Swallow (Kindred, #2) E-Book

Scarlett Finn

• Herausgeber: Scarlett Finn
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Swallow
She's strong and dedicated,
Committed and selfless.
She needs her touchstone,
But Raven's not the same.

Reeling from the impact of recent tragedy, Raven isn't as focused as the Kindred need him to be. When old enemies return without showing any respect, timetables at McCormack Manor change. The danger hasn't dwindled. Only her Love has the strength and the ability to steer them through. He has to excel in his dominance or they may never survive.

Zara needs to fight to close ranks and to take her rightful place in the outfit without any hitches. She's different now, faster and more dedicated. Her loyalty will be tested. In the name of the Kindred, she must do things she never thought she'd be capable of.


Warning: Contains explicit language and imagery. Suitable only for ages 18 and over.

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2016, 2022 Scarlett Finn

Published by Moriona Press 2016, 2022

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

First published in 2016

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. It may not be used to train AI software or for the creation of AI works.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Original cover by Najla Qamber Designs

www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

www.scarlettfinn.com

For L

KINDRED SERIES

Raven

Swallow

Cuckoo

Swift

Falcon

Finch

Read them in order for maximized reading pleasure.

For other titles from Scarlett Finn, please read on after the story.

Click here if you’d like to leave a message for Scarlett.

Enjoy!

CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

ONE

BRODIE MCCORMACK HAD told her that she wasn’t allowed to leave his property, but he had done little to welcome her into his home. Zara Bandini chose to view his indifference as acceptance because he hadn’t banished her after commanding her to stay. The truth was he’d given up caring about everything since his Uncle Art had been murdered, so she couldn’t be insulted by his inattention.

With every new demonstration of apathy, she became more worried about her love’s mental state. Grief was a dangerous beast that could consume and contort a man until he became unrecognizable. Brodie, the man she’d fallen in love with, was still in there, he was just struggling to navigate the path back to her.

At thirteen, Brodie McCormack had lost his parents. Now at thirty-three, he’d lost his guardian and mentor. Since his life was torn apart by the death of his mother and father in an explosion on their boat twenty years ago, Art had been his rock. After that tragedy, Brodie had lost his way, and it had been up to Art to guide his nephew through the trauma.

Three months had passed since they’d watched the Kindred Chief succumb to the gunshot wound delivered by Albert Sutcliffe in the Atlas warehouse. Since that day, Brodie had locked himself in the manor he’d inherited from his parents and shunned the world.

The task of keeping the sniper alive had fallen to her and Zara had done her best to look after him, but she feared that wasn’t good enough. He just didn’t seem to want to liberate himself from the darkness that was his perpetual companion.

During his long periods of aversion to company, she had been afforded the chance to explore McCormack Manor and learn the quirks of the building. What began as a way to entertain herself grew into a bigger project. She tended to forgotten rooms, welcomed the light, and put her own touches around the place, taking the harsh masculine edge from the home that had once been a palace meant for Brodie’s mother.

Living in a large city, in an apartment without exterior space, she hadn’t had a recent chance to test her yardwork skills. Zara had been raised in the country and was no stranger to getting dirty. When she waded out onto the grounds, it struck her that she’d missed toiling in the sunshine.

Maintaining such a vast estate wasn’t a task meant for a single person. Zara embraced being tossed in at the deep end because she needed the distraction. Broken objects could be repaired with time and attention. Her lover was broken too, fixing him wasn’t as simple as a new coat of paint or a few soft furnishings.

So much of McCormack Manor had gone to ruin with Art and Brodie as its distracted caretakers. The Kindred had abroad missions to focus on, meaning uncle and nephew were rarely here for any more than a few weeks at a time. Hence how the place had fallen into disrepair. Since Art had pulled a teenage Brodie out of his parental bereavement funk, no one had spent such an extended period of time here.

On that particular day, Zara Bandini was just finishing up with her checks in main security in the basement of the grand gothic manor house. It had become her daily duty to inspect the systems, to make sure the perimeter was secure, and that all the cameras were unobstructed. In the months since losing Art, she’d become efficient through necessity more than desire. At first, filling the chief’s shoes was daunting, but it had become clear that no one else was going to step up to the plate and these routine duties wouldn’t perform themselves.

Glancing at the clock, she registered the time. If she wanted to be punctual for the funeral, she would have to speed up. The last thing she wanted to do was arrive late. Her entrance would be conspicuous given that she was expected on the front pew.

While typing in the last commands to the computer log, she stood up. Rolling the seat away with her locked knees, Zara remained bowed over the keyboard to conclude her work. With a final keystroke, she adjusted one of her diamond earrings with two fingertips and straightened to scan the bank of monitors in front of her once more.

Satisfied that she’d completed her duty, she hooked her purse over her head to let it rest across her body and headed for the exit. Thinking about the grim day ahead, she went into the blackened basement corridor. Funerals reminded her of the day they’d buried her mother. Pity had surrounded her and at fourteen, she should have been thinking about boys and makeup. Instead, she went from caring for her withering mother to caring for a home she did not intend to die in.

Her father and brother would have been happy to keep her in the family home, cooking and cleaning, and never again thinking about the future. But she wouldn’t repeat her mother’s mistakes. Zara wanted to make something of herself, and while her life hadn’t followed the path she might have projected, she had made a difference in the world—albeit with Kindred help and guidance.

Zara would much rather blend into the background today. But she’d agreed to sit with Grant McCormack, CEO of CI, who was grieving the loss of one of his youngest VP’s. Losing a vibrant man, full of such potential, was a shock. As a victim of a mugging gone wrong, they’d lost him to murder, which distressed the high society members he moved amongst.

Since meeting Raven, which was Brodie’s professional alias, she’d become more accustomed to death and wasn’t so surprised that these kinds of things could happen. Bunking in with a professional marksman would do that to a girl. Especially when he had a habit of putting bullets in men who got too close to her.

Zara would be happy to avoid memories of her mother and the other more recent losses she’d suffered. If she could, she would limit her time at the wake. After showing her face, she should be able to sneak out early. Grant would have plenty of hands to shake, giving him plenty of distractions.

Hurrying along the basement corridor toward the stairwell at the end, she came to an abrupt halt when the door to her left opened. Brodie startled her from her thoughts when he emerged from the gym, damp from the shower, wiping a towel over his jaw. His brown hair was wet and because personal grooming wasn’t high on his to-do list these days, it hadn’t been cut in months.

She hadn’t been aware that they’d occupied the same floor because she hadn’t sought him out this morning. These days he didn’t surface from his bedroom until closer to noon—if he came out at all.

Giving her the once over, his expression registered no change in his thoughts. “What’s with the getup?” he asked, still examining her demure black dress and conservative heels. “You going to a costume party?”

It didn’t surprise her that he didn’t know what time of the day it was or what season they were in. It was just another example of his lack of focus. The outfit she was wearing had been typical of her daily wardrobe before Brodie came into her life. Now, she spent more time in casual or workout clothes, or items that she didn’t mind getting dirty in the yard when she went out to work in the muck.

There wasn’t any affection or joy in his features. Brodie had become a shut in, and there were times she feared she’d never be able to reach him again. “I’m going to a funeral,” she said, edging closer to curl her fingers around the waistband of his shorts.

Any glimmer of conversation spelled a good day. Savoring every chance to connect with him, she wouldn’t give up on him or let him be lost forever. He needed a constant, a touchstone, and she wanted to be that beacon for him.

By the way he was looking down his nose at her, she could tell he was considering possibilities. “Anyone I know?”

“I doubt it,” she said, trailing a fingernail up the center of his vest. “He was a VP at CI. He was killed by a mugger. Random shooting.”

The story didn’t interest him, she could tell by how his attention cooled. Nothing seemed to interest him anymore, except brooding solitude. Sometimes he drank into the night, sometimes she wouldn’t see him for days. Other times, he kept her locked up with him so he could gorge himself on her body. Those times were physical. He wouldn’t talk to her, not about anything but sex. But there had been times she gleaned his inner needs in the way he touched her.

One of the less enjoyable tasks that had fallen to her was arranging for the engraving of Art’s headstone. With Tuck’s help, they’d affixed the granite slab to Art’s plot. Tuck took off as soon as the job was done. He hadn’t opened up to her, but she could tell that Art’s death was taking its toll on the hacker too.

Dirty and tired, tears had stained her face when she’d come back inside to find Brodie waiting on the stairs for her. It was nights like that one which kept her love for him alive. He hadn’t said anything, he’d just taken her hand and led her up to his bedroom where he made quiet love to her before holding her against him all night.

Later on, she discovered that he’d watched her and Tuck working from one of the high manor towers that gave him a partial view of the headstones through the treetops.

Thinking of that day always made her crave his devotion. “Do you need anything before I go?” she asked.

Slowly, his head angled to the left. Zara clung to him during these rare interactions and always took the opportunity to touch him when she got close enough. The physical connection spurred on her desire to stay at the side of this man who was floundering.

Whipping the towel off his neck, he dropped it to the floor then groped for the zipper under her arm. He slid it down. As it descended, her heart rate ascended. She didn’t have time for games. Didn’t have time to sate his wants now, but if she said no, Brodie would only want her more.

“I’m late,” she said, but he grabbed her ribcage and rushed her against the wall with a thump that expelled the air from her lungs.

The strap of her purse slipped from her shoulder to her elbow and encircled her upper body until she straightened her arm and let it fall to the floor in a wide loop around her feet.

With narrow eyes and lips, his gaze drilled into her. “Sorry, baby, you won’t be going to that party,” he murmured.

A funeral wasn’t a party and she didn’t know why he would object to her going. It could be he didn’t want her being around Grant, which she would be if she went to any CI event. Maybe he was worried about her well-being and didn’t want her to go to a solemn occasion without him there to support her. It was more likely that he was just horny and didn’t want her to stray when he required her attention.

The shadows beneath his eyes betrayed that she’d been wrong. He wasn’t awake early as she’d thought, he hadn’t gone to bed yet. He’d emerged from the gym, so she guessed that he’d worked out before taking his shower, which was something he did when he was frustrated. It was possible he’d tried to exorcize his arousal through physical exertion or maybe he’d had a rough night of grief. Either way, she wished he’d sought her out sooner.

“What you got going on under the dress?” he asked and stepped back to pull her straps from her shoulders, though they only fell as far as her elbows before the dress caught on the apex of her breasts, hiding from him what she wore beneath. He wasn’t patient. Grabbing the neckline, he tugged it down and seemed pissed off to find her bra there blocking his view.

But he leaned away to get a look at her legs beneath the hem of her dress. When his lit eyes landed on hers, she felt exposed. She didn’t have to be naked for Brodie to know her habits. “Let me see ‘em,” he grumbled and, although he was tense, he did seem to be enjoying this game.

With the heels of her hands on her hips, she gathered up the fabric of her dress just enough to let the lace tops of her stockings peek from beneath. She knew how to tease him, knew what he wanted to see. His gruff single laugh made her shoulder blades press deeper into the wall at her back as her pelvis rose toward his. Coming a step closer, he took her hips, but only long enough to give them a brief squeeze before he let go.

“Take off your panties,” he said, and she was sure he was going to take her here, against this wall in this darkened basement hallway.

She’d already given in to one of his commands, and his attention was enough to arouse her into forgetting about the plans she’d made. Picking her skirt higher, Zara found the elastic of her thong and pulled it down, past the lace summits of her hold-ups. Bending at the waist, her face was in his crotch when the fabric got to her ankles. He got closer, close enough that when she looked up, her nose brushed the solid length of him that was throbbing beneath his shorts.

Stepping out of the panties, she left them on the floor and grabbed the waist of his shorts with intentions of freeing him, but Brodie had other ideas. He intercepted her wrist, and while she was still bent over, he turned and dragged her toward the stairwell.

This was his house, they were alone, not even Art was around to happen upon them, but that could’ve been why Brodie chose to hurry her up to his bedroom. Screwing her in the hallway, without any concern of being discovered, was another reminder of what they’d lost.

Brodie got her up to his bedroom and didn’t slow when he reached the door, he got them inside and dragged her over to the bed. Her dress was still hanging on her arms, but when he flung her face first onto the mattress, he grabbed the hem of it and tugged it down to expose her. Zara pushed onto her hands to look around, the first thing she noticed was the blackness of the space she’d once considered a haven. The room was a mess, beer and bourbon bottles were on the bedside table with empty glasses and dirty plates beside them.

When she got the chance to come in and clear up, she did. But his erratic moods sometimes left her feeling unwelcome. Often Brodie flat out demanded that she leave him alone and get out.

His fingers skimmed down between her ass cheeks and around until he made contact with her feminine threshold. Plunging the digits deep into her, he circled and spread them to expand her inner passage, testing how her body would yield for his cock.

“Your pussy’s all juiced up, baby,” he grumbled.

She always got wet when he talked, whether it was dirty words about what he wanted to do to her, or commands meant to put her in her place, Zara gave her heart and her trust to the man she loved without reservations.

Brodie worked her for a few seconds and when he pulled her hips upward, she knew he was going to enter her from behind. Zara let herself be contorted, let herself be pushed and pulled for his pleasure because she gave him something no other woman did, he had everything he needed right here. Zara was his and although he hadn’t spelled it out yet, she knew that Brodie belonged to her. She gave him what he needed whenever he needed it and the possessive nature of his rough hands were enough to show her how grateful he was for her sticking by him.

Once he had quenched his desire in her body, he would need sleep, meaning she might still have time to show face at the wake. But Brodie had been her priority since the day that Art died and that wasn’t going to change now. She’d stay here, in his room, in his bed, for however long he wanted her there. Everything was secondary to her love for him and once he emerged from the isolation of his grief, their connection was going to be stronger than ever.

He massaged inside her, curling his fingers to explore her g-spot and twisting his hand to abrade her with his knuckles. His actions made her tense and relax all at the same time. Brodie was a combination of contradictions that proved how complex his character was, he wasn’t a killer who reveled in the scent of blood. He was a good man with morals of his own, even if they didn’t match the morals of the masses.

Preparing herself for his entry, she began to sway forward and back, using his wide fingers as a tool for her release. But while one hand was delivering pleasure to her, the other grabbed her arm and flipped her to her back, then with his shins over her thighs and his weight pushing into her shoulders through the heels of both hands, he growled down at her.

“You want out of here so bad?” he asked with a sneering smile that reeked of menace. “Prove it.”

This was his sport. She never refused to play these role play games with him because for every second she tried to get away from him, she’d spend twice as many seducing him or lying in his arms when they were done.

Taking a moment to build up air in her lungs, she kept her expression tight. When her eyes pinched, he lunged down, trying to snag her bottom lip, but she turned her head away and began to struggle.

“Get off me,” she said, trying to lift her legs, but she couldn’t kick out, the solid mass of his powerful thighs gave her as much room as a concrete block would. Still, she wriggled, turning her face away from his every attempt to kiss her.

“You’ve got something I want,” he said and bit her earlobe.

The pain was pleasure. There was no fear here, only stimulation. Brodie was strong. He worked hard on his body to make sure it was a weapon able to protect her. Trying and failing to free herself from his control was a reminder of how resolute he was to have her. His potency intoxicated her.

His weight came down to pin her pelvis onto the mattress and the pulsing proof of his intentions pressed itself into her. On feeling him so near, she began to writhe against that pleasure, but he surged forward making it impossible for her to move.

Releasing his grip for long enough to tear the strip of fabric between her bra cups, she shrieked. That was one of her favorite bras and if she’d known this was going to happen, she wouldn’t have worn it. But her chagrin was erased when his stubble tickled her cleavage and moved deeper until the rough hair on his face scratched on the sensitive skin of her breasts.

Using the tip of his tongue, he licked his way to one nipple, circled it, and then crossed to the other. She expected the same delicate touch, instead he stole her nipple into his mouth and sucked it so hard a spear of pain shot through her and settled against the heat of her engorged center.

“I have to go,” she said, but her resistance was lessening.

“You give me what I need,” he said. He chose that moment to elevate his hips to free himself from his shorts. She sensed, or maybe hoped, that he meant those words because that admission would mean more to her than any game. “You’re my horny little plaything.”

The game wasn’t over, and she was pulled back into it when Brodie rose to grab her inner thighs, he pulled her legs apart and leered down at the swollen pink flesh of her glistening vulva. Zara was ready for him, her body was on fire, her nerves fizzling, she wanted this, wanted his hands, his mouth, his dick, all of it. Being intimate with Brodie was a rollercoaster, there were ups and downs, and just when you thought you had a handle on what he’d do next, he’d flip her upside down in a loop-the-loop.

“That’s what I need,” he murmured and curled his fingers around his shaft.

His hand moved up, then back down. He squeezed himself from hilt to head. Watching him pleasuring himself while remaining fixated on her body was a new kind of thrill. Even though it seemed like he was committing a private act, she wanted to be a part of it.

Sitting up, she barely got her balance before he seized her throat to pin her against the mattress. He came down over her so their upper bodies were parallel. Her knees made contact with his thighs, so she rubbed her legs up and down his, but the fabric of his shorts was still around his thighs and made complete skin-to-skin contact impossible. But she wasn’t disappointed.

Her throat was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t squeezing, just using his hand to keep her right where he wanted her. From how his other arm moved, she knew he was still pleasuring himself. But the intensity in his eyes, that wouldn’t leave hers, was a connection deeper than the one they were going to make with their bodies.

“Baby,” she whispered and stroked up his torso. “Talk to me.”

His brows snapped down. His frown was always an indicator of his annoyance. He widened his knees to spread her legs farther and she gasped at the burning ache in her upper thighs, but he pushed forward and impaled her with the organ he’d been caressing.

Because he was fucking her so fast, she couldn’t breathe right. His frown was still there, fixed on her, pissed off that she’d let a moment of intimacy creep into their game. Brodie didn’t shy from intimacy, but he liked to be the one who initiated softer moments. Somehow, he’d known she didn’t mean she wanted dirty words from him. She wanted to know his heart because until he confessed his grief, there was always a chance it would consume him.

Her eyes closed as he shunted her body up with his powerful thrusts. His frame receded from hers, she relaxed for a beat, then tensed to rise up and meet his plunges with her own. Being a part of his body, for these precious unions, cleared her head and centered her thoughts in a way no other exercise or meditation could. Brodie was her rock and when she was with him, she never doubted her decisions.

All she needed from him was this commitment, and given what he’d recently lost, it meant a lot that he trusted her. It would have been easy for him to reject everyone. He could’ve retreated inside, canceled all security clearances except his own, and disappeared from the radar forever. Instead, he was sharing his life with her. It just so happened that at the moment, his life existed inside the McCormack Manor walls.

Hot, wet bliss burned her veins and she had to grab his shoulders, to use him as traction, because she was losing her ability to keep up. Brodie batted her arms away and grabbed her hips, holding her at the angle he needed to increase his pace further. Just as she screamed out his name and the meteors of orgasm shot through her body, Brodie cursed, surged forward, and released his liquid into her.

Seconds of silence flitted between them. As soon as he made eye contact, she opened her mouth to talk, but he scowled again, let her go, and got off the bed to head for the bathroom. He slammed the door and she heard the click of the lock. He was done with her and now she’d been dismissed.

TWO

IN THE END, she didn’t get to the funeral. She’d learned Brodie’s signals and locking the bathroom door meant he didn’t want to interact with her anymore. For weeks, she’d been trying to break through his barriers, but he was still too affected by the loss of his mentor to allow her to make any meaningful progress with him.

Grant hadn’t been happy when she’d appeared at the wake, flushed, apologetic, and late. Still, he kept her near while making the rounds and shaking hands. After Atlas, and Art’s death, she hadn’t intended on going back to Cormack Industries. The whole mess still upset her, the senseless loss of a good man and the deal Grant had been going to make with a person intent on murder made her sick. She was sorry to have been involved.

But a couple of weeks into her stay at the manor, Grant McCormack—Brodie’s brother and her former boss—had called and begged her to come back to work. Without any sense of obligation, she intended to refuse him. But after discussing it with Tuck, who was also known as Swift, they decided she should go back, at least for a few months, until they were sure that Grant had gotten over his notion of illegal justice. So far, so good.

The funeral passed and she went back to her juggling act of trying to keep an eye on Brodie, while maintaining her own apartment and her job at CI, which was just cover for her role as Kindred spy. She knew her future was not in that company.

Over the last three months, Zara had learned the rhythm of the manor and of her man. As tough as it was being everything to everyone, she valued Brodie’s need, and his trust. She could roam free in a space he’d always kept private. The manor was so highly restricted that only six people had set foot on its floor for over a decade. Now, it was becoming her home.

Tuck had grown to be her closest ally. She could call on him day or night for anything and he would always help her as quickly and thoroughly as he could. Zara wasn’t sure she'd have gotten through this quarter without him.

Tuck’s expertise was needed in the manor that day, about two weeks after the funeral. When she’d called for his help, he’d been close enough to get there quickly. Sitting in the main security room in the basement of the manor, Zara stayed as quiet as possible while Tuck typed, fixing the issue that she’d called him about. Tuck knew everything there was to know about computers and had programmed most of the manor system himself. It was impossible for this network to stump him, as it had done her.

Tuck rolled his chair to the side and opened his palms toward the trio of keyboards indicating she could take her place at the central one again. “Thanks,” Zara said, using the desk to pull herself to the middle position of the control panel where Tuck had just been.

“No problem,” he said.

She could feel him watching her. He’d been looking at her in the same way for three months, and just as usual, she did her best to look anywhere except at her friend and colleague. So Zara examined the timestamps on the monitor bank above her as each screen rebooted. The last one flickered up and she exhaled, pleased that she had a clear and present view again.

Still scrutinizing the screens, Zara was aware of Tuck waiting for her to say something. “I think it crashed last night,” she said. Staying on topic didn’t give him the explanation he wanted, but it was all she could volunteer. “Everything was all screwed up when I came down this morning.”

“Zara,” Tuck said in such a way that told her, he wasn’t going to let her skirt the issue any longer. The hacker was too astute for his own good sometimes. “How is he?”

Pasting on a smile, she did her best to sound breezy. “Oh, you know, some days are better than others.”

The feigned cheer in her voice was fooling no one, let alone the man who knew Brodie better than she did. “You can talk to me,” he said in the same soft voice most people used when broaching a difficult subject.

Exhaling, she accepted that her avoidance wasn’t going to hold up. Shouldering all of the responsibility for Brodie and his mood was as selfish as it was selfless. She was protecting the Goliath that this man was and he wouldn’t take kindly to people discussing him behind his back. The trouble was, he didn’t talk about himself or the dark place he’d descended into, and so she was left to soldier on without any idea if she was helping him to progress or just facilitating this holding pattern.

Just because she understood that she had to be honest and share, didn’t mean she could look Tuck in the eye as she did it. So she spread her fingers on either side of the middle keyboard and traced the outer edges of it.

“For the first four weeks he didn’t come out of his room,” she said. “He locked himself up in there. It was hit or miss whether he’d eat, let alone shower or shave. For the next four weeks, he threw himself into working out. He’d be in the gym for hours sometimes. I would leave in the morning for work at CI and he’d still be in there when I came home, lifting weights or running. I thought it was an improvement, you know? At least he was taking care of his body and he was drinking and eating again.”

He rolled his seat closer and his hand came into view near her elbow. “And for the last month?”

She sighed. “He’s been back and forth,” she said. “Sometimes I almost see glimmers of his old self coming back, then just when I think we’re getting somewhere, he locks himself in his room again and I don’t see him for days.”

“It’s a process,” Tuck said, pulling his chair close enough that he could take her hand. “You’re not going through this alone. If there’s anything I can do to help—”

“You’ve been amazing,” she said, turning her hand over to link her fingers with his. “Every time I call, you pick up… I can’t say the same about Brodie.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” Tuck said. “You’ve kept him alive for the last three months.”

“Sometimes I come into the house and I can’t find him, I have no idea where he is.”

“You won’t have that problem now that I’ve shown you how to access and control the motion sensors. You’ll be able to look after him no matter where he is.”

“He can take care of himself… I’ve just been helping out.”

Sometimes while sitting at her desk in CI, she wondered how Brodie would have dealt with Art’s death had he not had her. Maybe she wasn’t helping at all. Maybe if she hadn’t been there he’d have been forced to carry on and to look after himself. There would have been no alternative. But abandoning him had never occurred to her because if he didn’t pick himself up and move on, the alternative was too horrific to even entertain.

“Are you two still…?”

“I stay over most nights,” she nodded. “But I’m… I moved my things into one of the guest bedrooms because you know… he needs his space and I don’t like to intrude.”

“Are you telling me that since Art died you haven’t—”

“Oh no, we’ve had sex,” she said. “When he wants it, he seeks me out. Sometimes he’s waiting for me as soon as I arrive. Other times he comes to me at night, you know? But he hasn’t left this house. I still have my apartment where I stay when I’m not here and he hasn’t visited me there. He’s still so angry about what happened. He blames himself and sometimes he needs the vent.”

Tuck sucked in a breath. “What about your needs?” he asked. “The guy needs a good punch to the gut. He can’t just breeze into your life any time he wants to take out his frustrations with some angry sex… Not that I’m one to talk about healthy relationships.”

“How is Kadie?” she asked, referencing the girlfriend Art had told her about.

“I haven’t seen her in a while. All of this it’s just… it reminds me how dangerous what we do is. If I had been the one to take that bullet… she would never have known…’

“It’s not too late to change your life,” Zara said. “Art told Brodie not to be like him… I’d guess that goes for you too.”

“I wouldn’t know how to change,” Tuck said. “My life has been like this for as long as I can remember. I met Brodie and Art in Thailand when I was twenty-two… just a few weeks before my twenty-third birthday. Art planned a huge party for me when he found out I had never celebrated a birthday before”—his smile grew more distant as he turned it away—“I didn’t know half the folks there, but… I’ve been knocking around with them on and off for ten years. Art taught me a lot about control and indulgence… Man, I was an idiot back then.”

Concerned that Tuck was dealing with his own torture alone, she wanted him to confront what he was dealing with. Repressing it could lead to further damage. “He was like family to you too,” she said, slipping a hand under his jaw to make him look at her. “You need to grieve the loss as well… And there’s always a place for you here. You’re still family and I’d have been lost without you these last three months.”

It was obvious he was trying to deflect her worry by the way he squirmed. “Everyone grieves in different ways,” he said, taking her hand away from his face.

“Do you want to stay tonight? I’ll cook and we can watch a movie or something?”

“You cook now?”

Raising a shoulder, she took her turn to look away. “I’m trying my best… I’m learning. I’ll never be a substitute for Art, but if I was to feed Brodie nothing but microwave meals, he’d be worse off than he is.”

Laughing, Tuck pushed out his chair and stood up. “Thanks for the offer, but I have things to do, places to be, you know?”

She didn’t know whether to believe that or not, but she didn’t push him. She got up and pushed in her chair “It wouldn’t hurt you to go home for a little TLC from your lady… Why don’t you tell her what happened?”

Tuck was already shaking his head and took his jacket from the back of his chair. “Kade isn’t a part of this part of my life. It wouldn’t do either of us any good to upset her.”

That he wanted to protect the woman he loved was admirable. But if Kadie was as strong as Zara imagined Tuck’s woman would need to be, she wasn’t made of glass and probably wouldn’t appreciate being shut out when Tuck was so obviously dealing with distress. “Compartmentalizing your life like that is the quickest way to drive her away.”

“She’s put up with me for years,” he said. “She knows what the script is. Besides, I like her the way she is: innocent of all of… this.” He looked around the room as though it was the first time he was seeing the place. Then as quickly as it appeared, the expression vanished and he smiled at her. “Call me if you need anything, okay? Anytime. I’ll be here as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” she said, bowing her head to let him kiss the top of it. He stroked her back and looked into her eyes once more before he disappeared from the room and the house.

After Tuck was gone, she took the time to return an email to Art’s sister, Bess, and go over everything Tuck had taught her about the system. He’d been teaching her during his frequent visits, though he never stayed and she had no idea where he went when he left here. Brodie and Art had told her not to ask too many questions and she stuck to that out of respect for them all.

She had tidied up in the kitchen when she arrived because she’d had groceries to put away. Keeping this house stocked was more important to her than looking after her own apartment. If Brodie decided he wanted something to eat then she was going to make sure he had a choice. Sometimes he came downstairs to grab something, but she had never seen it happen, she only knew it did because things disappeared.

As much as she was loathed to admit it, she had been guilty of checking the trash to see what he was up to. She did it because she cared. She did all of this because she cared. Love was not just about the good times. Brodie was facing the greatest trauma he ever would in his life. By losing the uncle he’d idolized since birth, he’d lost his mentor, his roommate, and his best friend.

Cooking had been her idea of hell, but she’d started giving it a go in an effort to reach Brodie. It hadn’t worked. But he ate what she put down, though not in front of her. He ate alone… just like he did almost everything else.

The steak she’d cooked was resting, so she went over to the plate of salad she’d arranged and was about to pick it up from the lower portion of the central island in the kitchen when something startled her. It wasn’t a sound or a touch, it was just a prickle on the back of her neck, and sure enough, when she spun around Brodie was there, just inside the kitchen door.

“I was about to bring up your food,” she said.

Bringing a finger up to his lips, he indicated she should be quiet, though he himself didn’t make a noise either. Rolling her eyes from one side to the other, she was about to carry on with preparing the meal when he came toward her. He kept on coming until his body was against hers, and from the protrusion in his jeans now digging into her, she assumed something else was about to be on the menu.

Relaxing, she stretched out her arms and brought them around to the back of his neck. “Does somebody want to say hello?” she asked.

One of his hands came up between them. He grabbed the front of her neck, spun them around and forced her back against the tall kitchen cabinet next to the door.

“I told you to shut the fuck up, plaything,” he grumbled.

For one second, they remained immobile. His lips came closer, and just when she thought he was going to kiss her, he bypassed her mouth to push her head aside with his to suck the tender flesh on her neck beneath her jaw.

Zara let him take from her what he needed because she had complete faith that he would desist if she told him to. Except she loved this. Running her hands down his back, she dragged her nails up and kept on going until they were embedded in his hair, in his scalp. Scratching back and forth, she relished his hiss of gratification. Being with him, when he was physical with her, it reminded her of how close they’d once been. He could leave this house and get what he wanted from almost any woman. But he chose to indulge himself in her and she would not discourage that anytime soon.

The grate of him dragging his zip down razed the air, crackling in the space between them. He crouched and drummed his fingers against her flesh to take the hem of her dress in his grip. Keeping his eyes on hers, he raised her skirt and let it gather at his wrists.

Beneath the fabric, his hands sank around her butt and hoisted her off her feet. On reflex, she grabbed his shoulders and found her stability by securing her legs around his hips. Hooking her underwear out of the way, Brodie plunged into her without warning. He went all the way, deep inside. At the same time, as if he’d known it would come, he covered her mouth to conceal the gasp that answered his penetration.

Out he slid, then he drove back into her. This man’s covert skills knew no bounds. He stood here in the kitchen, pinning her to the cabinet, with his dick buried to the hilt within her trembling passage, and he didn’t even blink. He kept on moving in her, teasing the flesh of her ass with his fingers and the skin on her neck with his mouth.

All of their woes and heartache were forgotten when she came all over his dick. Her mouth was still covered by his hand, but when she climaxed, he stopped moving in her and the wicked tilt at the corner of his lips told her he had felt the explosion in her loins.

When he slid back, her nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt. Loosening the clamp of his hand from her mouth, Zara nabbed his middle finger with her teeth. The growl in his eyes betrayed that his tolerance was at a tipping point. Most of the time they were together, he tried to prolong the experience for both of them, but he could only go so far before she would topple him into his own release.

Dragging out, he slammed into her, and he was already back out and in before she caught her breath. The fire in his dark eyes soaked her, giving him easy undulating access inside her, she grew slicker with every thrust.

She tasted blood when her teeth clamped in sync with her inner muscles, which were desperate for the scream that joined the sparkles of heat that exploded in her womb. Forcing himself deeper, Brodie’s palm slapped the wall and his curse stuck in his throat.

Tremors still racked her when he stayed in place corking his seed within her. His hand slid away from her mouth, but she took it in hers and kissed the wound she’d caused, hoping apology conveyed in her eyes.

When he slid out of her, she gasped at the remaining frisson of pleasure he delivered. His knuckle grazed her clit when he dragged her underwear over the intimate opening he’d just violated. He lowered her back to her feet and ensured that she had her balance before he put himself away.

Something about the moisture of their union now dampening her underwear strained her already aching nipples and didn’t help her wobbling legs. Catching his arm for balance, he only let her hold him for half a second before he pulled himself away from her. They hadn’t spoken, but that only heightened the power of the moment they were in. Every experience she had with Brodie was sexier than the last and the contorted expression of satisfaction on his face almost mocked her, as though he could read her mind and knew that he was the most intense lover she’d ever had.

Still plastered against the kitchen cabinet, trying to quell the panting that wracked her body, Zara shivered when Brodie left her to cross the kitchen and snag a beer out of the fridge. Walking back, he grabbed the cooked steak from the counter she’d left it on and took a bite.

“Go home, Zar. No one needs you here tonight,” he said, taking his steak, his beer, and leaving her alone all over again.

THREE

CI WAS THE SAME as it always had been. If Grant had succeeded in selling Game Time to Albert Sutcliffe, cult leader and criminal, the domino trail would have led straight back here, and the company would have been irrevocably changed.

Thanks to the Kindred, the near miss had escaped everyone’s notice. Grant was probably quite pleased that no one had figured out his intentions because he got to carry on in his role of authority without answering questions that could only lead to the implosion of his cushy existence.

Before Brodie came into her life, she’d been unaware of Grant’s agenda to sell the Game Time device. But because she’d missed those signs in the boss she’d had for five years, she was now hyperaware of indicators that might imply he hadn’t gotten over his warped ideas of vigilantism.

It served the Kindred’s interest that she didn’t criticize or question Grant about Game Time, Sutcliffe, or Art’s murder. She played nice, so she and Grant had fallen back into professional step with each other without disruption.

A knock on her office door made her look up from her desk. When she saw Grant entering, she shot to her feet and took off her glasses. Her office was right next door to her boss’s and he typically called her to come to him if he needed her to do something. This impromptu visit could be cause for concern.

Subduing her surprise, she kept her cool. “Is there something you need, sir?” she asked, hoping for a quick and simple explanation for this appearance because it was Friday night and past time for her to go home.

Grant wanted her back at CI and seemed to just accept her lack of questions as though they’d come to an unspoken truce. Neither discussed what had transpired in the Atlas warehouse and Grant was fine with that. He’d never suggested anything to the contrary.

In the times her thoughts had meandered back in time while working here at CI, she fizzed with anger. They lost Art because of Grant. Albert Sutcliffe, his buyer, was only a part of their lives because Grant had been determined to make the deal and sell Game Time. Her boss hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, but none of them would have been in that warehouse if it wasn’t for him. Avoiding discussion of those events prevented her from blowing her cover and releasing that pressurized rage.

Though from the tilt of his head and his furrowed brow, she feared those days of business as usual might be over. “No. I wondered if you needed a shoulder,” he said, and she couldn’t quite figure out what he meant. The McCormack’s sure knew how to do cryptic, though the younger McCormack did brooding better. “I’ve seen how distracted you’ve been recently. You zone out at meetings, come in looking tired, sporting new bruises.”

His pointed look at her neck made her raise her hand to the mark Brodie had left on her. Pulling up the collar of her shirt, she cursed herself for not reapplying the makeup she had used to hide the hickey that morning. She’d had a conversation like this with Grant months ago, except she’d been the one to highlight his erratic behavior, now it was his turn to call her out.

Having avoided any personal conversation of late, she could only assume that this was a dressing down, so she responded with appropriate contrition. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll get more with it. I’ve just…” There was no acceptable end to that statement without mentioning the topic they’d so far avoided.

Grant took care of that awkward transition for them. “You know,” he said, coming in and closing the door behind himself. “I know what he’s going through.”

Diverting her eyes to the work laid out on her desk, she wasn’t sure of her footing. Her relationship with Brodie had been another taboo subject. So far, that had worked out for her as thoughts of the fraternal relationship aggravated her already agitated wrath.

Aware of her covert role of observation here at CI, she couldn’t lash out at the CEO or he might realize she wasn’t as pliant or forgiving as he assumed she was. What she wanted to do was beat the crap out of him, to scream at him for what he’d done and for how selfish and senseless his apparent motivation was. Art was gone, Brodie was lost, and Grant had suffered no punishment.

But she was here to play it meek and get inside information, so she pulled her lip into her mouth and let her eyes drop portraying that she was uncomfortable with them broaching this previously off-limits topic. “I, uh…”

Grant wasn’t interested in her response. He was focused on getting out what he wanted to say. “When Frank died, it was like losing them all over again,” he said. “I didn’t think that anything could hurt more than losing our parents, especially in the way we did… Then with Frank, he was… he was my father, my confidante, my support and when he was gone… I suppose if I had any excuse for what took place, losing Frank would be it.”

In implicit terms, he’d brought up Brodie, the loss of Art, and the Game Time deal all in one swift release. “I know it was difficult for you,” she said. Once she’d revered her boss, now when she looked him in the eye all she felt was betrayed, which was funny because technically she was the one who’d betrayed him by giving her loyalty to his younger brother. But her anger didn’t completely overtake her compassion. Frank had been Grant’s guardian through his latter teenage years and his death just over a year ago had hit Grant hard. “I remember how you struggled.”

His solemn expression warmed. “I wouldn’t have gotten through it without you. You kept this place together and fended off every meeting that might have made me lose it. I was angry, so angry, and I tried everything to control it. Anger can consume a man. It distorts his thinking. The world becomes skewed and you believe you’re handling things until… you’re not.”

Zara had gotten so used to consoling herself that she played the same platitudes for Grant. “He’ll be fine,” she said, nodding and trying to believe that Grant’s concern was genuine. “He’s getting better.”

She had been telling herself these things since the day they lost Art, but Brodie didn’t seem to be getting any better. Still, she had to believe that there was hope.

Grant didn’t accept her appeasement and excuse himself. “So much better that reports are being missed? So much better that you’ve been late three times this week?”

She couldn’t figure out what it was that he wanted. Having gone from awkward to understanding to commiserating, he’d now landed on subtle reproof. She didn’t know if she should apologize or explain. Given that she didn’t want to reveal anything of her private life to him, she went for the former. “I apologize for—”

“No,” he said, walking across the room. “I am not looking for an apology. I don’t mind, I just…” He sighed and surrendered to the direct approach. “It’s Friday. Don’t you go to Purdy’s on a Friday night?” Not in the last three months. Usually, she went straight home after work or she got errands done before she went over to McCormack Manor. “You look like you could use a drink. How about you let me buy you a glass of wine and we can talk about whatever you want? I promise not to mention his name if you’re worried about how he’ll react to us socializing.”

The last thing she wanted to do was get cozy with Grant, who had proved he wasn’t as tame or humble as he was trying to appear. Whatever his reason for wanting to make friends with her again, Zara couldn’t ignore the opportunity that this occasion presented. She wanted Grant to think that she was warming toward him, that she considered his perspective and cared about him.

Grant hadn’t mentioned Brodie before today, not once, and Zara always assumed that was out of respect. She’d been protective of her love for him and hadn’t denied it once the truth was out. But maybe if Grant thought her feelings for Brodie were wavering since his descent into depression, it would make her boss believe she was more susceptible to his suggestions.

She had no errands to run tonight and she could be at the manor all weekend. Brodie wouldn’t notice her tardiness. He didn’t keep a check on her schedule. So she exhaled and nodded. It might be good to get out of her routine of fretting as well. She was getting good at being in a constant state of anxiety. Now she had the chance to test her skills as an undercover operative.

Grant collected her coat from the hook beside the door while she shut down her computer and grabbed her purse. He helped her into her coat and then curled her fingers around his elbow.

“Let’s see if you remember how to have fun,” Grant said and took her out of the building.

***

FUN MIGHT BE pushing it. But she was certainly having something at Purdy’s. The bar was the same as it always had been, that was the first thought she’d had after coming inside. With everything that had gone on in her life in recent months, she expected everything and everyone in the world to be somehow changed. Yet Purdy’s proved her wrong. The same décor and generic affluent professionals still characterized the unchanged space.

While Grant ordered the drinks and got them a table, she considered whether or not it was reassuring or terrifying that so many profound things could happen while so many other things remained entirely the same.

Conversation had remained neutral, they spoke about CI, about projects going on, and Grant told her about the remodeling he’d done at his apartment. There was nothing difficult about small talk, but she was beginning to lose patience. She had better things to do than sit around shooting the breeze with the man who had caused her lover such pain.

“Another?” Grant asked her, wearing a smile that betrayed his ease.

They’d been here for almost an hour, and she had just finished her glass of wine. His loose form and pleasant demeanor exasperated her. Grant’s life was just the same as it always had been. He hadn’t been close to Art, hadn’t seen him for years, so he couldn’t care that his uncle was dead. Having her here enjoying a drink with him, while his brother grieved, must have given him an ego boost because his arrogance had been on eleven since they sat down.

Swallowing the cool liquid, she shook her head because she didn’t intend to encourage his superiority. “I should get going.”

Raising his brows, Grant spread a hand on the table and met her eye to enhance his condescension. “If the last three months have taught you anything,” Grant said. “It’s that he’s not going anywhere.”

Squirming in response to such a patronizing platitude, she rolled her tongue in her mouth and lowered her volume. The patrons surrounding them weren’t eavesdropping, they were more interested in their own conversations, but dropping her tone to a growling whisper helped to emphasize her displeasure. “You promised not to mention him.”

If the topic of Brodie came up—while there was alcohol in her system—she couldn’t trust herself to keep her annoyance in check. Using the professional setting of CI as a smokescreen, she’d managed to restrain her desire to ream Grant out. In this social environment, the professional shield wasn’t as reliable.

Beyond the fact that she wouldn’t betray or discuss Brodie, and couldn’t see how they could talk about him without Grant discovering her true loyalty and motivation for returning to CI, she hated Grant talking about his younger brother with familiarity or superiority because he hadn’t earned the right.

He laid a suited forearm onto the table to huddle closer. “I know and I’m sorry,” Grant said. “But sometimes a little tough love is what’s required. He has to know that you won’t always be there. He has to learn to take care of himself.”

Hearing him dishing out advice in relation to her love was too much for her to tolerate. The wine boosted her adrenaline and she had been keeping a lid on so many emotions for months that she was beginning to worry about her grip on them.

Ire and impatience made her lose the will to maintain this charade tonight. “I have to go,” she said, thrusting up from her stool and hooking her bag up over her head across her body. “Thank you for the drink.”

Pouncing onto his feet, he snatched her arm to impede her retreat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just difficult for me to see you like this. You’re a special person and you deserve more than he gives you.”