Deadly Game (GhostWalkers 5)

"You live below ground?"

"We always have. Four floors down. There are two laboratories above us. The first one is for show. That's where he takes men like Senator Freeman, and the techs on that floor sign contracts for six-month rotations. They never go below that level. We train on the fourth level and are airlifted to various outdoor sites, always under the eye of Whitney's guards. The fourth level has all kinds of workout rooms and training modules and simulators."

He listened for what she didn't say, the information between the lines--the stark, cold existence of being raised by a man who thought of using a child only for experimentation. It was no wonder she was so close to the other women. They had only had one another as they grew up.

"And Sean? Where does he fit in?" Because he felt the affection in her mind when she thought of the man, and it made him a little crazy.

"In the last couple of years we trained with several men. Sean is one of them. They're enhanced both psychically and physically. It was the first time Whitney ever allowed us to be around anyone else for prolonged periods of time. He even rotated our instructors so we wouldn't get attached to anyone. At least, at first, that's what I thought."

"But now?"

She slid down beneath the sheet, unable to sit up straight any longer. "I think he was afraid someone would get attached to us and they'd tell us what was going on or try to help us leave. At the time he brought in the men for us to work with, he also brought in his own guards. They're pretty aggressive and revved up all the time." Her fingers plucked at the sheet, the only sign of nervousness she gave.

Ken reached out and covered her hand with his. "And Sean isn't one of his guards?"

She frowned. "He wasn't. He was part of our team. We worked well together and went on several assignments. He and a man named Rob Tate were the nicest, as well as being the best at what they did. Brett worked with us for a while."

The mention of Brett made her wince inwardly. She hid it well, her face never changing expression, but he was touching her and her mind was open to his. She despised Brett.

"He's the man responsible for those marks on your back." Ken kept his face entirely expressionless, his tone neutral, but beneath his calm mask, adrenaline surged and ice-cold rage settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Everything changed when Whitney announced his breeding program. We were pulled from any assignments that took us outside the compound, and put in locked rooms. After that, life became unbearable."

Her simple statement hung in the air between them. The walls rippled, and beneath them the floor shifted. Mari gasped and tugged at her hand. Ken glanced down. He was strangling her hand, crushing the fine bones as he made a tight fist. Instantly he loosened his hold and bent to examine the damage.

"I'm sorry, Mari." He brushed little kisses over the back of her hand. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I usually keep my psychic and physical abilities under wraps."

She rested her hand on the back of his neck, feeling the scars there, the beginnings of ridges that weren't so precise as the smaller cuts crisscrossing his body. He rested his head in her lap, and she stroked soothing caresses along the nape of his neck and up into his jet-black hair. "Except for the hand-crushing bit, it's nice to have someone angry on my behalf." She flashed him a small, teasing smile.

No one had ever cared enough to be angry--not even the women until Whitney had started his breeding program. Their lives had been all they knew--some of it good, some of it bad, but they didn't question how they lived or had been brought up. What was the use? She didn't know how it felt to have someone concerned about her, but it gave her a warm glow inside she couldn't describe.

"Ken, what happened to your back?"

There was a small silence. He started to shift out from under her hand, but she exerted pressure, holding him to her.

"Just tell me," she prodded gently.

He didn't want to tell her. The truth of it was, he couldn't think about it, think about the wrenching agony that never seemed to end. He didn't want to feel like those deer, swaying skinned on meat hooks at the senator's hunting cabin. He didn't want to hear the drone of flies, or the steady dripping of blood, or feel the hundreds of bites of insects that should have been nothing more than a nuisance in the middle of such an extreme torture, but at night, when he was alone, he remembered every vivid detail.

Her fingers tunneled in his hair and gripped as if gathering courage. "I don't cooperate with Brett and he hates me for it. Whitney won't let him mark my face, so he beats my back and legs with his belt and sometimes a cane. I still don't cooperate, so he forces me when I'm too weak." There was humiliation in her voice.

She didn't understand why she told him--only that she had to.

Ken stiffened. He could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his chest. There was a roaring of protest in his head. It had cost her pride to tell him. He wanted to smash something and go on a killing spree, taking down Whitney and Brett and anyone else who helped perpetuate such a vile crime.

She held herself very still. She had given him something important of herself, and she was waiting for his reaction. He couldn't tear down the walls and roar like a wounded animal. He had to give something equally important back.

"Ekabela had my skin peeled from my back. I guess they were a little tired of making all those nice clean cuts on my front and wanted to get it over with."

She was silent a moment, her fingers massaging his neck and scalp. He hadn't said a word about the pain or the fact that he couldn't possibly have escaped a major infection being in the jungle. It was a wonder he was alive. And it made her even more curious about how far they'd gone with that knife.

"Come up here with me," she finally said. "Sing to me. That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. I didn't have a single nightmare."

Ken slid onto the bed, curling his body protectively around hers, his arms holding her close. He sang softly while she drifted off to sleep, and then he lay still, tears burning behind his eyes and his heart pounding loud and desperate in his chest.

CHAPTER 10

Mari slept on and off for the next two days, slowly gaining her strength back. Ken stayed with her most of the time, but she was free to move around the room, building up the muscles in her leg again. Ken did a workout with her, push-ups and sit-ups and rubbing her calf muscle for her. Each time she went to sleep, he was there, holding her close and singing softly to her. If anyone else entered the room, he would stop abruptly as if embarrassed, but when they were alone and she asked, he would sing. It made her feel as if there was a connection--an intimacy--between the two of them.

She woke at night, staring up at the ceiling and savoring the feeling of his body so close to hers. She knew he was awake, unable to sleep. She wished she could find a way to take away his nightmares the way he did for her. She could tell by his ragged breathing and the intense heat of his body that the memories were too close. He was sitting beside her, the sheet--and little else--separating them. She was always acutely aware of him as a man. "Bad tonight?"

He turned his head to look down at her, and she caught a glimpse of hell in his eyes before he smiled at her, covering his thoughts, his fingers coming up to tangle in the gold and silver silk of her hair. "Not too bad." He tugged at her hair, rubbing the strands between his thumb and finger as if savoring the feel of it. "I love to watch you sleep."

It should have bothered her, being so vulnerable as to sleep with a man watching her, but somehow, he made her feel safe. She wanted that for him. He was the silent sentry, standing guard over her, his nightmares close and vivid, while he made certain she was able to sleep like a baby. It hardly seemed fair. "I wish you could sleep too. We need to find something to help you with that." There was an unconscious invitation in her voice.

Ken sat beside her, feeling the warmth of her body, the rush of electricity sparking along his skin. He had every good intention, had given himself a million lectures, but being with her night and day, watching t

he shadows chasing across her face, knowing what her life had been--what it would be again if Whitney had his way--made him feel less of a monster than he was. And that was dangerous.

"Ken." There was an ache of longing in her voice. She reached up and touched his lips, tracing the outline with a light caress.

He shook his head. "You're tempting the devil, Mari."

"I don't think of you as a devil."

Ken framed her face with his hands, his fingers exploring, tracing the fine bone structure of her face and sliding down her chin to her neck. "You're so delicate. How can you have so much strength packed into such a delicate little body?"

"No one's ever called me that before." She turned her face into his palm and rubbed like a cat. "You just have big hands."

Ken found the way her face moved over his hand far too sensual for his liking. Her tongue darted out to taste his skin, a soft, heart-stopping curl along his thumb, sending erotic images into his head before he could censor. He needed Mari to feel safe with him, but she was naturally sexy, responding to their potent chemistry with little inhibition due to the drugs in her system. Her soft breasts pushed against his chest, sending an electric current through his body. "Maybe you should go back to sleep."

"Why?"

"It's just safer for you."

"You mean safer for you," she said, mocking him. "You're such a baby." She nuzzled his hand again, her tongue and teeth this time sliding up his wrist. Her lips were featherlight against his scars, tiny kisses designed to drive him crazy.

Ken cleared his throat, his heart racing. "I have no idea what kind of drugs Lily is giving you, but I'm sure it's a potent combination."

"It's the drugs? I want you because Lily gave me drugs?" Her mouth engulfed his thumb and sucked hard, tongue fluttering suggestively. All the while her chocolate eyes remained locked with his.

His heart nearly stopped. His body reacted, blood pounding, filling his groin to bursting, centering awareness in one pulsing, throbbing ache. "Sweetheart, you just can't do things like that. You're playing with fire."

Teeth scraped and teased the pad of his thumb. His cock jerked in response, anticipating the pleasure of teeth scraping along his scars, tongue and mouth tight and hot and oh so moist.

He slid his hand beneath her shirt, sliding over her bare stomach and up along her ribs to cover her breast. He took his time, giving her plenty of time to pull back, to stop him. She arced into him, pushing her nipple into his palm. It was already tight and erect, begging for attention.

"Tell me what your home is like. I've never been in a home."

Ken laid his head on the pillow beside hers, fingers stroking gently. "Jack and I built a house in Montana. We have quite a few acres and the national forest surrounds our property on three sides, so we're fairly isolated. We're entirely self-sufficient. Jack made most of the furniture. We have a gold mine--never worked it, but there's a vein there for certain."

"Is it beautiful?"

He edged her shirt up, bunching the material little by little to reveal the smooth skin from her tummy and her tucked-in waist to her narrow rib cage, until he'd exposed the underside of her breasts. "I never thought a lot about it, but yes, the country is beautiful and the house is wide open with plenty of space for two families. The view from nearly every room is amazing." His knuckles rubbed back and forth under her breast, savoring the soft, satiny skin. No one had her amazing skin.

Mari relaxed more, her body soft and pliant from the mesmerizing movement of his hand. The heat of his body warmed hers. "Do you have a fireplace? I always thought pictures of fireplaces were romantic and homey at the same time."

"We have a fireplace in the great room, a common room shared by Jack and me. We both have our own wing of the house. He has two bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms and an office. We both have fireplaces in the bedroom. The house is large and very spread out, and we heat mainly with wood. It snows there, so it can get very cold at night."

Her skin fascinated him. It was softer than anything he'd ever felt before. He had to admit, when it came down to sex, he liked rough and fast and plenty of it, but there was something magical in lying beside her simply savoring the feel of her skin. He enjoyed his rising temperature, the pounding of blood through his swollen cock. He felt alive and he felt--happy. He almost didn't recognize the emotion.

"I grew up in the barracks. I have my own room now, but there's nothing in it. Just the bunk and my locker. We aren't really allowed personal items. There's a television in the game room, but we're watched all the time, and everything we do is recorded. Mostly we train and work on education and strengthening our psychic talents to make us better soldiers. Well, at least we did, until Whitney came up with his latest brilliant program."

"What do you do when you have time off?"

"In the evenings? I like to read and listen to music. I love music."

"What about vacation time? Did you travel?"

"We didn't have vacation time. And the only traveling we're allowed is when we're on a mission." Mari pressed against his hand. The sensations drifted through her like lazy smoke, until sexual awareness smoldered throughout her entire body. His fingers took the aches and pains and turned them into something altogether different. "Of course now, since he started his breeding program, all the women are virtually prisoners."

"You grew up with these women? You were all raised in the barracks by Whitney since you were infants?"

"Yes. They're my family. I consider them sisters. Cami's tough, she'll get out no problem, and the others will follow our lead, but I have one sister who suspects she is already pregnant. We have to get her out of there before he runs his weekly tests on us and actually gets the results. She's terrified Whitney will find out."

"We'll get her out." Ken didn't ask which one of the women was pregnant. Mari was already regretting telling him that much information; he could see it on her face and he didn't blame her. He slid his body down, just a little bit, just enough that she could rest her chin on the top of his head and his face was opposite her beautiful breasts. Her breath hitched.

Moonbeams from the skylight overhead spilled across her body, illuminating her skin, turning it to cream. He pushed her shirt up further, slowly exposing her breasts to the cool night air--and his hot gaze. His own breath left his lungs in a heated rush. This woman brought him something no one else had ever done. It wasn't the combination of lust and need, or even his body springing back to hard, vivid life; it was simple happiness. He felt different when he was with her. Lighter. The memories of the scent and sight of blood, of dark sweat, the sound of his own screams, the rage that never left him, that consumed him until he thought his world was only one of complete darkness, devoid of anything good--she forced it all to retreat, just by her presence. Whitney--the son of a bitch--couldn't have made that happen with his meddling--it was all too real.

Mari brought up her hands, brushing her fingers through his thick wavy hair. Her body nearly vibrated with the need to feel his hands--and mouth--on her. Her body felt as if it was melting, so soft and pliant he could shape her into anything. Her breasts tingled when the cool air hit her nipples like the flick of a tongue, teasing them into twin, upright peaks.

Her fingers fisted in his hair when he shifted again, and she felt the dark five o'clock shadow rasp across her nipples, sending little jagged streaks of lightning through her bloodstream. "Ken."

She said his name in a breathy little voice that threatened to shatter his rigid control. Ken thought he had his desire well in hand, but he hadn't counted on the way her body responded to his. Her bare breasts were laid out in front of him like a feast, and he drank in the sight of her lush flesh, swollen and flushed with desire, rising and falling with every breath, luring him closer to the tight, pink buds that stood up to beckon him. She wanted him--no, needed him--and that was the biggest aphrodisiac of all.

She didn't seem to see the scars on his face or body. She touched him, skimmed her mouth down his scarred flesh,

as if he was whole. She seemed as ravenous for him as he was for her.

"You're incredibly beautiful, Mari," he whispered. "This isn't Whitney's pheromones talking. This is me, wanting you so bad I'm almost afraid to touch you."

"Almost" wasn't true--he was afraid. If he knew what paradise felt like, could he go back to the barren world of the desert? He stroked his hand between her breasts, back down her body to her flat belly. Firm muscles played beneath soft skin. He rested his hand over her stomach possessively, fingers splayed wide to take in every inch of her that he could. Beneath his palm, the muscles of her stomach clenched.

She didn't know home or family. He'd had foster homes and Jack. Hell, they'd been kicked out of a dozen places, run away from more, and yet he was fairly certain he'd had it better than Mari. Briony had been taken from her when they were been small children, and she'd been raised in a brutal, disciplined world. His world had been brutal and disciplined, but he'd had Jack. He'd always had his brother.

He moved the pads of his fingers over her skin, tracing her sexy little belly button. No piercings for Mari. No jewels or fancy clothes. She didn't have evening gowns or expensive perfume. She had soldier-issue boots and routine camouflage clothing.

With every stroke of his finger, he felt the ripple of response in her stomach, her muscles clenching beneath the small caresses. He could barely breathe with the intensity of his desire. The roar in his ears grew louder. He shuddered with the effort to keep his mind away from the thought of her naked under him. He might need it, and he sure as hell could make her need it as well, but hot sex wasn't what was best for her, not right at that moment.

There was a part of him that detested the way lust intruded, so sharp and terrible that he could taste her on his tongue. He was beginning to crave her like a drug he was addicted to. He wanted to comfort and soothe her, to talk about things that mattered to her, but his cock throbbed and burned for her, stretched to the bursting point, an urgent reminder that he was alive and was more than an infinitely normal man.