AVAILABLE: Monday, May 10th
[Siren Publishing: The Lynn Hagen ManLove Collection: Erotic Romance, Contemporary, Alternative, Paranormal, Shape-shifters, Werewolves, Romantic Suspense, MM, HEA]
Christopher Kline saw the writing on the wall. He knows his godfather is shady, but never fathomed that he would stoop to kidnapping. When Christopher is snatched off the street, he thinks all hope is lost. Until a gorgeous stranger in fatigues breaks into the drug den where Christopher is being held captive and rescues him. Now Christopher is on the run, trying to stay two steps ahead of the hired killer, while fighting not to fall for the man who just saved his life.
Pedro “Choppy” González and his team are sent on a mission to rescue some billionaire’s son who is being held for ransom. Only things go sideways, and defying orders, he takes Christopher to Fever’s Edge instead of retuning him to his father. Choppy isn’t sure what is going on, but until he can sort things out, he isn’t taking any chances. He just had no idea he would be rescuing his mate. There was just one problem. Christopher is a male, and Choppy isn’t gay.
Lynn Hagen is a Siren-exclusive author.
Choppy shook his head, using his features to tell Flagg he had no idea what he was saying.
Flagg mouthed, “Meth lab.”
Shit, shit, shit. This was the last place Choppy wanted to be. If anyone fired a gun, the whole house could explode. Although shifters could heal from a lot of things, getting blown to pieces wasn’t one of them.
Druze signaled that he was going into the first bedroom. Choppy’s heart was beating furiously as he checked the second bedroom.
He doubted the person lying in the corner was one of the kidnappers since the stranger was tied up. He moved swiftly and cupped his hand over the guy’s mouth.
The man spun, staring wide at him. Yep, it was Christopher Kline, Genova Kline’s son. Choppy recognized him from the photo that had been placed in the intel folder—short as hell, mahogany hair, and a tiny birthmark in the shape of a heart right about his left eye—only Christopher had a bruised cheek and his clothes were dirty.
Choppy pressed a finger to his lips to tell Christopher to keep quiet. The human nodded. When Choppy lowered his hand, he worked feverishly to get the ropes undone.
Once the human was free, Choppy helped him to his feet. Christopher stumbled and swayed toward the wall. There wasn’t time for this. Choppy scooped the guy up and carried him into the hallway, where Druze and Flagg were keeping guard.
Someone from farther down the hall laughed. Someone else said something that Choppy couldn’t make out. So far the drug dealers were unaware of their presence. Everything was going according to plan, but Choppy wouldn’t feel better until they were as far away from this meth house as possible.
Flagg led the way as they hurried back toward the basement. Choppy went down first, moving swiftly while avoiding the maze of broken glass and other obstacles. Christopher was still out of it, lying limp over Choppy’s shoulder.
Druze was tapped to crawl out first. When he did, Choppy handed Christopher over, careful of the shards of glass in the window frame. Druze pulled Christopher through, and then Choppy and Flagg followed.
Goddamn it felt good to breathe clean air. The headache that had started at the back of Choppy’s skull started to ease. If he’d felt that way being in the house only ten minutes, he couldn’t imagine what Christopher was going through.
“Hold it right there.”
Choppy took Christopher back from Druze. He wasn’t even sure why, either. He was the best shot between the three of them and would be able to take the guy down in a flat second. But something compelled him to hold on to Christopher for dear life, and he was following his gut.
“Hank!” the guy yelled.
Flagg moved so fast that Choppy nearly missed it. His teammate snapped the guy’s neck and let him drop to the ground, unmoving.
So much for not engaging. It looked as if they were caught, and this could get wild. People who ran drug labs tended to be very protective of their product. He’d learned that lesson three years ago when he’d nearly gotten his head blown off by some marijuana growers in the Smoky Mountains.
He’d gotten his revenge by setting their crop ablaze. Too bad Director Mike Sasgen, his boss, had chewed Choppy a new ass for destroying evidence. But it had been well worth it.
Commotion coming from the house grabbed Choppy’s attention.
“The Kline kid is gone!” someone yelled. “Find him, now!”
“Get him to the SUV,” Flagg said to Choppy. “We’ll take cover and hold them off.”
He didn’t want to leave them behind, but he had to get their prime directive out of harm’s way. That was what they were being paid the big bucks for, and he knew Flagg and Druze would make it out of there.
They were damn good at what they did.
Choppy had made it a quarter of a mile when gunfire erupted. Were those meth dealers idiots? Why on earth would they do that so close to a house that was a ticking time bomb? One spark and the house would explode. The gunfire continued, making him worry about his team.
If Flagg and Druze were too close, they would get killed.
He’d started to turn back, Christopher still slung over his shoulder, when the explosion froze him in his tracks and put the fear of god in his heart. Black smoke raced toward the sky above the tree line.
“Fuck!” He had to make sure his best friends were okay. They both had mates and kids. Choppy knew their wives, was an unofficial uncle to their rug rats, and there was no fucking way he was delivering bad news to them.
The gunfire grew closer, which made Choppy reverse course and head back toward the SUV. As badly as he wanted to check on them, he had to get Christopher out of there. Their main objective was getting him back to his father, and Choppy wouldn’t fail this mission.
In his comm, which was tucked in his ear, he heard Druze’s voice.
“Get him out of here, Choppy. We’re making our exfil in the other direction.”
The relief at the news that his best friends were alive was profound. Choppy nearly crumpled from relief but heard someone getting closer. Their footsteps weren’t quiet. They were stomping over the forest floor, making themselves known.
It was time to get ghost.
When he reached his vehicle, Choppy tossed Christopher into the backseat and then jumped into the driver’s side. The keys were in the glovebox.
No sooner had he started the motor than bullets pinged into the SUV. Choppy tore out of there, racing down the road, leaving a wake of dust behind him.
“Can you hear me?” he said into the mic, but no one answered. He wanted to swing around and provide an escape for his friends, but if he didn’t know where they were, he could be putting himself and Christopher in further danger.
He had to stick to the plan and pray Flagg and Druze made it out of there alive. His attention needed to be on his own getaway, so he forced himself not to think of his teammates.
A soft, garbled voice came from the backseat. “I think they drugged me.”
“Don’t worry, Christopher,” Choppy said as he made a hairpin turn onto the main road, nearly colliding with another car. He swerved, and the two avoided crashing into each other. He got a blaring horn for his recklessness. “I’m taking you to your dad. He’ll get you help from there.”
“No.” Christopher grabbed Choppy’s shoulder, but his grip was weak and slid away. “Too dangerous…no…not home.”
“Did your father have something to do with this?” Choppy looked into the backseat, but Christopher had slumped over. That was an insane question. Why would Genova Kline pay Alpha Division to rescue his only child if he was the one who’d orchestrated this in the first place?
That didn’t make any sense.
“Don’t take me home,” Christopher whispered. “He’ll kill me.”
As soon as they were back at Elon’s, Christopher settled in the guest bedroom with enough new underwear to last him a month without having to wear the same pair twice.
It seemed Christopher had found one of Choppy’s weaknesses. The guy said he never had time to spend his money, but when he did, Choppy was a shopping diva.
He’d bought Christopher his underwear, but for himself, Choppy had purchased underwear, socks, T-shirts, three pairs of Nike sneakers—because he couldn’t decide which one he’d wanted—hair product, and some clothes.
And here Christopher thought the shine to Choppy’s hair was natural. It looked good, though. Smelled good, too.
Now all he had to do was figure out a way to get Choppy in his bed. Since he had no clue how to flirt—Christopher had tried a few times in his life and had failed miserably—he would just have to outright attack the guy.
Not a bad attack. Seduction. That was the word. Maybe. If he’d been shot down by gay men, what chance did he have of converting a straight guy? Just the thought of trying made him want to break out in hives.
If Christopher had any sexual experience, he might have had a point zero one percent chance of success.
But there was only one way to find out, because Christopher was determined to belong to the gorgeous man. And not just because he didn’t want to return to his father.
Though that would be a bonus.
It was the way Choppy looked at him, the way the guy smiled, the way he gently touched Christopher’s arm or the small of his back all afternoon or the way he’d taken care of Christopher even when he’d insisted that Choppy not buy him anything.
He was sweet and kind, and Christopher found himself craving Choppy whenever the guy wasn’t around.
Now all Christopher had to do was be smooth about this. No oversharing or overthinking. He could do this.
Sucking in a deep breath for confidence, Christopher strode from the room and stopped at the top of the stairs. He heard Elon and Choppy talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying.
God, that voice. Christopher could listen to Choppy talk all day. But that wasn’t what he wanted. Not at the moment. He opened his mouth to call Choppy upstairs and then ran back to his room.
His heart was beating out of control, and Christopher found it hard to breathe. Okay. There was no need to get all weird about this. Either Choppy would ravish him or reject him.
Attempt number two.
Christopher shook out his arms and closed his eyes, telling himself he could do this. Choppy had said they were mates, and that made it okay for Christopher to hit on him.
That was what he kept telling himself as he walked out of the room again.
Just grow some balls and tell the man what you want.
He made it to the top of the stairs again, but this time he didn’t chicken out.
Christopher hurried back to the room and waited. He wasn’t sure if he should stand there, sit on the bed, or get naked.
Before he could decide, Choppy burst into the room, looking around. “What’s wrong?”
“I just…” Oh crap. Now that Christopher thought about it, he had made his voice sound urgent. That hadn’t been his intention. Holy shit! What was he doing? What did he know about seduction?
This had been a mistake. It was like bungee jumping for the very first time—which he knew nothing about. He stood there facing the hottest guy he’d ever seen, his heart leaping out of his chest, lightheaded, questioning every decision he’d ever made as he looked into the abyss.
“What’s wrong?” Choppy’s brows were crinkled, and now his tone was softer but still filled with concern. “Why did you yell my name?”
Fight or flight kicked in, and as badly as Christopher wanted to run and hide from embarrassment, he pulled his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and stared into Choppy’s eyes.
Madness overtook him. It was the only explanation for his actions. He circled his hands around Choppy’s neck and yanked him downward, crushing their lips together.
An explosion ignited inside Christopher. Fourth of July fireworks that made his body erupt into flames. At first Choppy was stiff, holding back, his hands at his sides.
Then he yanked Christopher to him, molding their bodies, his fingers gliding through Christopher’s hair before curling and yanking at the strands.
That beard. That sweet, erotic beard that scraped along Christopher’s tender skin, leaving behind whisker burn as Choppy canted his head to the side and drove his tongue deep into Christopher’s mouth.
It was like kissing the sun—too hot, burning Christopher alive.
Like dangling dangerously at the edge of the universe, afraid of free-falling into the unknown.
It was now or never. Christopher had to make his move if he ever wanted a chance with his mate.
Christopher loved the sound of that.
Abruptly, he broke the all-consuming kiss, gasping for air, his body an exposed nerve as he dropped to his knees and wrestled with the zipper of Choppy’s jeans.
He was too nervous. His fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Then Choppy reached down and unsnapped his jeans, lowered his zipper, and then moved his hand away.
Christopher’s throat was too dry to swallow properly. He slipped his hand into Choppy’s underwear and curled it around his mate’s throbbing, hard, thick cock.
With a burst of courage, Christopher released the beast and licked at the pearl of pre-cum that dotted the slit. A groan rumbled in his chest. Christopher gripped Choppy’s cock harder as he took an inch of the heated flesh into his mouth.
His lips were stretched wide, his jaw hurting, as he used his tongue as a weapon, licking as he tried to handle the girth.