“GLOVES ARE OFF, BABY. GET READY TO HAVE YOUR ASS KICKED.”
Tingles spread through her abdomen. He moved with the deadly grace she’d seen in a panther once years ago, his steps sure, his stance aggressive. Tace and aggressive with a woman? They didn’t go together. “What is wrong with you?” she asked, keeping him squarely in her sights.
He chuckled, the sound both pissed and frustrated. “We don’t have that kind of time, darlin’.”
Darlin’. She swallowed and tried to ignore that sexy accent. Oh, he’d called her endearments before when they’d trained, but there had always been a brotherly fondness to his tone, so she’d been able to keep him in that safe slot. This was different. This tone caught her breath in her throat and shot lava through her veins, which was all sorts of bad. Her penchant for bad boys had ruined her life more than once, but never again. They had to remain colleagues if not friends. “You’ve lost your mind,” she muttered.
“No doubt about that.” He feinted in and back out.
Her head lifted, and she set her feet on the mat. “I guess the good ole boy needs a lesson.” She used the falsest Texas accent she could muster, fighting to remain in control.
His upper lip lifted just enough for her to notice. “One of us is learning a lesson tonight.”
Also by Rebecca Zanetti
The Dark Protector series
Fated
Claimed
Tempted
Hunted
Consumed
Provoked
Twisted
Shadowed
Tamed
Marked
The Realm Enforcers series
Wicked Ride
Wicked Edge
Wicked Burn
The Scorpius Syndrome series
Scorpius Rising
Mercury Striking
Shadow Falling
JUSTICE ASCENDING
REBECCA ZANETTI
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
“GLOVES ARE OFF, BABY. GET READY TO HAVE YOUR ASS KICKED.”
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Teaser chapter
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Rebecca Zanetti
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-3798-9
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3799-6
eISBN-10: 1-4201-3799-9
This one is for Alexandra Nicolajsen, who is now the Director of Social Media & Digital Sales for Kensington Publishing.
We have worked together since my very first book (Fated), and there’s no doubt in my mind that my career has progressed so well in no small part from your creative, innovative, and brilliant marketing and promotional plans.
Alex,
you’re phenomenal at your job, and you’re an even better friend.
We call you “Happy Tears” at home, because we know you care.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have many people to thank for help in getting this book to readers. I sincerely apologize to anyone I’ve forgotten.
Thank you to Big Tone for taking the kids to basketball and football and volleyball and lacrosse (our kids are seriously busy) while I wrote this book, and while also working so hard with your architecture firm. I honestly don’t know how you do it all, and I’m grateful that you do.
Thanks to our amazing kids, Gabe and Karlina. I’m so very proud of you both.
Thank you to my talented agents, Caitlin Blasdell and Liza Dawson, who have been with me from the first book and who have supported, guided, and protected me in this wild industry.
Thank you to the Kensington gang: Alicia Condon, Alexandra Nicolajsen, Vida Engstrand, Jane Nutter, Michelle Forde, Lynn Cully, Janice Rossi, Ross Plotkin, Lauren Jernigan, Gary Sunshine, Arthur Maisel, Steven Zacharius, and Adam Zacharius.
And thanks also to my constant support system: Gail and Jim English, Debbie and Travis Smith, Stephanie and Don West, Brandie and Mike Chapman, Jessica and Jonah Namson, and Kathy and Herb Zanetti.
Chapter One
The Darkness doesn’t just stare back . . . it moves forward, opens its mouth, and swallows you whole.
—Tace Justice
Tace Justice read the last depressing line on the page and growled, tossing the journal across the room. When it landed, the cover slapped back into place with Hello Kitty smiling at him. Jesus. Paper was scarce, but doc could’ve found a different notebook when she’d ordered him to start journaling. Like his descent into madness really needed to be recorded by a happy cat.
He glanced around his dismal apartment in Vanguard headquarters. Worn beige bedspread, tan couch, ripped brown linoleum that smelled like, well, nothing. Hell, it probably smelled bad, but he’d lost his sense of smell. If he wasn’t crazy already, the entire room would have depressed the shit out of him. The walls had been painted white decades ago and even now stood bare and dingy. Should he get some art to brighten the place up?
Why bother? He stood and stretched, wincing as new bruises ached to life.
They’d returned mere hours before from a full-out battle up north where they’d rescued two of their own. His adrenaline had ebbed, yet his mind still spun. No way could he sleep.
A tremor started in his right foot, and he paused, taking note. It vibrated up past his knee, and he had to balance on his other leg as weakness assailed his entire limb.
Not another tremor.
He sighed and waited, breathing in and out evenly until his strength returned. Damn it. What was wrong with him? He lacked the emotion to be truly concerned, but this was certainly annoying.
>
His bed was empty of company, and he needed to burn off some energy. At the midnight hour, the gym downstairs would be free, so he deserted the crappy apartment, leaving the door unlocked. If anybody wanted to steal his ugly bedspread, they could take it with his blessing.
He turned down the quiet hallway where the elite Vanguard soldiers slept. All was quiet. Apparently, anybody getting some had already done so, and folks were now recuperating from the fight earlier.
Reaching the landing, he hustled down a flight of stairs to the vestibule of the brick building, tuning in to the soup kitchen to the right. No breathing. The place was deserted. Pivoting sharply, he took two stairs at a time to reach the basement, which housed their makeshift gym.
“What are you doing up?” A female voice caught him unaware.
He stopped cold at the sight of Sami Steel stretching out on the blue gym mat, her dark hair piled on top of her head, her fit body in tight yoga pants and a tank top. Bruises marred her slim jaw from the fight earlier, and a purpling lump showed on her right wrist. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said, his body awakening completely. Hell, he hadn’t realized his body had been slumbering. “You?” he asked.
She breathed in, raising very nice tits. “Too keyed up from the fight earlier.”
“I’m with you.” After the fight, it had taken hours to return to Vanguard territory, so they should both have been fine by now. “We’re strange.”
She grinned, and cute lines crinkled by her soft brown eyes. “Anybody who has survived Scorpius is weird, if you ask me.”
He nodded. The Scorpius bacterium had spread through the human population like a biblical plague, killing more than 99 percent of those infected. Since the bacteria localized in the brain, it altered everyone who’d survived it. Some were faster, some meaner, some crazier, and some evil. He was still figuring out where he was landing on that spectrum, and all indications pointed to sociopathic. “You fought well earlier.”
She lifted a dark eyebrow. “Thanks, although I did notice you covering my back more than was necessary. I can kick your ass, remember?”
True. She’d been kicking his ass for months in training. The woman had been raised by a father who owned a karate studio and an uncle who owned a street fighting organization, so she’d been fighting since birth. Yet lately . . . Tace had been holding back, not wanting to hurt her. Or to take away the confidence she seemed to need. “You are tough, now, aren’t you?”
Something in his tone must’ve alerted her, because her chin lowered. “You wanna go a round?” she murmured.
His cock perked up. Damn it. He should’ve gone looking for the woman he’d been sleeping with lately, but the gym had interested him as much as sex, which was a bad sign. Lately he kept seeing Sami’s face, even with Barbara moving naked beneath him, and that could never happen. For as tough as Sami was physically, she had a delicacy of spirit he’d destroy. Right now, before he completely succumbed to his darker side, he needed to make sure they stayed colleagues. “Nah,” he said, letting his natural Texas twang free. “I don’t wanna fight.”
“Chicken,” Sami taunted, standing and pulling one arm across her chest.
His mouth went dry, but he couldn’t look away. “I, ah, was trying to write in a journal and got frustrated.” Why was he sharing?
Sami rolled her eyes and worked on the other arm. “The doc told me to start journaling, too. Said it would be good for my brain as well as a proper recording of us rebuilding civilization.”
Tace snorted. “You’ve been keeping a diary?”
“No,” Sami shot back.
Lie. Interesting. While Tace couldn’t smell things any longer, he could sure as shit make out a lie. His chest heated. Oh, he was fine with her calling him a chicken, but lying to him? The darkness inside him rose up to battle with his good intentions. “Why the hell are you so secretive?” he snapped.
Her eyes widened and then narrowed right on him. “I’m not.”
Another fucking lie. The woman had more secrets than a CIA agent he’d met once while working as a medic in the army. “I’m not the only one who can read a lie these days, sweetheart. Many of us survivors have extra abilities, it seems. You might want to watch yourself.”
Her upper lip curled. “The day I need advice from you, Justice, I’ll be sure to ask nicely.”
Oh, he wanted to sink his teeth into that pretty pink lip. He took a step back, shaking his head free of the image. This was Sami, for Pete’s sake. They were both lieutenants to Jax Mercury, the leader of Vanguard, and they needed to keep it professional. Hell, at some point, if he turned crazier, she might be present when somebody had to put him down.
“You sure you don’t wanna go a round?” she asked again, her stance wide.
His chin lowered. “I don’t think you want my hands on you right now.”
She blinked. “Oh, you are asking for a beating.”
The challenge, arrogant and annoying, barreled right through him. The beast growing in him won. He moved without thinking, grabbing her and putting her ass against the wall.
She gasped as he held her a foot or so off the ground.
He leaned into her face and smiled. “You should watch your mou—”
She chopped to his neck, and he saw stars. Two seconds later, she’d knocked him on his back, planted her ass on his abdomen, and angled her hands around his throat. “Tap out,” she snarled, straddling him.
A day ago, he would’ve tapped out. But something new and dark rose in him, hard and fast. “No.” Sweeping her arms away from his trachea, he grabbed her hip and shoved, rolling them both over. “I’m done tapping out.”
* * *
Sami’s shoulders hit the mat a second before her butt landed. Going on instinct and a lifetime of training, she struck out, nailing Tace in the throat. His head jerked back, and she rolled away, leaping to her feet. “What the fuck?” Her breath puffed out in bursts. How had he gotten to her so fast?
He angled to the left, his movements agile, his gaze on her legs. “Gloves are off, baby. Get ready to have your ass kicked.”
Tingles spread through her abdomen. He moved with the deadly grace she’d seen in a panther once years ago, his steps sure, his stance aggressive. Tace and aggressive with a woman? They didn’t go together. “What is wrong with you?” she asked, keeping him squarely in her sights.
He chuckled, the sound both pissed and frustrated. “We don’t have that kind of time, darlin’.”
Darlin’. She swallowed and tried to ignore that sexy drawl. Oh, he’d called her endearments before when they’d trained, but there had always been a brotherly fondness to his tone, so she’d been able to keep him in that safe slot. This was different. This tone caught her breath in her throat and shot lava through her veins, which was all sorts of bad. Her penchant for bad boys had ruined her life more than once, but never again. They had to remain colleagues if not friends. “You’ve lost your mind,” she muttered.
“No doubt about that.” He feinted in and back out.
Her head lifted, and she set her feet on the mat. “I guess the good ole boy needs a lesson.” She used the falsest Texas accent she could muster, fighting to remain in control.
His upper lip quirked just enough for her to notice. “One of us is learning a lesson tonight.”
All right. He’d asked for it. She inventoried him quickly. Clear eyes, fluid movements, absolute focus. The fight earlier hadn’t seemed to weaken him. At six foot four inches tall or so, he towered over her. Add in cut muscles and raw strength, and she’d need to take him to the mat to win. She also had her mouth and brain to use against him. “If you’re feeling so frisky, why didn’t you call on the doctor you were screwing? Or the second-squad soldier? The one you’ve been banging this last week.” If he just moved an inch to the left . . .
He angled to the right, his hands loose, his body relaxed. “Those were both casual and aren’t gonna work out.”
“Oh?” Keeping her peripheral gaze on his feet, Sami slid
to the left, trying not to care about his relationships ending. When he was with somebody else, she didn’t see him as a possibility, which he could not be. “Why isn’t it going to work out with the inner-city doctor?”
He lifted a broad shoulder. “We agreed on just fuckin’, and I’m getting bored. Angie wants more.”
An ankle shot would take him down, but she couldn’t put him out of commission. “Love, huh?”
“No. A good beating.”
Sami stilled. “What?”
Tace shrugged. “She likes it rough. I’ve enjoyed smacking the hell out of her ass, but I can’t bring myself to use a whip. She wants a whip, and she wants it to cut deep.”
Sami shook her head and took a step back, mentally erasing the image of Tace delivering a sexual spanking. Her chest heated. “She’s a masochist?”
“I guess.”
“But you’re not a sadist.” This conversation had taken a serious detour. Why were they talking about sex?
“Guess not.” He rubbed his chin, his gaze traveling across her body. “Though the right woman could probably talk me into it.”
Sami held up a hand, her skin tingling where his gaze had landed. “Whoa. I do not want to be whipped.”