Free Conner's Wolf by Jory Strong Page B

lucky when she rose onto her knees in a demand he could no more ignore than he could the raw need rushing through him.
    He shoved tank top and bra upward, exposing her breasts with their dark, dark nipples. Cupping the smooth mounds, he pushed them together, lessening the distance between large areolas so he could give equal attention to both.
    He took a nipple between his lips, his tongue offering a wet greeting, his cock already aching to be inside her again. Arousal beading on the head when she said, “I love having your mouth on me.”
    He answered with his teeth because there was no way he could force himself from her breast. He bit, her sharp cry and the arch of her back making him curse the clothing between them.
    Lust was a molten fire in his bloodstream. He bit again, felt her gasp and the jerk of her body an instant before she went completely limp.
    Alarm flashed through him and he reached for the 9mm automatically. His hand making contact but stilling when a man’s voice said, “Stop or I’ll order you killed.”
    A gun fired from a different location, the kick of dirt next to the chair punctuating the threat issued from the woods in front of him.
    “Take your hand away from the weapon.”
    He complied, fury gripping him, fear transformed by adrenaline, accompanied by condemnation at having allowed this to happen. He ruthlessly suppressed anything that wouldn’t aid him in staying alive and stopping Scholes.
    Against his bare chest he could feel Khemirra’s heart beating. He shifted her in his arms and saw the dart stabbed into her left buttock. Protectiveness had him tugging her bra and tank top downward over exposed skin.
    Footsteps approached from the rear, two sets of them, coming from either side of the cabin. The first to reach him belonged to a thug with prison ink on his neck.
    The ex-con picked up the off-duty piece and the owner of the voice stepped from the woods, a geek carrying a scoped rifle. Conner gambled and said, “I take it you’re Armand Scholes.”
    A flinch acknowledged the hit. “And you are?”
    He decided to take a second gamble, though this one came with the unwelcome question of how they’d found the cabin if he hadn’t been recognized. “Detective Conner Stern.”
    Scholes glanced at the man still out of sight behind Conner. “Check the cabin, Diego. Verify who he is.”
    Footsteps retreated. Conner didn’t volunteer that his wallet and shield were on the kitchen counter. No point in making things quick and easy, though with three armed men, having one leave didn’t change the odds in his favor, especially when he was hampered by Khemirra’s unconscious body.
    Scholes’ free hand went to a silver medallion around his neck. He lifted it to his mouth and spoke with it pressed to his lips as if it contained a tiny transmitter. “Bring the van.”
    Several minutes passed before Conner heard an engine in the distance. It grew steadily louder, arriving with the sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway leading to the cabin.
    More adrenaline poured into his system. But there was no move he could make that didn’t risk the instant death of a head shot or the complete powerlessness of a tranquilizer dart.
    “Get out of the chair slowly, Mr. Stern. You may retain possession of Khemirra for the moment.”
    Conner shifted Khemirra in his arms and got to his feet, the position allowing him a good look at Diego as he emerged from the cabin with a gun in his hand. Another ex-con, more likely to be hired muscle than cult-like followers of Scholes.
    “He’s a cop,” Diego said.
    “That’s unfortunate. Keep your eyes and your weapons trained on him.” Scholes gave a slight wave of the rifle barrel toward the side of the cabin. “Let’s go around front, Detective.”
    Conner went, Diego and his companion flanking him while Scholes stayed well back.
    “Prepare for loading the cage,” Scholes said, his voice low enough to indicate he was speaking into the transmitter