Fatal Destiny by Marie Force Page B

tongue.
    “Babe,” he said, sounding desperate as his fingers tunneled into her hair. “Sam…”
    “Relax,” she whispered. “Let it happen.”
    All the oxygen seemed to leave his body in one long exhale. Sam smiled as she returned to the task at hand. She could tell from the tremble that rippled through him that he was close, so she stroked him harder and sucked him in.
    He took in a sharp deep breath and broke out in a sweat. As she felt him reach the point of no return, she backed off and then took him up again.
    “Payback is a bitch,” he said through gritted teeth.
    Sam laughed and decided she’d tortured him enough. This time, she took him deep and right over, reveling in the cry of completion that seemed to come from his very soul.
    “Son of a bitch,” he whispered, his chest heaving as Sam crawled on top of him. His arms encircled her, and his lips found her forehead. “Give me a minute to recover, and then I’m so getting you back for that.”
    “Promises, promises.”
    “That fresh mouth of yours…”
    “You love my fresh mouth.”
    He ran his fingers through her hair. “I sure do.”
    “I’ve never done that for anyone else.”
    “Done what?”
    “The whole thing.”
    “Samantha,” he said with a sigh as he very smoothly turned them so he was on top. He looked down at her with those amazing hazel eyes, and Sam had never felt more loved or cherished in her life. “We are so very lucky to have found each other—twice.”
    She looped her arms around his neck. “So lucky. Don’t ever let me go, okay?”
    “No chance of that.”
    “Promise?”
    “I promise. Do you?”
    “I do,” she said.
    He smiled at her choice of words. “Does this mean we’re married now?”
    “In all the ways that matter.” She tilted her hips against his reawakened erection. “So that makes this our wedding night.”
    “Nice try,” he said as he removed her T-shirt and kissed his way to her breasts.
    “Nick…”
    “Relax, honey,” he said, chuckling. “Let it happen.”
     
    Even though she was always consciously aware that the nightmare had returned, she was never able to pull herself out of it in time to keep from hearing the screams or seeing the blood. Every time her subconscious forced her to relive one of the worst nights of her life, Sam tried to change the outcome.
    If I can get to Quentin before he’s hit, maybe, maybe I can get him out of there , she would think as she ran through the decrepit house where Marquis Johnson kept his crack stash. Sam ran as fast as she could, calling for Quentin. The rest of her team was behind her, and she heard them yelling for her to wait for them.
    “Don’t shoot,” she cried. “Hold your fire!” Now, with the benefit of hindsight, she knew how it would end. This time, she could change everything by not allowing her officers to return fire. She could go back and rewrite history to make it come out the way it should have the first time.
    “Marquis!” Sam said. “Get Quentin out of here!” Her command was met with silence. Sam inched along the hallway toward the bedroom where all hell had broken loose that fateful night. “Marquis, please. Let him go before he gets hurt.”
    A muffled cry stopped her heart. Oh, God, it was happening again. She couldn’t bear to see that adorable, innocent little boy covered in blood as his shrieking father held his lifeless body.
    Rounding the final corner before the back bedroom, Sam gripped her weapon with both hands and extended it in front of her. She should wait for Freddie and the others to catch up to her, but a second muffled cry had her rushing into the room where Darius Gardner had Nick in a chokehold, a gun pressed to his temple. Duct tape covered Nick’s mouth. His arms and legs were bound.
    Nick’s eyes met hers, and Sam faltered. She could see and smell his fear. Blood ran down the side of his face, forcing him to blink to keep it out of his eye. “Darius,” she said, her voice little more than a