Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WREN
Note to self: Sire honors his vows.
It’s good news if I’m ever his wife; bad news every agonizing day I’m not.
For a month, he gives me orgasms and frustration.
The plus side to his ferocious tease?
We’re becoming best friends.
He’s teaching me how to play the guitar, using Dolly’s songs, of course. I’m teaching him how to bake desserts, and we compromise on organic sugar. I completed my online classes to obtain my childcare worker license, and now I’m training with Ms. Davis.
Almost every day, Sire and I work at the church together, and every night, he’ll hold me after we torture each other, and I love it.
I’m getting so good at teasing, touching, sucking, and tasting him; he seems as tormented as I am.
It’s agony how much we want each other.
But Sire swears he has to kill my past before we begin our future.
So, I also spend the month working with Loch. We meet online, scouring maps and satellite images to find where Waylon might be hiding.
Loch is a forest ranger with Alena in the Pisgah National Forest. That’s over fifty miles from where I’m from. Yes, the terrain is similar, but the hiding places aren’t.
It’s late summer, and drone footage can’t penetrate the deep canopy of the lush mountains. We could wait until after fall, but Sire’s losing his patience, and I’m convinced that while the weather is good, Waylon will go back to familiar hunting grounds.
The point being, we either leave today, when we can spot Waylon on the move, or we risk losing him to a cabin where he’ll hide this winter.
“Shotgun!” Jace opens the passenger door of our black crew-cab truck. It’s parked outside an old Naval bunker where they store their gear.
“Really?” Sire deadpans him. “Shotgun?”
Jace shrugs like, What? It’s a game and I won.
“Wren,” Sire turns to me, “ride up front with Loch. I’m grounding Jace to the back row with me.”
“What if I get carsick?” Jace gives me a little boost into the passenger seat.
“What if I kick your ass all the way to Tennessee?” Sire jumps into the back row.
We slam doors and buckle in.
“Why isn’t Nick here?”
“It’s the NFL preseason and his face is too famous,” Loch answers me before Jace mutters, “Then why aren’t we taking the jet?”
“Because our gear and seven asses weigh too much.” Loch checks the rearview mirror.
Axel, Nash, and Grant are in the truck behind ours, waiting for us to take the lead.
“Then why can’t we get a big SUV?”
“Jesus, Jesus,” Sire huffs at Jace. “Want some wine with that cheese?”
“Fuck, you, bro,” Jace grumbles.
I turn around, offering, “I really don’t need to sit up front.”
“Yes, you do, Angel.” Sire winks. “Our little snowflake here needs to learn not to melt.”
Jace growls, “This snowflake is six foot six and will turn this into a road bitch, not a road trip, if he fucking wants. Why didn’t we bring the Tahoes?”
“Because,” Loch clips, “then we’ll be as obvious as a fart in church driving up those mountain roads. In the trucks, we look like hunters because we are.”
To ease the tension, I play Dolly’s songs and sing for them. Loch grins at my voice … or is that a grimace? Then, Jace puts on his playlist, and the big, hot assholes start laughing at TLC’s “Waterfalls.”
“What?” I’m offended. “What’s so funny? It’s a serious song. A man dies.”
Sire’s wiping his crying eyes. “Angel, what do you think the chorus says?”
I glare at Loch, Jace, then Sire. They’re pursing their lips like they’re about to burst.
“What?” I’d stomp if I could. “They’re saying, ‘Don’t go, Jason Waterfalls.’ It’s sad.”
They explode, howling. Loch may just swerve off the road, and Jace can barely breathe, grabbing the back of my seat and huffing, “Little one, it’s ‘Don’t go chasing waterfalls’.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s about a man named Jason Waterfalls, who gets killed selling drugs.”
Loch snorts so hard, a brain vessel just burst, while Sire tosses his head back. “Fuck, Angel. You’re too damn cute.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m fixin’ to show y’all cute if you don’t quit laughing. Careful next time you sip your sweet tea. I may just put something extra in it for you.”
Loch cuts me a glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Sire gazes at me, smiling, “don’t fuck with my little woman.”
I give them the silent treatment, refusing to sing anymore until we make our first pit stop at a Biscuitville.
Despite wearing worn-in tactical boots, faded jeans, T-shirts, and ball caps, my future kings have too many inches, muscles, menace, and ink.
All six of them enter the diner like a mountain mafia invasion.
Heads turn, eyes freeze, jaws drop, panties melt, and the other dicks in the room shrivel into shrimp.
The guys stand in line at the counter, while I glance around. It feels as if they’re looking at me, too. With my color and curls, I rarely blend in, either. I’m used to it. But now I must look like a little brown beauty surrounded by six white country beasts.
“Yeah,” I mutter behind my hand, “we blend in.”
Sire grabs my other hand, lifting it to his lips. “Let them stare, Angel. All they see is a gorgeous queen and her court of killers.”
Axel stands in front of me, glancing over his shoulder, clocking our audience. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs to me while Loch orders our lunches. “We’ll use Grant as a human shield.”
“Shield this.” Grant punches his arm. “Don’t worry, Wren. We’ll stand behind Axel’s giant ego and be fine.”
Axel smirks, “Fucker, I got my giant ego in my pants.”
Grant huffs, “Wanna get my giant fist in your face?”
“Shut up.” Sire thumps their heads. “Goddamn, I can’t take y’all anywhere.”
But I love it.
We’re like family.
They give each other shit over lunch, shit while we drive, shit when we park the trucks four hours later, shit as we sling our loaded backpacks on, and more shit until we hit a trailhead where Loch raises his right fist in the air.
They fall silent, and Loch turns to me, whispering, “You sure, Wren? There’s no turning back now.”
The familiar smells of home assault my mind with memories. Crisp mountain air. Damp, mossy earth. Clusters of mountain mint bloom to our right. The goldenrod flowers in the valley skunk the breeze while sweet pine needles crunch under our booted feet.
It’s all too bittersweet. I swallow my emotions and focus, pointing up the ridge. “Yeah, let’s hunt.”
Standing behind me, with the rest of his brothers in line behind him, Sire whispers in my ear, “That’s my Iron Angel.”
Then, he swats my ass.
We changed into the proper gear before locking up the trucks: long pants and T-shirts. We grabbed our guns, and the guys let me pick first. I took the Browning X-bolt rifle with a scope; it’s the closest to what I grew up with.
Loch made us wear camo baseball caps, too. I’ve tucked my hair inside mine, and I swear we look like a special ops force, because we are.
Silently, we hike for two hours, and I’m in my element. My pulse triples, but it’s not from the effort.
I’m conditioned for this.
My heart responds to every footstep I take closer to Nannie’s home, my home, and the haunting memories come back. All the sweet days with her, all the scary nights after she died.
I’m quiet while we set up our two four-person tents.
Wisely, Loch insists that we leave a small footprint.
Grant builds a fire circle, and Axel sets up the camping stove for boiling water.
Jace finds a tree a hundred yards away and strings up our bear can full of MREs while Sire and I take axes and gather firewood.
“Hey.” He gathers me into his arms once we’re alone. “You okay?”
I rest my cheek on his chest. “It’s all coming back.”
We take a breath together before he says, “Well, then, let’s confront it. What’s your worst memory here?”
I close my eyes. “Waking up with a dirty hand over my mouth, and more hands, pinning my ankles down.”
His lungs heave against my cheek, his arms squeezing me tighter. “I’m going to kill him.”
“I’m beginning to be okay with that.”
He cups my face, lifting my stare. “What’s your favorite memory here?”
“Waking up to Nannie’s wild blueberry muffins and feeding Banjo.”
“Who’s Banjo?”
“He was Nannie’s old shepherd. So smart and sweet.”
“What happened to him?”
I swipe a sudden tear. “Waylon shot him for trying to protect me.”
The veil falling over Sire’s indigo eyes turns them black. “I’m really going to kill him, Wren. You may hate me after. You may never want me to touch you again or—”
“I won’t hate you. I’m not a snowflake, either. Nannie called it ‘country justice’ because judges and cops never give a shit for poor mountain people and ‘colored’ people like they say, particularly if we’re women. So, if you want safety, you gotta kill for it.”
He nods, glancing away.
“You just thought of your father, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” he mutters.
“Sire, when are you going to tell Axel? I mean, just being with you and your brothers today; you fight with so much love. Don’t you think he’ll understand? That he’ll forgive you?”
“If I just hurt him? Probably. But if I hurt his kid? Never, because I don’t deserve it.”
“We all deserve forgiveness.”
He swallows. “No, some of us don’t.”
“Hey, look at me,” I say softly, and he meets my eyes. “Love keeps no record of wrongs. Did I read that in Corinthians, or was it on a cereal box?”
A grin plays on his lips. “Sounds like Lucky Charms to me.”
“Do you want to get lucky with me?” I tease.
“Every fucking day of our lives.”
“Okay, then. We’re here, confronting my past, so let’s confront yours. What can you do about your father and Axel?”
He inhales, staring into the forest, and lightning quick, a plan forms in his eyes. I marvel, watching it as he nods. “Every April, a megayacht anchors in Savannah, Georgia. Local rumor is it’s a Russian oligarch’s ship, and they’re right. It’s my father.”
My heart starts racing. “And?”
“And next time, I’ll pay him a bloody visit. I want intel and justice. I want to know if Axel has a child, and if so, I want my niece or nephew back. And…” he cups my cheek, “I want to make sure our kids will be safe, too.”
My hands start to tremble like it’s a sign. “How will you do that?”
“Make a new deal with him. Just me.”
“No, Sire, don’t do it alone. That’s too dangerous. You need your brothers with you.”
He shakes his head. “And risk them, too? No. I have some friends I can call.”
“Friends? You don’t need friends. You need your badass brothers or a SEAL team.”
“Don’t worry.” He kisses my nose. “My friends are crazy. They’re cousins and contract killers and—”
“Hey!” Loch calls out yards away. “Are y’all finding firewood or fucking?”
I roll my eyes, muttering, “I wish.”
Sire chuckles. “Patience.”
I point to my crotch, clad in camouflage. “I got your impatience right here.”
He smirks, snaking his hand between my thighs, his thumb instantly teasing my exact spot. I gasp at his touch as he growls over my parted lips, “You’re goddamn right this is mine tonight.”