Master No (Masters and Mercenaries, #9)

Master No (Masters and Mercenaries, #9)

Lexi Blake




PROLOGUE



Saudi Arabia

Eight Years Before



Tennessee Smith took a deep breath, his body aching. At least his lungs still worked. God knew his nerves were still functioning in places. They were firing off like a machine gun, shooting never-ending pain through much of his system. Not his arms though. No, his arms had gone numb long hours before, and he was fairly certain there would be some damage there. Twenty-four hours hanging from a f*cking meat hook would do that to a guy. Twenty-four hours of blood and pain and torture. Twenty-four hours of hell.

“You’re awake,” a familiar voice said. “I told them you had the constitution of a rutting bull. They didn’t believe me. They think you’ll be out for another few hours, but I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

Oh, but she’d let him down. Months they’d spent working together. She’d been his cover, his “wife” as he traveled through the Middle East. They’d been paired together, and though he’d hated the idea of having a partner, he’d settled into it. Hell, after a couple of times in Dawn’s bed, he’d started to like having regular sex, and then he’d just plain liked her. She was sweet, treated him like he could do no wrong, always listened to his advice. He’d been the senior partner and she the helpmate. It was like the Agency had sent him a sexual partner and backup all in one super-hot, blonde package.

Over the months they’d worked together, he’d fallen into a relaxing pattern. They would move to a new city and slowly he would work his way into a position where he could start to gather the information he needed. She would talk to the wives, but beyond that, she would turn whatever place they were staying at into a home—into a place where he could relax. She would cook his favorite foods, somehow find his favorite bourbon even in Muslim countries. And she would f*ck him every night.

Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped thinking about her as cover and he’d started thinking of her as his girlfriend.

He’d even bought her a ring. He’d known he would never find another woman who suited him, who understood his needs. Dawn had been the perfect wife for him.

She’d also been a double agent, and now he was in the hands of a terrorist group who wanted to know drone locations and the identity of agents in the area.

Nice.

“Go to hell, bitch.”

“Oh, there’s the Tennessee I knew was always hiding under the surface,” Dawn said with a smirk. “I always knew there was a nasty bastard brewing there.”

“And I should have known there was a traitorous bitch under your fifties housewife exterior.”

Dawn simply laughed. “It worked pretty well on you. You think you’re so deep, but you were probably the easiest agent I’ve ever worked over. You were a breeze, Smith. All you needed was a dose of constancy and you gave it all up.”

She was wrong. He’d given absolutely nothing up. His trust, perhaps that had been given too quickly, but he hadn’t told her anything the reports wouldn’t have told her. And this torture scene wasn’t going to play out the way she hoped. He’d already been worked over for hours, and he’d found a place where the pain couldn’t touch him. Now it was all coming back, but he’d survived the torture. He hadn’t broken and he wouldn’t. He would let them cut pieces off him before he gave up his secrets.

Secrets were all he had now.

For a brief moment he’d thought he had something more. He’d actually called Jamie and talked about how to ask Dawn to marry him.

He should have asked Jamie how to get his damn hands off a meat hook. The trouble was he could barely touch the ground. His toes wouldn’t quite meet the concrete. He needed something to push off of.

Or something to change the game map.

He let his head hang low as though he simply couldn’t hold it up a second longer. His shoulders ached. Not more than the holes in his abdomen. Oh, these guys were smart. They cauterized the wounds. Hell, one of them had shoved an actual hot poker through his left side. Minimal bleeding, maximum pain. They’d burned the bottoms of his feet and sent electrical charges through his system that made his whole body twist and turn abnormally. He’d been sure his bones would break, but he hadn’t made a sound.

He’d been well trained.

If only he’d listened to his handler about women.

“You know you’re going to break, Ten,” she said in a low, seductive voice.

He kept his head down. He didn’t need to see her to know what she would do. She enjoyed his vulnerability. She liked being the one in charge, got off on his pain when he’d never given her anything but his devotion.

Such a f*cking idiot.

He saw her shoes come into view. Red heels. He’d bought them for her in Dubai. They’d spent a day in the world’s largest mall, walking from store to store, and he’d enjoyed indulging her. He’d saved every dime he’d ever made. Dawn was the first woman he’d spent more than a few nights with.

How the boys at the Agency would laugh at him. Franklin Grant would be so disappointed. The men he recruited likely wouldn’t ever respect him again. Ten Smith brought down by a woman.

It would never f*cking happen again, he vowed. He’d been an idiot to think he could have what Jamie had. Dawn wasn’t Phoebe. Not even close. Sometime during the night he’d been forced to acknowledge that he was so f*cking envious of his brother. So envious that Jamie got the girl, that everyone loved Jamie, that Jamie somehow managed to see all the same darkness and maintain his light. It was exactly why Phoebe had taken one look at the two of them and promptly fallen head over heels with Jamie, never once giving Ten a single glance. No. Not even one.