Chapter 17 Doc
DOC
I stuff my aching cock back into my pants, grabbing my gun from its holster as Wren shuffles back behind my desk.
Good. As long as she stays hidden, I won’t have to worry about her.
I march out to meet whatever threat has landed at our door this time. Men are brawling in the bar, throwing punches, breaking chairs and tables.
Pixie is standing with her bat ready, but they don’t seem to be attacking her.
Good.
They’re not here for blood. They aren’t swinging wildly. They fight clean: coordinated, no wasted movement, no panic. That’s the first clue these aren’t drunks.
One of them says, “Where is she?”
And I see red. Because there’s only one she they can mean.
Wren.
I jump into the fray, so outside of my nature, and drag one of the men across the threshold to throw him past the threshold out into the dirt. My gun comes back out to keep him there. Soon, the group of five are surrounded.
That they thought five would be enough to get their target is beyond me, because I’m not going to let any of them take her.
Saint stands amongst us all, blood seeping from his left eyebrow. His shirt is torn and dirty. His holster is empty, so are his hands. I doubt they caught him off guard, so he must have seen the same things I did.
Besides, he doesn’t need a weapon.
Not when he’s home.
Not with all of his men armed.
He looks like a dragon protecting his hoard, ready to breathe fire on the five men kneeling in front of him. “Let’s start with who you are.”
Hard-won authority slices into the quiet of the yard. The boss looks down on them, muscles taut, and absolute violence in his gaze.
“We’re bounty hunters,” the one I’ve got my Glock pointed at says. He spits blood into the dirt. “My badge is in my right pants pocket.”
Saint nods to Reaper, who steps in to check the man’s pocket, coming out with an official bag.
“This is my crew. We’re on a job.”
“Obviously,” quips Saint. “Who?”
I know what’s going to come out of his mouth before he says it.
“Wren Delaney.”
Saint’s nostrils flare, and his anger simmers. “Wren Maddox. Now. She’s my wife.”
“You didn’t say she’d be married,” one of the crew shoots to his boss, fear finally penetrating.
The head bounty hunter, Rodgers according to his badge, shakes his head. “Fuck.”
“Grant Dalton sent you.” Not a question. He’s the only one with the power, influence, and deep pockets to back up this kind of job.
“Yes,” Rodgers bites out.
“And you’re going to go back and tell him the job is defunct. You won’t be getting her. Anyone else who tries will die.” Saint rolls his shoulders back, the restraint clear in the way his neck cords with tension. “She’s mine.”
His claim makes me flinch inside. Even though this is exactly why he was the one to marry her. It hits a chord and not one I can fight against.
Another nod from Saint and the men and I back away, guns lowering only just as the bounty hunters get to their feet and retreat.
They’re smart, not turning their backs to us as they make their way to two vehicles parked a quarter mile off.
We can barely see them when they get in, but not one of us moves until they drive away.
The men start to file back inside to go back to drinking and smoking and hitting on the ladies.
Once I lower my gun completely, I turn to catch movement from the bar windows. Wren.
She does not know how to listen. I exchange a look with Saint, and he hovers at my side. Sin lingers, too, and once we’re alone, we share a beat of heavy silence.
“We need to discuss your wife.” The words grate on the way out. I know she’s his, but she feels like mine.
His eyes narrow at me. Not like I didn’t take care of her on his orders. He knows this all goes beyond just the two of them.
But Saint’s attention flickers to where Wren is trying to covertly peek through the front window at us. “Where was she when this started?”
“My office. I told her to hide under my desk until someone came to get her.”
A gruff noise brings his attention back to me. Is he wondering why we were in there or deciding if I should have stayed to protect her?
“You told her the rules.” My words aren’t a question, he wouldn’t have let her stay if she didn’t know what we expect from her.
“My wife seems to have a hard time following orders.” Saint doesn’t sound angry, but it’s not always easy to tell.
“Sounds like she needs to be reminded.” Sin crosses his arms, focus never once turning away from Wren.
The threat is a delicious one. I want to finish what we started in my office, but I doubt that would be an appropriate reprimand.
Not with the way her eyes glittered up at me as she took my cock down her throat, how she so eagerly sucked and stroked me, how quickly she sank to her knees when I told her to show me what Saint taught her.
How do you discipline someone who enjoys what you offer her?
“She needs a punishment.” I have to turn away from Wren to keep my thoughts clear because the image of her mouth stretching around my cock is too fresh. “Are you going to deliver it? Or should one of us?
Saint’s jaw clenches. “I will.”
He steps forward, and I catch Sin’s gaze. The dark pleasure in his eyes says it all. We both want to watch, want to take part in her punishment, but not yet.
Following behind into the bar, it takes every ounce of restraint to watch Saint take Wren by the arm, whisper something against her ear that has all her bravado fall before he escorts her downstairs.