Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
There’s zero percent chance of avoiding going downstairs.
Unless I jump out the window.
Tempting.
Taking a big breath, I force myself into the hallway. Male voices drift up from below.
Justice’s low rumble is a thread in my DNA now. So I catalog his side of the conversation.
Walton is next. His raspy, half-sarcastic tone. But the last... is the mystery. It’s clipped, hard, and maybe western?
I don’t know accents. But I know when someone is mad.
This guy is angry.
The last stair creaks underfoot, and all heads swivel toward me. Including one that belongs to a tall, lean, hard man with forearms covered in tattoos, peeking below the folded sleeves of his flannel shirt.
“Sorry for interrupting,” I say, hoping my cheeks aren’t actually glowing like some red phosphorescent biomatter.
Everyone within miles heard me orgasming. There’s no way they didn’t. And that’s not even including the bed breaking.
Oh lordy.
Justice’s eyes warm, then he turns cold in a flash. A dangerous clench to his entire face.
What?
That’s when I realize he’s not looking at me, he’s now locked on the newcomer.
“That’s Rosalie, my fiancée.”
A more possessive tone has never been used.
But wait. Fiancée?
Did I miss something while I was in outer space after that orgasm?
“Drake Spence,” the man ducks his chin, studying my face. “Pleasure is mine ma’am.”
“Did we get engaged and I missed it?” I ask, staring at Justice, my fingers trembling slightly where I’ve got them pressed into my thigh.
Because this announcement feels like a really big deal.
He replies in measured words looking me right in my eyes. “You could be carrying my child right now, our future is implied. Once this nightmare is over and behind us, I’ll ask you properly, ring and all.”
I’m sure my eyes are wide as Petri dishes.
“Oh.”
The feeling in my chest is a cross between fluttering wings and being filled with helium.
This is not the first time he mentioned engagement.
And we definitely BOTH participated in playing egg-meet-sperm last night… and the night before. But this… hits different.
It’s a public—very small public—but still public commitment.
“What I want to know,” the stranger says as he shakes his head, “Is what alien stole the JT Cruze I know and replaced him with this fucking family man?”
Justice glares at him. “Fuck you, Spence.”
“Back ‘atcha, bastard. It’s the damned truth. Listen to you, all possessive and blabbin’ about rings. Seriously. I never even heard you talk about dating.”
“Because I didn’t,” Justice bites out.
“Kids! Get back on subject.” It’s Walton and he looks both mildly amused and pissed. A man of half emotions, he seems to always be straddling the line.
And Spence’s accent is definitely western, even if I don’t know accents. This man would be right at home in cowboy hat and boots.
My gaze drops to his feet.
Yep. Boots. Not combat boots like Justice. These are square-toed and worn like they are used a lot.
Justice inserts himself between us, blocking my view.
“Coffee in the kitchen if you want it, sweetheart,” he tells me, reaching back to capture my pinkie finger with his.
An ember warms behind my breastbone. It was already there after that little announcement, but him holding my hand fans the flame.
“I’ll grab some. Anyone else need a refill?”
He squeezes my pinkie. “We’re all good, come back after you get a cup.”
It strikes me then, Justice includes me.
He doesn’t block me from the conversations. Even last night with Walton. He didn’t try to push me away no matter how bad the news was.
And while talking with Parson. He didn’t want me there, but he didn’t completely shut me out.
Moving to the kitchen, I let this sink in. Justice is going to be a partner—not just a mate. My husband.
Gasp.
Is this real?
When I catch sight of myself in the window above the sink, I get a wake-up call.
Oh, this is real. “Girl, you need a hairbrush,” I mutter.
Along with about twenty hours of sleep.
But how can I sleep? I might be killed… and I might be married.
So weird.
As I pour the coffee, visions of our future play out in my head. The ones where I’m alive.
The first is Justice standing on an altar overlooking the ocean. The second vision is him with a baby in the crook of one of his muscular arms.
Commence melting. I’m instantly languid.
He’s going to be a really good dad. Warmth fills my tummy, shock still making me breathless.
I could be pregnant.
Justice’s voice drifts to me. “We need to move tonight, I won’t take any chances on him getting close.”
Spence challenges, “Moving could expose you.”
“We’re not staying here, this isn’t secure enough.”
“It’s more secure than that damned van,” Walton snarks.
Giving myself a shake, I stir some sugar into my coffee, figuring I need the boost, but knowing it will only make me crash. Too bad my willpower seems to be MIA.
Sugar it is.
All three of them watch me enter the room. Walton tilts his head, studying me, and my nerves prickle.
“You ever shot a gun?” he asks.
“Oh, no.” Gripping the mug in both hands, I perch on the edge of the sofa. “I’ve never even touched one.”
He rises from his chair—one that’s well-worn and situated perfectly next to a table with a stack of paperbacks, in front of the wood stove.
“It’s time, come on. These two knuckleheads can work out their problems and their plan.”
My palms instantly get clammy.
Justice leans in, brushing a kiss on my forehead. “He’s taught thousands of men how to effectively use weapons systems.”
For some reason this both buoys me and makes my stomach tangle like spaghetti.
“Great, what about nervous nerds?”
Walton chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’ll cook your brain with some formulas along the way. There’s a lot of science in projectiles.”
Lifting my mug, I grin. “Gee, how is a girl supposed to turn down that offer?”