Chapter 12 #2
Than jogged to the chip aisle and stacked all the bags in their respective slots. He turned and that woman from the deli case was right behind him. She brought him up short.
“Hey there. That was a lot of chips. Buyer’s remorse?”
He blinked, caught off guard. “No,” he said, fumbling. “Tactical pirate thief.”
She was pretty, but way older than him. Long dark hair. Glossy. Tight jeans and a hoodie that dipped just enough to draw the eye. But something didn’t sit right.
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her energy buzzed too sharp. Like she was hunting. Predator, he thought suddenly. Soft shell. Sharp teeth.
Then she smiled again, and he wondered if he imagined it.
Back home, girls flirted with jokes and narrowed eyes.
Nothing was rushed. Nothing came without context.
It was teasing wrapped in tradition. Shared glances over shared stories.
Sometimes it burned hot, but it never burned this strange.
He told himself it was the lighting. Or the nerves.
Or being out of place. But the unease stayed with him.
She frowned slightly, then stepped closer. Than shifted to move around her, but she mirrored the movement, smooth and deliberate. “Actually,” she said, brushing her fingers through her hair, “I was wondering...since you’re so tall, could you help me grab something from the back?”
Than nodded. Seemed harmless enough.
She led him toward the rear of the store, past the freezers and closer to the stockroom area. He followed cautiously, his senses flaring a little. She moved too fluidly, her steps too precise.
When she slipped through a half-open door beside the storeroom and waved him inside, he hesitated.
But he stepped in.
The space was dim, quiet, filled with boxes and unstocked inventory.
“You’re gorgeous,” she whispered, voice low in the dark. Before he could respond, her hands were on his chest. He froze. Then they slid lower, unzipping his hoodie, fingers dragging across his abs, up into his hair.
He stiffened. “Hey,” he said sharply, anger rising fast. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”
She ignored him. Pressed up. Pulled his head down. Tried to kiss him. Her hand palmed him through his shorts. Every part of him locked up. This wasn’t flattering. This wasn’t exciting.
This was wrong.
“Hey!” he said louder, wrenching his face away. “Don’t…this isn’t okay.”
No woman had ever treated him like an object before, and it wasn’t cool.
His voice echoed just as another voice, low and lethal, cut through the dark. “Get your hands off him, lady.” She spun just as Fly stepped in, body coiled, eyes dead calm in that way that meant real danger.
Than’s face burned with heat.
Shamrock appeared behind Fly, his voice cool but hard. “Yeah. That’s assault. Get the fuck out of here, and we won’t involve the authorities.”
She backed off quickly, eyes darting, then slipped out the door and vanished into the crowd like she’d never been there.
Silence hung in the air a second longer. Than’s hands were fists. His jaw tight. Not from shame but from fury.
Fly turned to him. “You good?”
Than swallowed, nodded.
“She didn’t get to touch anything that matters.”
Shamrock exhaled slowly. “Good answer, brother.”
He followed the two guys who’d stepped in for him.
Than would like to think he could’ve handled it. His mom wouldn’t have wanted him to be rude or violent with a woman, and he wouldn’t have been, but honestly? He wasn’t sure how it would’ve played out if Fly and Shamrock hadn’t shown up when they did.
He glanced at the redheaded force of nature beside him.
This.
This was what he’d been looking for.
A connection. Camaraderie. People who didn’t just have his back but understood why that mattered. These guys were as much his people as anyone back home. Maybe that’s all brotherhood really was.
A tribe.
Before they reached the body wash section, Shamrock began, “Your creepy encounter aside—"
Fly exhaled hard through his nose.
“What, too soon?” Shamrock asked.
“Yes, Cormac. Fucking too soon,” Fly bit out.
Than squeezed Fly’s shoulder, quiet gratitude passing through the contact. “It’s okay. What did you want to say?”
Shamrock narrowed his eyes like he wasn’t sure if this was a trap. “You sure?”
“Yes. If it gets us out of here any faster.”
Fly snorted. “Now he’s getting it.”
Shamrock feigned a laugh, then said, “No lady can resist Campfire Whiskey.”
Than and Fly just stared at him.
“Underarm deodorant,” Shamrock said helpfully. “That’s gonna get you the right kind of female attention.”
Just then, a woman pushing a cart slowed beside them. She looked Shamrock up and down, then took a deep inhale. “I think you’d smell great in Arctic Avalanche,” she said, voice flirty.
Shamrock’s eyes lit up like he’d won the lottery. “Do you, now, lass?”
She giggled and moved on with a soft sigh that may or may not have been parting regret.
“I don’t know what’s in the air,” Fly muttered. “But let’s move.”
They reached the body wash aisle and Than froze.
His eyes widened as he scanned the shelves.
“This...has nothing on chips. How are we supposed to choose? Does the list give us a clue?”
Fly shook his head grimly. “Just says ‘body wash.’”
Than folded his arms, feeling suddenly unprepared for the most civilian moment of the entire task.
There were rows of options:
Fruity: pomegranate & mango, honeysuckle & orange burst
Floral: silk & magnolia, pink rose & sweet vanilla
Herbal: cucumber & green tea, eucalyptus & mint
Woody: blue cedar & cypress, bourbon & oak
Shamrock picked up one bottle from each end of the spectrum, cucumber & green tea in one hand, bourbon & oak in the other.
“Geez,” he muttered. “Are these salad fixin’s or cocktail ingredients?
Would I want a woman to smell like bourbon?
” He glanced at Than, brow raised in consideration.
“Maybe if I were an alcoholic...could be both dangerous and arousing.” He handed Than the two bottles like a man surrendering to fate. “Yeah, I’m, out.”
Than and Fly looked at each other. When they looked back, Shamrock was gone.
“Goddammit,” Fly muttered. “He’s loose and this isn’t brain surgery.” He faced Than. “Look, you come from her tribe, right?”
Than nodded, something settling in his chest, firm, rooted.
“What scent would she choose?”
“Eucalyptus and mint,” Than answered without hesitation. “Both are grounded in our culture.”
Fly grabbed the bottle, dropped it into the cart. “We’re done. Let’s go before Bear sends out the cops to find us.”
They rounded the last aisle and spotted Shamrock waiting at an empty checkout, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Fly eyed him and frowned. Than didn’t even have to say it. “He looks way too innocent.”
“We ready to go, lads?” Shamrock grinned.
Fly pushed the cart forward as the cashier started ringing items. Shamrock sidled up beside him. “Is that all you got for steaks?”
Fly nodded. “Why?” he asked warily.
“Bear said pick up something for dinner. Bet he wants to grill. You know, man code. More steaks. Go.”
“Keep an eye on him,” Fly said.
He disappeared, and Than sighed when Shamrock set no less than eight bags of chips on the belt along with three kinds of dip. “Shamrock,” he muttered. “Is that where you disappeared to? The chip aisle?”
“Aw, come on. You know you want some. The List Nazi needs a comeuppance.”
Than laughed softly. “He is a little uptight.”
“Yeah, right?” Shamrock winked at the cashier. “Get these rung and bagged ASAP, darlin’”
She blinked. Did as ordered. Maybe it was the accent. Maybe it was the mischief. Maybe it was just him.
Fly returned with more steaks. The cashier looked between the three of them and asked, “Are you guys military?”
Shamrock didn’t miss a beat, “No, darlin’. We’re a boy band. SEALed Fate.”
Than and Fly held it together until they were through the sliding doors. Then they broke. Fly doubled over laughing. “You crazy bastard,” he wheezed.
Than laughed harder. He had no idea how crazy. Shamrock shoved down the tip of an open Cheetos bag.
Bailee watched Bear. Not because she wasn’t concerned, she was, but because she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
He wasn’t pacing, but he was agitated. It startled her, deeply, how easily she recognized it now.
The tilt of his shoulders. The stillness in his hands.
The way his jaw flexed, then stilled again, like he was grinding down some internal storm.
The way he didn’t move was louder than most people shouting.
Her heart jumped. Eighteen months of torture. The last month, worse than all of it after the way they’d parted.
But now, clean, warm, her body still humming from the way he’d taken her like she was the only thing left in his world, she just wanted to absorb him. Every line of him. Every breath.
Later, she wanted to take her sweet time and fuck him again. All over again. Breathe him in until the ache dulled.
He stood at the window, half-shadowed by late afternoon light.
He’d changed while she was in the bathroom.
Now he wore worn jeans that hugged his thighs, a faded charcoal T-shirt that pulled across his chest, soft at the collar from too many washes.
His hair was loose, dark waves falling around his face, still damp at the ends from the bath.
It curled against his jaw, that stubborn mouth, the strong, grounded weight of him impossible to look away from.
She had never really let herself think about him as a man before.
Too dangerous.
But she’d lost that resolve that night at the bar.
When she saw him outside the job, quiet and off-duty, all coiled power and barely leashed heat, she knew she was in trouble.
Now…now…after everything, after he’d touched her like she was sacred and made her fall apart in his hands…she knew exactly what was under those clothes. The way his back flexed under her palms. The cut of his hips. The weight of him, inside her, over her, for her.