Breaker (Unmasked #3)

18. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Delilah

H eat travels up my spine.

An ache blooms low in my belly.

Pain pricks on my lip, his sharp teeth cutting into the soft flesh.

“You’re ours.”

My thighs bracket his hips, knees digging into the fabric of the couch beneath him. The heat of his skin against mine makes me whimper. His breath fans over my face. Suede and male and smokey sweetness. I feel him moving into me, warm fingers gripping my ass, guiding me up and down, hips jutting upwards to meet me. He drives in slow at first then faster, thrusting deeper. I rock my hips to match the pace he’s set, moaning as he hits in deep.

There’s a flash of a scar over his eye, but it fades and it’s just black lashes around deep black pools of ink reflecting the light in the room.

Fangs for teeth, the canines elongated and curved like they hold venom.

Pale blue eyes rake over me with such want my walls clench around him.

Two deep lines over plush lips, but then I notice the stitching around the square, masculine jaw. Like someone sewed his flesh back together.

“Does it hurt?” I ask him as he slips deeply into me.

“It did at first. But I got used to the pain,” he whispers. “I like it now. It reminds me of you.”

Long fingers covered in tattoos claw at the seams around his jaw. The skin pops, blood oozing down the thick column of his neck.

“No,” I gasp. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Don’t worry, Kitten. I don’t need this face.” His fingers dig into my cheeks as he fucks me deeper. Harder. “I’ll just take yours. It’s mine after all.”

I sit up gasping, and my eyes land on him. A scream peels out of me but fades quickly.

He lounges in the chair, legs splayed confidently, fingers drumming a silent rhythm on his thigh, saturating the room with his dominant air. Bright sunlight casts long shadows across him, the thin squares of the window panes creating geometric patterns of light and shadow over his black shirt and mask.

He shifts slightly in his seat, letting me know he’s been there a while. “Nightmares again?”

I suck in a breath, blinking, the last dregs of the dream fading.

His black eyes fall from my face to my body. I glance down. My nightgown rode up in my sleep, sticking to my belly, showing my white underwear and where my hand slipped between my thighs as I slept.

“Or dreaming of us?”

I grit my teeth, sliding my hand out of my underwear, looking around the room. It’s hot as hell in here and I notice the slight pop of the furnace and the fire blazing in the hearth. How did they light it while I slept? And how long was I asleep?

Viper left me in his room last night and I slinked back to my room, and hid in my bed, crying myself to sleep. This is the first time I’ve seen Reaper since he left me tied to his bed. My cheeks heat at the idea that Viper may have told them how I begged to be fucked.

Tossing the thought aside, I pull my nightgown down over my sticky thighs, kicking away the rest of the blankets, then place a foot on the cool floor.

“It’s hot in here,” I say, noticing by the slant of the sun, it’s late afternoon, and I slept most of the day away.

“First she’s too cold. Now she’s too hot,” Reaper says. “Make up your mind, Kitten.”

I glare at him, walking to the furnace and find it turned all the way up. I lower the setting, then face him, my belly fluttering. It doesn’t matter his uniform is plain black, it’s how he wears it that makes it so unbelievably sexy, and I can’t help but soak in the sight of him. Clothes seem to embrace him, each fabric fiber clinging possessively to his chiseled muscles, emphasizing every bulge and curve. I want to sink my teeth into him. Hurt him a little as payback for this constant want that lives inside me now.

But I think I already hurt him.

There’s a part of me that wants to apologize for my comment yesterday, but then I spot the gun propped on his knee under his large hand, and all thoughts fade. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s wearing his gloves. Besides a knife strapped to Viper and Breaker’s belts, none of the men have carried any weapons. It makes me realize now how strategic they’ve been. Reaper has never once worn a single weapon, and I can’t recall Striker wearing any either, making me think they never wanted us to feel like they were a real danger.

Then again their sheer size and the force emanating from them means they don’t need any weapons. They are one.

I gesture to the pistol. “Didn’t realize I pissed you off to the point of murdering me.”

“That would be too easy, Kitten.” That fucking smirk makes his mouth move under his mask. “And a waste,” he adds, eyes moving all over me. “I need you to complete this mission, so killing you will do me no good.”

I shoot him a sardonic smile. “Nice to know I’m useful for something other than fucking when the mood strikes.”

He stands upright, gun still in hand, but down at his side as he stalks forward, each step precise and rigid. I back up but hit the cool metal railing of the footboard. Reaper stops inches from me, invading all my senses with smoke and cedar and power, making the dream resurface. He leans in, angling his head to the side to keep my gaze as he rests his hands on the railing on either side of me, effectively trapping me in place.

Onyx eyes drag from my lips, down my neck and slip with such heat over my collar bone to the thin straps of my nightgown it feels like he’s dragging warm fingers over my flesh. A hot breath caresses my ear. “If all I wanted you for was a rough fuck, then you’d still be tied to my bed, legs spread eagle, cunt on display and ready for me right now.”

The way my body reacts makes me hate him as much as my body craves him.

A grating sound rumbles from his chest, sounding a lot like irritation. “I didn’t risk my life and that of my brother’s for a fuck toy.”

“Just a bonus,” I say, because I apparently have no control over myself when it comes to this man.

Reaper leans back some. The gun clinks against the metal, the sound making my heart flutter oddly. It would probably do me good to remember who he is. He’s warned me over and over he’s not a nice man.

But he’s nothing like Rune.

“Penny for your thoughts, my pretty Kitten.”

I blink, realizing I’ve just been staring down at his hand with the gun balanced on the railing. I look up at his masked face and irritation rolls through me. Not once in my life did I ever think I’d be able to identify a man by the feel of his dick, but not his face.

“Are you going to lose the mask?” I ask, voice brittle.

The mask doesn’t bother me so much, as does the reason behind it.

He doesn’t trust me.

Not like Striker and now Breaker.

And I need to remember not to place all my trust in him.

Reaper steps away, and it feels like I can breathe again. “Do guns scare you?”

Of course he’s going to ignore my question. That’s what he does.

I eye him, then point to the gun in his hand. “Should I be scared of that gun?”

“Are you scared of the man holding it?”

I knew I hurt him. The realization gives me a sick sort of gratification knowing that I’ve finally found a way to get under his skin. He’s been so cold, giving me just fragments of himself, and now I hold some power over him.

I’ve taken long enough to respond that he inhales, chest rising, and looks down at his hand briefly, then back up at me.

“Wary,” I say finally. “I’m not scared of you, but of what you’re capable of doing.”

His body grows tense, eyes flashing with something akin to disappointment. I’ve studied him enough that I can tell from his body language he doesn’t like that answer any more than if I told him I was terrified of him.

Reaper steps back and holds the weapon up. It looks like a standard gun you see in movies. All black metal, but it looks small in his hands. “Have you ever fired a gun?”

I shake my head slowly, my heart skipping at just the thought of holding a gun. “No.”

“Have you ever wanted to?”

I flash on the day they took us. When Clyde reached for his gun, and I debated grabbing it and shooting them. But I didn’t know how, and I remember the helpless fury that ate at my belly, knowing how defenseless I was.

“Yes,” I say, and I swear he smirks, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He should. Reaper is, after all, the reason I was both helpless and scared.

“Good. Today you will learn.”

“Excuse me?”

Reaper turns and stalks to the door.

“What does that mean?” I ask, rushing after him.

“Exactly what it sounds like.” He doesn’t answer my string of questions as he continues to the door. Like, why do I need to learn to fire a gun? Who does he plan on having me shoot? He stops walking, turning to face me, and I nearly crash into him.

Hooking a finger under my chin, he tilts my head back to look at him, sending my stupid heart fluttering. “Do you want our Baby Girl home?”

My breath hitches. Home. Ours. Tears spring to my eyes. I bite my lip and nod.

Reaper’s thumb skates over my bottom lip before his hand drops. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs in fifteen.” He points to a stack of black and gray clothing sitting on the vanity. “Don’t be late or you’ll pay the consequences.”

That threat does weird things to the greedy place between my thighs. When he shuts the door, I rush to the stack of clothes and get dressed, barely paying attention to the fact I now have leggings, a sports bra, and a hoodie.

Our Baby Girl.

Yes. Ours. I want our Cora back.

Home.

***

It’s too cold to be outside, but these men don’t seem to mind. The thick black leggings left for me do nothing to cut the cold blowing in from the north, nor does the grey hoodie, even when I bury my hands in the front pocket.

I pull the front door closed, making sure to latch it. My boots thud almost as loud as my heart as I descend the stairs and stop in the drive where Reaper and Striker stand, both holding duffel bags and grins. At least, Striker has a grin, I’m sure Reaper smirks but he’s wearing his stupid mask so I can’t tell.

That grin curls into a mischievous smirk. “Nice hoodie,” Striker says gesturing to me.

My gaze drops to the large block lettering on the front of my shirt spelling out the word TEAMPLAYER. I was in such a hurry to get dressed and lace my boots, I barely paid attention to my clothing. I look up to the men before me, catching Striker nudging Reaper in the side. Reaper rocks back on his heels, dropping his chin like he’s hiding a smirk.

Not like he has to. I can’t see his fucking face anyways.

“Real mature,” I say.

Striker’s grin widens, making my belly flip. He’s so beautiful. Gorgeous golden eyes and tanned flesh that begs to be licked. All white teeth and full lips. Lips I wish were on mine, my body, between my legs. I let out a huff of annoyance at how quickly my mind deteriorates around these men.

Men. Except two… one is missing.

“Where’s Viper?” I ask.

Reaper shrugs in this wholly arrogant, completely uncaring way that makes me want to scream. With the way he acted upstairs, I had thought we’d moved past this. Past the uncaring demeanor. That we’d moved into something new the other night and instead of this push and pull we constantly do, we were going to embrace this. But it’s as if every time he gives me fragment of his gentleness, he has to cut me with his sharpness, reminding me that while he says I’m his, he’s not mine.

The thought slices through me, making my shoulders droop. My emotions feel shy, unsafe, leaving me unable to find solid ground long enough to sort through it all. Cora’s safety sits front and center, but it’s all jumbled with this unquiet feeling coiling up in me. What I need is reassurance not just that we’re getting Cora back, but that when I let them claim me, claim us, I didn’t make a mistake.

That they do want me. They aren’t lying. But none of them are giving me that. And any time I’m alone with them, things tend to get out of hand, myself most of all. Cora seemed to redirect some of their attentions and made me feel…

Less focused on.

My eyes snap to them, all my attention returning to Reaper and Striker just a few feet away. This is the first time I’ve realized I’m alone with them.

Really, truly alone.

And I’m not sure how I’m supposed to manage them.

You managed them all just fine a few days ago.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, already feeling a headache blooming.

“I think she’s still mad at us,” Striker says.

“Do you blame me?” I ask, stuffing my hand back in the pocket of my hoodie. “You sent my best-friend back to marry Zane-fucking-Devin.”

Reaper slowly angles his head toward Striker.

“Breaker told her,” Striker says.

“Why?” I ask, Reaper. “Zane is a drunken sleaze.”

“You know why,” Reaper says. “Everything would have been ruined.”

“Oh, yes. Your plan,” I say, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You sent her back so not to foil your precious plans.”

“Should we let Rune continue?” Reaper asks, stepping closer like he does when I’ve pissed him off. Like his proximity will intimidate me. Stupid man. He should have learned by now. I know he won’t hurt me.

I take a step forward too. “You made her a promise.”

“We will,” they both say at once, like they are one voice.

“And we promised you,” Striker adds.

I don’t give a fuck about the promises they made me. But I do care about what Cora is feeling right now. Alone. Rejected. Terrified of Rune hurting her again. And she doesn’t even know the worst part yet. She may know surface level what Rune is capable of, but she never saw the pictures in those files.

“But it will take time,” Striker says.

My finger’s curl into a fist in my pocket. “She doesn’t have time,” I hiss, pinning my glare on Reaper. “We need to act now.”

“ When we take Cora back, we’ll start a war,“ Reaper says. “These deals are unbreakable unless they’re replaced with something better.”

Anger heats my face, frustration churning my stomach because he’s right, and I know it. We can’t just storm Rune’s house and snatch her up. Zane will get involved along with his alliances. We have to find a way to break this deal and settle things peacefully so the men can still complete their mission.

“And since Rune will never let Zane get his hands on you—“ Reaper steps even closer— “Since I will never let anyone else get their hands on you, we better be prepared to spill blood. And lots of it if things go south. But first I need you trained.”

And we better be prepared to win, Runes’ words fill my head. He sounds so much like my father right now that maybe I would be smart to be a bit more scared of him. Terrified even.

I glance at Striker, and his handsome face is so hard, that I know they mean it. They’ll get her. They promised us both and they are prepared to kill to do it.

Remember we killed to make you ours. My heart flips, remembering Reaper’s words.

Yet. I can’t go back yet. And I need to be prepared for my role in this war, whatever that is. Apparently that includes learning to fire a weapon.

I take a breath. “What do I have to do?”

Reaper relaxes, the churning in his eyes calming.

“Follow us,” Striker says adjusting his duffle on his shoulder and walking away. Reaper follows and I don’t have much choice but to do the same.

We walk along the long dirt road, past the carriage house, and weave around to the south end of the property where the forest turns slightly swampy, giving way to the marsh. I watch as the two men remove a long, thin rifle from one of the bags then unfold a target. Striker walks toward the tree line and attaches the large target to a thick trunk, then returns a moment later, taking the rifle from Reaper and motioning me forward.

“We’ll start you off with a .22 long rifle,” he says. “It has less kick.”

My heart lurches into my throat. “I’ve never held a gun before, much less one that big.”

“Sure, you have,” Striker says, that playful grin returning. “I’ve seen you handle Breaker just fine.”

My face heats, and I avoid eye contact as Striker walks toward me, rifle outstretched.

“Is it loaded?” I ask when he’s right in front of me.

Reaper chuckles as Striker says, “You think we’re going to hand a loaded gun to an accountant before we show her how to use it?”

I shake my head, feeling out of my element, both with the idea of holding a weapon and with this new dynamic we’ve established. Push, pull. Flirty, serious. Sexy, dangerous.

Before he lets me hold the rifle, Striker tells me about each part, then demonstrates the proper way of holding it, how to place my finger next to the trigger instead of on it.

“Here,” he says. “You try.”

With my nerves frayed, that day flickering in the back of my mind, I take the weapon and inspect it, shoving down my unease.

This is for Cora. I will get her back.

I mimic what Striker showed me, and once he seems satisfied that I can hold it properly, he takes it back, and loads it, placing earmuffs over his ears. Reaper hands me a pair as Striker lifts the firearm, aiming at the target. Adjusting the earmuffs, I watch Striker’s muscles tense and all that unease I felt, melts. Heart racing for a different reason, I focus on his body, how he widens his stance slightly, the rifle tucked neatly and tightly against his shoulder, almost like it’s an extension of him. There’s something so primal about the sight of Striker holding the rifle, so innately sexual that I forget I’m nervous as I devour the sight of his muscular arms, tight ass, his strong back and large hands.

Next to me, Reaper clears his throat. I blink, glancing his way. He crosses his arms and lifts his chin—a silent reminder to pay attention to the lesson and not Striker’s ass.

Striker looks over at me briefly, and winks before repositioning himself, aiming at the target.

I take a deep breath, shifting my focus.

“Ready?” Reaper asks.

Avoiding looking his way, I give a subtle nod.

I know the sound’s coming. I’m familiar with the explosive crack of a bullet leaving the chamber. I heard it the day they took me. How it reverberates in the air. Creates a hollowness in the ears. I remember watching Manuel fall after a bullet hit the center of his forehead and still, that’s not what sends fear snaking through my limbs, numbing my fingers.

What people don’t know is that you don’t hear the sound of a bullet when it’s shot from a distance by a professional killer. All you hear is the slight whisper of it piercing flesh, the slick sound of metal imbedding itself into muscle and hitting bone.

Then, absolute silence. Like time freezes, everything but where the bullet lands ceasing to exist except for that pinprick of red. And how it grows.

A single image slaps me.

Her face frozen in a smile.

The sparking life in her eyes one second there. Vibrant.

The next, gone.

Then blood was spraying out of the side of her head onto my lavender dress.

“Ready to try?”

I blink. Sucking in a breath to find Striker holding out the gun to me. I feel Reaper’s penetrating gaze moving over my face and I glance his way.

He doesn’t move.

I reach for the gun. He stalks forward, arm outstretched as if to grab the rifle. “You don’t have to.”

My hand drops as our eyes collide. “If I want Cora, I have to.”

His shoulders bunch but he nods, glancing at Striker as he motions for me to continue. Striker places the gun in my hands, holding me and the weapon until I’m aiming, and he’s positioned my hands where he wants them.

“Don’t press,” Striker says backing away some to give me space, and I’m too acutely aware of his proximity. Of how fast my heart is racing, knowing I’m holding a deadly weapon in my hands. Knowing I have another one at my back and one more beside me.

My hands shake, my fingers slick with sweat as I aim for the target.

“Pull back gently,” Striker says. “Don’t smash it down. You pull, like you’re coaxing it to fire rather than smashing the bullet out of the barrel.”

A cold blast of wind skates across my face, blowing tendrils of hair over my eyes. Reaper steps to me, and leans forward, tucking the flyaway behind my ear and my entire body shoots through with heat, fireworks exploding over the skin where he touched. It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing his gloves. My body remembers his heat and wants it again.

“Ready?” Striker asks quietly from my other side. “It doesn’t have much of a kick, but there’s a small one so don’t be surprised.”

I nod again, trying to put all my focus on not accidentally firing before I’m ready and not the two men flanking me. The last part feels harder than the first and I shove back the thought that I should feel such desire for them even now.

I shake my head, feeling their eyes on me. Tilting my ankle to feel the little knife in my boot. I lick my lips.

I can fight.

I can and will get Cora and I can and will stop Rune. But I have to do this before I can go back.

I suck in a breath and pull.

Dirt explodes at the tree line at least a foot away from the target. My heart does next, adrenaline rushing through my veins like mercury.

“Good girl,” Striker says. “Again.”

I pull back, shooting the tree next to the target, and grin.

“Better,” Striker says. “Again.”

I adjust my aim slightly and shoot again, feeling that silvery excitement coursing through me faster. The bottom corner of the target ripples.

“Good,” Reaper says, my grin growing wider as Striker taps my arm, silently telling me to shift the rifle to the left.

I do and when I pull the trigger, the target ripples outward from the center.

I gasp, lowering the gun so fast that Striker snags it from my grasp and pulls it away. “Did I hit the black part?”

Reaper stalks forward to inspect the target while my eyes inspect him.

Striker’s hand lands on my lower back and he pulls me close. “That was good,” he whispers, warm breath fanning my ear.

My hands land on his chest, fingers curling to feel the solid muscle beneath.

“There he is,” Reaper says from behind me. I turn to see him gesturing toward the cliffs. Slipping from Striker’s embrace, I see Viper walking up, strong legs eating up the distance between us. Just the sight of him sends heat between my legs.

God, I’m so fucked.

When he’s within shouting distance, Viper calls, “Hey, have you guys seen Breaker?”

Striker meets my eyes. My heart leaps, skips, sings , and I bite my lip to hide my smile.