The Dark Elite (The Dark Elite 1)

She never fucking was.

And she never should be.

Reaching for the antiseptic, I pop it open, trying to focus back on my task and not on the thoughts clearly written on the lines of Lucas’s face. Or in my head.

“This is going to hurt, sweetheart,” I murmur, even though I know she’s dead to the fucking world. Then I pour the liquid onto her wound to clean it.

Lucas and I cringe as her body immediately tenses in pain despite her unconsciousness, curling into herself. Her eyes flutter and her mouth falls open slightly, her back arching against the pain.

Swallowing, a sudden mad desire consumes me to see her do that again—not in pain, but in pleasure. My gaze tracks a path from the column of her throat to the swell of her breasts, my heart thudding in my chest. The pretty little gag around her pale lips makes me imagine all sorts of fucked up situations, all sorts of ways I want to fuck her.

Where I want to have her.

How I want to fuck her.

Would you beg for me? Would you beg me to make you scream? What would you look like when you finally gave in? The thoughts burn in my mind as my hand reaches out, brushing the gag.

Fuck.

Realizing what I’m doing, I yank my hand back and finish bandaging her wounds quickly, my touch rough and callous. Then I shift over on the seat, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. The cramped van seats don’t offer much space.

“Did you get anything out of him?” I turn my attention back to Lucas, refocusing on what’s important in this moment. “Who does he work for?”

“I have no clue. He was only lucid for a few seconds, and he didn’t give anything up.”

“What the fuck was he doing at the wedding?” I grit my teeth, the adrenaline that surged through me inside the church rushing back. “Actually, while we’re on the topic, someone want to tell me who the fuck compromised our mission?”

There’s a moment of quiet tension as we all contemplate the shit storm that happened back at the church. It’s amazing we all made it out of there alive, and maybe I should feel more grateful for that. But right now, rage is burning too hot through my veins to feel grateful for anything. What was supposed to be an easy in and out job turned into a shit show. Because what we were supposed to do was simply take Grace’s father and bring him back to Chicago, not cause a fucking bloodbath.

We’ve been looking for Grace and her father since they escaped six years ago, and when their location was finally discovered, Zaid, Lucas, Ciro, and I volunteered for the collection mission. It wasn’t even a fucking question. It was our duty. It was our right.

Samuel Weston was supposed to be ours.

“I don’t have a clue who the other group was.” Lucas breaks the silence. “Didn’t recognize a single one of them.”

“How did they even get there?” Zaid clenches his fingers against the steering wheel. He’s just as irritated as the rest of us, but his focus stays on the road, alert for any signs of someone following us. “We searched for Weston for six years. Our syndicate is the only one that found out where he was and what he was doing. We have a rat on the inside. Someone is giving out information.”

“And now Weston is fuckin’ dead.” Ciro grunts. “That seems to be the real problem.”

The van goes quiet again, and we all know he’s right.

Not only is our target dead, but our mission was compromised, and we potentially have a traitor on the inside. For years, we’ve built a reputation of fear and respect around my family’s name, and everyone knows

it’s a bad fucking idea to try to cross us.

Whoever this rogue group is, they’ve just asked for war.

And that’s exactly what they’ll get.

4

Grace

When Brian smiles at me, I know I’ve made the right choice.

His hand is warm and steady in mine as he puts the ring on my finger, his gaze never leaving mine. In just a few moments, all my nerves are washed away, and as I listen to him recite his vows, happiness and calm fill me.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest says.