Читать книгу Being Emerald - Sylvia Ryan - Страница 11

Ho-ly Crap. Laila had thought no man could look sexier than Rock, when she’d finally gotten a good look at him yesterday before the meeting. But the twenty-four-hours-ago Rock was just crushed by the right-this-second Rock, hands down.

He was broad and tanned, with water dripping from the ends of his tousled hair and landing on his shoulders. Droplets rolled seductively down his chest past so sexy nipple rings and badass tattoos. She wanted to catch the drops with her tongue. No need for that pesky towel. He was perfect. Muscled, but not too much, obviously powerful, and with an air of danger that wrapped the irresistible package up in a bow. The day she’d noticed those little gold rings in his nipples, winking in the sun as he jogged around the compound, she couldn’t drag her eyes away. She’d stolen quick glimpses of his tattoos, and wondered what words meant so much to him he had them permanently written into his skin. Good God, no man had a right to be that gorgeous. He probably had women drooling all over him. Beautiful women, like Sydney with the striking green eyes. Laila wondered how much he availed himself to them.

She was nothing special, painfully average compared to the women outside the Amber Zone. Her self-esteem had always come from her intellect. She was intelligent, but rarely does one hear a man brag about how smart his woman is. She used to be spontaneous and fun, happy. Those great qualities had disappeared since she’d left Amber.

He said, “I’ll be ready in a minute. Then, we can go.”

“Okay.” The word came out guttural. She cleared her throat quietly and continued her appreciation.

He turned just enough to give her an eyeful. Oh my God. He was circumcised. She’d never seen one like that before. Growing up in Amber, she’d seen many naked men up close and personal. None of them looked like that.

It answered one question about Rock. He was definitely older than she, old enough to be born in a world where medical care was available for everybody.

She was not. Laila had been one of the first babies born in New Atlanta, her mom having traveled pregnant to the relative safety of the city.

She glanced from his cock to his face and found him looking at her, the side of his mouth curling up.

“Everything okay?” He pulled pants over his muscular ass. No underwear.

“Yes.”

He buttoned, zipped, and then walked to where she sat. “Your mouth says yeah, but your face says no.”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you today.”

She nodded, happy to be distracted from the direction her thoughts had been going. Visions of military type boot camp had made her wary of mission prep for months.

His boots were set in a wide stance, anchoring girders wrapped in blue jeans. He appeared invincible. He turned and a lock of his shiny black hair fell on his forehead like a comma. Like Superman. He reached toward her and his biceps bulged under his black T-shirt. “Come on. Time to start your training.”

Laila spent the morning trying to wrangle some focus from her brain. Side by side, they leaned over a map of the eastern US while he traced the route they’d be taking. She found the size of his hands and the smell of his soap infinitely more fascinating. He taught her the mix ratio of gas and the additive that would make fuel out in the Onyx Zone useable, but she found it hard to turn her attention away from the veins hugging his forearms as he poured. The morning had been a little boring and gave her mind too much time to wander.

After lunch, they knelt side by side while he patiently taught her CPR and first aid. His words fanned over her skin when he knelt with her over the CPR dummy. His gentle brown eyes met hers every few seconds, assessing whether she understood. First aid was a hands-on activity. They spent the early afternoon in each other’s personal space. His gentle example of tourniquet tying on her upper thigh prompted goosebumps and tummy twirls with every brush of his fingers against her sensitive skin. She could be in real trouble with this man. He’d be so easy to fall in love with.

Before she knew it, it was two o’clock, and Rock let her go for the day. She scrambled down the corridor of the main building, purposely losing him. Afraid he would offer her a ride, she slipped out of OZ without saying goodbye.

The streets were relatively empty during the trek from one end of the Emerald Zone to the other. The heavy military presence kept the streets absent of terrified civilians. It wasn’t far. The zone was small, a residential neighborhood, a strip mall and various military and governmental compounds.

Bizarre. She was calm. Maybe because she’d had a lot of time to mentally prepare. Next month would mark a year since the organizers of the Sapphire Resistance, Jordan Ford and Kate O’Connor, visited her apartment. Thanks to the video piece about the mission, it was common knowledge Laila was going to be given Emerald status before she left for DC. Her Emerald designation gave her entry to places inaccessible to most. They recruited her for the Emerald Zone cell.

Fast moving clouds threatened rain, so Laila wasn’t melting in the midday sun. The trip took less than an hour, but by the time she arrived at the Peacekeeper Compound, a faint headache rooted at the back of her neck and radiated outward in all directions.

In her office upstairs, she changed into a full, flowing skirt and a camisole, checked her hair, and then spent some time just sitting, cooling off.

She’d never been called to do anything for the Resistance, like so many other women had. No, they’d saved her, squirreled her away for the time she’d be transferred to Emerald.

Her time had come. And she was terrified. Right now, her focus wasn’t on the mission to retrieve artifacts, but on mustering the courage she’d need to complete her assigned Resistance tasks.

Finally, Laila took a deep breath and opened the door.

Morgan’s office was in the same building as hers, but on a different floor. She headed toward the elevator. Since the failed attempt on his life, he was paranoid of everybody and kept himself well guarded, making him increasingly hard to get to. The building was a dead zone, and few people had access to the compound or the man. Even Morgan’s own Guard were restricted unless assigned to work there. The Gov must have deemed her non-threatening to have placed her office in the same building. If she didn’t accomplish this task, it most likely wouldn’t get done.

The high-pitched ringing in her ears was more distinct in the utter silence of the elevator. A bell chimed, and the doors opened.

She traveled down the corridor to General Morgan’s office, her heart beating double time against the steady rhythm of her footfalls. The stark fluorescent lighting clashed with the bright white floor, exacerbating her headache to tremendous proportions. She felt as if she was advancing on her own execution, instead of a life threatening game of cat and mouse.

Maybe she was.

When she’d pledged her support to Jordan all those months ago, she’d been aware she’d be chosen to complete dangerous assignments when the time was right. This was important, and meant more than mere loyalty to the cause. Laila dreamed about seeing her mom again. For that to happen, the Gov had to fall.

Stopping in front of the two guards standing outside of his offices, she ran her sweaty hands down the front of her skirt. “I need a moment of the General’s time, if he’s available.”

The soldier nodded and touched his earbud. “Sir, Laila Lewis is here to see you.” He listened. “Yes, sir,” he said, then to her, “I’m sorry, Miss Lewis, but I have to search you for weapons before you go in. Spread your arms, please.” He didn’t wait for her consent before resting his hands on her shoulders, and didn’t look sorry while he slowly ran his hand over every part of her body, including her breasts and crotch. When he was done, he winked at her.

“Liked that, did you?” she asked in monotone.

He ogled her then opened the outer door to Morgan’s prison-like office space, glanced back at her and nodded. “Go on in.”

When the outer door closed behind her, she moved forward to the steel door in front. Placing her hand on the knob, she waited for the buzz to indicate the lock was disengaged. Instead, the door swung open.

“Laila, this is quite a pleasant surprise,” the General said with a disfigured smile and elaborate wave to come inside. He leered down her body.

She stepped away from him. Impossibly, her heart hammered harder and faster. Maybe his behavior at the meeting hadn’t been exclusively for Rock’s benefit.

“Sir, I was hoping I could ask a favor.”

“Of course.” He closed the door behind her, stepped back around his desk and sat. “Sit. Sit.” He motioned to a chair.

The large slab of wood between them lessened the swell of panic at his nearness, though her heartbeat still surged, thumping hard at the base of her throat. She rubbed her clammy palms on her skirt and pulled the tiny microphone from the pocket as she sat.

Morgan folded his hands on his desk and focused his cold, crystal blue eyes on her. “Would you care for something to drink?” He pretended to be so civilized, perched on the top rung of the food chain, looking down on his prey and feasting on the agony of others. Always with formal manners and an even tone.

She maintained eye contact with him to avoid staring at the hideous scar marring his otherwise beautiful face. “No thank you, sir.” Her voice had quavered.

He smiled, almost imperceptibly.

She’d be dead in short order if she couldn’t stop signaling how petrified she was.

“So what can I do for you?”

She fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing her legs, so planting the bug would appear to be a fidget like the ones preceding it. “Well.” She shook her head and laughed nervously. Jesus. She was a freaking basket case. “I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re a busy man.”

“Go on.”

She took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. “I know there’s a good chance I won’t make it back from the mission.” Curling her fingers under her seat, she pressed hard, hoping the adhesive side of the bug was sticky enough. After she let go, she held her breath, waiting for it to fall to the floor. Waiting for Morgan to ask her what she’d just done.