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Chapter Twelve
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“Creator’s fucking mercy.”
It spewed from Shiraz as he chased Crista. Jagger yelled the same thing while sprinting down the hill. He quickly bypassed Shiraz, who halted to snap a walkie-talkie off his belt then yell into it. By then, Jayd and I had caught up with him. Since most of his orders were in fluent Arcadian, I only discerned every fourth or fifth word. The important stuff was noticeable, like kod rouge (“code red”), priorlik (“priority”), and chenklars.
Children.
I watched his profile, ashamed to admit how every other heartbeat in my chest—and there were a lot of those, considering the adrenaline had really kicked in—was still dedicated to utter fascination with his profile. Meshing the dirt-spattered warrior before me now with the sleek corporate machine of a man I’d met yesterday…“head trip” was getting a fun mental rewrite.
As if I wasn’t preoccupied enough, trying to keep the man out of any wet dreams he hadn’t infiltrated. There were very few left. Only the hot ‘n’ sweaty tattooed guy ones. If the man had tatts, I didn’t want to know about—
Shit.
One second of distraction and fate gleefully kicked me in the ass for it.
Forcing me to watch, my mouth parting like a hooked fish, as he stripped away his jacket, utility belt, and T-shirt—down to the splendor of his muscle-upon-muscle torso.
And the pair of stunning tattoos dominating the planes of his chest.
There was one on each huge pectoral, both in black with red shading: a hawk across the left, a dove taking flight on the right. They were beautiful and so was he—a wonderfully shallow thought, one I should have grabbed with all my might as he shoved his clothes and the radio into my arms—but instead, I let my mind plummet to deeper places. Scarier shadows.
He was going to join Jagger and Shai—and jump in after Crista.
And he might never get back out alive.
The conclusions collided, launching a shrill cry from my throat.
“Shiraz!”
He was already two strides into the drink. He halted, sending up a bigger spray, and hurried back to stand in front of me. Tall. Magnificent. Strong. But would the river be stronger?
Enough selfishness. Unbelievably, Crista was already halfway to the buoy, Shai and Jagger right behind her, but that meant nothing. Anything could still happen. That knowledge was stamped across Shiraz’s face—and now, in my agonized heart.
An agony I fully showed him while twisting a hand into his hair, desperately pulling him down. Our lips crashed clumsily but passionately. Close enough for a code red. I wasted no time jamming my tongue against his, needing to mark his taste, his scent, and his heat on me, inside me. Well, as much as the situation allowed.
In three seconds, it was over.
But I greedily grabbed three more. Through them, I kept him close. Speared him with the urgent grit of my gaze before stabbing him with you-will-listen-to-me syllables.
“Be. Careful.”
He nodded. Once. There was no time for sap, as much as I longed for it. I could only watch, blistered I couldn’t do anything more than stand there with his sister, watching him dive into the teeming shit-fest.
Jayd pushed up next to me. Hooked our elbows once more. “He is a strong swimmer.”
I pulled the little princess tighter. Clenched his clothes harder. Attempted to nod. Failed abysmally. “Okay,” I practically gasped. “Th-that’s good. Yeah.”
“I wager he will be even better after that kiss,” she said, for my ears only.
Despite the tempest, my face flushed. “Heat of the moment. I’m sorry.”
“I certainly am not.”
Even through the howling wind, I heard the smile in her voice. And endured the deeper blush across my cheeks.
Her brother wasted no time in proving her claim (not the one about our kiss). Shiraz’s arms cut the waves like a pair of curved copper scissors in a bunch of rippling silk—and I tried not to think how flood waters really were like that slippery fabric. Unpredictable as hell.
