Page 17 of Wraith: Lethal Impact

I take control.

I rip his hand away from my mouth. Before he can react, before he can stop me, I grab the soaked fabric of his tactical shirt with both hands and pull him down. I rise onto the tips of my sneakers, bridging the height difference, and press my mouth to his.

There's nothing delicate in it. The kiss is desperate, fueled by terror and a burning curiosity I've suppressed for years.

I may be a virgin, but I'm not ignorant.

I read. A lot.

Virgin doesn't mean I don't want to be pinned against a brick wall by a lethal operator who feels like one of my fictional book boyfriends dragged into reality. I am not going to apologize for taking advantage.

I know exactly how this is supposed to look. I know exactly what I'm doing.

I lean into the illusion he demanded, climbing his frame like a feral cat. I lift my leg and wrap it tight around his waist, anchoring myself flush against his Kevlar. I open my mouth, deepening the kiss, forcing him to engage.

He freezes for a fraction of a second, shocked by my aggression. Then the stoic discipline shatters. He responds with ruinous intensity, his hands dropping to my hips, pulling me flush against him. The taste of rain, blood, and him floods my senses.

The tactical flashlight beam sweeps over us, illuminating the tangled limbs and the desperate embrace.

"Just a couple getting busy." The rough voice is Thai. "Keep moving."

The footsteps recede, fading into the ambient noise of the rain.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss. His chest heaves, his gray eyes wide, searching my face with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. The silence between us is heavy with the shocking reality of what happened.

"Perimeter's clear." His voice is rougher than before.

He turns away, breaking the contact, and steps out of the alcove. I follow him, my lips still burning.

We move through the labyrinth of back alleys, the environment fighting us every step. He vaults a rusted chain-link fence and lands without a sound in the mud on the other side. I scramble up after him, my exhausted muscles screaming. He catches me as I drop, dragging me behind a stack of wooden pallets just as a police cruiser sweeps its high beams through the narrow alley. We hold our breath in the rain until the cruiser rolls past, the blue and red lights fracturing against the wet brick.

Breaking out onto a secondary street two blocks from the Solarium, we spot a black sedan idling near the curb, the driver asleep at the wheel.

He doesn't hesitate. He rips the driver's door open, hauls the man out onto the wet pavement, and slides behind the wheel. I dive into the passenger seat, slamming the door as he throws the car into gear.

The tires scream against the wet asphalt as we tear away from the curb, disappearing into the blinding traffic of the city.

The shaking starts—hands first, then everywhere.

The cold reality of the night settles over me, suffocating and inescapable. I stare out the passenger window, watching the neon lights blur into meaningless streaks of color.

He saved my life, but he let them take my best friend.

I look over at him. His hands are locked on the steering wheel, knuckles white, his eyes on the road ahead. He's a killer. He's a weapon.

And he's going to help me get her back.

I'm not running. Not hiding. I'm going to force this lethal stranger to hunt them down, and I'll make them pay for taking Andrea.

"Where are we going?" My voice is cold, stripped of the fear that owned me an hour ago.

He glances at me. The shift in my tone earns a longer look.

"Fallback Point Echo." His voice is steady. "We need to get off the grid."

"Fine." I lean back against the headrest, my fingers closing around the silver compass resting against my sternum. "Then we hunt them."

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