Sanctuary (the Affliction Trilogy #2)

Chapter 13

Thirteen

“ Y ou're early, Miss Ellery. That makes for a good first impression,” President Spencer says from behind his desk as I'm ushered into his office by a security guard.

I tug on the bottom of my fit and flare dress and curse my decision to wear a cardigan and four-inch heels. The outfit seemed perfect for the job when I put it on. Now, not so much. My skin is hot and itchy, and I feel unsteady on my feet. I'm a disaster waiting to happen.

“I'm trying my best, sir,” I state, clutching my purse to my stomach.

It’s a little over the top for my first employment opportunity to be the assistant to the president. There must have been a better candidate than me. I mean, I don't understand the difference between business formal and business casual attire. Office etiquette—I don't have a clue. I didn’t so much as work the typical teenage jobs before today, yet here I am.

I shift side to side and take in the President's office. It's a smaller version of the office I’d seen on television many times before the Affliction. A cream and green theme combined with a rich mahogany desk and a matching leather chair. Two couches face each other with a coffee table in between, making up the formal seating area. Paintings of the most popular presidents hang in gilded frames. It’s impressive that they were able to mimic the real thing so well under a mountain.

“Take a seat, Miss Ellery.” My new boss motions toward the chairs facing his desk. I step forward, careful not to twist my ankle and end up falling to the floor with the grace of a fish outside of water.

William Spencer isn't a man I'd want to cross. He represents the ideal picture of a strong person with unwavering resolve. The type of person that when he speaks, people don't question him—at least, not out loud. He may be the most intimidating person I've ever come across.

He finishes with a stack of papers and folds his hands atop his desk. “I want you to know that I did not take my decision to hire you as my assistant lightly. I need someone I can trust in your position. You will assist me in matters which affect our community. I trust you will use sound judgment in what you deem as necessary to share with your family and friends concerning your job.”

“Of course, sir.”

He leans back in his chair. “Tell me a little about yourself. Your file reads that your mother died giving birth to you and you don't know who your father is. It sounds like you had a rough life.”

Everyone is entitled to feel like they've been dealt a shitty hand. There's not one person who hasn't been affected by the Affliction, but I'll be damned if I let anyone believe I've had a worse life than the next person. I love my family, and I miss the life we shared together. Never, ever will I let somebody believe the absence of biological parents meant I wasn't fully loved or wanted.

“Far from it,” I say. “I had two loving parents. The only thing I missed out on was meeting my mother, but my aunt and uncle shared a lot of stories about her. Even now, I consider myself lucky. The people I love most in this world are still safe and alive, and I can't ask for more.”

“Luck may have played a small part in your survival, Miss Ellery, but it is pure determination and strength that got you here. Even your friends confessed that if it were not for you, they would have never found the Sanctuary.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and close my eyes. They put a positive spin on the part I played in them being here, and I appreciate it, but it lacks the whole truth. If it weren't for me, they'd all be home now. It's not a detail I want to get into with a stranger, so I sit quietly.

“This will not be an easy job. Some days, it will require that same strength and determination.”

“I promise to try my best, sir.”

“I'm sure you will.”

President Spencer walks me through some requirements of my job and a long list of his expectations. When my head feels like it’s ready to explode, he sends me out to fulfill my new duties. He wasn't kidding when he told me this job wouldn't be easy. Other than a quick rundown on how to read his schedule, there's no formal training. I’m thrown in headfirst, trying to swim my way out of paperwork all morning with nothing but some notes I found in my desk drawer.

The stacks of documents needing to be scanned and the constant stream of people who want to schedule meetings are never-ending. I'm on the verge of throwing my hands in the air and walking out when a calm, soothing voice says, “Have you had a chance to eat lunch?”

My head whips up.

Ridge stands over me. His light hazel eyes inspect my every move as a barely-there smile pulls at his lips.

“I don't have time. I need to get all of this filed,” I say, sweeping my hand over the papers.

“I thought you'd say something like that.” He tosses a brown paper sack onto my desk and sits across from me in one of the lobby's chairs.

I open my mouth to put up a fight, but my stomach growls at the smell coming from the bag. Ridge pulls out two sandwiches wrapped in thin layers of paper and a sack of homemade potato chips. Driven by my hunger and the fear of drooling on my desk, I brush the documents aside and dig in.

“He will work you to death if you don't draw a line with him,” Ridge says before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Who, your dad?” I ask, covering my mouth with my hand as I chew.

Ridge raises an eyebrow. “I'm surprised he told you we were related. He tries not to address that while at work.”

“He didn't tell me. It's obvious. You look just like him.”

He curls his lip and wrinkles his nose. “So I've heard.”

I smile and shake my head. Ridge likes to act the part of a badass, but something tells me he's all gooey and fluffy on the inside.

We eat in silence. The quiet brings forth the single question that has plagued me for days. I was so lost in my work that I forgot about it all morning until now. “Are the boys released yet?”

“About an hour ago. They're being shown to their quarters and given their job assignments as we speak,” he says.

“Your dad doesn't make house calls to everyone when they get here?”

He crumples his trash and stuffs it into the bag. “Nope. Consider yourself special.”

“Where are the boys staying?”

“In an apartment building on the north side of the Sanctuary. I saw River on my way over here, and I gave her the information.” He stands and walks toward the door, his trash in hand.

Despite River's notion that Ridge has a thing for me, I like him. He's well aware that I'm in a relationship, and still, he's kind to me. I don't get a vibe that he wants anything more than a friendship. Yes, he may stare at me, but he comes off as curious. It's been a while since I've made new friends, and I don't want to throw this away over an assumption.

“Hey, Ridge,” I call after him.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for lunch and all of your help with the guys.”

He gives me a tight lip smile. “You're welcome.”

After nailing down the filing system, I catch sight of the clock on my computer monitor and realize my day should have ended forty-five minutes ago. I gather my purse and check that President Spencer doesn't need me for anything else before I wish him goodnight and head home.

My aching feet drag as I exit the government facility, saying good evening to the soldier guarding the entry. The Sanctuary’s lights have dimmed to simulate dusk and hardly anyone is in this section of the mountain. I head toward my house, staring at my heels and contemplating if I want to take them off.

Out of nowhere, arms curl around my waist and warm air tickles my neck. “Are you going to walk by without saying hi to me?”

A smile spreads across my face at the sound of the familiar baritone voice. I look over my shoulder, and the sight behind me is so unexpected I have to blink a couple of times. I turn around in Ryland's arms and look at him from head to toe. He's dressed in a set of green and brown military fatigues, and the brim of his matching hat casts his face in shadows. The sleeves of his thick button-up shirt are rolled to his elbows, leaving the tattoos inked into his forearms on display. Across the right pocket of his uniform, Shaw is embroidered in black thread.

I run my trembling fingers over his last name before looking up at him. “What's going on?”

“We have about thirty minutes before I have to report for duty.” The smile slips from his face.

“They assigned you to the military?”

“Along with Wes and Aiden. It turns out business and photography majors aren't in high demand,” he says.

I don't know what I thought their job assignments would be, but I didn't expect them to be fighting for the rest of their lives. Not that I've seen the soldiers around here in battle. Most of them seem to keep the peace, but still, it's not what I would've chosen for them.

“You said you, Aiden, and Wes. What about Noah?”

“He's assigned to tech support with the internal communications team. He'll be working with the military, but he has regular work hours.”

Of course, nothing can fall into the realm of normal for all of us. I have nothing against the military. It's a respectable profession, but for once, it would be nice if nothing in our lives was exceptional. I want us to work boring jobs from nine to five and to eat dinner together around a table at the end of the day. On the weekends, we could go out to the bar and have some drinks. I'm not asking for much.

Or maybe I am.

Ryland's fingers intertwine with mine. “Don't get upset about it. I don't have a lot of time with you. The last thing I want is you worrying while we are together. We're fine, Quinn. I promise.”

I search his face, making sure he's not sugar-coating the truth. I wouldn't put it past him to tell me what I want to hear and for him to grin and bear it.

He lifts my chin with his index finger and looks me in the eyes. “We're fine, love.”

“Okay.” I nod. “So, you have to work a night shift?”

He guides me down the sidewalk. “Just during training. They said it's easier to train us when things are calm, but I might have to keep the shift until I catch on.”

“We'll hardly get to see each other.” I hate the idea of us working on a schedule. It's like our newfound safety offers us the freedom to not worry, but in return, it costs us precious time.

One side of his lips lifts into a smile. “After being with me every day for over six months, I thought you might like the break.”

“I had plans for you.”

“I bet you did, and don't worry, you'll get your chance to have your way with me.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Shaw. Not everything is about sex.” I run my fingers over my lips, hiding my smile.

Ryland leans into my side and drops his voice, his breath brushing against my ear. “So, you're not the least bit interested in finally finishing what we’ve started for once?”

“I didn’t say that,” I answer.

Ryland raises an eyebrow and pulls me into a little alcove between two buildings. A yelp leaves me as he spins me to face him, pressing me between him and a brick wall. His long fingers curve around my neck as he leans down and whispers, “I can at least leave you with something to remember me by while I’m at work.”

I shiver at the promise of losing myself as his lips press into mine. I open my mouth to him, and his tongue caresses mine, leaving behind the taste of sweet mint. I grip his uniform shirt, pulling him close. His body radiates warmth as his hard cock presses into my lower stomach. I squeeze my thighs together to alleviate the pulsating need between them, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

“You feel so good. I’ve missed touching you,” I say, kissing the edge of his jaw.

His hand glides down my side until he reaches the hem of my dress. Rough, callused fingers stroke along the back of my thigh, guiding my leg around his waist. He trails slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of my neck as he moves his hips onto the center of mine.

I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of soap and sandalwood as my hand moves to his stomach to untuck his shirt. My fingertips meet the patch of hair that trails from his navel into his pants, and I tease him by running my fingers under his waistband. He shudders, and my other hand grasps at the back of his neck, seeking his curls and coming up short. In frustration, I rip off the hat and throw it to the ground. My palm runs upward again, but instead of finding soft waves, I'm met with the bristling of short hairs.

My eyes spring open. The chestnut waves are missing from around his face, and the hair on the side of his head is almost to his scalp. The top is a disheveled mess of strands no longer than two inches.

“What happened to your hair?” I ask, wiggling out of his hold.

He runs his hand over the back of his head. “I had to cut it. It's part of the uniform. I take it that you don't like it.”

I study his face for a moment. The sharp lines of his jaw look more intense, and his hair no longer competes for attention with his bright green eyes. I feel so divided about the change. His facial features are on full display, and although I'll miss the feel of his curls twisted around my fingers, I love how I can admire every perfect line of his face.

I rub my hand up and down the back of his head, and his chin falls to his chest, giving me better access. He hums like he’s on the verge of total bliss. The sound sends an elated shiver through me.

“It's not bad at all. It's just going to take some getting used to.” I fist the longer hairs on the top of his head and pull. “There’s still enough for me to hold on to.”

His mouth brushes mine as he says, “You are driving me mad, Quinn.”

“Good. I’d love to see what happens when you lose control.”

“God, you are so tempting, but I have to go.” He gives me one slow, chaste kiss before he pulls away.

“I don't like this.”

“I know, and I'll make it up to you. I'll meet you in the park tomorrow night and bring you dinner before I have to go to work. We'll have to make some adjustments for a while, but we'll figure it out.” It's sweet how he wants to make something up to me outside of his control. I love him for trying to make the best of this situation.

I step away from the wall and pick his hat off the ground. He bows his head, so I can place the camouflaged cap back over it.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, Ry.”

A massive smile spreads across his face, forming dimples on each cheek. The weight of the world slips from his shoulders, and I get a glimpse of the carefree young man I wish he could always be. I'd do anything he asked if he could always be this happy.

“Will you walk me the rest of the way home?” I tilt my head toward my house.

“Of course. I can't have my girl walking home all by herself in the dark.”