Elite Metal-ARE-epub (96 page)

All the funds he had earned on those underworld jobs had been confiscated and donated to charities on the orders of Warbucks, the mysterious and very anonymous face behind Elite Metal. Other than the stipends doled out to him for the dirty deeds he was asked to perform for the team, he had nothing. By the end of most months, he was lucky to have two nickels to rub together.

Not that he complained or even minded much. He understood this was his penance for using his considerable skills to break the law. As long as he had fuel in his bike and a roof over his head, he could deal with it. He’d rather be broke and chowing down on instant noodles in a no-name motel with stained carpet than fighting for his life in the Black Dolphin.

But even though he had his freedom, he wasn’t truly free. Poppy and Warbucks—whoever the hell he was—yanked his chain once or twice a month, sending him to far flung corners of the globe to complete solo missions for the team. Yet no matter how much a mission file pissed him off, he never questioned his orders.

Sneak into Belarus to keep tabs on the movements of an Albanian arms dealer?

Done.

Tail a drug mule from Nogales to Lake Havasu to Las Vegas?

Right on it.

Save that pregnant drug mule and take a screwdriver to the thigh in the process?

No complaints.

Interrupt an arms-for-drugs deal to secure and destroy intel on an Elite Metal team member and his family?

Sure. Why not?

Getting shot and stabbed on that operation?

All part of the service.

Break into the corporate offices of a pharmaceutical company in Toronto?

Sure. Everyone loves to zip-line at six hundred feet—in a fucking blizzard.

All the jobs he had been assigned, big or small, he had completed quickly, quietly and without any backup. He had been shot and stabbed, punched and kicked, bruised and battered to keep his Elite Metal brothers and sisters safe. He had retrieved intel from safes and computer banks and staked out mission sites and performed all the recon asked of him because he knew that his work kept the team alive.

But he was getting tired of being kept on the outside. Goddamn, he missed having a team HQ. He missed mission planning and debriefings. He missed the downtime and the pranks. Most of all, he missed knowing that someone had his back when shit got real.

When Poppy had shanghaied him, she had offered him the chance to be part of a family again. So far, it was the one promise she had broken. She had been less than forthcoming about why he couldn’t rejoin the team and try to mend the friendships he had burned to shit when he had run off after Operation Phoenix went south. All she would say was that Warbucks had given very clear orders to stay clear of Texas.

So he had. If Warbucks wanted him away from the team, there had to be a reason, one that very likely was meant to protect them. Maybe the big boss had reason to suspect the heat surrounding his illicit activities was still too hot. Maybe the boss didn’t quite trust him yet. Whatever the reason, Silver had followed his orders and stayed the hell away from Texas.

Until tonight.

That morning, he had been surprised by the mission orders that had been slipped under the door of his French Quarter hotel door. His plans to enjoy Mardi Gras had been interrupted by a coded newspaper. Suffering from one hellacious hangover, he had nearly tossed the newspaper until he had noticed the date was wrong. It hadn’t taken him long to find the other coded messages or to use the coordinates they provided to find the dead drop where he obtained his mission orders.

The low-tech method of contact had troubled him. It wasn’t Poppy’s style at all. His worries had been confirmed when he had uncovered the masculine, aggressive writing scrawled atop the cover sheet on the hastily assembled file.

DON’T FUCK THIS UP!

He wouldn’t. He would carry out this mission as cleanly and successfully as he had all the others, even if that meant bleeding or dying.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong with Poppy.

Chapter Two

Silver lived for the thrill of the chase.

Lurking in the shadows of the ultra-exclusive and secretive gathering, he searched the crowd of wealthy revelers for a redhead. The narrow slits of the black masquerade mask impeded his peripheral vision, but he didn’t dare remove it. Like the suit that had been waiting for him as part of the mission package at that morning’s dead drop, the mask was non-negotiable and required as part of the evening’s dress code.

As far as missions went, this was the top of the list for weirdest. He hadn’t quite known what to expect when he had arrived at the rather rundown building in a mostly abandoned industrial sector in Houston. From the outside, the place looked like a damn horror flick set. Inside wasn’t much better.

It wasn’t the usual bright and beautiful, lavish and luxe ballroom that hosted these soirees for the city’s elite. Peeling paint. Stained concrete floors. The lingering scent of petroleum and dust. Beat-down machinery that lent a menacing air to the dimly lit interior. He had seen black site interrogation rooms that were cozier and friendlier than this.

Thumping, driving bass beats filled the massive workspace. Every now and then a cry of pain or a shriek of ecstasy punctuated the electronic melody. A man of simple tastes when it came to sex, he hadn’t spent much time in the red light districts overseas or the upscale clubs that catered to darker needs and fetishes.
Maybe I’ve been missing out…

Standing in the shadows, he watched a rather shocking display that included flogging the exposed bottom of an older woman in medieval stocks. Dried patches of black wax dotted her back and buttocks. She made whimpering noises, but the slick sheen visible between her thick thighs told Silver all he needed to know.

Stretching his neck, he tugged at his tie and moved away from the scene. The farther he walked into the converted warehouse, the dimmer the lights became. He had a hard time making out some shapes and colors now. Already on edge, he slowed his pace and took his time scanning the revelers. He glanced at the necks of the women in search of the pendant he had been told the mark would be wearing.

Operation Red Fox
.
Locate, tail and protect the unnamed red-haired female attendee wearing the jade cabochon.

The mission orders has been uncommonly brief. The method of contact had been strange and unusual. There wasn’t a trace of Poppy’s touch anywhere on this mission, and it worried him. It had been radio silence on her end since their last morning check-in, and he was concerned her illness had been more severe than she had let on in their text messages. Her dead drops and transmissions always included in-depth intel. The dossier left with the suit and mask had consisted of two pages, a map and a brief description of the female in question.

What does the team want with this woman?

He weaved through the crowd and tried not to lose focus by spending too much time staring at the tempting tableaux he passed at yet another erotic station. A sudden flash of ruby red hair caught his eye. He stopped mid-step and eased his weight back onto his left foot. With a slight pivot, he changed directions and slipped behind a throng of bodies so he could shadow the redhead’s movements.

Lithe and willowy, she glided through the crowd with a hypnotizing swing of her hips. He sensed from her deliberate steps and graceful stride that she was a woman with exceptional balance. A dancer perhaps? The backless gown and the halter style of the top beautifully displayed her toned arms and shoulders. She was a woman who knew her way around the gym.

Closing in on his mark, he eyed the constantly shifting crowd. With all the masks being worn, it was impossible for him to tell if she was attracting the wrong sort of attention. She seemed to be having no trouble attracting the right sort of attention though. Men and women alike shifted their attention to her. Like him, they seemed entranced by the shimmer of emerald silk that hugged her taut backside and the tantalizing glimpse of skin shown by the backless dress.

When she slipped out of view, he silently cursed but stayed at the same easy pace. He didn’t want anyone to notice him. He walked to the closest station and joined the small crowd watching a curvaceous brunette shared between two men. From the way they stroked and caressed her voluptuous body, it was clear they had a history. Silver wasn’t the type of man who found threesome arrangements very appealing, but the sexual energy sizzling between the trio on the black leather divan intrigued him.

Using the crowd in front of him as cover, he angled his body just so and managed to take a wider view of the warehouse. It was so dark in this area that he had to let his eyes adjust to the flicker of candles and the dim burn of the too few bulbs overhead. Finally, he spotted her. She had meandered down to a scene at the far end of the factory floor.

Wondering what had captivated her, he stealthily stalked her, pausing here and there to ensure his movements roused no suspicion. When he closed in on her position, Silver purposely glanced away from her, ignoring the redhead completely, and continued walking beyond the public scenes to a dark, wide doorway lined with strips of heavy-duty plastic. He scoped out the makeshift sitting area and bar and returned to the main factory floor. He spotted a pair of hallways, one lined with doorways from the former offices that had occupied them, and another that was dark and ominous.

With a map of his surroundings now complete in his mind, Silver doubled back and joined the redhead. Seemingly enthralled by the scene in front of her, she stood off to the right side of the small crowd. He wanted more cover as he sidled closer, coming up right behind her, but he would have to make do.

Just as he got within touching distance, she shifted on her feet, relaxing her tense stance and reaching up to sweep the long, red waves from her shoulder. The sudden movement scent a burst of sweetly scented air his way. As the first notes of a familiar perfume hit his nose, Silver froze.

No. No. No.

Stop.

Think.

Lots of women probably wear that perfume.

Swallowing hard, Silver tilted his head and took advantage of his close proximity to study the woman he had been asked to protect tonight. She was the right height and weight. The hair color was all wrong, but a dye job was easy enough to procure. He stepped into the mark’s personal space, standing so near he could feel her body heat, and dipped his head.

Breathing in the woman’s scent, he closed his eyes and let it wash over him, let it clear away the lingering smells of manufacturing and the musk of sex and arousal filling the air. A vivid memory stampeded through his brain, obliterating all his thoughts, wiping away the noise of the crowd and the music. Suddenly, he was taped to that chair again, bound and gagged, and completely at the mercy of that gorgeous, sensual woman.

Poppy
.

A rush of blood pounded in his head. His heart stuttered as a surge of adrenaline and desire gripped him. Eyes wide open now, he gazed at the deep red hair in front of him.
It’s her.

Heart beating furiously, he fought the urge to wrap his arms around Poppy.  He wanted to drag her away to some secret, dark corner where he could finally act out the wild, dirty fantasies that had tormented him since their last face-to-face meeting. For months, he had dreamed of seeing her again or being close enough to touch her. His fingertips practically burned for the want of her skin beneath his.

But why the hell was Poppy here in this crazy, dark sex club? Why had he been given orders to tail her?

Shit.

Fuck.

What if the orders hadn’t come from Elite Metal? What if his cover had been compromised? What if he had just stumbled into the middle of a mission? What if he had just led their enemies right to Poppy?

Unsettled by the what-ifs and concerned for Poppy’s safety, he put a gentle hand on her hip. She stiffened under his touch, but she didn’t push him away.
Does she know it’s me?

Another thought, this one even more unsettling, struck him. Was she waiting for someone? A date perhaps? Or maybe she was hoping to pick up a man here?

You’re in luck, sweetheart. There’s a red-blooded man right here.

After months of pushing her boundaries via text, his chance to finally see just how far he could push Miss Poppy Jones had finally arrived. How far would she let him go?
Is she going to stop me?

With one hand cupping her hip, he slid the other to the slight indentation at her waist. Gently, he tugged her back against him, pulling her in tight and reveling in her warmth and softness. She was breathing harder now. Whether from the erotic scene playing out in front of them or the fact that a man, maybe a man she thought was a stranger, was touching her, he couldn’t tell.

As his hand glided along her ribcage and under the swell of her breast, he turned his attention to the couple acting out an illicit fantasy for the enthralled crowd. He was struck by the similarity of the scene in front of them and that morning so many months ago in another warehouse. Was that why Poppy had stopped here? Was she remembering their first interaction the same way he did?

On the dais in front of them, a tall, buxom woman wearing a black latex skirt and a skintight pink bustier over a severe white shirt smacked a short but mean cane against the palm of her hand. Bound to a chair, her male lover tugged at the leather cuffs attaching his wrists to the wooden frame. His erection throbbed in time with his pulse as his mistress stroked him while tapping the cane against his chest. The short, swift pops barely marked the skin, but Silver sensed the woman was gearing up for a good, hard whack.

When she did finally crack the cane across her lover’s thighs, everyone watching gasped. Seemingly startled, Poppy jumped and leaned into him. Welcoming her movement, he palmed her breast through the thin, slinky fabric of her gown. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the heat of her skin seared his fingertips.