Chapter 6 #3
She wants a man who’ll make her feel safe from herself. Who’ll let her be her softer self. Her younger self. A man who knows how strong and tough she is. And makes her leave those things at the door.
I am that man.
I give her boundaries. Keep her temper cooled. Make her eat, make her want to care for herself. When she starts to spin out of control I bring her all the way back.
I settle her soul.
And what she does to mine—what she’s always done to mine. She completes me.
I only feel whole when I’m in her presence.
What we’ve just done… that wasn’t fucking.
That was making love. And making love is dangerous.
Because, now, I can no longer ignore the fact that I’m in love with her. Though I’d been doing a pretty lousy job of it in the first place.
Now, living with her, going about daily routines, cooking, talking, laughing, I find I feel complete even when I’m not with her.
Because even when I’m alone, it’s as if she’s within me.
I’ll be going about my day, remember something she’s said earlier.
Her snarky wit making me laugh. Her brilliant mind challenging me to think deeper.
Or I’ll find her sweater in my truck. Bring it to my face and inhale deeply.
She smells of strawberries and cream, lavender, Tess. And I need to be reminded of it, now.
We lie in the bed together, quiet. Each lost in our own thoughts. Each floating on that gentle wave that only comes after a satisfying climax. I wrap my arm so tightly around her I fear I might bruise her ribcage. I pull her close to me. Inhale that heavenly scent. Kiss the back of her neck.
Her hand slips behind my head. She’s stroking my hair, sending the best kind of chills down my spine.
I hold her in my arms and for once, I’m not the first one to fall asleep.
I stroke the smooth skin of her arms. Twirl a lock of her hair around my finger. Feel the peaceful cadence of her breathing.
All the while, pretending.
Imagining she’s mine. Burying the knowledge that in a few weeks, months, I’ll be gone.
And she’ll be here.
Our two lives no longer intertwined. My bed void of her soft body.
My heart torn in two.
In the morning, I wake before her. Slip my arm from beneath her body—she’s slept through the night curled against my chest as she did that night we watched movies on her couch and drifted off to sleep. Dressing quickly so as not to disturb her, I go down to the kitchen to start the coffee.
I can still smell her on my skin.
I pour a cup to go and I head out the door. I need to clear my mind.
Reset my emotions.
Remember why it is I’ve come here, and what I need to do.
Work always puts things in perspective. What we do in the Brotherhood is high stakes. Your mind has to be all in or you’re dead.
And I thrive in those conditions.
I leave the house. Hop into Thunder. Roar the engine, bringing her to life, and head to work.
I make a mental checklist as I drive. I have a few favors to do for the family before I leave.
They involve the gun, the knife, and the masking tape I have in the glovebox of my truck.
I love my brothers, but there are a few weak links here in the Village.
A few that prefer suits to black leather gloves.
A handful who want to faint at the sight of blood.
She wonders why it is I never have a shirt on when she comes home. The simple answer is that they’re often stained. Red blotches of our enemies not easily removed. Best to destroy the evidence.
No matter. I’ve no issue completing the hard tasks.
The messier ones. The ones that have weaker men losing their breakfast on the toes of their boots.
I’m quick about it. No need to cause a scene as long as the end result comes.
I’m not one for speeches or drawing out screams. I show up.
Take care of the problem. Let the younger guys dispose of the evidence and go on with my day.
I’ve got a ten o’clock with a hacker in the Bronx who keeps trying to invade our system, find our accounts.
From there I’ll head over to United Nations to deliver a generous donation (bribe) to keep our New York connection with the Parish strong and our air paths clear.
No bloodshed with that one so I’ll probably grab a quick lunch.
Then the final task. The one with the knife. Ending the life of a man who has assaulted one of our women. That one I will enjoy.
Back to Bronson to report the deeds done and home by dinner.
Where I wonder if Tess and I will cross that line once more. Exploring one another’s bodies and tasting heaven. I push her beautiful body and husky voice from my mind—just the thought of the sound she makes when she climaxes is making me hard—and focus on the tasks at hand.
The day is longer than I thought. I complete my missions. Finish up, hit Barbells for a quick workout then shower and change clothes. Now I’m driving to Bronson’s. I park the truck and make my way up the stairs. The door opens before I even knock.
Bronson stands in the doorway, the lines on his face creased, his eyes dark. “Come in.”
I step inside and he shuts the door behind me. He says, “It’s just us, I’ve sent Paige to Mary’s. Have a seat.”
We sit down in his immaculate kitchen, each taking a black leather barstool. I have the sense he has something important to tell me. Something he thinks I may not like. I say, “Missions are complete.”
A bit of relief washes over his face as he thanks me. Then he says, “We’ve got to get you back to the Parish. Now.”
The words hit me like a punch in the gut. I’ve known they’d come but I thought I had more time. I say, “What’s going on? Surely if there was a problem, my people would have contacted me.”
He shakes his head. “It’s nothing like that. Good news, actually. We’ve gotten an opportunity to purchase an adjacent island. Another just like what we have—registered as uninhabited. Private airways, waterways, the whole bit. I want it for… storage.”
Storage. Our key word for hiding the mass of weapons we collect. “Say no more.”
“And I want you to oversee the purchase. But we have to move fast before any other buyers get word it’s up.
I don’t want people poking around and I certainly don’t want any flashy billionaires, rock stars, or some other idiots who’ve just gotten a payday snooping around our island.
This transaction is vital to the protection of the Parish. ”
I nod my head. Ignore the tearing in my chest. “I understand.”
“How soon can you leave?” he asks, his dark brow knitted at me.
I shrug. Hide the emotion from my face. Carefully arrange my features, the limbs of my body into a stance of indifference. I ask, “How soon do you need me to?”
He gives me that look Bronson saves for when he wants something done immediately. He says, “Yesterday.”
I say, “I can be packed and on the jet in three hours.”
He gives me a long look. Twists the ring on his left hand. Clears his throat before speaking. “Do you think Tess is stable now? Will she be able to assimilate back into Village life without you here to care for her?”
A hard lump sticks in my throat and I fight to swallow it back. I tell him the truth. “She’ll be fine.”
His dark gaze searches my face. He gives a nod. “Good. Then it’s decided. Hit our vault. You’re going to need cash.”
“Yes, sir.” I rise from the table.
He stands. Places a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Rockland. I can always count on you.”
“Yes. You can.”
His mind is already on the next fire he’s got to put out as he ushers me to the door, forgetting about this task that’s worried him for the past few hours. He knows I’ll get the job done.
I leave the truck. Bronson will have his driver come and park it back in storage after I board the jet.
I head in the direction of the lot to pick up the car I know she loves—the red Mercedes.
I need the short walk to calm my head. Steady my nerves.
Funny, the things I’ve done today, things that would normally rattle someone for the rest of their lives seem like child’s play compared to what I have to do next.
Leave her behind.
Tess
Rockland’s surprised me at work. He’s brought that sexy little red sports car and he’s taking me out for an early dinner.
He slides in beside me and I enjoy the scent of the leather seats.
He never drives these things for long and they always have that new car smell.
We pull out of the Village gate and I ask, “Where are you taking me?”
There’s a heaviness hanging around his shoulders. He must have had a long day. When he speaks, it seems he’s making an effort to keep his tone light. “We are trying the diner again.”
“After last time? What if that waitress remembers us?”
“It was weeks ago. She’s had hundreds of customers since then.”
“I think we may have made an impression.”
He smirks at me. “Such as? You think she got some idea I was taking you home to punish your naughty bottom and get you back into line?”
I mumble under my breath, “Something like that.”
His tone is soft. Almost apologetically, he says, “You can order the salad this time.”
“Good. At the rate you’re feeding me, my clothes are all going to be too small, soon.”
“You’re perfect at any size.”
I blush. Remember the way his face looked the night before. Taking my breath away. I joke, “What about as big as a house?”
He says, “I’d still think you were beautiful. You’ll always be beautiful in my eyes.”
“Thank you,” I manage to murmur. A soft glow comes over me.
“But I’d still make you run for cardiovascular health.” He gives me that crooked smile and squeezes my knee, leaving his hand there.
And I like it.
Shyly, I put my hand on top of his. He shoots me a smile. But his gaze is heavy. I worry that he’s bothered by what we did last night, how intense our connection was. I push the thought from my mind. I’m sure it’s just a long day. Three missions total, I think he mentioned.
I smile back, the pad of my thumb stroking the back of his hand.