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| STRIPPED AWAY Nothing gives Quinn a rush like hunting and vanquishing the very demons that changed her life. But lately something is off. Way off. Nightmares she can’t explain, irrational fears surfacing at the most unexpected moments. And when her twin sister vanishes, Quinn’s world starts to come apart at the seams. Since becoming an agent for the Shadow Destroyers, Braxton has excelled at playing by the rules. Until, in a moment of weakness, he let his common sense desert him for one night in Quinn’s arms. A night she doesn’t remember. For weeks he’s kept their relationship strictly professional, but seeing Quinn so edgy and lost puts his telepathic abilities—and his restraint—to the test. As the search for her sister intensifies and everything Quinn thought she knew comes into question, Braxton seems to be the one true thing she can hold onto. Until she discovers he’s been keeping a very big secret of his own. One that may destroy her trust just when she needs him the most. CHAPTER ONE The sound of her own scream woke her. Quinn bolted upright, fighting an invisible enemy. Her heart bashed the inside of her ribs and she kicked at the sheets tangled around her legs. She hit the floor with a jarring impact, and regained her footing in the next instant, sweeping a sharp gaze around the room. She closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. Another nightmare. Fuck . She sat down and pushed back the sweaty hair tangled around her face, her hands still trembling. Talking to the agency shrink obviously wasn't getting her anywhere. Just her luck that they had their customary post-assignment session scheduled for tomorrow. She glanced at the clock. Make that later today. The first rays of dawn peeked through the middle of the drapes she'd yanked together before falling into bed last night. She wasn't in the mood for a sunny morning today. Rain would be a better fit. It had been raining in her nightmare. One of the few details that lingered after the other images faded. Maybe a little sun wouldn't be so bad after all. With the same grim determination she'd clung to since the recurring nightmares started two months ago, she headed for the bathroom, stripping out of her usual nighttime wear of a T-shirt and panties. She couldn't get warm enough as she stepped under the spray. An invisible chill crawled under her skin and even cranking the faucet until she whimpered from the hot water didn't release the icy tension grappled around her muscles. Hell of a way to start the day. By the time she dried off and dressed, stuffed a change of clothes in her duffle bag and downed a bottle of Mountain Dew, she was halfway to normal. On the way out the door, she dialed Jordan to see if the other agent was up for some time in the training room before debriefing. A half-stale bagel still tucked in a crumpled zip-lock bag became a quick breakfast. As usual, she let her thoughts drift as she navigated the morning traffic, cranking the radio up until the hard wails of Nickelback threatened to shatter the windshield. Loud music was a blessing. It helped drown out all the voices and sounds that sometimes overwhelmed her heightened senses—all thanks to the gift she came away with after a near fatal brush with a stealth demon. The whole violent encounter aside—one she never thought about unless she had to—it had been one of those life-changing moments. Rather like seeing those poor saps on televised evangelical shows where one touch from the hand of some preacher rocked their world. Somehow Quinn doubted their experiences were quite so life-altering as her own. The small investment firm that doubled as a front company for their center of operations lent a somber, yet professional outward appearance that would never lead anyone to believe it was but one of dozens of field offices within the secretive Shadow Destroyer network. A group that was a little too secretive in Quinn's opinion. Outside of their immediate superior, Rae, and a handful of other agents she'd crossed paths with while on assignment, everyone else within the network was unknown to her. The small underground garage required only a keycard at its outward entrance. She fished through her bag and came up empty. One she'd apparently left at home. Wonderful. Shooting a hope upward that Braxton wouldn't be the one to answer the call, she hit the button next to the slot on the gate. A few seconds passed, and then the gate lifted without whoever was on the other end lobbing a sarcastic barb about her forgetting the damn card again. Hoping it was Jordan who let her through, Quinn parked in her usual spot and made it to the elevator only to realize she'd left her duffle bag in the back of the car. She turned around to go back and came up short as a familiar candy-apple red Mustang came around the corner. Quinn spun on her heel and strode for the elevator. She could go back for her bag later. Later when Braxton wasn't parking right next to her car. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when she'd started avoiding him. Not that she had any issues with him, except that over the past few weeks he'd made it increasingly clear her very presence annoyed the hell out of him. Once upon a time that small slice of knowledge might have brightened her day and made her seek him out just to gleefully push his buttons. Given that his usual scowl had taken on a hard edge, she found herself more than happy to steer clear. And it certainly didn't help that despite his shitty attitude, every now and then a particularly hot dream woke her in the middle of the night, proving that she still had a thing for him whether he was a total asshole or not. She punched the button on the elevator, cursing the slow-ass contraption, aware of every movement Braxton made as he drained the last of his coffee, tucked his sunglasses back in their spot atop the visor, then got out of the car. So much for avoiding boxing herself in with him first thing in the morning. He spared her little more than a nod as they waited for the elevator. This morning his brown hair was mussed from the habit he had of dragging his hand through it, his haunting golden eyes fixed on the elevator's outer doors. The scent of his soap wafted along her heightened senses, the smell teasing at the back of her memory the way it had for the last two months. As if she'd all but tasted it herself. "How was Mexico?" she asked as they moved into the elevator and she completed the retinal scan that would give them access to the main floor of their field office. Anything to keep herself from recalling the tantalizing fantasy of them being trapped in here together, one she'd indulged in on and off over the last twenty-five months. But then that was before Braxton started letting someone shove a tent pole up his ass every morning. "Warm," he finally answered, finding the grout of the tile floor infinitely more interesting than her. Right. And just like that, what little good mood had been restored after her nightmare dried up. Quinn crossed her arms and did her best to ignore that she had to breathe the same air as someone who had once at least tolerated having her around. The only saving grace was that she'd been spared from much of his attitude since they'd only been partnered on a few assignments in recent weeks. Though he'd denied that she'd done anything to embarrass either one of them when she'd been infected by a lust demon, she wasn't certain she believed him. Within days of that night, his attitude had begun to change towards her. Only one time had she demanded to know if she'd foolishly come on too strong, desperate to reassure herself she hadn't said something that would make it uncomfortable to work together. Like how much she wanted him, had wanted him since they'd started working together. In true Braxton fashion he'd politely said there was nothing to worry about, that she hadn't lost control the way she'd feared and had slept the worst of it off. If he had met her gaze at any point during the entire conversation she might not have lingering doubts that she'd done something that night that had changed things between them. A few times since then she'd started to broach the subject again only to change her mind. Given that she couldn't remember much about that night, part of her was afraid to find out what she might have to done to make him distance himself. The other part was determined not to care what Braxton's problem was. Quinn registered the soft click in the back of her mind, knew it came from farther up the shaft. A second later the elevator jolted to a stop. Which wasn't anything more than an annoyance—until the lights blinked out. Her eyes adjusted instantly, but the dark still pressed in on her, made all the worse by the knowledge she was in a small box, probably trapped between floors. Dim emergency lights clicked on, but did nothing to soothe the rapid fire pace of her heart. "What's going on?" Her jaw ached from the force of holding back the panic wedged in her throat. Nothing was lit up on the panel to indicate what floor they were on. Instead of feet separating her from the walls, the distance shrank to inches in her mind. A cold sweat broke out down her spine and dampened her palms. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and closed her eyes to feign the illusion she was in a big room. "It's just maintenance work. I remember Rae saying something about it." "Shouldn't they make sure no one is inside before they fuck around?" "Quinn?" She ignored the penetrating stare Braxton aimed at her, not finding the amber depths distracting enough to get her past the unexpected bout of claustrophobia triggered by the dark. Until two months ago, right when the nightmares started, she'd never felt the least bit uncomfortable in the elevator. Having the lights out wasn't helping matters any. A tapping she doubted Braxton could hear started somewhere up the shaft, and with every grating strike of metal against metal, an unease she couldn't explain slithered down her backbone. She snatched up the emergency phone, saw her hand shake, and thrust it at Braxton. "Tell them to stop whatever they're doing and let us out." He did as she asked, but not without another probing look that told her he was fishing for what was going through her mind. She didn't even bother to tell him to knock it off. She wanted out, and the longer she studied the roof tiles, the more appealing they were looking as a means of escape. Climbing up the shaft was movement, not being in here—trapped. Alone. But she wasn't alone. She clenched her fists at her sides and tried to reassure herself she was fine. This was fine. Brax was with her. Brax who couldn't stand her. Hell, she was probably better off alone. A bitter laugh trickled over the fear that coated her tongue, and Braxton arched a brow. Having replaced the phone he had nothing to do but watch her. "Something going on with you lately?" "I could ask you the same thing," she said without looking at him, stabbing the still unlit buttons just for good measure. "What's wrong?" "Nothing. How long until this death crate moves?" "They said a few minutes." Might as well have been a few hours. She needed to focus. All around her she could feel the four walls creeping closer. Her heart thundered like a Kentucky Derby thoroughbred tearing up the track. Braxton lifted a hand and she instinctively pulled back from his touch. She snapped her gaze to his, fighting not to lose it. "I'm not going to hurt you." "I know." And she did know it, but fuck she wanted out of this box. She eyed the ceiling tiles again. "You're not thinking about—" He caught her hand this time. "You're shaking." The warmth from his hand spread over her wrist and up her arm. "I don't like this." Admitting even that much was hard. He started to let go of her. "Don't like what?" She grabbed hold of his hand—an anchor for her now. Distraction. She needed to focus on something until the elevator got moving. The clicks and snaps of the maintenance worker ticked in her eardrum like a bomb. Braxton was all she had and the adrenaline whooshing through her system brought the first thought right to her lips. "What did I do?" He frowned. "What did I do that you suddenly found it hard to be around me?" When he didn't respond right away, she tightened her grip. "I want to know what changed things. Why we can't be in the same room anymore without you glaring at me and meaning it?" "I didn't mean it before?" The teasing comment was a transparent attempt to avoid answering the question. Another loud creak up the shaft had her closing her eyes. A wave of nausea hit her hard and she pressed her lips together. She had to get out of here. She moved away from him and into the corner of the elevator where she could use the railings to give her a little boost up. "Don't." Braxton reached for her. She pushed him away. The walls eased closer and she could hear her own panicked whimpers in the back of her mind. "I can't stay in here." "Slow down. Talk to me, Quinn. Tell me what's going on?" "I don't know. I can't breathe, I can't think in here." Her back hit the wall, the smooth finish almost hot against her rapidly cooling skin. She splayed a palm against the wall, cringing at how close it felt. Her knees quivered, threatening to give out and dump her to the floor. "Easy." He lowered his voice and for a moment the soothing tone penetrated the thick fog that made it impossible to think beyond the fact it was dark and she couldn't move more than a few feet in any direction. What was happening to her? Braxton slid an arm around her back, drawing her closer. She bit her lip against the sigh of relief that tore through her, and buried her face against the strong column of his throat. His arms locked around her, making her feel safe. Protected. That should have been a laugh. She'd been on her own long enough that she hadn't thought she needed to feel protected. "It's okay," he murmured against her hair, the gesture so familiar she might have dreamed this before. He rubbed her back in lazy circles. "Tell me what's happening with you Quinn." "I don't know," she managed, her throat too tight to get any more words past without making it obvious how close to tears she was. The lights flickered on full and the elevator resumed its climb. Her heart slowed, but she didn't loosen her hold on him, didn't let him back away either. The doors chimed and slid open on their floor, but she didn't move. Nothing should have stopped her from flying straight out of there and embracing a wider space. Nothing save how good it felt tucked in his arms. He didn't force her away, and her pulse ticked off the seconds as she waited for exactly that. Waited for him to act as though holding her was the worst sort of chore. Instead, he slowed the lazy circles, but didn't stop. Quinn tipped her face back, her breath still fast and shallow. His finger brushed her cheek as he tucked her hair behind her ear. She could feel each plane of skin and muscle pressed intimately against hers, feel it warming her straight through. "You okay?" The question slid out in a tone she didn't recognize. His dark amber gaze traveled over her face, nothing resembling the customary cynicism that he reserved just for her lately present. "I'm better now." How could she not be? She was in his arms, and not there just long enough to be tossed right over his shoulder from their sparring days. She studied the shadowed jaw he was content not to shave more than every few days. Full lips parted, his breath warm on her cheek. Her insides knotted but for completely different reasons than moments ago. The palm against her back tightened, his fingertips sinking into her skin with enough pressure to make her aware of the way his attention had dropped to her mouth. The urge to close her eyes and push up on her toes to meet his lips swirled through her. "Sorry about that." The unfamiliar voice pushed them apart as the maintenance guy studied his clipboard as they stepped hastily onto the main floor. Quinn wasn't sure if she imagined the soft squeeze of Braxton's fingers over her hip before he put distance between them. With no further explanation, the man disappeared into the elevator, leaving them alone once more. Her gaze wandered to the overhead numbers lighting up as the elevator descended. What had happened in there? She had never freaked like that before, never felt so vulnerable. "Tell me what's going on with you." She didn't need to look at him to know the tender side had vanished back under his usual detached demeanor, and she allowed herself a moment to mourn the loss. Then she squared her shoulders, buried the need to go back to how they'd been seconds ago, and spun on her heel. "I'll see you at the debriefing." # "How was your last assignment?" Braxton processed the question in the back of his mind, continuing to second-guess himself and whether he should have gone after Quinn. The creak of stiff leather and the patient—but nosey—therapist sitting across from him forced Brax's thoughts back to the present. Away from how Quinn had clung to him, away from how much he'd realized he wanted to hold her. Kiss her. Tell her everything, including how much he wished things could be different. But they were…what they were. At any given moment they could be sent halfway across the globe, tracking down and vanquishing the Shadow Demons that opened the gateways between realms. There wasn't time for relationships. He didn't even want one. Probably in denial there, he mused silently. That didn't change the fact that even though he and Quinn had one incredible night together, a night she didn't remember, things could never be more than that. Even before his lapse in judgment the night she'd been infected by the lust demon, he knew the friends-with-benefits dynamic would never work between him and Quinn. Not even if he were willing to ignore his responsibilities, his commitment to Rae and his team. Gage and Jordan worked as a couple because they had a history before they became Destroyers. They also didn't have the issue of seniority to complicate things. He didn't have that luxury. Braxton shook his head to get away from the train of thought that had been grating him up inside. Even if either of them had wanted more than just sex, his job demanded his complete focus. And whenever Quinn got too close, his focus went right out the window. Not that any of that ultimately mattered. Not when Quinn had awakened the morning after her infection determined to make sure she hadn't come on to him. Although she'd managed to keep the thin veil of panic from showing on her face or in her voice when she'd asked if anything happened, it had all but dominated the few strands of psychic energy that surrounded her. He'd run through the scenario dozens of times before she'd emerged that morning only to have all his arguments against getting involved dissolve at seeing her sleepy and confused face. For half a second he'd even foolishly contemplated giving things a shot—right up until she'd looked as though she'd be mortified to know something had happened between them. Denying that one of the most incredible nights of his life had happened took considerable more effort than he'd anticipated, but he couldn't risk telling her the truth and having to see the regret in her eyes every time she looked at him. Regardless that he'd thought there had been a mutual attraction between them for months, the infection had affected her far more than he'd wanted to believe at the time. Now he felt like an even bigger bastard for taking advantage of her that night. Resigned to things being the way they were, he still cared and he couldn't stop wondering what had snapped inside her when the elevator shut down. It was the same as when she woke with the restraints on her weeks ago. The same irrational panic that he never would have expected from Quinn. "Perhaps we should pick this up another time," Royce Garrison, therapist extraordinaire, suggested. With his shiny graying brown hair, dark deep-set eyes and pursed mouth, he reminded Braxton of the first cousin to the weasel. The slim build and 5'5" height didn't help either. Nor did the man's choice of clothes. No one working for the network was struggling financially. Yet the man still wore clothes that looked like he shopped in the junior boys section. Braxton couldn't look at Royce without hearing Quinn's past jokes about the therapist looking like he was waiting for a flood with his too-short pants. "No." Braxton wasn't interested in coming back to stare at the same drab walls painted in vomit orange and pretend he was fine with Royce, who was also a telepath, trying to read him. He was far more comfortable sifting through another person's thoughts than being pinned under the microscope himself. "How's work in general lately?" "Lots of demons. Lots of paperwork. Pots full of stale coffee. The usual." "No more stress than usual?" Braxton cocked his head. "Not really." Not unless he counted Quinn, and seeing as how he made it a point not to bring her up—ever—things were just fine. "I know there's been increasing concern over the possibility of moles in the network." With a shrug, he glanced at his watch. "They pay Rae to worry about those details." Another exaggeration. Until recent months Shadow Demons either hadn't paid attention to or hadn't cared about Destroyers. That was probably because as soon as a demon crossed paths with a Shadow Destroyer, its ass was toast. According to their database more and more demons were aware of their oldest enemy and now knew information no one outside the network had access to. With a small handful of Scions in hiding, none of the field offices, especially those in set locations near hot zones, liked knowing the bad guys were getting a little too technologically advanced for comfort. After a human had aligned herself with a Scion and had gone after Jordan and Gage, more intel had started emerging that linked human accomplices to sacrifices and the general discord trudged up by Shadow Demons wherever they went. As if the supernatural bastards weren't enough to handle. Now every agent had to look over their shoulder, never knowing if a knife from the average human could be coming. He was thankful he trusted his own team. It was only when they crossed paths with agents from other field offices that he kept his guard up. More than a few people who carried the gene absorbed too much of the demon's essence and wound up with a much darker side as a result. A side that ultimately couldn't be trusted. By some small miracle, the remaining twenty minutes left in the session flew by and Braxton exited with a speed he was sure Quinn and Drew could appreciate. He liked coming home after assignments as much as any of them, but he wasn't fond of the required follow-up chats with Royce. "So you survived another one-on-one with the good doctor, huh?" "It was a ball," Braxton answered blandly. He couldn't decide whether to head straight to the briefing room or look for Quinn. Gage took a drink from the stainless silver mug he carried. "He ask you about the mole angle too?" "Yeah." "Think Rae put him up to that?" "Probably." Rae liked knowing her agents' states of mind whenever possible, along with anything else worth knowing. Hell, she'd probably known within seconds that he and Quinn had been trapped in the elevator. The fact that Quinn entered his mind again for the dozenth time in the last hour wasn't unusual. Which was exactly why he'd fallen into the habit of steering clear of her. It was also why Braxton found himself falling into step with Gage as he headed toward the training room. His encounter with Quinn continued to occupy his thoughts. He couldn't stop from wondering if he might have picked up on what had triggered both panic attacks if he hadn't been so determined to forget the feel of her legs locked around his waist as he found the sweetest of release buried deep inside her. "You sure you didn't leave your head in Mexico?" He glanced at Gage. "Sorry?" "You're as weird as Quinn this morning. What happened in the elevator anyway?" "She told you about that?" Braxton asked, avoiding Gage's question. "I heard bits and pieces a few minutes ago when she was tossing Jordan to the floor." He arched a brow. "She got the drop on Jordan this time, did she?" Gage scowled. "Yeah, and do you know what that means?" Braxton couldn't have held back his smile for all the demons on the continent. "It means she'll be looking to drag my ass out on the training floor later today. Happens every goddamn time Quinn gets one in." At the mention of the two women, he and Gage stopped and peered through the glass doors to the training room. It wasn't surprising to see Drew parked on the bench across from the two women circling each other. No weapons littered the floor. Just plain old hand-to-hand for the two agents today. Quinn had pulled her hair back from her face and her eyes glittered with determination. She was fast, but Jordan bounced back faster from anything Quinn threw at her. The two made a regular habit of taking a spin on the training room mat. Not so long ago he and Quinn had had the same habit. Before he ignored his common sense and let his cock lead him. Their professional relationship had suffered for it, and she couldn't even recall what had taken place between them. Had she known it all, he imagined things would be even more strained between them. Most days he felt bad enough for letting temptation get the best of him. He didn't need her reminding him he was slime for taking advantage of her. Not that he didn't deserve it. He probably deserved worse. "You sure things are cool between you two?" Gage asked with a practiced edge of disinterest. Gage had been asking that question a lot lately. "They're fine." "Jordan thinks you two should sleep with each other and get it over with." If Braxton had been drinking coffee at that moment, he would have sputtered it all over the floor. "What?" "She thinks you guys have too much sexual tension simmering between you two." "Good for Jordan." "Is she right?" "Quinn and I work together. That's it." Braxton somehow managed not to crack his pinched jaw to get the words out. "You're not doing yourself any favors by ignoring the bad vibes between you two." "Bad vibes?" Brax rocked back on his heels. "I thought it was simmering sexual tension?" Gage leaned against the wall. "Jordan said there was sexual tension. All I see is that things have gone from occasionally annoying with you two to borderline dislike. It was bad enough having you two squabbling in my ear. I think the silence is even more deafening." "You're complaining because we're not arguing enough for you?" "I just want to know why you guys went from driving each other up the wall to avoiding each other." "I don't avoid her." Gage snorted. "It's too bad your nose doesn't grow a few inches when you spout that kind of bullshit." The glass door was wrenched open. "One of you guys needs to take over. She's killing me today." Jordan planted her hands on her knees, her breathing labored. A dark bruise marred her cheek, and Braxton knew the mark wouldn't even be there in another hour or so. Gage was already halfway down the hall. Jordan grinned at him. "I guess you're my man." He nodded to Drew. "I think you have another suitable replacement right there." She straightened and blew out an impatient breath. "To quote Drew, 'even I'm not in need of that kind of ass kickin' today'." He looked past Jordan and watched Quinn prowl the edge of the mats, clenching and unclenching a fist at her side. She lifted her head, and the anger in her gaze surprised him. As usual, any attempt to get beneath the barrier that shielded her thoughts got him nowhere. "That'll just piss her off further," Jordan said, guessing what he was up to. "But hey, your funeral." Quinn disappeared through the swinging doors that led to the locker room. "I guess she's letting you off the hook." Jordan swatted at a damp clump of blond hair that stuck to her neck. "Guess I won't be getting out of her what got her so worked up." She passed a critical gaze over Braxton. He didn't know whose perceptive looks were more annoying, hers or Gage's. "Something's going on with her," Jordan spoke clearly in his mind. Having her open her thoughts put Braxton on guard for two reasons. One, she was only doing it so Quinn couldn't eavesdrop even a little. And two, because the look on her face told her she expected him to do something about it. He shook his head. "She hasn't said anything to me." "Why would she, you're hardly talking to her these days." "Did she mention that?" He watched the locker room doors waiting for Quinn to reappear. "Like someone needs to point it out." He stared at her expectantly. "You're the only one who stands a hope in hell of dragging it out of her." He cocked a brow. "She's far more likely to open up to you." "I don't think she's going to willingly open up to anyone." Her implication was crystal clear. Find out the cheating way. Easier said than done with Quinn. "You'll come up with something," Jordan added with a wink and vanished back into the training room. Braxton scrubbed a hand over his face wondering exactly how many times Quinn had panicked in the last few months that he didn't know about, and exactly what it would take to get her to open up about it. |
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