Page 78 of Heir of Ashes

When he tugged me around, I went willingly, wrapping my arms around his solid frame, resting my head on his shoulder and taking the comfort he offered. He lowered his chin to the top of my head and sighed, not taking advantage of the moment. How could he know so perfectly what I needed? How could someone I barely knew understand me so much?

We stood like that for a long moment. When his hands began roaming up and down and he started kissing a path from my ear down to my neck, I pulled back and met his stormy gaze. My heart thundered in my throat.Did I want this?

When he lowered his head to mine, I took a step back, and even though his arms were around me, holding me close,he let go. Relief and disappointment tugged and fluttered in my stomach. I had hoped, deep down, that he wouldn’t let go this easily, even as I told myself it was for the best.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he tried to soothe, but I just shook my head and then nodded like a moron.

“You will,” I began, but realized when his eyes darkened with frustration that we were talking about different things. He meant physically; I meant emotionally.

“I promise you I won’t.” He reached for me, but I stepped away.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” I picked up the discarded jumpsuit and fled to the bathroom. A moment later Logan’s footsteps paused outside the closed door, two inches of wood all that separated us. I held my breath, certain that he could hear the thunderous beat of my heart.

“You okay?” he asked softly, and for some foolish reason, my throat constricted again. After half a minute of heavy silence, he added, “I’m going now …” He hesitated, waiting for a response that I couldn’t give.

Coward!that voice inside me shouted. I thought about feeding him the cliché line about it not being him, but my lips just wouldn’t move. The truth—that I couldn’t handle a casual relationship—felt like a plea for more. And I didn’t even want a relationship with a guy I didn’t even know! Or want a relationship, period.

So there I was, standing in that small bathroom in an apartment I had no idea where, clutching a bunched-up jumpsuit to my chest with my back to the door, afraid to utter a word, much less acknowledge the guy on the other side.Coward!I lowered my head in defeat.

“We leave in two hours,” he said. “Try to get some rest.” Then he was moving away, his footsteps getting fainter, until the thudding of a door closing silenced them entirely.

I took a long breath and exhaled through my mouth in a long hiss.Coward!“So, I didn’t handle that very well,” I muttered under my breath.Coward!“It’s not like I have a wealth of experience to draw from.” I tried to excuse myself, but now that I could breathe, I cringed at the way I’d reacted. Maybe I should just go find him and tell him the truth, that I couldn’t deal with a casual fling, that hopping into bed and walking away the next day wasn’t something I could do. A guy like him should be used to women wanting more from him. How would he handle that? Would he even catch a second meaning there?

“How the hell should I know?” I grumbled. One thing I knew for sure: I didn’t handle that well.

I went out to look for him, apologize or something, but all I found was Rafael in the kitchen sitting in Logan’s previous seat, drinking a can of Coke. The blood had been cleaned from the table, and a quick glance told me so had the plaster debris Logan had made.

I stood by the door, unsure if I should ask, but when Rafael cocked a knowing eyebrow and let his cold gaze linger on my bare legs, I just gave up, feeling twin pangs of relief and disappointment. I returned to my appointed bedroom, the jumpsuit trailing behind me like a sad tail.

I tried to sleep for a while, but I was too wired, too frustrated for that, so I just tossed and turned. When the two hours were over, I heard Logan come back, but it was Rafael who came to fetch me. I didn’t miss the gesture.

***

The hours following our departure from Sacramento to Seattle were hectic on my nerves, though every step was meticulously timed. Every second brought me closer and closer to the torture facility that had been haunting me for over a decade. It was like a dream I knew I wouldn’t be waking up from anytime soon.

The assured and confident way Logan and Rafael carried themselves should have eased the anxiety residing in my chest. Should have, but didn’t. Their equipment emphasized that this was not an amateur operation, but something closer to a routine.

It turned out that Douglas, the owner of the basement apartment, had flown to Seattle ahead of us to do some recon and organize whatever we would need—before, during, and after the raid—but he wouldn’t be joining us. Logan informed me it was in case things went to Hell and we needed someone on the outside to bail us out. It was a reassuring thought, but I had a hunch there was something more about this Douglas guy. He had sent a friend of his, a short guy name Pirate with tattoos in lieu of hair, to collect us from the airport and deliver us to a secluded back road deep in the woods. The path was little more than a rugged, overgrown trail, where thick, moss-covered branches occasionally blocked our way, forcing Pirate, Rafael, or Logan to wrestle them aside so we could continue. The roadside where Pirate dropped us was barely recognizable as such, buried under a wild tangle of towering vegetation.

Pirate was also the person who handed us the “supplies and accessories”—a euphemism for weapons—that Douglas had so kindly provided for us.

“Three each, but not her,” Rafael’s voice pulled my attention from the woods and back to where he and Logan were sorting out the weapons.

Logan reached inside the military duffel and handed Rafael three grenades, then proceeded to strap three more to a loop on his belt. Apparently, he agreed with Rafael because none were passed to me. As if I knew how to throw one without having it bounce back.

I felt like an extra in an action-horror film. Not because they didn’t trust me with grenades—aside from the Kevlar, all they gave me was a snug black spandex suit—but because I wasdownright clumsy compared to their agile and instinctive pace. No matter how much I tried to anticipate what they would do next, what their move would be, I couldn’t read them. And I was a pretty good reader of body language. Or so I’d thought. The scene struck me with an inappropriate sense of hysteria—both men looked like mob enforcers gearing up for a hit—straight out of some gritty crime drama. They were both dressed in similar black spandex suits, like the one they gave me, although I sensed a worn-out vibe emanating from theirs, not like an aura exactly, but more like the hum of a faraway vehicle, only fainter. It was barely there, and if mine hadn’t lacked that vibe, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it. My suit was also new, carrying the stiffness only new clothes possessed, where theirs had a broken-in feel, like old leather. Another difference between my suit and theirs was the arsenal tucked in the various pockets. So many weapons … My God. They carried enough arm power to support a small war. So much was strapped into the built-in holes and loops of their suits—around their torsos and waists, on their lower backs and thighs—I wouldn’t be surprised if the weight of the weapons exceeded mine.

As the time of our breach of the fortress grew near, I watched in fascination and trepidation as all sorts of accessories—small cylinder guns, three muzzle submachine guns, grenades, ammunitions, and things I was absolutely sure were illegal in the United States, were strapped on the various loops on their suits. And oh, all the knives. Thin blades seemed to be the preference, although most were different sizes. In fact, Rafael strapped one to his side that was so long, it looked like a short sword. God, who were these people? There were no loops that hadn’t been filled with something round or sharp.

I wouldn’t have minded a few of the throwing knives, though I guess they’d be put to better use with either man. All I had were my talons—and the bracelet, I supposed, still hummingsoftly against the skin of my wrist, where Logan had adjusted it to fit during the flight over.

“The chip?” Rafael asked Logan.

“Here,” he replied, placing a hand over a small pocket over his right breast.

“Ready?”

Logan grunted as he rolled the empty duffel.

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