Tormented (The Condemned Series Book 3) Read online

  Her control splintered. Her voice joining the howling wind as she screamed his name. Her back arching as she struggled to draw him deep.

  She’d known it would be like this with him.

  The only man who’d come close to besting her. Who gave as good as he got. Who was as amused by her blunt talk as he was irritated. Who was as fierce in his fucking as he was his fighting.

  This…this was living.

  “More,” he demanded, his voice as fierce and ruthless as she’d ever heard as he fucked her harder, their bodies slick from sweat and her juices. “Come for me now. Burn me with all that hidden heat.”

  She broke apart, every cell pulling tight before exploding in a supernova of blinding pleasure, ecstasy radiating from her clit to her head and toes and back again.

  Her body arched with wave after wave of satisfaction as he let out a roar and followed her over the edge, the liquid heat of him searing her from the inside out and making her come even harder.

  Another first for her.

  Flopping forward, she threaded her fingers through his hair, and let him be her anchor as the wild rush of unfamiliar sensations thundered through her, stealing her ability to think and leaving her an exhausted, satisfied heap of twitching nerves and muscles.

  “So fucking good.” His tongue traced her collarbone, her breasts, the corner of her mouth as his cock pistoned upward, at first with continued vigor, and then with lazier and lazier strokes.

  Until he stilled, his palms still grasped possessively around her ass.

  For a few glorious heartbeats, they lay still, his heartbeat a roar in her ear, her cheek plastered to his chest, her body wrung out and as weak as a kothi kitten, her skin humming with gentle aftershocks.

  Extraordinary. She’d sought pleasure and escape, but found more.

  After so much time immersed in pain and death, she’d come alive for the first time. Made her own rules. And connected to another human as never before.

  Which was exactly what made it all too easy to register the slowing of his heart and the subtle stiffening of his body against hers.

  The madness had come to an end. The haze of lust clearing as logic returned. Reality with it.

  The darkness no longer enough to obscure the difference between them. Assassin. Felon. Council. Resistance. Foes.

  There was no point in wishing for things that could never be.

  She’d always known the thaw was temporary, the flush of life against her skin ephemeral.

  Resolved, she pushed to sitting, lifted her hips, and slid off him, moving to lie on her back an arm’s length away, working to bring her rush of breath under control.

  He didn’t try and hold her to him.

  The wind outside howled louder. The lengthening silence between them even more deafening.

  “Guess the ceiling held, after all,” she observed at last.

  He cleared his throat. “What just happened—”

  “Has no bearing on what comes next,” she finished. “I meant what I said before.”

  “Just so we’re clear.”

  “Crystal.” The weapon still needed to be obtained. The nano-bomb inside her deactivated.

  The silence stretched once more. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he spoke again, the dark hiding everything from her but the satisfaction in his voice. “It was nice though, assassin. Very nice.”

  Her heart stuttered, and then started up again. “Yes, felon. It was.”

  A loud slam shook the hold. The metal above screeched in protest.

  “Oh, shit.” Powerful arms reached for her, but she was already rolling away.

  The ceiling crumpled.

  8

  Ryker’s arms shook, every muscle straining as he fought the relentless pressure of the thick slab bearing down on him.

  The roaring in his ears was intense, the slash of a thousand tiny sharp edges from the swirling debris leaving no part of his uncovered skin untouched. And, all the while, his poor body was still playing catch up, the shift from recent white-hot pleasure to pain, dizzying.

  Something massive had hit the top of the already weakened ceiling, smashing it into pieces, and unleashing a nightmare.

  Afternoon light spilled into the hold—along with giant, jagged pieces of rock and metal.

  One giant fucker had missed him by an arm’s length, its impact ripping into the floor and sending him flying, before another tipped and headed straight for him, a metal Goliath intent on flattening him.

  He’d barely managed to turn on his back in time, throwing his hands up and shoving hard, slowing its descent.

  But the damn slab of metal was too heavy to cast off altogether and gravity was demanding it rest on the ground—or on top of him, and his arms would tire at some point.

  “Assassin!” The howling wind swallowed the sound. Shit. He had no idea if she’d survived.

  Muscles shaking, veins popping out, he shoved with everything he had—and managed to gain an inch. But not nearly enough.

  Fuck. He—

  A scraping sound.

  Squinting, he looked up. Amidst the swirling storm of red, he caught a glimpse of pale, perfect skin coated in red dust and bleeding from a thousand tiny cuts.

  “Jade.” He’d ponder the troubling flare of euphoria at the sight of her later. “Are you hurt?”

  No answer. His heart slammed hard against his ribs. Concerned, he pushed harder against the metal slab.

  Only to have it rise several inches and then hover. As if floating in space.

  “Quick. Slide out.” Her voice was strained. “I can only hold it for so long.”

  He didn’t hesitate. Scurrying on his back like a snake, he propelled himself out—and sucked down his first deep breath as he cleared the border.

  The metal slab crashed to the ground. Right where he’d been.

  Arm raised to block the swirling debris of wind and rock, he staggered upright.

  “Thank you.” He had to shout to be heard.

  She dropped the thin sheet of metal she’d used as leverage and offered him a tight nod. Lips flat, her expression gave nothing away.

  Resourceful and independent. So beautiful it almost hurt to look. And once more fucking ice cold.

  It was hard to believe she was the same woman who’d just been screaming his name in pleasure.

  But she’d helped him when she could have as easily left him to die.

  They’d agreed nothing had changed between them after the sex—just good old-fashioned lust and adrenaline finding an outlet—but, clearly, she’d been lying.

  Just like him. Because fucking her had shifted something inside him. He just wasn’t sure what.

  Their gazes locked. “You okay?”

  Another quick nod. Made him wonder what was going on in that complicated brain of hers. But now was not the time to find out.

  Getting out of here was priority number one.

  They’d deal with whatever the fuck was happening between them once they were free.

  Turning, he leaned into the wind and surveyed what had once been their cell.

  The bulk of the metal ceiling now lay twisted in pieces on the ground, flattened by two massive boulders. One of those rocks lay directly in the center of what used to be the hold. The other was half resting on the other, tipped at an angle, its end jutting toward a massive hole in what had once been the ceiling.

  The light filtering through the broken ceiling was far less than the typical evening light, the two suns obscured by dark whirling clouds that transformed the usual unrelenting blood red of Dragath25’s sky to an ominous dark purple.

  But visibility and an exit point were all that was required. They could work around the rest.

  “If we’re careful, we can climb the rocks, using that last one as a ladder, and jump for it. It definitely looked doable from here. You up for it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I—” Something hard and cold clamped around his ankle.

  He looked down and caught
a blur of red-coated pale skin skittering away. A thick, black manacle circled his ankle. “What the fuck?”

  He lunged toward her, the chain clanking as it stretched as far as it would go. But she was already popping up, well out of reach.

  He hadn’t even known there were more of those damn things in the cell. But she clearly had.

  Their gazes locked once more.

  Was it strange that the sudden sting in his chest made all the other cuts slicing across his flesh seem like nothing?

  He thought he’d found a softer side when he’d been balls deep inside her. Clearly, he was a fucking fool.

  “No bearing on what comes next,” she repeated their earlier vow, her voice barely audible over the wind. “I need that weapon.”

  Rage like he’d never known slammed through him. “You fucking bitch.” She’d given him a death sentence. “Why did you help me if you mean to kill me anyway?”

  Her expression never changed. Nor did she answer.

  Instead, she took a step closer.

  Something metal glinted in the hand hanging by her side. Long and jagged and sharp. Another fallen shard from the ceiling. Only this one was a lot thinner than the one that had nearly crushed him. This one could easily be wielded like a scalpel.

  He snarled. Raised his hands to defend. She might intend to stab him with it, but he refused to go down without a fight.

  She thrust the weapon forward. “Here.”

  Forehead wrinkling, he stared at her.

  “Take it.” She shoved the shard his way once more, her expression shifting, frustration and something that almost looked like regret filtering across her perfectly carved features. “Once I find the weapon, I’ll look for your friend. If he’s alive, I’ll send him your way.”

  Stunned, he said nothing.

  “I need the head start.” She swallowed. “This metal’s strong and jagged enough to make an effective hammer or pick. You’ll be able to use it to break the link…eventually.”

  Gaze never leaving hers, he gripped her offering—his hold inches from her own, so close the heat of her skin hummed against his, the memory of all that silky, warm flesh thundering through him.

  For a heartbeat more, neither moved or spoke.

  Then, she swallowed hard. “Foolish, I know, but…it was more than nice, felon.”

  A final leave-taking.

  Her hand fell away and she turned, her exquisite ass twitching as she ran toward the heap of rocks, each stride a study in grace and determination.

  Despite himself, he held his breath as she leapt up the first boulder, her lean muscles flexing as she stretched and climbed, making it look easy. Until she conquered the second boulder and stood perched precariously on top. Exposed. Her delicate frame battered by the swirling wind and rocks as she fought to stay upright and contemplated her next move. The riskiest part to come.

  If she missed, she’d crash to the ground. At best, badly injured. At worst, dead.

  Still, he had faith. If she jumped anything like she fucked, she’d reach the stars.

  Without warning, she leapt, her body arching, her arms stretching high, a sculpted goddess of marble and perfection sailing through the air.

  He fought the wind and sand, eyes blinking hard and fast as he followed her trajectory.

  Her hands caught the edge and she swung precariously, her long legs swaying while his throat dropped to his stomach and then, with a flick of her hips, she was soaring upward, one leg sailing over the edge, and then…she was gone.

  He blinked again just to make sure. She’d done it.

  And never once looked back.

  Then, and only then, did he return his gaze to the shard now cradled in his hand.

  With a roar, he slammed the makeshift hammer down.

  9

  “Nothing.” Jade kicked in another twisted, burnt-out door and surveyed the room.

  No 223. No gang members. No prisoner. Most significantly, no weapon.

  She’d scourged almost the entire settlement and had little to show for it.

  Exiting, she hugged the wall, hiding from the worst of the wind and whipping rocks. Her knife, an old friend, was raised high, ready to strike.

  She’d found it in a heap in 223’s room, along with a host of other useful items including a long-sleeve shirt and ill-fitting drawstring pants. Both had holes, but they were better protection than nothing.

  The left-behind water she’d also discovered had been especially nice. As were the metal shears she’d used to cut off the manacle and chain around her neck. Then, a few doors down, she’d found the boots she’d stashed when she’d first arrived and needed to blend in.

  Sliding back into actual clothes with weaponry in hand had almost made her feel like her old self.

  Until she remembered all that had happened since.

  A blur of movement flashed from the corner of her eye. She tensed. Turned. Only to catch the back end of a plated, rodent-like creature the size of her hand skittering away. She didn’t follow. She’d been briefed on the plant and animal life of Dragath25 and learned that, with a few exceptions, each was more lethal than the last.

  Returning to her search, she slid farther along the wall, carefully placing one boot in front of the other, ears straining for any sound over the clank of the arsenal she’d strapped to her back. Including a certain person’s overly large ax.

  Another stab in her chest, the image of amber eyes dark with rage spearing through her.

  Lips pressed tight, she willed it away.

  She’d done what she needed to do. What’s more, she’d left him alive. An ending she’d allowed few before him.

  She kicked in another door. Found yet another empty room—and tried out a recently learned curse from a certain felon. “Dragath hell!” It felt…good. The release of emotion nice.

  Body alert, she headed for the next door. One of the last of a handful left to explore. Her failure to turn up anything—or anyone—making it increasingly clear that the majority of the camp, including 223 and his weapon, had relocated to a safer location to wait out the storm.

  Still, she couldn’t assume. She had to be certain. If there was any chance the weapon was here, she had to keep searching.

  And, if she was being honest, the same went for this Grif person as well.

  She owed Ryker that, at least.

  He might be a hothead and a felon, but he was also clearly a decent human being. Prone to protectiveness, willing to put himself in front of her to save her from rape, loyal to those for whom he cared. Tormented by a pain so vast and sharp it pulsed just beneath his skin, bleeding him dry even as he tried to pretend it wasn’t.

  Someone like him did not deserve to be executed without trial or question as her initial mission parameters demanded.

  She would have liked to request an agenda reassessment with her employers, but all ties had been severed until her job was done.

  But what if such orders no longer worked for her?

  Sucking down a long breath, her boot connected with another flimsy door. Empty.

  Lips tight, she turned to exit—and came face-to-face with red-rimmed, muddy blue-gray eyes glittering with violence and lust.

  “Well, what do we have here?” The gang member reached for her, his narrowed gaze raking the length of her. “Fuck, you’re a beauty. No way am I sharing you. You can be my own little fuck toy. They can have the others to themselves.”

  Others? Dodging the man’s grasp, she slammed her palm into his stomach.

  Gagging, he slumped over.

  Slipping behind him, she threaded her fingers through caked, greasy hair and jerked him upright, holding her knife to his throat. “Where’s the weapon?”

  He snarled in her hold. He couldn’t be more than thirty, but life had made him old, and evil. “Fucking bitch. When I get hold of you, I’m going to fuck you up so bad. You’ll sob and beg, just like all the rest and I’ll—”

  She dug the knife into flesh and was gratified when he squealed—a
nd shut up. “I won’t ask again.” She increased the pressure, blood rolling down his throat. “Where is the weapon?”

  “He took it,” the man shrieked. “223 took it to the caves to wait out the storm.”

  As she’d suspected. “How many of you are still here?”

  A slight pause, but the press of her knife brought out his words in a rush. “I don’t know. A handful at most. We’re…we’re supposed to guard the place.”

  And doing a bang-up job of it.

  “Where are these others?”

  He stiffened. “They’re ours. No fucking way are you—”

  Lightning fast, she lifted her knee. Slammed it into his kidney. His body jerked in agony as she held him upright by his hair, her knife still at his throat.

  “Where?” It took all her will not to slice his throat then and there. Ours. She could only imagine what this bastard and his friends had been doing to these others. The knife trembled in her grip.

  Another crack in her cool detachment. Another flaw laid bare.

  Why did it feel as if more such fissures were appearing?

  She’d only wanted a distraction—and the chance to experience physical touch and pleasure on her own terms. She hadn’t meant to shake the foundations that had kept her alive and sane her whole life at the Facility.

  But she had the sinking sensation she’d miscalculated.

  “Three doors down,” wheezed her captive, drawing her back to the matter at hand. “They’re all there. That’s the truth. Now let me go.”

  She tightened her grip. “Where is this cave?”

  “You’ll never get inside.” He seemed to finally have realized negotiating his release would not be so easy. “They’ll rip you to pieces before you set one foot inside the entrance. They’ll fuck your corpse and use your bones to make a chair.”

  She pressed the knife deeper, cutting off his tirade. “Tell me.”

  “Do you know what 223 will do to me?”

  “Consider what I’ll do to you right now.”

  “I am.” With no further warning, he bucked, purposely driving her blade into his neck.

  His legs folded.

  She didn’t hold him up, releasing her grip as he gurgled and dropped. Eyes wide open and unblinking. His death fast and relatively painless. Far more than a monster like him deserved.