Two To Go: Bayou Heat (Pantera Security League Book 2) Page 3

  Her shoulders slumped. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…

  The words from “Casablanca,” her favorite flick, whispered through the back of her mind before she was grimly shutting down the inane thoughts once again.

  And again.

  She was going to have to wash her mind out with acid. But later. After retrieval or possible explosions. Right now, she needed to catch her breath, kill her lust, and focus.

  “And this,” Victor was speaking, waving a hand toward Elyon, “is the Angel of Death.”

  “Elyon,” she firmly insisted, giving a nod of her head toward the male.

  He returned the nod, his aquiline nose flaring. She watched him. Did he detect the musk of her cat? Was he capable? His eyes dilated before he was doing his own share of hiding his expression. Oh, yeah, he definitely felt something.

  Welcome to the club, honey.

  “Max,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

  Victor stepped back. “Show her around.”

  The male’s brows snapped together. “She’s here to fight?”

  Uh oh…boyfriend doesn’t like that.

  Ely rolled her eyes at her stray thought. Her dangerous, dangerous, idiotic thought.

  Victor pointed a stubby finger in Max’s direction. “Just do as you’re told.”

  Max clenched his hands into tight fists. “Whatever,” he muttered, watching as Victor turned and headed out of the gym and down the stairs.

  Studying his air of resigned and very sexy petulance, Elyon wasn’t prepared when the massive male abruptly whirled around and grabbed her by the shoulders. The next thing she knew her back was pressed against the wall and Max was nose to nose with her, his gaze searing like fire over her face.

  Her eyes widened in surprise.

  God. Damn.

  Gimme more, boyfriend.

  She blinked, her heart pounding in her chest, her belly clenching. Why wasn’t she fighting back? And more importantly, why wasn’t her issue with personal space being triggered?

  Oh, yeah.

  T.R.O.U.B.L.E.

  ***

  Max glared at the woman who’d set off all sorts of alarm bells the minute he’d set eyes on her.

  Christ, she was a magnificent creature.

  A tall, brutal work of art. Like a pureblood racehorse. Or a sleek, predatory cat.

  Elegant lines. Supple power. A sexual challenge that made something inside him roar with hunger.

  It was no wonder he was achingly hard.

  But it wasn’t her stunning looks that was sending tiny jolts of fear through him. Nope. It was the unmistakable scent that teased at his nose and made the primal part of him snarl with recognition.

  It was a scent that he thought he’d put behind him when he’d left the cages in New Orleans to be put in a different cage here in New York.

  “Who are you?” he snarled softly at her.

  She lifted her hands, placing them against his chest and giving him a shove. “Back off,” she snapped.

  It took far more effort than it should have to keep himself from tumbling backward.

  “Wrong answer,” he replied, spreading his legs to keep his balance. “Who. Are. You?”

  She narrowed her gaze, something lurking in the back of her glowing eyes. “Victor told you.” The words slid off her lovely tongue so easily. “I’m the Angel of Death.”

  The name did suit her. And if she’d been a normal competitor, then he might have anticipated watching her fight. Maybe even climbing into one of the cages with her.

  He sensed, however, she was anything but normal. And that there was a specific reason she was standing in the gym, eyeing him as if he…

  Well, he wasn’t sure how she’d be eyeing him, but this, what she was doing right now, felt intimate as fuck. Possessive.

  Irresistible.

  His dick pulsed.

  “You aren’t human,” he ground out, his tone accusing.

  She snapped her teeth, nearly taking off the tip of his nose. “Neither are you.”

  With a scowl he glanced toward the camera set in the ceiling above them. The gym was constantly monitored, but the cameras only transmitted video. The guards wouldn’t be able to hear them speak.

  Releasing his hold on her, he stepped back and motioned around the gym. “Let’s walk.”

  He turned and started to stroll around the boxing ring in the center of the floor, pointing toward the heavy weightlifting equipment. She hesitantly fell into step beside him, her brow furrowed until she at last realized he was performing for the cameras.

  She gave a faint nod, pausing to pretend to study the nearest treadmill.

  He kept his gaze locked on the control panel, even as he stepped to the side, until his shoulder brushed hers. Electric awareness zapped through him at the light touch.

  As if he’d just been seared with a cattle prod.

  The hot zap was a sensation that had happened more than once in his life. Although it was never a pleasant one.

  This, however… This felt fucking…

  Spectacular.

  “Who are you?” he demanded again, his voice low despite the fact the cameras wouldn’t pick up his words. There was always an off chance someone was lurking on the stairs, or in Victor’s office.

  “I told you,” she said, her eyes pinned to his.

  The deep color slayed him. A real knock-me-out blue.

  “Tell me again,” he pressed, brow lifting. “Maybe this time you’ll drop the truth.”

  “My name is Elyon.”

  The word, the name, hummed inside his skull. Elyon. Unusual. Exotic.

  It fit her to perfection.

  “What are you?” he continued.

  She smiled, a real wicked twitch of the lips. “Pantera.”

  He wasn’t surprised by her answer. He’d already suspected the truth. “Puma shifter,” he breathed.

  “Do you know about us?”

  “Not everything. But enough.” His hands clenched as memories jackhammered through him. The cramped cell. The sterile lab where he was strapped to a narrow gurney. The agonizing pain as the serum was pumped into his veins. “I was infected with your blood.”

  “Infected?” A low, dangerous growl rumbled in her throat. “Careful, Max. I might be here to rescue you, but that won’t stop me from kicking your ass if you piss me off.”

  He dropped his head and touched the tip of his nose to hers. “You’re welcome to try, Elyon. Oh, you’re so welcome to try.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Elyon tingled in places she’d never tingled before.

  Hell, she didn’t even know she could tingle in a few of those places.

  With a sharp motion she stepped back, an awareness that was so acute it bordered on pain licking through her body.

  This male.

  This glorious, dangerous, mysterious male. He was turning her razor-sharp mind to mush.

  Trouble.

  And a serious problem.

  His gaze flickered in the direction of the overhead cameras before he was waving a hand toward the ring in the center. She assumed it was for legitimate boxers who came to the gym for training. There was no doubt a separate room where the cages were kept for the illegal bouts.

  “Keep walking,” he murmured.

  “I’m assuming that you weren’t given a choice in receiving the gift of our blood?” she asked.

  His lips curved into a humorless smile at her deliberate twist of words. “No. I wasn’t given a choice.”

  They stopped at the edge of the ring. “Tell me what happened,” she commanded.

  His jaw hardened, his expression went wary. Apparently, Max was like her. Being vulnerable was off limits, and trust had to be earned.

  “Why should I?” he demanded.

  She turned so they were face to face, holding his guarded gaze. “Because I’ve come to get you the hell out of here.”

  He made a sound of disbelief. “You?”

  She allowed the pow
er of her cat to glow in her eyes. There was no denying the male was gorgeous and practically irresistible, but he had an amazing talent to rub against her nerves.

  Strange, considering she rarely had enough interest in other people to be annoyed by them.

  What did that say about her reaction to Max? Hmmm. And ugh.

  “Do you doubt my ability?” she challenged.

  His eyes narrowed. “No, I doubt your motivation. Why would you want to help me?” he demanded. “And why now?”

  She hesitated, considering her words. Her cat might instinctively feel a connection to this male, but her PSL side understood that he was still a stranger.

  For all she knew, he might be a pawn of their enemies.

  “We recently intercepted a message—”

  “Who’s we?” he interrupted.

  “The Pantera. The leaders in our community. I’m going to continue now, all right?”

  He made a go-right-ahead gesture with his hand. His large, powerful, scarred hand…

  “The message mentioned this gym, and an order to dispose of all test subjects,” she finally said. “I’m assuming that’s you unless there’s someone else here who might qualify as a test subject?”

  Pain and rage darkened his eyes and he ground out, “Nope. I’m the only freak in the neighborhood.”

  She grimaced. He was arrogant and an insulting pain in the ass, but she didn’t want him to think of himself as a freak. It hurt something deep inside her. Her guts and her heart…her heritage.

  “Then I’m here for you,” she told him.

  “Again…why?” he asked, unrelenting.

  You’re my mate. Okay, that wasn’t her. It was her cat speaking. She shoved the furry irritant back down where it belonged. Where it would remain. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” She gave a casual lift of her shoulder. “Simple enough?”

  He drew in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. Was he searching her scent to determine the truth of her words? If so, that would be incredible. It was a talent that many mature Pantera possessed. Strange that a human who had their blood forced into his veins would have such an instinct.

  “You consider Victor an enemy of the Pantera?” he asked.

  “Not Victor. Benson Enterprises,” she corrected. Her eyes widened when he released a furious hiss. “You recognize the name?”

  “I should.” His fists twitched, as if he was struggling not to smash them into something. “The bastards are the ones responsible for doing this to me.”

  She tilted her head to the side, studying him with an unwavering intensity. Every band of muscle, every inch of skin that wasn’t covered. Every white scar under that magnificent tattoo. Her tongue twitched.

  “What precisely is this?” she asked. “What did they do?”

  His muscles clenched, the air around them heating with the force of his inner emotions. Elyon let the sensation wash over her, trying like hell not to shiver. For a long moment she feared he wouldn’t answer, that she’d be forced to ask again. Then, without warning, he jerked his head toward the ring.

  “Let’s spar,” he said.

  Her left eyebrow drew up. Either he was avoiding the conversation or he wanted to have it elsewhere. Either way, she would get something out of him. “You sure about that?”

  His eyes darkened and his mouth twitched with humor. “I’ll go easy on you.”

  Oh. She snorted softly. “Okay.”

  She slipped off her jacket, revealing the tight spandex top underneath, the one that left her arms bare and hugged close to the soft swell of her breasts. Instantly the air was filled with the scent of male arousal. She grinned. Clearly Max liked what he was seeing. Elyon bent over, tugging off her boots with a slow, teasing motion that was completely unfamiliar to her. As if she was stripping to please her male.

  Clearly, she liked doing this to him.

  Liked the reaction.

  What the flying fuck was wrong her?

  Completely unnerved by her thoughts and her behavior, Elyon leaped onto the edge of the ring and swung over the elastic ropes that framed the canvas floor. There was a faint bounce beneath her feet as Max vaulted over the ropes too and landed lightly beside her.

  They both stepped to the center and turned to face each other. Adversaries. Really sexually attracted adversaries.

  “Tell me what they did,” she commanded, lifting her fists to a position in front of her face. “And keep it short.” I’m on edge here. I need to fight.

  His eyes still smoldered with an unmistakable heat. “Do I look like a man who keeps anything short?”

  Oh, she hoped not, she mused inanely. Her traitorous gaze drifted down to the huge bulge in his shorts. What a disappointment that would be.

  She shot out her right hand in a quick jab. “Give it a try.”

  He easily avoided her fist. “When I was young my father ran this small auto shop not far from here. Nothing fancy, but he made a decent living. Allowed my mother to stay home and take care of me. Thing was, his mechanical skills were a lot better than his talent for gambling.” He kicked out his foot, making a sweep toward her legs. “He managed to get into the kind of debt that usually finds you flat on your back with a toe tag.”

  Elyon leaped over his leg, kicking out with her foot. It was aimed at Max’s rock-hard six-pack, but he dodged behind her with startling speed. Momentarily off balance, she barely avoided the blow aimed at the center of her back.

  He was good. Really good.

  Heat blasted through her body. Ely want.

  It was rare for her to find someone capable of sparring with her where she didn’t have to pull her punches. And it was exciting as hell. Had she met her match?

  No.

  Mate.

  “I assume it didn’t get him a toe tag?” she asked, spinning to face him, silently telling her cat to keep quiet and play nice. Her arm lifted just in time to block his uppercut.

  His expression settled into grim lines.

  “I was a big kid for my age, so the men who held my dad’s account agreed to let me pay it off by working on the docks.”

  She knocked aside his fist, returning with a counterpunch that should have landed directly on his firm jaw. Instead he danced away with ease.

  “Doing what?” she asked.

  “Unloading their private yachts.”

  She frowned, briefly confused by his explanation. Unloading a yacht didn’t seem particularly difficult. Why not just hire Max? Even if he was a kid?

  Her distraction lasted less than a fraction of a second, but it was enough time for Max to strike. One moment she was frowning in confusion, and the next he was leaping forward.

  Oof. Goddammit! The air was knocked from her lungs as his broad shoulder hit her mid-section. She flew backward, hit the mat. She was already preparing to jack to her feet and kick some ass. Payback time. A great plan. Except for the fact that a very large form was landing on top of her before she could even move a muscle.

  She released a low snarl, telling herself that it was anger pulsing through her body. Or hardcore embarrassment.

  No one mounted her. Not unless she wanted to be mounted.

  Another time? Maybe. Probably. Just not now.

  She glared up at the male who was staring down at her with a smug grin. He loved the fact he’d managed to gain the upper hand.

  The aggravating ass.

  “You’re very good,” he said.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “But distracted.” His grin widened. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind, Elyon?”

  Refusing to give him even more reason to gloat, Elyon placed her hands against his chest, but made no effort to push him off. Despite her Amazonian build, he had her by over a hundred pounds. There was no way she could force him off.

  The only thing she could do was wait it out, pretend she was precisely where she wanted to be. Flat on her back with Max planted on top of her.

  “Were they using the yachts for smuggling?” she as
ked. The thought had hit her the precise moment she’d been flying through the air. Great time for a lightbulb moment.

  “Yeah,” he said, his smug expression becoming distracted as he gazed down at her.

  It seemed she wasn’t the only one being affected by the press of their bodies together.

  “Why didn’t you leave?” she demanded, wondering idiotically, as his sizable cock jutted up against her hipbone, what the full weight of him would feel like. Without the layer, thin as it may be, of clothes.

  “I tried. My parents and I were approached by a guy who said he could help us escape.” His eyes darkened dangerously. “He claimed they needed workers in New Orleans. That we could start over with fake identities that would allow us to bury our pasts and become new people, or some shit like that.”

  An unexpected pang of sympathy twisted Elyon’s heart. He’d been royally screwed, and she better than anyone understood the feeling of having her world turned upside down, being thrust into an existence where she had to fight every day just to survive.

  It was no surprise that Max and his family leapt at the promise of being given the opportunity to start over with a clean slate. Who wouldn’t?

  “It was Benson,” she said. Not a question. She knew that shithead’s tactics by now.

  A low growl rumbled in Max’s throat, the force of his anger sending a tangible blast of heat through the air.

  Elyon pushed down the shock of lust that barreled through her. Every emotion he felt seemed to radiate from him. From his skin, his eyes, his lips. It was truly the sexiest thing ever.

  “They loaded us into a van,” he continued. “Drove us to New Orleans, just like they promised. But when we got there, some asshole wearing a mask opened the door and shot us with tranquilizer guns on the spot.”

  His face tightened with tension and…hate, and maybe shame? She couldn’t tell for sure.

  “I woke up locked in a cell that was at the back of some lab. Smelled like cleaning solution.” He cursed to himself. “I’ll never forget that smell.” His eyes found hers and they were oddly vulnerable. “Every time I even get a whiff of it, I’m gone. Done for.”

  Unbidden, she lifted her hand and touched the side of his neck. Just held it there, in some strange attempt at comfort. Not that she had any clue what that felt like, but it seemed right, real. And he wasn’t flinching or pulling away.