The Storm That Is Sterling (11 page)

The two Clanners shot into action, darting away while Sterling shoved the weapon under his belt. Sterling tucked the ICE in his pockets and turned to Becca, who was huddled in the corner. “Stay back!” she yelled, her hand pressed to her stomach.

She was scared of him, truly scared of him. And pale as a new winter’s snow, her dark hair tangled around her face.

“Becca, honey. It’s me. Sterling. You know me. You know you can trust me.”

She hugged herself, her teeth chattering. “I saw the pictures, Sterling.”

“All the GTECHs were stationed at Area 51 before Adam took it over. I was in the same unit as both Caleb and Adam.” He removed a vial from his pocket, taking the risk of giving her ICE their team hadn’t inspected first. The fear that it wasn’t withdrawal killing people but tainted ICE was a long shot their team was giving limited credibility, but one he felt like a twist of a knife in his gut right now. “You need to dose.”

“How do I know that doesn’t have poison in it to kill me like you killed Milton. How do I know this isn’t a setup?”

“I don’t even know a Milton, Becca. Please. Sweetheart. You need to take the ICE, and then we’ll go meet Caleb. He’ll tell you I served with Adam.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she shouted and tried to dart past him.

Sterling wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close with no intention of letting her go. He’d found her quickly, as if he were meant to find her, meant to protect her, to save her, and he was damn well going to do it.

“Let me go!” she demanded, shoving weakly against him, determined to use the energy she had left to escape him. He turned her in his arms as he had in her kitchen, her back to his chest. “Damn you, Sterling.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

“I would never hurt you,” he said softly and repeated it as she continued to squirm. “I would never hurt you, Becca.”

Seconds passed, and she stilled in his arms, but she whispered, “Let me go, Sterling.”

Sterling opened his mouth to reply when a tingling awareness rushed over him, and wind gusted through the warehouse. He grabbed Becca’s wrist and pressed the vial in her palm a second before he drew a gun into each hand and rotated to block her from danger.

At the same moment, a good half dozen Zodius soldiers materialized at quick count. Sterling took them in and knew he was screwed. “We’ll be taking the woman,” one of the soldiers said, confirming what he’d feared. They were here for Becca, tracking her, not him.

Before Sterling could decide his next move, the soldiers dropped to the floor like sawed-off trees. Just hit the ground with hard thumps.

“What the—?” He used his guns to scan from unmoving soldier to unmoving soldier, then above, checking the pallets for another attack. At the same time, he nudged the leg of the nearest Zodius. Nothing. Totally limp. He felt for a pulse and found one. They were asleep.

He turned to Becca, one eye still on the Zs, finding her standing against the wall, hands pressed to the concrete, accusation in her eyes.

“Why are you still standing, and they aren’t?” Becca demanded from behind him.

“Why are
we
still standing, and they aren’t?” he countered.

“You… oh God.” She curled forward, holding her stomach.

Sterling rushed to her, bending down and taking her with him. He lifted her face so she would look at him, knowing he needed to get them out of here before more company arrived, but needing to get the ICE down her first. “I didn’t deceive you.”

She blinked at him. “I don’t know what to believe.”

His hand closed over hers, where it clutched the ICE. “Believe in me.” He removed the vial from her palm and popped the seal before holding it near her mouth. “Drink.”

She hesitated, but her hand came up to his, and she helped him tilt it back so she could swallow.

She gasped as the liquid slid down her throat before curling forward again. “Please God, let it work quickly.”

Sterling scooped her up in his arms, and she snuggled into his chest and shut her eyes. She didn’t fight… didn’t ask where they were going… didn’t have any fight left in her. Sterling went icy inside and not from the drug. From the sheer terror that he’d found her too late.

He started for the door, feeling her shake in his arms, and for the first time in a very long time, he was shaking too.

***

More than a few people turned to look at Sterling as he carried Becca into the dimly lit, highly populated parking lot behind the club, directly adjacent to the main hotel. Responding to their silent, but forceful inquiries, he jokingly called out to the populace. “Told her it was more fun to have sex on the beach than to drink Sex on the Beach.”

Laughter followed, and one male voice said, “Keep her on a leash, dude. That’s what I do with my woman.” The man’s grunt filled the air before he grumbled, “Ouch. Don’t hit me,
woman
.” Apparently
the
woman
in question wasn’t on a leash after all. Either way, he’d created a diversion that allowed Sterling to travel onward without being approached.

Sterling stopped beside “Carrie,” the black Ford Mustang he’d confiscated from the private garage of the Renegades’ inner-city headquarters. The muscle car was Michael’s pride and joy, right after his Lifebond Cassandra, of course. Which is exactly why Sterling had taken it upon himself to borrow Carrie—because it would piss off Michael.

Well, bring on the fight, Michael. You should have helped me convince Caleb to lock Damion up when I went to you.
But no. Michael had said he’d trusted Caleb’s ability to read Damion. Sorry son of a bitch, so did Sterling—except this once.

He glared at the car. “Pride and joy, my ass,” Sterling mumbled, as soft, wayward strands of Becca’s hair floated against his face. Holding her like this, seeing her helpless, ripened his anger. Michael should have dealt with Damion, rather than taking the wait and see attitude. Screw wait and see. Becca wouldn’t be half-dead now if it weren’t for Damion.

Carefully, Sterling settled Becca onto the warm leather seat. Her lashes fluttered and lifted as she blinked him into focus with a pleading look. “Cold,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself.

It was a hundred degrees outside. From the backseat, he snatched the leather jacket Michael sometimes wore to hide his weapons and covered Becca. Instantly, she huddled beneath it, teeth chattering, eyes shut.

“Hang in there, princess,” he whispered, brushing his knuckles over her cheek.

She rolled toward the driver’s seat, curling her legs under the leather, and he shut her inside, his cell phone already in hand by the time he reached the driver’s side and climbed in. He hit the speed dial for Kelly Peterson, the lead scientist and doctor on the ICE project.

“Fuck!” he yelled, hitting the steering wheel when her voice mail answered. He shifted the car into drive, peeling out of the parking lot.

Then he dialed Caleb who answered in one ring. “I’ve got Becca. I found her trying to buy ICE off a couple users. And before you ask… yes, I’ve got samples. Four more vials.”

“I was going to ask how she is.”

He glanced at her as a streetlight illuminated the car, noting with growing concern the blue tinge to Becca’s lips. “Bad. I dosed her, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”

Caleb gave a low curse. “Hold on.” Sterling could hear him say, “Get Kelly over here now. We’ve got Rebecca Burns, and she’s in ICE withdrawal.” Michael’s voice sounded in the background and then Caleb was back on the line. “Where are you now? I’ll send backup.”

“Don’t.” He cut to the right on a back road and shifted gears to hit the three-minute highway stretch they’d follow to Freemont Street. “I just had an encounter with a six-pack of Zs. The next thing I knew Becca and I were the only ones not taking a nap on the pavement. It… well, it seems to have something to do with being near Becca.”

Caleb was silent a moment. “But you’re immune?”

“Yeah. I can’t explain it.”

Silence a moment. “You can’t take her to Neonopolis until we know she isn’t a risk to the other men there.” Neonopolis was the hundred-thousand-square-foot entertainment complex off Freemont Street, where they retained an entire underground floor for their inner-city operation.

“I’m on the same page,” Sterling said. “I’m headed to the rattrap two blocks over, until we can figure out what to do with her.”

“Sterling,” Caleb said grimly. “Should she be underground where the Trackers can’t find her?”

Sterling ground his teeth at the question. Sex with a GTECH marked a woman with a certain psychic residue that allowed her to be located if she wasn’t underground. “No, she did not have sex, willingly or unwillingly, with a GTECH. I was with her the entire time.” Except when he’d passed out, and she’d been with Tad.

“Except the past twenty-four hours.”

And then. Damn it to hell.

Clearly reading Sterling’s silence, Caleb said, “I’ll put a team on your location and tell them to keep a safe distance. One of them will be a Tracker. We need to be sure we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Copy that,” Sterling said, ending the call, feeling like he’d been kicked in the gut. The Tracker would try to get a read on Becca, and if he could, she’d need to be underground and fast. Sterling felt like he’d been punched in the gut. If another GTECH had touched Becca, he would be to blame. He was the one who’d let her get captured in the first place.

Iceman screeched his Porsche 911 to a halt in the back parking lot of the 66 Briar Street warehouse location. It was one of three ICE storage facilities he ran for the prick who played the role of “muscle” for Adam. Tad was pathetic. He actually thought being the bully for a man like Adam gave him power. It gave him nothing. What an idiot for not being able to see the writing on the wall!

Iceman had only met Adam once, but he could see the man was volatile. In a blink of an irritated eye, Adam could squash Tad like the inconsequential fly he was. Because he let himself be.

Iceman knew how to make himself indispensable. He’d learned that lesson years ago from his father. It didn’t matter how hard he’d worked to prove to that man he could run his little fast-food empire, he’d never been good enough.
For
chicken
. The old man sold chicken. He could keep his fucking chicken empire. He’d make his own. He was Iceman.

Stepping out of the Porsche, Iceman clicked the locks in place and sauntered toward the back door of the facility. The location, two miles off the “Strip Area”—as the Gaming Commission called a certain radius—was by design, to stay off their radar. Not that they were “gaming,” but he didn’t need those bulldogs snooping around.

It was enough to keep up appearances for Tad. But that would change as soon as he figured out how to duplicate the baseline ICE formula himself. And with the money he was paying to have it analyzed that should be any day now. In the meantime, he had a plan moving forward, working to claim the control Adam wanted for himself. Well, screw Adam and his GTECH kingdom. Humans outnumbered GTECHs, and it would remain that way.

His gaze shifted to the remarkable sky—starless, moonless—yet not a rumble of thunder, near or far. It was as if there had been an eclipse—an ICE Eclipse. Yes. He liked that name.

Tonight he would celebrate taking his own special formula of ICE from small-time distribution to mass market by naming it and his clan of followers: ICE Eclipse and the Eclipsers. This pleased Iceman. It pleased him immensely.

Satisfaction rolled though him at the thought of the empire
he
was building, his black dress shoes scraping the gravel-riddled pavement. Hidden cameras tracked his progress and followed him up a steel stairwell.

The instant he reached the single heavy metal door, a buzzer sounded and the seal popped open. As it should. The security guard had the good sense not to keep him waiting as he had once before. Waiting did not please Iceman. He had long ago grown tired of waiting for people. Serving them. He would not serve. Not even Adam. Not for long, that was. Exactly why he didn’t do ICE himself. That was as good as handing his puppet strings to Adam.

Promises of a GTECH serum that he didn’t even know existed did nothing for him. He’d let them think it did, that he wanted it, that he was pining for conversion to GTECH. He wasn’t.

Iceman entered a long rectangular office with a glass window overlooking the warehouse, where rows of neatly palleted vials of ICE were stored. Sabrina Walker, his version of Tad—a much easier on the eyes version to boot—leaned a fine leather-clad ass on the worn, white wooden desk.

She discarded the clipboard in her hand on the desk. “Hi sugar,” she said, her long, red hair a fiery mass that traced delicate white shoulders, exposed by her barely there, leather halter top. No matter how delicate her skin, how sensual her body—she was far more leather than lace. She’d kick your ass in an ICE-induced high in three seconds flat. Or just shoot you with one of the guns she had strapped under her pant leg above those spike heels. He got hot just thinking about it.

She pursed her full, red lips. “Thought you’d never get here.” He knew what she needed all right. Iceman advanced on her, tugged her hard against his body, grabbed her palm, and pressed the deep circle tattoo in the center to his mouth, his tongue sliding over the surface, over his
brand
that allowed fast absorption of the Eclipse portion of his ICE. She moaned softly. “I need a hit, baby,” she whispered. “I’ve waited an hour too long.”