19. I’m not Leaving Her
Chapter 19
I’m not Leaving Her
Griff
We hogtied Mr. Trout, and dumped him in the Crown Royal’s trunk. I followed her in the Maybach to yet another location, since we weren’t depositing him at the bondsman’s office.
Jesus Christ, I was livid.
I thought her little joyride would result in maybe some guy who was skimping on his DUI hearing - not trying to roll up some DEVGRU guy with a bad attitude and a love of things that go boom.
Worse yet, it wasn’t even for a fucking bail. What extrajudicial justice shit was this? What was she into? What insanity was she getting herself involved in, and why?
Once I got into my Maybach, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of. I called Agent Sierra… again .
“I need you to tell me everything you can about Noam Braun, and Mike Trout, and everything you can possibly dig up about the Prodigal Sons Motorcycle club…”
“Hello,” she said, without any further words.
“Hello? What? Did we get disconnected already?”
“No, but usually when you’re calling someone for a favor, you start off with a little ‘hello’, maybe a ‘how are you?’ Something to establish rapport. You know?”
“I swear to God, I’m not in the fucking mood, Sierra,” I said as I followed right up on Taz’s ass, my headlights glowing off her trunk, just to make sure that the asshole didn’t come undone and try to jump out.
“Oh dear, you’re being a real sour puss. Has Wifey rejected the marriage? Try increasing the dowry! You Griffiths are loaded!”
If I could have reached through the phone and throttled her, I would have. Unfortunately, that wasn’t how telephonic devices worked… yet.
The only thing that kept me from losing my absolute shit was the sound of her typing on the other end. Even as she gave me hell, she was working on my request. Which was what made her a half-way decent partner.
“You know, I could have been out getting laid, or something, when you called. Then what would you do?”
“Tell you to dump the guy, and get back to your computer,” I said through clenched teeth. “Or tried again in five minutes after you snuck out.”
“Eh,” she said, noncommittally. Her version of an agreement. “Prodigal Sons, you say? Black leather, burning skulls for a logo?”
“Yes,” I said, as Taz turned the vehicle down another lonely highway, up a mountain to a strange looking mansion.
“I have something, and it’s… complicated. I’ll need to call you back with further information.”
“The fuck?”
“I can’t talk about it on these phones.” The phone I called her on was a secure Satellite Phone that gave us a reasonable level of privacy. If she was worried about security - as fucking loose her relationship with that concept was - then we were in for a world of hurt. “I’ll have to schedule a rendezvous with you. Somewhere your Daddy can’t listen in.”
Insulting. But what she really meant was that she didn’t trust the CIA.
Neither did I.
“Copy,” I said, letting her know that I understood her meaning.
We rolled up a long drive, through woods and to a house that looked like a castle. Gothic spirals went up long balusters, and dark green moss and vines wove its way like fingers up the bricks. The place was creepy. Like there should be gargoyles on the rooftop, and a humpback in the tower.
At the grand, marble staircase that expanded along the front, there was a man standing in a tailored suit. Brown hair, brown eyes, tall, with a strong jaw, and cleft chin. He looked down his nose at the guy I recognized as Noam, standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of his Honda Civic.
A fucking Civic… really? Why not just kill yourself?
She pulled up beside Noam, and opened the trunk to reveal the man inside, squirming like a worm on the hot concrete. I parked beside the two of them, then got out to stand in front of Taz. Not because I was undermining her, but because I didn’t trust the slippery, slick haired looking bitch at the top of the stairs.
He observed us with quiet amusement, smirking as he lifted a brow.
“And who are your friends, Braun?” He asked.
“Brett,” Braun said, with a shrug. “You know I’m not a solo operator anymore. This is Trinity, and her… friend. ”
There was something familiar about this Brett guy. Like I had seen him somewhere before. As if I knew him and hated him in a previous life.
“I’m Kai Griffith.” I broadened my shoulders, wanting to keep Taz from his view. There was just something about this guy.
If he were in a bar, I’d instinctively cover Taz’s drink when he came near.
“Kai Griffith,” he said as if my name was edible. “First son of Director Roland Griffith.”
He took a step down, and all of us - Noam, me, and Taz - took a small instinctive step away.
“And Trinity No-Last-Name.” His brown eyes were the color of dirt on top of a freshly dug grave.
He stood in front of me but didn’t see me. He was staring over my shoulder right at my Firefly.
I was ready to start a fight because of it. I was on edge, like there was static in the air, warning me that something bad was about to happen.
Brett grabbed Trout from the trunk, hauled him over his shoulder and walked away from the house, nodding his head to the side in a clear instruction for us to follow him.
My line of sight never left Trinity, her eyes and mouth as wide as saucers.
“We’re not good enough to step into your haunted castle?” Noam chuckled, following behind me.
“My wife doesn’t need to see this,” Brett said.
“I think she sees it already.” Noam’s gaze traveled up, toward a far away balcony where a woman with thick, red, curling hair and moon-pale skin looked down at the hubbub with sparkling emerald eyes.
Brett stopped, followed Noam’s gaze, then smiled. He blew the woman a kiss. The ethereal red-haired sprite blushed.
The… fuck ?
“I only run interrogations in the shed now,” Brett said, moving on from whatever the hell had just happened. “We don’t want the bad energy in the house.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, making eye contact with Taz, who stared at me with a distinct what the fuck? look. “Wouldn’t want the ghosts of tortured enemies to enter the house, and all that.”
“Exactly,” Brett said. “That’s why she’s got Rosemary in all the entrances and routinely sprinkles salt on the perimeter. Apparently, it keeps the bad spirits at bay.”
“Sounds plausible,” Taz said, coming from her daze.
When I caught her eye again, she shook her head, and I knew that, like me, she thought we were in some kind of mad house and was leaning into her sarcasm to get through.
“So why, Noam, have you brought little Miss Trinity to my home?” Brett asked as if Taz’s presence was of more significance than just as a bounty hunter.
I grabbed her hand in mine, squeezing our palms together. I don’t know why. But I needed to touch her. She squeezed my hand back and we walked together behind the pair of old men, into the shed of torture.
I was tense and annoyed, and ready to grab her and run from this asylum.
“She’s one of my best agents,” Noam said, the hostility in the wrinkles of his eyes didn’t match his tone.
“Is she now?” Brett’s voice was hinting at a secret that we weren’t read in on.
Old gardening implements, rusted with age, hung on the walls of the wooden structure, and in the middle was a rope with a hook dangling from the ceiling.
That wasn’t creepy at all!
He tied Trout up by the zip ties on his wrist, and true to his name, his legs kicked like he was swimming. He swung like a fish on a line. Brett tugged on the long end of the rope until our gagged captive hung off the ground.
Trout groaned, his eyes wide, as he must have recognized Brett “I have the worst fake name ever” Bradley.
Maybe I should be like Agent Sierra and have fake names in my back pocket.
I mean I had one… it was John Smith. I even had the documents to prove it. But that passport was strictly for overseas use, and having that ID scanned anywhere would raise a flare in the middle of the situation room that I didn’t feel like dealing with. I wondered what name I’d give myself. Johnny Everyman? Even that would be more convincing than Brett Bradley.
Brett grabbed Trout’s hair, pulling his head up, before he slid a Ka-bar knife across his cheek to cut out the gag.
“How you doing, Navy SEAL?” Brett’s sadistic smirk sent a shiver up my spine.
I was no stranger to enhanced interrogation techniques, but I had the distinct feeling that this part of Brett’s job might also be his hobby. Brett proceeded to use the tip of his knife to clean his fingernails.
“I’ve got a quick question for you, sweetheart,” he said with a smirk. “Just a quick little Get-To-Know-You type of icebreaker. What is your issue with our man, Ghost?”
Ghost… as in the world’s best spy? The man who had been undercover for almost thirty years? I thought the Ghost was… a ghost. A legend. A story we were fed to drive our competitive spirits. A fictional ideal for spies to aspire to.
Trout spat blood and other bodily grossness at the floor, landing it in front of Brett’s shined, patent black leather shoe.
“We know who he is,” Trout said with a laugh. “I don’t give a fuck what you do to me. We know exactly who he is, and we’re going to take you and your Paradigm assholes down!” Trout found the energy to laugh at his own situation, his eyes on Brett full of hate and malice. “You think you’re the good guys, don’t you?”
“My wife thinks I’m a good guy,” Brett said, looking over at Noam with a slight shrug. “Hers is the only opinion that matters.”
“That’s why you have her behind the high walls of your fucking castle, don’t you? Her, and that little Filipino bitch you call a daughter,” Trout started to laugh. “But we know Ghost didn’t do that. We know his kid is just wandering the world, and doesn’t know who the fuck he is… That bitch is going to be found, and we’re going to take our turn with her, before dumping her sorry ass in front of him just like we did to the Green’s woman when her old man didn’t play ball.”
Brett rolled his eyes, though they briefly cut to Trinity when she wasn’t looking.
“The last guy who went after my daughter had my initials carved into his skin, and was shipped home in a box,” Brett said with a small chuckle. “That was after she killed the other two. I’m not particularly worried about my little girl.”
What the fuck was that about? I filed that in my back pocket to explore at a later time.
“You had absolutely nothing to do with the Irish Mafia,” Brett said, letting another detail slip. “I know that. You know that. You stupid fucks really think that you can take credit for every misery that’s ever happened? What are you? Al-Qaeda?”
Brett started to circle his prey, and I grabbed Taz’s bicep, pulling her in close to me until her front was to my side. I had a bad feeling about this.
“I know exactly who did what to Isla Green. I know exactly who was responsible for the attacks on my daughter. They’re dealt with.” I finally detected the slightest hint of a Russian accent on the man. Bratva, maybe? I had never been stateside enough to wrap my head around the underground here but he certainly looked the part. “Now, about Ghost…”
“We’ll smoke him out! We’ll use his kid and we’ll smoke his sorry ass out!” Trout started to laugh. It was a sickening sound. “We know her name. And we’ll find her and that bitch t–”
In a decisive move, Brett’s Ka-bar swung through the air, landing in Trout’s mouth. The Ka-bar went through the bottom of his jaw, through the tongue, splitting his face wide open, his tonsils and uvula dancing in plain view as he gurgled and screamed.
Trinity hadn’t flinched, but I had. Jesus!
People think that one sort of killing is the same as another. Killing is killing. But it’s not.
I killed people through the scope of a rifle, a well-placed bomb, a knife in some vital human part. I didn’t play with my victim like a mouse with an unfortunate cat. Or a snake. Or whatever else it was that fucked around with mice before they ripped them to shreds.
Bottom line, I didn’t play with my food.
Brett, on the other hand, apparently did.
The gurgling, hanging Trout flailed against his binds, the metal hook rattling and sliding against the zip ties at his wrist.
“Noam, I’d like you to formally introduce me to this nice young lady, if you please,” Brett said, looking at Taz with an impassive expression.
Noam rolled his eyes. “Brett Bradley, this is Trinity Guerro. Trinity, this is Brett. You’ll learn to hate him the way we all do.”
“I’ll officially read you into my little operation here,” Brett said, wiping the blood from his hands as the flailing Trout lost steam, and his huge thrusting kicks turned into nothing but little flipper swishes. “I’m one of the heads of Paradigm. Our mission is to put a halt to large, organized crime within the United States and abroad, in cooperation with, though not under the jurisdiction of, various government agencies.”
Brett tilted his head, then looked up at Trout who had bled down his shirt. His trousers were soaked with a combo of blood, spit and piss. The liquid pooled at his toes, dripping onto the floor.
And the smell? Lovely .
Brett grabbed the handle of his Ka-bar, his black onyx ring glinting back at us, before he pulled it out to the sound of Trout’s groans. Trout’s head fell back, his mouth unhinged with open cheeks like a gruesome Pez dispenser.
“We are a classified operation, and for the sake of my paperwork, Noam will have you sign NDA’s,” Brett continued to talk as he wiped the blood onto his white sleeve, cleaning off his blade. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Trinity Blaze Guerro. I’m the man your father tasked to keep track of you.”
The hair on the back of my neck prickled as this was the second time in as many weeks where someone who looked like bad guys seemed to know Trinity’s middle name. I placed an arm around her waist, pulling her into me tighter, my free hand itching to find the pistol I knew she kept at her lower back.
“You’re allowed to spend one more night in your current domicile, but as of tomorrow, we will need to secure you. Do you understand?” Brett said, his voice still even.
The gurgling Trout settled into nothing but bubbling groans.
“The fuck I don’t!” Taz said, leaning into my side.
It was a bad time to enjoy the fact that she was turning to me in her moment of need.
A thousand things flew through my head – her father was a spy. Her lover – me – was a spy. She was an operator. And the guy standing in front of me was the head of Paradigm…
Was Mourningkill on top of a vortex or something? Was there something in the water that made this town the swirling epicenter of the underground?
“There are three heads of Paradigm. I am one, though I will be passing the mantle to someone else soon. The other is a highly placed government official.” Brett was talking as if he hadn’t just dropped an electrified nuclear bomb of information in front of us. “The third is an undercover agent who has done more to stop organized crime than any other entire federal organization combined.”
“What the fuck does that have to do with me?” Taz said, her eyes narrowing.
“Well,” Brett shrugged. “You’ve inherited his eyes.”
Brett looked her up and down, but it wasn’t in a sexual way. It was like he was inventorying her like the parts of a weapon.
“You also have his nose, mouth, and chin. Actually, you seem to be built more like him than your own mother,” Brett looked over to Noam, who shook his head as if he was annoyed by the theatrics. “You even have his shoulders.”
What a thoroughly disturbing bit of information to have.
Trinity’s mother was slim, plastic, with a crooked half smile and eyes that sparkled with hidden anger. Every picture was the same. Forced, and perfect. If it wasn’t for the hair color, and the cheeks, I’d say they weren’t related at all.
“So we will be securing you, dear long lost daughter-of-my-brother,” he looked at me like I was nothing. And to him, the son of the Director of the CIA probably didn’t amount to much. “In one of our safe houses.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Taz said, leaning into me for support. Her hand wrapped around my waist, making it clear that she was staying with me. “And I don’t have a father. I never have.”
I could feel her shaking in my arms, though she gave no other sign that she was in turmoil. I just knew her that well.
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, I would have fist pumped, knowing that she was turning to me for support.
We had talked the nights away, where she expressed a wish that her father would come for her. That he’d materialize and give her the love she had fantasized about having as a kid. A dream that she knew was stupid.
It’s why her birthday became so important to me. The day she entered the world deserved to be marked and celebrated. The people who should have lavished her with gifts didn’t, so I took that burden on myself.
“Don’t make me call your Daddy,” Brett said, pointing the knife at her. I immediately stepped between them, because no one was going to point the business end of a blade directly at my woman. “Make no mistake, Miss Geurro, I want to be civil. I take no pleasure in forcing women to do anything, ever . But I also like to keep my balls attached to the rest of my body. As a newlywed, I find they’ve been quite useful over the past year. Your Dad will twist them off my body and shove them down my throat if any harm comes to you.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Noam threw up his hands, as if Brett was finally making his point for him.
“I don’t want to fucking hear it. I’m telling him first thing that you sent his little girl after Trout,” Brett pointed the knife back at the hanging, gurgling mess of a human. “You’re about to be in a world of hurt.”
“He’ll thank me later,” Noam said.
“You were only supposed to keep an eye out, not make her a bounty hunter.” Brett and Noam were squabbling like an old married couple. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“That he’d thank me later!” Noam repeated.
“If you live that long.”
Noam shrugged.
“If my father wants me somewhere, he can talk to me himself.” Taz’s eyes were unreadable as she made her demand. “Otherwise, he can butt out, the same way he has my whole life.”
“Oh, you sweet, na?ve little thing,” Brett tsked. “He stayed away to prevent this exact situation. He stayed away to keep you from becoming a target for the men he puts away – and that list is long and distinguished.” Then Brett smirked. “Not, unlike myself.”
“A penis joke, really, Brett?” Noam rolled his eyes.
“He can come find me himself,” Taz said, her voice calm, even though I felt her tension.
She held onto my belt with the hand around my waist, gripping it like it was her last lifeline. Like she was fast roping, and I was the only thing keeping her from slipping into oblivion. Her eyes were closed off, but her body shivered, tense with anxiety.
“Let’s go home,” Taz said, tilting her head towards me.
“Sounds good,” I said, ready to walk out of this bizarre thing. Ready to take her somewhere safe and hold her close. To talk to her. To find out what was going through that big brain of hers and figure out what she needed.
What can I do to take care of you?
Noam and Brett quit their bickering, and their heads turned towards us.
“Miss Guerro,” Brett said slowly, as though he was issuing a royal decree. “Now that we have confirmed that they know your identity and whereabouts, my agents will be surrounding that piece of land you live on, to keep it secure. You have one night to pack, then you must vacate the premises, and my men will escort you to a safe house–”
“Over my dead body!” she said, but Brett didn’t stop talking.
“– If you don’t let us escort you, then your father will do it, at great danger to himself.”
“I don’t give a fuck! He’s never been a part of my life. I wouldn’t notice if he were dead.”
Silence hung in the air. Noam and Brett simply blinked at her.
She was shaking with her fury. Not at Brett, per se, but at the situation. At the sudden loss of control.
I wasn’t sure why this happened, but when she felt bullied into something, her reaction was swift, and explosive. At least with everyone except me. Me? She’d just ignore.
“You have until dawn, Miss Guerro,” Brett said, at the same moment that Trout gave his final little kick as his body went limp, ungracefully falling into his death. “We will make it happen by force, if necessary.”
“I’m not leaving her.” I stepped between them, keeping a hand on Taz as I slipped her behind me. “You know who my father is, and I will use every resource available to–”
“Yes, lover boy,” Brett rolled his eyes. “You can stop yipping, Cerberus Pup. If she wants you around, you can sit, stay, and heel.”
I drove a stunned Taz back to the bail bondsman’s office to pick up her Ducati. From there, I followed her back to the trailer.
She had been through entirely too much today, and there would be a shit ton left to do. I dialed Sierra, ready to relay everything.
“Yes?” she said with a yawn. She said something in the background, and a woman’s voice moaned. Was she with a lover? I didn’t have time to give a fuck.
I unleashed the whole story, never letting her interrupt me as I flashed names - Noam Braun, Brett Bradley, Paradigm, Mike Trout - and the events of the day at my partner.
“Paradigm? Really? They told you that? Did you see their badge? Their coin?” She sounded like a fan girl.
“No.”
“But he definitely said his name was Brett Bradley?”
“Yeah. Who is he?”
“Only the biggest legend among spooks, second only to the Ghost.” I clenched my fist over the steering wheel. “I thought he was just a myth, but you’re saying he’s real?”
“And apparently Russian,” I said, trying to burst her bubble.
“Eh, nobody’s perfect,” she dismissed. “I have found some information that I will need to talk to you about. In person. I can’t transmit over unsecure comms.”
I was about to tell her where I was but she stopped me before I had a chance.
“I know where you are,” she said. “I can see your tracker.”
“How do you have access and I don’t?” I watched Taz as she took a hard turn up her long drive, back to the trailer.
“Because you’re shit with computers. It’s not your skillset,” she said with no remorse. “I’ll be there in a few hours. Be ready for me.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked, knowing that it wasn’t. “Also, how can Cerberus microchip me?”
Like… we had rights? I mean, we didn’t, as government employees, under the most technical specs of our contracts and terms of employment. We didn’t get judicial trials, we got secret military tribunals. Civil liberties weren’t something we could afford. Things were always a bit gray as far as we were concerned, but I felt the slight violation of that chip.
“You agreed to it in the fine print, when we signed up to have the cyanide implants,” I could imagine Sierra rolling her eyes.
“Who the fuck reads the fine print?”
“Apparently no one in the western world,” she sighed. “But if you grow up in the former soviet bloc, you know that no one gives a shit about respect to privacy.”
“I do.”
“Yeah? How’s the tracker I put in the bracelet doing?”
Taz slowed down as she came to the trailer, with my truck in the background, headlights facing us - because like a real soldier, she always backed up into her parking spaces to make a hasty exit.
“Oh no, I’m hitting a place with no coverage…” I said, as if I was about to head into a tunnel. “I’m losing you. The signal’s about to drop—”
“I know where you are, asshole. We use cell towers on these trackers.”
“Oh, no! I’m heading into a tunnel, under a bridge!” I made static noises with my mouth.
“Mm-hmm. Tell our wife hello!” She cut off the call before I could.
If she thought I was going to share Taz, we’d be fighting to the death, and then where would that leave our pod?
Taz cut the engine, lifting that sweet ass so she could dismount the Ducati and take off her helmet. Even with the helmet hair, and flushed cheeks, she looked fucking gorgeous.
I quickly parked, killed the engine, and got out, dumping my keys on the ground beside her bike.
“Run,” I told her.
I needed to resolve this. I needed this chase to end on my terms, with her in my hands, and bite marks on her skin. I was done being jealous, and uncertain of where I stood with her. I needed this… now.
And she did too.
Her eyes looked at me, confused, and irritated. She opened her mouth to speak, but I grabbed her by the chin, and forced her to look into my eyes.
“I almost watched you die for the third fucking time today.” I came face to face with her, as I took her helmet, and placed it in the backbox of her bike. “I need you to keep running now, so we can finish this bullshit game of cat and mouse. I catch you, you’re mine. Get it?”
She shook her head, but I knew she understood.
Everything between us was clear as fucking day now. More than conversation, more than words and gifts, and promises. Taz was a woman of action and having her back today told her far more than what I could say with words.
She wasn’t just my buddy, my teammate, or my friend.
She was all of that, but also my woman.
“ I need to feel that you’re alive. That you’re okay. That you’re able to fight.” I grabbed her by the throat, pulling her towards me as I captured her mouth, plunging my tongue in. She gasped, then moaned. I swallowed it all. “That’s right baby, I need your pulse, your air. I need to fuck the fight out of you.”
She nodded, slightly, her tired eyes looking at me with lust.
“That’s what you need?” she asked.
I wondered if that was an olive branch.
Was that her consenting?
Or was I such a fucking Taz-obsessed fool that anything and everything she did would look to me like desire.
“Yes,” I growled.
She pulled away, and I saw the fight return.
Those deep, dark hazel eyes narrowed, slightly, wrinkling in the corners. Her jaw set, her fists clenched. And I knew… I just knew…
She bolted.
She turned and sprinted into the woods, and I followed close behind.
She moved like a fucking gazelle. Watching an athletic woman move in the primal surroundings was a totally underrated thing. The Greeks had it right. Running naked nymphs in the woods needed to show up in porn more often. Or at least, just Taz. In porn. That only I could watch.
Even through her skinny jeans, I could see the way her glutes, thighs and calves tensed and relaxed with her movement. I knew very well that she could run a 7-minute mile, or faster, and she was faster when she was off-trail. Maybe that was more of the wildness in her, coming to the surface.
I wasn’t going to let her get far. I lunged for her, and we tumbled to the ground, down a small bank. I put my hand to the back of her head, protecting her from the sticks, rocks and roots that would harm her.
Her legs opened up, wrapping around my waist - both arousing and threatening at the same time. I landed on top - thank God for having more body weight - our hips locked together, and me in her guard.
The smell of the alpine forest, the mud, and the wet, dead leaves sent a jolt through me I had never felt before. Desire, and singularly driven madness.
She fought me, trying to create space with a movement of her thighs. But as she moved, I moved with her, dancing with her, and keeping our bodies as flush as could be.
“Get off me!” She gritted through her teeth, and she did something that told me that she was absolutely consenting to everything that happened.
She flipped onto her stomach, giving me her back.
In a fight, there was no way that a trained combatant would turn their back to an enemy. If I was her enemy, she wouldn’t.
But I wasn’t. I was her lover.
I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her ass up and into my hard cock, and I grinded through our jeans.
My other hand snaked up to her throat, my forearm laying between her round breasts, tightening down on the pulse on her throat.
“I need to feel your fight,” I said quietly into her ear. “I need to feel your pulse and breath in my hand. I need to know you’re alive.”
I bit down into the soft skin at the crook of her neck, taking the flesh into my teeth. She moaned, her body pushing into me. Her fists in the dirt clenched until the leaves and dirt crumbled in her hand.
I bit down hard, and I tasted the salty, coppery taste of her blood on my lips. She gasped at the pain but did not wrench her skin from my mouth.
I needed to feel her blood flowing, her pulse, her air, her everything.
I needed to know she was alive, and okay.
I unbuttoned her jeans, letting the metal snap open, then pulled them down to her thighs. She tried to resist - a feeble resistance that did something to me as well. In her shuffle to get away, I pushed her onto her stomach.
“I need to feel you, Firefly.” I licked the wound my teeth left behind. I liked the tang of her blood and felt the heat of desire down my body. “Tell me you’re mine, baby. Tell me.”
I placed my head at the nape of her neck, as I pulled her underwear away from her skin, feeling the snap as it tore apart.
She gasped again. “Asshole!”
Even her insult filled me with the warmth of knowing that the world was right. She was in my arms, and everything would be okay.
When I unsheathed my cock, he bounced right towards the warmth of her sweet pussy. My buddy needed her the way the rest of me needed air. Hell, in the fight between which was needed to live - Taz, or oxygen - Taz would win every time.
How had I lived so long without the scent of her skin on my hands? How had I stood beside her, day after day, working in the team room, and in missions, and kept my hands to myself? How had we laughed, and fought together without me taking her mouth in mine? How much time had I wasted, bitter, and hurt that I was with someone else? How long had I allowed us to be apart? Dating other people? How fucking ludicrous! What a crime it was that we hadn’t been attached at the hip from the first day she showed up in Afghanistan as a replacement for the guy who busted his metacarpal when a rock fell when we rappelled down a cliff?
I had to tell her.
As my tip grazed the warmth of her folds, I had to tell her. I had to be that fucking asshole that confessed too much, too soon, too fast in the middle of sex.
“I love you.”
She stiffened in my arms. The first bit of real resistance. A resistance that wasn’t play-acting.
But I couldn’t stop.
“I love you, Taz.”
I was a starving man, and she was my only sustenance.
I pushed my cock in, the tip going through her tight entrance, pushing into sweet, warm, wet heat.
“Mine,” I said, because I felt it in every cell of my body. “You’re mine.”
She went completely still. Frozen. And I stilled as well.
My senses cleared, like I was breaking through the water after drowning in her. But still, I didn't want to pull out. I didn’t want to let her go. I didn’t want her to leave my arms. She turned her head to the side, and I could see her in profile.
“Tell me where you went,” I said, placing my forehead on the back of her neck, letting the scent of her long hair invade my lungs. “Tell me what’s in your head.”
I watched, as a tear slid down her cheek, then dripped down, darkening the earth beneath her.
“What did I do, Firefly? Tell me.”
And that was the first moment I noticed the indent on her ring finger. A small line that was similar to my own. A line that told of a wedding band. A dent I had never noticed. I had certainly never seen a ring there either.
I slowly… fucking slowly because it was god damn torture… pulled out of her heat, pulling her jeans up to cover her again.
I was a bastard - but not that kind of bastard.
I loved her pleasure tears. I loved to taste them on my tongue and remind her that she was mine. But this was not the moment. These were the wrong kind of tears.
“Tell me what I don’t know.” Placing my hand over hers, my index and thumb resting on that tell-tale finger, making sure she knew exactly what I was asking, even as dread seeped into my bones.
Whatever she’d say would break me in new, and interesting ways.