Annika Svenson was now eight and a half months pregnant and kept saying that Oz’s predictions didn’t always pan out, that she was fine, that they’d been through so much shit together that the bad things between them had no doubt already happened.

As much as he wanted Ani’s bravado and assurances about her pregnancy to wipe away his worries, Creed McCabe wasn’t having it. He was pretty sure Ani knew she hadn’t convinced him fully, but he wanted to keep her calm and so he pretended he didn’t hear the death watch beetle ticking in his ear all the goddamned time. It was driving him crazy, and he was superstitious enough to tie the omen to Oz’s prediction.

The thing was, Ani couldn’t hear the tapping—when she woke in the middle of the night and found him staring at the ceiling, he’d tell her that the noise was driving him nuts. She told him he was hearing things.

Death watch beetles also tapped and ticked while looking for a mate, he reminded himself. He remembered his own long wait for Annika to decide to give him a chance, and for a moment he sympathized with the damned bug.

She didn’t strut as well anymore—she had for the first eight months and now it was more of a strut-slash-waddle. And she looked damned cute doing so, and fuck, this should be the most joyous time in his life and instead he was walking around like Lurch with a hangover.

Even his own mother told him to lighten the hell up, dear. Only Kat, the spirit who had been bound to him almost since birth through the tribal tats that went from head to toe on his right side, seemed to understand. Hell, she shared his anxiety. She’d fought the relationship with Annika for so long, but both females—one ghost, one warm, breathing woman—had learned to respect each other, to even like each other. Kat didn’t want to lose Annika either, and they both needed to keep their minds off even the remotest of possibilities.

And so he worked with ACRO’s ghost hunters and took on jobs that wouldn’t take him far away from Ani, went with her on every appointment, and enjoyed the fuck out of her hormones, which kept him really busy for many, many hours of the day and night.

She was excited and restless, and somewhere, deep down inside, he knew she was worried as well.

And the whole time, he kept the ring in his pocket as if it could possibly ward off all evil, twisted it like a worry stone, and stared at Ani’s finger a lot when she was sleeping.

“We don’t need a piece of paper,” she’d argued, and no, maybe they didn’t, but he wanted it, wanted something between them to be goddamned fucking easy for once.

“You are seriously distracted.”

Gabe stood over him, panting, and Creed realized the kid had laid him out flat.

“Fuck off,” he growled.

“And now you sound like Ender.” Gabe shook his head. “I need training, dammit.”

Ever since he’d gotten back from that ill-fated trip in the Amazon where Akbar had died, Gabe had tripled his efforts in an almost superhuman way. Part guilt out of hurting Annika, part desire to prove himself to Devlin and the rest of ACRO, and if Gabe kept this up, he’d either burn out or save them all.

“Dude, you have got to chill every once in a while. More to life than training.”

Gabe muttered something under his breath, and yeah, he was in the middle of relationship issues too. Devlin had always been obsessed with Itor’s takedown, but it had morphed into something greater than all of them, a supersecret plan Dev wouldn’t share with anyone.

God, they were all fucking pathetic when it came to intrapersonal shit, but put the fate of the free world in their hands and they managed just fine. “Come on,” he told Gabe after he peeled himself off the floor. “You and I need a drink.”

“I don’t—”

“Trust me, you need several. You’ll settle for one.”

Melanie’s head hurt. Her eyes burned. And the floor was really, really hard.

Floor? Groggily, she sat up, blinking in the dim light. There was metal all around her … a crate. She was in a metal cargo crate about six feet wide and ten feet long, and just high enough to allow Stryker to stand.

Which he was doing as he peeked through the air holes lining the side walls. Light streamed through them and the barred door, illuminating the dark space.

“What happened?”

Stryker turned to her. “We were gassed.” He sank down to sit with his back against the wall. “I haven’t seen anyone yet, but we seem to be inside a big warehouse.”

Her stomach churned. “We need to get out of here.”

“You think?”

Ass. “Can you use your earthquake thing?”

He shook his head. “I’ll give away my hand if whoever has us doesn’t know what I am, and even if I was willing to risk that, I’d bring the warehouse down on our heads. We need to wait until someone shows up.” He shot her a piercing look. “Or you could freeze the metal lock to make it brittle, and we can break out.”

She drew a sharp breath. Even if she could control it that well … she flexed her hand, testing her power, and though she felt a cool tingle, it wasn’t enough to do something like freeze metal. She could maybe make some ice cubes for a drink, but that would be about it. “I’m … ah …”

“I know. We’ll have to fuck.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

She glared at him. “You could at least pretend that having sex with me isn’t the end of the world.”

“Because you’re acting so excited,” he shot back, and she couldn’t deny it.

Sighing, she rubbed her eyes. This was such a nightmare. The pounding in her head grew stronger, more like knocking.

Phoebe.

“How long were we out?”

Stryker shrugged. “About six hours. Why? Is your shot wearing off?”

“Yes.” She was also hungry. Cursing softly, she patted her pockets, where she stuffed the two remaining shots. “They’re gone.”

“Over there.” He cocked his thumb at a table on the other side of a thick, clear shield she’d bet was fireproof. Her syringes and his weapons were piled on the table.

“Damn—” Crying out from pain, she grabbed her head.

Stryker moved to her, put his hands over hers. “Hey.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “What’s wrong?”

“She wants out,” Mel gasped.

“Does it normally hurt?”

“Only when I fight it.” All around her, the light faded, until she was in a tunnel of darkness. Distantly, she heard Stryker calling her name.

Then she heard nothing.

Phoebe took in the situation in one second flat. She was in a crate, held prisoner, with the ACRO agent known as Stryker.

Fucking great.

How in the hell had Mel gotten them into this? Whatever. She needed to get them out of it. Smiling, she tweaked Stryker’s nose. “Hello, sexy. Did you miss me?”

Stryker swatted her hand away and scooted as far as he could get from her. “Shut the fuck up and send Mel back.”

“I don’t think so.” She propped herself against the side of the crate and studied him. He looked the same as he had in the jungle—maybe more tan. And his eyes … those funky eyes. They were harder, as if life had bent him over and railed him for months. “Tell me, did you bury your friend … or scatter his ashes?”

“Shut. Up.”

As if. God, she hated ACRO agents. Too many of her colleagues had died at their holier-than-thou hands, and she’d always been convinced that the earthquake that killed her mother had been caused by ACRO. Maybe not, but it was pretty damned coincidental that two Itor bodyguards assigned to keep watch over Phoebe, Mel, and their mother had died too, and yet civilians had been merely injured.

Continuing with the taunt, she ran her hand over the inside of her thighs to her crotch. “I think about him, you know? When I’m getting myself off. I think about how he screamed—”

Lightning fast, Stryker was on her, his forearm across her throat, his knee in her gut. She didn’t react other than to smile as he bared his teeth. “You evil fucking bitch … I want your sister back, or I swear, I’ll kill you right here, right now.”

Phoebe feigned a frown. She was so going to mess with him, fill him with doubts about Melanie. “Sister?”

“Yeah. Sister.” He narrowed his eyes. “She said you’re some sort of Itor experiment.”

She widened her eyes. “Oh, right. Sister. Yes, we were an experiment. While my mom was pregnant with me, Itor radiated her, and somehow our cells broke apart, and now we’re two people.”

“She said you were two embryos created in a petri dish.”

She waved her hand. “Right. I forget. The radiation, you know. Messes with my head. In any case, I’m not letting her out. And you can’t see Sandy or Jill either.”

His head whipped back, and she knew he was now running through a multiple personality scenario instead of the truth. Good. He wasn’t going to believe anything Mel said from now on.

“Wow. She really did a number on you, didn’t she? I really hope you’ve taken everything she says with a grain of salt. She’s got this sweet, innocent act down pat.” She studied her nails. “I’ll bet she said I’m mean to her. And that she knows nothing about Itor. That she doesn’t work for them.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s the fucking best agent Itor has. So if I were you, I’d do whatever she says.” She lowered her voice to a deep, sultry whisper. “She’s even deadlier than I am.”

A door somewhere slammed, and she reached deep for her gift. It sparked … then fizzled. Dammit!

“What’s the matter?” Stryker’s voice was taunting. “Can’t get it up?”

“Fuck you,” she muttered, which was funny, because that was exactly what would have to happen. She eyed him and decided that it wouldn’t be a hardship. Biting her lip, she dropped her gaze to his crotch and felt her body warm up.

“Oh, hell no,” he growled.

She raised her eyebrows. “You know what I need to recharge?”

“You could say that.”

Interesting. “Did you and Mel do the nasty?”

“Just let her out.”

“No,” she purred, as she trailed a finger down his thigh. “We do this, and I get us out of here.”

He grabbed her hand, squeezed to the point of pain, and shoved it away. “I wouldn’t fuck you with someone else’s dick.”

She laughed. “See, that’s funny. Because I’ve fucked several men who hated me. Best. Sex. Ever. Maybe not for them, but something about screwing a man who despises you is just … hot. I’ll have you. I promise.”

“I’ve met some scum in my life,” Stryker said, “but you leave even the psychopaths in the dust. Now, if you want to get out of here alive, you’ll let me talk to Mel.”

Normally, Phoebe wouldn’t back down. It wasn’t as though she was powerless—even without her gift, she could hold her own in traditional combat. But right now they were sitting ducks, and if Mel could actually be useful for the first time in her life, Phoebe would roll with it. Survival was the first order of business, after all.

“Fine,” she said tightly. “Tell her I said hi.”

Mel blinked, her heart sinking when she saw that she was still in a cage with Stryker and that Phoebe hadn’t gotten them out. Her heart sank even more when she realized that Stryker’s eyes seethed with hatred. All the progress she’d made with him had been undone by Phoebe.

At least he hadn’t killed her. That was something.

She sighed. “What did Phoebe do now?”

“Nothing. Take off your jeans.”

“Ah …”

“Now.” His voice cracked like a clap of thunder, and she jumped.

“You know, you don’t have to be a jerk. I think I’ve proven that I’m trustworthy—”

“Really, Mel? So there’s nothing you’ve lied to me about? Nothing you’re keeping from me?”

She swore under her breath. She hadn’t lied to him, but there was something she was keeping from him, something she definitely didn’t want him to know right now. Or ever.

“What did Phoebe say to you? Because you can’t believe anything that comes out of her mouth.”

“That’s what she said about you, so at this point, I don’t know what to believe. Stop talking. Start undressing.”

“You really need to work on your seduction technique,” she bit out as she wriggled out of her jeans, hesitating before slipping off her torn panties, but at the expression of amusement on his face, she jerked them off. Stryker unbuttoned his pants, and then suddenly he was on her, had her spun around on her hands and knees, one palm on the back of her neck to push her head down, which left her ass in the air and very little leeway to move.

“Hey—”

“Shh.”

She felt the prod of his cock at her entrance, and then he was pushing against her. But she was dry, and each tiny thrust only stretched and abraded. When she cried out, he cursed and pulled back.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Guess being held by bad guys in a cage with a man who hates me isn’t much of a turn-on.”

He cursed again, and she heard a shuffling, felt a draft of air behind her, and when she turned, she saw him sitting with his back against the metal wall, legs stretched out in front of him. His pants were still unbuttoned, but he’d tucked himself back in.

Surprisingly, he didn’t look angry. “Come here.” He gestured with his fingers when she didn’t move. “Come on.”

She didn’t understand, but she crawled toward him, hesitant but curious. Just before she got in range of his reach, she paused, her cheek an inch from his hand. For a long moment, they stared at each other, her unsure gaze meeting his half-lidded sensual one. She began to tremble. Slowly, he leaned forward until his palm came in contact with her cheek. His touch was light. Gentle.

And she trembled harder.

His fingers eased around her head and into her hair, and with an easy pressure, he nudged her closer. Was he … going to kiss her?

Mel’s heart stuttered, and she reared back, but he caught her, and when she would have struggled, his whispered “Easy” settled her down.

But only a little. Her heart was pounding, her stomach was flip-flopping, and her lungs felt like shriveled little fists in her chest.

Their mouths met, barely. Stryker’s lips were softer than she’d have guessed—silky, soft lips on such a hard man was an astonishing contradiction. But as he brushed them over hers, she found herself moving involuntarily closer.

His tongue was a warm, wet stroke along the seam of her lips, and little sparks ignited in her at the contact. She gasped, and he took instant advantage, increasing the pressure of the kiss, using his tongue to gain entrance. His hands drifted down her sides to her waist, and then he pulled her onto his lap. Her bare sex parted over the hard ridge behind his fly, and a strange, wonderful fever broke over her skin.

This was what it was like to be turned on. To really be aroused by a man.

A small voice told her she was stupid for feeling it, since Stryker hated her, they were imprisoned, and he was only doing this to make getting inside her easier, but her body didn’t know any of that, and it was reacting to a powerful, attractive male.

A rough sound rumbled up in his chest as she writhed on his lap, needing to get closer to ease the ache that was starting to build between her legs. Her nipples tingled, and she was suddenly so hot, her body so tight that it was almost painful. A dizzying hunger swept over her, frightening in its intensity, and she jerked back.

Stryker caught her, drew her to him so his lips were grazing her throat, and a new rush of sensation rocked her.

“I’m … scared,” she whispered. All she knew was that foreign feelings were overwhelming her, eating away at her control and leaving her vulnerable.

For a moment, he froze, as if what she’d said shocked him. And then he gave a quiet snort. “God, you’re good,” he breathed against her skin.

She had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but when he slipped his hand beneath her shirt and cupped her breast, she decided it didn’t matter.

Truly, there were few lines Stryker wouldn’t cross for ACRO—but forcing a woman into sex was a hard line drawn in the sand, even if Mel needed it in order to save herself.

And him.

In truth, he’d been so angry at seeing Phoebe, he’d been more than ready to punish her fiery ass … but not Mel, not this way.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being duped. And still, he continued the slow seduction. He thumbed Mel’s nipple, watched her shiver, and yes, things were different now than they’d been just minutes ago. Her cheeks were stained pink, her mouth dropped open, and small sighs escaped, enough to make his cock throb hard against her bared sex.

A hand on her back, and he pulled her closer so he could tongue a hard nipple, tug it between his teeth gently, feel her sex get wetter and hotter with every flick.

“Stryker …” Jesus, the way she whispered his name, was anyone that good when they were fucking? He’d been with Seducers, knew they were all trained in the art of sex and deception, but he also knew these physical signs of arousal.

“Thought I was cold … too cold for this,” she murmured, her face buried in his hair, her body arched against him.

He ran a finger along her cleft and she let out a series of soft little moans that made him bite back a curse. Slid his thumb against the tight bud of her clit and she jumped as if the sensation was too strong for her.

He waited until she brought her ass back to settle on his lap, tried again, two fingers stroking her. When she moved her hips, he pushed a single finger inside of her and she stopped moving completely as he fucked her with it, and then another, opening her so their second time wouldn’t hurt her as much as the first had.

Oz’s virgin prediction threatened to ring in his ears and he pulled himself sharply into focus. “You’re ready, Mel … so wet and hot for me. Let me in,” he told her, heard the huskiness in his voice, felt the need driving him harder now because of the use of his powers earlier.

The push-pull of Mother Nature could be a real bitch.

He shifted her so she could let him inside. Her sex rippled around him, a sweet, torturous vise as she took him, inch by inch, winding her arms around his neck as she did so, keeping him as close as possible.

“Go ahead, take me,” he murmured against her neck, wondering how she could feel so hot right now and still be able to freeze a man to death when she needed to.

Despite the fact that he knew she could kill him the second she came, his nonthinking head strained for more of her. It took everything he had not to slam his hips upward until she’d taken him in as far as she could.

For now, he couldn’t rush it.

Finally, the length of him was settled inside of her and for a moment, he let her sit there, feeling the fullness. And then he couldn’t hold still any longer, gripped her hips to rock her back and forth until a brutal groan ripped from his throat.

It wasn’t enough, wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the cravings that came with his gift, not until he threw her down and took her so hard, they’d both see stars.

This isn’t about enjoyment—this is business.

But for his body, business most certainly equaled pleasure and there had never been any way for him to separate the two.

It wouldn’t start now either, not when Mel told him, “Don’t stop … please don’t stop doing that.”

She was moving on her own now, writhing, grinding, taking her pleasure, and he needed to do the same. But she was pinning him with her body and he nearly flipped her onto her back in order to take her the way he wanted to … on all fours would work too, and Christ, his balls jackknifed tight as she rode him faster and faster.

And then she froze, legs tensed, and oh, yeah, she was coming, her sweet little pussy milking him to his own climax as she did so. Her mouth formed an O and a small, surprised moan escaped, and then his cock spurted inside her in a blinding rush that made him glad he’d been sitting down.

He glanced over at the bars, wondering if anyone had walked by when they’d been deep in the throes of it. The corner was out of sight of most of the cameras, but it was obvious what they were doing. Clearly, whoever captured them didn’t realize this could recharge Mel, or else they wouldn’t have put them together in the cell.

And suddenly, he was oddly protective of them seeing more of her than was necessary, was glad she was facing him so they couldn’t see the pure pleasure etched on her face.

“Is it always … like that?” she asked.

“Sex should always be good,” he said noncommittally, didn’t want to let her know that the orgasm had been, like, one of his top fucking five, could only have been made better if he hadn’t been surrounded by cameras. And if he liked her.

She was staring at him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Don’t.” He couldn’t disrespect Akbar’s memory like that, felt like he was already betraying his friend. “Just get us the hell out of here.”

And still, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of … something at the look on Mel’s face, disappointment mixed with contentment.

She could fall in love with you, Stryker.

And she could also win an Academy Award.

Yeah, after this assignment he needed some downtime and lots of it. He’d tell that to Devlin as soon as he got out of this hellhole. “We need to get out of here. That’s why I did this,” he said dumbly, even though she was staring at him now like he was an idiot because he was repeating himself. And he was. Repeating himself and an idiot. Idiot wrapped in a moron. An idiot burrito.

She couldn’t get dressed fast enough. Neither could he; he checked his pockets even though he knew they’d stripped him of every possible weapon when he’d been passed out. Well, every weapon except the kind he’d been born with, and they had to know he was a danger.

Granted, an earthquake would bring the entire building down on them, so that wasn’t an option. Still, he touched the walls as if testing the structure.

Mel fastened her jeans. “Most of these buildings can withstand a small quake.”

“It wouldn’t stop at just this building,” he said regretfully.

She was staring at him again and then she surprised him by saying, “Your gift—it’s a tough one too.”

He wanted to tell her that she didn’t know dick about his gift, but dammit all to hell, she did. “Yeah, so? I don’t need a therapy session.”

“I probably do,” she muttered.

“Can you just ice these assholes—just a little—and try to save something for later?”

“I doubt it.”

“Try,” he said fiercely. “Because you can keep making excuses and feeling sorry for yourself that for your other half you’ve got a killer bitch who deserves to rot in hell, or you can try to be responsible for the powers you do control. Own your shit, Mel.”

“Own my shit,” she murmured with a half smile. “I might have that put on a T-shirt.”

“I’ll buy it for you if we ever get the fuck out of this place.”