Hard Instincts Read online

  Her voice was like liquid honey, warm and mellifluous, touching every inch of Quinn’s body before he even laid eyes on her lithe physique.

  “Mia.”

  She appeared from behind the drapes, peeking at him playfully, her silken black hair resting about a tan shoulder.

  Sensuously, she began to dance into the room, waving an intricate display of scarves about as she approached.

  “I am surprised to see you, Mr. Quinn,” she breathed, lowering her small but firm bosom into his face, methodically moving her shoulders.

  “Are you?”

  “You were here only last week.”

  “Maybe I miss the treatment I receive when I come here.”

  Mia smiled coyly but before she could speak, Quinn reached up and pulled her down, crushing his lips to her neck.

  “Your skin tastes like honey,” he told her, slowly pulling his face away as she widened her smoky dark eyes.

  “You taste like danger.”

  He seized her by the waist, pulling her down ruthlessly to the pillow, his mouth now on the small of her throat.

  She moaned quietly, bucking upward as her hands encircled his waist.

  Using his strong hand, he pulled he delicate silk garments away, ripping them without regard, to expose her erect nipples.

  His hand teased the soft skin of one breast while his mouth sucked roughly at the taught flesh of the other.

  “Mr. Quinn!” Mia gasped as he nipped at her.

  His head worked lower while she entwined her fingers in his thick, dark hair.

  With long, even strokes, his fingers began to explore at her juncture, massaging the throbbing button at the top of her opening, his mouth continuing to play at her breasts like fragile instruments.

  He shoved his hand beneath her tiny rear, using his thumb to manipulate her opening as his tongue grew more urgent. Mia bucked upward when his fingers entered her but he held her fast as he continued to suck and lick at her sensitive nipples, drawing her to her climax.

  He ignored the pressure of his own member, ready to tear through his cargo pants, instead drawing out her orgasm until he felt the clenching in her core finally settle down.

  Then she screamed as he added one more finger, this time into her unoccupied entry and immediately, she gave him what he wanted. Another orgasm tore through her, leaving her gasping for breath as her body convulsed around his hand.

  “Turn over,” he ordered harshly. She obliged shakily, propping herself onto all fours.

  He relished the spasms the movement brought and as he undid his pants, and quickly slipped on a condom, he could already hear her screams of ecstasy as he pounded into her.

  Inside her tight, ready rear he pressed himself. She instinctively tensed but he gripped her hips, easing himself in further, almost filling her further than she could bear.

  His unit was huge and difficult for any woman to take but Mia could handle it, despite her tiny frame.

  He rocked into her and a low, feral moan escaped her mouth, the sound encouraging him to push deeper.

  “Fuck me, Mr. Quinn,” she groaned.

  It was all he needed to hear.

  There would be no mercy as he began to hammer into her small backside, his sack slapping against her burning nub as his hand twisted her dark hair into a lasso and he rode her like a wild horse.

  She screamed, over and over, begging him for more and with each plea she was rewarded with a hard, pulsating impalement.

  “I am going to blow,” he muttered. His body clenched hard, his orgasm coming on quickly and ending just as quickly. He never closed his eyes, never trusting his surroundings in the moment of vulnerability when climaxing.

  As the orgasm ended, Quinn smiled tightly, rising to pull his pants back over his hips as he discarded the used condom. He stared at Mia who seemed unable to move.

  “You all right?” he asked and she nodded just slightly.

  “You become better with each visit,” she told him. “I fear you might break me one day.”

  He laughed.

  “I think it is safe to say that if I have not broken you yet, I am not likely to do it.”

  She shrugged.

  “What is that American saying? There is first time for everything.”

  His mouth froze in a line.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “I am not American.”

  “Canadians do not know American sayings?” she asked innocently but he sensed something in her tone which he did not like.

  “Come,” he said pleasantly. “I ordered a present for you.”

  He gestured at the tray which Alina had brought into the room.

  Mia smiled, flopping onto the pile of pillows and reaching for the black hash-like substance.

  “Ah ah ah,” Quinn said, stepping over to remove the drug from her. “You know the rules.”

  Mia pouted at him.

  “And what if I know nothing today?” she whined. He felt himself growing uneasy.

  What was different? He wondered. It was unusual for Mia to give him a hard time. The reason he had chosen her was for her meekness and willingness to please.

  She appreciated good sex, money and opium; it was a match made in heaven.

  Today something is different. What is it?

  Mia smiled quickly.

  “I am just kidding,” she told him, patting the pillow at her side. “Please sit and we will talk.”

  Reluctantly, Quinn sat at her side as she used her nail to separate the opium and put it in the cylindrical pipe.

  He tried not to show impatience as the sloe-eyed beauty lit the drug and inhaled from the long end deeply.

  “He is here,” she said as she exhaled.

  “Here in the Blue Moon?”

  Mia shook her head and peered at him.

  “Here in Istanbul. He has been in every night this week.”

  “But not tonight?”

  She grinned, her lids growing heavy as the potent sedative took effect.

  “Not yet.”

  “Who has he seen?”

  Lazily, Mia licked her full lips, her eyes growing glassy as she took another hit and offered him the device.

  He shook his head, trying to mask his annoyance. The opium was never for him, she knew that. She seemed to be playing with him and he did not like it.

  She is becoming too comfortable with our arrangement. I will have to do something about this.

  “Azra, Damla…” Her smile widened. “…and me of course.”

  His sea green eyes flashed at the information.

  “You do not need be jealous,” she teased. “I have much love for everyone.”

  He did not bother to respond, instead rising from the pillows to find his shirt which had been discarded during their sexual tryst.

  Mia’s face registered surprise.

  “You are leaving?” she asked. “You have not even been here an hour!”

  “I have work to do,” Quinn replied, pulling the white shirt over his broad shoulders. Mia scowled.

  “At least allow me to finish,” she snapped and he regarded her through narrowed eyes.

  “I am sure you have many clients who will be happy to provide you with the same favors.”

  Mia’s jaw locked. She knew that the men who visited did not provide the same creature comforts that his visits did. Moreover, if Alina caught her smoking, she would be punished severely and potentially cast from the house.

  It was only for Quinn that the madam turned a blind eye to his indulging the girls. He was, after all, a favored and wealthy client.

  “You use me!” she whined and Quinn wondered how long she had been so irritating. Her true nature must have snuck up on him when he was not paying attention.

  This is what happens when you are not vigilant, he thought wryly.

  “You are a whore,” he reminded her bluntly. “You get paid to be used.”

  A slow, cruel twist touched her mouth as she laboriously sat up.

  “You forget that
you ask many questions. I wonder if our friend would like to know someone is looking for him.”

  The gravity of Mia’s words struck him and he steeled himself as a familiar rage filled his bones.

  He turned deliberately, his form towering over her.

  “I am going to pretend I did not hear you say that,” he told her quietly, willing her to show contrition.

  She did not.

  Instead, her face grew mocking and she sat forward on her knuckles like a monkey.

  “I can say it again if you like.”

  He bit down on his lower lip and stared down at her leering face.

  Suddenly, she lost the smirk, her eyes growing wide as she began to struggle for breath.

  A slender hand reached for her throat, the other reaching out for him.

  He continued to watch her, his irises boring into her, his face expressionless.

  “You should be very cautious about whom you threaten, Mia,” he told her conversationally. She gasped, choking for air, fingers clawing at her windpipe in terror.

  Quinn jutted his chin slightly and she flew backward, landing in the pile of pillows, writhing in horror as her face turned red.

  Maintaining his gaze on her thrashing form, he dug into his pants and withdrew a fistful of bills, tossing them at her feet carelessly.

  “No tip today,” he told her, whirling to leave.

  As he broke eye contact with her, a gush of air and a gasp escaped Mia’s mouth.

  “What did you do to me?” she choked after him.

  Quinn did not turn around.

  “It must be a bad batch of opium,” he commented. “You should be careful. The next one could be fatal.”

  He exited the room, ignoring her scared sobs as he did.

  Mia’s play at power did little to trouble him. The girl had no idea with whom she was dealing.

  Although I imagine she is beginning to get an idea now.

  He had been using the prostitute as an informant for the better part of a year, whenever his work took him to Istanbul.

  He had other girls in other parts of the world, some wiser than others.

  I can’t fault Mia for becoming ambitious, he mused as he left the brothel and carried on inconspicuously through the night. She would not be the first woman to try her hand at moving up.

  She is lucky she is s woman though, he thought. If she had been a man who tried to manipulate him, she would be dead. He pushed the image of the frightened exotic beauty from his mind.

  Right now he had other things with which to concern himself.

  Like finding Morcan.

  He would be back later. Mia’s information had never been faulty.

  If his prey followed routine, Morcan would return to the Blue Moon that evening where Quinn would be waiting.

  Of course, he won’t know me as Quinn when he sees me, will he?

  Chapter Two

  Leesburg, Virginia – Present Day

  Shandy stood by the front door, silent and unmoving.

  If Drake had not been so accustomed to her ways, he would have found her statuesque presence unnerving, but she had been a loyal employee since he had purchased the house. He had grown accustomed to her somewhat odd ways.

  “Shandy.” He nodded at her and she extended her hand to provide him with a double scotch. He idly wondered how she managed to keep his drinks cold when she appeared to have been standing in the same spot which he had left her in hours earlier.

  In his mind’s eye, he envisioned Shandy remaining in place, waiting for him to come and go. It was ridiculous, of course, but amusing all the same.

  “Your supper is warming in the oven, Mr. Conway,” she told him, her dark eyes trained straight ahead and not for the first time, Drake found himself wondering if she was a robot. “Cajun chicken and rice.”

  “Thank you, Shandy. You may retire for the night,” he told her, accepting the drink as he walked into the house.

  She stealthily slipped away toward her section of the house and he continued down the marble hall, toward his office.

  It was undeniably a beautiful property, his house on Grenata Preserve Place.

  Only the truly privileged could afford a colonial style mansion on the outskirts of Leesburg and Drake had worked hard to become a part of that elite circle of people.

  He had everything he could want within the stone walls; ten bedrooms, eight bathrooms, two powder rooms. There was a theatre, ballroom, tennis court and indoor pool inside, while an outdoor heated pool ran all year next to a hot tub designed with luxury in mind.

  There were private verandas for the bedrooms, and high ceilings, marble and teak trim. Twelve fireplaces could be found and each had its own unique design.

  The house was a showpiece and Drake was often praised for its splendor and magnificence, yet going home never failed to fill him with a deep sense of melancholy.

  What is the point of having all this when you have no one to share it with, to pass it along to?

  He reminded himself that one day, he would be reunited with his boys, no matter how long it took.

  He paused outside the sliding doors of his office, taking in his reflection in an oval mirror hanging on the stair wall.

  How much longer will I have to look for them? It has been 28 years since I have seen them. They are someone else with no memory of me or their mother, I am certain. Even if Ryder or Xavier remember us, would they recognize me anymore? Would I recognize them? Have I passed one of them walking down the street?

  They were more questions for the sleepless nights.

  The man in the mirror was handsome in a stern, no-nonsense way.

  His hair was thick and full, a liberal dose of salt with remnants of pepper.

  Bright green eyes peered back at him from a slightly lined face but if anyone had to guess, they would not believe Drake Conway was sixty-five years old.

  I can barely believe I am considered a senior citizen. I still feel like I am the man in my thirties, screaming out for my boys.

  Drake was sure that it would get easier, that time would bring with it some healing and answers.

  He had left the Department of Defense to join the Federal Bureau of Investigation, thinking that it would open more avenues to catching Oculus.

  Vance Berkley had come with him, Drake insisting on that stipulation as part of his job acceptance, because Drake knew he needed the man close.

  Vance was the only one who knew where the boys had been taken.

  All Drake had known was that they had each been sent somewhere different in North America to be raised by other families.

  “That’s all you need to know for now,” Vance assured him as Drake had recovered in the hospital from several bullet wounds in various parts of his body.

  The doctors had been unable to believe he had survived a shooting with so many bullets at such close range.

  “I need to say goodbye to them!” Drake begged. “Please, Vance.”

  His most trusted friend shook his head sadly.

  “They are already gone, Drake. Remember, you demanded this. It was for their own safety.”

  When Vance left, Drake cried for the first time since the shooting.

  He bawled for the loss of his Shirley, for the danger which the boys faced.

  Why would I ever think that they could lead normal lives? How could I have been so naïve?

  It was too late for regrets, especially when he knew he was to blame for the predicament in which they found themselves.

  The boys were gone and their lives, as well as his own, were still in danger.

  Yet Drake knew it was not him who Oculus wanted. They wanted the boys.

  The FBI had proved no more useful in tracking Oculus than the Department of Defense but Drake did not know why he was surprised.

  No one will ever stop Oculus. Nothing on Earth can stop their destruction.

  Killing Vance had been more proof that they would stop at nothing to find his children but Drake took comfort in knowing that w
herever Vance had hidden them, they were well secured.

  If Oculus had found them, Drake would know it. The adoptive parents had been able to keep the boys and their abilities off the radar.

  But Drake also knew that no one could prepare his children for what to expect except him. He didn’t even know if Vance had told the adoptive families of the boys’ special abilities. The two men had agreed that Drake should not know any of the details of the relocations that had saved his boys’ lives.

  But they are adults now. They are learning to fend for themselves, with their abilities. It makes them more dangerous to themselves. They will slip up and Oculus will find them. It is only a matter of time before that happens and who will protect them then?

  Yet Drake also realized that if they began to show their natural talents, it would also make it easier for him to find them. He knew that there was a good chance that his boys would have struggled as they grew up. Having abilities like they did, but not knowing how to control them would have been difficult enough even with guidance. Without any mentors, they were liable to have acted out – especially in their teen years when every child struggled with their emotions and their feelings of frustration as they became adults. But when he thought of the extra angst and violence that could have manifested for his boys as they tried to deal with things they didn’t understand, Drake reluctantly knew that it was likely that he would find his boys in either the military – or in prison. After all, isn’t that where troubled youth generally ended up?

  It was after that realization that he had shifted positions again, applying to the Central Intelligence Agency. At that point, the search became less an exercise in futility and he began to hear things about the elusive group and their activities.

  The leads had been pouring in for years but nothing had materialized conclusively.

  Oculus had been laying low also, and it made Drake uneasy.

  Are they watching me? What are they planning? He wondered, thinking of how he had lead them directly to the house in New Haven all those years ago.

  It was not him they wanted, not really. Could they have given up, believing that Drake had forsaken seeking out his children?

  He found that difficult to accept also. If Oculus had no use for him, they would simply kill him. Drake was the only lead they had to find his sons. Without that angle, Oculus would not leave him alive, potentially setting up an attack on them.