still see her dark, intelligent eyes on his—the way she’d chosen to put her trust in him, even though he’d given her little reason to do so. He wasn’t going to disappoint her, no matter what.
The hours since those two men had dragged her from his room had been torture for him. And though he’d expected that Afsan would keep the women locked up as much as possible, the fact that he hadn’t seen her all day today was driving him insane.
He prayed she was safe.
“So. What’s it going to be?”
Ash studied the knives. It was an impressive collection, to say the least. There were pocket knives, intricately carved daggers, a Samurai sword, a selection of large survival knives, a serrated knife Ash knew was used by Israeli special forces, and a few he recognized by name, including a Ka-Bar Tanto Black 600 and a Jagdkommando twisted fixed blade.
“I can choose any of these, then?” he asked admiringly.
“Each fighter gets to choose one.”
Ash’s eyes went automatically to the Ka-Bar. He spared a brief thought for the hunter who’d killed a bear, then written a thank-you letter to the knife manufacturers, thereby giving the famous knife its name.
Though he’d trained extensively with the Ka-Bar, and it would normally be his first choice, Ash forced himself to look away from it—it wouldn’t be the right choice for an Italian fighter with no ties to the US Army.
Instead, he picked up a Scandinavian survival knife, weighing it carefully in his palm.
“This is a nice knife.”
“They’re all nice knives,” the fight master said. “Mr. Afsan believes in surrounding himself with the very best.”
“Let’s not disappoint him tonight, then,” Ash said cockily. “I’ll take this one.”
The man made a note on his clipboard. “You can pick it up just before the fight.”
“Come, my friend. Tonight, we fight, but now we eat and drink,” the Turkish fighter said, clapping him hard on the back.
Ash considered the other fighter carefully. “I have nothing against you, Gezi. But if I’m going to have to kill you tonight, I don’t think we should spend the afternoon bonding.”
Gezi’s laughter boomed. “You are cocky, Romano, but I like you.” He shrugged. “And who knows? Maybe we won’t kill each other. Maybe one of the twins will kill us, instead.”
Gezi seemed totally unconcerned with the fact that, of the four of them, only one would be expected to live to see the next day.
Something sour rose in Ash’s belly at the thought of the twin fighters who’d arrived together, knowing one of them might have to kill the other.
It was the most fucked up thing he’d ever seen, and he’d seen some fucked up shit.
“You look so serious, Romano. You wouldn’t happen to be scared, would you?”
Ash’s lip curled in a snarl. “Scared? The man hasn’t been born yet who can scare me, Gezi.”
Gezi smiled broadly. “Good, good. That makes me happy. Now excuse me, I’m going to go get myself something to eat. I fight better on a full stomach.”
Laughter sounded behind him. Ash breathed in the stench of too many colognes mixing together an instant before the group of men joined them in the courtyard.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Griffin was among them.
He made it.
Good.
Although Ash would have tried on his own, Griffin’s being here increased the chances of getting the women out of here by about a hundred-fold.
He took a closer look at Griffin, impressed despite himself. Griffin didn’t look like Griffin at all. He was dressed in a fine linen shirt and creaseless khaki pants that were too tight around his butt and finished just over his ankles. Ash looked down at the man’s feet—blinked, then looked again as Griffin’s toes wiggled playfully inside his sandals.
Is he wearing fucking Birkenstocks?
As serious as the situation was, Ash had to smother a laugh.
And it was the perfect camouflage. Griffin was a fox among chickens. Of the entire team, Ash had always felt the former CIA analyst was the most dangerous. But those shoes made it hard for anybody to see beyond the obvious.
Griffin laughed delicately at something one of the other rich, entitled criminals said. He spoke and moved like someone who had always moved in such circles. Ash didn’t envy the man the job, having to pretend to be chummy with people who would buy and sell another human being.
A shadow appeared behind him. Ash turned quickly. “I don’t like people coming up behind me,” he growled.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Romano,” Afsan’s friend, the one with an English accent, said.
“You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” Ash asked brusquely—as if he didn’t care who he was talking to, when in reality he cared a lot. Ever since he’d seen the way he addressed the women and the guards, he’d made it one of his priorities to learn as much as he could about this man—a man he was now sure was Afsan’s business partner.
Come on, asshole.
Tell me your name.
The man’s lips thinned into a reptilian smile. “My name is Alistair Walker.”
Ash committed the name to memory.
“I am a friend of Mr. Afsan’s, and I also take care of his assets.”
Assets.
A muscle ticked behind Ash’s jaw, and he forced himself to relax.
Alistair Walker paused theatrically. “Tell me, how did you enjoy the woman last night?”
There was a hungry expression in his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time they’d spoken. Ash saw quickly that he had to tread carefully here. He hoped it didn’t have anything to do with Reka—prayed he hadn’t missed a hidden microphone in the room. But no, he would have been long dead already if that had been the case.
“Fine,” Ash said, faking a bored expression. “You want to hear the details?”
The man smiled. “I already heard some of the details, from the woman I sent to clean her up.”
Fuck.
“I didn’t hurt her,” Ash said, playing dumb.
Afsan’s friend shook his head amiably. “No. You didn’t. It appears you didn’t do much of anything, in fact.”
Ash couldn’t believe where the conversation was heading. He had choices here—he could still pretend he had no idea what the man was talking about.
He took one small step forward, baring his teeth. “Is this an … issue … you want to make a big deal of?”
The other man didn’t seem intimidated in the least.
He knows he’s protected by Afsan.
“I would be careful, if I were you,” he drawled. “Maybe I should find the woman and show you how a real man does it.”
Ash ignored the panic sweeping through him. “When I win the last fight tonight, I will take my million … and I will demand an apology from you.”
“Just remember, I’ve got my eyes on you, Romano.”
Shit, just what I need.
To have this asshole watching me.
This was going to be a problem.
He had to find a way to communicate with Griffin.
The group of men ambled towards them. Afsan was with them, along with two of his guards. The guards were good. Not overly confident.
“Ah, here’s one of my top fighters. I’m expecting great things from you tonight, Romano.”
“Thank you for the opportunity, Signor Afsan,” he said, imbuing his voice with subservience.
“Ahmed. Is this the Roman Stallion? Will you introduce me, please?” Griffin asked mildly. A server passed by with a tray filled with candies, and Griffin spent an eternity selecting a piece of toffee, taking it carefully between long fingers.
“Signor Romano, meet my guest, Mr. Greg Adair.”
Griffin transferred the candy to his other hand and shook Ash’s hand enthusiastically. His was sticky with sugar, and Ash looked down in distaste. “Uh. Sorry. I—let me look for something to—“
Ash made a show of wiping his right hand on his jeans. “It’s okay,” he said, taking a quick step back.
“Yes. I was so impressed by your fight yesterday.” Griffin hopped from foot to foot, looking ridiculous in his too-tight pants and sandals. “When you hit your opponent with that uppercut and then—“
The appearance of a server saved him from having to respond.
“Champagne, perhaps?” Afsan asked.
Griffin took a glass and downed it without even looking at it. “Your champagne is good, but I’m looking forward to tonight, Ahmed, to tell you the truth. I’m in need of a different kind of … entertainment,” he said, forming air quotes with his hands. “If you see what I mean.”
