ALTERED BY LEAD: UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 2 Read online

  ALTERED BY LEAD

  UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 2

  TATE JAMES

  C.M. STUNICH

  Altered by Lead

  (Undercover Sinners #2)

  By Tate James and C.M. Stunich

  2020 © C.M. Stunich and Katrina Fischer

  Cover Art 2019 © Amanda Carroll

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Natalia

  2. Weston

  3. Natalia

  4. Natalia

  5. Colt

  6. Natalia

  7. Natalia

  8. Natalia

  9. Mace

  10. Natalia

  11. Arsen

  12. Natalia

  13. Natalia

  14. Natalia

  15. Natalia

  16. Natalia

  Learn More...

  Also by Tate and C.M.

  Also by Tate James

  Also by C.M. Stunich

  Chapter 1

  Natalia

  The copper taste of blood fills my mouth as I struggle to sit up.

  “Shh, Talia, don’t move.” It’s Mace, his huge arms wrapping around me as someone else fiddles with my seat belt.

  “She’s free. Go.” Hawke.

  That’s when Mace pulls me from the seat, and I realize with a start that I was upside down. He drags me from the wreckage of the Hummer, gunshots blasting around me, the sound like thunder in a storm. I’m so disoriented from the crash that I can’t quite make out what’s happening. All I know is that we’re in seriously deep shit.

  “We need to call in a favor,” Weston shouts from somewhere nearby, struggling to make his voice heard over the commotion. When I blink some of the blood away from my face, I notice Colt lying comatose on the ground near the vehicle. I’m not even sure that he’s breathing.

  “If we do that …” Hawke snarls, but then he just trails off, raking his fingers through his short, dark hair. It’s spattered with blood, all sticky and disheveled, not at all like I’m used to seeing it.

  “Like we have a choice?!” West snaps back at him. I have no idea what they’re talking about—and not just because of the possible concussion I’m developing. So I let my eyes scan our surroundings until I spot Arsen, his dual pistols in his inked hands, taking fire over the top of the overturned Hummer.

  On the road above us, there’s a veritable army.

  Konstantin Petrov’s army.

  My father’s minions.

  “We’re going to die,” I whisper, but I can’t actually hear the words when they come out of my mouth. My voice is too raspy, and there’s too much noise. I lick my lips and find them coated in blood. “Mace …”

  “Shush, Talia,” he growls, as Hawke turns his gray eyes back to us. “We’ll make it out of here. We always do. Now, call in the favor.”

  “I don’t take orders from you,” Hawke snaps back, but I can see it in his eyes when he looks up at the ridge above us. Without this favor, whatever it is, we’re dead. “Shit.” He pulls a satellite phone from his belt, and dials up a number.

  “We’re going to have to do more than just stand here,” Arsen drawls, dropping the clips from his pistols, and slamming in a new pair. “I’m running out of ammo.” He yawns, like he could give a shit less, but when I catch a glimpse of his gaze, I see a resigned darkness there. Arsen doesn’t care that he’s about to die, but he’s accepted that it’s going to happen.

  “Is Colt dead?” I ask Mace, not sure why it matters since we’re all about to die. Or maybe I’ll just be shot, dragged back to Daddy’s hidey-hole, and raped senseless by his favorite cronies. Or maybe he’ll send his elves in to torture and kill me slowly?

  Either way, getting shot out here is sort of best case scenario for me.

  "He's alive," Mace grunts, holding me against his chest in what feels almost like a ... hug? ... and then setting me down on the ground beside Colt's unconscious form. "But barely." He kicks a first-aid kit my way, blood running down his own face, obscuring his deep blue eyes. "Patch him up as best you can, Talia. I'll try to keep us alive long enough for the helicopter to get here."

  "Helicopter?" I ask, but Mace is already unloading a long-range rifle and a tripod, setting up behind the front wheel of the Hummer. To be quite frank, I'm surprised we're still alive at all. Daddy must be holding back for some reason. But why?

  "Favor's called in!" Hawke shouts as he whips a machine gun over his shoulder. "Hold position until they get here."

  I bite my lip and shake my head, but that doesn't clear the dizziness. If anything, it only makes it worse. All around me, there's chaos. But on the inside ... I look up and glance around at the guys, their steady arms, their grim expressions (except for Arsen who’s, you know, laughing). At least if this is my last moment, I feel like I'm a part of the team.

  "Come on, Colt," I whisper, reaching over to touch the side of his face. Mace is right: he's just barely breathing. Running my hands down his body, I try to determine what injuries he might have that I could help with, if any. If it's all internal bleeding ... But then I notice a long gash down his arm, from wrist to elbow, blood pumping steadily from the wound.

  Not good.

  Shit.

  Snapping the first aid kit open, I dig through it and find a curved needle, meant for sewing flesh. I should probably disinfect the site, but there's so much blood ... I decide the need for speed is more important; I have to stop that bleeding. My shaking hands manage to thread the needle, and I lean down, pinching the flesh closed as best I can. The wound itself is ragged though, and I imagine it'll scar. There's no time for whiskey and sex and perfect, tiny stitches, not like I did with Weston.

  "What the hell is Konstantin up to?" Weston growls, dropping another gun to the ground and then patting around his person looking for another. He's got nothing. He's spent. "Fuck." He drops down to his knees, pausing for the briefest of seconds to watch my fingers weaving through Colt's flesh like it's so much cloth. His eyes darken, and he turns away, crawling into the Hummer for the last of the weapons.

  I finish up the stitches, and tie off the wound. A small amount of blood tries its best to seep out between the small, dark lines, but if I add a bandage on top of it, Colt might be okay. That is, if his other injuries don't kill him first.

  West crawls back up to stand beside Arsen, and that's when the first of the off-road vehicles begins to make its way down the side of the road. Bullets ping off the exterior, and I know it's just a matter of time before we lose what little ground we have.

  In the distance, a chopping sound cuts through the air, and within seconds, there's a shiny black helicopter above us. No logo on the side. Two guns slide out of the front, and a stream of fire explodes across the skyline. Men fall, cars catch fire, and the off-road vehicles are riddled with holes.

  "Now!" Hawke shouts, slinging his weapon over his shoulder. He leans down and hauls Colt up, making me cringe. If he hurt his back or has internal bleeding then ... But there's no time. Hawke starts running, and Mace hoists me up to follow; West and Arsen are not far behind.

  And then we run. And run. And run.

  By the time we stop, almost an hour later, there's another Hummer waiting with the keys inside.

  The boys pile in, and off we go.

  The last thing I remember before I pass out is how cold Colt's hand feels tucked inside of mine.

  Chapter
2

  Weston

  Blood.

  So much fucking blood.

  Not that I'm any stranger to it, but this time is different.

  This time, it's my best friend’s blood all over my damn hands.

  The steady beeps from the monitors are the only thing keeping me from losing my fucking mind, even as the medics work with silent efficiency to try to save Colt's life.

  Internal bleeding, multiple lacerations, a broken arm, but worst of all a broken rib embedded dangerously close to his heart.

  I clench my fists, still coated red in Colt's blood, and try to hear what the medics are saying.

  They're too quiet, though, and the rushing in my ears is too damn loud.

  "Weston," Hawke says, clapping me on the shoulder and making me flinch. I hadn't even heard him approach. Says a lot for my current state of mind. "Go get washed up, Colt's not going anywhere for awhile."

  My gaze tears away from the operating table and flicks to our team leader.

  "Says who?" I demand.

  His eyes narrow slightly. No doubt the challenge in my voice has set his control freak tendencies flaring. "Says the medic in charge. They're operating to remove the bone shards, but they're so close to his heart it could be hours yet."

  The cold, emotionless way he talks about Colt—who might fucking die—makes my temper flare and I shoot up out of my seat, fists clenched, ready to punch this heartless asshole right in the face.

  But as I stand up, my attention catches on the forlorn, shivering girl across the room.

  "Shit," I breathe, my eyes running over Natalia. She's clutching her arm to her body in a way that implies an injury but we're all so covered in mud and smeared with blood, it's hard to tell. "Has anyone checked Natalia over?"

  Hawke grimaces, turning his attention her way. "She brushed me off. Said she needs a minute alone."

  I gape at him, confused. "And you just accepted that?" Since fucking when does Hawke take orders from anyone, let alone Natalia?

  "Of course not," he snaps. "I already asked one of the medics to look her over as soon as they can. Right now, though..." He indicates to my friend on the makeshift operating table, and bile churns in my guts.

  "Got it." I run my hand through my choppy green and black hair, remembering all the blood crusted to my fingers too late. "I'll still check her over." I pause, pulling at my lip piercing with my teeth. "Did you see how good she was under fire? The way she stitched Colt up ..."

  Hawke grunts a sound, following my line of sight to the shivering ball of girl in the corner. "Yeah. It's like she's made for this life."

  I sigh. We called in a favor, so there’s no hiding Natalia from our organization now. Chances are, they'll remove her from our team before Colt is even out of surgery. If he gets out.

  Refusing to acknowledge the pain of that possibility, I shove my dark thoughts aside and stride across the room to Natalia.

  "Hey." My voice comes out louder than I intend and she looks startled.

  "Hey," she whispers back. Her voice is weak, her face so pale it's practically gray, and her arm ...

  "Natalia, you're bleeding. Have you had that looked at?" I reach for her arm, but she flinches away from me. I try really damn hard not to let that hurt my feelings but...

  "It's fine," she replies, then clears her throat. "It didn't even hurt until we got back here, so I don't know when it happened."

  This has me frowning. "It could be serious, you need to get it checked out."

  Her eyes flick over to Colt and the team working on him. I'm trying not to look; it's only stressing me out. "They need to work on Colt," she says, her voice rough with emotion. "Is he ... is he going to be okay?"

  My throat tightens, but I refuse to acknowledge it. "He'll be fine," I snap, and she flinches again. Fuck. "Look, just let me check your arm out. I'm not medic good, but I've done enough field patch-ups for the guys."

  She stares up at me for the longest time, like she's seeing me—or all of us—for the first time. Yeah, getting run off the road and shot at by an army of your father's minions will change a person’s perspective.

  "You came for me?" she asks, and I open my mouth to give a reply that I feel will satisfy both Natalia, and the higher-ups, but ... "Or you came after me, I can't tell which."

  "I ..." I start, but I'm not sure how to answer that question. Instead, I take a seat beside her as the doors to the surgery unit swing shut, and we're left to sit outside, in the waiting room of one of the organization's safe houses. "Aren't those the same thing?"

  The way Natalia looks at me makes my jaw tight with anger; it's a pitying sort of look, like she feels sorry for me or something.

  "No, West, they're not the same thing at all." She turns away and sighs, clutching her arm close to her chest. This time, when I reach out to take it, she lets me.

  "We weren't looking to hurt you," I say, and then pause. "Well, maybe Arsen was. I seriously don't trust him for shit, but the rest of us ..."

  "I overheard you talking with Hawke," Natalia admits, turning caramel brown eyes to me. The hurt in them makes my chest feel tight. Aw, fuck, come on, West, you're not seriously falling for this weepy girl are you?

  But maybe I am?

  I swipe a hand down my face, but this isn't the time nor place to be thinking about crap like that, not when Colt is lying on a table with his life hanging on the line.

  Grabbing the first aid kit off the floor, I look around and realize we're the only two left in the room. Hawke is probably off dealing with the higher-ups, Mace by his side. We have to pay for that favor somehow, and it isn't going to be cheap. Arsen ... well, who the hell cares where that crazy fuck is anyway?

  "We were just talking out our asses," I hedge as I open the kit and pull out some antiseptic wipes, butterfly bandages, and gauze. Looking a bit more closely at the wound, I can see that it's long, and deep, but we might be able to get away without doing stitches. Natalia's face tightens with pain when I start to clean her arm, but she doesn't pull away or cry. Little Miss Petrova over here is one tough bitch.

  "I don't want to be dumped at some random town and left to fend for myself," she says, and I grit my teeth. Ah, crap, she really did hear everything, didn't she? "I deserve more than that, don't I?"

  We lock eyes, and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to say.

  "We won't leave you without making sure the threat of your father's been neutralized ..."

  Natalia lets me put the bandages on, wrap her with the gauze, but then she pulls away, face hardening. I have a feeling that things might change a bit after tonight.

  One of the nurses races out the door, the front of her scrubs covered in blood.

  Let's just hope it doesn't change for the worse.

  Because if I lose my best friend, I don't know what the hell I'll do.

  "Natalia," Hawke says, coming into the room, still dressed in his bloodied clothes, smelling like old pennies and gunpowder. "I need you to come with me for a minute."

  She looks at him from across the room with that same hard, dark expression on her face, and then stands up, lifting her chin in defiance.

  I wonder if she thinks they're going to kill her, to keep her quiet?

  They might.

  I stand up, too, and follow after. If one of the Blackbirch Company assholes tries to kill Natalia ... I'm not sure what I'll do. Will I stand there and watch them put a bullet in an innocent girl's head? Is that the kind of man I want to be? Maybe not so much an innocent girl, right? But one you like anyway ...

  My hand ends up at my waistband, hovering over my Smith & Wesson. Hawke notices right away.

  "Get your fucking hand off that gun if you want to live through this meeting," he snaps at me, gray eyes darkening. Hawke and I exchange a long, testing sort of look, but we both know the reality of the situation: he's the boss, and I'm not. Never been the leader type anyway. "If you want to keep Natalia safe, you'll behave yourself."

  My jaw clenches, but I keep my sma
rt-mouthed retort to myself, following Hawke down the hallway to where Natalia's standing. We're in an underground bunker beneath one of the organization's safe houses, so there are no windows, but even a wall of them couldn't make this office look cozy.

  There's a woman behind the desk, some chick named Janet Greenburg, that's been trying to fuck Hawke for years. Pretty sure he softens up at the sight of her now. I mean, she's pretty, but she's fucking ruthless. I've kinda got the idea that the higher-ups treat her like shit for being female, so she has to overcompensate a bit. Still, doesn't exactly make her pleasant to be around.

  "So," Janet says, shuffling some papers around her desk, and then pulling her iPad into her lap. She studies it for a moment before glancing up at us. "You've had Konstantin Petrov's daughter in your custody for ... how long now? A week?" Hawke purses his lips, but doesn't bother to answer the question. It was rhetorical anyway. "And you didn't think to inform us about that. Instead," she pauses here to scroll down on her iPad, probably reading a stupidly ridiculous report that Hawke's managed to type up in record time. "You chose to take on a large portion of his forces in an undisclosed location, and nearly got yourselves killed." Janet sets her iPad on the desk and glances at Natalia. The two women exchange a look, taking each other's mettle. Janet must like what she sees because she turns to Hawke with a fatigued, rather than an angry, expression on her face. "You want her on your team?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Hawke replies, and when Natalia whips her gaze over to him in shock, he pointedly turns away. "She's proven to be quite useful. She'll need training, of course, but there's promise there."

  "You want us to take on the daughter of a mark because she has promise?" Janet repeats, her dark hair slicked back into a bun, a sea of weapons stashed on her tall, lithe form. She glances back at Natalia, studying her full, ripe curves, and smooth hands. Janet knows as well as we do that this girl is a Russian princess. To turn her into a soldier would be a hell of a task.