Savor Me Slowly (Alien Huntress 3)

Had she screwed him? That’s what he really wanted to know. Bastard, she thought again. “Yes,” she lied. “I don’t think he knows anything else.”

“Very well. We have no more use for him, and he’s well enough to return to his home.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, his implication clear. This is what I should want for Jaxon, but I’m not ready to let him go. The dread, terror, and resolve she’d experienced earlier returned full force, causing her legs to shake and her heart to drum erratically. Cool, calm, uncaring, she reminded herself. Showing emotion to this man was like placing a weapon in his hand and standing still while he aimed.

“I’ll make sure he’s ready.” The words were firm, unwavering.

“Two of my men will arrive at seven a.m. You’ll turn the agent over to them and then come to me.”

“Of course.”

“As close proximity as you were in with the Schön, I’ll want a full medical workup on you.”

Probes, monitors, needles. “Of course,” she repeated, proud of herself.

“Until morning, then. Oh, and Le’Ace. We spotted something disturbing while you were inside the bar. My agents were able to photograph it.”

Had she missed something? “Sir?”

“It’s impossible for me to explain. I’ll download the image to your chip and we can discuss it tomorrow when you arrive. I know that downloading is painful for you, and it distorts your reality, but I know you’ll find it worth it this time. As you’re looking at it, you might try and remember that he’s expendable. You’re not.”

With that, their connection severed.

Her arm fell to her side, the nearly weightless phone suddenly obscenely heavy. As if Estap cared about her at all. And there at the end, his tone had been a little too smug, a little too amused. Her dread intensified.

A moment later, a warm tingle rushed through her brain and heated her scalp. Her vision blurred, sharp claws scratching at her hair, her skull. She swayed, reached out, and tried to balance herself against the wall. Nausea churned in her stomach. One wrong move, and everything inside would spill out.

She stilled and waited.

The holophoto flashed front and center in her mind, consuming the entirety of her focus. The pain in her head eased, and she gasped. Her knees buckled. She hit the floor with a whoosh. The bathroom mutated into the club, tiled walls became painted metal. Drinking patrons were dancing and laughing around her. Smoke billowed.

She saw herself, the photo obviously taken seconds after she’d spotted Jaxon in the club’s doorway. Her lips were parted, her skin flushed to a deep rose. Her ni**les were hard and peeking through her shirt, and her hand was flattened on her stomach, as if trying to calm a fit of nerves. Or arousal.

But it was her eyes that drew her attention. Oh, her eyes. Absolute longing glittered in their depths, so much longing it was almost painful to see.

She knew beyond any doubt that the photo was a warning. He’s expendable. You’re not. Obviously Estap knew she cared about Jaxon. There was no hiding it, not after this photo.

If she messed up again, Jaxon would die.

Though he wanted to storm the bathroom, Jaxon waited on the bed. He expected Mishka to emerge angry, to stomp around a bit, maybe yell in frustration. He was prepared to soothe her, hold her, listen, and give her anything she needed.

When the door creaked open twenty minutes later and she strolled out calm, unemotional, his brow puckered in confusion. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” She didn’t look at him, even when she stopped at the dresser and lifted one of her knives from the first drawer. “Why don’t you go back to your room and get some rest? I could use some myself.”

So cold. So distant. So uncaring.

He didn’t like it.

Watching her intently, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. Having sat still for so long, his muscles had tightened; they refused to loosen and throbbed even after he stilled again. “Does that weapon have a name?”

“No.”

“So you lied about naming them?”

“Marie names her weapons. I don’t.”

And they were different. Marie was cold, Mishka was burning hot. He would never confuse the two again. “What did your boss say to you?”

A heavy pause, a slight tensing. Then, “He reminded me of my objective.”

When she said no more, he prompted, “And that is?”

“To do what I’m told, when I’m told. Anything else will just destroy me, little by little.” As she spoke, she lifted a rag and began polishing the blade. Her motions were smooth and practiced.

“That’s no kind of life, Mishka.”

Her shoulder blades rolled together as she tensed. “I prefer Le’Ace.”

“No, you don’t,” he snapped, furious with her total lack of sentiment. She’d gone into the bathroom a human, with all the emotions and frailties involved, but she’d emerged an android. Callous. He much preferred the vulnerable woman.

What he wouldn’t have given for a knife, her boss, and five minutes in a room. Cutting out the f**ker’s organs and forcing him to eat every dripping piece might, might—appease this growing sense of hatred.

“You don’t know me. Don’t pretend you know what I do and do not want.”

“I’ve had my fingers inside of you. I’d say I know you well enough.”

At that, she stopped breathing. Her fingers clenched so tightly around the weapon’s handle, the metal under that black glove could have cracked. Then, a moment later, she returned to her task, concentrating so profoundly he realized she might be using the action as a survival mechanism. An ordinary action to soothe a raging mind.

“What do you want from me?” she asked him, distant again. “Hugs? Kisses? Love?” She snorted. “I’m incapable of the last.”

His gaze raked over her. The dress she wore barely covered the sweet curve of her ass. An ass he’d balanced on his lap, an ass he’d kneaded. She’d moaned and writhed, lost in the pleasure. “I seriously doubt that.”

“You need to leave.” Over and over her hands continued to slide along the blade. Her gaze never wavered from it. “Now.”

That concentration, no matter the reason for it, would not help her. “Come over here and make me.”

“Jaxon.”

“Scared?” Any other woman he would have left alone. Why couldn’t he walk away from Mishka?