Impact Zone (The Arsenal Book 6) Read online

  Because she’d done exactly what she vowed. She’d erased Malcolm from existence. The runty, bruised kid was dead forever. Not that anyone would miss him.

  Bones, Digger, Reaper, and Church miss you. Not their fault you scraped them off like a bad rash. Fallon shoved the thought away. The younger boys he’d protected growing up were better off without him in their world. He’d followed the darker path of life while they’d chased their dreams.

  Because you made it possible.

  Fallon let the statement ease the agitation infesting him. No good came from looking back at what he’d left behind. He’d done right by those who relied on him. That’s all that mattered.

  They didn’t need him anymore.

  Edge did.

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “There’s always something to tell. You aren’t former military. Where did your training come from?”

  “Here and there.”

  Marshall grunted and picked up the file, thumbing through the contents. “My brother, Cord, put a few of the missing pieces together. You’ve operated from your own rulebook for a long time, Graves. Mary and Vi have my complete trust, but that doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention.”

  Cord Mason was the geekier of the six brothers from what Fallon had seen, but there was no way in hell the man knew anything about Fallon’s past before Edge. Did Quillery even know? Fallon had interacted with Vi, aka Quillery, over the years, but not as much as he did with Edge.

  “Get to the point, Mason. I’m not walking away, not when Edge needs me to help her take down the assholes who…” His mind refused to process the rest. No one should’ve gotten that close to her.

  Never again.

  “You’ve got a thing for her.”

  Fallon tensed. “That’s not your business.”

  “It is when my brother has waded in.” Marshall stood.

  Dylan Mason was Edge’s shadow. If the bastard wasn’t such a standup guy, Fallon would be half-tempted to blow him into a million pieces. But the relationship Fallon had with Edge wasn’t romantic, nor would it ever be.

  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “That’s not your business,” Fallon repeated. “Anyone breathes wrong near Edge, and they go down. That’s all you need to know.”

  He waited as silence ticked by.

  “We’ve scoured the Hive’s operatives and identified those we know who aided in Mary’s attack. Teams have taken most of them down. A few are still in the wind but won’t be for much longer.” Marshall reached for a thinner folder and held it out. “There are a couple my brothers and I want…”

  Fallon took the folder and glanced at the photographs and data. Fuck. “Why are they still breathing?”

  “There’s too much scrutiny on our takedown of Hive to handle them the way we’d prefer.”

  “Surprised Edge and Quillery haven’t handled these two. They don’t shy away from wet work when it’s needed.” He closed the folder and glared at Marshall. “Didn’t think The Arsenal would either.”

  “Mary’s memories are…fractured. Vi helped gather the data but understands too many are watching The Arsenal’s operations to neutralize these two bastards. They were there the entire time. They raped her.”

  Fuck.

  “They don’t walk away from that,” Marshall said. “You’re off the radar more than we are right now.”

  “Consider them gone.”

  “Discretely.”

  “Accidents happen.” Fallon shrugged. “I’ll leave tonight.”

  “You’ve got a place here when you return. Mary thinks you’d lead a team well.”

  “I’m not a team player.”

  “She figured you’d say that.” Marshall chuckled. “Think on it. You’d get to pick your own crew, assuming they pass Mary’s and Vi’s vetting process. And mine. You’d run them your own way.”

  Fallon didn’t comment. Edge had tried recruiting him for a position at Hive many times, but he’d known how dirty some of their work got. Until he knew more about The Arsenal, he wasn’t agreeing to anything.

  He left the office, turned into the hall and slammed against a soft body. He reached out and snagged the person before they fell. Long, curly brunette hair tumbled from a makeshift bun set into place by mechanical pencils. Wide, light brown eyes peered up from an angelic face. Full lips formed an “O” as the beautiful woman stood fully.

  “Sorry,” Fallon offered.

  “No. No. I was distracted. Never think and walk. It’s a bad idea.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiled. “You’re one of Edge’s girls.”

  “Yeah, one of the geek squad.” She cleared her throat and looked down the hall to Marshall’s office, then at the folder Fallon held. “You’re the one he gave the file to.” Tension filled her voice.

  “That a problem?”

  “Just…unexpected. You aren’t like Mason’s operatives, are you? I heard Mary and Vi talking. You do your own thing, answer to no one. The lone wolf.”

  “Not sure how this is your business…” He dragged the last word out for emphasis because he had zero clue what the woman’s name was.

  “Rhea.” She breathed the name on a sigh. “I want to help.”

  “Not sure what you can do to help, Rhea. If Mason wanted you and everyone else to know, he would’ve called a meeting.”

  “Just between you and me. How many?”

  “What?” He narrowed his gaze and released his grip on Rhea’s arm.

  “How many did he give you?” She paused. “I know they identified a couple of men teams haven’t been sent out for. I heard Marshall chatting with Cord while Mary was recovering. They’re the ones who hurt her the most, aren’t they? The ones who escaped the rescue.”

  “You always listen to other people’s conversations?”

  Red rose in the woman’s face. “I hear things. People forget I’m around.”

  He couldn’t imagine anyone forgetting her. Long hair, full lips, lush curves. Blood surged southward. He welcomed the temporary reprieve. For a moment, he could almost forget why he was at The Arsenal.

  “How many did he give you?” She repeated the question, her gaze locked on him.

  “Two.” Fallon wasn’t sure why he offered the answer. The only good way to handle the woman’s curiosity was to walk away. This wasn’t her problem.

  “Two people having accidents isn’t coincidental enough,” Rhea blurted.

  “Stay out of this,” he growled.

  “I’ll help. I… I have compounds, untraceable ones that mimic a heart attack. No one would know. That’d keep cause of death varied for the two.”

  Fallon cocked his head as the pieces locked together in his mind. “You’ve known Edge awhile?”

  “Since MIT.”

  “You ever worked with Hive? Help them out with stuff?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “But I help Mary and Vi all the time, with drugs or compounds or whatever they need. They keep me off book, though. They said it was safer.”

  Doc. The phantom friend whose miracle drug helped him escape prison. He’d come full circle. Son of a bitch. He took a long breath and looked away. “Lady, you have no idea what the hell I do or how I do it. Walk away. You wanna help? Stay tight in Edge’s corner where you’re needed.”

  “First off, I’m not a lady—not like you’re implying. Second, I do know what you do because Mary shared with me and Bree who you were and what all you’ve done for her and Vi. That’s Edge’s name by the way. Mary. She’s one of my best friends and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. So, yeah, I am in Edge’s corner just like you are. Dylan and Vi and Bree and everyone else are keeping a pulse on Mary. That frees me up to help you end the assholes who hurt her.” Her sexy, whiskey-colored eyes flashed with anger as she glared up at him. “So are you going to take the fracking compound or not?”

  “Yeah, Doc. I’ll take it.” He stepped closer. “This stays between us.”

  “Of course.” She blinked
and ran her gaze down his body. “Give me five minutes to get it.”

  “I’ll be outside.” He turned and headed toward the exit.

  “Fallon.”

  He turned and faced her.

  “My name’s Rhea, not Doc.”

  2

  Present Day

  I’m late. I’m late. I’m late.

  Rhea Strathmore hauled ass through the double-doored entry of The Arsenal’s operations building and around the corner. The distinctive ding of the elevator’s arrival on the ground floor shoved her into overdrive. Mr. Pibb swished from its precarious perch beneath her right arm as she scrambled toward the closing metallic doors.

  Though the private paramilitary organization she’d signed on to work with was kickass in most ways, the newly installed elevators were snails stuck in molasses—a fact more than one of the Mason brothers had sworn to fix. But things at The Arsenal had been busy the past several weeks, which meant her transportation woes to the bowels of the building would wait.

  “Hold the elevator!” The plea escaped in gasped breaths. One of these days, she’d trade in the sugary soda she mainlined as though it were blood for exercise.

  Not today.

  A meaty arm snaked out and halted the doors. A mechanical pencil rattled to the ground and rolled to a stop near the trashcan. Thick chunks of her hair tumbled from its perch atop her head as she slammed to a halt and peered at the four men filling the elevator.

  Her elevator.

  Okay, she and Bree were the two who used it most since their laboratories were on the lower level. Cold soda splashed against her right side. Heat rose in her cheeks as she peered into the chocolatey depths of one gaze, then another—both of which were focused on the spillage rather than her. No. They were watching the liquid adhere her shirt to her boob.

  Just shoot me now. Could today get any worse?

  “Rhea.” The amused voice forced her attention to one of the other four men. Nolan Mason stood with arms crossed. “You getting in?”

  Right. Rhea glanced down at the banana, walnut and chocolate chip muffin she’d chanced her packed schedule to snag. She had less than half an hour to finalize things downstairs before…

  “That the banana, walnut, chocolate one?” one of the chocolate gazes asked.

  Rhea nodded as heat crept up in her face. “It’s an addiction. So is the Mr. Pibb. Ellie orders them special since they don’t sell them down here.”

  “They’re glorified Dr. Pepper,” the fourth voice grumbled.

  Rhea tightened. Fallon Graves. Though the two somewhat familiar-looking strangers quickened her pulse with nervousness, her entire system shoved into overdrive whenever the man with the whiskey eyes and husky voice was anywhere within her proximity—which had sadly been far too often the past several weeks.

  “Half an hour, Doc,” Fallon said.

  Rhea stepped inside and remained silent as the elevator doors slid shut. She glanced at the buttons. The first level held the armory—where badasses went to replenish whatever stock a commando needed to kick ass and take names. Her best friend Bree tried valiantly to penetrate that floor whenever she could, which was rare.

  The second level was where assholes who’d gotten on The Arsenal’s radar were held. Questioned. As far as she knew, the area was currently empty—much to everyone’s chagrin. There were biochemical weapons in play and assholes to take down. They needed answers more than she needed the sugary goodies she clutched tightly.

  Neither button was lit.

  The one to her level was.

  Rhea swallowed. She glanced at Nolan, forcing her gaze from Fallon. Why were the two fierce operatives taking the two handsome men to her level?

  Weapons. Kickass commandoes needed weaponry—which her BFF excelled at providing. “Bree isn’t there. She’s in the mess hall. She’ll be back shortly.”

  “Relax.” Fallon reached out, yanked the icy beverage from the crook of her arm. “You remember Raul and Dom?”

  Ricardo, aka Raul, and Dominic DeMarco, Dani’s big brothers. Jesus. Both offered smiles but remained silent. Tattoos coiled down both their arms and crawled beneath snug shirts stretched across muscular chests. The two men were an inch or so shorter than Nolan, so a solid six foot. She filed the data away, forcing her brain to remain in analytical mode as the intensity rose another level on the badass scale.

  “You the weapons one or the drug one?” one of the DeMarco brothers asked.

  “Raul, this is Rhea Strathmore. She creates the drugs we use in the drones and in many of our operations,” Nolan said. “Rhea, this is Raul. We’re bringing him on to lead a team.”

  Right. The man had been deep undercover within a drug cartel on behalf of the DEA and CIA for years. The Arsenal stumbled across the operation and shut it down when Jesse Mason and his brothers waded into Ellie’s troubles.

  Ellie Mason, formerly Travers, was one of the most awesome women Rhea had ever met and the love of Jesse’s life. She’d re-entrenched herself in his world when she’d taken the Office Manager job a few months ago.

  Rhea swallowed and forced the thoughts aside. “Glad to have you on board. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  “You’re busy enough,” Fallon declared. “You packed?”

  “Of course.” She hoped. She’d reconciled her backpack twice to the inventory list she’d made but intended to triple check, just to be sure.

  “Rhea is going into the field tonight. We’re taking out a Carlisle laboratory in Tucson.” Nolan supplied the data with the same boredom one would use grocery shopping in Nomad, twenty miles away.

  “She’s got no business in the field,” Fallon declared.

  The ordnance expert who’d inserted himself into The Arsenal world back when her best friend Mary’s troubles drew them to the Masons for help had been quite vocal about his opinion.

  Nolan rolled past the statement as only a Mason could. “This is Dom. He’ll be helping us out. You and Bree will work with him a lot once the Carlisle issue is handled. He’s going to work on Kamren’s ideas for security measures.”

  Kamren had exploded into The Arsenal’s world—quite literally—a while back, when they’d been neck deep in finding Nolan’s nephew. She and Dallas Mason now had two sons and another baby on the way. Talk about an insta-family. The incredible and street-smart woman had designed a lot of great security measures that’d been honed and improved the past few months.

  Dominic DeMarco. Rhea bit her tongue and stifled the apology poised on her tongue. The man didn’t know her and didn’t appear to be the sort who’d want a stranger’s apology on behalf of a screwed-up justice system that’d falsely imprisoned him for murder.

  Years.

  He’d lost years behind bars because of his cousin.

  If The Arsenal hadn’t crawled into the Marville troubles…

  “Glad you’re here. Bree’s been chomping at the bit to get the drone security up and running.”

  None of the offered information explained why the four men stepped off the elevator with her. Few wandered down to her sanctuary.

  “You didn’t warn her.” Fallon glared at Nolan. “We discussed this.”

  “That’s why you tagged along?” Nolan smirked. “He wasn’t happy when he overheard our plans to visit your area.”

  “Oh.” Although the man made no qualms about her being a pain in his ass, Fallon was fiercely protective. Whenever stressors entered her domain, he was always around, wading in to make them go away.

  Why?

  Rhea filed the question away with the ten thousand others she never asked. Fallon Graves didn’t tolerate curiosity—a fact she’d learned from Mary, aka The Edge. She and Vi, aka Quillery, knew more about handling kickass operatives than most. They were the best back-office operatives in existence and created HERA, a heuristic offensive and defensive system Rhea and Bree had helped with.

  Okay, all Rhea had done was supply the neurotoxins and gases used in the drones. Oh, and she’d helped Bree with som
e of the weaponry, but not much. Bree supplied the brilliance behind the self-contained energy and weaponry system.

  “Raul wanted to see the containment system for your stuff,” Nolan said.

  Stuff. Rhea smirked at the commando jargon. Most of what she provided was termed “stuff,” “drugs,” or—her personal favorite—“juice.” She nodded her assent. Even though the Masons owned and operated The Arsenal, she had final say over what did and didn’t happen in her laboratory. That included who went in.

  It was one of the only parameters she’d set for coming to The Arsenal back when the Quillery Edge took down their former employer and moved to the compound outside Resino, Texas. She’d spent years heavily entrenched in a wide assortment of government-funded labs with zero control.

  Never again.

  But recent events left her doubting her judgment. How many had died because she’d fallen in love with Stan Carlisle? How many innocent people suffered because he’d stolen her research? What had he done with it?

  That epic disaster alone kept her silent. Truth told, she was thrilled to finally be safe with an organization like The Arsenal. Her opinion mattered. Everyone gave a damn, and she helped save people. Maybe with enough time, her positive impact with The Arsenal would surpass the negative from before.

  The DeMarco brothers signing on with The Arsenal was a strategic move—one which left the former DEA and CIA asset, Raul, protected. Things were far from over where the Flores Cartel was concerned—a fact that was discussed and analyzed often since an Arsenal team was now deep undercover within the organization.

  Then there was Marville. The troubled town fifteen miles east had imploded repeatedly the past few months. The deeper the Masons dug into the town’s corruption, the worse things got. Keeping Dom on radar via The Arsenal would keep an active pulse point on the area. The Masons would know everything that went on within Marville, because even though he’d been in prison for murders he didn’t commit, Dom knew everything that went down there.