Deadly Game (50 page)

“I go, you go,” he snarled. “Pull me up, damn you.”

“Not in this lifetime, you son of bitch. You’re out of her life forever.”

“So are you then.” Sean’s teeth clenched, his grip tightening like a vise.

The edge was giving way, more dirt and rock tumbling down, Ken sliding with the weight of Sean’s body pulling him. He had no leverage to fight, nothing to hang onto, and the earth around him was shifting and sliding.

Don’t move.
Jack’s voice was utterly calm.

Hell
. Ken swore at his brother, trying to stay absolutely still. He
was
moving, sliding down the cliff while Sean hung on like a terrier.

A hole blossomed suddenly in the middle of Sean’s forehead, and then Ken heard the crack of the shot. The bullet had passed close to the top of his head, shaving off a few hairs as it whistled past. Sean’s grip loosened abruptly, his fingers sliding away as the body fell to the rocks below.

Ken threw his body backward, rolled over, and stared up at the blue sky, his arm feeling as though it had been torn out of its socket. He was drenched in perspiration, and his leg, where Sean had landed several kicks, felt as if a sledgehammer had been taken to it. He dragged air into his lungs and waited there, knowing Jack would come.

Clouds spun across the sky, casting shadows over the ground. Ken closed his eyes and felt exhaustion roll over him. He was sick inside, his body and mind fatigued. His scars throbbed painfully, too tight for his skin, reminding him that Sean was right. He could no longer hide what he was from the world. Mari knew. Mari saw him for what he was. He couldn’t hide behind a handsome face anymore.

And she would always have the contrast staring at her every morning if she did stay. How could she look at Jack and not be ashamed to be with Ken? Even so, it didn’t matter. He was as pathetic as Sean. He wanted her to stay. To love him. He
needed
her, when he’d never allowed himself to need anything or anyone. Ken reached out to brush his mind against hers, needing the touch almost more than he needed the air he was fighting for.

Mari. It’s over.

I know. Jack sent word to Briony.
There was a small hesitation.
You know I can’t stay. You know I can’t.

He had known, but he couldn’t accept it. His heart nearly stopped.
Don’t. Don’t do this. I’m coming to you now, baby.

I don’t want you to.
And then there was only a black void. Emptiness. No soft intimate brush, no echo of laughter or companionship. Simply emptiness. She was gone, shutting him out of her life. No more happiness. No more feeling alive. It was all gone.

His gut clenched, and he rolled to his knees, sick with the idea of losing her. He retched over and over, knowing absolutely that she left. He couldn’t blame her. It was the only smart thing to do, and Mari was smart. He smashed his fist into the ground. Once. Twice.

“Ken.” Jack was there, kneeling beside him. “I thought I’d lost you.”

He looked up at Jack, not really seeing him. Ken realized he was lost—he’d been lost for a long time. Mari had brought him back to life. “She’s gone.” His gaze jumped to Jack’s face; he saw a hint of guilt creep into his eyes and fade. “You knew?”

Jack sat back on his heels, his gaze watchful, wary. “Briony is crying. She told me Mari hugged her and said she couldn’t stay—that she belonged with the other women.”

“And you didn’t tell Logan to stop her?”

“Mari is a trained soldier. I didn’t want to risk Logan or Briony getting hurt. You can’t keep Mari tied up for the rest of her life; you know you can’t.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Ken. Be reasonable.”

He didn’t feel reasonable. He felt like his world was crumbling around him. His mind felt fractured, his head roaring, thunder crashing in his ears. “How long ago?”

“Take it easy, Ken,” Jack said to soothe him.

“Damn it.” Ken’s fist slammed into the dirt, although he wanted to smash it into his brother’s face. “How long ago?”

“She left as soon as she knew Sean was dead.”

Ken surged to his feet, a sudden cold blast spreading through his body. The knots in his belly tightened to the point of pain. His mouth went dry, the air in his lungs rushing out, to leave him gasping. He had time. He had to have time to stop her.

He shoved past Jack and began to trot down the mountain. He didn’t dare run full-out; the trail was far too treacherous and his leg was on fire. His steady, ground-eating trot would get him there quickly. He tried to keep his mind a merciful blank, but her image insisted on crowding in. Her smile, her dark chocolate eyes, the way she tilted her chin. He choked back a sob, felt his heart exploding, tearing at his chest.

The mountain, the forest, his world, his sanctuary, was a hostile, unyielding place. He couldn’t see its beauty, didn’t want its beauty.

Nothing—no one—could take her from him. She was life. She was happiness. She was his only reason to keep going. He needed her desperately. Her sisters couldn’t have her. They didn’t need her the way he did. He had been so alone, so empty. Each day, he had worked, breathed, lived as an automation, and then she had come into his life and everything in him had come alive.

They couldn’t take her from him. The universe couldn’t be that cruel. He wanted to scream his denial, but he needed to save his strength. He ran through the trees, leapt over rocks, foliage tearing at his skin. His damaged leg throbbed and burned right along with his lungs, but the image of her rising up to taunt him kept him running. Why had he left her? Why had he allowed them to be separated when she was so uncertain about their future? He had known she was wavering—feeling uncomfortable and unsure of herself in a foreign environment. He shouldn’t have been so arrogant and bossy. He could have asked—not ordered—her to go into the tunnels.

He wouldn’t let anyone take her from him. She could understand his turbulent nature, his wild cravings, and he understood her need for freedom. He recognized strength in her, an iron will, the same as it was in him. He recognized her loyalty; it ran deep and pure, the same as it was in him. They fit together, two halves of the same whole. They belonged.

He burst from the forest and half ran, half slid down the trail into the yard, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes a little wild. He ran across the uneven terrain. Dusk was falling. The house was dark, forbidding, silent. There were no lights on in the interior.

He flung open the kitchen door, his heart pounding, a raw gaping wound growing in his gut. She was gone. He knew it with such certainty he didn’t need to tear through the house, running insanely from room to room, screaming her name hoarsely, but he did it anyway.

“Mari! Damn you, Mari, come back to me.”

He heard his own scream of anguish, thought it should splinter the windows, but there was only silence.

Back in the kitchen he caught up the keys to the truck with a vague idea of going after her, but tears were blinding his vision. He stared, unseeing, at the tabletop, defeated, his broad shoulders slumped, his torn, dirt-streaked clothing clinging to his sweat-stained body.

It had to be her choice or he was just as bad as Sean and Whitney and his father. He refused to let his father’s legacy consume him. He wasn’t that man, selfish and unable to see that a woman wasn’t a possession. Mari had to choose him, want to be with him. She had to accept the flaws in him just as he would have had to accept the fact that she wasn’t Briony, with her much more submissive personality.

Love was a choice, and if Mari felt the need to be with her sisters, if the pull there was stronger than her feelings for him, he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—force her. He pressed the heel of his hand between his eyes and made no effort to stop the flow of tears because he loved her enough to let her go.

He could hear the ticking of the clock. The passage of time. He couldn’t stop the sobs tearing his chest apart, the tears that had never come for his lost face and his destroyed manhood. He could hardly bear the pain this time. He had borne so much stoically, but losing Mari was losing life and hope all over again, and his throat burned raw with choking sorrow.

“Ken?” A soft inquiry, a beautiful voice.

He stiffened, not believing, not daring to believe. He passed a hand over his face, choked down the tight lump in his throat, and turned very slowly.

Mari was standing in the doorway anxious and very disheveled. Sweat beaded on her skin; leaves and twigs were caught in her hair. There were scratches on her arms and a rip in her shirt. She was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

“I thought you were gone.” His voice was strangled.

“I ran halfway down the road and then I couldn’t run anymore. I just stopped and stood there crying. I didn’t want to go any further. I don’t care if I should be with my sisters. I love you. I know I do. I can’t leave. I have no idea how to be anything you want me to be, but I’ll try.”

He took a step toward her, gray eyes moving over her hungrily. “You’ve never said you love me before.”

She tilted her head to look up at him. “You look awful, Ken. Did you get hurt?”

He waved the subject aside, gathering her into his arms. “I don’t want you to be anything but what you are, Mari.”

“Well, that’s a good thing because I was giving you a load of crap so you’d want me to stay.” She pressed little kisses along his throat, over his rough jaw.

The adrenaline surge was gone, leaving him feeling shaky and sick. His body roared at him, calling him all kinds of names for the abuse. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered but that she was in his arms and he could stroke her body, pull her closer, fit her hips to his. And that he wanted to smile again. She made him smile again. “I knew that. You’re always going to be a handful.”

“So true.” Mari linked her hands around his neck, her body moving enticingly against his. “I’m glad you realize that.”

His mouth slanted over hers, forcing her lips apart to feed hungrily.

“What about Sean?” she murmured when he lifted his head.

“He’s dead.” He said it tersely. “Let that be the end of it.”

She nodded. “Sit down. Let me look at you.” Already her hands were sliding over his body, searching for damage. She touched his face with gentle fingers. “I was afraid for you, Ken, and I needed to be with you, not stuck down in a tunnel somewhere.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He brought her hands to his mouth. “I know what you’re like, and I should have tried harder to see your point of view. I swear I want to see your point of view, but the thought of your life at risk . . .”

“Is how I feel when you risk yours,” she said. “You have to accept what I really am, Ken. I see you with your need to keep me close, and to protect me. I love that in you. I can even accept the fact that you’re going to be an idiot every time a man looks at me, but you have to accept me for who I am. I was raised practically since birth as a soldier. That’s who I am and you’re not going to change that. I’m not going to change that. You’re going to have to take me on as a partner. Eventually, if you do, your brother will. All three of us can protect Briony and any children our two families have.”

“What if I can’t get there, Mari? What if I don’t have that kind of courage?”

“You do,” she assured him, “or I would have kept running down that mountain. Come on.” She tugged at his hand. “You need a shower. Why don’t you let Jack take care of all the details, and let me take care of you?”

“Say it again.”

“What?” Firmly she closed their door, and began to peel the ragged shirt from his powerful shoulders.

He caught her in a hard, bruising grip, gave her a little shake. “Stop teasing me. I’ve waited a long time.”

“We could always compromise,” she offered sweetly. “You give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want.”

He lifted her into his arms. “You’re going to say it a hundred times before we’re done here,” he warned.

And she did.

Turn the page for a sneak peek at Christine Feehan’s upcoming paranormal romance,

S
AFE
H
ARBOR

Available in July 2007 from Jove!

“ You want to tell me how the hell we got into this mess?” Jackson Deveau demanded as he whipped his arm around Jonas Harrington’s waist and half-dragged him toward the flimsy cover of an industrial garbage container. “We have a nice comfy job on the Mendocino coast and you decide you’re bored out of your mind, which is pure bullshit by the way. You’d think getting shot once was enough for you.”

If he could have answered, Jonas would have sworn at Jackson, but he only managed a glare as he forced his feet to keep moving. The pain was relentless, stabbing white-hot like a branding iron. He could feel the breath rattling in his lungs, bile rising and reality fading in and out. He had to stay on his feet. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Jackson pack him out on his back—he’d never hear the end of it. Jackson was right. They’d made new lives, lived good, found a home. What the hell had he been thinking?

Why wasn’t it ever enough for him? Why did he have to keep going back, over and over, dragging Jackson and other men down into the muck and garbage of the world? He was no noble crusader, yet time and again he found himself with a gun in his hand, going after the bad guys. He was weary to death of his need to save the world. He didn’t save anyone; he only got good men killed.

The alley was dark, the shadow of the surrounding buildings rising above the small lane turning the edges black. They kept the garbage container between them and the street where it seemed everyone with a gun and a knife was hunting them. Jackson propped him up against a wall that smelled of times Jonas didn’t want to remember, where blood, death, and urine all mixed together into one potent brew.

Jackson checked their ammo situation. “Can you focus enough to shoot, Jonas?”

That was Jackson, all business. He wanted to get the hell out of there and was going to make it happen. The men hunting them had no way of knowing they had a tiger by the tail. When Jackson used that particular tone of voice, men died, plain and simple.