in Afghanistan.”
“By Cyrus’s people?” Her voice sounded soft with understanding.
Nodding, he said, “Yes… well, at least I think so. I ended up in Mongolia immediately afterward.”
She propped her feet on the bench, knees to her chest. It gave him a clear view of half her ass, some kind of tattoo on one cheek.
“That must’ve been terrifying,” she said. “Did they hurt you?”
They’d hurt him, but not in the ways Teague probably assumed. Sitting up straight, he gave her his best macho grin.
“They tried.”
She laughed aloud, the simple act lighting up her entire face. He hadn’t heard her laugh before, didn’t realize she had a dimple in her right cheek.
“You’re so full of yourself, McCall.”
He took another sip of water. “You have to be in this line of work. Too many people depend on you.”
“I believe in you.” Her words were immediate and uttered with quiet solemnity.
His chest swelled. For some reason, that meant a lot to him. Though he’d always known he had his family’s support, he knew they doubted him.
He’d followed in his grandfather and father’s footsteps by joining the Marines, but he’d always been the goof off. The one people questioned, wondering if he could make it in life when he’d barely made it through high school.
School had bored him. The infantry had intrigued him.
D.I.R.E. excited the hell out of him. Almost as much as playing doctor with Teague Hamilton.
Staring into his cup, he said, “I was in Mongolia a couple of months before I realized what they were doing.”
Recollections he’d tried hard to bury came rushing back, nauseating him. Elbows on his knees, he squeezed his eyes shut, willing his stomach to calm.
“They used psychology. They would make me fight prisoners I had grown close to in order to test my loyalty.”
She caught her breath.
“Or, pit two of them against each other to see which one I would jump into the ring to defend.” Setting his cup on the floor, he ran his fingers through his hair. “The bastards would let it go on until someone got beaten to near death.”
“And, that was always you.” Her fingers brushed through his hair, soft against his scalp. “You wouldn’t kill them.”
Nodding, he swallowed hard, resentment and rage roaring through his body anew. Cyrus Matheson took control of Dylan’s life that day in Afghanistan, and with the detonator on his heart, still held it in the palm of his hand. Until Dylan destroyed all of the clones, the technology, and him , he’d always retain power.
“That’s why you don’t care if you die. As long as that switch is on your heart, you’ll always feel like he owns you.”
Raising his head, he turned to look at her. “Are you some kind of mind reader?”
Pulling her bottom lip in over her teeth, she said, “Mmm, I don’t know, let me see… yep, all I’m getting is a blank slate. I guess so.”
Scooping her around the waist, he pulled her onto his lap. She yelped before hooking her arms around his neck.
“Not all of us can have beauty and brains, Doctor.”
Her smile vanished, her direct gaze going awry again. “Dylan, don’t…”
He wouldn’t let her evade him again. They’d come too far in the last few minutes.
“Don’t what?”
Leaning forward, he approached her mouth slowly, expecting her to bolt. An inch or so from her lips, he checked her eyes one more time to gauge her reaction. They glittered like liquid diamonds, dark and hungry.
He pressed his lips to hers, tentative at first. She tightened her hold around his neck, opening her mouth beneath his, her tongue toying with his bottom lip. Need rushed through his veins, roaring in his ears.
With lazy strokes, he dipped inside her mouth. God, she tasted sweet, her tongue soft, but daring as it welcomed his. This was better. So much better than the hot, yet cold encounter they’d had that morning. They were on the same wavelength now and it hummed on high frequency.
She broke away on
“By Cyrus’s people?” Her voice sounded soft with understanding.
Nodding, he said, “Yes… well, at least I think so. I ended up in Mongolia immediately afterward.”
She propped her feet on the bench, knees to her chest. It gave him a clear view of half her ass, some kind of tattoo on one cheek.
“That must’ve been terrifying,” she said. “Did they hurt you?”
They’d hurt him, but not in the ways Teague probably assumed. Sitting up straight, he gave her his best macho grin.
“They tried.”
She laughed aloud, the simple act lighting up her entire face. He hadn’t heard her laugh before, didn’t realize she had a dimple in her right cheek.
“You’re so full of yourself, McCall.”
He took another sip of water. “You have to be in this line of work. Too many people depend on you.”
“I believe in you.” Her words were immediate and uttered with quiet solemnity.
His chest swelled. For some reason, that meant a lot to him. Though he’d always known he had his family’s support, he knew they doubted him.
He’d followed in his grandfather and father’s footsteps by joining the Marines, but he’d always been the goof off. The one people questioned, wondering if he could make it in life when he’d barely made it through high school.
School had bored him. The infantry had intrigued him.
D.I.R.E. excited the hell out of him. Almost as much as playing doctor with Teague Hamilton.
Staring into his cup, he said, “I was in Mongolia a couple of months before I realized what they were doing.”
Recollections he’d tried hard to bury came rushing back, nauseating him. Elbows on his knees, he squeezed his eyes shut, willing his stomach to calm.
“They used psychology. They would make me fight prisoners I had grown close to in order to test my loyalty.”
She caught her breath.
“Or, pit two of them against each other to see which one I would jump into the ring to defend.” Setting his cup on the floor, he ran his fingers through his hair. “The bastards would let it go on until someone got beaten to near death.”
“And, that was always you.” Her fingers brushed through his hair, soft against his scalp. “You wouldn’t kill them.”
Nodding, he swallowed hard, resentment and rage roaring through his body anew. Cyrus Matheson took control of Dylan’s life that day in Afghanistan, and with the detonator on his heart, still held it in the palm of his hand. Until Dylan destroyed all of the clones, the technology, and him , he’d always retain power.
“That’s why you don’t care if you die. As long as that switch is on your heart, you’ll always feel like he owns you.”
Raising his head, he turned to look at her. “Are you some kind of mind reader?”
Pulling her bottom lip in over her teeth, she said, “Mmm, I don’t know, let me see… yep, all I’m getting is a blank slate. I guess so.”
Scooping her around the waist, he pulled her onto his lap. She yelped before hooking her arms around his neck.
“Not all of us can have beauty and brains, Doctor.”
Her smile vanished, her direct gaze going awry again. “Dylan, don’t…”
He wouldn’t let her evade him again. They’d come too far in the last few minutes.
“Don’t what?”
Leaning forward, he approached her mouth slowly, expecting her to bolt. An inch or so from her lips, he checked her eyes one more time to gauge her reaction. They glittered like liquid diamonds, dark and hungry.
He pressed his lips to hers, tentative at first. She tightened her hold around his neck, opening her mouth beneath his, her tongue toying with his bottom lip. Need rushed through his veins, roaring in his ears.
With lazy strokes, he dipped inside her mouth. God, she tasted sweet, her tongue soft, but daring as it welcomed his. This was better. So much better than the hot, yet cold encounter they’d had that morning. They were on the same wavelength now and it hummed on high frequency.
She broke away on
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