No Fury Page 6

  “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I’m not some collectible, Fox. You don’t have to keep me in mint condition.”

  His eyes drop to my still-healing shoulder. “I didn’t say you were.”

  I shake my head. His tone is rock solid. Steady and firm. Short, vague responses.

  “You’re going no matter what I say,” I murmur. “Aren’t you?”

  Fox exhales. “Yes.”

  “Then, leave,” I say, forcing my lips to stop trembling. “If that’s what you want, then go.”

  “That’s not what I want. I don’t want to go with them.”

  “Then, why are you going?”

  He steps closer and his hand rises to his face. “You see this scar?” he asks, tracing the white line along his cheek. “Elijah’s the one who patched me up. He was like me, Dani. He got dragged into Snake Eyes. He didn’t want that life. When I escaped, I thought that there must be others in the organization just like us.”

  “The same Elijah who dosed Caleb?” I fire back. “Whose twin shot Boxcar?”

  “To get to me.”

  “And what makes you think they aren’t still trying to kill you, Fox?” I ask. “You could be walking into a trap.”

  “It’s possible.”

  I throw up my hands. “How can you be so calm about this?!”

  “Because this is what I’m good at.” He looks down. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

  I pause. “Fox, that’s not true.”

  “I exposed Snake Eyes,” he continues, “and I hoped that people like me and Elijah would find their way out. But I was naïve to think that it’d all be over once I did. Dante’s right, Dani. We can’t really move on until the Boss is gone for good. She’ll keep coming after me and she’ll do that through you just like Mercer did.”

  I feel a pain deep in my shoulder. A soft twinge in my cheek. We’re both covered with wounds and scars from Snake Eyes. Him more than me.

  I walk over and lay my hand on his cheek. The raised scar feels stiff against my fingers. He told me that he got that during his first mission in Snake Eyes. His target made him and he was forced to fight back.

  I slide my fingers down his arms, pushing his jacket over his shoulders. He stands still, letting me do it until it tumbles to the floor. His brow furrows with light confusion as I move his shirt collar over and expose the scar along the side of his neck.

  “Where did you get this one?” I ask.

  “Dani, don’t—”

  “Where?”

  He looks at me with hesitant eyes. “Kabul,” he answers. “Start of my first tour. Got into a sniper battle. I walked away. He didn’t.”

  I grip his shirt and slip the buttons free one-by-one. His hands twitch at his sides but he doesn’t try to stop me. He keeps his eyes on me as mine explore his damaged skin. That damned black cobra stares back at me as I lay my hands on his abs. I feel downward for the thick line on the left side of his ribcage.

  “And this one?” I ask.

  “Madrid,” he answers slowly. “I thought he was sleeping. I dropped my guard for a second and...”

  I draw the line with my fingertip, filling in the rest of it myself. “What did you do to him?”

  He doesn’t blink. He looks me right in the eyes as he says it. “I slit his throat,” he says, his lips slightly parted. “His mistress walked in. She saw everything. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen and I…” He swallows hard. “I did what was expected of me.”

  His voice drops as my bottom lip trembles.

  I walk around him and pull the shirt off his back. A few dozen gashes greet me along his shoulder blades, some fresher than others. Those happened in Denver when he took a bullet for me and shielded my body with his as we crashed through a window. I drove for ten hours with him in the passenger’s seat, bleeding and dying beside me, not sure if he’d survive the night.

  “Dani...”

  I ignore him and crawl my fingers down his spine to find the discolored splotch of skin at the small of his back.

  “This one?” I ask.

  “Stab wound,” he says. “A training exercise.”

  “Training exercise?”

  He reaches behind for my hand. “It wasn’t unusual for the squad leaders to pit the rookies against each other... for entertainment. They called it training, but...”

  I cringe and tug my hand away. Agents really are just pawns to these people. It wasn’t just their enemies looking to kill Fox. He could have been killed at any time by any one of them just to amuse their squad leaders for an afternoon.

  I step around to face him again and reach for his belt. Fox lays his hand on my cheek to brush a tear away but another one instantly tumbles down.

  “Dani, stop,” he whispers.

  I push his zipper down.

  Fox grabs my hands. “I’ve been hit by cars,” he says. “I’ve been shot twelve times — at least. I’ve woken up with no recollection of how I got there. Days completely gone from memory that I never got back. I could have ended it at any time. A few people I knew did.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I ask, my lips trembling.

  He forces my palms flat against his chest. “Do you feel that?” he asks.

  A light thump teases my fingers. His heart is pounding, matching the erratic beat of blood in my ears.

  “My life didn’t belong to me,” he says. “It didn’t belong to Mercer or the Boss, either. Dani, my life belonged to you.”

  I look down as more tears fall.

  Fox lays a hand beneath my chin and guides my eyes back up. “I knew that I owed it to you to stay alive. The chances of seeing you ever again were nonexistent but I thought that if you knew I was still alive, you’d want me to fight and survive. You’d want me to keep breathing, even if only for the sake of existing in the same world together. Was I wrong?”

  I exhale slowly. “No,” I answer.

  He steps closer and holds my face in his hands. “I’ve made mistakes. I’ve done things that I can’t take back, things that hurt you, and I’m sorry. I wish I could say there’d come a time in our lives when I’ll stop hurting you but I’m not sure I can promise that. Not in a world where Snake Eyes still exists.”

  I try to pull away but he holds me close. “Fox...”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow but I’m coming back, Dani,” he says. “When I do, I’m going to make you my wife.”

  He releases one of my hands and reaches into his pants pocket. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out as soon as I see the velvet box in his palm.

  “Danielle Roberts, will you marry me?”

  Fox opens the box and tilts it toward me. A ring sits inside. A diamond mounted on a silver-colored band.

  It’s beautiful. Everything I imagined it’d be, if I ever got married. I picture it instantly. I walk toward Fox in a white dress. Flowers in my hands. He smiles, clad in a black suit and tie. We’re surrounded by family and friends.

  We’re normal. Just like everyone else.

  But that’s not who we are.

  We can never be that.

  I shake my head. “No,” I whisper.

  Fox eases back a step but he stands taller. “Dani, I’m—”

  I kiss him, cutting him off as I wrap my arms around him. It takes him by surprise but he embraces me as I lose my balance. He holds me up with ease, returning my kisses until we can barely breathe.

  “I won’t say yes,” I whisper, catching my breath. “Not until you come back to me.”

  He kisses me again and takes the ring out of the box. I open my hand and he slides the ring onto my finger.

  “I’ll come back,” he says. “I promise.”

  He lifts me a few inches off the floor, making my toes dangle in the air. I feel weightless and dizzy, as if I might pass out at any second, but one look in his eyes centers me again.

  We turn and Fox takes a few strides toward the bed.

  I tighten my grip on him as a sob shakes me to
the core. “I love you, Fox,” I say.

  He lays me down on the bed and towers over me. “I love you,” he parrots back. “Since the moment I saw you, I knew...”

  I flash back to that night. Seventy degrees in December. A typical LA Christmas Eve. I thought he hated me. He barely said three words to me the whole night. The next thing I knew, he lived down the hall. My new stepbrother.

  I pull him down to my lips. His tongue laps gently against mine as I feel down his abs toward his belt again. He runs his hands beneath my top, guiding it up and over my head to expose my breasts.

  We move quickly with passion and greed. It’s different than before. Before, he touched me as if I were breakable. America’s Sweetheart, he sometimes called me. That might have been true once. But not anymore. Not if I have any say in it.

  Fox eases back and pulls my pants off with one quick tug, taking my panties with them. He’s back on me in a second, his lips hungry for a few more long and urgent kisses. I push his pants down over his rear, freeing his stiff cock. Fox touches me, hands roaming every inch of me, as he settles between my open thighs. It’s so fast and eager. It’s such a difference from our first kiss.

  ‘Before you go, can I just do one thing?’ he asked.

  I looked on him with confusion. It was my eighteenth birthday. I’d known him for almost four years and he was still that same taciturn guy. I remember thinking how strange it was to hear a complete sentence out of him that was more than three words.

  His bright, mischievous eyes reflected back on me in the dark hallway. I couldn’t turn away. I already knew I had feelings for him then. I denied they existed, of course. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t okay for me to feel that way about him.

  ‘Okay...’ I said.

  He placed a hand on my cheek. I felt fire in his palm. He licked his lips and leaned in. Sparks shot up my spinal cord. My knees swayed like jelly. Our mouths touched and, for a second, he hesitated. We knew it was wrong. I nearly ran away. Later, he’d tell me he almost did the same.

  My father saw everything. I had no idea he was lingering at the foot of the stairs. The next morning, he told Fox to leave.

  Don’t come back. Stay away from her.

  He kissed me and I never saw him again. That haunted me for years. Eventually, sadness became anger. Then, they told us he was killed in action and the anger turned cold but that lingering sadness never left me.

  I feel it again now. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be lying on his bed thinking the same thing five years from now.

  He kissed me and I never saw him again.

  He pushes my arms upward and pins them above my head. Our lips don’t part for more than a second as he eases between my thighs. His kiss is slow and precise, almost teasing. I feel his tip slip between my folds but he doesn’t thrust. We stay this way, locked is soft and slow kisses. The tease is unbearable. I feel my insides pulsing for him, growing more enraged by the second.

  Finally, he shifts forward, penetrating me. I lay my head back, closing my eyes to focus and feel it. His lips fall to my exposed neck, biting down. The sharp nip travels back behind my ear, radiating my senses.

  He grinds me faster, driven by whatever it is inside of him. Passion takes us both. I begin to move my hips to meet his swift thrusts but I can’t move more than that. I can barely think. It’s hard and fast, unlike any other time we’ve been together. He doesn’t hold back. He takes what he wants from me and I give in to it without thinking.

  “Fox...” I whimper as my toes curl.

  I’m not a collectible. If Fox is damaged, then so am I.

  He brushes his lips along my shoulder, pressing down to kiss my healing wound. He regrets shooting me that day. I don’t. In my mind, I took that bullet to save him. I’d do it again if I had to.

  My shoulder twinges. I wince as a bit of pain travels down to my wrist. Fox releases my right hand and guides my arm down to my side, almost as if he could feel it, too. His hips continue their fast and steady grind. I feel myself tightening around him, hurdling closer toward release, but I hold on. I want to make this feeling last for as long as possible. I want this night to last forever.

  If it does, then he’ll never leave.

  He’ll never go on one last dangerous mission. Everyone knows how that goes in the movies. Just one final job. One week until retirement. It’s a jinx, plain and simple. The odds aren’t in our favor.

  I feel the tears billowing up in my eyes again, fighting with the pleasure tearing me apart from the inside out.

  “Fox,” I breathe, choking on the sob.

  He halts deep inside of me, his tattooed chest heaving. “Don’t think about it, Dani,” he whispers. He rests his forehead on mine, staring into my eyes. “Just be here. Now. With me.”

  I swallow my tears, giving in to electricity dancing throughout my spine. I reach up to touch his cheek. That white scar sticks out against my fingertips and he closes his eyes as I feel it. My own face twitches with pain as I remember Mercer’s blade slicing my cheek. He did that to get Fox’s attention. To connect the two of us together and that’s exactly what it did. My scar is gone now, reversed by expensive doctors and specialists, but I still feel it on the inside.

  My connection to Fox. It’ll never go away.

  I kiss him again, feeling the last of my tears disappearing as my lips curl.

  “What?” he asks, smiling with me.

  I block it all out. I picture a world without Snake Eyes. No more Boss. No more killing. Just me and Fox in his cabin outside of Mrs. Clark’s farmhouse. Finally together against all odds.

  I won’t let it all fade to black this time.

  Eight

  Luka

  I am being watched.

  It’s a funny feeling, one that creeps into my psyche long before I even open my eyes. In the old days, I would have sprung into action to eliminate whatever enemy felt compelled to attack me or any member of my family but things have changed for me over the last year.

  I wake up in near-perfect darkness, though a bit of daylight manages to slip in between my thick, black curtains along the wall. I reach out to feel for Sofia but her side of the bed is ice cold.

  Still, I feel the eyes on me.

  I stretch out my legs as consciousness takes hold of me and my foot bumps into something sitting at the end of my bed.

  He chuckles. His laughter is warm and childishly sinister.

  I squint at him as his small body takes shape in front of me.

  “Lucian...” I murmur.

  I reach for the switch above my bed and flick the lamp on, illuminating my son’s grinning face. He’s dressed in black shorts and a navy shirt. The bottoms of his white socks are filthy, no doubt from running around the back garden flower beds and driving Sofia crazy. He holds a thick book in his hands with a maroon cover. The soft, Italian features he shares with his mother stand out as he smiles at me but not as much as his bright, silver eyes.

  Those are all mine.

  “Lucian,” I say again, smiling back. “What are you doing?”

  He drops the book on the bed between us. Russian fairy tales.

  “You want me to read to you?” I ask him.

  He nods.

  “Lucian, these are bedtime stories,” I point out. “It’s not time for bed.”

  “Per favore, Papa.”

  I sigh and pick up the book, caving completely. I brought this on myself, to be honest. I read to him every night when he and Sofia first moved in. Once my mission took over, those nights became fewer. Sofia took up the task but Russian fairy tales just don’t sound as good in her soft, Italian accent.

  Lucian stares back at me, eager and hopeful.

  “Okay,” I say, flipping it open. “Just a few pages...”

  He grins and hops up the bed to sit beside me. I extend my arm out of habit and he settles beneath it with his eyes forward on the old, graying pages.

  I flip through the book until I find my favorite story from when I was his age.


  “V kakom-to tsarstve,” I begin, “v nekotorom gosudarstve, tsar' zhil...”

  He slides his hand to rest in mine and I pause. Nine months with this child and I’m still not used to the way my heart bleeds for him. So small and fragile in my thick fingers but he’ll surely grow up to be just as strong as me. I smell the top of his head and smile.

  “U etogo tsarya bylo tri syna, vse oni byli na vozraste. Tol'ko mat' ikh vdrug unos Kosh Bessmertnyy—”

  The bedroom door swings open and Sofia steps inside. Her expression twists instantly from panic to annoyed relief. “Lucian, non dovresti svegliare tuo padre—”

  “It’s all right, Sofia,” I say, holding up a hand to stop her from scolding him for waking me.

  She takes a breath, quickly blowing it out again as she admires the two of us. Poor thing must have been searching for him for ages and he’s become quite the master at hide and seek, or so I’ve heard.

  I look her up and down as she relaxes. My darling Sofia. A Russian resident for nearly a year but she still clings to those bright sundresses. Just as beautiful today as she was the day of our wedding. Hell, even the day of her first wedding — the one we rarely talk about. I think of it often, though. It was the day after we conceived our son.

  I close the book. “Aren’t we supposed to speak English in the morning?” I tease.

  She steps closer to the bed and places her hands on her hips. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

  I glance at the darkened curtains. “Oh.”

  “And am I to believe that you were translating those stories into English?” she quips. “We speak Russian in the evenings, yes?”

  “Uh-oh.” I wince playfully and bounce Lucian once, making him chuckle. “She caught us, boy. Go beg her forgiveness.”

  Lucian slides away and hops down onto the floor. Sofia’s little eyes shift between us as her smile grows and Lucian pauses in front of her, reaching out to grip the edge of her dress.

  “Perdonami, Mamma,” he says.

  I smirk. He even did it in Italian.

  Sofia sighs and bends down to poke the tip of his nose. “I forgive you, piccola luce,” she says. As she stands back up, she looks at me. “And?”