Shoot to Thrill (8 page)

“What do they really want from us, Kick?”

“Not us.
Me.
When we get to where we’re going, and they have me where they want me, they’ll no doubt separate us,” he told her quietly. “They’ll tell you it was all a big misunderstanding. Tell you bad stuff about me. Very bad stuff. If you cooperate and go along with that, they’ll smile and apologize, and let you go.”

She was just stubborn enough to be outraged on his behalf. Not that she wasn’t still mad as hell at him. “And if I refuse?”

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t fight them, Rainie. I’ve been trying for a year and a half. You can’t win.”

His body jerked in reminder of what he was starting to go through. And of her promise to him.

“I really hate being told what to do,” she said, wiping his brow again.

He sent her a smile through pain-gritted teeth. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.” His smile curved, and he added softly, “Except in bed.”

Their eyes met and an unwilling lick of heat wound through her body. Memories of the amazing pleasure he’d given her nearly crowded out everything else, including the hurt of being used by him.

Nearly.

She looked away. Earlier, she’d been certain she could never forgive him for that. Now she wasn’t quite so sure. But it still hurt like hell.

Because she’d been so damn attracted to him.

He groaned and she glanced back. His face was etched in misery and now he’d started shivering. The withdrawal was kicking in, in earnest.

“Nauseous?” she asked. He nodded.

Great.

In the front passenger seat, the man Kick had called Al was on the phone talking in clipped tones. Behind them, Larry, Moe, and Curly were engaged in their own snickering conversation, apparently having decided she and Kick didn’t need watching.

“Hey,” she said, extracting herself from Kick’s arms and waving her hand at them. “This man needs medical attention.”

“Then do something. You’re the nurse,” Moe pointed out rudely.

“Yeah, well, he’s going to start throwing up any minute, and there’s nothing I can do about that without proper medication.”

They all made disgusted faces. Larry picked up a discarded McDonald’s bag, emptied the used wrappers onto the floor, and handed it to her.

Pressing it into Kick’s hands, she turned back and demanded, “Where are you taking us?”

They ignored her and returned to their conversation.

Freaking stooges.

She could barely see out the SUV’s windows because they were so dark-tinted, almost black. But even if she could, she’d have no idea where they were, since she’d never driven in the city. Or been outside a ten-block radius of her apartment. Not since she moved in.

Suddenly they pulled into an alley. Graffiti covered the walls and trash littered the rutted ground.
Okay, not a good sign.

The metallic ring of seat belts
snicking
open shot through the vehicle, followed by the sound of gun bolts being pulled. Definitely a worse sign. Because at the end of the alley was the solid brick wall of a warehouse. No doors. No openings. No other exit.

End of the line.

Her pulse jumped out of control. She shot a desperate glance at Kick. He closed his eyes and swore.

Oh, God.

They were both going to die.

FIVE

“WHO
are they?” Pig asked her. His beautiful naked redhead.

They’d already gone through the Name Ritual. Hers was something with an
H
. Like Heavenly Angel.

His was still Pig.

Except she didn’t like that name. So today he was Charles.

She gazed at him with her pretty green eyes that were the exact color of a spring meadow on a cool, sunny day. God, he loved her eyes. Not that he didn’t love the rest of her. Her nude body was pale and perfect. Not a mark or a blemish on it. Just acres of gorgeous, silky skin. Miles of lush, soft curves. Curves a man could lose himself in completely. And her breasts. Fucking perfection. Plump and round. Nipples petite and rosy red, just made for a man’s mouth.

“Who do
you
think they are, Charles?” she asked, tilting her head, bringing him out of the fantasy with a disappointed jolt.

“They’re bad guys,” he answered.

Ya think? What was your first clue, dipshit?
The wrists rubbed raw from restraints? Or his clothes—what was left of them—stinking of dirt and sweat and God knew what other body fluids? Maybe the scars and the bruises . . . Oh, yeah. Or the blindness.

“Why are they doing this to you?” she asked.

He battled back his anger because anger only got you more scars and bruises. He huffed. “Because they’re sadists?”

“But why
you
?”

Yeah.
That was the fucking gazillion-dollar question. The question he’d asked himself over and over and over. “They must think I know something. Or they did. Back when.”

“Back when . . . ?”

“When they . . . When I . . . Fuck. I don’t know. They used to ask me questions when they beat me. They’ve stopped doing that.” The questions anyway.

“
Do
you know something?”

He sighed painfully. “You can’t be serious.”

He didn’t know shit. Not where he was, not who they were, nothing. Hell, he didn’t even know his own freaking name.

Okay, again, not true. He did know
some
stuff. He knew enough to keep his damn mouth shut and his eyes shut tighter when a dim glow had suddenly begun to light the edges of his world of darkness a while back. Days? Weeks? Months? God knew. But he was slowly getting back his ability to see faint, fuzzy shapes in the perpetual darkness. Not a lot. Just outlines. Movement. But still dangerous.

“If they find out I can see, they’ll kill me,” he whispered to his red-haired Angel.

“Can you see
me
?” she whispered back.

Christ, yes. Every sweet, tempting, luscious inch of her.

“Let me touch you,” he begged softly, aching to feel the smooth silkiness of her perfect skin beneath his cracked and battered hands. He reached for her. But she just laughed and rolled away.

“
Pig!
”

He froze. Didn’t dare move.

“
Get up!
”

God help him.

Not again.

* * *

KICK
didn’t think his day could get any more fucked.

He was wrong.

He’d hoped like hell they were being taken to a legit downtown CIA office. One with analysts and secretaries, copy machines and coffeemakers. No such luck. They’d driven in the other direction. And as soon as he saw the ugly alley teeming with garbage and detritus, he knew exactly where they were.

ZU-NE.
The northeastern headquarters of Zero Unit. His old stomping grounds.

ZU-NE had moved since he’d last bivouacked there. Moved to a different state, in fact. But that was normal. The ZU maintained five regional headquarters, which changed locations regularly. But every place had the same signature.

From innocuous condo buildings to sprawling farms, they all looked like the very last place on earth where one of the most sophisticated, well-funded, and top-secret government commando units in the world would be housed.

Filthy, abandoned, ringed by tall, dilapidated buildings, this dump looked like the back alley of hell. How appropriate.

Kick grabbed Rainie’s hand before her imagination could run wild. “Don’t worry; it’s okay,” he assured her, even though the three humps behind them had their weapons aimed at his back.
Just a little paranoid?

A square section of the grimy building at the end of the alley suddenly began to rise like a garage door, exposing a gaping maw of blackness beyond. The SUV glided forward through the opening.

Kick fought down a sickening wave of nausea that may have been from the withdrawal, but more probably was revulsion at being pulled back into this world. Was a normal life without violence, betrayal, and death too much to ask for? Apparently for him, it was.

And the fact they’d brought Rainie here did not bode well for her, either.

“W-what is this place . . . ?” she stammered.

“This,” he said past the bile, “is where I used to work. Zero Unit.” He squeezed her hand. “Welcome to hell.”

THE
outer door glided down again, cutting them off from the outside world. Kick knew it would be steel-reinforced and impenetrable without some major explosive power. As they climbed out of the SUV into the vacant warehouse bay where it had come to a halt, two more armed guards ran up to them.

No need. Even if he’d had the means, he wasn’t going anywhere. By now his rubbery legs could barely support his weight.

“You okay?” Rainie asked, grabbing his arm as he stumbled.

“I’ll live.”
Maybe.

Escorted by an entire phalanx of trigger-happy guards, they were marched out of the bay and down a long hallway Kick knew would end in an interrogation room. It was absurd. Did they really have such a high opinion of his ability to escape? More likely, this was just one of ZU-COM’s usual unsubtle displays of power, intended to scare him. Sorry to disappoint, but he was beyond feeling much of anything but queasy. Before he’d walked more than a few feet he was sick on the floor.

Their guards cursed at the mess, grabbed him under the arms, and practically dragged him the rest of the way. Rainie yelled at them in outrage the whole time. She was amazing.

They pushed him into a chair and thrust a wastebasket from the corner at him. He puked again.

A moment later, bootfalls thumped up from behind them and a harsh, commanding voice that was all too familiar snapped, “A
drug
addict? No wonder you didn’t want to come back to the unit.”

His fucked-up day was complete. Colonel Frank Blair. His former commander. Ex-uniformed special ops and fanat ically conservative, the old boy was pure piss and iron. Hated anything that smacked of weakness. Kick had respected him as a leader, but never liked him. He didn’t waste his breath with a retort. Good and bad alike ricocheted off Blair like solid granite. The man was impenetrable.

“Good God, soldier. What the fuck happened to you?”

“This unit happened to me,” Kick muttered, looking around for Rainie. At the perimeter of the room, her arm was being firmly held by one of the guards. So far Kick hadn’t recognized anyone but Blair. His old division mates must be on a mission somewhere. Maybe they’d even been rotated OCONUS on purpose, so he wouldn’t have any friends here to help him. Not that they would have anyway. Unquestioning obedience was de rigueur in the ZU. Another reason he’d had to get out. He’d finally started asking questions.

“Listen, Colonel, let the woman go,” he said as forcefully as he could muster. “She’s no part of this. You’ve got me where you want me.”

“Where I want you is the Sudan,” Blair barked. “And until you’re at least in Egyptian airspace, she stays.”

Rather than objecting to her own kidnapping, Rainie surprised them both by protesting, “You can’t possibly send him anywhere in that condition! Look at him. He needs medication and to stay in bed for at least a week.”

The colonel scrutinized her with a cold stare. “They tell me you’re a nurse.”

She huffed up like an indignant bird. “Yes, and—”

“Good. We weren’t expecting this complication. We’ll be counting on you to help him through the treatment.”

“
What?
”

“What treatment?” Kick asked suspiciously. “There isn’t any—”

Blair cut him off. “Doc says they can put you under and give you some drug to induce rapid detox.”

“Not without a proper facility!” Rainie argued. “The method is dangerous, and still only experimental.”

“But you’ve done it before, I take it?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Don’t worry. We have a sick bay.”

Kick should have been worried by the look on her face, but he was starting to hurt too much to care much what happened to him.

“And if I refuse?”

Blair narrowed his eyes. “Jackson needs to be operational ASAP. Getting this drug business over with quickly is in his best interest.
And
yours.” There was no mistaking the threat, but Rainie didn’t seem to understand that.

“I don’t see it that w—”

Kick grunted as a wave of sharp pain sliced through his whole body. His vision rippled like a pebble in a lake, and his fingers lost muscle control. The wastebasket slipped from his grip with a crash on the cement floor.

“Get him the fuck out of here,” Blair ordered. “He disgusts me.”

Kick wanted to tell him the feeling was mutual. But his tongue wouldn’t work any better than his fingers.

He was jerked to his feet. Blair leaned his ugly mug in at him. “I gave you every opportunity to prove you’re a
real
soldier, Jackson. But you turned out to be a weakling. One setback and you fall apart. If I had a choice, I’d boot you back into the goddamn gutter where you belong.”

Despite the ache in his body, the sudden pain that razored through Kick’s soul was far worse. His former commander’s loathing cut deep, reminding him of all those others he’d disappointed so badly in the past, starting with his father and ending with Alex Zane, the best friend who’d lost his life depending on him. After that fiasco, he’d given up trying not to disappoint. Was that weakness? Or the strength to accept reality . . .