Master No (Masters and Mercenaries, #9)(3)

She stopped in front of him. Not close enough. “How much? How much are they paying me? More than the Agency did. Way more. There’s a whole world out there, Tennessee. Countries are so blasé. I like to consider myself an independent woman. You know, it wasn’t so bad. Like I said, you’re good in bed.”

He’d spent more time in Dawn’s bed than any other woman. He tended to keep his relationships shallow, sexual. He forced his head up and looked at her. Beautiful. She was a stunning woman with a slender figure and nice breasts. Platinum blonde hair curled around her jawline, and he’d never seen her without perfectly done makeup. He’d thought she did it all for him, but now he could easily see it was nothing but a mask. There was nothing underneath it but greed and vanity. He hadn’t loved her. He’d simply wanted what Jamie and Phoebe had. He’d been willing to lie to himself to get it.

Her shoe tapped against the floor, an impatient sound. “Tennessee, they’re going to start in on your teeth this morning. They’ll pull them out one by one. You don’t want that. Give me what I need to satisfy them. I can introduce you to people. A man like you can make a lot of money on the open market. Hey, we could actually be a force as independent contractors. There aren’t a lot of couples working.”

It was all a lie, but a useful one. She still thought she could get to him, still believed her feminine wiles would work on him. “Kiss me.”

The thought made his stomach churn, but it would get her where he needed her.

“Kiss you?” Her dark eyes widened.

“Kiss me and I’ll tell you where Tag is. I never liked that * anyway.” Tag was likely gone. He would be smart. He would disappear, figuring the op was blown. Still, even knowing Tag was safe, he wasn’t giving this bitch anything. Not a goddamn thing.

Well, except one final gift.

Her lips curled up in a satisfied smirk. He had her. She stepped forward. “I suppose I can do that.”

The minute she was close, he swung his legs back and up. Pain screamed though his body, but he did what he needed to do. He forced his legs around her throat, the strength of his thighs drawing her in.

“What!” She screamed, but it was a muffled sound.

Ten couldn’t help but laugh because that sound was totally muffled by his dick, which was happily covered with heavy denim. They hadn’t gotten to the ball torture he was certain would have been on the menu today. Those jeans protected him from what he was sure was a sharp set of teeth.

“You never were any good at oral, babe.”

She squirmed and tried to force him off, pushing up with her hands. Exactly what he needed. He jerked his cuffed hands up and over the hook and they went tumbling down. He groaned as his body hit the concrete, but he tightened his ankles. They were both down now. If he allowed her to get up, she would go for one of the guns. The only reason she hadn’t been carrying was likely his seeming helplessness.

His arms would barely move, his body overtaken with pain, and she was fighting in earnest now. It was an instinct, really. His arms wouldn’t work, but he could swing his torso. If he let her go, she would alert the others and then he was done. He would either get away or end this one way or another. He wasn’t getting back on the hook. He tightened his thighs to hold her in place and threw his torso as far as he could to the left.

There was a horrible crunching sound and she went still.

So much for love and marriage.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t think about this now. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t do anything but survive this. His body shook as he tried to get up. Nope. Still wasn’t working. He was a little afraid he was going into shock.

Couldn’t wait. Had to move. There was at least one gun on the desk. He’d watched the last guy drop it there, as though teasing Ten with it. Just out of reach, too far away. No salvation for you, *.

He caught sight of Dawn, her eyes staring up. Not a hint of light behind them.

God, he was going to throw up.

The door opened and Ten groaned.

Too weak. Too f*cking weak and he hadn’t even gotten a weapon. He looked around. The concrete was stained with his blood, but there was absolutely nothing he could use to end his own misery. He had no way to eliminate the possibility that Dawn had been right and he would break. He couldn’t break. If he did one decent thing in his miserable, pathetic life it would be to go out of it without giving up his operatives, his country.

He’d failed even at that.

“Thought I’d find you here,” a familiar voice said. “Damn, I kind of hoped you’d both been taken. Guess the princess was a double.”

With shaking hands, Ten forced himself up. His arms felt like noodles, but the fact that he was no longer alone gave him a weird strength. Ian Taggart was standing in the torture chamber, a P90 across his chest and blood on the T-shirt he was wearing. He was massive and solid, and none of that muscle would protect him.

“We have to go…” No. That was wrong. It was all f*cking wrong and he had to do the honorable thing. “You have to go. Leave me a gun and get the f*ck out of here, Tag. There are at least four men in this place and they don’t play. I can’t walk. You have to leave me.”

Tag snorted, a thoroughly arrogant sound. “There were seven and now there are none. Nasty bastards. They were supposed to be all about religion and shit, but they had a ton of cheap-ass Scotch up there. I guess now they know about the evils of alcohol. You look like shit, Ten.”