Read Online Act of Surrender: An Immortal Ops World Novel (PSI-Ops / Immortal Ops Book 2) by Mandy M. Roth - Free Book Online
Authors: Mandy M. Roth
Tags: dpgroup.org, IDS@DPG
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himself.
“Laney,” he said in a soft whisper.
He had a name now, and he knew he should notify Corbin of his progress, but he didn’t want to share her with anyone. Not even the captain.
She’s mine.
He mentally slammed to a stop.
Mine? Where the hell did that come from?
Had the Corporation’s experiments on him left him so out of touch with his natural responses that he was now fixating on some random woman—the first woman who caught his interest after his horrible ordeal? Was his body really betraying him in such a cruel way? Giving him false positives on his body’s inborn need to lay claim and mate?
The door to the lab swung open so fast it struck the wall. James tempered his elation over his upcoming date with Laney. He raised a brow and looked to the side as two of his teammates entered, arm in arm, swaying as if they might be too drunk to stand.
Knowing them, they were.
Being immortal shifters, the men could pack the liquor away and metabolize it at an extraordinary rate. For them to be in the state they were currently in, they must have drunk a whole hell of a lot. He’d once found Duke, Striker and Boomer asleep on a pile of empty bottles in an alley behind a bar in New York. None of them could remember how they’d gotten there and each smelled like they’d drank their weight in whiskey. It was the early eighties, and whatever had happened that night had left Duke wearing a pair of spandex pants—something he would never wear willingly. That wasn’t the best part. Striker had on full makeup and his hair teased all while wearing a t-shirt for a pop-rock band that James knew the guy hated.
That must have been one hell of a drinking night.
James’s mood lit with the memory of it all.
Miles “Boomer” Walsh’s long dark hair was down today, and when he entered the room more, the lights caught varying colors running through his hair. In the right light it looked almost blue-black. His unnaturally violet gaze found James and he stopped, causing the man currently hooked to him to nearly fall on his face.
That would have been something to see considering just how big Dougal “Striker” McCracken was. He was easily the biggest of James’s team of men. He was currently the hairiest as well. Already there was a challenge going at PSI to see who could convince the guy to shave. So far, no one had won. The auburn-haired giant had given up shaving some time back and resembled a mountain man more than the Scottish Highlands warrior he truly was.
James noted the kilt Striker wore and didn’t comment. No point. The man was the type of supernatural who was proud of his heritage, of the long life he’d lived. His friend was more comfortable in kilts and more often than not Striker said fuck it to society and wore one around. Of course, the guy paired it with combat boots because it was Striker and that was his personality. He’d been in jeans most of the week, which made James wonder if tonight was one of Striker’s “I miss the motherland” nights.
Songs and odes to William Wallace were sure to follow. James had been on the receiving end of countless conversations where Striker tried to convince him that PSI should get a day off work each year in honor of the fallen hero of Scottish lycans. So far Striker hadn’t made any great strides in making that happen.
Wasn’t for lack of trying though.
Striker had the kilt paired with a t-shirt that read Have Stake Will Use It . The man wore stranger things. James didn’t question.
Striker looked up, a shit-assed grin on his face. “Och, lookie, told ya we’d find the doc in here, playin’ with nerdy things. Find the beakers, find the doc. A quote we could live by. Well, unless the doc is in hiding for ten years again, then you do nae find jack shit.”
James refrained from comment as he had indeed gone to ground for a decade, lying low, going rogue before he’d been captured and held captive all those months. He was back now. That was all
“Laney,” he said in a soft whisper.
He had a name now, and he knew he should notify Corbin of his progress, but he didn’t want to share her with anyone. Not even the captain.
She’s mine.
He mentally slammed to a stop.
Mine? Where the hell did that come from?
Had the Corporation’s experiments on him left him so out of touch with his natural responses that he was now fixating on some random woman—the first woman who caught his interest after his horrible ordeal? Was his body really betraying him in such a cruel way? Giving him false positives on his body’s inborn need to lay claim and mate?
The door to the lab swung open so fast it struck the wall. James tempered his elation over his upcoming date with Laney. He raised a brow and looked to the side as two of his teammates entered, arm in arm, swaying as if they might be too drunk to stand.
Knowing them, they were.
Being immortal shifters, the men could pack the liquor away and metabolize it at an extraordinary rate. For them to be in the state they were currently in, they must have drunk a whole hell of a lot. He’d once found Duke, Striker and Boomer asleep on a pile of empty bottles in an alley behind a bar in New York. None of them could remember how they’d gotten there and each smelled like they’d drank their weight in whiskey. It was the early eighties, and whatever had happened that night had left Duke wearing a pair of spandex pants—something he would never wear willingly. That wasn’t the best part. Striker had on full makeup and his hair teased all while wearing a t-shirt for a pop-rock band that James knew the guy hated.
That must have been one hell of a drinking night.
James’s mood lit with the memory of it all.
Miles “Boomer” Walsh’s long dark hair was down today, and when he entered the room more, the lights caught varying colors running through his hair. In the right light it looked almost blue-black. His unnaturally violet gaze found James and he stopped, causing the man currently hooked to him to nearly fall on his face.
That would have been something to see considering just how big Dougal “Striker” McCracken was. He was easily the biggest of James’s team of men. He was currently the hairiest as well. Already there was a challenge going at PSI to see who could convince the guy to shave. So far, no one had won. The auburn-haired giant had given up shaving some time back and resembled a mountain man more than the Scottish Highlands warrior he truly was.
James noted the kilt Striker wore and didn’t comment. No point. The man was the type of supernatural who was proud of his heritage, of the long life he’d lived. His friend was more comfortable in kilts and more often than not Striker said fuck it to society and wore one around. Of course, the guy paired it with combat boots because it was Striker and that was his personality. He’d been in jeans most of the week, which made James wonder if tonight was one of Striker’s “I miss the motherland” nights.
Songs and odes to William Wallace were sure to follow. James had been on the receiving end of countless conversations where Striker tried to convince him that PSI should get a day off work each year in honor of the fallen hero of Scottish lycans. So far Striker hadn’t made any great strides in making that happen.
Wasn’t for lack of trying though.
Striker had the kilt paired with a t-shirt that read Have Stake Will Use It . The man wore stranger things. James didn’t question.
Striker looked up, a shit-assed grin on his face. “Och, lookie, told ya we’d find the doc in here, playin’ with nerdy things. Find the beakers, find the doc. A quote we could live by. Well, unless the doc is in hiding for ten years again, then you do nae find jack shit.”
James refrained from comment as he had indeed gone to ground for a decade, lying low, going rogue before he’d been captured and held captive all those months. He was back now. That was all
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