Page 5 of Craved

And the desperate hope that one day I would see him again.

What’s that saying? Be careful what you wish for…

About the time I was undertaking my early SOC assignments, intel began coming in about Group Ultra. About its leader, Killion Lambert, and about the underworld talent he was recruiting.

For the most part, the participants in Group Ultra were unknown, especially the higher ups. A few names leaked out—undoubtedly aliases—but no descriptions at all. For all intents and purposes, nobody knew anything about Group Ultra except the name of its leader and the fact that it existed.

But then an undercover MI6 agent who’d been trying to infiltrate the organization had managed to capture a single image on a micro-camera embedded in a ring. He hadn’t made it out alive, but the ring was still on the body when it was found floating in the Thames.

British intelligence recovered the ring along with the image, then shared it with allies, one of whom got it to the SOC. The image was blurry, but I recognized him. And MI6 confirmed that the man was Maxim Wilder, an agent whom they’d recruited years ago.

An agent who had gone rogue, then aligned himself with Killion Lambert.

That was how I’d learned that Maxim not only had dual citizenship, but that he’d left me because he’d been recruited by British intelligence.

And that was also how I’d learned that Maxim had joined Group Ultra, betraying his country, mine, and me along with it.

The intelligence community may not know a lot about Group Ultra, but a few things are certain: First, that Killion Lambert is the group’s leader. Second, that Maxim Wilder stands at Lambert’s right hand. Third, that Group Ultra is plotting massive genocide with the ultimate goal of a worldwide dictatorship ruling over the significantly reduced population. And, finally, that the group is dangerously close to finalizing a weapon that could make all of that happen.

Scary shit.

And one hell of a lot of pressure on my relatively thin shoulders.

Chapter Three

“I still don’t think you should be going on a mission like this alone,” Brax says, pacing my kitchen. “I’m going to talk to Ryan again.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” I toe out the chair that Sabrina abandoned and put my feet up. Ostensibly, she left to run errands. In reality, she left to give Brax and me time to talk. “How many times has a team tried to get close to Group Ultra? It never works. But this…I can get in. I may be the only one who can get anywhere close to Maxim.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

I shrug. “True. But we have to try. You know it as well as I do.”

“I don’t like it,” he says.

“Oh, well, if Braxton Reed doesn’t like it…”

I can tell from the tightness in his jaw as he comes toward me that he’s fighting back a snappy retort. He stops only inches away, his hazel eyes trapping me as he scowls his familiar scowl. The one he pulls out when he’s in big brother mode, even though we’re only four months apart.

“I don’t like it,” he repeats, then reaches to take the plait of hair from my hand. “And you don’t like it either.”

I’m caught out, and we both know it. It’s a habit of mine; when I’m nervous or thinking, I pull a hank of hair over my shoulder and braid it. Stupid, but when I was a little girl and my dad put me in the closet for punishment, there wasn’t much else to do. Not many options in the dark, after all.

Of course, by the time I was eight, he took away even that bit of self-soothing with the simple expediency of buzz-cutting my hair. Which, according to my various shrinks over the years, is another reason I like my hair long.

Yup. The day I ran away with Maxim was the best day of my life. And the possibility that he’s now at the center of something so vile absolutely breaks my heart.

“Fine.” I sigh, then aim a grimace at Brax. “You’re right. I don’t like it much either. So why don’t you trot on over to the phone and call Ryan to outline your better plan?”

“Yeah, well, that’s the kicker.” He grabs two bottles of beer from the fridge, then sits in the chair his wife abandoned. He opens them both with a pop against the edge of my table, then passes one to me. It’s barely noon, but I take it.

“Ryan and I went round and round with this,” Brax says. “We’re fresh out of better plans.” He takes a long slug, swallows, then rubs his hands over his face, looking both miserable and exhausted. “It’s just that this is dangerous shit.”

“That’s what we signed up for. I’m pretty sure that’s what the paperwork said way back when we were recruited. The Dangerous Shit Squad.”

He chuckles. “God, I love you.”

“Back at you. But don’t let Brina know. Let her go on believing she’s your one, true love.”