Surrender A Section 8 Novel - By Stephanie Tyler Page 0,19
to finish—well, that didn’t sit well with him.
He moved closer to her, saw her involuntary shivers and called himself a bastard.
“I don’t want to do this,” he said through clenched teeth to no one in particular but himself, and if Grace heard, she didn’t turn her head. He hated being forced to reinvent Section 8 for any reason. A group like that wasn’t good for its members—no, it was like signing their death warrants.
The fact that Adele had come to him and forced his hand . . . he wanted to hate her but couldn’t.
She’d been born an operative. He hadn’t been, but rather had been molded into something resembling hardened steel, which sat over the wildness that always wrestled inside him for dominance and freedom—the wildness that typically won, before all this had started. He covered his insides well, but they would never be able to lock out what he’d been.
He had several people waiting for him to make a move, and this beautiful woman tied up across the room.
“You were avoiding me. Why?” Grace asked him, her voice not exactly defiant but in no way passive.
He fucking burned for her, and she knew it. He could see that in her dark gypsy eyes when he moved to stand in front of her, and he neither confirmed nor denied her suspicion. “Tell me what you know about Powell.”
“I told you—nothing of use to you,” she said. Her voice held that quality of sex that no woman could fake. She’d been born with it, and it pulled him to her like a siren’s song.
“Let me be the judge of that. Start talking.”
“Where do I start?”
“From the beginning.” He needed to know everything he could about her father, had to live and breathe that enemy. Had to become him in order to decimate him.
After that, a part of that bastard would always linger inside him. There was no way around that.
That’s what Grace lived with every day of her life, but he forced that thought away. Sacrifices had to be made for him to keep his promises.
“I don’t like remembering,” she said.
“I don’t give a shit about your likes. Tell me the last time you saw Richard Powell.”
“I called him Rip. And it was six years ago.”
“How cute—a nickname.”
“I called him that because I wanted him dead and buried. The peace part was ironic.”
Her gaze leveled him. Everything about her did. Her hair had come loose and tumbled over her shoulders, dried in waves. Her eyes were infused with copper, framed with thick lashes, and her skin was tanned from the summer sun. “Will Rip want you back?”
“Yes, for sure.”
“And you want nothing to do with him?”
“He’s a killer. And for all I know, you’re as bad as he is,” Grace told him, and Dare glared at her as though she’d just discovered his biggest fear—and his most well-kept secret.
That meant there was hope. She breathed a little easier. She’d been in worse spots—she’d been hurt worse than anyone could hurt her again.
No matter what, she’d survive, whether it be by kicking, crawling or screaming. She wouldn’t give this man the satisfaction of breaking down, ever.
If she had to, she’d take him down with her. And he’d never see it coming.
He wasn’t about to let up on her soon. Instead, he leaned into her, his hands on either side of her thighs, his face inches from hers. There was menace there, yes, but also a born compassion he’d been unable to drive out of himself, and she knew he must hate it.
“Grace, I might be worse than your father. You don’t want to test me, because I will pass with flying colors.”
With that, he moved away from her and went into the next room. When he returned, he threw a blanket over her to help with the shivering she was trying to control and refused to look at her again. It was late. She was tired, and sleeping in this upright chair wouldn’t be pleasant.
And he had a cell phone in his hand—her cell phone. She’d forgotten it was in her pocket and hadn’t felt him slip his hand in to grab it.
“What’s his number?” he demanded, holding the phone out to her.
“A great merc like you can’t get something as easy as a phone number?”
He kicked her chair, and her body lurched as the chair slid back and hit the wall. “Tell me the number—I’ll dial and you speak.”
“Never.” She jerked her body toward him furiously, as far as the