Page 42 of Ravenous Prophecy
Get a grip, I told myself, dredging up the part of me that still remembered how to behave like a professional. This was what the client wanted. Sure. Skin-on-skin contact. A bit of light cuddling. Just your average, everyday merc stuff.
I cradled him in both arms, longing to hold him close and tight but too afraid I’d hurt him. What I wanted more than anything was to put my hands over his chest, to reassure him by touch if not by words that I would be there to protect him from harm, that I would never fumble so badly at bodyguarding again. This close, it didn’t matter. I could still feel the thump of his pulse, nearly hear the rhythm of his heart.
“You know,” I said into his hair, “in my line of work, they tell you that you need a strong stomach. And it’s not just your ordinary mercenary business, either. There’s vampires and werewolves, and now there’s the Hive, too.”
Bradley chuckled, but his stomach clenched against his laughter. I winced, knowing he was wincing, too, knowing he was still in pain.
“I get it, Griffin. You’re a big, strong man, and you’re not afraid of anything.”
Burrowing closer, I nuzzled against his neck. So near tohim I could smell the lingering scent of his shampoo, a trace of sweat, and the subtlest tang of blood.
“That’s not the point I was trying to make,” I said, my lips almost ghosting the words against his skin. “The kind of jobs I take? They scratch that daredevil itch inside me. My work is a rollercoaster ride. I’m sure Julian would tell you the same. It’s all about the rush.”
I squeezed my hands to avoid clutching him closer, gritting my teeth and clenching against my nerves to get the words out.
“Before today—before what happened to you—I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid. Truly and deeply afraid.”
Bradley’s legs slid against the sheets, his hands gently removing mine from around his waist. He grimaced as he pushed himself up on the bed, turning slowly to face me. He wouldn’t look directly at me. With his cheeks flushed, lashes lowered, his eyes focused on the sliver of nothing between us, he’d never looked any lovelier.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Bradley mumbled. “I think.”
I shook my head, surprised, frowning. “Don’t apologize. I should have been there to protect you. It’s my responsibility to you as my client to?—”
“Shut up,” Bradley breathed, leaning in so close, so quickly that there was no room to escape.
He kissed me, gentle and slow, his arm resting along my shoulder, hand clasping the back of my neck. I puddled into him, against him, dribbled like warm honey between his fingers, big, strong man that I was. This wasn’t how I’d imagined it—a shared bed in an MEA safe house—and yet it was still everything I’d hoped for.
My hands hovered above him, around him, flutteringuselessly, still so afraid to touch. Without opening his eyes, Bradley reached for my wrists, guiding my shaking hands to his cheeks, to his shoulders, inviting me to discover the rest of his body.
And then I wasn’t afraid. I leaned into him, against him, trusting that this was what Bradley wanted. His fingers tangled in my hair, his lips pressing hungrily against mine, I retreated to a private, tiny world, where things like gunshots and manuscripts and the Hive didn’t matter, didn’t exist.
But before I left, a single thought crystallized in my skull, a hasty note, a promise for later.
JA Williams was a dead man.
CHAPTER 16
BRADLEY
The problemwith sitting around and doing nothing was that, despite the near-death experience, no one was listening to me when I said that the end of the world was coming. Falcón, when pressed for information about what the MEA was doing, pointedly removed a small glass vial from her jacket and placed it on the kitchen table where I was sitting.
Inside, something brassy colored clinked against the side of the glass. I blinked at it, frowning.
“What is that?” I asked.
“That, Mr. Brooks, is the bullet that was lodged in your chest before Gallows here found you.” As far as dramatic statements went, Falcón’s worked wonderfully.
Elaine gasped behind me, Griffin hissed through his teeth next to me, and Brigette looked nearly a shade lighter than the paper of her favorite library book. Everyone started speaking at once, and Falcón managed to look above it all, staring down at us as we clamored like children needing to be heard.
“I trust”—she lifted the small vial—“this sufficiently explains why all of you are being kept out of the investigation. We are going to get Williams for attempted murder, and likely, since he’s so overconfident, we will be able to get him for the mundane murders as well. Despite how it looks, the MEA is in a very good position here. I will not have any of you jeopardizing what should be a very easy conviction.”
“You’ve made your point,” Griffin growled.
“Are you sure I have?” Falcón looked around. “Because if I find out that any of you have left this safe house, if any of you decide vigilante justice is the way forward, then we will have to have some very uncomfortable conversations. Uncomfortable conversations that even Brooks money cannot help you escape from.”
“Director, we understand,” Elaine said congenially. “After the events of last night and most of yesterday, we are in no hurry to risk anyone’s life when we have full faith that the MEA will resolve the situation easily.”
“Good. I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding. That is the only reason I have returned your… belongings.” Falcón stood, straightening her jacket, glancing meaningfully at Griffin and Julian before nodding to the agent in charge of monitoring us. Then she swept out, taking the two extra agents with her and leaving me with the empty feeling of having just barely escaped a tsunami. The others didn’t look much better.
