Project Terminal: End Game

Project Terminal: End Game

by

Olivia Starke

Project Terminal: End Game

Copyright © 2013, Olivia Starke

ISBN: 9781940744025

Publisher: Beachwalk Press, Inc.

Electronic Publication: December, 2013

Editor: Pamela Tyner

Cover: Fantasia Frog Designs

eBooks are not transferable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Back Cover Copy

Amelia and Gabe face off against Project Terminal’s last stand.

Amelia St. James has never cared for Gabe Morris, and when she finds herself teamed up with him as they battle against Project Terminal, she can’t help but be on guard. He’s irritating, chauvinistic, and basically everything an independent woman would hate in a man, all wrapped up in an appealing package. Not that she’d admit to any attraction on her part.

Having Amelia by his side is a distraction Gabe’s happy to deal with. Strong, smart, and determined, she’s one hell of a super soldier and woman. Even though she resist his advances, he’s not one to back down from a challenge. He’s seen the spark of awareness in her pretty hazel eyes and wants nothing more than to feel her fit body against his.

But those behind Project Terminal have a nasty surprise in store. Will the project finally succeed in creating the perfect weapon with no one left to stop it?

Content Warning: graphic sex, strong language, and violence

Dedication

As always, this is dedicated to my readers.

Chapter 1

Amelia paced before the small cabin. Set back in a thicket of pine trees with the surrounding snowcapped Rocky Mountains, it was a picture perfect place for someone who loved the outdoors. She enjoyed the crisp mountain air and the freedom of being outside, but this wasn’t a vacation, not by a long shot. Her footfalls crunched the dried pine needles, her patience wearing thin. She checked her watch again.

“Damn it, Morris.”

Bastard was always late; he’d never have made it in the Air Force. Gabe Morris called Special Ops home, and that group worked on timetables all their own.

She mulled over the call she’d received from Adam Reed. He’d been vague; using code they’d created after leaving Project Terminal to communicate important information. This time Preacher had given her GPS coordinates leading her to the cabin, a short message, and instructions to wait for Morris. He had the second part of the communication.

A twig snapped far to her left. In reflex, she dropped down, putting the corner of the cabin between herself and the intruder.
Could be wildlife.
She closed her eyes, holding her breath, focusing her sharp hearing. Since undergoing the modifications making her a super soldier her senses were five times better than a normal human’s. The nearly imperceptible steps compressed the pine needles.
Carefully placed feet. Human movements. A hunter’s movements.

Amelia waited—Morris wouldn’t be sneaking up on her. Surely he wouldn’t do something so foolhardy and dangerous. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Regardless who it was, they were about to learn a nasty lesson. She removed her shoes and socks. The cold earth bit into the soles of her feet, but being barefoot left her at an advantage against her stalker. She moved soundlessly, taking a wide berth, coming in behind the intruder.

The forest had fallen silent. Amelia inhaled the cool air, trying to pick up the odor of deodorant or aftershave—a beacon to point her in the exact direction. Nothing but soil, pine, animal life, and something dead—she wrinkled her nose against the fetid odor, guessing by the overpowering stench a large animal. She turned her attention from the distraction, trying to judge where the person had headed.
West.
She eased ahead and couldn’t suppress a grin—a surprise ambush on an ambusher.

It’d been too long since there had been any stimulation or excitement in her life. She’d left active duty and spent most of her days teaching online math and science courses. A waste of her engineering degree, but since going through Project Terminal she’d found it hard to integrate back into society. Always an outcast, the enhancements had left her feeling even more the outsider. Teaching classes kept her mind active, though at times the boredom felt like a disease.

A magpie quarreled, its aggravated chatter warning of an intruder and placing her stalker.
Bingo, gotcha.
Amelia eased forward, carefully placing her feet one in front of the other. A breeze kicked up, rattling the aspen leaves, the stench of the dead animal making her stomach roll. She covered her mouth and nose, waiting for the wind to calm. Her other hand hovered over a knife she kept in a holster on her belt; she’d left her sidearm in her car. Not that it concerned her; she was just as deadly without it. She crouched, searching through the shifting shadows beneath the overgrowth of pine and aspen.

The hair on her arms and neck rose, a chill settling down her spine. She lowered her hand from her face, balling her fingers into a fist.

Damn it.
Instinct warned of the presence directly behind her and a second later she knew what it was. She swung a leg around in a roundhouse kick, but a heavy weight slammed into her back, knocking the wind from her lungs.

Pinned to the ground, she growled like a cornered dog. “Get the fuck off me before I cut off your balls.”

Hot breath fanned her ear. “Talk like that gets me hard, darlin’.”

“It’ll be the last thing you do with your dick, Morris. One last warning.” Amelia closed her fingers around a rock. “Get off.”

Morris chuckled, pressing his lower body against hers. His pelvic bones dug into her ass cheeks. “I’d love to, and I can think of about ten different ways we can accomplish that this very moment.”

His thick Texas drawl taunted, she’d never cared for the men from that state. Her experiences with its male population didn’t suit her feminist’s tastes.

She squeezed the rock, and as fast as a snake’s strike, she smashed it against Morris’s temple. His
oomph
of surprise followed, and his body dislodged enough that she could roll away. She pounced on his back, yanking his wrist behind him and shoving his balled fist between his shoulder blades. Rendered immobile, he growled a threat.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to me.” Amelia straddled his hips. “And haven’t you learned I’ll always get the best of you?” Catching her breath, she wiped sweat from her brow with her free hand.

“Honestly, I’m open to any position you like, Amelia. Though I didn’t take you for a woman who’d be into pegging, and that’d take a fair amount of liquor and sweet talk on your part.”

“You’re a pig. Are we finished with this?”

He growled again, low in his throat, and it tickled her insides in a way it shouldn’t. The firm curve of his ass between her thighs pressed against her in a too intimate way. The tickle became something more, and she resisted the urge to wiggle against him. She swallowed, and wrenched his wrist, tightening her hold.

“Well?”

He sucked air through his teeth. “Yes.”

She took a deep breath and on the count of three, jumped away. Putting distance between them, readying in case he lunged. He rolled to a seated position, working his broad shoulders. He was a big man, a huge man, actually. A mountain of muscle and bone, and he hadn’t lost his fit condition. Packed muscle rippled beneath his tan colored t-shirt, and his fatigues hugged his thick thighs.

In normal society he’d appear a freak, but in Project Terminal he’d been perfect. Genetically engineered as she had been, making the most of natural attributes. Attributes making him decidedly
not
her type—an overbearing man with an overbearing physique. Not that her love life invited pickiness, but she wasn’t desperate.

He flexed his hands, his long fingers capable with any weapon given him, crossing his forearms over his bent knees. He peered up at her, his dark blue eyes searching her face.

The corner of his lips curled up. “It’s good to see you, St. James.”

Her cheeks warmed as he took her in head to toe, and she squared her shoulders. Towering over him didn’t make her feel she had the advantage. She studied him closer. His hair had grown too long, the ends curled at his collar. He shoved his fingers through the glossy, dark brown strands.

She glared back, annoyed with noticing details in his appearance. “Reed says they’ve found a way to bring down the project. What do you have to report?”

“Max has a cure, and they’re coming here for safety reasons.”

Amelia sucked in a breath.
A cure? For the deadliest virus known to humanity?
“How is that possible?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Don’t know, darlin’.”

Keep it together.
She forced her fingers to relax and strode past him toward the cabin. His pet name bugged the hell out of her, one he’d never used with another woman in the project. Everything about Morris bugged the hell out of her, and it had since she’d first met him several years back. He knew it too, and exploited it for his own amusement.

She redirected her thoughts to the mission. Reed would be arriving with Max. She, Morris, and Reed would focus on keeping Max safe while she worked. With the cure they could stop the plague of the R1LN virus spreading through Texas, Mississippi, and Louisiana, turning people into the undead. Abhorrent creatures with no other purpose than to kill, and there had been no hope to stop it. Originally created to help wounded super soldiers, it’d been twisted into a mutant virus by Max’s sister, Doc. A weapon of mass destruction, turning the enemy into monsters so they’d destroy themselves. The notion a human could do such a horrific thing to another turned Amelia’s stomach.

Morris’s heavy footfalls caught up to her. “Good to see time hasn’t worn away that temper of yours. I love a woman with fire in her soul, that’s what always turned me on about you.”

“You jumped me, what would you have me do?” She kept her gaze straight ahead but her skin prickled. His arm brushed hers and she didn’t care for the swirl of awareness that shot through her nerve endings. Despite the way his existence irritated her, she’d never been able to quell a sick attraction toward the jackass.

“I’m just curious.” His voice dropped an octave. “What did you do the first time a boy kissed you on the playground in grade school?”

She took a deep breath, happy to see the cabin ahead. “I did my best to bust his jaw.”

His laughter echoed through the trees.

Keep it together, keep it together.

Where the hell was Reed?

* * * *

Amelia had chopped her auburn hair short, the first thing he’d noticed while watching her through the trees. What the hell did they call it?
A pixie?
Gabe preferred it flowing down her back, like it had the last time he’d seen her. Not that anything could detract from her mile long legs and nice ass. He had to lengthen his stride to match hers. He put her at about six foot one, a good five inches shorter than him. A tall woman fit his tastes perfectly.

Her light pink cheeks told him he still affected her. Maybe not in the way he wanted, but teasing her was fun all the same. He’d tried for the past several years to get her in the sack, and damned if she didn’t fight it tooth and nail. She liked men; he’d caught her looking his way in the showers, her eyes zeroing in on his dick. While involved in Project Terminal men and women had shared communal barracks and showers. Unusual for the military, or anywhere, but the project had enforced a strict policy of professionalism and respect. If a soldier couldn’t get over a naked soldier of the opposite sex, they had no place in Project Terminal.

He grinned. The first few times in the locker room had been amusing. The men trying to hide their hard-ons while the women hadn’t seemed much impressed. They’d definitely had the upper hand and a few couldn’t hide their smirks, including Amelia. A slap to any male’s ego, but it hadn’t taken long to get used to the idea and the spontaneous erections subsided.

The curiosity got the best of him. “Why did you cut your hair?”

“Practical reasons.”

“That’s one of your problems, St. James, you’re too practical. I’d love to work that out of you.”

Her flush darkened. “Work it out of me? Is that a cowboy reference? I’m not a horse. You can’t work anything out of me.”

He chuckled. “I was never a cowboy. I’m from San Antonio, an actual city.”

She didn’t bother to answer and stomped to the door of the cabin. He reached out and tried the doorknob, finding it locked. “You didn’t pick the lock?”