AMIDST THE CATS CRADLE - 7

C H A P T E R S E V E N - - - G W E N

When the intelligence operatives arrived the following day to take Gwen for more interrogation, she was still breathing normally. Although their goodbyes had been swift and amusing, as one would frequently witness in encounters between SEALs and Marines, Gwen yet felt a tiny bit uneasy about leaving the two muscular cougars.

She assumed that Mitch and Jordan shared her opinion based on their prolonged expressions of regret. Since they spent the entire night in one other's arms, fucking, kissing, laughing, and enjoying it, neither of them had gotten any sleep. But Gwen no longer missed her sleep. She did, however, miss the Allen brothers as soon as they vanished from view.

She bit her lip and sat down in the rear of the huge armored car being driven by unremarkable agents and traveling in an unclear route. In any other circumstance, she would have been extremely hesitant about getting in the automobile because there was a partition board between her and the front seats. She had taken a leap of faith, though, since Mitch and Jordan both assured her that everything would be OK and because they knew the men driving.

It's unlikely that she would have had a choice. This much was obvious.

She grinned longingly as she fiddled with her dog tags; it was a nervous habit she had developed in boot camp and had never broken. When she closed her eyes, images of Mitch and Jordan's hot, sweaty bodies flashed before her, and she couldn't help but bite her lower lip a little as she saw them both licking her skin, their tongues slithering over her thighs or back, or their fingers spreading her pussy open for them.

Several hours later, when the automobile finally arrived at its destination, Gwen was still feeling a little heated and anxious since the memories were still so fresh in her mind.

I had to find them again, she reasoned, vowing to do it as soon as she was back on familiar territory, back home.

They hadn't explicitly said that they would contact me. It was meant to be a one-night stand with no ties attached, but the more she thought about the sexy werecougars, the more she suspected there was something there. Because she was in the military, she couldn't have a "regular" relationship, but maybe having some lengthy contact with sinfully delectable shifter Alpha twins was just strange enough to work.

A harsh voice said, "Miss Neeson," as the door was unlocked and opened. "If you will only follow me."

She stepped out of the car, frowning slightly as she followed the tall, slim man in front of her. Gwen noticed two guards behind her—her drivers—and the scenario felt more like being brought into a jail cell than being led in for some pleasant interrogation.

Everything is fine. She told herself, taking a big breath, that they were the good ones.

They were in some sort of a big, well-lit and entirely bland-looking building. The car had been driven into a garage that looked more like a hanger, but as soon as they reached the first corridor, all the similarities ended. The ceilings were not very high and the hallways were gray and narrow. She had to imagine that the men behind her had to walk single-file to fit, as they were both beefy-looking operatives.

“Where are we going?” she asked after a while, one winding hall leading into the next.

No one answered.

She was finally shown into a room with an obvious one-way mirror, a table, and two chairs.

“Please take a seat, Miss,” the ghostly looking man told her, closing the door behind her the moment she stepped in and locking it behind her as well.

“That’s some real genuine hospitality,” she mumbled with a snort, her gaze tracking across the room.

There was a spot on the ceiling she supposed hid a camera, though why they needed it with the one-way mirror was beyond her. If anything, the whole scene made her feel uncomfortable and she wished she could be back with Squad Six, swapping war stories and laughing as they’d done over breakfast. The whole group was made out of good guys and she’d felt immediately welcome, even if Jerome seemed to reserve judgment for later, for obvious reasons.

It was another minute or so before Gwen was joined by another person. She had taken a seat as instructed, choosing to humor her somewhat melodramatic hosts, when the man walked in. Tall, slender, and it took one look at him for Gwen to figure out she didn’t like the guy. It was like he brought winter along with him. The room suddenly felt entirely cold because of his mirthless presence.

Icy green eyes, jet-black hair, and high cheekbones and a slim nose made up the face of a man who would have been thought handsome by any standards, but the look in his eyes voided it all for Gwen. He was a hunter, a ruthless one, and not the kind of man who would take pity on anyone. She’d been around enough psychos to guess that much. Though when he smiled, a smirk befitting a bony skull rather than a man, there was some softness to him. Like a hint of a man who could have once cared about something, just underneath the surface.

“Miss Neeson. I hear our appreciation is in order,” he spoke, his voice even, maybe a bit too much inflection considering the way he eyed her like a snake planning his dinner. “We at The Firm are very thankful for your assistance in getting that plane down on the ground in one piece.”

“I don’t doubt you would have figured something out if I hadn’t been there. Squad Six seems like they have their shit handled,” Gwen said, inclining her head a little.

Her brows were furrowed, and though she tried to keep the mistrust off of her expression, it was easier said than done. This man, dressed in black and holding himself as if a nuclear strike at his feet would not faze him, raised her hackles and sent every alarm bell blaring in her head.

“Ah yes. Squad Six. Always the ones in trouble,” he mused softly, taking a seat across from her. “Tell me, Gwen... I can call you Gwen, yes?”

“I’d rather you—”

“Excellent. Do you have any idea why you were on that flight, Gwen?” he asked, tapping his fingertips on the table once, twice, catching her attention with the motion of his long digits.

She felt irritation bubbling inside; the man was being both insufferable and rude all at the same time. It was no minor feat, considering that Gwen thought herself a pretty laid-back, calm individual when it came to dealing with gigantic egos.

“I have no idea. I’ve told your investigators several times. The whole story went like this: I was supposed to get on my plane heading for Laguna, but I was turned back at the gate and told to board the other one. The stewardess met me at the door, walked me on, and that’s all I know. I figured it was some sort of a system error, but since the plane was still going where I needed to be, I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Not even when you checked your surroundings and found yourself sharing a flight with only men, and football players at that?” he queried, a bemused smile on his face now.

“We both know they weren’t only jocks,” Gwen scoffed, leaning back in the chair a little.

It might have been a subconscious effort to put some distance between them. Every fiber in her being was telling her that though she’d been attacked on the plane before by a man certainly looking to kill her, she was only now face-to-face with someone truly dangerous.

“Regardless. You couldn’t have known that then, could you?”

“That’s true. I wanted to fall asleep and wake up in Laguna. I honestly don’t know why things went as they did, but if you find out, I’d love to know.”

She gave him a stern look and when he arched a brow, a feeling struck Gwen. He knew more than he was letting on. Pressing her lush lips into a thin line, she gave him a once-over again. His muscles were relaxed and he was as at ease as a shark, without a care in the world. He didn’t look like a man who needed answers from her, but more like someone who had all of them already and was simply there to see if she could guess any of them.“Would you say it was rather lucky you were there? And even more so that you seemed to be unaffected by the gas?” he queried, tapping his fingers again.

“I wouldn’t say it was lucky, no. Lucky would have been if the gas hadn’t gone off at all, or if the only pilot available knew how to really fly something as big as a 747. Ground control talked me through most of it to be honest. I think any of the Squad Six boys would have done a job just as good.”

“Unlikely,” the man said, firmly.

“But I was affected by the gas. Only reason I was okay was because I got a mask off of one of the attackers. The Arctics or whatever you called them. Pulled it off his face as he was brought down. I still got a lungful of it when another guy came at me, ripping it off.”

“You don’t say,” he answered, sounding thoroughly interested, though Gwen had no doubt he must have already known about that from her earlier reports. He didn’t look dumb, so she wondered why he was playing dumb. “And how did it feel, this gas?”

“Disorienting,” Gwen replied, brow furrowing. “Like I wanted to do something bad, but I was at the same time exhausted and angry and pumped up. I didn’t get too much of it and I held my breath, which is what I think helped, compared to the rest of the people on board. But it made me more… animated, I guess?”

“Mm-hmm. And did you enjoy your time with Squad Six?” he asked, suddenly changing the topic as if they’d been talking about the Blackhawks and he’d remembered he’d lost a bet or something.

“They’re good guys, yeah,” she said, considering him dubiously. “Why?”

“Oh, curious. Some of our former female guests have had a tendency of liking some of them a little bit too much. But I’m sure that’s not in your character, Gwen,” he spoke, with all the poise of a cobra trying to entice someone to come at him.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business. I don’t even know your name. Do you think it’s wise for you to start calling me a whore already?”

“Those are your words, not mine,” he said, grinning.

In hindsight, Gwen wasn’t entirely sure what made her do it. It might have been the last hints of the gas in her nervous system, it might have just been the fact that she had always hated people who chose to be assholes when plenty of other options were available to them, or it might have just been because his face was entirely punchable. In any case, she whipped up and out of her chair and her fist was flying at his nose before she knew better.

As fast as she’d been, he seemed three times as swift. The man was up, his strong hand clamped around her wrist like a vise, yanking her arm back as he grabbed her by the shoulder, slamming her face-first on the table while still standing across from her. Gwen gasped, her cheek against the cold surface, her body painfully restrained with her arm snagged up and behind her, straining against the socket.

“Fucking let go of me,” she hissed, trying to slither out of his grip, but the man gave her no room to struggle.

“Listen now, Gwen. That’s no way to treat your superior,” he spoke in his calm voice, not the least bit winded or worn.

“I don’t fucking work for you,” she growled, full of spite.

“Yes, you do. You just don’t know it yet,” he said softly, letting go of her arm and grabbing her by the scruff of her neck like she was some stray kitten.

He yanked her back, his hand twisting around until it was clutching her throat, pressing down just right so her air was cut off, squeezing despite her hands clawing for him.

“Now now, kitty cat. Stop with the claws. I could break your neck right now, but I’m not. No one lays a hand on me unless requested and I’ve killed better men for lesser slights. But I like you. I like your spirit. And whether you know this or not, you will be very valuable to me very soon.”

With that, he let her go, completely ignoring the deep gashes she’d left along his forearm and the bruise that was already forming on his bicep from a punch that would have rattled most men twice his size. She crumpled into her seat, wheezing, eyes wild as she looked at this despicable monster before her, clad in fucking Armani and looking like the world owed him too many favors to count.

“The fuck’s wrong with you,” she hacked, clutching her throat.

Another ten or so seconds and she would have passed out cold. She was entirely certain that this dangerous animal she’d been stuck in a small room with was very well aware of this.

“Tsk, tsk, Gwen. Let’s not dwell on the problem, but the solution, shall we? I have a solution for all your problems, the ones you have and the ones I can give you, and all you need to do is listen.”

He smirked, smoothing the sleeve of his shirt back over his mangled arm, blood slowly seeping into the fabric where she’d ripped at him.

“It’s not like I have a choice, do I?” she huffed back, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“There’s always a choice,” he said, lowering himself into the seat with the poise of a king. “You listen to me, or you die. Nothing more to it.”

She didn’t know it then, but the man across from her would easily become both her biggest nightmare and her staunchest supporter. Though his support often took the form of misery, and the nightmares he weaved twice as much.

His name was Ace. And like everyone else that had ever met him, she hated him on sight.