Page 43 of D-Day

“I’d rather be gutted,” she hissed, playing her part.

D-Day smiled at her, truly pleased and the knife at her throat slackened. Lando was contemplating the offer.

“What would you bargain for this lying, tempting, traitorous bitch?”

He dipped his hand into the pocket of his pants and brought out the pouch Lando had given him. He spilled out its contents into his palm, the sparkling gems catching the light and glittering like stars.

He took his time browsing through the diamonds, then he chose the biggest one of the bunch. He held it up and it winked, the prisms looking both beautifully cut and exceptionally flawless.

“Catch,” he said, as he tossed the diamond. It made an arc in the air, and Lando had no choice but to push her toward D-Day, just as her wily SEAL planned, and he snatched the gem out of the air, looking down at it, his face fierce.

D-Day caught her against him, in what looked like a brutal hold, but it was anything but. How he held her so gently, yet gave the impression he was hurting her was masterful. She winced and cried out for effect, his body hard, powerful, and safe against her. Her relief was almost unbearable, but she dropped her head on a soft sob to hide anything that might have slipped through.

“Please, don’t do this,” she pleaded.

D-Day leaned close, bringing his face down next to hers, rubbing his cheek against hers. His beard stubble sent a tingle of goosebumps over her skin, his cheek warm against hers. “We’re finally going to get to know each other very well,” he murmured.She struggled, and he chuckled. “Go ahead and fight. I like it when they fight.”

She made a soft distressed sound in her throat, and he laughed again.

He looked up at Lando. “Dagger,” he said, and that was how he disarmed the idiot. Helen realized that D-Day was the most dangerous man in the room, and she shivered, adding some more realism into this farce, but it had nothing to do with fear. The only reason Lando was alive was because D-Day was uncertain if Taer had spilled the beans about the triggers, and he couldn’t take the chance that he had failed, leaving Lando as the only person in this godforsaken place who knew.

He turned the handle toward D-Day and pressed the ornate grip into D-Day’s hand.

Dragging the dagger down between her breasts, where her heart pounded beneath the thin fabric of Taer’s T-shirt, a slight motion of his wrist directed the point to nip into the cotton and nudge her breast, but his skillful handling of the blade didn’t even break her skin. “I am your salvation,” he whispered. “I hold your life in my hands. There’s no escape for you to find, Helen. You’re mine. The only law is my law.”

She screamed as D-Day sliced violently downward with the blade, opening the fabric from neck band to hem. Instinctively she bolted back, colliding with his thickly muscled body. His left arm snaked around her middle and held her there as he ground against her butt with a guttural thrust of his hips. “I’m going to fuck you until I wear you out, then I’m going to fuck you some more in so many delicious ways until you break.”

He started to drag her toward the bedroom, but Lando said, “Wait. You can only have her on two conditions,” he said, his eyes going over the tantalizing bareness of her body between the ragged T-shirt that barely covered her breasts. “One, I get to watch, and two, you give me to her when you’re done.”

14

Zorro knewa goat fuck when he saw one, an ugly mother of a fucking goat fuck that was going to fuck them over without even one goddamned bleat. He closed his eyes, the rain coming down so hard it was even difficult to breathe. Taking a steadying breath, he looked down and slowly tilted his hand away from his side.

Yep, a bleeding goat fuck was even worse than a normal goat fuck. Ten times more painful than a regular goat fuck but still waybaa-baa baaad.

Okay. He was a little chewed up, but that wasn’t enough to stop a frogman. He was never out of the fight, bleeding goat fuck or not. If he could aim and shoot, he was going to ram his M4 down someone’s throat. Okay, blood was running through his fingers, the bullet still inside, just under his skin, dancing around in there like it was Mardi Gras, the fucker—pinging off a rib or two which answered the question,Why the fuck did it hurt so much?

The biggest problem wasn’t those guys out there gunning for them, it was the blood. As a medic, it was his job to keep the blood on the inside from getting to the outside, and hewas failing.Crack, crack, crack.The sounds of gunfire rang all around them. A round hit the tree they were sprawled against.

“What the fuck happened?” Buck asked, his voice low and weak. He lifted his head, and his eyes traveled from Zorro’s grave gaze down to his side. “Ah, shoot. What do you need?”

“An umbrella would be good about now, or a portkey, or a squad of Marines fighting toward us like it was Iwo Jima.”

Buck heaved out a sigh. “We don’t have time for your type of levity, Martinez. Frogmen have no use for umbrellas, and what the fuck is a portkey? I wouldn’t say no to QRF right about now, but it's unlikely anyone knows where we are right about now.”

“Hmm, noHarry Potterfan here, and um…low on a sense of humor. Okay, check.”

“What can I do?” Buck growled in a very grumpy way.

“You have double vision, there, cowboy.”

“Yeah, so what? I can see.”

Zorro let out a half laugh. “True, my battle boo. I guess that’s better than a blind man. Grab my pack.”

Buck struggled up, his breathing suddenly labored. He groaned softly through gritted teeth as he dragged the heavy pack toward them. “Call me that again and I’ll fucking punch you in both faces,” Buck said through gritted teeth.

“Ooh, a little cowboy joke. I might have to reassess the sense of humor angle.” Buck glared at him. “But I’ll take my chances since you can barely move, and you still have double vision.”

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