Delta: Rescue: A MacKenzie Family Novella (The MacKenzie Family) (6 page)

“What is making you think so damn hard right now? Excuses? Lies?” His thumb rubbed the underside of her arm, making goose bumps tingle. “The truth, Ms. Mercier?”

The truth was she was a victim of her father, of circumstances, trying her hardest to make right with the only certainties she had known. No one could help her to the extent she needed. But the other truth was Luke was still touching her, and that topsy-turvy, warm feeling of arousal was attraction. An unfamiliar feeling that had never occurred before was happening with
her enemy
.

“Please remove your hand from me.” Though she wanted anything but.

He stepped closer, letting their sides touch. This was what the fuss was, what made people stupid—the crushes, the cravings, the need, and the love. A shock of awareness moved through her stomach, deep to where she already wanted him, and it scared the hell out of her.

“Why would I?” He bent down and growled close to her ear. “Tell me a reason.”

A thousand reasons and realities should have fallen off her tongue, yet none would come. Strands of her hair fell across her cheek, and his hot breath made them tickle her skin.

“You think you know so much.” Her voice shook, almost a whimper. Something she needed but could never have stood before her, and if it never happened again for the rest of her life, she would miss the high.

Towering over her, he leaned in. “I do.”

“You’re wrong,” she promised.

“Not often, beautiful. Traffickers ruined my belief in humanity. Are you a pretty face oblivious to your world, or are you what’s wrong with it?”

Maddy jutted her chin up, unwilling to be either. “You don’t know enough to wrap your head around what it is I do or why I do it.”

He pulled back. “Tell me why you were with Felipe Rivera.”

Finally, a simple question.
“Because he lied about who he was. He hurt one of my girls.
I am
her protector. He took what he was not granted, and for that he will learn a hard reality of life.”

“And that is?”

“I believe in revenge. I believe in payment. I believe in why I do what I must. There’s no other way. I believe in her right to say yes or no. I believe more than you can fathom.”

“Bullshit.” His nearly black eyes shone. “You sell people. These models? Your fancy companies hiding behind international laws? All fake.”

He’d crossed their line, but she didn’t care. Her breaths came faster, and she needed him to understand at least one piece of her puzzle. “I wouldn’t lie about Felipe Rivera.”

He got into her face. “You would!”

Her pulse raced. “He hurt someone close to me, and this is one of the few times I
can hurt back
!”

“You’re insane.” He closed the distance between them, and his hips hit hers. “Messed up in the head.”

“You have no idea,” she breathed.

Luke moved them hard and fast. The back of her thighs hit her desk. His erection bulged in his pants. That should have made her want to vomit, but the repulsion wasn’t there. Her eyes bulged at her own enjoyment, and as his strong hands wrapped around her waist, lifting her onto the edge of her desk, she didn’t fight him off.

If anything, she wanted it to happen again. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” she whispered. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Please. Leave.”

His impossibly perfect lips were mesmerizing, and he watched her mouth intently. They were in a standoff—righteous versus vulgar, and all she wanted was her first kiss.

“Try me,” he said.

God…
“I can’t. You’re law enforcement.”

“Some days I am. Most days I’m not.”

What did that mean? For hire? Like Hale? Or worse? “A mercenary?”

“I’m a hunter.”

The hunter and the virgin. What a combination. “And I’m your prey.”

His eyes closed as he stepped back, dragging his hands from her hips to her knees. Then, as strongly as he’d come in, he left.

Alone and aroused, Maddy hated what she wanted from him and couldn’t wait until they clashed together again.

CHAPTER FIVE

Five hours into an interrogation not worth the time spent traveling to Miami, Luke kicked the door open and walked out of the room, which stank of sweat and lies. Today marked nine days since Rivera had been in custody, the sixth day since he’d come face to face with Maddy Mercier at her office, and he couldn’t shake her from his head.

Rivera couldn’t remember Luke’s old girlfriend, and for that sin, the man could stay locked in place. The Delta-MacKenzie task force had turned him over to the local feds, but at least Cade granted Luke the ability to stay with Rivera until he learned something, anything, about what had happened years before. But the trafficker hadn’t shared new intel—it wasn’t going well.

Luke paced the length of the dank hallway.
Enough for today.
His gut burned. These were the jobs he existed for—finding the perpetrators and destroying their factions, then rescuing the girls and cleaning up narcotics. The buzz of his cell phone stole his attention back to his dark reality. Luke unholstered it.
Cade.
“Yeah, boss.”

“Get what you need?”

“No.”

“
Can
you get what you need?”

Translation: Was Luke searching for a forgotten memory, a passing thought from too long ago? “I’ll get what I need. Got decent details on the Rivera and Mercier cartels.”

“He knows more than he’s given up?”

“Yeah.” Luke nodded, rubbing a hand over his eyes, kneading the bridge of his nose, finally noticing the soreness of his knuckles from his last fight. At least he had that slight bite of pain to feed off of. He needed it, especially after—his mind jumped back to Maddy. He hadn’t touched her in the way he wanted to…but when he left, his heart had run away, his muscles tense and needing more of her.

“Luke—”

He shook his head, pulling himself back. “Yeah, boss.”

“What do you think?”

“Yeah, man. I…”
Shit.
“What did you say?”

“Get your head in the game.”

“It is.” Luke tamped the rage running close beneath his skin. “Now, what did you say?”

“She had the same thing in mind as you. Maybe not the same reason, not as deep. But same.”

“She, who?”

“The Mercier woman. The one you went to scout. Jesus fuck, tell me it wasn’t the wrong decision to let you follow up.”

“It was the right one.”

“What have you learned?”

“Not as much as I’d like.” That was the truth. “What’d Delta learn about her?”

“She’s retaliatory.”

Luke grumbled. “She’s a trafficker. That’s what they do.”

“Rivera worked over one of her models, and she was out for blood. We interrupted what, according to Parker’s intel, could have been a very painful night for Felipe Rivera.”

Revenge
… But that didn’t make her any better of a person. “Not sure what to think about that.” He mulled over the vixen with the flashy ride who’d been as comfortable in the ghetto as she was in her office. Yet when he’d been turned on and pressing against her, she seemed as though she’d never been touched, the way her surprise shone through her bravado. That made him even more curious.

“Believe it,” Cade said. “She has a reputation.”

Luke’s head pounded. A craving to feel something besides heartache and vengeance rushed through him. He needed to fight, whether it was with gunfire or his fists, as long as the pain was deep enough to leave a lasting mark.

“Damn,” he growled. “I’m out. Feds can wrap this dude.”

Luke ended the call. Cade wouldn’t be pissed. Over the last few weeks, they’d found a balance between MacKenzie Security and Delta team jobs. Every person on the team knew how Luke survived, how he blew off steam without killing everyone in the room. He could find a fight in any city, at any op location. Barroom brawl. Street fight. Underground ring. This was Miami—big city, lots of money, lots of sins. With his mouth watering for pain and adrenaline coating his mindset, Luke needed to get outside and into trouble.

* * * *

The crowd hummed. Bodies packed against bodies, swaying and cursing. The amber light in the far corners of the warehouse tinted every face orange, no matter their skin color. Murmurs and chants for blood started to rumble. Luke’s eyes were closed, and bass thumped in his ears. His head nodded to the beat, and he embraced the current of excitement running through the room.

“Ready!” a man shouted into a bullhorn.

The warehouse exploded with a dull thunder. The shouted vibrations and anticipatory murmurs flowed through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, standing room only.

“Fighters, front and center.”

Luke’s eyes opened as he locked on his man.
Puerto Rican lookin’.
He was just as tall as Luke, though wider. The scars on his face and the fight in his dark eyes promised Luke a well-matched fight. Luke would have to pull from his depths to win, to feel the pain he craved and still come out on top.

“In the red…” the bullhorn man crowed into the ready room, but his words faded into the rumbling.

His opponent bounced on his toes, flanked by two men. One slapped his face, the other rubbing his muscles. That was what they did—the entourage banking on their winnings.

Too bad.

“And new to us, the white-boy fighter who goes simply by Luke.”

The crowd booed and jeered. Luke had no one in his corner. He didn’t want it, and he always ensured Delta was never there—no show of sportsmanship, no moral support. Because this was about one thing, getting his fix. Feeling better. Numbing the outside world. He’d draw out the fight for as long as he needed, then his internal monitor would give the go-ahead, and Luke would shut it down, take his win, own his pain. And he’d disappear into the shadows a little calmer, ready to survive the world for another bit.

It was addiction, pure and simple. His mouth watered with the proximity to what he needed. There was nothing honorable about why he fought. Brock and Cade both knew what they needed to know, and that was that. Only his teammate Javier seemed to really understand.

“Fight!”

Like the world fading away, the cursing, smoking, shouting crowd melted into a blur that surrounded him. The people became white noise. Luke focused on the fight in front of him.

The man came fast. He cut right, left. Sharp, biting punches that Luke took. On purpose. Pain exploded, and
God
, it was like heaven. His opponent hadn’t expected the easy shot, didn’t understand why Luke had all but leaned into his fists. The only things he’d avoid were head shots.

The white noise burst, evidently stoked at the possibility of their local, reigning champ winning so easily, but also at the sound of the impact, flesh colliding with flesh. The dull thumps, the grunts, the trickles of sweat flying through the air accelerated these people.

Luke threw a jab. Took a cheap shot because he wanted to embrace the sting, savoring the pain. His blood flowed, and his mind cleared. He could breathe. Moving back, he rolled his shoulders and listened to the crowd boo for his knockout.

Too bad for the fighter opposite Luke—he had his high, the delicious bloodlust-soaked burst of sanity that made him tick. Luke morphed into another man. He wanted more than to accept the pain. He needed to give it. His fists flew. His body jabbed, evaded, ducked, and spun.

The white noise roared. His opponent stumbled, caught off guard. Stance correct and reassessing Luke, the man recalibrated and swung forward.

But Luke was done, having taken and given as much as he needed. He didn’t want one moment more. A swift, vicious one-two punch flew, perfectly choreographed, from his fists, and the local champion flew back, back arching, eyes shut. He landed with a bounce, and the bodies surrounding them pinched closer, screaming their disapproval, demanding a rematch, hollering for the downed man to rebound.

Luke shook out his fists. No gloating was needed, no body guys to tend to his bleeding wounds or to wash out his mouth. No. He rolled his shoulders again and turned. Done.

Finally, he was able to take a breath, as he hadn’t been able to in weeks. This moment was a calm to his storm. He pushed into the crowd as his lungs slowed and sweat poured. It dripped into his eyes, and he savored that burn, the same as he did with his bruises and brokenness.

The crowd parted as he pushed, his gaze effortlessly sweeping the room as a renewed spirit took over him—until the warm, comforting high froze. He saw her.

Her.

The woman registered in his mind, and she was standing just feet in front of him. A couple inches shorter than he, even in heels, and in a bright and vibrant dress that stood out in the dank room, she radiated energy that he couldn’t explain. It was sex. It was power. The confidence and confusion were intermixed. The effect slapped him harder than any hit he’d just taken. He stepped closer but stayed silent.

“Luke Brenner.” His name on her tongue, soft and quiet in the harsh sound chamber, was magic. A salve. A soothing touch that cooled him as much as it heated him in a very different way from the fire of exertion or the pain of injury. And he hated it. Hated her. Just as much as he wanted it. Everything he stood against, she somehow was everything he’d ever wanted to touch, to kiss—the softness that must be her. But with their eyes locked, he knew that softness was equally opposed by whatever angst and deceit was locked inside her.

So very much like him.

His feet moved forward, his mind almost an unwilling participant. But he said nothing, watching the sensual curve of her lips and wondering if his addiction to pain had changed into desire for a woman he wanted but would never touch. He wished they were alone again, but he didn’t acknowledge her, the enemy—his prey, as she’d so aptly put it.

Instead, he stepped to the side, but her hand gripped his sweat-soaked bicep, nails squeezing into flesh. That slowed him, slowed his world.

“Get off, Maddy.”

Her nails bit into his skin, and the intense satisfaction at the tiny pinches was dangerous. “You’re on my turf.”