Impact Zone: The Arsenal, #6

By Cara Carnes

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

Rhea Strathmore creates death. Locked within her laboratory at The Arsenal, she concocts whatever's necessary to protect those around her. She won't ever negate her pre-Arsenal deficit, but she'll try. Her past work now threatens everyone she cares for and exposes secrets she's kept buried. The mysterious man tasked with keeping her alive is more lethal than anything she's ever concocted.

Everything has a price.

Fallon Graves defies death with every assignment. He may have traded in his lone operative lifestyle for The Arsenal, but that doesn't mean he's a team player. He's survived his entire life with no one. Why should he change? When Rhea's past threatens The Arsenal, Fallon is forced to question everything he's valued. She's a liability in the field, but he's not about to let anyone harm the woman who's more dangerous than any explosive he's ever created.

Together, Rhea and Fallon are one volatile chemical reaction away from going up in flames.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heartscape Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Feb 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393734925

Book preview

1

Bang Kwang Prison

Bangkok, Thailand

Eight years ago…

Fallon Graves expected death every day he woke. There were worse hells than death, but nothing had prepared him for the shithole he’d wound up in.

Days bled into one another. The sardine life, packed eight deep in a shit- and piss-scented cell, turned an hour into a century and rotted even the strongest wills.

Guards roused him from his perch atop a semi-rotten board—one of the only places he had to sit within his sardine world. One kicked his half-eaten, maggot-infested rice into the corner. So much for eating today.

The threadbare sandals he’d been issued pounded against the concrete as he fell into step with the four guards escorting him down a long, narrow corridor. Death row. The shackles welded shut around his ankles clanked with each short step they allowed, which left him in a constant hustle to keep up with the shorter guards.

Yeah.

He’d expected death, but nothing had prepared him for this place.

Rage kept him focused despite the narrowing timeframe. In a few days, he’d be done.

He breathed through his mouth as much as possible, but hated the putrid stench coating his tongue. Hopelessness filled his lungs and fused with the toxins of bad decisions and shitty luck.

The guards shoved him into a room with a wooden chair under a lone lightbulb. A man stood in the right corner. Hands on hips, he turned and regarded Fallon. Lips thin, gaze narrowed, everything about him screamed government, from the black suit to the matching tie. Whoever the bastard was, he wanted no part of this place or anyone in it.

Movement dragged his attention to the left corner as a woman stepped out of the shadows. Dark hair swept along her jaw in a haphazard manner, but her focused gaze demanded his attention as it scanned downward. Slow. Assessing. Anger bled into her gaze as he was forced into the chair. Two guards remained at his side, hands on their weapons.

Guard was a loose term. Most of the so-called authorities were prisoners themselves, ones entitled or privileged. Money bought favors, even here.

Leave, the woman ordered.

Neither guard moved. Fallon chuckled. You aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. English isn’t obeyed, especially from pretty bitches like you.

Peter. The woman’s voice was edged with enough steely grit to stir Fallon’s blood as the man barked orders. The two guards scurried out. The door slammed shut with a loud thud that ignited Fallon’s pulse.

He’s not worth it, Peter said. His fancy shoes scraped along the filthy floor as he shoved his hands into his slacks and moved closer. You’re wrong about this one.

No. The woman paused, stepped into Fallon’s personal space and crouched until their gazes locked. I’m not.

As much as I appreciate the company, my dance card is a little full, lady. His gaze cut to the suit. Though, you lose the suit, we could have some fun.

Two days. A thick file thudded to the floor near his shackled ankles. You’re facing a firing squad in less than forty-eight hours, Fallon Graves.

Thanks. I lost track of time a while back. I’ll make sure to ask for extra maggots in my rice for my final meal. He darted his gaze from the intensity she projected like a second skin.

You’ve got an impressive skill set, better than any ordnance expert I’ve worked with. You shouldn’t have ever been caught, especially on a job as simple as blowing a car.

Not caught, gift-wrapped. You don’t know a damn thing about me. Who the hell are you?

You can call me Edge. We get to know one another, you prove you’re worth the pain in the ass that’ll be getting you out of this place, you’ll earn my name. She remained crouched near enough he imagined the stench of his filth filled every breath she took.

Unlike the asshole pacing as far away as possible, she didn’t blink or back down despite the anger Fallon exuded. Hands clenched, he kept quiet. Whatever this was, whoever she was, didn’t matter. Two days, he’d be maggot food in the nearby graveyard.

His life would end buried in an unmarked grave, one he’d likely share with the seven other sardines in his cell. Why dig eight holes when one would do?

How did you meet him?

Fallon tensed. Coppery liquid coated his tongue when he bit down to suppress the question in his throat. Him? No way she knew anything.

My line of work, I’ve worked with a lot of people, Edge said. Some deadlier than you. Your line of work, there’s always a signature. A slice of the person behind the device. Why is that? Do you crave recognition? Or is it a small rebellion to being the faceless monster behind the death.

You a fed? Fallon glared at the bastard pacing in the corner. He sure as fuck is.

Our organization handles jobs…jobs people need done quick and quiet. Edge continued talking even though Fallon’s attention remained on the suit. We’re a lot like you and those who hire you. The only difference is I don’t set my operatives up to take the fall and eat maggots in a Thailand prison.

"Get to the point, Edge."

Someone betrayed you. No way you would’ve gotten caught unless a target was painted on you. She opened the folder at his feet and spread out the contents. Images of the bomb that’d gone epically wrong. Found enough of your work. You never had unnecessary losses.

Unnecessary losses.

Fuck.

He shifted in his seat and focused on the woman again. In another world, another life, he’d want a woman like her on her knees in front of him for entirely different reasons—ones far more fun than a chat in a foreign prison.

He wouldn’t waste precious time with a beauty like her chatting about unnecessary losses. Kids. Three children had been killed by a bomb linked to him. Only the one that’d blown hadn’t been what he planted. He wasn’t sloppy.

Took me a long time to track down your origin, Malcolm.

Fallon tensed. Malcolm died long ago. You’d best leave.

When did you meet O’Ryan? I’m thinking Chicago, likely when you were young. One of the group homes?

Paddy O’Ryan. His life once rose and set around the old man who’d helped him when no one else would. Everything has a price. Fallon, aka Malcolm, learned all about the price paid for someone giving a damn and helping you out.

Never again.

Get. The. Fuck. Out.

Come and work with me. I’ll erase what few tracks exist back to Malcolm, to that life you left.

Yeah, right.

You’ll get your justice. Whoever put you here, that’s your business. Your score to settle. Work for me, I’ll stay at your back until that’s handled and for however long you help me out when needed.

Fallon accepted he’d die soon, but killing the asshole who’d put him in death’s crosshairs would be sweet. Almost too good to believe.

Everything has a price.

Bullshit. Fallon shook his head. No way you’ve got the balls to pull me outta here, even if I was stupid enough to agree. What’s your game?

Something you’ll learn about me real quick, Graves. There’s very little I can’t do when I’m determined. I don’t ever back down, and I sure as hell don’t leave anyone swinging in the wind.

Fallon had simmered on the betrayal that’d sealed his fate the first few days he’d been imprisoned. Then he’d accepted the penance for his stupidity. He’d blindly trusted the man who’d trained him, been as close to a father as he’d ever known.

I won’t give you O’Ryan. The old bastard’s mine to handle.

Why would I want a has been when I have you? Edge smirked and stood for the first time. A man like you, burned by one of the few you trusted, won’t work for just anyone. I get that. You’re a lone wolf.

Damn straight.

Six months. Work contracts for me for six months. I’ll give you the right to tap out and refuse as long as there’s a legit reason. When you’re between assignments, I’ll help you track down whoever’s on your list.

Who says I’ve got a list?

You’ve got a list, she said with a laugh. No one can hide from me, Graves. My partner and I can find anyone. Six months. You’ll see what I’m about, what I’ll do for those in my charge. And then…

Then what?

Then you’ll trust me with that list, and they’ll pay.

That was a price he could pay. Six months to keep breathing. Then Paddy wouldn’t.

I haven’t agreed to that, Peter growled.

Fallon glared at the suited bastard, then at Edge. He’s not on board. That’s a problem. Suits don’t do something for nothing. No way in fuck I’m doing anything for him.

He’s not worth it, Edge, the suit said.

Peter agrees or Quillery and I walk. She stooped down and picked up the file. He can’t afford to lose us.

No way you’d walk for me. You don’t even know me.

I know more about you than anyone breathing, Graves. If you wanna tap out and face the firing squad rather than man up and take control of your own life, that’s fine. No skin off my back. She leaned forward. You aren’t anyone’s puppet. You’ve been kept on strings long enough.

And I’m supposed to believe you aren’t like them? He sure as fuck is.

Actions speak louder than words. Six months. You don’t like what I do and how I do it, you walk. Either way, you’re breathing and making a lot more than you’ve ever made.

Fallon mulled over the offer. Anything too good to be true likely ended badly—a lesson he’d learned the hard way more than once. He’d trusted few people since escaping the group homes. Everything had a price. O’Ryan had taken him in, given him a skill set, and then put him to work for a fuckload less than he should’ve made.

I’m your mentor. Back in the day of knights, boys like you would apprentice. One day you’ll be ready to operate alone. Until then, you do what I say, whenever I say. You’re my hands. The man held up his gnarled fingers. They trembled. My hands and my eyes.

I don’t know what your endgame is, Edge, but I’m in. I won’t let you fuck me over, though.

Fair enough. Edge looked at Peter. Make the call. He walks tonight.

We need to discuss this, the man argued.

He. Walks. Tonight. Mary glanced down at Fallon. Make sure they know about the shackles. Bastards weld them onto death row inmates. That’ll need to be handled.

And how the hell is a team pulling him out of here?

Edge pulled something out of her pocket and placed it in Fallon’s hand. Take this at nightfall. All of it.

Fallon looked down at the small vile. What’s in it? How’s it helping me get out of here? What’s the plan?

I’m killing you before they do, Edge said.

What the hell? Was she nuts?

Is this another drug from your mysterious friend? The one you reference on reports as Doc? Peter asked. I never approved that.

Yeah, you did. You green lit getting him out. The how is my job, Edge said. Drink it all tonight. When you wake back up, you’ll be free.

You aren’t authorized to use that drug, or anything else from your friend. Not for this. If the op goes sideways, they could discover it in his blood.

This isn’t possible without Doc and the drugs, and I don’t screw up my ops. Edge cut her gaze to him. Drink it all tonight.

About One Year Ago

Fallon Graves wondered if he’d made a mistake. The Arsenal wasn’t what he’d expected, not that it mattered. If Edge was here and in trouble, then he’d deal.

We need to chat, Marshall Mason said.

Fallon Graves grunted and followed the eldest of six Mason brothers who led the private paramilitary organization. The sprawling compound looked more like a ranch than a black ops group. Cattle grazed in open fields nearby. He’d never much given a damn what the headquarters of wherever he contracted at looked like, though. He’d always been about the paycheck until Mary Reynolds, aka The Edge.

Someone had kidnapped and tortured her.

Raped her.

They’d pay.

Anger simmered within him, waited for an opportunity to rage out at the assholes who’d hurt the woman who’d singlehandedly changed his life. Upended his world and set it on a new path.

Marshall entered a small office tucked away at the far end of a long corridor in the second of three buildings. He picked up a folder and chucked it between them. Photographs and papers spilled out. Annoyance flashed through him, but he remained silent and waited. Though Fallon didn’t know much about The Arsenal, he’d heard enough about the Masons to know they were touted as the best, straightest operatives in the private arena.

Mary says you’re the best ordnance expert she’s ever worked with. Marshall folded his arms and sat on the desk’s edge. You aren’t like the other operatives we’ve hired.

Fallon grunted. That a problem?

Depends on why you’re here.

I’m here for Edge. A guy like Mason, carved from rules and regulations courtesy of the military, would need more. She tell you how we met?

No. Marshall crossed his arms. You contracted for Hive.

Fallon grunted. Maybe a trip down memory lane wasn’t the best option. Let the man think whatever he wanted as long as the end result was the same. I owe her.

You aren’t the only one. She’s Arsenal now, which means she’s under our protection. The warning hung between them a few beats. The file she gave us on you is extensive, but there’s not much of a personal background there.

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.