Page 3 of He Is Jensen: Part Two

An alarm sounds in the office, a custom high-tech warning the guards a windwalker has appeared on the property. Shit. Tad. It has to be that bastard but he’s not due to collect his ICE payment for days. I reach for the remote on the nearby desk and turn on the security monitor hanging high in one corner, flipping to the outdoor channel when Tad appears inside the office, grabs Sabrina and yanks her back to his front, her eyes wide with fear, but even ICED up, she’s smart enough not to fight back. Or she’s smart enough now. She crossed Tad one time and ended up backhanded with the force of his GTECH strength and flung across the room.

He’s well over six feet with a smushed face and hard body, fueled by alien DNA.

“We need to talk.” Tad’s tone is downright blistering.

I grit my teeth. “I’m listening.”

“Layla Walters,” he says, offering nothing more.

And of course, he doesn’t need to anyway. I know her name. I know her face. Tad, or rather Julian, has commanded me to find her and capture her. Why he’s not doing that himself I don’t know, but for reasons yet to be determined, the woman scared the crap out of Tad and his Zodius cronies which I find more than a little interesting. What could one little woman do to a Zodius Nation?

I arch a brow. “What of her?”

Tad’s hand strokes Sabrina’s hair as if she were his pet. “You were to keep her away from ICE. You were to bring her to me. Tonight, she not only found her way to an ICE dealer, she found her way into the path of a Renegade.”

“That’s impossible,” I snap. “None of my dealers gave that woman ICE. They don’t randomly deal. Not anymore.”

“Ah,” Tad purrs, “but they did.” He tosses a DVD at me that hits the floor at my feet with a loud clank. Idiot. Who uses DVDs in a modern world? “That came from your club where your men lured her to a back warehouse.”

“We don’t have male dealers,” Sabrina defends. “That’s ridiculous.”

Tad makes her pay for speaking, yanking her hair with a force that has her biting her lip, and whimpering. “Then a user,” Tad amends, staring down at her a moment before his eyes meet mine. “One of your customers, which means you have no control, and that’s unacceptable. If you can’t do your job, I’ll get someone who can.”

“Any customer who sells a dose of ICE does not get a replacement,” I assure him. “That means a dangerous withdrawal. I find it hard to believe that any man would be that foolish over a piece of ass,” I say despite the fact that I’m not convinced withdrawal is really what’s killing the addicts, the Clanners, as we call them, but I’m making it work in my favor anyway, convincing users that my boost makes dosing safer.

Fucking beautiful. Worked like a charm. And Julian isn’t getting a dime of my profits.

“You watch the DVD,” Tad orders, running his hand over Sabrina’s neck. “Or maybe you’d rather watch me bend your woman over the desk. She is your woman, isn’t she? She reminds me of Julian’s lifebond, Ava—red hair, stubborn.”

“I’m sure Julian would appreciate knowing you have a hard-on for his Ava,” I say dryly, an effort to get him off of Sabrina. I don’t actually give a damn if Tad screws her, but I know all too well what sex with Tad means—she could be tracked. That would be a problem. “You should have fucked this Layla chick and marked her for your Trackers, and then you wouldn’t have me trying to find her while also running the ICE distribution process.” I bend down and snatch the DVD. I’ll watch it. I want to know who the hell is pawning off ICE—if Tad had managed to get the facts right.

By the time I straightened, the DVD in hand, it’s clear there’s no saving Sabrina. Tad’s bent over the desk, ripping away her vest, all about fucking her and I silently curse. Now I’ll have to replace her and I don’t have time for this shit.

I leave him to her, and walk to the desk, sit down, and pop the DVD in an ancient computer I keep for moments like this, but my heart lurches as I’m lifted off my feet and slammed against the floor, the air knocked from my lungs. Tad’s foot plants on my ribs splintering pain following, then again. And again, before he finally flattens his boot on my chest, staring down at me. “You lie there and watch me enjoy your woman,” he orders. “Then we will discuss how you’ll repay me for your failure.”

Blood drips from the corner of my mouth, when I don’t remember being kicked in the face, but my ribs feel like blades cutting through my body, and I relish the pain. It reminds me why I have to develop my own GTECH serum. Why I have to be stronger than the likes of Tad. Then I’ll kill him and enjoy every moment.

Chapter three

Jensen

Layla is back in my arms as I carry her inside the piece-of-crap motel room the Renegades keep for surveillance reasons. It’s everything one expects from a place they never want to be to include powder blue walls and cheap furniture. I hate bringing Layla here and there’s no denying I feel protective, even possessive, of her. Like she’s mine, like she’s always been mine in some way. With a few awkward maneuvers, I manage to shut and lock the door before carrying her to the lumpy, full-sized bed with an ugly floral bedspread that’s nowhere near worthy of her. But this place is a blip on the screen, a detour to allow me to figure out why everyone is passing out around her. Then we go to Neonopolis where she will be truly safe.

She’s still in such a deep sleep, I settle her on the bed, remove her shoes, and then drag the comforter over her. Her dark hair drapes her pale, heart-shaped face, and I reach down and stroke it gently from her delicate brow. I didn’t think I had gentle in me anymore, not since those days back in the library with her. And here she is, bringing out the tenderness in me when I would have sworn it wasn’t possible. I check her pulse, finding it steady, and so is her breathing. Even her skin tone has gone from snow white to pink. The ICE is finally working.

A series of coded knocks sound on the door. I stalk across the room, rubbing my jaw, while mentally scrubbing the emotion from my face. Caleb, Creed, and Maddox, all dressed in street clothes, await me on the other side.

“You drove my fucking car,” Creed growls. “If we didn’t need you right now, I’d freaking kill you.”

I ignore him, too angry at Maddox’s presence to entertain Creed’s foul mood, my chin landing on Caleb and then Maddox. “Why is he here?”

“In case you forgot,” Maddox replies dryly. “I’m the best Tracker we have. Layla is clear. No psychic residue.”

I cut an urgent look in Creed’s direction for confirmation. Creed might be foul, but he’s a Tracker, too—not as good as Maddox, but I trust him. I do not trust Maddox.

“No residue,” Creed confirms. “But before you get all excited about what that means—check her neck for the lifebond mark. A male lifebond can shield his female from Trackers.”

My vision goes momentarily red with Creed’s words, my blood running cold. Layla—another man’s lifebond? Why does the very idea make me want to punch the wall? Caleb holds up a bag, jolting me out of my haze of anger. “Katie wants her to take the ICE in the bag that she’s already analyzed in case there’s some variation in the formula causing the fatalities. She included supplies to draw blood and some tranquilizers.”