Jordan Summers - [Dead World 01] (27 page)

"Yes!"

Roark took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding
himself once again why he was doing this. It's for the good of the people. They
meant everything to him. It was his destiny to unite them. He believed that
with all the fiber of his being.

"I have a job for you to
do," he said, not sure what
response
to expect.

"I thought I made it clear the last time that you
called and broke protocol that I didn't want to hear from you again unless it
was an emergency."

"You did," Roark said.

"Has the war started?"

Roark frowned. "No."

"Has someone discovered our plans?"

"Not that I know of."

"What do you mean, not that you know of?"
The man cursed loudly.

Roark shot up in his seat, his
back rigid against the
chair. "I
mean no." He shook his head even though the man couldn't see him.

"Then I'm going to disconnect."

"Wait!" Roark gripped
the arms of his chair in tight
fists,
then forced himself to release the synthetic leather. "I have important
intel for you. The IPTT
agent that you have
nosing around down there is Gina
Santiago.
She's the granddaughter of Robert Santiago,
the commander of IPTT."

Silence met him, so he continued. "If something
should befall her, I'm sure the IPTT would do anything and everything in its
power to find out the truth."

"That does change things slightly," the
voice on the other end of the connection said.

"Slightly? Her lineage changes everything. With
her out of the picture, IPTT will fall into
place, grant
ing me instant backing for whatever tactic I choose to ta
ke. You and your
people
will have your own
area to liv
e in. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Roark felt the color rising in his face as anger
spread through his body. He didn't need this right now. He wouldn't tolerate
defiance, especially when the defiance came from an animal.

"So you want me to kill her?"

Roark could hear the sudden tension in the man's
voice. He didn't like the idea of killing a woman. Correction, he thought. He
didn't like the idea of
killing
this
woman.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Roark
asked.

"I want to hear you give the order."

Roark groaned. "I already have."

"No!" the man said. "You've alluded to
what you'd like me to do. It's not the same as giving a direct order."

Sweat broke out on Roark's forehead. Something wasn't
right. Was the man recording their conversa
tion?
Surely not. To do so would be implicating himself . . . unless he was truly
mad. Shards of fear skittered over his skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

Roark couldn't afford to go down that mental road. It
was far too dangerous—and frightening. He brushed it aside. He needed this man
for a while longer. If that meant obliging him, then so be it.

They were too close to turn back now. The loss would
be devastating and unrecoverable. He closed his eyes and counted to calm
himself. If the man wanted a direct order, then Roark would give him one.

"Okay, have it your way. I'm ordering you to kill
Gina Santiago." Roark grit out. He longed to reach through the comlink and
punch him in the throat.
Wipe what he knew
would be a smug expression off
his face.

"I'm afraid that will not be possible," the
man said, after several seconds.

"Excuse me?" Roark balked. Surely he hadn't
heard him correctly.

"I said, that won't be possible."

Fury filled Roark. He slammed his fist onto his desk,
knocking over a nearby water canteen as he struggled to get his temper into
check. "Do you want to tell me why the hell not?"

A small mocking laugh echoed in his ear. "Because
I have other plans for her."

"Listen," Roark spat. "I'm not asking
here. I am giving you a direct order. Kill the girl."

"Hmm ... as I recall, I don't take orders from you.
I believe we agreed this was a partnership, not a dictatorship. Or have you
forgotten? I could arrange to have the contract sent to you, if you need a reminder."

Roark snarled. "I haven't forgotten a thing, but
in order to make a partnership work, there has to be cooperation. That's all
I'm asking for here."

"No, you're not," he snapped. "You're
ordering me to kill Gina."

The intimacy used to say her name momentarily shocked
Roark, then he lost control. "You asked me to give you an order you crazy
son of a bitch!" he shouted in frustration.

"Watch your tone," he warned.

"What makes her so special?
You never had a prob
lem killing women
before, or have you forgotten?"

"They were different."

"Different?" Suddenly, the hair on Roark's
arms rose. He was missing something. He scanned the report, but nothing
obvious leapt out at him.

"It's not important that you understand. All that
you need to be aware of is that in this instance I disagree with the course of
action you've chosen."

Roark's vision narrowed to a red haze. "If you
don't do this for me, I'll be forced to send in someone who will. You aren't
the only person available for the job."

Another silence met his ears. This time Roark could
almost feel the chill emanating from the connection.
The air froze
in his lungs.

"That would be a huge
mistake on your part. I will
not tolerate
interference."

"How ironic, neither will I. You have forty-eight
hours to get the job done. I'll await confirmation." Roark hit the
disconnect button before the man could respond. He knew he was playing with
fire, but he had no choice. His hand had been forced.

I
have
other plans for her.
What was he talking about? What other plans? Roark
realized he probably should've asked, but he'd been too angry to think.

He didn't know what was going on between the man and
Gina. His imagination took flight and a myriad of possibilities crossed his
mind. Oh good God! A shudder racked his body at the thought of a pureblood
woman being intimate with an Other. Did she even know? Or had he forced himself
upon her like a mongrel in rut?

He supposed it didn't matter
now. Hell, she'd likely welcome death if she found out the truth. Goodness
knows he would. He pictured the
beast straddling the
woman, fucking her
into submission. It was a fate worse than death.

Roark nodded as understanding dawned. He was doing her
a favor. No self-respecting woman would want to continue after finding out
she'd given herself to an animal. The filth would remain with her for the rest
of her life. She'd be a social pariah.

Yes, yes, he'd definitely made the right decision. All
doubts evaporated in the dry lemon-scented air that filtered restlessly through
his office. He glanced once more at the report on his desk.

The man would just have to understand that Gina
Santiago's death was for her own good, and the good of the people.

chapter
sixteen

Red awoke encased in soothing warmth.
She'd
been having
the most delicious dream that involved wet and wonderful kisses. She snuggled
deeper, wiggling her butt until she slotted against the
hard mass behind her. Her eyes flew open, when she
heard a groan. She tried to move, but a strong mascu
line arm shot out,
stilling her progress.

"Morgan?"

"Who else would it be?" The playful tone in
his
voice
surprised
her.

“I—uh…”

"Don't make any sudden moves. You don't want to
rip the bandages." Something tickled the back of her
neck. She quivered. Red realized it was his hot
breath
a second before his hand stroked over her stomach, sending heat
radiating out until her fingers and toes tingled with the excess.

Red swallowed hard, attempting to ignore her response
to his nearness and the erection nudging her. Impossible to do, given its size.
The growing awareness stretched between them. Her nipples puckered and
moisture seeped between her thighs.

Morgan inhaled deeply, then froze. His fingers bunched
in her shirt, but he didn't try to remove it. Every muscle in his body grew
rigid as if he fought some invisible demon. He fisted her clothes one last
time, then released them, but kept his arm over her
body. His iron restraint brought her relief and frustra
tion in
equal measures. What was he waiting for?

Red realized that some part of her wanted him to rip
her clothes off and have his way with her. She-wanted him to lay bare what had
been building between them, so that they could both move on when she returned
home. The ache between her legs told Red exactly how bad the need had become.

She had to leave. Now. Before she did something
torturously stupid like beg. "You should probably let
me up," she suggested, even though the last
thing she
wanted to do was get out of the rest pad.

Morgan bucked his hips and she gasped, her body
threatening to melt.

"Morgan, I—"

"I know," he said, releasing her
reluctantly. "You're hurt."

"Actually, I'm feeling much better." She
rose to her feet and pain shot through her body. The attack came back in a
flash and Red swayed. Morgan was up and out of the rest pad in seconds, pulling
her against his bare chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked, tilting her chin
until he could look into her eyes. Concern and something else etched his
sleep-weary features.

Meeting his gaze had been a mistake. Red found herself
falling into the honey-rich pools. She swayed into him. It had nothing to do
with her injuries from last
night, but obviously Morgan thought it did. He
steadied her.

"How are you feeling this morning?" he
asked, his
hands soothing her skin as if he
needed the contact as
much as she did.

"I'm fine, just a little shaky. I have to get to
the emergency care center and check on Jesse."

He wrapped her in his embrace, careful to avoid her
bruises. "I understand," he said, brushing his lips over her
forehead.

Red wasn't sure what to make of
this "new" caring
version of Morgan. Somehow the attack had destroyed
whatever internal barriers had
separated them. He no
longer hid his
emotions, even though she clung des
perately
to her shields. He didn't notice, and if he did,
Morgan didn't seem to
care.

"I'd say you could take the cleansing room first,
but
I'm
afraid to let you go in there by yourself. You
still aren't
steady on your feet," he said, glancing in the direction of the room.

Red turned fully in his arms. "What exactly are
you suggesting?" Her eyes widened when she
glimpsed the fire in his amber gaze. "I think I'll be all
right."

Morgan shook his head. "I'm not willing to take
that chance."

"But—"

"You're used to public cleansing rooms." It
was a statement of fact, since everyone alive on the planet
had used a public cleansing room to bathe at one
time
or another.

"Yes."

His expression turned speculative. "You're not
modest, are you?" He laughed at his own question. He knew just like she
did that modesty went out of fashion over a hundred years ago.

Red glared. "No."

"So then this isn't going to be a problem."

Red knew logically that bathing with an audience
shouldn't be a problem—and it wasn't. . . normally. She'd done it so many times
before that she wasn't even aware of the people around her.

And that was the crux of her problem: she was overly
aware of Morgan. She'd never showered in front of a man like him. Hell, she'd
never met a man
like him before coming to
Nuria. It was as if he was a
different species and she couldn't keep her
eyes off him.

For the first time since she could remember, Red
actually felt uncomfortable. Her stomach flopped, and then did a double flip at
thought of him staring at her nude form. She swallowed hard.

"I probably don't need a shower today," she
said, sounding lame to her own ears.

Morgan laughed. "You have dried blood in your
hair and, no offense, but you slink." "Thanks."

"You don't want to show up at Jesse's bedside
looking like you just left the water exchange. She's been through enough
already."

He was right, of course, but that didn't make her
decision any easier. She was in no way ashamed of her body, never had been. She
liked the muscles in her legs and arms, and the concave dip in her stomach.
Red even liked her wide hips, but that didn't
mean
she wanted Morgan inspecting them while she did
her best to pretend that he wasn't there.