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Business must be fucking booming, because eight bright-eyed recruits bleed from the mist around her.
Only, there is no mist.
Just pineapple perfume, clawing down my throat, dulling my senses and making it feel real fucking natural to do whatever she asks.
“Drop the gun.” The hypnotic command tugs my bones.
Gamma shit.
I don’t fight her pull, letting my gun slip as I sink deeper in the zone. My gut hasn’t jangled a danger alarm this nasty since Jericho lured me into “one last job” with stalker vids and threats on Dany and Lisa.
So what if it was a setup?
Sometimes, you do what you gotta.
I destroyed his files, his guys destroyed my skeletal system.
Not a bum trade. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have known he already had eyes on our fam.
I’m down for way worse than a coma if that’s what it takes to frag the cock-juggling thunder cunts who cooked up those bullshit lemon pheromones and punted my girl into the world with nothing but scars and fucking needles.
Black-ops Barbie purrs, trying to play sex kitten. “Good. Drop all your guns and kick them to me.”
The command forces me to unload. I follow to the letter, but I’m not going for extra credit.
She didn’t say shit about knives.
One of her soldier scouts shifts foot-to-foot with his safety off. “Babe. Orders said—”
“So? Commander will let me keep one.” She twirls the hair that falls in waves over her bulletproof vest. “He’s pretty.”
“He’s killed at least thirty of our guys.”
“Really?”
I’d say her eyes sparkle, but only Sol has that magic twinkle that tingles behind my knees.
This chick sparkles like a shit-splattered nickel at the bottom of a sewer.
Gives me meat sweats.
“He’ll be an asset once he’s broken.” Her sickly pineapple thickens. “Come here.”
My feet move.
I can’t twitch a pinky. Can’t whip out my dominance.
The closer I move, the more her scent fucks with my head—feels like sinking into a porn shop dumpster after a handful of sleeping pills on the day they swab the glory holes.
The gamma strokes my beard with black widow fingers. “I’m Elyse. Tell me your name.”
“Reese.” The answer rips out before I can think.
“Elyse. Reese. We’re meant to be.” She drags a finger down my throat. “You’re much too good for that freak.”
My snarl breaks free.
“Shhhhhh. You’ll love being my backup mate.” Her perfume squeezes my lungs, until all I can see is her mocking gaze and the oil-slick gloss on her parted lips.
