Red Zone (Red Zone 1)

Large hands worked their way down her thighs and over her calf muscles. By the time he’d finished, she was trembling—a boneless, dazed, and disorientated mess. She felt his presence in front of her, and she had to fight to lift her suddenly heavy eyelids.

“Beautiful.” He reached for her, but stopped midair, snatching his hand back. “Damn it!” He snapped the words before turning on his heels and striding away from her.

She couldn’t take her eyes from him as an unfamiliar longing swept through her. She recognized the need on his face and suspected it was on hers, too. He let out a low stream of French that sounded like curse words, then strode toward her. He thrust the pot of cream into her hands before turning away.

“Do the rest,” he ordered.

Friday studied his back as he bent to rummage through the box. She didn’t have much experience with men, and she wasn’t sure what his change in mood meant. Did it mean she’d done something wrong? Or did it mean she’d done something very, very right?

“You need to finish the job and get dressed.” His harsh tone snapped her back straight. He threw a containment suit at her. “Put that on once you’re done. Don’t forget to cover your face and your eyelids with cream, too.”

With a nod, she reached into the jar for a handful of cream. She slathered it onto her breasts, trying hard not to notice how sensitive her nipples were or how needy she felt deep inside her body.

“Just so you know,” his low, rumbling voice said behind her. “We were about ten seconds away from having sex on the desert floor. I’d advise you speed things up unless you want me to pick up where I left off.”

Slowly, facing the darkness, Friday smiled.

Chapter Eleven

She’d gone from being naked to being wrapped in so many layers she could barely move. Her skin felt oily from the cream, and her jumpsuit stuck to her body in a way that definitely wasn’t comfortable. On top of her jumpsuit, she wore a body protection suit—full head mask, elbow-length gloves, and knee-high reinforced boots. She knew from her student days that the suit was made up of three layers. The one closest to the skin was a heavy cotton, chemically treated to neutralize as many dangerous biogens as possible. Then came a fine metallic mesh, to protect against rips in the suit. Lastly, the whole thing was fused together by a synthetic polymer that repelled most liquids and filtered gases.

The viewscreen on her mask was made of reinforced glass. It could stop a bullet if it had to, which made the helmet heavy and cumbersome. Her boots were reinforced with alloys, as were her gloves. The gloves were the sort used in refineries to pick up molten metals, which meant they were insanely thick and difficult to maneuver.

“I feel like I’m going into space,” she said through the communication outlet in her helmet.

“Yeah, I think spacesuits might be easier to move in.”

Striker adjusted his boots. They weren’t the same as the ones she wore. In fact, now that she really looked, there seemed to be quite a few differences in his suit. For one, it seemed to have more flexibility than hers, and the gloves appeared thinner, enabling greater dexterity. It worried her that familiarity with the Red Zone might have made him blasé about the dangers.

“Why is your suit lighter than mine? Surely you haven’t cut back on protective measures in your arrogance?”

He stilled and curled up from checking his boots. He studied her for a moment, his expression difficult to read through their respective helmets. “Nobody ever noticed that before.”

That didn’t answer the question, so she asked it again. “Are you taking unnecessary risks?” The thought of him playing recklessly with his life bothered her on a fundamental level. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe because if he was hurt, there would be no one to save her.

“No.”

“Then why is your suit thinner?” She frowned at him, working through her memory of the moments earlier. She’d been focused on the strange vulnerability of being naked in front of someone and hadn’t paid any attention to what he’d been doing. “Did you put cream on, too? I don’t recall you doing it.”

He made a move to rub a hand over his head, as he usually did when he was cornered, only to remember it was covered.

“Time is ticking. We need to get going. Stay right on my heels. As close as you can, without getting hurt. Do not move to the left or the right. Stay on the path. There will be times when we have to crawl. Don’t put your head up unless I tell you it’s okay.”

“But, your suit—”

He cursed in French before storming toward her and grabbing her upper arms. The fury that poured from him made Friday shrink back. He seemed taller, bigger, more intimidating than he’d been a moment earlier.

He gave her body a sharp shake. “This isn’t the time for questions. You need to focus. You need to follow orders. If you can’t do that, then I’ll take you back to Munroe.”

She felt her blood rush through her veins. He oozed danger and violence. A man capable of anything. She’d become too comfortable with him. Too reliant on him. She’d forgotten that she didn’t know him, and she’d definitely forgotten how deadly he could be.

“Got it?” he snapped at her.

“Yes. Yes. I’ve got it.” She jerked back, trying to break his overpowering hold. Even through all of her layers it felt like her arms were in vices.

“Do as you’re told. Keep that big brain of yours focused on following orders. If we make it through this alive, you can ask all the questions you want. Until then, all you have to do is exactly what I tell you to do. Your life depends on it.”

“I understand.” His one good eye seemed to glow as it reflected the light from the lantern. For a second, the yellow flecks in the brown seemed to take over, making him look eerie.