He stiffened. “I kill people, too, Karasu.”
“No. You kill people in combat. I do it from the shadows without mercy, without emotion. They have no way to fight back. They’re dead before they even realize it.”
He laughed without mirth. “I’m not far from that ugly truth too. I do what has to be done, no matter what. I sleep better at night knowing the bastards I killed are no longer a threat.”
A strange feeling started to unfold in her, a feeling that torpedoed her anger and left her emotionally wrecked. Karasu stared at him, pieces falling into place with numbing clarity, and she trembled from head to toe. Preacher had been the catalyst. She was terrified of him seeing her for who she really was, but it didn’t have anything to do with her past as an assassin. It had everything to do with the weak, scared girl she had been,still wasinside. If she didn’t trust him with that girl, how could she trust him with anything at all?
“There’s a part of me…maybe you won’t like,” she whispered.
A taut silence hung between them, then, finally, his voice raw and strained, he said, “Trust me, Karasu. That’s it.”
She heard his pain, and something broke loose in her. Her vision blurred, and she folded her arms tightly in front of her. She had to take the chance or lose this with him. If she stayed hidden, she would truly and forever be lost, a ghost of her own making. This decision was totally hers.
Her throat so cramped her jaws ached, she took a deep, unsteady breath, her voice breaking as it all came pouring out of her. Her kidnapping, what she had been forced to do, how she had killed, stolen, and did whatever she had to do to gain her freedom. It was ugly as it flowed out of her in words she had never spoken before. “I was so terrified of what you would think of me.” Her voice broke completely, and she had to wait for the nearly suffocating swell of emotion to pass. Wiping her eyes with the side of her hand, she collected herself and went on, her voice just barely above a whisper. “You mean so much to me. I wanted to be the strong, fearless woman you knew.” A broken sob escaped her, but she went on, tears blinding her. “I have suffered so much loss, I didn’t think I would survive your loss.” Her desolation stripped her bare. All she felt for him pressed hard on her heart.
Preacher sighed in pain as he looked down into her face. “Ah, fuck, Karasu,” he rasped out, his face contorting with raw emotion as he reached for her. “I’m so sorry, babe.”
She went into his arms, and she felt a shudder course through him as he closed his arms around her in a rough, desperate embrace. “You are strong and brave. I’ll kill anyone who says you’re not.”
Deep relief washed through her as she caught him by the back of the head, closing her eyes and hanging onto him. He was like a rush of cleansing water, his ability to understand who she was, what had happened to her. His acceptance and compassion allowed her to release all the pain and humiliation that had dogged her for so long.
Preacher crushed her closer, his fingers tangling in her hair as he held her. “I’ve got you, babe,” he choked out. “Hold on to me for as long as you need to.”
Right now, if she let him go, she would collapse, the fear in her a great big whirlwind of horrible power. Now Preacher knew that fear, the cause of it, and with a hoarse sound, he shifted her head back and found her mouth, his fierce kiss tasting of his commitment to her, his surrender to what they had between them, and his fury of how she’d been so wronged.
It was everything.
She kissed him deeply, hungrily, desperately, striving for mindless pleasure to chase away her doubts and uncertainties feeling as if she’d just been let out of a constricting prison.
* * *
With a soft,low sound vibrating against his lips, Preacher dragged his hand up her back, molding them together in a crushing hold, his other hand immobilizing her head as his mouth turned hot, hungry, and ravaging. Locking her arms around him, she yielded everything—her mouth, her body, her strength—driven by a need that burned through to his very soul. It was as if her confession released him from his own pain and misery, understanding how strong Karasu really was. She’d weathered this horrific past, and if she could find her way out of it, so could he. At least, he was determined to get past it all.
Widening his stance, Preacher dragged her up into the cradle of his thighs, the hard ridge of his thick, aching dick meshing with her softness, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, for the thick pulsing urgency swelling between them. Preacher groaned and dragged his mouth away, his breathing harsh and ragged as he lifted her hips against his, a violent shudder telling him how much he needed her. His merciless hold fused them body to body.
Reaching out, unable to stop himself, he unzipped the catsuit and pushed it off her body until it puddled on the floor. He lifted her onto the counter, and she wrapped her legs around his lower back, trapping his dick against the demanding heat of her body.
His breathing harsh against her ear, he gripped her around the hips, locking her against him, his body thrusting, driving, urgent against hers. Karasu clung to him, driving him crazy, a mindless need, her fingers digging into his straining muscles as she twisted her body against his, trying to bring him closer, tighter, harder.
Grinding out a guttural denial, Preacher twisted and grasped her leg, trying to break her hold. “Luna, babe, my clothes. Let go.” He shuddered, then pulled free, his voice hoarse, “Geezus, your legs are like vices.”
Preacher’s touch uneven and frantic, he freed himself, rough against her when he yanked her thighs apart. Then, with a hoarse groan, he jerked her against him as he entered her with a hard thrust, losing his very soul in her wet heat.
Karasu cried out and arched against him with an incoherent cry. He covered her mouth in a punishing kiss that blasted through all his defenses, stripping away everything but her. Dragging his mouth from hers, a hard, wild urgency claiming him, incinerating the last of his restraint. Then there was no holding back, he took the last piece of her she’d been withholding, took it and absorbed it deep into himself.
She was his, every inch of her, that brilliant mind, her lethal moves both in and out of bed, and her heart-crushing past. All of it.
15
Fuck,these guys needed to die, and Volk wanted to be the one to end them. Zorra was a bloody mess, but she passed out from the pain before she would talk. Good girl. Once she was useless to them, they turned to him.
He had been surprised when he regained consciousness, thinking the vial in his arm only delivered poison, but he’d been wrong. They had both a sedative and the poison just waiting for the time when he either escaped or was no longer of use to them.
He strained at his bonds, but they were too tight around his wrists.
“Your turn, hero.”
“Fuck you,” Volk said. The bastard had the balls to smile.