Vanished by John Shepard, Danielle Cloakey

pine warned her it was Radek. His hands closed around her, but the expected flash of fear didn’t come. His tense muscles warned her he anticipated such a reaction.
    “Nice rifle.” He pulled away, his thick voice dark in the confined space.
    Unable to stifle the grin, she caught his eye. “And don’t you forget it.” The joke popped out before she could contain it, and an uncomfortable cough sounded behind her. Radek’s cheeks darkened and she noticed he sported a random smattering of light freckles.
    “You seem tense. Need a sparring round?” She eyed him, curious of his uncomfortable blush. His voice seemed normal with his response, and she commended him in her mind for holding it together.
    “Sure. I don’t mind losing.” He nodded at her, before gathering his choice weapons from a named locker.
    “Let’s up the stakes, then. Get some of the guys together. Do you still lose gracefully if you’re being watched?” She arched an eyebrow at him, catching the incredulous look he shot her direction.
    “Well, it would be a good way to ease some of the tension landing will bring.” He turned away, tucking a lone knife into his belt, his guns in place on his back and thigh. When he pushed toward the exit, the brush of his shoulder against hers sent a shiver frisking over her skin.
    She followed him out, realizing he was on his way to the mess. Breaking into a jog to keep up, she noticed he slowed a bit. Annoyance and thrill strummed in her blood. He was accommodating her shortcomings, and the brief battle of emotions ended with excitement winning out.
    The heavy thuds and grunts of men hitting mats alerted her , long before she entered the room, to the activities within. Radek led her along a weaving path through the hulking men dropping one another on black mats. The flashes of gleaming metal warned her these guys played serious, though the few slashing injuries she could see were surface at best.
    Radek was right, the men were tense. It showed in over-quick motions, control on the fringes, the maniacal calm in echoing gazes. Though, as she passed, men stood and backed off, each sparring match breaking off to follow her progress.
    The shift in the musky, sweat-scented air didn’t faze her, rather, she inclined her chin a few inches, refusing to meet curious eyes. Radek halted before the man she recognized by his short, blond locks and obsidian eyes. Opreden stood, a thin trail of blood tearing along his arm, the material of his dark undersuit gaping to reveal the wound.
    Radek’s hoarse voice set the men further on edge. “Wrap it, then ready for round two.”
    Opreden’s eyes darted to her, their depths unreadable. Radek turned. “Line up, we’ve got fresh meat.”
    The hesitance angered her as the men shuffled, unsure, throwing unreadable glances at her.
    “Line up or so help me I’ll shoot you all like dogs.” In a smooth motion, she slipped the rifle from her back and hauled it to her shoulder. The men jumped into line and Radek stalked to her, stripping the gun from her hands. He leaned in, overpowering her with his scent.
    His murmur wa s for her ears only. “Please tell me you’re wearing an undersuit.”
    She shook her head, and his jaw set. He sauntered to an upright shelving unit and pulled the smallest suit from it, throwing it her way. She snatched it out of the air and ignored the expressions as she froze. He didn’t expect her to change here, did he?
    Radek arched a brow at her, and she read a challenge in those startling blue eyes. He didn’t think she’d do it.
    She only hesitated for an instant. If she backed down now, it would show weakness to the entire gathering here. Not a good idea when challenging them to fight.
    Refusing to think about it, she unsnapped the suit. She unzipped it, noticing Opreden’s gaze lowering to the floor. Around her the other men mirrored his motion. Only Zoltan’s eyes caressed her motions as she peeled the second skin from her body. Warm air met her