On His Six Page 9

  Except I had to. And I’d do it again.

  “I’m right here. I’ve been right here for two days.”

  Shit. Did I say that out loud?

  Wren steps forward and cups my cheek. “You don’t realize it, Ryker…but you’re easy to read. At least…for me. Why won’t you talk to me?”

  I don’t have an answer. Not one I’m willing to share with her. But as her fingers trail over the scar that bisects my left eyelid, she levers up on her toes to kiss my jaw—the only part of my face she can reach. “What happened here?”

  “Knife.” The word scrapes over my dry throat, and the memories threaten to pull me under, but Wren’s touch grounds me.

  “And here?”

  I barely feel her light touch over the angled lines on my left cheek—nerve damage left me with reduced sensation. “Razor blade.”

  “And this?” Down to my neck, where the burns start. Now, I don’t feel her fingers at all. Yet, I’m hyper aware of her touch.

  “Lighter. Cigarettes.”

  Her eyes glisten, and she trails her hand down my arm. “Keep going.”

  At the thick ropes of scars on my forearm, I say, “Blowtorch.” When she gets to my fingers—two of them not entirely straight anymore, “Boots.”

  I stop her when she reaches for the bottom of my t-shirt. “No, Wren. Don’t.”

  “Have you ever shown anyone? Besides doctors?”

  Shaking my head, I try to take a step back, but my legs won’t obey. And this time, when she reaches for my shirt, I freeze, but don’t try to stop her. My heart thunders in my chest, and I have to ball my hands into fists to stop them from trembling.

  “You’re too tall,” she says with a small smile. “Help me.”

  Her soft words shatter my trance, and I snag the back of the shirt and yank it over my head. This is for the best. She’ll see me—most of me—and she’ll be so disgusted, she’ll go back to her room and we’ll go back to being…strangers. I can protect a stranger in Russia. Just not…someone I…need.

  Except…she doesn’t run. Her palms slide over my pecs, around to my shoulders, and she never stops touching me as she circles me. “Whoever put you back together did a Cracker Jack job, you know.”

  “Me.”

  “What?” Her eyes widen, and she links her fingers with mine. “You—”

  “We didn’t have medical care in Hell.”

  I expect pity, but instead, I see awe in her gaze. “Well, you’re…”

  “A monster.”

  Now, anger flashes across her face as she brings my hands to her waist. “I was going to say ‘magnificent.’ Don’t put words in my mouth, Ryker. I can speak for myself.”

  I don’t know how to reply, but she relieves me of the responsibility when she wraps her arms around me and rests her cheek against my chest. “Can I…stay with you tonight?”

  Is she asking…? As I nod, I realize I don’t care what she’s asking for. A kiss, sex, or just someone to hold her while she sleeps…I’ll give it to her.

  12

  Wren

  Well, I’ve done it. Demanded Ryker talk to me. See me. And now I’m in his bedroom. Staring at more muscles than I’ve ever seen. And more scars. The man’s skin looks like a jigsaw puzzle. But there’s beauty in his survival.

  He keeps his arm around me as he leads me to the bed. I don’t have any illusions as to what this is. Two lonely, needy people taking solace in one another. Despite my insistence that I go with him to Russia, I’m scared to death. Hell, the plane ride terrifies me. I’m a nervous flyer under the best circumstances. Let alone riding a transport plane into a foreign country where I don’t speak the language and people probably want to kill me. Or worse.

  “Do…you have a side?” I ask.

  “No.” The single word carries more uncertainty than should be possible, and I slip out from under his arm and dive under the covers on the far side of the bed. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Sex? Cuddling? A few more of those kisses that rocked me down to my core? All of the above? Or…just company?

  Ryker sits stiffly, his back to me, and I reach out and stroke a hand over his shoulder blade. “I don’t bite.”

  “Too bad.” He jerks away from my touch, clears his throat, and then whispers a quick apology.

  “Stop that.” Sitting up, I try to turn him towards me, but the man’s a mountain when he doesn’t want to move, so I scramble over the bunched-up blankets until I’m kneeling at his side. “Did I say I was offended?”

  He darts a quick glance at me. “No.”

  “You’re allowed to joke, Ry. Err. Ryker.”

  “Ry’s fine. My…uh…coworkers call me that.”

  “Not your friends?” In the brief flash of pain that darkens his eyes, I see the truth. He doesn’t have any. Or…he doesn’t think he does. “Tell me about them?”

  With a sigh, he stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles, and lies back. I mirror his movements so he doesn’t have to look me in the eyes, but he reaches for my hand and links our fingers.

  “West and Inara. There’s a new guy, Graham, but he’s only been on two missions. I don’t know him well enough to know if he’ll stick around.”

  “West…you mentioned him at my apartment.”

  “Yeah. He’s a former SEAL. Engaged to this computer genius. They’re getting married next week.”

  “Oh sugar snacks. Are you missing the wedding because of me?” Guilt tangles the words in my throat, but he squeezes my fingers.

  “No. I wasn’t going anyway. Don’t ask me why not.”

  Well, that was exactly what I was going to ask him, but fine. He’s finally talking, and I don’t want to discourage him.

  “West was there when I escaped Hell. He was the first friendly I saw.” Ryker offers a dry laugh. “Pretty sure he thought I was a mountain lion. Covered in dirt, blood, and shit. Running a fever of a hundred and two. Long, scraggly beard—in places.” He rubs the scars on his jaw and cheek with his free hand. “Wearing a pair of gray pants…well, they were no longer gray. Or really even pants.”

  I stay silent, hoping he’ll continue unprompted, but when he doesn’t, I nudge my shoulder against his. “Sorry. We reconnected last year. Good guy. Solid.”

  “And Inara?”

  “Sharpshooter. One of the best I’ve ever seen. We’ve worked together for three years. She’s a translator when she’s not doing K&R with us.”

  I sit up. “Does she speak Russian?”

  “Yeah. Russian, Pashto, Arabic, French, Spanish, Italian, and one more. Chinese maybe.”

  “Can I send her some of the codes Zion left me?” For the first time in two days, I feel something akin to hope. “I kept trying Google Translate, but nothing I got back made any sense.”

  “I’ll get you her email in the morning before we leave.”

  My fingers find their way to my wrist, but I left my bracelet by my bed. “Are you really that worried about taking me to Russia? Even with the arsenal out there?”

  Ryker meets my gaze, and he doesn’t have to answer me. The fear tightens tiny lines around his eyes and lips, and I blow out a breath. When his hand cups my cheek, then slides around to the back of my neck, I let him pull me down so I’m half on top of him.

  “You’re a civilian, Wren.” His warm breath tickles my ear. “And you’re…fuck. I haven’t been ignoring you the past two days. I’ve watched you. How your mind works. You’re brilliant. The way you tackle a problem…I want to know what’s going on in that head of yours. All the time.”

  “All you have to do is ask.”

  I feel him nod against me, and then he eases me up slightly so he can slant his lips over mine. Before, his kiss was frantic, desperate. But this time, the tenderness in his touch makes my eyes burn—even though I can’t remember how to cry. I don’t want this to stop. I could kiss this man every day for the next month and it wouldn’t be enough. I shouldn’t need him. Shouldn’t want him. There’s a darkness inside him I fear will consume him
one day. But I can’t help myself.

  He’s broken in all the wrong ways. Perfect in all the right ones. And as he deepens the kiss and slides his hands down my back to cup my ass, I wriggle my hips, offering him more.

  Too soon, he pulls away and tucks an errant curl behind my ear. “Stay with me, Wren. For just one night, I don’t want to fall asleep alone.”

  I turn in his arms, letting him fit his big, solid body around mine, keeping me safe the only way he knows how.

  13

  Ryker

  Eighteen hours after Wren fell asleep in my arms, we land at a defunct military airstrip outside of St. Petersburg. Ford arranged for a nondescript coupe waiting for us, and as soon as I usher Wren—her hair covered with a black scarf—into the car, she pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs herself tightly.

  “Talk to me, sweetheart,” I say as the engine sputters to life.

  “I hate flying. And the hangover I get from doubling up on the anxiety meds. And my ears are still ringing. You fly like that all the time?”

  “You get used to it.” Stopping to check the GPS before I pull out onto the motorway, I slide my hand around the back of her neck and pull her closer. “Take a deep breath for me.”

  “I’m okay.” She holds my gaze, but I can see her struggle not to go for one of her coping mechanisms like fiddling with her bracelet or tapping her fingers along the inside of her wrist. “Really.”

  “Sure. And I’m a short, underweight comedian.”

  Her laugh does something to my gut I’m not prepared for. I want to hear it again, but that joke’s literally the only one I know. When she leans closer, I mirror her movements, and she touches her forehead to mine. “Don’t let me distract you, Ry. I’m depending on you to keep us safe.”

  I nod and return my focus to the road. “Put on your sunglasses. In about twenty minutes, we’ll be in range of the first traffic cameras.” I tug a baseball cap down over my bald head, adjust my own shades, and tighten my grip on the steering wheel. We’re about to head right into the lion’s den, and I’m worried I forgot my whip.

  By the time we get to the old house on the outskirts of town, Wren’s fallen asleep. The street lights illuminate peeling paint, graffiti, and broken-down cars parked in several yards. Some things are universal, I guess.

  “We’re here,” I say quietly as I pull up to the curb. She blinks and yawns, and I grip her wrist firmly. “You wait for me to come around. Understand? And once we get inside, you stay behind me until I’ve cleared the whole house.”

  She nods, her fingers dipping between her breasts for a quick moment until I take her hand. “Unless we’re somewhere private, don’t ever check to make sure the tracker’s in place. Trust the tech. And trust me.”

  The little transmitter I asked Royce to send me is nestled inside her bra. Loc8tion, the mobile app he’s been working on ever since a stroke left him unable to run his company, can track a person anywhere, and both Wren and I have the devices hidden in our clothes. The little GPS is small enough no one will find it if they pat her down—only if they make her remove her bra. And if someone does that, I’ll kill them.

  “Sorry,” she whispers.

  I want to reassure her, but it’s good for her to be a little scared. On edge. She’ll be more careful.

  After I settle my pack on my shoulders, I skirt the car and open Wren’s door, listening for anything out of place. A television drones on quietly from two houses away, and a dog barks on the next block, but no footsteps, no odd rustling in bushes, and no movement in the house I can see.

  Wren’s pack is smaller, but still easily thirty pounds, and I help her shrug into it before I ease the door shut and take her hand to lead her to the back of the house. My free hand rests on my pistol.

  It’s so fucking cold in the house, I can see my breath, but once we’ve cleared every one of the six rooms and the basement, I motion for Wren to take a seat on the ancient couch while I tape the draperies down so no light will escape the windows, then plug in the little oil heater.

  “It’ll be warm in an hour or so,” I say as Wren takes out her laptop and starts getting us connected to the internet.

  “I can deal.” Despite her assurance, her teeth chatter as she works, and I pull out a couple of MREs, pour the water into the heating pouch, and wait for the beef stew to warm in my hands.

  “Here. This’ll help.” Our fingers brush as she takes the packet, and I hold on a little longer than necessary. “I’ll go out tomorrow and get some supplies. Scout around. But tonight, this is all we have.”

  “I need to get into the St. Petersburg Federal District offices. Here.” Wren brings up a map on her laptop and points to one of the cluster of buildings I’ve studied for the past two days. “Give me fifteen minutes in their server room and I’ll have access to the traffic camera network across the whole city. It’d be easier to go in at night.” She holds my gaze, and I arch a brow.

  “You want to do this now?”

  “Well…yes.” Digging a spork into the beef-flavored mush, she almost smiles. “You don’t want me exposed. Right? So…let’s get in and out while everyone else is sleeping.”

  I don’t know if she’s brilliant, brave, or reckless. But I can’t argue with her logic. Heating up my own MRE, I sink down next to her. “All right, sweetheart. But once we’re done, you’re on lockdown. Understand?”

  Multiple emotions flicker over her delicate features: anger, frustration, understanding, fear, and acceptance. Finally, she nods. “Understood. Just don’t keep me in the dark, Ry. That’s all I ask.”

  Cupping her cheek, I lean in and brush a gentle kiss to her lips, offering the only promise I can. “I won’t.”

  14

  Wren

  My heart hammers in my chest hard enough I’m amazed Ryker doesn’t hear it. At least my hands no longer shake, the anxiety pill working its way through my system. Even though I hack into government and private systems all the time, I rarely need to be on site to do so.

  But I don’t speak Russian. Inara, Ryker’s teammate, is in my ear, and the glasses I wear transmit everything I see to her. Between the two of us, I hope this will only take a few minutes.

  Ryker kneels by one of the building’s side doors, concealed in shadows as he picks the lock. Pressed against the wall, I force slow, deep breaths and grip my small tablet in the pouch slung across my body.

  In. Out. Back to the safehouse. And then I can sleep. Maybe with Ryker’s arms around me again.

  “Stay behind me,” Ryker whispers as he opens the door. Gun in hand, he clears the hallway, then motions for me to follow.

  Safety lights guide our path to the inner stairwell, then down two levels to the underground server room. An electronic keypad glows at the door, and I unzip my pouch while Ryker puts his back to the wall and sweeps his gaze up and down the long hallway. Tension keeps his shoulders tight and his lips pressed into a thin line.

  Flipping through my stash of adapters, I find the right one, hook up the tablet, and launch my password cracking app. These little keypads are easy. The server I need to hack into? Not so much.

  Sixty seconds pass, each one tenser than the last, and Ryker keeps flexing his fingers—one of his anxious tics I’ve discovered in the past few days. Finally, there’s a quiet beep, the lock disengages, and I’m in.

  After he plants a small camera on top of the door to keep watch on the hallway, Ryker follows me inside.

  “Check the room for open terminals,” I whisper. “On the off chance…it’ll save me a ton of time.”

  Weaving among the server racks, we find nothing, so I choose a terminal at the back of the room where no one can see me from the door and pull out a keyboard on a swinging arm. “Okay. Are you ready, Inara?”

  “I have a visual,” she replies.

  Plucking another adapter from my bag of tricks, I lean my tablet against the server monitor, plug it in, and let the two machines handshake. Lines of Cyrillic flash across the main screen, and Inara tra
nslates.

  “You need an employee access code and PIN.”

  “Got it.” This information takes longer, and with each minute, Ryker’s tension ratchets up another notch. By the time I’m in, we’ve been in the building for ten minutes, and the hard stone sitting on my chest feels like it’s about to suffocate me.

  “Help me find the right directory.” My code only works if I install it somewhere no one will find it. A utility folder is the best spot, but if I can’t find one, I can try to hide it in the server’s boot sequence.

  We go back and forth with Inara providing a running commentary of folder names.

  “How much longer?” Ryker growls as I seize on a good folder and launch my trojan.

  Inara sighs. “Stand down, Ry. She’s doing just fine.”

  “This program will allow me to access everything on the network from the safe house. But it takes a few minutes to install.” I glare up at him. “And no amount of pacing is going to speed it up. Go wait by the door.”

  “Not letting you out of my sight.”

  “You’re slowing me down. Go away.” I try to ignore him and focus on my task, but I can hear him breathing just behind me, and I send an elbow gently into his side. “Go. Away.”

  “Ry. Listen to her. Go check the door camera.” Inara sounds as frustrated as I am, and as the program runs and he stalks away, I send her a quick chat message.

  Thank you. Is he always this overprotective?

  A low, husky laugh accompanies the quiet sound of typing, and I have to stifle my snort when I see her reply.

  He doesn’t like anything he can’t control.

  While the trojan’s final checks scroll across the screen, I run my fingers over the bracelet hidden under my black shirt. I’m here, Z. And we’re going to get Elena and Semyon out. I promise. If they’re still alive, we’ll find them.