Crystal Mac: A prologue novella to Captive Series Book 3 HELL'S HILLTOP (6 page)

He worked on closing his snaps, but couldn’t quite control his fingers yet. “A little warning would have been nice,” he grumbled, closing his eyes to the crimson that loomed in his peripheral vision.

“
Shhh.”

“A wink or something. Anything! But
nooo
, you had to go for the Oscar.”

“I’ll apologize later, now be quiet.”

“I thought you were really gonna go through with it. Neuter me like some hump-happy St. Bernard.”

She
shot him an exasperated frown. When she noticed him struggling, her shoulders relaxed and she came at him with a pert frown. “Your snaps are crooked.”

As his shirt came open again, her frown deepened.
Small fingertips skimmed over the stitches on his left shoulder. “This is one of ours, too,” she murmured. “Was it Rafferty?”

He chose not to answer that. Apparently the wounds they inflicted came with initials.

Crystal’s hand lowered to the fresh burn marks on his fur-covered chest, leaving a jolt of electricity in its wake. Her eyes immediately lowered as if she actually heard his dick rise.

“Ah,” sh
e crooned, “the truth comes out.” When her eyes traveled upward again, they met his with a mischievous twinkle. “You want to fuck me right now, don’t you?”

Christ, Mac, reel in your shit.
Of all the muscles in his body,
that
one
had to come alive first. He wasn’t ready to forgive her yet, let alone entertain salacious thoughts of ripping her clothes off.

But, yeah…
he wanted to fuck the hell out of her.

“It’s the adrenaline,” she continued, placing her ear against the door once again. “
I could seriously use it myself, but it’ll have to wait.”

“
Now, I didn’t say… I don’t want…” Mac blustered, putting distance between them. “Jesus, Crystal, there’s a dead guy on the floor,” he finally managed.

The light was extinguished just before the door opened and closed again behind them. They made their way
down the hall. Mac strongly suspected she’d killed the other two ghosts, which was a good thing, because recovery was slow coming. What he couldn’t run into, he tripped over, leaving a trail of noise in their wake.

“There was your first mistake,” Crystal whispered as they passed a security camera nestled high in the ceiling of the hallway he’d taken earlier.

“I was wearing a paper suit,” he argued as she maneuvered him in a different direction. “Just like everyone else.”

“Nobody here fills it out quite like you do,” she explained patiently.

Was she calling him fat? He glared at her slender backside with rancor. He’d lost quite a bit of weight over the last two years. May not be ripped like Austin or Derek, but one of his daycare mothers had called him, what was it? Beefy?

Not that he cared what Crystal thought. She was a dozen year
s younger than him and erotic… shit…
erratic
to a fault. His idea of a good match was someone sweet. Comfortable. Non-lethal.

As they worked their way through another darkened wing of private offices, Crystal abruptly stopped.
She whirled around, flicked long bangs from her face. “In here,” she whispered, shoving him through the closest door. It was a small conference room, very visible to all behind a wall of clear glass. Six leather chairs flanked an oblong table, all barely discernible in the meager light from down the hall.

S
oon Mac heard the footsteps Crystal must have picked up on earlier.

She
held a slim finger to her lips. He nodded in understanding. Somewhere, another light came on and they heard whistling. It was only office personnel, but someone who could still raise alarms. A warm hum sounded in the distance and soon the mechanical tempo of a copy machine. Crystal’s shoulders slumped and she pulled him down by the sleeve.

“You might as well sit until they leave,” she whispered, her warm breath bathing his ear. “You need to get your shit back together.”

Even though it ate up too much time, Mac agreed. In his current state, he’d get them both caught and killed. He sank down into one of the leather chairs, stretched out the achy fatigue in his limbs. If Luke were even still around, the man would be pissed. A good twenty minutes had passed since Mac left him simmering in the boiler room. Even worse, Lana waited for them in the van. Too much time and Rafferty’s assistant would be discovered.

The copy machine continued to rack out pag
es. Angst made him fidgety. Maybe they could make a break for it? Put the poor overworked soul in a deep sleep and shove him in an office? Maybe Crystal knew a way to…

All thought w
as struck from his mind when her hand found the opening of his shirt, flattened against his bare chest. His eyes popped open. Kneeling between his legs, Crystal put a finger to her lips and slowly unzipped his jeans. Mac jerked, grabbed her wrist. Again, she put her finger to her lips indicating the necessity of complete silence. He shook his head, scowled darkly. Then her palm cupped his balls through the thick barriers and stroked.

Desire flooded his core, leveling all wisdom in one shot.
After what he’d just learned about her unique brand of torture, the woman had no business down there, but he hadn’t had sex in almost a year. That was the only reason her touch felt so. Fucking. Incredible.

As Mac distracted himself with justifications, she’d managed to open his fly. Cool air hit the most sensitive parts of him when she pulled him out, closed warm fingers around his girth.

What the hell… did she… think she was… doing?

Her hot mouth closed around him. Blood thumped in his groin, but he instinctively pushed at her shoulders, begging her to stop before it was too late. Instead of adding distance, however, his traitorous hands held her in place, moved upward to lace through her short hair.

“Christ,” he mouthed without producing a sound. She was holding him captive, blowing him in their not-so-secret hiding place while Joe Schmo made fifty million freaking copies ten feet down the hall. Never before had he found himself in quite a position. It was dangerous. Stupid. The timing couldn’t be worse. And it only made his balls grind with lust beneath the expert handling of her touch.

Somehow, she managed to suck and stroke his length, yet not produce a single wet noise.
While her hand pumped at the base, her pharynx constricted unmercifully around his sensitive head.

That’s it. My God. Not yet.
Not yet!

But despite his inner plea, he unloaded directly down her throat. His torso curled with the force of it as he fought to keep quiet. She didn’t gag, struggle, or pull away, instead held him tight and deep until he’d expelled every drop. His head fell back,
and a groan escaped.

Shit! No noise!

Crystal laughed quietly, released him and stood. “If you haven’t noticed,” she whispered, “our office nerd is gone.”

Not that he’d be able to
answer her until oxygen was restored.

“Tuck that bad boy
back in your pants and let’s go.”

Had she really just blown him? The
cooling moisture on his dick said yes, but the woman left him hanging out to recoup alone.

Unaccustomed to putting himself away on the run, Mac caught up with her and zipped his pants. “What the hell was that?” he whispered as she put her ear to the door. A red exit sign glowed above them like mistletoe.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a BJ before,” she said casually then pushed it open.

They found themselves in a concrete hallway that reeked of something off. Cooked chemicals? “Of course I have,” Mac shot back defensively. “Just never been ambushed with one.”

“Shhh. You feel better, don’t you?”

Strangely—or not so strangely—he
did
feel better. His focus was back. Mobility was restored. Aside from the need of a good nap, things were incredibly clear, as if he’d been given a dose of uppers.

They peeked through another door and slipped into a hallway Mac was more familiar with. The boiler room was now in sight. “Come on,” he said, pulling Crystal along.

“Mac!”

That was Luke’s voice. They approached the windowed door where a red-faced repairman waited.

“Sorry about that,” Mac murmured. “Ran into trouble.” And the five-foot-nothing behind him came with a capital ‘T’.

Luke leaned in with a heavy scowl. “If you’re done here we
were supposed to leave about fifteen minutes ago.”

Yep. The guy was pissed, but Mac still felt pretty good.

Boiler room heat met cool night air as they moved outside and took the concrete steps two at a time.

Luke yanked on the driver’s side door of his utility truck. “Tell your boss I’m out of favors.”

Suddenly, Mac was relieved he’d left the demolition business. Kids were a lot easier to work with. He opened the rear doors of the service van and found it completely empty.

Crystal vaulted into the back. “You okay to drive?”

“Where’s Lana?” he growled.

“I got what we need, just drive!”

He hoped to shit she was right, because there was no time to argue. Once the engine started, Mac felt better, but there was still about a hundred yards between him and freedom.

The guard stood outside by the gate.
Mac grabbed the ball cap from the dash and pulled it low over his face.

“Was there a problem?” the guard asked gruffly
, taking back the visitor’s badge. Apparently he’d kept his eye on the time.

“Just trying to avoid one,” Mac evaded. As he held out his hand for the necessary papers, Luke’s horn beeped twice behind him.

Startled, Mac watched in the side mirror as the guard talked in length to the other
Repair Care
driver. Was Luke so pissed he’d rat him out?

The gate was before him, just a measly spike of wood that held no chance against a charging van. As his hand curled around the column shift, the guard began to walk back.

With a smile on his face.

“I’ll log your time,” was all he said before waving him off.

Mac’s heart started pumping again, but he didn’t fully relax until the highway was in sight. They rode in silence. Not a peep came from the woman curled up in the back.

“You asleep?” he asked over his shoulder. No answer, which was no big surprise. Crystal had to be exhausted
, and he’d let her sleep for now. She’d need her strength for Derek’s interrogation.

When he pulled into the
Repair Care
parking lot, Luke followed him in. The tires rolled to a stop in the empty space among the other vans. Mac put his in park, cut the engine.

“Time to go, Crystal.”

All was quiet except for the tick of a cooling engine. “Hey.” Mac twisted, squinted into the dark interior. Unease crept under his skin. He exited the van, rounded toward the back and swung open both doors.

Completely empty.
His heart plummeted down to his toes.

“No fucking way.”

Mac had come back to the Cahill’s home empty handed. No Lana. No Crystal. No information about the basement chemist, which was most likely the reason for Crystal’s disappearance. But was it all as underhanded as Derek thought? He’d survived an impossible situation tonight thanks to her quick thinking. Her fellow ghosts had missed her after all. He’d been caught. Plans had changed. He got it.

But
why did she lie about Lana and ditch him afterward?

“She knows where the basement chemist is,” Derek fumed as he paced
the Cahill’s large kitchen. It was a historic Colonial home built in the late nineteenth century and a soft spot in the original wood flooring creaked repetitively, adding to the angst. “The ball is entirely in her court. If she takes control of Nexifen, the rest of us are jumping through
her
hoops.”

From his place at the breakfast nook, Mac stared out
the bay windows into the inky black night, reflecting on the solemnity of the situation. Austin and Danny sat across from him, equally somber with just as much at stake as the rest of them. Crystal’s choices would affect them all.