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One mattress on the floor, bed coverings—such as they were—tightly made. A single lamp, also stationed on the floor, sat precisely where it should be. The blinds were closed.
So is the bathroom door.
Nothing waited for her behind the bedroom door, and the sliding door of the closet gaped wide open. Her lack of clothing or accessories—what the hell did she need them for in the bullshit job she currently occupied?—meant it was also clear.
They were in the bathroom.
Sighting the door, she tossed her backpack on the bed and made a half-yawn, half-groan of a noise, as though she’d walked into the room per normal.
The door stayed closed.
Instinct had her look her up in time to see the black masked figure drop.
Fuck.
He’d been above, braced on the corner of the wall. The bastard struck hard. He locked his grip around her right arm, over-extending her elbow. The nerves went numb in her fingers, and the gun fell.
Slamming her free hand into the figure’s face, she heard a faint crack and a grunt. Then he caught her left and locked her arms, one over the other. Fuck Red Wolf or whomever this bastard worked with—she wasn’t going down without a fight, not even if dying meant seeing Brad again.
She let herself go limp, and he lunged forward trying hold her up. Sliding her leg between his, she hooked his knee and jerked him off his feet. They went down in a tangle of limbs. In a pure wrestling match, he outweighed her. So she used leverage to keep tumbling and tucked her knees to her stomach and shoved at him. Flipping him, she regained the use of one arm. Fingers locked together, she jabbed for an eye then his throat. He blocked the first and missed the second.
Taking advantage of the choking sound he made, she dug her fingers into the pressure point of his wrist until he released her right arm. Tumbling back, she struck out with a foot and caught him in the solar plexus. Instead of going down, he wrenched her ankle and flipped her just as she closed her hand around the gun grip.
A sting burned the side of her neck, and she swore. The paralytic poured into her system. Some distant, active part of her brain recognized the drug—she’d been trained to resist them for years—but it powered through her as though fed by her adrenaline. Her fingers refused to cooperate. Her legs buckled. Her vision wavered.
Fuck.
Sorry, Merc…I’ll wait for you on the flipside.
Maybe Brad would be there.
The non-existent padding in the carpet didn’t do a damn thing for her knees when they slammed into it. The world wobbled, tilting, and she fell forward. Damn, she was going to break her nose. The odd little thought hissed through her brain. The figure caught her, his arm across her chest.
“What the fuck? I told you to let me do this…” The deep voice sounded oddly familiar. Impossible, really. But then, she could hear what she wanted to at this point, couldn’t she?
“You aren’t supposed to play with her. Just bag her.”
Bag her.
Bagged. Tagged. Finished.
A black hood cut out her vision, and the drug sucked her under.
Chapter 1
Today
The moment Titaniumwalked into the room, Brad “Tungsten” Peck realized the time had finally come. After a hellish eternity spent waiting, investigating, and watching, they were going to reveal the cosmic irony of their existence to the family. Varying degrees of shock and disbelief transformed the faces of every one of his former teammates, but he cared less about their response than he did hers—Sachi, his girl.
Earlier laughter vanished under the weight of suspicion and confusion. She asked solid questions, but she’d always thought three or four steps ahead of the team. Half the time, he’d simply enjoyed letting her dazzle him with her eerily accurate suppositions. The other half? The other half, she’d worried him with how deep into a character she could sink.
When the moment came, he was one of the last to tug off his mask. Years of agonizing frustration drawn to a rather abrupt, inglorious end—his girl had chosen another man, and all he’d been able to do was watch.
From the moment her gaze collided with his, a jolt went through his system. Titanium had fucked this up by dropping the bomb on them in one violent burst. The commander had been in the heart of the explosion—it had shredded his body, and so he didn’t quite understand—the blast wave itself inflicted damage as well. Insidious damage, hidden beneath the surface. Damage that didn’t quite heal.
Copper’s face blanked as the wave struck her. Merc suddenly thrust himself into view—fucking John “Mercury” Thrace. He owned a piece of Copper’s heart. The man had always been there, between them. Brad had her body, Merc her heart… At least until she’d shared another shard of it with professor fucking Gabriel Danvers.
She’s going to run.The instinct he’d trusted all of his life whispered her next move in his ear. Copper didn’t quite run, but she turned on her heel and marched out of the hangar as conversation erupted like shrapnel in the devastating aftermath.
