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He cut her off with a seething snort. “Humanity? That’s what you think I’ve lost? I’ve thought of nothing but humanity for the last fifteen years, Tracy. Humanity has been my goddamned Dominatrix. My unforgiving bitch of a mistress.”
“Then take back the control! All you have to do is choo—”
A gasp of pain took the place of her conclusion. For a moment, she couldn’t figure out why—pieces snapped into place as the sting of Sol’s slap echoed in her right ear.
“It’s time for you to shut up.”
“No, Wrightman. It’s time for you to give up.”
Pain had never become joy with such mach speed. Even the clanging in her ear turned into bells of elation, greeting the booming baritone from across the sand. That baritone. The voice that had curled her toes from its first stroke on her blood. The growling dominance in her soul. The dragon’s song in her heart.
He materialized like a fantasy, his broad, elegant form backlit by the cottage’s porch light—a black handgun braced at the end of his straight, coiled arms. His exotic features were defined by severe, stark lines and utter, violent focus—warrior mode as Tracy had never witnessed in the man before. Even as Sol whipped her around, using her as his shield with his arm clamped against her sternum, she was oddly more afraid for him.
“John.”
Her voice came as another shock. How did she suddenly sound serene as a swan on a glassy lake instead of a hostage in the hands of a lunatic? She only had to gaze through the night, to the man with the eyes of night, to know that answer. She had her strength again. He was here. He was here. As long as her dragon was by her side, she could be as mighty as freaking Xena the Warrior.
“John.” She underlined it more firmly. “It’s all right.”
She heard his harsh breath though his massive form hardly faltered. “With all due respect, ma’am, that’s not an assurance I’m banking on right now.”
“Ma’am.” Sol snorted it into the ear he hadn’t knocked a few decibels from. “Who’s he trying to rattle here, me or you? Or do you just take it from him because the dick is good?”
Tracy drove a heel back into his shin. Though he only grunted and clamped her tighter, she’d gotten her satisfaction—especially when noticing it bought Franz a few seconds to sprint closer.
A short-lived victory.
Triumph replaced by instant terror.
Such a huge sluice of the stuff, she could only react in one way.
“John!” she screamed. “He has a gun!”
A freakish stillness engulfed the air. Even the wind and waves went eerily silent, stepping back to acknowledge the new shift in power along the shadowed sand.
“Thank you, ku’uipo. I’m well aware of that fact.”
“Awwww.” Sol’s derision emerged as a nasal mewl. “Isn’t that just the sweetest? A nickname. What does that one mean, island boy? ‘Piece of sweet Texas ass’? ‘Little bitty fuck toy’? ‘Darling Johnnie dick lover’?”
“Keep going, asshole. Just give me one more reason to really do this.” The growl in John’s comeback gave new meaning to his call-sign. It reverberated through Tracy’s blood, and she eagerly soaked up its force—only to have it all drained by a maniacal laugh from the man at her back.
“Ha! You forget, fancy pants, that I’ve researched you? You’re a good shot, Franzen, but not that good.” He raised his hand, brutally squeezing Tracy by the chin. “And no way in hell are you going to risk putting a bullet through my little piece of insurance out of here.”
John solidified his stance. “There is no way out of here, Sol. No final act left for you to play, man.”
Sol grunted. “Bullshit. They’re going to take care of me. They told me—”
“There is no ‘they’.”
Sol’s entire frame went stiff. “That’s bullshit too. You’re handing me bullshit!”
“And I’d do that…why?” Franz countered. “Because I want to piss you off further, while you’ve a gun in your hand and the woman I love in your arms? Because this is really the way I want to spend a Saturday night?” His head ticked to the side, a sarcastic move in any other circumstance. “Come on, man. Buy a clue here. This isn’t bullshit. My boys finally got a nice, hard cyber-hammer into your club’s fun little black ’net site. Those files are making some fun weekend reading for the kids at the FBI and CIA. In short, the curtain’s down, dude. Take your bow now, and I can ensure you won’t get the death penalty.”
A vibration spiraled through Sol. Tracy winced, feeling his violence by osmosis. “Fuck you, Franzen! Fuck you.”
His fingers twisted harder into her jaw. She fought the pain. Scratched desperately at his forearm. Clawed a hand toward his head. A cacophony filled her ears again, then her senses. More bells, first like alarm clangs but suddenly a beautiful sound, like cathedral gongs—sliced by a scream. Who was screaming?
Her.
