Bone Rider (15 page)

The image jerked and cut to a slightly different angle.

“He stays like this for about an hour,” Cabrera said quietly. “Gets woken up by a truck driver who stopped to check on him. They talk for a bit, the truck drives off, then a few minutes later our man leaves too.”

Young nodded, clapped her on the shoulder briefly. “Good job, Chief. Now find me that truck driver and our visitor. That gonna be a problem?”

Cabrera grimaced. “Not the driver; no, sir. I’ve already identified his truck; we’ll pick him up within the hour. The cowboy’s a tougher nut to crack. I have to reconstruct his route from a dozen sources.”

“Anything you need to make this go faster?”

“Uhm….” Cabrera thought about it for a moment then grinned hopefully. “Lots of coffee with lots of sugar?”

“You got it.” Young took a step back and turned to Butler. “As soon as we have a location, I’m moving out. What can you tell me about the host?” he asked, glancing at the grainy still of the man lying flat on his face next to his truck.

“Except that he appears to be male and is wearing a hat?” Butler frowned, confused. “Nothing.”

“Is he likely to be aware of what’s happening to him?” the general clarified, stifling an involuntary shudder at the thought. “Do you think we’ll be able to talk to him when we get to him, convince him to come quietly?”

Butler took a moment to think about it but ended up shaking her head. “No. I really don’t think so. As far as we can tell, the entity hooks into the brain stem and nervous system, which means it’ll be able to take over its host completely, wrangling motor control from him, causing hallucinations and extreme pain. If the man’s lucky, he’s in a sort of coma and unaware of what’s happening. If he’s not….” She cleared her throat. “I think it’s safe to say he’s already collateral damage, General.”

Young’s face tightened with displeasure. “So your recommendation regarding our approach to this is?”

“I believe that, for all intents and purposes, you can consider the host already dead, sir,” she told him bluntly, not a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “If you decide to negotiate, keep in mind that whatever he says will probably be the entity speaking. Maintain a safety distance of at least six to ten feet and remember that his reflexes will be seriously jacked up even when the armor is not visible. Consider wearing a hazmat suit in case the entity tries to jump you. It might offer a modicum of protection, but I wouldn’t rely on it. We know it’s capable of cutting through Kevlar; a facemask certainly won’t stop it. If it wants in you, I don’t see how anything but distance or another one of the 742s can stop it.”

Well, that was going to make things interesting. More interesting.

“On the bright side,” Butler continued, “the way it seems to be linked to the host’s senses is a weakness. If you manage to surprise it, a series of concussive blasts should slow it down considerably or even stun it for a while. No telling how long, though.”

Young nodded, unsurprised. Negotiations, he figured, were about as probable as a peaceful surrender. After that first contact debacle, the alien had to consider them enemies and Young expected it to act accordingly. Chances were it was going to strike at them the second it saw them coming, would attempt to jump bodies and take hostages, and flat out fight them to the death to avoid capture. It was what Young would’ve done, had it been him who’d been on the run alone on a hostile planet. It was a shitty situation bound to turn violent and Young was prepared to do whatever was necessary to avoid any more casualties, even if that meant destroying the alien and its involuntary host.

It didn’t mean he didn’t feel sorry for the poor bastard. Seemed like it was always the civilians who were getting it.

R
ILEY
didn’t go back to his room immediately. Instinct and habit guided his steps across the motel parking lot to his truck, and he’d unlocked it and slid behind the wheel before his brain had caught up with his body. There was no reason to leave. He doubted anybody had noticed what had happened. Hell, he wasn’t sure Blondie had realized how close he’d come to dying. Riley had left the blades at the roadhouse, hadn’t thrown the first punch, had paid for his drinks promptly and in cash instead of opening a tab…. Chances were nobody would remember much about him except for his knife-throwing skills.

He’d almost killed that guy.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

He tried to kill you first
, McClane reminded him quietly.
He pulled a knife on us… on you. I thought—

“Shut up,” Riley ordered, voice shaky, but clear. He had rarely felt more sober. It wasn’t even so much that the situation had spun out of control so fast. That was just how bar fights happened. No, it was the fact that the alien in his body had made an executive decision to use lethal force when a good, solid punch would’ve sufficed.

Might not have
, McClane defended himself.
It was a combat situation, he tried to gut you. He might’ve come at you again, from behind. It made sense to take him out
.

“Take him out,” Riley snapped, head jerking up to glare at the rearview mirror. “Not kill him.” His fingers curled around the steering wheel so hard his knuckles creaked. He forced himself to let go, rubbed a hand over his aching head, and tried to phrase it in a way McClane could understand. “You start killing people, you draw all sorts of attention. The bad sort.”

Not even starting with what it’d do to Riley, who’d never ended a human life and had absolutely no intention to ever do so. It was why he’d bolted the second he’d realized what it was Misha did for a living.

Oh
. McClane thought about it for a moment, the hooks he had in Riley’s collarbones tightening a little. He tended to cling particularly hard when digesting disagreeable information.
I’m sorry
, he offered finally.
I didn’t realize. I was made for war; I’m supposed to kill the enemy. We never covered scenarios like this
.

It would’ve been easier to stay mad had McClane not sounded so sincere. Riley sighed, slumping back into the seat. He was stone cold sober. All that nice buzz, gone, and he didn’t even know whether McClane or the adrenaline kick had taken care of it.

“I appreciate what you did,” he admitted grudgingly. “The shielding thing. I’d need stitches now if not for you. Just… no killing, okay? You’re not on your own, I’m in this with you, and I’m the one people will remember. I’m the one who’ll take the fall if this goes south.”

No killing
, McClane swore instantly.
Unless it’s the only option
.

“And then I get a say too,” Riley demanded.

McClane was silent.

“McClane,” Riley growled, unwilling to let his passenger squirm out of this one. “I get a say. Or we walk right back to that fucking bar and you can pick a new host there. I bet Blondie’d be delighted to take you. Looks like you two share a bloodthirsty streak.”

I don’t want him
, McClane said immediately, sounding appalled at the very thought.
I wanted no one there
.

Riley looked into the mirror again, staring past the reflection of his own eyes at McClane and refusing to cut him any slack just because it was so gratifying to feel favored.

“Then give me a fucking vote. It’s my damn body.”

He could feel the prickle-pain of a thousand microscopic claws digging in with distress as McClane fought with himself, but for once Riley let it go. He might not know a whole lot about the armor system yet, but he suspected he was asking it to go against its nature in this. He figured, under the circumstances, McClane was entitled to some wringing of appendages.

No killing without permission
, McClane ground out finally, clearly unhappy with the new rule. The stinging lessened, then faded away.

Riley slowly let out his breath. “All right,” he said, and nodded at his mirror image. “All right.”

T
HE
fourth floor was quiet when they stepped out of the elevator, a sense of emptiness about it that made Riley wonder if maybe they were the only guests there that night. He’d specifically requested a room on the top floor when he’d arrived because he hadn’t wanted any distractions, hadn’t wanted to see or hear anybody. He was glad for it now, didn’t feel up to dealing with people while he struggled to regain his equilibrium.

McClane was too damn good at throwing him off, though Riley couldn’t decide whether that was because McClane was what he was, or because Riley couldn’t evade him when the closeness got too much for him to handle. This was one relationship where running wasn’t an option. It scared Riley half to death, because it meant McClane would have every opportunity to erode Riley’s already shaky defenses before they went separate ways again. He was still feeling like an amputee months after he’d left Misha. He didn’t want to imagine the state McClane would leave him in when he found himself a new, better host.

We’ll figure something out
, McClane promised.
I’m not gonna leave you high and dry
.

Riley snorted tiredly. “Yeah,” he grumbled. “I’ve heard that one before.”

He walked into the room with the insidious whispers of a headache nagging in the back of his skull, tossed his bag on the dresser table again, and drew the curtains. Sleep or shower?

Shower
, McClane suggested.
We smell. You smell
. Annoyed pause.
There’s stink
.

There was, indeed, and it didn’t help the pulsing in Riley’s head or the ache in his heart. He grunted his assent and staggered back to the door to engage the lock and chain. His hat landed on the TV, his boots in a corner. He unbuttoned his shirt on autopilot, stuffed it into the laundry bag, pulled out a fresh tee to drop on the chair for the next day. His jeans followed, fresh underwear, fresh socks. There was an organized little heap by the time Riley disappeared into the bathroom. It was a habit he’d shared with Misha, only Misha did his clothes arranging because he was a neat freak. Riley did it out of necessity. He wasn’t a morning person. If his clothes weren’t waiting for him in the right order, he got confused, which made him grumpy and impatient. He didn’t like being grumpy and impatient. It took energy he didn’t want to spend before his first cup of coffee.

He brushed his teeth, squinting in the harsh neon light until it dimmed to much more comfortable levels. That felt so good he didn’t wonder about it, barely frowned when he looked in the mirror and realized there was a film of something shimmery over his eyes.

“Inbuilt sunglasses?” he muttered, reluctantly impressed. “Cool.”

Night vision, too
, McClane purred, the throaty warmth in his voice pooling deep in Riley’s belly.
Heat signatures. Telescopic sight. Whatever you want, I got it
.

“Man, I could make a killing selling you to Soldier of Fortune.” Riley chuckled, then moaned when tendrils of pulsing heat threaded up through his neck into his skull, soothing his headache. “Oh, that’s good. Don’t stop.”

Go take your shower
, McClane told him and kept up the best massage ever while Riley adjusted the water temperature and stepped under the spray.

Riley closed his eyes and stood still, head dipped back to let the warm water sluice away the bar smells lingering on his skin and in his hair. Bit by bit, he unwound, lured into letting go of the remaining anxiety over almost ending a man’s life by the steady murmurs in his mind promising over and over again there’d be no more violence without permission. No spilling of blood without consent. His muscles were kneaded and warmed from within until he was so relaxed his knees threatened to buckle.

He barely noticed at first when McClane stopped reassuring him and started to tell him how beautiful he was and how good he tasted, smelled, felt. The rivulets of water teasing his skin masked the gentle strokes that drifted over his back, around his waist, spilled over his hipbones and to the insides of his thighs. Riley’s dick was quicker on the uptake than his distracted mind. It filled and rose, eager for it, begging for attention. He reached down instinctively to work it with slow, slick strokes, one hand resting against the wall to support his weight while he focused on the pure animal pleasure of touching himself.

Mmmmmmmmm
, McClane hummed, and a silky rush of sensation poured down the skin of Riley’s back, between his legs, and deep into him. He arched up with a breathless gasp, got a mouthful of water, and would’ve choked had McClane not closed up his throat like a trap door. Useful, useful alien.

Riley reached out blindly, turned off the shower, then stood in the steaming silence, eyes drifted half-shut. It was almost better without the distraction. A drop of water pearled off his lashes and landed on his cheek, a trickle of liquid that felt cool against his heated skin. He breathed out a shivery sigh, let his eyes drift closed. He couldn’t get away from McClane, but right now, McClane couldn’t get away, either, and didn’t want to leave. Riley might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

Lemme
, McClane whispered, reaching out with greedy tendrils of himself to send Riley into orbit.
Lemme, c’mon… let me in
.

Like he wasn’t already in so deep, deeper than anything or anyone had ever gone. Inside of Riley’s body, inside of Riley’s mind, sneaking into Riley’s affections with his sense of humor and determination to be free, his genuine interest in everything Riley was.

You and me
, McClane breathed and had to lock Riley’s knees to keep him from falling when he stroked him and licked him just right, just perfect. Inside and out, dirty and thorough and wanting everything Riley could give him.
You and me. For real, this time
.

“Thought… thought y-you said it was real the first time,” Riley stuttered, fingers closing around the shower rod to have something to hold on to so he wouldn’t topple over. He’d never been so aware of his own body, of all the things a skilled lover could do. “Uh. Do that again.”