Sinner (The Hades Squad #1) (26 page)

“If you don't shut your mouth, you'll attract flies.”

Chortling, hazel eyes dancing, Linc hauled Destiny into a bear hug, trailed a finger up her throat, and kissed her.

The heat of the man licked a flame to her pussy and her already-throbbing clit. His tongue traced her teeth, stroked the insides of her cheeks, and tickled the roof of her mouth, making her knees quiver and wobble. Gripping his jacket for support, she bit him lightly.

He groaned. His lips slowly retreated, and he rested his forehead on hers. “Missed you.”

“What a vulgar display. I suggest you two rent a hotel room.” Brittany's baby blues spat venom, and Destiny knew if she was close enough, hate spittle would have landed on her face.

“I'm not sure I heard you correctly, Brittany.” The steel in Lincoln's voice sharpened with each word he spoke. “Would you care to repeat that last remark?”

Brittany flushed to the roots of her hair, shut her dropped jaw with an audible
snap
that had to have hurt, and turned on her heels.

“Are they all like that?” Linc asked.

“Pretty much,” Destiny replied. “Get a bunch of women working together in a small space. You know, the sardines-in-a-can thing.”

“More like serpents in a hole or wasps in a fist. Let’s ditch this place. We have reservations at Le Cirque.”

Destiny tripped over her own feet.

Linc steadied her by circling his arm around her waist.

“Le Cirque? You're kidding, right?” She snaked her head back and met his gaze. “It took Steven's assistant two weeks to get a reservation.”

“Connections, Destiny. Connections.” Linc waggled his eyebrows; his lips twitched.

For the first time ever, Destiny took a two-and-a-half-hour lunch. She sipped two glasses of champagne and oohed and aahed over the tasting menu prepared solely for her and Linc, giddy, dazed, and melting into chocolate-lava heaven with each bite of her dessert soufflé.

When Lincoln bundled her into a yellow taxi, she didn't even ask where they were going; sated gastronomic lust hazed her thoughts. “Smoked paprika shrimp—I'm in food heaven.”

“You've made me so happy.” Linc hooked an arm around her shoulder and dropped a kiss on her nose.

“Me?” She arched. “Me? Do you know how long I've dreamed of going to Le Cirque?” She twisted around, threw her arms around his neck, and feathered kisses all over his face. “Thank you, thank you.”

“You going to get into trouble?” He lifted her chin with a finger, his touch sending tingles to her warm, curling toes.

“In all the years I've worked at St. Paul's, I've never taken an hour for lunch.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think I'm overdue.”

She skated on euphoria for the rest of the day, the rest of the week.

Daily life with Linc proved unpredictable. When she reached home that night, he picked her up the minute she stepped through the doorway, stripped off her clothes, and they showered and made love. He only allowed her feet to hit the floor when she cooked.

The following night he set up his iPod and two speakers on the walls, and they danced. He taught her how to tango, and she taught him some hip-hop moves. They made love in positions she'd never contemplated.

Sitting at her desk, she checked the wall clock, counting the minutes to five, Destiny replayed their morning sex. She'd awakened to his face between her thighs, her pussy spasming and moisture slicking her folds. Tonight, he'd whispered as they waited for the subway, tonight he wanted to watch her pleasuring herself.

She hadn't been able to read a paragraph in one go all day. A minute took an hour to pass. Everyone must have thought her insane she'd blushed so often, and for no seeming reason as images popped into her brain. Last night he'd positioned her on the bed, raised her arms over her head, pressed her fingers and thumbs around two of the headboard's rails, and ordered her to keep her hands in place and to come only on his command.

She'd tried. God, she'd tried. The slightest touch sent her spiraling into explosive orgasms. Then he'd tortured her, teasing with his lips and tongue, his fingers, his hands, bringing her to the edge, asking if she was ready, until she whimpered and begged.

He hadn't touched her pussy after that, concentrating instead on her breasts, kneading, pinching, grazing, laving, and then he'd ordered her to look at him, ordered her not to shut her eyes. Then he fastened their gazes and ordered, “Come now, Destiny,” as he bit down on one nipple, while tugging the other.

Desire hadn't dimmed with the climax and aftershocks that shuddered through her body. She wanted him inside her, yearned to feel his hardness stretching her, to ache from his pounding thrusts.

When she reached for him, he'd nodded and muttered, “The other tit's needy,” and started the whole process all over again.

In the end he'd taken her hard, her legs spread wide over his thighs, her back on the headboard, fingers interlaced high on the wall, face to face, eyes wide open.

And the things he'd crooned to her.

Is there such a thing as poetic pornography?

Her cell buzzed and flipped about on the desk. She jumped, glanced at the clock, and grabbed the phone and her purse. Five thirty.

She'd been in another sex trance.

“’Lo,” she mumbled, scooting her purse up her arm, catching the phone between ear and shoulder.

“Where are you, Destiny?”

“Just leaving the office,” she replied, her insides warming and heating to his voice like Pavlov's dog.

“I have to catch a plane to Sumatra. I'm on my way to La Guardia.”

Her stomach did a belly flop.

“You're going after the kidnappers, aren't you?”

The Indian Ocean; vicinity of Bay of Bengal and the Andaman Sea

Their target, the container ship, the
Indonesian Express
, lay anchored in the middle of a remote bay five miles from the Myanmar coastline.

That the ship was anchored so far from a rural village situated on the west side of the bay proved advantageous. The fact that a tropical disturbance, slated to become Cyclone Onil, hovered not fifty nautical miles to the southwest also provided the Hades Squad rescue team with two distinct tactical expediencies.

One, no one would expect an attack under the dangerous weather conditions. Two, the howling winds, crashing waves, and continuous thunder and lightning masked the low hum of the outboard engine of their F470 Combat Rubber Raiding Craft, aka CRRC, aka Zodiac, as they zipped over wave crests.

Sinner glanced at his watch. The luminous digital stainless steel piece showed a time of two fifteen a.m. A normal human being didn’t function at prime between the hours of two and four in the morning.

The shadowed outline of the
Indonesian Express
bobbed and weaved when persistent squalls whipped the lashing ocean into a frenzy. Sinner noted three dim lights; one at the apex of the ship’s bow, one center where the navigational cabin would be situated, and one aft.

Sinner’s ear buds crackled. “Heat sensors show twelve bodies in cargo hold five. Packed together. Moving, but not often, and slowly.”

Satan glanced first to Sinner who nodded, and then checked each member of the team to ensure they were all on the same page. Demon, Devil, Satan, and three about-to-retire SEALs awaiting their final papers before joining the Hades Squad, Jinn, Nikar, and Volac, focused their attention on Satan.

Shifty, located on the commercial fishing ship,
Neptune
, docked in a hidden cove forty nautical miles southeast of their current position, continued his droned informational monologue. “Locations of current tangoes. Nine in the crew’s mess, no movement in fifteen minutes. Six in the master’s quarters, again no movement in fifteen minutes. Five in the navigational bridge, all except one moving steadily.”

Satan and Guido Medici, owner of Medici Shipping, had reconnoitered the area and the situation earlier. Guido, having traveled the area during his youth as part of his training for eventually heading up his family’s shipping corporation, had many contacts in the area.

Somehow Guido’d managed to bribe the few individuals who supplied the water rations to the pirates who’d hijacked the
Indonesian Express
. Guido had substituted plain water with the new flavored waters so popular in North America. Each bottle of flavored water had been laced with Ambien. The supplies had been delivered late this afternoon because of the looming possibility of Cyclone Onil.

Satan gave the men on board the Zodiac a thumbs up and a signal to switch their com units to local. While Shifty and all those on board the
Neptune
could hear the conversation of the team, they couldn’t interrupt Satan.

“Volac, you man the CRRC. Sinner and Devil take the stern. Jinn, Demon, Nikar—you’re with me on the anchor chain. Once we’re on deck, Sinner and Devil—you two head for cargo hold five and secure the hostages. Await the all clear before you move them to the tween deck.” Satan adjusted his goggles and helmet.

Volac, at the rear of the Zodiac, slowed the outboard engine and pointed straight ahead.

Sinner glanced over his shoulder. They were ten feet away from the massive steel chain attached to the ship’s anchor.

“Nikar and Demon, handle the tangoes in the master’s quarters and the crew’s mess. Jinn and I will secure the nav bridge. Keep communications open at all times.” Satan snatched one of the grappling hooks stored in a side compartment.

Demon grabbed another.

In unison, the two men secured the Zodiac to the
Indonesian Express’
anchor chain.

Volac cut the inflatable boat’s engine.

All around them the Indian Ocean raged. Swells battered the cargo ship’s hull. Even with all the protective gear they wore, helmets, waterproof jumpsuits and boots, every single man was drenched. Anticipating the roar of the constant gale force winds would make it impossible to communicate verbally, Satan had ordered the team to wear communication helmets.

Satan stood, legs spread wide, and waited for Nikar and Jinn to grab ahold of the massive metal rings and swing the Zodiac hull-to-chain. He jumped onto the chain and began working his way up vertically. Jinn, Demon, and Nikar each repeated Satan’s actions.

Volac, Devil, and Sinner traced the men’s ascent.

Sinner breathed easier when Satan clambered over the railings.

“Head out,” Satan commanded and promptly vanished from view.

Volac started the engine and maneuvered the CRRC to the lee side of the ship, putting the
Indonesian Express
between them and the coastline. Not that anyone could see fuck all between the hurricane-strength gales and the constant fog of misty sea spray.

Sinner turned around and focused on Jinn, Demon, and Nikar as they climbed the jangling anchor chain. He heaved a huge sigh when each man in turn scrabbled onto deck.

“Fucking hate being left behind,” Volac cut the motor.

Sinner grinned and rolled a shoulder. He eyed the distance to the top of the railings, checked the hanging life boats, and decided to go with the former.

“Here.” Devil handed him one of the five grappling guns housed in the Zodiac’s starboard hold. “I’ll take the left.”

“Done.” Sinner rested the gun on one shoulder, waited for the CRRC to crest on a wave, and fired.

Devil’s hook zinged upward three seconds later.

Sinner tested the grapple hook’s security by lunging onto the rope and swinging back and forth along the length of the Zodiac.

Devil followed suit.

“I’ll lead.” Sinner surged forward, legs perpendicular to use the ship’s hull for propulsion. Cold and soaked by the storm and pelting rain, he nonetheless broke into a sweat during the short but intense climb. He eased over the solid rail of the cargo ship and dropped to his knees behind the bulge of the deck house.

“Sonofabitch.” Devil slumped against the metal container that housed the deck equipment. “Thought they were all supposed to be drugged. There’s a sentry on duty. I just about fell onto him.”

“Where?” Sinner hadn’t noticed any movement.

“Fifty feet from the nav bridge.”

“Shit. Satan, you copy?” Sinner pressed his ear bud.

Static crackling.

“Fucking cyclone’s messing with our com units,” Devil shouted.

The wailing winds ceased abruptly, creating a spooky, momentary quiet.

Sinner spied the sentry hunkering down beneath the radar mast. “Can’t risk Satan’s team being compromised by one fucking sentry.”

“I’ll handle the sentry. You deal with the hostages. I’ll join you when I’m done. Agreed?” Devil crouched into sprint position.

“Affirmative. On my count. I’ll take the crew’s stairs to the hold. Code word is Destiny.” Sinner and Devil had worked together as a two-man team on innumerable hairy occasions during their years as active SEALs. They’d developed a habit of using a code designed to warn the other to hightail back to safety.

“Destiny, that’s a roger.”

Sinner crept around the base of the after deck house, spied the hole in the deck leading to the crew staircase, and said, “On three. One. Two. Three.”

He sprinted across the fifteen feet separating him from safety, took the first few steps in a slow, cautious manner, removed his night goggles when rays of light appeared, and waited for his vision to adjust. He listened, but heard nothing but the constant howling of the wind and the clanking and rattling of chains and equipment.

The utter silence proved eerie. Though he tried to keep his booted footsteps soundless, the faint thud of rubber meeting metal reverberated.

The sleeping pill had done its work according to the body heat sensors on board the
Neptune
. Hopefully, Satan, Nikar, and Jinn wouldn’t have met with any significant resistance.

Sinner counted the flights as he descended into the hold deck depths. The lighting was minimal. He slinked down a narrow, short corridor and halted when the massive steel double doors of cargo hold five came into view. Not a soul was in sight. Years of combat had taught him caution, so he waited another three minutes before stalking forward. The doors were secured by an iron bar.