up and down her arms, shivering.
Remy frowned. “You’re cold.”
It was partly adrenaline, partly the night air, but she nodded. “A little bit.”
“Then you should definitely get back inside.”
“I was cold in there too.”
He went over to the van and pulled out his pack. Then he rifled through it and handed her a shirt. The camouflage material was warm, and she wrapped it around her body, hugging herself. The tail was almost to her knees. If she had a belt, she could make a dress.
When she looked up, Remy was watching her with a hard expression. Her heart skipped a beat at the possessive look in his eyes. Fire kindled in her belly at that look. She remembered what it was like to be possessed by him—again and again, until she was languid and spent and so satisfied she could barely lift her head off the pillow.
Why had she put an end to that again?
Because he’s a man. Because you don’t want to get hurt. Because getting hurt is inevitable.
“You look at me like I kicked your puppy,” he growled, and her heart pinched tight.
“I’m sorry.”
“Fucking hell, stop with the apologies. I get that you feel guilty. I get that you don’t know what to say to me. Just pretend like it never happened, all right?”
“All right.” Her throat ached and her eyes stung, but dammit, that’s what she’d wanted him to say, wasn’t it? Pretend like nothing ever happened. It was a one-night stand, over and done with. Time to act normal.
A shout split the night, making her jump like a frightened rabbit. Remy caught her as she careened into him. His arms around her were steady. The gun at his chest felt awkward between them, its cool metal bulk unforgiving against her midsection.
She was in the process of taking a step backward, trying to put distance between them, when a bright light arced into the sky. A second later, a deafening kaboom shattered the air and kicked her in the chest.
13
A s the shock of the explosion rolled over the convoy, Remy shoved Christina behind him as if he could somehow protect her from a second blast. People screamed. The air was heavy with the scents of metal, fuel, and charred flesh.
Remy flipped down the NVG visor attached to his helmet and scanned the darkness. Shapes ran across his field of vision, the flames from the detonation licking the vehicles about a quarter mile or so back.
His team sprang into action the moment the blast happened, every man either scouting the perimeter, protecting the civilians in their custody, or guarding their position from enemy fire.
“Goddammit,” Viking said into Remy’s earpiece. “Get down there and see what’s happening. We’re going to have to abandon this van and cram into one. It’s looking like the only choice.”
Remy acknowledged the order, pushing Christina into Cowboy’s arms before hurrying down the line toward the blast site with Money and Camel. They wouldn’t get too close, but they needed to assess the situation before they bugged out.
Remy’s stomach churned with disgust and anger the closer they got. People were in shock, huddling together, screaming, crying. There were disembodied limbs on the ground, bodies twisted into unidentifiable lumps, and the strong odor of bleach.
He exchanged a look with his teammates. This blast wasn’t military grade but very likely triacetone triperoxide, aka TATP, manufactured by an extremist group. The components were easy to acquire, and the process wasn’t too difficult.
That meant the fires were coming from the exploded gas tanks of the vehicles and not from the TATP itself, which produced a lot of gas rather than flame when it detonated. It was also highly volatile, which meant a small amount could inflict heavy damage.
Sonofabitch.
He hated the pain and fear he saw on people’s faces, but there was nothing he could do about it—and that was a sick fucking feeling to have. It brought up every rotten ghost in his past, every skeleton he couldn’t bury. He’d joined
Remy frowned. “You’re cold.”
It was partly adrenaline, partly the night air, but she nodded. “A little bit.”
“Then you should definitely get back inside.”
“I was cold in there too.”
He went over to the van and pulled out his pack. Then he rifled through it and handed her a shirt. The camouflage material was warm, and she wrapped it around her body, hugging herself. The tail was almost to her knees. If she had a belt, she could make a dress.
When she looked up, Remy was watching her with a hard expression. Her heart skipped a beat at the possessive look in his eyes. Fire kindled in her belly at that look. She remembered what it was like to be possessed by him—again and again, until she was languid and spent and so satisfied she could barely lift her head off the pillow.
Why had she put an end to that again?
Because he’s a man. Because you don’t want to get hurt. Because getting hurt is inevitable.
“You look at me like I kicked your puppy,” he growled, and her heart pinched tight.
“I’m sorry.”
“Fucking hell, stop with the apologies. I get that you feel guilty. I get that you don’t know what to say to me. Just pretend like it never happened, all right?”
“All right.” Her throat ached and her eyes stung, but dammit, that’s what she’d wanted him to say, wasn’t it? Pretend like nothing ever happened. It was a one-night stand, over and done with. Time to act normal.
A shout split the night, making her jump like a frightened rabbit. Remy caught her as she careened into him. His arms around her were steady. The gun at his chest felt awkward between them, its cool metal bulk unforgiving against her midsection.
She was in the process of taking a step backward, trying to put distance between them, when a bright light arced into the sky. A second later, a deafening kaboom shattered the air and kicked her in the chest.
13
A s the shock of the explosion rolled over the convoy, Remy shoved Christina behind him as if he could somehow protect her from a second blast. People screamed. The air was heavy with the scents of metal, fuel, and charred flesh.
Remy flipped down the NVG visor attached to his helmet and scanned the darkness. Shapes ran across his field of vision, the flames from the detonation licking the vehicles about a quarter mile or so back.
His team sprang into action the moment the blast happened, every man either scouting the perimeter, protecting the civilians in their custody, or guarding their position from enemy fire.
“Goddammit,” Viking said into Remy’s earpiece. “Get down there and see what’s happening. We’re going to have to abandon this van and cram into one. It’s looking like the only choice.”
Remy acknowledged the order, pushing Christina into Cowboy’s arms before hurrying down the line toward the blast site with Money and Camel. They wouldn’t get too close, but they needed to assess the situation before they bugged out.
Remy’s stomach churned with disgust and anger the closer they got. People were in shock, huddling together, screaming, crying. There were disembodied limbs on the ground, bodies twisted into unidentifiable lumps, and the strong odor of bleach.
He exchanged a look with his teammates. This blast wasn’t military grade but very likely triacetone triperoxide, aka TATP, manufactured by an extremist group. The components were easy to acquire, and the process wasn’t too difficult.
That meant the fires were coming from the exploded gas tanks of the vehicles and not from the TATP itself, which produced a lot of gas rather than flame when it detonated. It was also highly volatile, which meant a small amount could inflict heavy damage.
Sonofabitch.
He hated the pain and fear he saw on people’s faces, but there was nothing he could do about it—and that was a sick fucking feeling to have. It brought up every rotten ghost in his past, every skeleton he couldn’t bury. He’d joined
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