Kicking It

1

Simone Solange was reputed to be one of the world’s best thieves, but after watching her walk into the café, Marcus Brighton guessed that men would simply give her whatever she wanted without her needing to steal a thing.

She was utterly stunning. Her midnight black hair fell in glossy waves around the face of a temptress, lending a bit of softness to her strong jawline. Her long, lean body was encased in black leather clinging to curves powerful enough to cause even Marcus’s disciplined mind to sputter to a halt for a split second. Her stride was slow, almost sinuous. Every move she made screamed of confidence. As she saw him staring at her, her full lips, painted a shiny red, lifted in a knowing smile.

She came up to his table, spun a chair around, and lifted one shapely leg to straddle it. Deep red boots tooled with painstaking detail hugged her calves. The familiar flash of leather caught his attention for a moment as she settled into place across from him in a move that had him thinking about lap dances.

Suddenly the table seemed much smaller, putting her well within reach. He could smell the oncoming warmth of spring clinging to her riding leathers, along with a hint of wildflowers and even wilder woman.

“What did you bring me?” she asked in a voice made for sin. Low, soft, with just enough rasp to make a man imagine what she would sound like in the throes of passion.

“Just like that?” he said. “No introductions. No small talk.”

Her slender shoulder lifted in a negligent shrug. “Life’s too short for small talk. You’re Marcus. You want something from me. And I want something from you. Show me.”

Her words had his mind reeling for a moment before it caught back up with reality.

He opened the leather satchel he carried and pulled from it a deep red purse the exact same shade as her boots. Like the boots, the leather was tooled with intricate symbols that had taken weeks to get just right. The handbag was small enough not to get in the way but big enough to do the job she required of it.

Marcus slid it over the tabletop.

Simone hesitated for just a moment before reaching out to touch the leather’s surface. She drew the tip of one finger over the markings, following their winding path around the edge. “You’re right. It matches my boots perfectly.”

“I promised it would.”

She gave a dismissive snort. “Men promise me impossible things all the time.”

He just bet they did. Even now he was holding his breath, hoping that the work would live up to his hype. “Open it.”

She pulled the flap open and looked inside. A disappointed pout gathered her mouth, making it no less lovely. “It’s empty.”

“Is it?”

She looked up at him then, her smoky green gaze hitting him hard. He felt the breath leave his lungs and was momentarily unable to remember how to inhale.

Simone Solange was definitely as dangerous as her reputation professed.

After a second, she reached into the purse. “All that’s in here is this paper.”

“Good. Then it’s working as it should.”

“What is this?”

“A contract. History has given me reason to heighten my security against theft. The purse won’t work for anyone but its rightful owner. Which is me. You want the purse, I have to offer it to you of my own free will.”

“Tease.” She read the brief contract he’d left for her to find. When she was done, she hit him with that killer stare again, but this time he was ready for it.

Too bad being ready didn’t make a difference. He tried to play it cool, but her beauty was more than a simple distraction. It was a potent poison that flooded his brain with chemicals that rendered him stupid.

“This contract is only good for three minutes,” she said.

“Long enough for you to see that what I offer is real and to make up your mind. Unless you’re slow.”

Her gaze narrowed in warning at his jab. “Give me a pen.”

Marcus pulled one from his pocket. She took it, her warm fingertips grazing his skin. He couldn’t tell if the touch was accidental or not, but he was already hoping she’d do it again.

She scrawled her name at the bottom of the contract, leaving behind a signature as intriguing and curvy as the woman herself. “There. Now what?”

“The purse is now yours for three minutes. Look inside again.”

He’d made it a point not to touch the purse in any way. He didn’t want her to think he was cheating—not after the lengths he’d gone to to make sure she got what she wanted. He needed her cooperation too badly to make any mistakes.

Simone lifted the flap once more and looked inside. Her lips parted in surprise, and a small hint of excitement quivered along her mouth. She pulled out a throwing knife, heedless of the other customers nearby.

It glinted in the café’s lighting, its keen edge a testament of skill and patience. She briefly touched the angular maker’s mark at the base of the hilt, and if he wasn’t seeing things, her finger trembled slightly.

“I thought the blacksmith was dead. How did you get these?” she asked.

“You don’t need to know that. All you need to do is make up your mind. The purse and the knives in exchange for your help retrieving an object. The purse is exactly as you requested—only the owner can see the hidden contents.”

“It’s a neat trick.”

It was a hell of a lot more than that—it was weeks spent bent over his workbench, pouring everything he had into the project. “So, do we have a deal?”

“What are the terms?” she asked.

“Terms?”

“What am I stealing? From whom? How long do I have?”

“A few days at most.” The portal the Fractogasts were building was almost done. After that they would expand and open more building sites, and this chance would be lost.

“What’s the object?”

“A hammer.”

She lifted an inky black brow in question. “Why not just go to Sears?”

“It’s a blacksmith’s hammer. And it’s special.”

She absently stroked the surface of the leather purse. “How special?”

“Special enough that I included a set of throwing knives made by the hand of a craftsman who’s now dead.” Uttering those words without any hint of feeling cost Marcus a good chunk of effort.

“No hammer is that special.”

“It is when it’s in the hands of the Fractogasts.”

Her skin paled noticeably, making her smoky eyes look larger. “You know about them?”

“Unfortunately. They’ve stolen loved ones from me. As they have from you.”

“Don’t pretend like you know me, or that we should bond because of what those monsters did. I don’t bond. Ever.”

“Good to know. I’m not looking for a new BFF. Only a partner for a single job.”

“No, you’re looking for an idiot. If you’d told me that I’d be sneaking into ’Gast territory, I’d never have come.”

“You didn’t ask. You were too busy making demands on your price.”

“Which you exceeded because you knew you were asking me to risk my life. This isn’t like stealing a diamond necklace. They’ll see me.”

“Not in those boots.”

She went still and every trace of teasing feminine power trickled out of her, leaving behind a hard-core, pissed-off badass. “What do you know about my boots?”

“Everything.”

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of the throwing knife. Her muscles coiled under black leather as she prepared to strike. “How? Who told you?”

If he didn’t appease her soon, he was going to end up with a knife in his throat. “No one told me anything. They didn’t have to. I was the one who made them—the one from whom you stole them.”

2

This was not a business meeting. It was an ambush.

Simone should have known better than to think that any offer this good could be true.

She looked around the café, searching for signs of which patrons might be Brighton’s backup. While several people looked at her, they were all wearing the same expressions of desire, apathy, or jealousy that she was used to seeing. Not one person here had that cold stare of a man willing to kill.

“I came alone,” said Brighton, apparently sensing her unease. “I’m not here to turn you in to the authorities. I don’t even want the boots back. All I want is your help.”

Again, too good to be true.

She didn’t bother snatching the purse away. The contract was good for only a few more seconds. After that she could no longer benefit from the purse’s inherent magic. It would be just another pretty handbag.

Apparently her sneaking into his mobile workshop and stealing the boots had taught him to be more careful with his wares. She only wished she’d known his name then so she could have seen this ambush coming.

The knife she’d taken out felt good in her hand. Its balance was perfect, the grip fitting her palm as if it had been made for her alone. The cross guard was small, but big enough that she could use the blade as a dagger if she wanted to get that close. Or simply had the misfortune of ending up that way.

There were two more knives just like it inside the purse—two perfect knives that would be lost to her once those three minutes were up.

She reached for the purse, but Brighton was faster. He slapped one big hand down on the leather and gave her a warning look. “Not unless you help me.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” she asked.

“You don’t. At least not yet. But we both know you’re perfectly capable of killing me if you choose. And people are starting to stare.”

Simone palmed the knife and slid it into her sleeve. A quick glance around the room proved that Brighton was right. People were shifting nervously at the sight of the weapon, and at least two of them were on their phones. Maybe talking to police.

Time to go.

“Good luck, Brighton,” she offered as she headed for the door.

Marcus was right on her heels. “What about our deal?”

“What deal? You offered me a job. I’m turning it down.” She shoved her way out through the door. The cool night air sucked some of the heat of anger from her cheeks.

She made a beeline for her motorcycle, which was parked nearby.

“If you’re not going to help me, then give me back the boots,” he ordered.

She laughed as she mounted her bike. “Sure. I’ll get right on that.”

Brighton grabbed her arm. Until this moment, she’d pegged him for a suit. Normal, boring, law-abiding. Soft.

His hand on her arm was anything but. Strength radiated through his touch, shackling her biceps. She could break his hold, but not without getting off her bike and exerting some serious effort. And drawing a crowd.

“Please,” he said, his voice ringing with the kind of desperation she’d heard only from men who knew they were going to die. “I need your help.”

Simone looked up at him and instantly wished she hadn’t. There was pain in his eyes. Loss. Grief. She could have been looking into a mirror.

Her resolve started to crack, and damn if Marcus Brighton wasn’t smart enough to see it instantly.

“I have a place we can go and talk. Just give me a few minutes of your time. Hear me out. If you still think I’m out to get you, then I’ll find someone else. Somehow.”

The way he said it made her wonder if he even had a plan B. Maybe she was his only shot.

There’d been a time when that would have made her feel good, but now all she felt was sad. If she was his best shot, then he was in a world of hurt.

“Fine. I’ll listen. But I’m not making any promises.”

He nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. “My place is right around the corner. Big black RV. Follow me?”

She did, riding her bike along in his wake as he jogged away. The streets emptied out fast as they moved away from the university campus. He’d parked behind a neighboring office building that was closed for the night. Security lights gleamed off a massive RV that sat like a monolith in the vacant lot.

Simone paused as she rolled up beside the vehicle. Nothing was stopping her from riding away. She had one perfect knife in her possession. It wasn’t a bad haul for as little effort as she’d exerted. Sure, it was stealing, but any pangs of guilt she’d had about that act had been burned out of her years ago. Life changed. So had she.

“You coming in?” he asked from the doorway.

What harm could there be in listening to what he had to say? She really couldn’t think of anything he could have in there that would scare her, or any sticky situation she couldn’t handle.

Unless he had a Fractogast chained up inside, which seemed beyond unlikely.

“Why the hell not?” She sighed as she climbed in.

The place was littered with tools. Rolls of stiff leather stuck out from a wooden box. Bottles of dye were stacked neatly on a wall shelf, secured with bands of elastic. A workbench took up the space along one wall, and on it was a strip of leather held in place with wire loops. The length of the belt was nearly complete, making her fingertips tingle with the need to touch.

An array of metal stamps sat in a neat row. The ends of them had raised symbols, but those shapes bore little resemblance to the finished image worked into the leather. She could only guess what the belt would do, but whatever magic Brighton used to craft his wares was potent stuff.

He started moving toolboxes and bins of metal bits to make room on a built-in bench. “Sorry for the mess. I never have company.” He waved to the now free seat.

“I’ll stand, thanks.” By the door, with her fingers on the handle.

He tossed the purse he’d made to her specifications on the spot he’d cleared, and then stared at her. The light in here wasn’t as bright as it had been in the café, but even so, the intimacy of the small space heightened her awareness of him. One subtle sign that he was going to hurt her, and she’d tumble out through the door.

So far, all he’d done was stand there, watching her.

He had intense cobalt blue eyes, like sunlit glass. His hair was buzz cut, more a dark shadow than anything. Standing this close to him in such a small space, she realized just how big he really was. Not a hulking brute, but certainly more intimidating than he’d seemed in the brightly lit café with plenty of people around as witnesses.

Her hand slipped into her sleeve, letting the warm metal of the throwing knife ease her apprehension.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, once again surprising her that he’d read her so easily.

“Of course you’re not. At least not twice,” she warned.

“There’s no need for bravado. We’re on the same side.”

“You don’t know what side I’m on.”

“The Fractogasts killed your husband. They killed my parents. I’d say that puts us on the same side.”

How had he known about that? It wasn’t exactly something she talked about openly.

As she scoured her mind for some logical way that he would know her misfortune, she asked, “And which side is that?”

“The one that wants them all to burn in hell.”

He made a good point. “And they have this hammer of yours.”

“Yes.”

“And you think I can steal it back?”

“I know you can. I made the boots, remember? I know what they allow you to do, which means you’re perfect for the job. Unless, of course, you haven’t yet figured out all the boots’ tricks.”

That gave her pause. She knew she could walk around in them unseen. Also that they worked on the Fractogasts, unlike several other artifacts she’d come across. But what if that wasn’t the extent of their power? What if she wasn’t using them to their fullest potential? “Tell me what they can do and I’ll tell you if I already know or not.”

He smiled at her, and that smile carved out a cute little dimple in one cheek. “I don’t think so. Any lever I have to gain your cooperation, I’m going to use. You want to know what they do, you go after the hammer with me.”

“With you?” She laughed. “Even if I do agree to go on this job—which I haven’t—there’s no way I’m bringing along baggage they can see. I work alone.”

“Ah, so you haven’t figured out that power yet.”

She stared, unwilling to let him know that she had no clue what he was talking about.

“I’ll show you how it works if you tell me why you don’t want to help me.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I really don’t want to die. If the Fractogasts have your hammer, then it’s gone.”

“I made a promise to get it back—one I intend to see fulfilled.”

“What’s so important about it? What value can it possibly have that’s worth you trading your life for? Or mine?”

“They’re using it to build a portal. Once that’s done, they’ll bring more of their own kind here. Right now there are only a few of them, and you’ve seen the devastation they’ve caused. What do you think will happen if untold numbers of their kind can simply walk through a portal and end up in our own backyard?”

Since the night she’d escaped, Simone had made it a point to spend as little time thinking about those creatures as possible. It had been an act of willpower to keep her mind away from the evil puzzle they created. Like a tongue going to a newly chipped tooth, her thoughts always strayed back to them and why they might be here, over and over again until she was filled with helpless anger and debilitating fear.

“You can’t tell me that you don’t want to stop that from happening,” said Brighton.

“It falls firmly into the column of things labeled Not My Problem.”

“And that’s good enough for you?” he asked. “They kill someone you love and you don’t give a damn?”

A flurry of rage took over her limbs, giving them a burst of power. Before she even recognized what she was doing, she had Brighton pinned against a tiny strip of wall near the doorway to the bathroom. Her forearm was against his throat, and the single, perfect knife a fraction of an inch away from his eye.

“They took everything from me. Everything. When they were done with me, there wasn’t enough left of me to fight.”

He wasn’t scared of the knife. He didn’t try to push her away. He didn’t even blink. “You seem fine now.”

“Yeah? Well, looks can be deceiving.”

His chest expanded with a breath, making her acutely aware of just how much of her was pressed against him. Hard, masculine contours flattened her breasts. Her thigh brushed his, and the heat of him sank right through her riding leathers.

That small part of him was hers now, connecting them in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “If there’s anyone left on this planet that you care about, then you owe it to them to shut down that portal before it’s finished.”

He was right. She’d been running away for a long time now. At first it had been all she could do, but now that she’d healed—mostly—there were no more excuses.

She shoved away from him, breathing deeply to depressurize some of the intense vibes this man threw off. “Tell me about the job.”

She could almost hear his sigh of relief. Whether it was due to her moving the knife or because of her interest in the job, she couldn’t tell.

“There’s an abandoned warehouse a couple hours’ drive from here. They’re using it to hide their work, but I . . . felt what they were doing.”

“Felt?” She peeked over her shoulder.

He waved a dismissive hand and shook his head. “It’s this thing I can do—sensing the innate powers within an object. And the portal they’re building is powerful enough that when I got within a few miles, I knew what they were doing, and that the hammer was aiding their efforts.”

“So why not just get a bunch of explosives and blow the place to hell?”

“One, because gathering explosives would draw too much attention. Two, even if I had them, there’s no way I’d be able to get in and plant them without being caught. And three, chances are there are innocent people in there, being used.”

Simone knew all too well about that part. “You sure?”

“Something’s fueling their construction efforts. I really doubt it’s the local power and light company.”

“So you want me to go in and plant explosives?”

“No. I want you to steal the hammer. It’s one of the few tools around with enough juice to build something that powerful. If we take it away, then they have to stop building.”

“Until they find the next tool.”

“Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t. You stealing the hammer was the best plan I could come up with that wasn’t going to get anyone killed.”

“With a plan like that, you need me for more than just stealing.”

He frowned at her. “You don’t like my plan? Fine. Give me a better one.”

“For starters, we could let someone else deal with it.”

“Who? The police?”

“Of course not. The Fractogasts would plow through them.”

“Then who?”

“I hear rumors about a group of people arming up to deal with the threat.”

“The militia?”

“Yeah. You’ve heard of them, too?”

“I am one of them. And we’re not a group of superheroes who are going to swoop in and save the day. We’re just people. Like you. We’re all trying to do what we can to fight back the invasion.”

“Well, hell. For a while there, I actually had some hope that someone was in charge.”

“Someone is in charge, but we’re stretched thin. It’s one of the reasons I reached out to you for help. If we’re going to have any chance of winning, we need more people fighting—people who know the score.”

“I don’t fight for free.”

“Why do you think I spent the last several weeks working my ass off eighteen hours a day to make that purse to your ridiculously demanding standards?”

The way he said it made her sound like a greedy harpy instead of a savvy businesswoman.

Luckily, the pang of guilt didn’t last long. “You’ll thank me for my high standards if I agree to do the job.”

“My offer is on the table. Do you want it or not?”

She wanted that purse and the knives. And if she was completely honest with herself, she wanted to kill every Fractogast she could get her hands on. Slowly.

The only downside was the risk. Not that she was risking much. The life she’d carved out for herself since Jeremy’s death hadn’t exactly been a happy, shiny place.

“Fine,” she told him. “I’ll help you. It’s obvious you’ll get yourself killed if I don’t tag along.”

Sarcasm honed a sharp edge on his tone. “I’m sure my death would cost you many sleepless nights.”

“I would mourn the loss of that purse. And the knives.”

“We can’t have that now, can we?”

“Nope.”

“So, you’re in?”

“All the way. But if you die doing something stupid, the purse is mine. Deal?” She held out her hand to shake on it.

Brighton wrapped his fingers around hers and held on tight. She felt warm, work-roughened patches of skin graze across nerve endings she’d thought long dead. A tiny little spark of feminine interest zinged along her palm and into her wrist, shocking the hell out of her.

How long had it been since she’d felt that? Too many years to remember, and every one of them had sucked.

Feeling like a dirty cheater, she jerked her hand away and wiped it on her thigh.

“I don’t have cooties,” he said, half grinning at her actions.

“You drive. I’ll follow behind on my bike.”

Well out of reach of Marcus Brighton and those magic hands.

Marcus spent the two-hour drive gathering his wits. Something he’d done had spooked Simone, and the last thing he needed was for her to be distracted on this job. Even if she did come up with some ingenious plan, they were still risking their lives.

He parked on top of a hill overlooking the industrial park where the Fractogasts worked. His windshield wipers cut through the fine coating of drizzle a passing rainstorm had left behind.

There were few lights below—only a red pool here and there dotting the darkness. Just enough for human eyes to function.

The passenger door of his RV opened and Simone glided into the seat next to his.

He made it a point not to look at her and distract himself with her beauty. Even so, the wild, spring-storm scent of her wrapped around him, demanding attention.

“This is the place?” she asked.

“Yes. I can feel the portal they’re building.”

“Handy trick.”

He spared her a quick glance. Her dark hair was pulled back and bound at the nape of her neck with a barrette. Power shimmered from the copper clip, but the trace was too small for him to figure out what kind of magic the hair adornment held.

“The device is nearly complete.”

“How nearly?” she asked.

“No way for me to be sure. Days? Hours?”

“Give me a minute to scout the place out. When I’ve found a way in, I’ll come back for you.”

She already had the door open before he grabbed her arm. Hot leather and firm, feminine muscles teased his hand, forcing him to fight the urge to let his fingers wander. He’d spent thousands of hours touching leather, enjoying its texture and suppleness, but never before had any surface intrigued him half as much as what lay beneath her biker’s jacket.

Simone stared at his hand as if she couldn’t believe he’d dared to touch her.

It took him a second to steady his voice so it wouldn’t come out as a prepubescent squeak. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Your willingness to restrain an armed woman seems to support the theory.”

He lifted his hand, but settled it on the back of her seat—close enough to stop her if she tried to bolt again. “You weren’t going to scout. You were going in there alone.”

A smile twinkled in her smoky green eyes and curled at the edge of her mouth. “Guess you’re not an idiot.”

“We go in together. You’ll never be able to pick out the hammer from all the other tools. And what if there’s something else in there that’s important? Something powerful? Can you sense innate magic within an object?”

“My skills tend to lean more toward sensing monetary value.”

“Money means nothing to the Fractogasts. Only power.”

She glanced away, and he saw her slender throat move as if choking back unwanted emotion. “We should go if we’re going to do this. We need the cover of darkness. The human shells don’t have great eyesight, and slipping by them is our only chance at getting in undetected. If you’re going in with me, I’ll need to know how to hide you.”

He held out his hand, palm up. “Take my hand. When you activate the invisibility power, I’ll vanish, just like your clothes and everything else attached to you.”

“That’s it? That’s the big trick?”

Marcus shrugged. “Touch first, activate second. If you weren’t such a loner, you would have already figured it out by now. Not my fault.”

“Are you any good with weapons?”

“Just one. It’s in the back.”

“Then get it. If things go bad, you’re going to need it. While you do, I’m going to set up our safety net.”

“Safety net?”

She waved away his question. “It’s a need-to-know kind of thing, and you don’t.”

“Just hurry up. We’re running out of time.”

3

Simone couldn’t help but think of her dead husband as she scouted for the best entrance. The building below was crawling with human shells—those drained of life. They shambled about, shuffling on failing limbs. Zombie puppets controlled by the Fractogasts.

Jeremy had been a shell just like them, and no matter how many times she told herself what she’d done would have been what he wanted, she still felt sick every time she remembered the feel of her blade slicing into the body of the man she’d loved.

A deep sense of loss flowed over her, leaving behind a fresh layer of anger. No matter how much time passed since that night, her rage never faded. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but her brain must have been defective, because losing Jeremy hadn’t gotten any easier to bear. All she’d managed to do was hide it better. Shove it down. Pretend she’d gotten over it.

It was the only way to survive in her desolate new world, where everything that mattered had been ripped from her. Who wanted to hire a thief who was always just one heartbeat away from snapping under the strain of her grief?

Then again, maybe those who were desperate, stupid, or slimy enough to hire a professional thief didn’t give a shit how unstable she was so long as she got the job done.

Which she did. Every time. And this one would be no different.

After she finished setting up their safety net, she hurried back to the RV on top of the hill and lifted her binoculars.

Red lights flickered below before steadying out in a constant glow once more.

Simone knew what that flicker meant. Some poor humans down there were being squeezed dry of every spark of magic coursing through them. As they died, the stream of power faltered, causing the lights to flicker.

Either that, or the ’Gasts were firing up something that sucked a lot of juice.

“Time to go,” she told Brighton as she lowered her binoculars.

He loped down the RV stairs, carrying the red purse and balancing a wood-chopping ax on one wide shoulder. The wedge gleamed under the moonlight, its edge honed to razor sharpness.

“Really?” she asked. “An ax?”

He slipped the haft through a leather loop at his belt. “Don’t scoff. It works.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just keep that thing swinging away from me. I’m not looking for a haircut. Or worse.”

He tossed the red purse toward her. She caught it and held it close. “You’re not worried I’ll just turn and run?”

“Not if you want the magic to keep working. It’s a gift. For the night.”

“Or if you die,” she reminded him.

His dimple appeared as a flicker of a smile came and went. “Sure, though I’m not planning on letting that happen tonight. Sorry.”

“How do you know I won’t just kill you?”

“Guess I don’t. You ready?”

His trust made her pause. After a too-long moment, she nodded, pulled her attention away from Brighton, and put it where it belonged—on the job. “We’ll approach from the south. There are fewer shells on that side. Plus there’s a light out, which will help.”

“Why should we care about the light? You have magic boots that make us invisible.”

“Yes, but they don’t do squat for hiding footprints. The pavement around the building is wet. Each step we take will cause water to wick up as we step away, making our prints shiny and visible for a few seconds.”

“Right. Guess I didn’t think about that.”

She transferred a few necessary items she carried to the purse and looped the leather strap across her chest. “Which is why you hired me—to think of the things a law-abiding citizen doesn’t.”

“Southern approach it is. What about when we get inside?”

“All you have to do is follow my orders. Do what I say, when I say, and we’ll get out alive.”

“You get off on being bossy, don’t you?”

She gave him a level stare—the one she knew could render most men mute. “No. When I get off, I’m a lot louder than this.”

His jaw went slack, but to his credit, he recovered almost immediately. He gave himself a little shake and repositioned the ax. “You enjoyed that far too much.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I love my work.”

And before he could call her out for her lie, she broke into a jog.

Simone skirted the edge of some trees and brush that hadn’t been mowed down for development. The air had cooled from the rain, leaving her fingers chilled. Her riding gloves were back with her bike, so she shoved her hands in her pockets while she waited for Brighton to catch up.

His footsteps were quieter than she would have expected for a man his size. The damp leaves and twigs covering the ground kept the crunch factor down, but his sheer weight should have caused sticks to snap underfoot.

From the corner of her eye, she caught the gleam of his ax as he moved in beside her. “I see three shells,” he said.

She pointed toward a stack of rotting wooden pallets. “There’s a fourth. The way he’s leaning makes me think one of his legs might be out of commission.”

“No shoe, either.”

“I don’t see any weapons.”

Brighton pulled in a deep breath, and the expansion of his chest made his jacket graze hers for a second. She didn’t know what it was about this man, but he demanded way too much of her attention.

“They don’t really need weapons,” he said. “Besides, fingers and toes are often the first parts to give out after the eyes. Most of the older shells couldn’t hold a weapon if they wanted.”

Simone had almost become like them, shuffling around, mindlessly doing as they were ordered to do. Intellectually, she knew that the shells moving around down there were not people. Whatever spirit or soul that had made them who they were had disappeared long ago. The thing that was left behind was hollow and empty.

But even though they weren’t human anymore, they still looked human. Their hearts still pounded. Their lungs still breathed. Whatever the ’Gasts did to them kept their bodies alive as well as any medical equipment around. At least for a while.

As she watched, the shell near the pallets took a step and fell over. For several awful seconds, it struggled to regain its footing, but its body was so degraded that every movement was awkward and weak.

A low, furious rumble emanated from Brighton’s chest. “I’m going to put them out of their misery.”

She shifted her position, bodily blocking his path. “No, you’re not. You go killing shells and the ’Gasts will know we’re here.”

“I can’t just leave them like that. I owe them the peace of death.”

“They’re already dead,” she told him. “Nothing left but meat and bones.” At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

“No one knows that for sure.”

“I do.”

She felt him go still. “How?”

That single, tiny word fell on her with the weight of the world. She wasn’t about to spill her guts to a man she’d just met, but at the same time, ignoring his question would only make him more curious. Instead, she gave him the vaguest answer she could. “I’ve gotten close enough to look them in the eyes. I’m sure.”

“Well, I’m not. And until I am, I’m going to end the suffering of every shell I find.”

“You do that, and we’re dead. No hammer, no purse, no living to fight another day. And worse yet, our bodies will be right down there with those shells, wandering around, bumping into things until some unsuspecting human comes along for us to kill.”

He stared down at her for a long time, his mouth tight with anger, his body vibrating with restraint. “I hate it that you’re right.”

“So do I.” Her hand settled on his arm in an uncharacteristic show of sympathy. She knew better than to let herself feel anything for him—even something as simple as concern. Chances were he wouldn’t survive long if he kept messing around with the ’Gasts.

And a man like Brighton had way too much determination to do the smart thing. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be here now, about to walk into a life-or-death kind of situation.

He covered her hand with his, his skin deliciously warm.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Brighton wove his fingers through hers, chasing away the chill that lingered along her skin. “Let’s do this.”

Simone activated her boots, willing them to layer a web of invisibility over both her and Brighton. Covering his bulk took a bit of effort, but she figured out how the ability worked pretty fast. It was similar to masking whatever she held in her hands, but on a grander scale.

A shimmering wave of warmth rippled across her skin—a familiar feeling. As she waited for the echo to die down, she swore she felt something else between the ripples. It was subtle, but it left the scent of sun-warmed skin and melting chocolate in its wake, and had the distinct feeling of acknowledgment to it. Almost like a homecoming.

If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that the boots recognized their maker.

Before the odd feeling could settle in and take root, it was gone, leaving her with a job to do and not much time left to do it.

“Stay quiet,” she told him. “Move slowly and follow my lead.”

Simone set a path toward the edge of the parking lot on the southern side of the building. None of the shells saw their approach, even though they left behind a path of trampled grass and weeds.

As they got closer, the scent of rotting flesh rose up like an invisible wall, making her falter in her tracks.

Brighton let out a quiet noise somewhere between gagging and a cough as his fingers tightened around hers.

She did the best she could to hold her breath as they slipped between the shells milling about.

Not only was the door on this side of the building cracked open, but it was broken. The handle had been snapped off—likely by one of the clumsy shells. No need for the set of lock picks tucked in the purse.

She waited until the shells were turned away, searching for signs of people approaching, then slipped through the door. It eased shut behind them.

Red lights gave the hallway a bloody glow. Smears of mud and worse dirtied the tile floor, proving that shells moved this way often. There were a few trails leading into the row of offices along this side of the building, but most of the filth went straight toward a pair of double doors about twenty yards away.

The doors swung inward, and what used to be a woman shuffled through, her sluggish steps sliding through the muck.

Her black hair had once been in a ponytail, but was now hanging askew with bits of leaves clinging to the elastic band. Several buttons on her blouse were undone, and the tail on one side was hanging over her slim skirt. Beneath torn panty hose, dirt stained her knees. There was a gash on one ankle that had scabbed over, but was swollen and red with infection.

Simone simply stared, all logical thought slipping from her head. In the space of a split second, she told herself half a dozen different stories about who this woman had been. A schoolteacher who’d devoted her life to children, an executive who’d taken the wrong turn while attending a business meeting out of town, a soccer mom on her way to pick up a kid from a friend’s house . . .

Simone wondered who this woman had left behind, and if those people who’d loved her even knew what had happened to her.

The shell kept coming. A few more seconds and she would run right into Simone and Brighton. And yet she stood frozen, unable to get past the loss the woman represented.

Brighton’s body quivered with anxiety. He gave Simone’s hand a squeeze as if to tell her to pull it together. She’d ordered him to follow her lead and yet here she was, not leading.

Still her mind reeled at the loss. How many lives had been shattered because of what the ’Gasts had stolen?

One second Simone was standing there, too overwhelmed to move. The next she was pressed against a cool door with Brighton’s bulk pinning her in place. He didn’t let go of her hand, which caused their arms to twist awkwardly between them. Her breasts flattened against his forearm. The blunt, wide edge of the ax dug into her skin. His thigh was wedged between hers, their clothes doing little to shield her from his heat.

Within the shimmering web that cloaked them from sight, she could make out his bulging jawline. Her nose was only inches from a thick vein in his neck, pulsing with his heartbeat. She could smell his skin and the hint of soap clinging to him.

For one insane moment, she wanted to snuggle right in and bury her face in the crook of his shoulder. Just like she used to do with Jeremy.

The thought trickled through her like ice water, making her body go stiff. She suffered through the stab of betrayal, accepting it as her due punishment.

“Stay still,” he whispered right into her ear, so close she knew the sound wouldn’t travel.

Simone forced her body to relax, forced her breathing to even out so that her frantic panting wouldn’t be heard by the passing shell.

The exterior door at the end of the hall opened and shut as the shell left.

Brighton’s heavy body eased away from hers, and he looked down at her with fury riding his features. In the red lighting, his eyes glinted with a fiery blaze. “What the hell was that? You nearly got us killed.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“It better not. I’m not dying in here tonight. Got it?”

Simone nodded and gave him a shove with her arm—just enough to get him to back off, taking his intriguing, distracting scent with him. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Before he could argue, she tugged on his hand, dragging him along with her.

She pushed the swinging doors open just enough to peer through a narrow crack. A low hum and the scent of ozone struck her like a slap in the face.

She’d been surrounded by that once before. Trapped, with no way to escape what was being done to her. That smell had shoved its way into her nose, stronger than the stench of rotting shells ever could be. She’d choked on it, knowing that she would die doing so—that the smell would stop only when she was dead.

Her body began to shake, and her breath became a constricted, terrified pant.

Brighton pulled her back from the swinging doors. His voice was harsh, conflicting with his grip on her chin. He tipped her face up so she had no choice but to look at him.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he told her. “You clearly can’t handle this.”

Simone dug deep, using her pride to fuel her recovery. She forced her lungs to relax, taking slow, even breaths. After a couple, she felt stronger, steadier. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not even close.”

“Go back if you want, but I’m finishing the job.”

His mouth went hard, but he gave a tight nod. “One more freak-out and I’m tossing you over my shoulder and carrying you out.”

She ignored his threat and slipped a knife from the purse. The reassuring weight of the weapon comforted her and gave her the confidence she needed to push the swinging door open again.

This time, she let the assault of sounds and smells hit her and pass right by. She focused on what she saw, forcing herself to think only of tactics. All that mattered was finding that hammer and getting the hell out. Simple. Easy.

The room on the other side of the doors was large, with high ceilings and exposed metal beams. Red light pooled in the center of the space, leaving the edges cloaked in murky darkness. A small number of shells wandered around a raised platform. Some worked to assemble scaffolding while others ran thick lengths of translucent rope along the floor.

In the center of the platform was an oddly shaped ring about twenty feet high. It was held upright by steel beams and heavy wires. A single section of the ring was missing, as if it had yet to be put in place.

On either side of the platform were two more of those oddly misshapen rings about seven feet in diameter. They stood upright, suspended by thick cables. Clear wires bristled from the outside edge of the ring, feeding into a heavy translucent rope that snaked up onto the platform. That rope pulsed with light at about the same pace as her heartbeat.

Inside each ring was a human, held in place by wide metal bands around the wrists, ankles, and waist. With every pulse of light in that rope, both bodies jerked as if hit by an electrical current.

Simone knew what that felt like—having her will ripped from her, bit by bit. Thoughts were stripped away. Pieces of her life taken. Second by second, the machine stole all the parts of her that made her who she was.

She had no idea what the Fractogasts wanted with those stolen pieces, but the second the machine she was in broke down, everything had snapped back into place, restoring her.

Not everyone was so lucky. Those who stayed strapped inside the machine until the process was complete came out as the empty shells surrounding this building, doing the bidding of the ’Gasts.

The same thing was going to happen to the two people only a few feet away.

The woman on the left was older, pudgy, with thin white hair. Her head was slumped forward, giving Simone no way to accurately judge her age. From the awkward angle of her neck, there was a good chance she wasn’t even conscious anymore—a small blessing.

The guy on the right was just a kid—maybe nineteen at most. His lean frame was tense as he fought against his bonds. His mouth was open as if he were trying to scream, but no sound came out—only a furious hiss of air, as if he’d lost his voice.

Simone knew there was no chance in hell of him breaking free, no matter how strong he was. Judging by the steady pulses of light flowing through the tubes coming from his ring, he hadn’t been there long. There was still a lot of fight left in him. For now.

The horror of what she witnessed sank into her, making her sick. These people were dying, and there wasn’t a thing she could do to help them. Not unless she wanted to be right where they were.

Again.

Escaping once had been enough of a miracle for her to know it wouldn’t happen a second time. And she’d rather slit her own throat than let those creatures use her again.

Brighton shifted his weight toward the Fractogasts’ victims. His body quivered with rage, and she knew that she had to stop him before he did something stupid.

With a rough pull on his hand, she got his attention, forcing him to look at her. Her voice was quiet, but hard. “No. They’ll kill you.”

Anger twisted his lips. Hot color flushed across his cheeks, and he seemed to grow bigger in his fury. “We have to save them.”

Her hold on his hand tightened. “All we can do is get ourselves killed.”

He looked over his shoulder, back at the victims. The light pulsing out from the woman’s ring was fading visibly as they stood there.

Once again Brighton surged forward, so she slipped in front of him and put her knife to his chest. “No. I won’t let you end up in one of those machines.”

Before he could respond, swinging doors on the far side of the room opened, and two Fractogasts lumbered in. They headed straight for the raised platform without even glancing at their victims, as if those humans were of no more importance than the walls or the floor.

They were easily nine feet tall. Spindly, with thin, reflective skin that showed off the structure of bones and tendons beneath. Their arms and legs were long, even for their frames, giving them a dangerous reach and leverage.

As she watched, one of them grabbed a piece of metal on a table six feet away without even having to lean. He fit that piece into the opening of the ring, completing it. The second one picked up two paddles connected to the translucent ropes and pressed them to either side of that metal plate until it began to glow, and white-hot sparks radiated from the structure.

As the light from the sparks hit the Fractogasts’ bodies, rainbows bounced off the tiny prisms that coated their skin. The effect was beautiful. Almost hypnotic.

The spiky, glasslike hair on their narrow heads picked up the light and transmitted it to the ends until they glowed with an array of colors. Like fiber-optic filaments, each strand captured a tiny glow at the tip, giving them each a mane of rainbows.

The deadliest creatures were often the most beautiful, and that certainly held true in this case.

As the heat built, a Fractogast lifted his arm and slammed a tool on the glowing metal. More sparks sprayed out, and beside her, Brighton shifted in agitation.

“That’s the hammer,” he whispered.

Simone looked closer and sure enough, in the fist of the ’Gast was a sturdy hammer. It looked more like a child’s toy in such a giant grip, but with each pounding strike, the metal section being added to the ring bent easily under the hammer’s force.

After only a few seconds, the hammering stopped, leaving the final section of the ring in place.

One of the shells picked up an armful of discarded, tangled wire and headed their way.

Simone pushed Brighton back, out of the way of the swinging doors. As soon as the shell passed, she darted forward, slipping through the door on the backswing.

They both made it through, but the disruption of the motion of the door was obvious.

One of the ’Gasts tilted its head to the side. Its tiny black eyes focused in their direction.

Simone held her breath, willing the gaze of the ’Gast to pass over them. Brighton’s thumb stroked across the back of her hand, silently offering her reassurance.

She knew they couldn’t see her, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t figure out she was there.

She checked the ground at their feet, searching for anything that might give away their presence. The dirt on the floor was too scuffed and smeared for her to make out any one distinct set of prints. If she and Brighton veered off into the dusty, unused areas, that might give them away, but as long as they stayed in the well-traveled areas, they would be fine.

She hoped.

The ’Gast let out a string of clicks, and several shells stopped what they were doing and shambled toward where she and Brighton stood.

Simone knew that if they stayed put, eventually one of the shells would bump into them by sheer chance.

Time to move.

She tugged on Brighton’s hand, pulling him forward, closer to the ’Gasts. By the time the shells made it to where she and Brighton had been standing, they were ten feet closer to the hammer. And to the Fractogasts.

She waited until the ’Gasts were convinced that all was well and went back to work before she rose up to whisper to Brighton. She was close enough that her lips grazed his skin as she spoke. “Boom in ten.”

He mouthed the question. Boom?

She put a single finger to her mouth, nodding.

Tension radiated from his body. Whether he was nervous because of the impending boom, or if it had more to do with him fighting his urge to save those poor souls, she couldn’t be sure. And she wasn’t about to speak more than absolutely necessary to find out.

The pair of small detonators in her purse were easy to reach, even one-handed. She flipped open the safety cover on the leftmost one and pushed the button.

A second later, a deep, rumbling boom shook the ground beneath her boots.

Brighton’s arm came around her, his grip strong enough to drive the air from her lungs. He spun her body, putting his own between her and the blast.

Immediately, shells began hurrying toward the noise on the northern side of the building. Both ’Gasts abandoned their post, shoving their human puppets aside as they funneled out of the room.

Within seconds the space was empty.

“What was that?” asked Brighton.

“Safety net. We’ll only have a few seconds before they figure out it was just a distraction.”

“You get the hammer. I’ll get the people.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but it was too late. He’d already let go and was at the side of the young man, unbuckling the metal bands holding him in place.

Simone released the effort it took to remain invisible so Brighton would be able to find her. She sprinted for the platform and grabbed the handle of the red-hot hammer.

He lifted the kid down and held him on his feet while he regained his balance. He tried to talk, but no sound came out.

“Just hang on,” said Brighton. “We’ll be out of here in a second.”

Brighton thrust the kid at Simone, forcing her to set the hammer down by her foot so she could hold the kid up without burning him.

He clung to her, and the desperation in his grip was one she remembered all too well.

Brighton stopped in the process of freeing the older woman. “She’s gone,” he said.

“Not for long. They’ll start her heart and lungs back up again as soon as they see she’s dead.”

The Fractogasts would reanimate her body, just like they had all the rest.

“Can you stand?” she asked the kid.

He nodded and braced his feet apart.

“Did you know that woman?” she asked.

He shook his head.

Good. She didn’t want the kid to have any more scars than he already would.

She pulled out a knife and went to the woman’s side. With one well-aimed thrust, the blade slid in between her ribs, severing a major artery near her heart.

The ’Gasts might have been able to keep bodies moving, but they couldn’t repair that kind of damage. The old woman would never be used again.

“Time to go,” said Brighton, grabbing the hammer from the floor.

She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to cloak all three of them, but she was sure as hell going to try.

She took the kid’s hand just as another giant Fractogast lumbered out from a connecting hallway.

Reflexes honed from years of self-preservation had her hiding her presence instantly. The kid shimmered out of sight right along with her.

Brighton, however, was still visible.

The ’Gast saw him. Its beady eyes flared in recognition and it headed straight for him.

4

Marcus stepped in front of Simone and the boy as they vanished from sight. “Run,” he whispered. “I’ll hold them off.”

He briefly considered giving her the hammer, but it would have been visible, giving away her location. Assuming she was even still within arm’s reach.

Marcus hoped like hell she wasn’t.

As the Fractogast closed the distance, he pulled his ax from the loop on his belt, slid the hammer in its place, and rolled his wide shoulders. In an instant, all of the training his father had forced on him came roaring back.

A fluid strength filled his limbs, leaving no room for fear. He fixed his grip on the haft and swung like his life depended on it. Which was fitting.

The creature’s long arms gave it an unfair advantage. Marcus misjudged the ’Gast’s reach and took a heavy blow to the side of his head for the mistake. He was so stunned by the hit, he didn’t realize that he’d been airborne until he landed. Hard.

His shoulder rammed into the device that had just drained that old lady. The whole ring rocked on its cables, detaching luminous filaments in a shower of sparks.

His body crumpled to the ground, unable to move. His ears rang, and he wasn’t even sure which way was up.

Pain finally caught up with the trauma he’d just endured, and the left side of his body began to throb as if it were still being pounded.

Marcus took the pain as proof he was still alive, and pushed himself up, using his ax as a cane.

The ’Gast was almost within reach again. Another slug like the last one, and Marcus wasn’t sure he’d be able to get back up.

A quick glance around the room showed nowhere to hide. The darkened corners and the space behind a giant shipping container would only cage him and serve as a surface the ’Gast could bounce him off.

Running was an option, but for all he knew, he’d head right into another Fractogast and have two to deal with. Or a pile of shells. Those weren’t the kind of odds he’d survive.

So he did the only thing he could think to do. He backed up onto the raised platform to where the newly finished ring stood.

Energy emanated from the thing, blasting him with a wave of mental heat as he approached. The machine was powerful. Now that he was close, he could sense that not only had it been completed; it had also been activated.

This was the thing he’d felt before—the machine that would bring more Fractogasts to kill innocents. And it was revving up fast, getting ready to do its job.

A device this intricate and powerful had to be precious to the Fractogasts. He was counting on it.

Blood dripped along his temple. The steps leading up to the device seemed almost impossibly steep. He managed to climb them only by using the ax to steady himself.

He didn’t dare turn his back on the ’Gast. Inching backward took time, but as he got closer to the machine, the creature began to hesitate.

Rapid clicks poured from the thing’s mouth, so fast it almost sounded like the beating of insect wings. Marcus had no clue what it was saying, but the closer he got to the machine, the faster the clicks came. The steady stream of sound got louder, and the ’Gast came to a halt, holding up its elongated hands.

Marcus froze in place, trying to figure out his next move. Dizziness and pain made thinking almost impossible. As it was, they were at an awkward stalemate, and every second he held it was one more that Simone and the kid had a chance to get away. He didn’t want to do anything to mess that up. At least they could warn someone of what was about to happen.

Seconds ticked by. Two more Fractogasts entered the room. He couldn’t tell if they were the same two Simone had drawn away with her safety net or not. For all he knew, there were dozens of the things lurking in this building.

Between waves of dizziness, one thing became clear to Marcus: He wasn’t going to make it out of this alive. There were too many of them. He wasn’t fast enough to outrun those long legs. And even if he was, there were likely going to be a dozen zombie shells between here and his RV. Assuming Simone hadn’t already driven away in it.

The hammer was here. Once he died, they’d take it from his belt and use it to build another one of these machines. Unless he found a way to destroy the hammer.

There was no source of heat intense enough to melt the metal or even singe the handle. The most powerful thing in the room was the oddly shaped ring.

The area he guessed to be the control panel was completely alien. No buttons or levers. The only reason he suspected that the flat area activated the device was that he sensed a trickle of purpose coming from it that seemed to fit the bill.

Maybe if he slammed the hammer down on it hard enough, there’d be some kind of energy feedback that would shatter both objects. Or blow this place up, along with the Fractogasts who could use the hammer to build another portal.

It was a long shot, but it was the best option he could think of.

Marcus lifted the hammer to take out the panel when one of the ’Gasts screeched. He’d never heard the noise before, and it made him look up for a split second—just long enough to see two human shells dragging Simone’s unconscious body in by her boots.

Her dark hair fanned out behind her, sweeping through the muck on the tile. She was too pale, and a deep, bloody gash bisected her hairline.

The closest Fractogast picked her up as if she weighed no more than a doll. It held her limp body in one arm and wrapped its spindly fingers around her neck.

Its gaze swung back around, the message clear: If Marcus destroyed the device, the Fractogast would do the same to Simone.

5

Simone woke in the arms of the creature that had killed her husband. Maybe it wasn’t the specific one who’d drained Jeremy of his life, but a detail like that hardly mattered right now.

The Fractogast’s skin was rough, like heavy-duty sandpaper. There was no give, no cushion to its limbs, and they were cool to the touch. It gave off the faint smell of burning hair, and each small shift of its body made a low crunching sound that set her teeth on edge.

She’d never been this close to one before, and now that she was, she was reevaluating her initial opinion that they were beautiful creatures.

In a distant part of her brain that was just now waking up, she realized that she wasn’t afraid. Pissed off? Yes. Disgusted? Big yes. But there was no fear.

What could this creature do to her that was any worse than taking from her the man she loved, and killing their unborn child? Everything she loved had been stolen. All the thing could do now was kill her, and that was a pale comparison to the hell she’d already endured.

Her head throbbed. She felt the wet trickle of blood cooling along her hairline. A slow pitch and roll of nausea sloshed in her gut.

She tried to sit up to ease the queasiness, but the ’Gast’s grip on her throat kept her immobile.

“Simone?” came a voice she recognized.

Brighton. He was across the room on the platform, that hammer raised in threat.

“Hold on. I’ll get us out of here.” Confidence rang in his tone, making her laugh at the ridiculousness of his claim.

“Yeah, you get right on that. I’ll just be here, hanging out.”

The ’Gast holding her screeched, and gave her a hard shake. Her head nearly split apart with the sound.

“You leave her the fuck alone,” warned Brighton. “You hurt her and your precious machine will be in pieces before you can stop me.”

The machine—the one that was going to let more of these murderous Fractogasts crawl through. It was glowing and whirring like it had been fired up.

More people would die. More husbands. More children.

Like hell.

A fiery wave of anger burst in her chest, clearing away the fog that had left her passive and compliant. No way was she going to let these things win. Sure, maybe the idea of dying didn’t scare her that much, but what about that kid they’d saved? What about his mother? His father? They were afraid of death. They all had something to lose.

There were a lot of happy families out there, and Simone wasn’t going to let even one more of them get ripped apart by these creatures the way hers had.

She shifted in the Fractogast’s grip, moving just enough to reach the knife in her purse. She didn’t know if these things had a soft spot, but she was going to find out.

The ’Gast’s beady eyes were fixed on Brighton, like he was the only threat in the room. From somewhere across the space, she heard another of those grating screams, but the warning came too late.

She plunged her knife up, aiming for the ’Gast’s throat, right under its chin. The blade barely penetrated the skin, but it was enough of a shock to make the thing drop her like a hot rock.

Simone hit the ground hard. She tried to roll away, but the blow to the head had left her dizzy and clumsy. Instead of getting out of the range of those giant feet, she managed to make it only about two yards before she rolled right into the body of the old woman.

The shadow of the Fractogast’s foot passed over her. Brighton shouted her name in frantic warning.

Simone slipped another knife from her boot and leveled it just as the platter-sized foot came crashing down.

The blade skewered its foot, shoving the butt of the knife into her chest.

One of her ribs cracked. The ’Gast reeled back and toppled over. It landed in a pile of discarded metal. Something snapped as loud as a tree branch breaking.

When she looked, she saw that the ’Gast was still. Dead or disabled. She really didn’t care so long as it wasn’t coming after her anymore.

Two more of the things surged forward.

Brighton yelled, “Stop!” at them, raising his hammer a few more inches in warning.

They stopped.

“You’re going to run, Simone. The boots will make you fast. Hide you. I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’m not leaving you behind again.”

“Just go. Now.”

She’d already left him once to get the kid out. She could have kept running then, but something in her—something she had thought long dead—forced her to turn around. There was still some life left in her. Some goodness. Some fight.

A whole lot of fight.

She pushed herself to her feet, swaying. Bloody hair fell into her eyes. She didn’t bother to wipe it away. Every bit of strength she had left she needed to kill these fuckers.

Safety net number two was still in the purse. “Boom incoming.”

“What are you doing?” asked Brighton. “Get out of here.”

“I’m improvising. Be ready to run.”

“I’m not leaving until this machine is disabled.”

“We’ll disable it after we leave.”

“Explosives?” he asked. “It might not work.”

“Explosives always work.” If she used enough of them.

“It took a magic hammer to build this thing. It may also take magic to destroy it.”

“I’m all out of magical C-4. Sorry. We’ll have to take our chances.”

“Not this time, Simone. I’m sorry.” With that apology hanging in the air, he slammed the hammer down onto the machine.

Both Fractogasts screeched in fury and lunged forward.

Simone ran toward Brighton as she flung one of her throwing knives at the ’Gast in front. The blade bounced off its skin, but its attention shifted to her.

Brighton swung the hammer again, only this time, the machine’s pitch rose as if it were speeding up. Flickering lights inside the oddly shaped ring began to glow brighter, turning the charging ’Gasts’ skin to rainbows.

The effect sent a wave of dizziness spinning in her skull. She grabbed the edge of the raised platform where Brighton stood to steady herself. He was nearly within her reach now, but he was also in reach of the ’Gasts.

“Behind you!” she yelled.

Brighton ducked just as a massive backswing came whooshing in. The blow knocked the hammer from his hand and sent it flying her way.

Simone jumped, going higher than she ever could have without the magical aid of the boots. The hammer hit her in the chest, causing a flicker of pain to light up her brain.

Something in there was definitely broken.

When she landed, the pain made her stumble, but she held on to the hot hammer.

The machine’s whir became a scream. The spinning lights spun faster.

Brighton rolled off the platform and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her to her feet and out of the way of the next swinging blow.

One ’Gast was at the machine, its big hands moving in a desperate attempt to fix the damage Brighton had done. The other was coming for them, too fast for them to get away.

They backed up to where the dead Fractogast was sprawled.

Brighton ripped the knives from its skin and handed them to her as they kept backing away. “Give me the hammer.”

“You’re not going back up there.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

They squeezed between the wall and a metal shipping container. The ’Gast tried to reach them, but even its long arms weren’t long enough.

Simone stepped forward and stabbed at its fingers, just to give it pause.

“I won’t let you kill yourself,” she told him.

“Better me than someone else.”

“I’ve got a brick of C-4 in my pouch, all rigged and ready to blow. Let that do the work while we run like hell.”

“If I was sure it would work, I’d be all for it.”

The ’Gast tried again to reach them, this time from the opposite side. Brighton pulled her out of the way just in time to stop it from grabbing her by the hair.

He pulled the C-4 from her purse. She was too busy fending off the ’Gast to stop him, and hadn’t bothered to use the purse’s magic to hide it from him.

Within seconds, he had the hammer attached to the brick of explosives with a discarded length of wire. “I wish I had some duct tape, but this will have to do.”

He tucked the slim detonator in her pocket. “When I yell, blow it up.”

“Oh, no. I’m not blowing you up. You want to do this? We go together.”

She grabbed his hand and willed the boots to cloak them from sight. Then she pushed him out from behind the shipping container.

The ’Gast trying to cop a feel had its head turned away to extend its reach. It didn’t see that they were gone until they were halfway across the room.

Neither of them said anything as they hurried toward the screaming machine. Not that their voices would have been heard over that horrible sound.

The ’Gast by the control panel was still working as fast as its lumbering arms could go, but there was a change in its demeanor. There was no longer the quivering haste of fear. Instead, the thing was moving with excitement.

Brighton hadn’t destroyed the machine after all.

Through the oddly shaped ring and flickering lights, she could see movement. The space in the middle of the ring was darker than the rest of the room. The bloody glow of red lights didn’t touch it. Even so, she could see a mass of elongated arms and legs, sparkling with tiny crystals.

There were Fractogasts waiting on the other side of wherever that machine led. Lots of them.

As they approached, one spindly arm reached through the center of the ring.

A clicking cheer rose up, louder than the machine’s screeching parts.

The doorway was open.

Brighton ducked under that hand and jammed the brick of C-4 beneath the bottom edge of the ring. The hammer was wedged against the flickering metal, ready to become magical shrapnel.

A long leg appeared from the ring, and then a foot landed only inches from Brighton.

Simone tugged on his hand. If they didn’t go now, one of those things was going to step on them.

They jumped off the platform, coming face-to-gut with the ’Gast that had been trying to reach them.

She wasn’t going to be able to avoid a collision. There wasn’t time.

Brighton grabbed her around the middle and spun her away from the thing’s path. She had no idea how he’d managed the feat, but his grip shifted her broken rib and set her chest on fire.

A startled gasp escaped her chest.

The ’Gast halted in midstride and turned around. The few shells that had finally shambled back after being distracted by the blast headed their way.

“Run,” whispered Brighton.

She was still wheezing, unsure if she could make her body obey her commands. Not that it mattered much. Brighton was hauling her out with one arm, practically lifting her off the ground.

Her chest burned. Each labored breath was like a knife stabbing her side.

He looked over his shoulder, and she could feel the change in his stride. He went faster, forcing her to come along.

“Trigger the bomb,” he ordered. “Now.”

She looked back and saw spewing from the ring a steady stream of Fractogasts. More than she could count. Their limbs melded together like a pile of rainbow-colored pickup sticks.

They were clumped up, nice and close. But they wouldn’t be for long.

She fumbled with one hand to find the trigger in her pocket. With a flip of the safety cap and a single press of the button, the room behind them exploded.

Simone flew forward, going airborne. Brighton’s weight was at her back, and a second later it was on her back.

Her head bounced once on the concrete floor, and all the lights went out.

6

Two weeks later

Marcus winced in pain as he shifted his bag of groceries to unlock the back door to his RV. He still wasn’t fully recovered, but each day was a little better. He kept wondering if Simone was healing, too. Every attempt he’d made to contact her had failed.

A warm breeze grazed his skin, bringing with it the scent of spring. The isolated piece of land he owned wasn’t much, but it gave him a place to park, a faint sense of home, and room to work in peace. No one knew where he lived, which was exactly the way he liked it.

He pushed through the door and set his groceries down near the fridge.

“Hey,” came a sexy, feminine voice with just a hint of a rasp to it.

There, lying on his narrow bed, with her back against his headboard and her stolen boots crossed at the ankle, was Simone.

Marcus paused in the act of reaching for the refrigerator’s handle, letting his shock settle.

She looked good. Safe. And sexy as hell garbed in a clinging leather bodice and complete confidence.

He hadn’t been allowed to see her after dropping her off at the hospital. He could tell by the way the staff was looking at him that they thought he’d been the one to beat her up. In a way they were right, which only added to how guilty he looked.

By the time they’d finished patching him up and he’d evaded all the questions he could about what had happened to them, she was gone. Against medical advice.

He was still angry over her leaving him to worry, and it came out in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Unfinished business.”

Anger evaporated as a string of interesting thoughts slipped through his mind, each one more inappropriate than the last. He didn’t normally let himself veer off into the gutter like that, but then again, most women weren’t built like Simone Solange—for both speed and comfort.

She slid from his bed, the move far too slow and sinuous for his peace of mind. Even with the faint bruises marring her cheek, and the pinkish scar along her hairline, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

And probably the most dangerous.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

She smiled, and her appeal went to eleven. “Not important.” She grabbed a box sitting on his bedside table and sauntered into the main cabin. “Here. This is yours.”

Marcus took the box, uncertain if he wanted to open it. After what he’d put her through, he couldn’t imagine there being anything good inside.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Nope. I’m not in the mood to fight a pile of poisonous snakes right now.”

She frowned. “You think I want to hurt you?”

“I got you hurt when I coerced you to take the job.”

She snorted. “Coerced? You’re good, but you’re not that good.” She opened the box, pulled from it the purse he’d made and shoved it at him. “Here. Take it back.”

“What? Why?”

“The purse for the hammer. That was the deal. No hammer, no purse.”

“Wait. You stole the boots outright and won’t give those back, but I give you a purse for risking your life and you return it?”

“I earned the boots. Stole them fair and square. And the one knife. The other two are in there.”

Frustration rubbed along his skin, not because she’d taken one of the knives his dad had made, but because she was completely insane. “Really? That makes sense to you?”

She shrugged, and the motion drew his attention to the line of her neck. A few bruises lingered there, too, reminding him of just how terrified he’d been when that Fractogast had grabbed her by the throat. “You lost something precious to you. If I’d been better, it wouldn’t have happened. Every time I look at the purse it’s going to remind me of how I failed.”

He took the cool leather in his hands. He’d spent so many hours working on it, his fingers tingled in memory. It was like that sometimes, with his best work—almost like the object recognized him.

Marcus looped the strap of the purse over her head. “Just take it. And when you look at it, remember how you saved that kid. How we got out alive. How we blew that machine up beyond repair.”

“But the hammer is gone.”

“And will never again be used by those fuckers. I’m okay with that.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Then get over it, because I’m not taking the purse back. I made it for you. I want you to have it, even if you have to consider it a gift.”

“A gift, huh?” She ran her finger over the pattern he’d tooled into the leather.

What he wouldn’t have given to have her stroke him like that.

“It’s been a long time since anyone has given me anything.”

“Good, then. It’s settled.” At least he hoped. “Want to stay for dinner?”

She froze, shedding all her natural, fluid warmth. “I don’t think so. Places to go and all that.”

He’d scared her. With an invitation to dinner. After watching her face down a room full of Fractogasts, that seemed inconceivable.

“I promise to be a perfect gentleman.” No matter how much willpower it cost him.

She stared up at him, biting her bottom lip. He could see her quivering on the edge of giving in, but as soon as her eyes lowered, he knew he’d lost. “I should go. Rain check?”

“Sure. You obviously know how to find me.”

“Thanks for the purse. I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t. After the beating you took, we’re more than even.”

Her smoky green gaze hit him again, and this time he actually swayed with the force of it. She was so unbelievably beautiful it made him forget that the rest of the world even existed.

Simone looped her arms around his neck, went up on tiptoe, and pressed a kiss against his lips. It lasted only a second, and it was completely chaste, but it still felt scorching hot and rocked him down to his boots.

His lips tingled, and he felt a stirring of power lingering just beneath his skin.

When she was done shifting the ground under his feet, she let go and took a small step back. “I always repay my debts, Brighton. Call me if you need me.”

“I don’t have your number. It took me weeks to find you last time. If you hadn’t responded to my online messages—”

She pressed one slender finger against his lips. “Call my name. I’ll hear you. You’re not the only one with special talents, you know.”

That’s when he realized what she’d done. That kiss had left him with a gift—the ability to summon her.

Marcus was blown away by her trust. “You sure you want to give me such power?”

She moved past him, heading toward the door. “Too late now. Just give me a few weeks for the rib to heal before you run into trouble again, okay?”

She left the RV, and it suddenly felt empty. Too empty.

He hurried down the steps, around to the back side of the RV, where she’d parked her motorcycle out of sight, and held out his hand. “Give it back.”

A look of complete, shocked innocence covered her lovely face. “What?”

“The belt you stole.”

She gave him a slow, sexy smile as she fished the belt out from the back of her tight bodice. “You’re catching on, Brighton. There might be hope for you yet.”