Sacrifice the Wicked (24 page)

“To be fixed?”

“No. Yes,” he amended with a small shake of his head, “but only so that I could live with you.”

I love you.
He’d said it then.

Did he mean it? Did she believe him?

She studied his features, reached up a hand to cup his cheek. “Simon.” He covered her hand with his, warm against his stubbled jaw. “When were you going to tell me about everything?”

“I wasn’t.”

Too much honesty in one go. “Not even about the ghost?”

He froze under her weight. “How did—?”

“I didn’t.” She sighed. “But Danny came from somewhere, and there’s only one other player who hasn’t shown his hand yet. For what?” Her fists clenched against his shoulders. “That kid, Simon—”

“Don’t. Don’t go there. We all made the choice to play the game.”

The floor buzzed.

Parker jumped, but he only shifted enough to reach under his stained thermal shirt and unclip the comm. His eyebrows pulled together, features knotting as he studied the frequency framed in the small screen.

“What are the odds?”

She shrugged, fatigued to the bone. “I don’t think even Sector Three would try to locate you by comm,” she said, weariness dragging her voice down to a murmur. “If they are, just get off the line in under sixty seconds.” Or they’d trace him.

Right now, she was too tired to care.

The revelation, one more in a stream of them, just didn’t matter anymore.

As the unit vibrated insistently, he flicked the case open. “Who is this?” He didn’t bother to raise the unit to his ear.

The line crackled to life. “You must be Simon Wells.”

Parker slumped, shaking her head as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. She didn’t recognize the voice. Throaty, somewhat dry, she thought it carried a feminine slant, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Yeah,” he replied. He straightened, gently maneuvered Parker off his lap. Shifted away from her.

She let him stand without comment, letting her head fall back against the door.

“You can call me May.” A woman, then. The voice on the frequency turned sardonic as she added, “As I’m not dead yet, it’s preferable to being called ‘the ghost.’ ”

Parker’s eyes popped open. “You have impeccable timing.”

“So I’m told.” May’s tone was brisk. “Hello, Parker. You’ve caused quite the stir. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Simon glowered at the comm, fingers tense around the case as he held it in front of him. “What do you want?”

“Want?” The tone changed. Turned abrupt. “I want to be sure that you know what you’re getting into while you still have time. Can I call you Simon?”

“I don’t care what you call me,” he said tersely. “I know exactly what I just did, and I want something in return.”

What he just did? Parker covered her face with both hands. “You conspired with Jonas, didn’t you?” Simon glanced at her. Nodded, once.

May hummed a note of agreement. “The information you sent me is invaluable, you know this. And I rather owe you one for that stunt with the Wayward Rose folder.”

Simon’s teeth flashed in a grimace. “That was you?”

“One of mine,” she allowed. “So if I can help, I will.”

“Simon,” Parker whispered, a knot forming in her stomach. She struggled to her feet, elbow planted on the door for balance, but he didn’t look at her.

Didn’t do anything but tense his shoulders. As if braced for a fight.

The woman—the ghost—sighed. “Simon, you didn’t tell her, did you?”

“I didn’t have to.”
Yes, he did.
Parker glared at the back of his head as he added, “She figured it out.”

“Good,” May said, amusement ripe on the line. “Parker, I understand you expended considerable resources to find me. That young man, Jonas, is unbelievably good.”

“Not that good, apparently.” But she couldn’t summon the strength to meet May’s forthright tone with anything but wrung-out emptiness. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” May countered firmly. “He had me on the run as often as I had him.”

Simon looked up at the ceiling, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Could you—”

“No,” Parker cut in. It hissed out of her, poked at the last embers of an anger she wasn’t sure she had it in her to feed. “I want to hear this.”

Silence filtered through the line, cut with the occasional crackle. Static. Then, it clicked. As if May tsk’d. “Very well. The short version, okay? I’ve been tracking the Church’s interests for a
long
time. It’s taken me years to find what Jonas cracked in days, but once he did, I was able to put the pieces together.”

“How did you get to Simon?”

“Through Jonas,” she replied. “Through his tech, anyway.”

Simon’s shoulders jerked. A semi-shrug. “If anyone could find the serum, it’d be Jonas or the ghost. I hedged my bets.”

“You stuck your thumb on the scale,” May retorted sharply. “I’ve been watching Jonas’s incoming transmissions for a while. Simon struck me as a . . .” She hesitated. “A likely source of unrest.”

Parker winced. “This
whole time
I refused to move against you for fear of what Sector Three would pull on the Mission, and you’ve been the traitor. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

Simon said nothing, his features sliding into stone-faced determination.

May’s sigh crackled. “He’s not the only leak, Parker, but I want to make something clear. You couldn’t be expected to see this coming.”

“Bull,” Parker began, only to flinch as May’s voice sharpened to a serrated edge.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive, my girl. I bank my life on secrecy, and rest assured, Laurence Lauderdale is the same.” Her tone gentled. “Listen to Simon. You were kept in the dark on purpose. The fact you managed to wiggle out what little you did is a testament to your dedication.”

And her stupidity. She turned her face away. From the comm and its disembodied voice, from Simon. Gathering herself, summoning what energy she could, Parker pushed off the door and paced carefully through the foyer.

“Give her time,” May added behind her, but not for Parker’s benefit. She swallowed a laugh. It only hurt her chest anyway.

“The Lauderdales have Matilda’s last formula,” Simon said behind her.

He followed her. But at a careful distance. She didn’t need to look to feel his eyes on her—weighing, considering. Wary.

“That means they have Eve’s code. Shit.” The coarse word seemed out of place in May’s dry voice. “And you?”

Simon hesitated.

Parker fell into the sofa, its shimmering violet upholstery cool against her skin, and dropped her arm over her eyes.

She knew what May asked.

What Simon didn’t want to say.

“The same,” he finally replied. “Where’s Jonas?”

“Safe.”

“How safe?”

“
Safe,
Simon, I promise you. He’s being taken care of, and his wounds will heal a lot quicker than anything else he’s gone through.”

To Parker, listening to the exchange, it sounded very much like the two bargained over something. This for that, each a give and take of information and assurances.

How long had he been in bed with Sector Three, the Mission,
and
the ghost?

Was there even room for Parker?

“I assume you have a plan?”

May’s chuckle rasped. “Of course, boy. Not that you’ll like it.”

“At this point, I’ll take what I can get.”

Parker lowered her arm. Sat up with a deep breath. The living room swam into focus—beautiful gray plush carpet, dove gray walls set off to perfection by accents of purple. Someone had decorated this apartment with flair and taste.

All it was missing was a white cat.

She was all cried out.

Simon leaned against the sofa behind her. As if reading her mind, somehow tuned in to her thoughts, he curled his fingers around the back of her neck, thumb digging into her corded muscles, soothing the ache there.

“The roads are all blocked,” May was saying, her tone once more curt. “The sec-comps are on high alert and you’ll never make it down through the checkpoints. You’re trapped topside for now.”

Simon’s fingers stilled on Parker’s neck. She couldn’t see his face behind her, but his voice flattened. “Bullshit, we are.”

“The media is plastered with your pictures,” May informed dryly. “The Church has gone public with . . . Let’s say a
version
of the truth, and it paints you both as the perpetrators of a coven conspiracy. You’re the most dangerous thing to hit the wanted boards since—” She paused. “Ever, actually.”

His fingers tightened. And deliberately let go.

Parker reached up, caught his hand in hers before he could draw away.

She didn’t look at him still, not sure what she hoped to see.

“No one’s going anywhere,” May continued. “But that’s good, because it gives us time.”

“Time for what?” Parker demanded, turning her head to study the comm.

A beat. May sighed. “Time to rescue my grandson. Rest for a few hours. I’ll contact you again soon. Simon, find a new comm.”

“How will—”

“I’ll find you,” she said over Parker’s question.

The line went dead.

Parker stared at it. At Simon’s hand, slowly lowering. Her gaze slid over his bruised and abraded knuckles, over the wiry muscles of his forearm. His shoulder, his chest—broader at the shoulder, narrow at his waist.

Until her gaze met his. Locked.

So many questions.

“She reached out to me after Wayward Rose,” he said. Quiet. Cautious. He didn’t move, as if afraid to spook her.

She watched him, afraid to move, afraid to tip the balance. To send herself spiraling into someplace dark and angry and . . . and alone.

Her fingers clenched over her knees.

“I didn’t know her name, or that she was even a she. Just a message, and a frequency.” As he spoke, his voice roughened. Developed a low urgency; reflected the same resolution in his steady hazel eyes. “Worst-case scenario, I screwed the pooch. If that happened, I needed a way to bring it all down.”

“She was your way? The hacker?”

A short, jerked nod. “I sent instructions to Jonas. I knew . . . he . . .”

“Had doubts?” It took effort to keep her voice even. To keep it from shaking.

“And files. Lots of files,” Simon admitted. “I knew he stayed in touch with Silas Smith and Naomi West.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Silas Smith is—”
Dead.
A shudder rippled up her spine. Spread outward, carrying anger with it. Disbelief. “Of course he’s alive. No body, no evidence . . . Why didn’t I see?”

“Because people made damn sure you didn’t,” he said hoarsely. But his eyes banked hard; filled with something brutal and raw. “You’re a first-rate director, Parker. Nobody doubted that. You lead and people follow because you’re steady and strong. But you’re too fucking good for the politics.”

Her laugh twisted.

Simon dropped the comm. It clattered to the floor, skidded under the couch as his foot clipped it. He rounded the end, sank to his knees in front of her, his fingers curling around her upper arms. Bit hard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, bleeding intensity.

“It’s not enough.” She twisted. “It’s not enough, Simon!”

“I know.” He let her go with one hand, cupped her face. His features twisted, mirroring the anger, the shame and hurt and everything tangled up inside her own skin. “God, I know. I thought I could play you, that I could use you to end this nightmare. I never expected—” He let out a breath. A hard exhale.

Slowly, as Parker stared at him, her heart suddenly pounding a staccato rhythm, he framed her cheeks in both hands.

“I love you, Parker.”

Her chest tightened.

“Somehow, you got into my head and under my skin.” His fingers shook, but he didn’t look away.

She couldn’t. No adrenaline this time. No bullets, no madness to blame.

Trembling, she reached up. Traced his lower lip with the tip of her index finger.

His dark lashes closed, veiled the sudden spark in the depths of his eyes. A golden edge. “If I only had more time, I’d change everything for you. But time . . . time is a commodity I don’t have.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re too upright for this shit. If I said anything, if I trusted you, you would have gone toe to toe with Lauderdale.”

“I could have made a difference.”

“No.” Fear, stark and so alien, filled his features. “He doesn’t play by rules, Parker. I would have lost you before I ever had the chance to—”

Her heart broke. “Stay,” she whispered. He bowed his head, forehead resting against hers. “Stay long enough . . . I . . .”

“I’m a dead man. I’ve got nothing to give you. Just this bank of lies.”

Slowly, she reached up, interlaced her fingers with his at her cheeks.

His eyes opened. So dark, raw with everything he wasn’t saying. She didn’t have to hear it.

She knew.

It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. Her world had gone upside down—everything she thought she knew had turned into a lie.

But this? This, at least, was real. “Let me, Simon. Let me love what’s left.”

His fingers tightened at her cheeks. Groaning, he tilted her face up, slanted his mouth over hers in a kiss that lit the last remaining cells in her body to a warm glow.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

L
ove. Against all logic. All
reason
.

She loved him.

What a fucking tragedy.

Simon drew back, giving her the space she needed to breathe. To think without him mucking it up—he knew already how easily she reacted to his nearness.

“Think about this,” he ordered. He rose to his feet, exhaustion plucking at his muscles, at his head. His radar pinged subtly, but it always did.

Nothing important. Not yet.

He’d have to stay on it. Risk the degeneration he could feel biting at his heels with every breath.

Parker’s lips curved into a faint smile. Tired, but real. She caught his hand as he turned away. “I don’t have to.”

“You’re tired—”

“Not that tired.”

God damn, the woman had a wicked edge. She stood, lifted his hand to her lips. Brushed his fingers with a gentle kiss.

It had the opposite effect of what she probably intended.

The sweet gesture ignited. Burned a path from knuckles to gut to dick.

Maybe he wasn’t that tired, either.

Simon reached out, caught her by the waist. Before she could deny him, he had her over his shoulder, true caveman style, and strode for the bedroom.

It took him two tries to find the right door, Parker protesting every step.

“Last chance,” he half growled, lust knocking through his every nerve. Firmly, his hand came down on the soft swell of her ass. Not enough to hurt; just a swat, a warning.

She bit back a cry that didn’t sound entirely like indignation. “Simon!”

His palm caressed the spot, rough on her jeans. “Going once . . .”

She struggled to leverage herself upright, hands flattened at his back.

The bedroom was nice enough. Rich enough, anyway. Simon didn’t spare more than a glance for the trappings. The bed was large and looked soft. That’s all that mattered.

“Going twice,” he added and dropped his squirming burden to the mattress.

She bounced, laughing, hair streaming copper and gold in the rain-muted daylight spilling through the windows. Her cheeks flushed. Hurriedly, she kicked off her shoes.

“Sold,” Simon said huskily and caught her ankle in one easy hand. She gasped as he dragged her back across the mattress, hooked his fingers into her waistband, and made short work of the front snap on her jeans.

“Wait!” She pushed at his shoulders, her eyes wide, bottomless blue. “Simon, no, I—”

“No waiting,” he growled, peeling the denim over her smooth hips. Down her legs. God, she smelled like heaven.

Like the sweetest drug.

He wanted. He’d always want. Until the day he died.

Fingers tight at her waist, he pulled her to the edge of the bed. Knelt on the floor, a man worshipping his goddess, and buried his mouth between her legs.

Parker moaned.

Music to his ears.

He knew what she liked. What really turned her on. He wasn’t sure either had the energy for it, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t about the words. The perception.

It really wasn’t about her. Not this time. It wasn’t about playing her, seducing her.

Simon feasted at her wet flesh, dragged his tongue along her swollen cleft and tasted the only reality that mattered. She loved him. She wanted him. The way she arched as he laved at her, the way she panted his name, all of it reached deep into his heart, his soul, and set something on fire.

He’d make this work.

No matter what, Simon would protect her, love her, until he had no choice but to leave her.

His tongue speared between the folds of her body, earning a shuddering grip in his hair as she grasped at something, anything. He smiled against her flesh, tilted her hips just so and licked again. And again. Dragging the softness of his tongue against her clit, thrusting it into her, over and over until her hips twisted and writhed and she wailed as she came.

It wasn’t about her. It was about
them
.

“Please,” she gasped. “Simon . . . I want you.”

“Not too tired?”

She shook her head, hair tossing around her flushed face.

Simon rose, running his thumb across his damp mouth. She was so beautiful. Her fragrance would haunt him long into the grave.

This time, she didn’t stay where he put her. She rolled to her knees, fumbled to help him with his jeans. He laughed softly, divested her of her blouse and bra as she struggled with his pants. Somehow, together, they shed the rest of their clothes. Stripped away the barriers between them.

Somehow, Simon found himself sinking balls-deep into the woman who loved him, teeth gritted, pulse pounding in his skull. This was real.

She
was real.

It was enough. For now.

She arched under him, her legs curving around his waist, holding him to her. Her nails dug into his shoulders, half-moons of pain fracturing through his control.

He thrust hard, her body rising to meet his, welcoming his cock, clenching around it. She moaned with every surge, opened her eyes.

He drowned inside them.

Beautiful, courageous, sexy, wild woman.

His. All his.

“Tell me,” he said hoarsely, hips tightening, grinding against hers.

“I love you,” she cried.

“More.” He growled the command even as he withdrew. Pulled away from her, until only the pulsing tip of him remained cradled in her wet flesh.

“Oh, God.” She shuddered, hips rising, back arching. “I love you. I’m yours. Please, please.”

As his testicles tightened, as every visceral instinct in him surged to raging life, warmth flooded his heart.

“Mine,” he whispered, dropping his mouth to her shoulder. Kissed her soft, silken skin to her breast. His lips found her nipple just as he thrust once more inside her; rocked her, pushing her farther up the bed as she panted.

She came apart with a wild, shuddering cry, her head thrown back, shoulders twisting. Her nails scored lines down his shoulders, his biceps, and he bit back his own guttural shout as the pleasure-pain sent him over the edge.

The world tilted on its axis. As his body uncoiled, as hers clamped down on his shaft and her legs tightened around his hips, Simon let go.

For the time he had left, he’d love her.

It seemed to be enough.

I
t would never be enough.

As the sweat cooled on her skin, Parker listened to the steady drum of Simon’s heart beneath her ear and floated bonelessly across the landscape of her own thoughts.

One of his callused, powerful hands still curled into her hair, his grip loose enough to keep the tension slack, but there. Decidedly there. A mark of possession, maybe, or reassurance.

Enough that as he breathed, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath her cheek, she shivered.

You need someone to take care of you.

He was right. Not in a way that turned her into a housewife or some kind of pet. It was different.

He
was different.

He watched out for her. Took care of her the way she took care—

Her throat closed.

The way she
had
taken care of her missionaries.

He stirred, skimming the fingertips of his free hand down her spine. Again, she shivered.

She loved him.

“What’s on your mind?”

Parker turned her head, shifting her weight so that his body cradled hers more readily, and looked up at his jaw. His eyes were closed, lashes a thick line against his angled cheeks.

It said something that he could tune into her so readily even without looking.

“You,” she confessed, easily enough.

His firm lips pulled up at one corner. “I like that.”

“You’d better.” But any wisp of amusement ghosted by too fast to appreciate. “I’m not okay with this.”

Now he looked at her, dark eyebrows knitting as his eyes—brown in the dim light—opened. He shifted, gathering her in one arm to pull her higher up on his chest, tighter against him.

Close enough that her leg curled over one of his muscled thighs and she could look down on him. He let go of her hair, letting the mass tumble to his chest in a wash of red.

Now he shivered; gooseflesh rippled over his skin.

His eyes darkened. Lust, need.

Appreciation.

She liked that, too.

But she braced one palm against his chest, just over his heart, and focused on what she needed to say. Even if his erection nudged at her thigh.

“You can’t die, Simon.”

Regret replaced apprehension. Raw and so clear that it stole her breath.

“Stop it,” she added quickly, her voice strained. Her chest ached with it. With all the fear and love and emotional chaos. “I’m not ready to give up on you.”

“You have to,” he began.

She covered his mouth with one hand, a move identical to the one he so loved pulling on her.

His eyes flared.

Narrowed.

But a glint of laughter mollified her. Just a little.

“I’m not going to sit back and let this happen,” she said quickly. A rush of air, a promise Parker hadn’t even been sure she’d intended to make. “I won’t go marching into the Mission to demand that vial back, but I’m not going to wait you out, either.”

His jaw firmed beneath her hand.

“I don’t know what I can do,” she continued. Fast. She had to get it out. To make him understand. “But you can’t ask me to sit by and passively wait for you to die. You— You can’t do that. I won’t do it. I l— I love you, and—”

Damn it. The tears caught her by surprise. They filled her eyes, spilled over as her throat swelled with everything she wasn’t sure how to say.

Warnings, promises. Challenge.

His gaze softened. Slowly, he curled his fingers around her hand, pulled it gently from his mouth. “Stop, Parker.” He pressed a kiss into her palm.

It nearly broke her.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”

Meaningless words, but only because he didn’t know how true that was.

She would
make it
okay.

“You— You just watch and see,” she whispered. He cupped her cheek, his thumb wiping away her tears.

Simon said nothing. Instead, slowly, inexorably, he tugged her down. Tilted her head just so, and tenderly brushed her lips with his.

It was the softest, sweetest kiss she’d ever in her life experienced. No rush. No pressure. Even as her heart surged into overdrive, as her belly shuddered and her breath caught, he nuzzled her lips apart. Drifted across them as if he had all the time in the world.

It was a dodge. A neat one.

But as she moaned, Parker thought she’d let this one slide.

He deserved a break. A time when he didn’t have to think about the threat looming over him.

And she had plans to make.