12. Killer instinct
KILLER INSTINCT
Brian shipped me off before I even had time to breathe; there was no love lost between us as he shoved yet another folder into my hand and booted me out the door. “Remember that goes to that captain first thing when you land.”
I threw up a half salute grabbing the keys to my truck and driving towards the airfield.
C.O.R.E. wasn’t fancy enough to have its own private jet or anything, so it was a lovely flight in coach.
As soon as we landed, the brothers grabbed their duffles and plopped in the back of Simmons’ Humvee like it was a vacation.
She looked annoyed as hell to be on pickup duty.
“I am not babysitting dumb and dumber in the backseat.” She scoffed as she started the engine.
“Kade, James chill for five minutes for fucks sake you act like a pair of toddlers.” I remarked as I slid into the passenger seat.
“Your car’s at impound you can pick it up after you drop the paperwork off.
” Her tone was rough, as if she wanted to say more but held back in the present company.
The way her jaw ticked told me she was pissed at my sudden dash as soon as the church was cleared.
There were sixteen dead. Three nuns and an altar boy, innocent in a war.
Simmons probably had to tell their families; she hated delivering news of deaths that could have been prevented.
I sighed, leaning my head against the window.
“Thanks,” I muttered when she turned the music up to drown out the current debate in the back seat on if you fuck a mute girl does she scream.
Fucking animals, these two were better off in their own world than in society, but they were like brothers to me so I had long drowned out their vulgar commentary.
It didn’t take long to get to the station.
Captain Marshals was waiting at the door, my keys and badge in her hands.
“Don’t even think about running away this time, you are on a short leash.”
“Yes ma’am.” I swallowed.
“You two still need to check in and do paperwork. I don’t care what you do in other cities, but this is my city and you will follow the rules.” She hollered at Kade and James, who promptly groaned before acknowledging and heading inside with Capt.
“Jones,” Simmons said before I stepped away.
“Yeah?”
“Look, you’ve been my partner these past five years, and you left without a word.
I don’t like it. If you leave again, at least say goodbye.
” I nodded. I hadn’t considered that Simmons would be the sentimental type, but as I looked at her stoic face and the bleeding worry lines, I knew she was being truthful with her words.
“I won’t leave without telling you.” I spoke matter-of-factly. She held out her hand, and I shook it, pulling her into a bear hug. She was caught off guard before she returned the gesture.
“I missed you too Simmons.” I smiled and headed off to grab my car.
The keys jingled in the lock as the bolt turned and the door opened. The stale air hit me, and I internally groaned. It had only been a few months at most, and yet the house seemed frozen in time.
Dropping my keys on the side table by the door, my eyes spotted a bright blue book next to the open one on the coffee table. I sighed, pulling my pistol from my ankle holster.
“I know you’re in here, come out, I won’t shoot you again.”
I walked slowly towards the living room, and the fresh scent of watermelon permeated the air.
A groan fell from my lips as I recalled the last time I had Summer.
Snap out of it. She is probably here to kill you.
I cleared the living room, pausing to read the title of the book she’d left.
Goddess’s Rage by Margareta Stroom. I hadn’t gotten a chance to read the second one with everything else that followed.
She cares. The thought warmed me before another chilling thought replaced it. No, she’s a killer. She is buttering you up for death. I shook the thoughts out of my head before I entered the kitchen. Pistol still raised, I saw her frame in my fridge.
“Is all you have whiskey and expired orange juice? I was really craving that fettuccine again.” She said in almost in a pout, over her shoulder. I moved on silent feet until the barrel of my gun kissed her blonde hair.
“What are you doing here?” I cocked the gun, not trusting her intentions.
“I came for food. It was on the way to — well never mind. Are you in Riven to stay or heading to New York?”
“Haven’t decided yet, is there a reason to stay?”
She sighed, and I backed away, giving her space, and set the pistol on the counter, but still within reach.
“I was really hoping to find some leftover fettuccine but all you have is rancid OJ like some fucking drunk.” Her nose scrunched up as she turned towards me.
She looked good, well-rested and glowing with beauty.
My eyes raked across her skin and paused at the curve beneath her shirt.
It was wrong. Every thought left me as I stared at her round stomach.
“Y-your pregnant?” I stuttered.
“Yeah hence the cravings. Don’t be so surprised it’s a naturally occurring consequence of sex.” She moved on to the cabinets, snatching a jar of Skippy’s peanut butter from the shelf. Then pulled open the drawer next to the oven.
I was too busy scrambling for any semblance of thought other than pregnant to notice she’d opened the one drawer she shouldn’t have.
“Lucky me, peanut butter and my favorite knife back on the same day.” She unsheathed the large K-Bar and stuck it in the jar of peanut butter.
Proceeded to stir the jar and then scoop up some of the peanut butter on the knifes tip.
The moan that left her had my cock remembering the fondness of her.
“This hits the spot.” She moaned around the smacking of her lips against the sharp blade.
“Is it — could it be mine?” I stuttered.
I didn’t think I ever wanted kids after the way my father raised Shaw and me, but as soon as I saw her pregnant belly, something fluttered within me.
“Funny that you care now,” she rolled her eyes and continued to lap at her snack.
“I always cared…” I didn’t think I was protective of her at first, but the anger that surged in me at the thought of someone hurting her told me otherwise.
Except I was the one who hurt her.
I shot her.
She shrugged. She fucking shrugged.
My feet moved faster than any thought, and the next thing I knew, she held a peanut butter-covered knife at the tip of my Adam’s apple. Her eyes caught on something I could only assume was blood as it trickled down my neck.
“Don’t.” She whispered.
I swallowed. “Why?”
“I’m not fragile because I am pregnant. You shot me. I don’t trust you.”
“I did it to save you. He would have killed you. The knife was poised at your fourth or fifth rib. The bullet grazed you, if I wanted to kill you a simple headshot while you stood jittery between those lackeys would have been sufficient.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She sighed, and the knife’s tip dug into my neck deeper.
I felt the sharp sting as the blade pressed deeper into my skin.
A steady trail of blood ran into my collar of my shirt.
I could smell the metallic tang as it mingled with the nutty scent of Skippy’s.
I’d had been more grossed out if it hadn’t been so serious.
“No, I am trying to apologize.” I huffed.
I didn’t know what about the woman that always had me on my knees, but I would be damned if I didn’t take the moments I could with her.
She pulled the knife away, and I loosed a breath.
It was true that I never intended to kill her.
Hell, I loved her. I couldn’t have her though; it was clear in the way she stood defensively.
Bitterness crept under my skin. “Does your husband know you’re pregnant with someone else’s child? ”
She started laughing, and I had failed to see the point of it all.
“My husband would be the last to know and if you so much as utter a word to Cole I will strangle you.” She bit out coldly.
“Pretty sure he’d kill me before I got a foot in the door. Or did you not remember what happened at the church?”
“It all blurs together —my life isn’t exactly free from trauma. I —” she sighed and then turned. “It doesn’t concern you what I do with my husband or not. You chose your side.”
The truth sat heavy in my chest. I didn’t know what side I was on anymore.