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REPOST: Atlanta Heat, from the RESCUE ME Anthology (Macey's Story) |
| Name: |
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Roni (posting as Lora) |
| Date Posted: |
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Jun 21, 08 - 11:52 AM |
| Email: |
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loraleigh2@aol.com |
| Website: |
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http://www.loraleigh.com |
| Message: |
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For Sticky purposes.....
Be kind, its unedited. :)
Macey crouched in the corner of the shadowed warehouse and toldhimself it was all in a days work. He would get through it because he didn’t have a choice, and he would do it right because that was the only way he knew how to do things. Even when he fucked up, he always made itright in the end. And answering the Admiral’s call at midnight was his chance.
He’d fucked up last month. He hadn’t just lost rank for messing with the wrong woman, but he had walked away from the woman as well. Dumb move. Hell, the Admiral had every right to be pissed when he demanded to know Macey’s intentions toward his goddaughter. He’d just caught Macey in a rather explicitly compromising position with her.
Unfortunately, Macey hadn’t had the right answers, so to say he was surprised when the Admiral called to assign him to the mission to rescue her was an understatement. But as the Admiral had known, there was no keeping the information from him. There was no keeping him away from her.
It was partially his fault after all. The remnants of a terrorist and white slavery organization he had helped to destroy were now striking back at the Senator because of his part in the assassination of the head of that organization. And his goddaughter was his only weak spot.
“Remind me put your names on my birthday card list,” Emerson Delaney’s voice was soft and sweet, sugary coated and so gently southern it sounded ridiculously out of place here. “What was your name again? Mo, Larry or Curly?”
The sound of flesh hitting flesh sent his blood temperature rising. Fine, she was a smart ass, that was no reason to hit her, and some bastard inside that warehouse had hit her. He was killing the bastard that dared to touch her.
“You Miss Delaney, are in no position to sneer.” The accented voice was cold, purposeful. “You will pay for your godfather’s crimes.”
“Melodamatics,” she seemed to wheeze. “Pure melodramatics. Is that a French flaw or just your charming personality?”
The bastard hit her again. Macey knew he was going to move before the bastard put a bullet in her head.
Blood was going to spill tonight, and it wouldn’t be Emerson’s. He’d already made his mind that the woman was his, he had only to stake his claim and convince her of it. But first they had to get her out of here. At least he had the element of surprise. The men who had kidnapped her from her bed had no clue that their route to the warehouse had been followed.
He turned to the SEAL behind him, meeting the wild blue eyes of the demon stalking his ass.
Nineteen months of torture and drug experimentation on the SEAL had nearly broken him. It had definitely changed him for all time, but a year later, he was holding his own. Honed, savage, a creature of rage, but holding his own.
He held up three fingers. There were three guards posted at the entrance to the warehouse. He held up two more and pointed inside the warehouse. He was getting ready to give the command for Nathan to work his way around the other side of the warehouse when the son of a bitch held up the flat of his hand and shook his head.
Before Macey could argue, Nathan was striding around the warehouse, calm, cool as hell and crazier than a fucking loon. Son of a bitch. Macey grit his teeth again, grinding his molars and cursing crazy Irish men to hell and back.
“Hey dude, I need a light.” Nathan’s voice was ruined, slurred as he stumbled against the warehouse.
“Get the fuck out of here,” one of the guards cursed.
Macey peeked around, trained his weapon on the three guards.
As the first guard shuddered violently, Macey saw Nathan’s knife gleam in the darkness a second before he buried it in a smooth, hard upward strike into the heart. The guard gasped, then appeared to stagger with Nathan’s weight, taking him closer to the other two.
Three seconds later blood coated the asphalt and three French nationals, one of which had Embassy clearance, Macey had been informed, were propped up against the wall as Nathan moved into place beside the door, his demon’s eyes glaring across the distance.
Who needed a team of SEALs. Nathan might be a tad mentally unstable in Macey’s opinion, but he was a hell of a killer now. And that sucked. It used to be that Nathan shed blood only when there was no other alternative. Now, he killed without mercy, and with expediency. He gave nothing or no one a chance to strike first. |
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