The Storm That Is Sterling (6 page)

“You want her,” Adam said. “Good. I’ll give her to you. I’ll keep Tad and all the other men away from her. That’s right. As much as my wife wants to use her for fertility testing, I won’t let her.” He paused, letting the implications fill the silence.

Sterling’s fingers curled by his sides, his thoughts going exactly where directed. To the sex camps where the women were traded from soldier to soldier in hopes one of them would find the rare Lifebond connection that mated them and allowed the production of offspring.

“You can save her from such a fate,” Adam offered slyly. “She’ll be yours and yours alone, and you don’t even have to give up my brother’s secrets to get her.”

Right. And Sterling was going to become the president of the United States. Adam was manipulating him, playing a game to get what he wanted. “Get to the point, Adam.”

“Dead ICE addicts do me no good. Nor do junkies who cannot think while anticipating their next hit. I want them lucidly addicted and under my command. Becca will perform better to aid this effort if she is functioning of her own free will. You will see to it that she does. As long as you make sure she cooperates, no one touches her but you.”

Two hours had passed since Sterling’s meeting with Adam, when he’d been locked in the luxury officers’ quarters that he and Becca were to share. He spent the entire time pacing, and pacing some more, ready to climb out of his own skin. Over and over, his mind tortured him with images of Tad touching Becca, images of her begging for ICE, willing to do anything to get it.

But
I’m her bastard hero, Adam had said.
Becca’s hero. Adam had saved Becca from cancer and given her a reason to be loyal to him at the same time. Sterling had done nothing but stand her up for a date and get her kidnapped. She wouldn’t trust him any more than he could trust her. He scrubbed a hand over his nearly two-day-old beard and glanced at the clock on the security panel that said it was exactly noon, only five minutes later than the last time he’d checked.

“Damn it to hell,” he mumbled, eyeing the leather sofa, full kitchen, and entry to a bedroom complete with a king-sized bed that made up his new prison cell. One might think he was a welcomed guest if not for the locks on the doors. He should be wolf bait inside the coliseum, where he’d be mangled until he healed, and mangled all over, until he told the Renegade secrets. So why wasn’t he? Why… when Adam had Becca’s ICE addiction, did he think he needed Becca’s help? Unless… Adam was using Becca to get to him. He didn’t have time to contemplate the many ways Becca might be used against him, before the door burst open and Becca was shoved inside.

Tad filled the doorway behind her. “Take care of her,” he said. “Or I’ll enjoy doing it for you.” He barked out laughter and pulled the door shut. A glow of red lights appeared on the knob as he activated the electronic locks.

Any thought he’d had of her rushing to his side glad to see him faded when she leaned against the door, leaving several feet between them, and accused, “You’re one of them.”

She still wore the same black dress, one side of it ripped, one section matted with blood,
his
blood
. The dark length of her silky hair rested in disorderly waves around her pale face, where not a drop of makeup remained. And she was beautiful, absolutely freaking beautiful. There was just something about Becca that called to the man in him, even before he’d fully been one.

“I’m not one of them, Becca,” he promised.

She shook her head, rejecting his answer. “You were bleeding to death. They shot you at least a half dozen times.” Her voice lifted, cracked with anger, and turned to a shout. “You should be dead right now.”

Okay, he hadn’t seen that one coming. She was pissed he was still alive? “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I’m not dead, nor do I intend to be anytime soon.”

“Don’t say it like that,” she said. “Don’t say it like I did something wrong. I cried for you. I… took that damn drug for you.”

Understanding washed over him, the reason Adam needed Sterling’s help. Either Becca was a damn good actress, or she not only wasn’t happy about being an ICE addict, but she now thought he’d been part of an elaborate scheme to make her take it.

“I’m one of the two hundred men injected by Powell at Area 51 before Adam Rain got power hungry and took it over. That makes me a GTECH, and yes, I heal quickly, among other abilities. But I am not, nor will I ever be, one of Adam’s men.”

She studied him a moment, her gaze sharp, but her body eased slightly, melting against the door. “So you work for the army?”

“The Renegades,” he said. “A private Special Operations group composed of both GTECHs and civilian human members.”

“Human,” she repeated.

“Most GTECHs don’t consider themselves human.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

She seemed to digest that a moment, accept it, before moving on. “They want me to help them with the drug,” she said. “Just like you did.”

He didn’t miss the slight hint of accusation to the statement. “For different reasons with the same outcome,” he said, starting to realize the opportunity they had before them. The DNA source was here, where he could destroy it if she could come up with an antidote. “So people don’t die.”

“They gave me the drug.”

Cautiously, he moved a few inches closer to her, encouraged when she didn’t object. “It cured your cancer.”

“It made me an addict and a slave to whatever that man wants of me. That’s not a cure.”

“We’ll find an antidote.”

“More than an antidote,” she replied vehemently. “I’ll make an immunization that keeps ICE from working. I’ll make sure he doesn’t turn anyone else into a slave at his mercy, if it’s the last thing I do on this earth, so help me God.”

Sterling stiffened at the words, despite his approval. They were being taped, watched, and listened to, and her statement was the kind that would get them both killed or thrown into the sex camps.

She was fired up, angry. “I’m going to destroy—”

Sterling reacted before she could finish her statement, doing exactly what he knew Adam would expect him to do, but doing it for himself with his own intentions. He closed the distance between himself and Becca, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her to shut her up. No. He kissed her because he had to, because every fiber of his being needed to feel her next to him, to claim her in a way he didn’t try to analyze. His tongue parted her lips, brushing past her teeth, to delve deeper. She moaned and melted into him, sliding her arms around his neck, rising to her toes to taste him.

“Sterling,” she whispered.

Possessiveness flared inside him like nothing he’d ever felt before. If anyone tried to touch her—Adam, Tad, or anyone else in this damnable place, he’d kill them. She was his to protect, his to save… his.

***

She had cancer. She didn’t have cancer. She was now Adam’s slave, kept alive by ICE. It was all a roller-coaster ride of emotions, and while Becca knew she should resist Sterling, knew she should be cautious about trusting him, she couldn’t make herself. He was alive when she’d been certain he was dead, and she needed to feel him, to convince herself he was real.

To escape the nightmare of the past day, the past months of her life. And kissing him was good, so good, the escape she had desperately craved for months now, even before he showed up on her doorstep. And she did trust him… on some core level
she
trusted
Sterling
.

It’s why she’d let him in her house, why she was able to lose herself in the mindless bliss of his lips, his tongue, the blessed warmth of his powerful body pressed to hers. There was no cancer, no drug addiction, no monster with grand ideas of ruling the world, and no Tad. There was just this moment in time with Sterling, with his hand sliding over her waist, her hip. Becca moaned as his palm rounded her backside, and he lifted her. Still kissing him, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck.

She barely remembered him walking, carrying her, nor how she found herself sitting on the bathroom sink. Bathroom sink? On some level that was an odd choice of locations, but Sterling’s lips were traveling her jaw, her neck, driving her wild.

“Cameras and recording devices,” he whispered. She sucked in a breath, tensed at the implications, but his mouth was on hers again. His tongue stroked hers with one last long caress before his hand ran down her hair, and he stepped away, yanking back the shower curtain and turning on the water.

The absence of his touch left her suddenly cold, the memory of ICE sliding down her throat a vivid, immediate memory. Tension curled in her chest and spread through her body, her fingers closing around the edges of the vanity beneath her. She was addicted to ICE, a drug that might have who knew what side effects on those who used it, even if they were safely weaned off of it.

Sterling returned to stand in front of her, pressing his hands to the vanity at her side. The other went to her face, his fingers gliding over her cheek, gently drawing her eyes to his. “We’re getting out of here,” he said. “Both of us alive and well.” He tilted his head, near her ear. “They need to believe we are doing something other than talking.” He reached up and turned out the light.

“What are you doing?” Becca asked, stiffening both from the shock of complete darkness, and the idea that his kisses had been nothing more than a cover story.

“Letting their imaginations run wild,” he explained. “And I can hear you thinking, Becca. No, I didn’t kiss you just for a cover. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I met you in that library fourteen years ago. And now that I have…” His fingers trailed her lip. “I want more.” He slid his hand up her back, sensual and strong, soothing her, exciting her, adding to the heat of his words. “I want that date we never had, and I want to convince you I deserve to make love to you. But not here, not in this hellhole of place where you don’t belong.” His lips brushed hers. “So what do you say? Let’s destroy Adam, and get out of here?”

“Sterling,” she whispered, conflicting emotions welling in her chest at the absolute impossibility of his words ever becoming reality. They were trapped, and she was enslaved to ICE.

His lips brushed hers. “You should know… it drives me so wild when you say my name.”

Heat swam through her as the very core of her clenched with desire, and she pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the racing of his heartbeat. She wanted him so badly she could almost forget she needed ICE to survive.

“We’ll stockpile ICE from the lab every day,” he said, seeming to read her mind. “And the minute we have enough, and you either have an antidote, or you believe you have what you need to make one, you tell me, and I’ll get us out of here.”

A sliver of hope slid inside her that they could escape, that they could save the city, maybe the world, from ICE addiction. That she was really cured, that she would be free and have a chance to live life, and just maybe Sterling would be a part of that life.

But hope was something she’d been burned by; hope was something that had lifted her up and stomped on her too many times to count. Hope was the one thing that could still terrify her, destroy her. She didn’t want hope. She didn’t want Sterling to offer her a façade. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him hope didn’t solve anything. But suddenly, his mouth closed over hers, stealing the thought, melting her into the moment. It was a claiming, passionate, hungry, devouring kiss that did exactly what she needed—it pulled her under a spell, made her forget hope, forget fear. There was just need, and a hard, hot male body pressing against hers.

Something ignited inside her, a wild, urgent burn for this man like nothing she had ever felt. Becca clung to him, touching him, pressing her hands under his T-shirt—taut skin and rippling muscle beneath her palms—and she couldn’t get enough of him.

“Sterling,” she whispered, arching into him until she felt the thick pulse of his arousal in the intimate V of her body.

He growled at his name, his hand curving her backside, molding her to him. “You’re killing me woman. I said not here, not now.”

“We don’t even know if there will be a tomorrow.” She covered his hand on her waist and urged it to her breast. “I don’t want to wait.”

His forehead rested on hers. “I only have so much willpower.”

“I don’t want you to have
any
.”

His fingers laced into her hair, his lips brushing hers. “This isn’t how I wanted this to happen.”

She lifted her lips and pressed them to his, being bold when she would otherwise not be, sliding her tongue into his mouth. A low moan slid from his throat, before he slanted his lips more fully over hers, before he tasted her deeply, fervently.

“I won’t take you like this,” he whispered.

“I won’t forgive you if you don’t,” she rebutted, feeling as if she had nothing to lose by being bold, nothing except the escape, the pleasure—the opportunity to be with this man she wanted so very much. Her hand slid down his pants, tracing the hard line of his erection.

He covered his hand over hers, held it there a moment, kissed her. “We’ll compromise,” he whispered by her ear, nibbling the lobe.