Mastered By The Mavericks (12 page)

Wait.

What the
hell
?

Our hearts in our
—

Christ.

What the fuck’s going on
now
, asshole
?

That shit violated every last code between Rebel and him. It didn’t matter that they
were unwritten, unspoken codes; they just
were
. Chatting up garbage like their “hearts” was no-man’s land—forbidden territory, no
matter what tenor the conversation took. Just because the team mix was different didn’t
mean the rules could change. At least they weren’t supposed to.

But they had.

Because Rebel had let them.

Exchanged things with this woman up in that plane. Things like bodily fluids.

So yeah, the rules were changing. He just wished to hell he knew which ones, and how
much.

Time to wing it, mate.

“Look.” He met her gaze as he launched back in. “You belong on this op, Brynn. It
was why I stood up to that wanker for you last night.” A tick of his head indicated
Rebel as the subject of the wanker reference. “You’re going to get to do your part.
You
will
help us find Zoe. But only if you’re alive for it. For
that
to happen, Rebel and I call all the shots right now.”

She pursed her lips. Really wasn’t necessary. The hot spice of her eyes conveyed her
frustration clearly enough. “So…what? Just sit down, shut up, and take orders?”

“In less than ten words?” he rejoined. “Yes.”

“In less than
five
words, Sergeant, fuck you.”

Karma was going to find some grand retribution for his reaction to that—but at least
he managed to rein in his grin before it broke all the way free. How could he be blamed
when she was so damn enticing, snitting at him like a tomboy denied a spot in the
dodgeball game, but stopping directly between Reb and him, hands coiled as regally
as a princess?

When she stamped a boot down—holy shit,
stamped
her foot—he made karma no more promises on his composure. He was saved by glancing
over at Reb, and catching the same struggle on his face.

Well…shit, part fucking two. He didn’t even want to think about being on the same
page with Moonstormer again. Man-slut Stafford didn’t get to flash his damn charm
and bounce off the shame hook so easily this time. But that wasn’t getting addressed
anytime soon.
Put it in the box—but keep it on top
.

At least focusing on that task cleared the way for a shot of calm. “Peach—” Which
apparently, didn’t cover his verbal filter. The word begged to be let out whenever
he looked at her, the color defining so much of her beauty. “We all do things we don’t
want to do, for the sake of the—”

She cut him off with a splayed hand to his breastbone. “For the sake of the mission?”
she shot. “You’re seriously going there? Let me save you the effort, Sergeant. I’ve
heard that one before, in much more creative ways.”

The calm was nice while it lasted. No way was it holding up to the confusion she’d
just brought down in an avalanche. Out of pure instinct, he looked to Reb again. Once
more, the guy’s face mirrored his thoughts.
Step carefully.
Somehow, they’d pinged a sensitive nerve—demonstrated to the hilt by her sudden shove
back, finished by a bitter laugh.

“Yep. Heard them,” she rasped. “Even liked them. Still do. That’s my damn problem,
isn’t it? Let’s see… ‘Embrace the suck’. That’s a good one. Or how about ‘bite the
bullet’? I also enjoy ‘watch my smoke’, ‘diehards get it done’, ‘bounce the rubble’,
‘push the hard deck’…”

“Damn,” Reb uttered.

“Ditto.” Rhett wasn’t sure how to punctuate it, aside from a bewildered stare. Obviously,
Dan Colton wasn’t the first man who’d had to take off his gun belt before climbing
into bed with her—though considering her in bed with some cocky-ass soldier boy was
like biting a brick of gravel. It was hard enough to contemplate her getting horizontal
with Reb in the plane. No. Scratch that. It was fucking impossible.

He chose to focus on the woman herself, despite how her backlash morphed from bitter
to openly hostile. “I could regale you with more—but you know what? None of them matter
or
apply. I’m
not
going to ‘sacrifice for the mission’, because to me, this isn’t a mission. This is
my best friend’s life. I’m not going to sit back and just wait to ‘hit my mark’ when
one of you tells me to. I have ideas to contribute, too.”

Oh, yeah. A sensitive nerve. Probably more than one.

But
which
ones?

He was on unfamiliar ground. And as much as it sucked to admit it, was open to offers
of help—

Even if it meant asking Rebel for it.

But by the time he looked back to his friend, Reb had already picked up the torch.
At Brynn’s side again, he wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her in with the
surety that spoke an undeniable truth. He’d already done it before. Sure enough, Brynn’s
body acquiesced like butter over a flame, softening against him—though her face conveyed
a different story. She wasn’t happy about the biological betrayal. At
all
.

Rhett’s jaw constricted.
Feeling your pain, little peach. More than you know.

“Your ideas are important,
cher
.” Reb’s voice was firm but intimate, another facet Rhett had never expected to surface
beyond dungeon walls. “And we’ll listen to every one of them—when the time is right.
That time is going to be when we have more intel to work from.”

More conflict sprinted across her features. Her spine stiffened. “So I really
am
supposed to sit down and shut up?”

Rebel let her push away, earning him massive points in Rhett’s book. Rage was like
diamonds on Brynna Monet. She was five times more gorgeous for it.

“You’re supposed to stay calm and trust this process, Brynna,” Reb ordered. “You’re
supposed to trust
us
.” He tilted his head, as if seeing into her own. “Last night, you dared me to trust
you
, that you could handle the pressure if shit went sideways out here. Well, you earned
that trust—but now the scales have to balance back. If you can’t tell us that your
conviction is a hundred percent behind us, speak the hell up now. Double-Oh can get
right back on the hot line, and Sam can be back in Austin with your ride home. Seeing
as how I’m headed back toward town tonight, anyway…”

Her mouth dropped. Definitely a good thing/bad thing. While Rhett forgot about wanting
to pummel Reb’s chest like a victory drum, his distraction was delivered by the perfect
O
of Brynna’s lips—causing other parts of his body to beat with twice the fury.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Her indignation only made everything worse.
So fucking gorgeous.
She was the kind of woman who immortalized redheads, Helen of Troy mixed with Ann
Margret, sprinkled with enough Agent Scully and Emma Stone to ensure he forgot all
about his longtime fealty to Scarlett Johansson. This was even worse, because his
mental boner for her was as mighty as the one between his legs. No wonder Rebel had
jumped her during the plane ride—underlining the steel in the guy’s fortitude now.

“We would and we will.” Reb scooped his stare from her to Rhett then back again, building
his conviction by the second. “Unless we have your assurance that we call the shots—for
now.”

She shifted from foot to foot. Drummed her fingers on her thighs. Finally slanted
her head at him, full of taut wariness. “For
now
?” When Reb returned a smooth nod, she snapped, “What the hell does that even mean?
What are the parameters on that? ‘For now’ isn’t a clear—”

Rebel ripped her short by sweeping a hand beneath her chin. Gripped it so hard, she
winced for a second.

“
Trust
, Miss Monet.” He held fast as she tried to jerk away. “It’s your choice. Balance
the scale
now
, or pick up your bag, walk out the door, and wait for me in the car.”

Her nostrils flared. Her lips parted, exposing gritted teeth. After a grueling trio
of those harsh breaths, she raised a hand, gripped his wrist, and thrust it away.
“Fine,” she seethed. “We do everything your way—for now.”

For the first time, Reb’s composure developed a crack. His breaths were far from serene
as he pulled his hand to his side, fisting it. His stare narrowed as he charged tightly,
“Because you trust us?”

“Because I trust you.”

He exhaled with more calm. “There. That’s not so hard, is it?”

She took a long moment to respond—if that was how one could label her wordless turn
from Reb, followed by a determined stomp down the path through the tall grass, toward
the lake. But in every stiff step she took, Rhett could interpret the words she’d
left unspoken, the message hurled behind on the air like holy water tainted with a
curse.

Not so hard
?

That was probably one of the most hellish things she’d ever done in her life.

*     *     *

The silence also
brought the waiting.

Because of course, as long as the subject of hell had come up, the Rhett Lange version
deserved a visit, too.

Hours’ worth of it.

The recruiters never talked about this part of the job, even in Spec Ops training.
Tumbling from a plane at twelve hundred feet? No problem. Navigating from a swamp
without electronics or a compass? Piece of cake. Hand-to-hand combat with everything
from an armed hostile to a rabid gorilla? Fuck, yes. But keeping oneself from tearing
off their own skin while waiting for night to fall? Not a single manual on that. Not
a word of advice to fight the insanity that crawled up a guy’s bloodstream—or the
memories that taunted his mind when there was nothing to fill it but time, stretched
into torture.

At least that was how it had seemed…to his ten year-old mind. Eight hours of a trans-Atlantic
flight, even filled with the coolest books, movies, and video games, were still eight
hours to ask the questions he didn’t dare voice aloud—for fear of the answers he’d
get in return.

Why’d they even have me, if they can’t live on the same continent?

Why do I
have to be the ping pong across the ocean every month?

Why don’t I belong with either of them?

And the worst ones of them all…

Was I the one who caused this in the first place?

What did I do wrong, to make them give up on each other?

He’d called them The Ghosts: the demands that refused to go away, even when shoving
them to the darkest places in his soul. But as the years went by, he was tired of
letting the demons have that power. He fought them, chasing them to the reaches of
his conscious. But it wasn’t far enough—so he turned the whole world into his ghosts.
He’d lashed out at everyone, indiscriminate in his choice of enemy.

Three years, twenty suspensions, and six expulsions later, Mother and Father had him
transported to the Heritage Military Academy in upstate New York.

It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

For the first time in his life, his anger received structure, his violence was transformed
to effectiveness, and his loneliness was filled with seventy-five brothers, all as
fucked-up as him.

And the ghosts?

Banished.

Washed away by the irreverent humor and easy Creole drawl of the force of nature they’d
assigned as his roommate. Rebel Masterston Stafford was like nobody he’d ever met—or
likely ever would. Their connection proved that opposites really could magnetize and
repel at once.

A truth that’d held all the way to this day.

To this minute.

Though soaked with sweat from a run around the ranch’s grounds, his blood still simmered,
too hot for the hours left of this goddamn waiting game—still at the temperature it
had boiled to when discerning Rebel’s skank move from this morning. But what the hell
then? Go high and mighty and ask him what the fuck he was thinking, taking advantage
of two solitary hours with Brynna?

Right. And brand himself a hypocrite in the doing.

Same opportunity? Same circumstances? You would’ve made the exact same move, asshole
.

And God, could he imagine that opportunity. Those circumstances. The sky cruising
by outside the window. Sam conveniently “occupied” in the cockpit. The engines vibrating
through the seats. Brynna looking up with those wide chocolate eyes, breasts peeking
from beneath that rough work shirt. Reb staring back, eyes glittering with black-violet
dominance…

Shit.

Shit.

“Hey.”

Wasn’t
that
convenient. As if manifested by the force of Rhett’s thoughts, Reb strolled into
the kitchen, bare to the waist. He was sweating to the point of sheen, simply missing
a ship deck and some Hessians to transform into one of the sea scoundrels from whom
he was descended. Damn it, even the laces on his black sweats weren’t tied.

Motherfucker.

“Where the hell have you been?” It was practically condemnation and Rhett didn’t care.
Might as well get the agony of this over with. Reb enjoyed providing details of his
conquests between the sheets, and Rhett doubted this would be any different. He pushed
both hands against the counter, bracing himself for the guy’s play-by-play of what
had happened with Brynn, heartened by the knowledge that in a few minutes, the ordeal
would be done.