Afterlife (52 page)

words, as wel as

silence, were weapons far more

potent than a gun. They

could tear open the heart far worse

than a mortal wound.

She’d known that, the day she’d fitted

the gun under her

chin. Only a spasm in her nervous

hand had turned the

weapon, shot the bul et not into her

brain, but past her

throat. After that, she’d figured out

how to live with the

horrible pain of spoken and unspoken

wounds. But this

took her back to al of that, reminded

her what had pushed

her to that awful, isolated day in her

apartment.

Through the roaring pain, she was

vaguely aware of

Lucas being joined by Peter on the

other side of her. She

hadn’t even realized Peter had fol

owed Jon out, but now

she had a fortress of heated male

muscle around her, as

wel as a heady, lethal aura of barely

leashed fury. It pushed

in on her, held her up like bracing a

mannequin, but Lucas

and Peter had stabilizing hands at her

elbows, reinforcing

it. Then Jon stepped squarely in front

of her.

Chapter Seventeen

There wasn’t a lot of space between

her and the man Jon

knew had to be her ex-husband, but

after hearing that last

line, Jon moved into it without

hesitation, forcing Cole back

a step. While he might not have

Peter’s shoulder breadth,

his were wide enough to block

Cole’s view of Rachel and

focus him on the most important thing

right now—his own

wel -being.

“You’l walk away now, without

another word.”

Like the men behind him, Jon excel

ed at what he did by

correctly assessing others. Through

the few guarded things

she’d said, and his interpretation of

those things, he found

he’d had a pretty accurate picture of

Cole. Perhaps at one

time he’d been a man who’d loved

his wife, but time had

changed him, made him harder. Jon

saw a resentful beta

personality. Cole had likely seen

himself as an alpha, and

taken a wrong turn with it, probably

in many aspects of his

life. His son’s loss would have shut a

lot of avenues down,

made him even more bitter. Now Jon

saw a cauldron of

discontent and disappointment, and a

bul headed refusal to

look inward to resolve any of it. It

was everyone else’s fault,

not Cole’s.

Before ten seconds ago, he could

have pitied the man.

But he’d heard the missile Cole had

fired. The words had

hit Rachel dead center, shattering her

fragile confidence

with bul ’s-eye accuracy, for it had

targeted the things she

feared most about herself, as wel as

the unhealed wounds.

Every scrap of joy and pleasure

she’d earned tonight had

been blasted away. He’d seen it

happen right in front of his

eyes, the tightening of her face, the

anguish in her hazel

eyes, the way her body almost

crumpled in on itself in front

of him, so that she was ashamed of

everything about

herself, inside and out. When that

transition happened, his

pity changed to something else.

The rational nature and pacific

tolerance that

characterized him was replaced by

something Jon had

rarely felt in his life. Since the others

were so in tune with

him, he wondered if Ben had stepped

up to his side to

support him or to prevent murder.

When Cole’s expression got surly,

probably fueled by a

six-pack or two imbibed at the golf

course and over his

steak dinner, Jon’s lips barely

moved. “I mean it. One word,

and you wil regret ever being born.

More than you already

do.”

The man had the good sense to pale

beneath his golfer’s

tan. Whatever Cole saw in his face,

he apparently believed,

and of course it was reinforced by

the three men at his

back. However, frustration and

alcohol were overriding

good sense, and Cole’s hands closed

into half fists. Jon

could tel he was trying to get one

more look at Rachel, and

he shifted, engaging the man’s gaze

again. “You had your

shot. She’s not for you. She’s mine

now. You have no rights

here. Let it go and walk away.”

Cole’s jaw was hard as glass and as

breakable, but he

gave a short nod, turned on his heel

and moved away. Jon

saw a curious group of three golfers

standing by a car,

waiting for him. Apparently they’d

shared a meal, but they

hadn’t wanted to get involved in

whatever this was, even

boozed up as they probably were.

Cole wasn’t as fortunate

in his choice of friends as Jon was,

for certain.

Peter alone was intimidating enough

to back down most

aggressors, but when Jon turned,

Lucas’ silver eyes were

stil cold enough to have frozen

Cole’s dick off. And of

course Jon had known from the first

the most dangerous of

their group stood to his left. Devoid

of his deceptively

pleasant lawyer façade, Ben had the

face of a man who

could murder someone in the middle

of a crowd, and then

talk his way out of it while cleaning

the blood off the knife. It

was something he didn’t appreciate

enough about Ben.

Jon made a note to mention that to

him, send him a

Hal mark card that expressed it, if he

could find an

appropriate one.

But any satisfaction about that

disappeared when he

focused on what was most important

to him right now.

Rachel was looking down, her fists

locked in a knot under

her breasts. He slid his arms over

her, brought that curled,

wounded body in to his, holding her

close. But she reached

up between them, fumbled at the

fastener of the col ar.

“Take it off, please.” Her voice was

hoarse, raw.

“No, Rachel. That’s not—”

“Now.
Now
!” She shoved away from

him, pul ing at it. “Let

me go.”

She was constricting her breathing,

pushing hard against

her windpipe by tearing at the velvet

strap. As she spun

away, the slim heels weren’t made

for that kind of

uncontrol ed movement. One broke

and she stumbled, but

Jon caught her before her knees hit

the rough asphalt. He

lifted her, screaming and struggling.

Peter had already sent

an urgent gesture to Max, where he

sat in the limo at the

entrance area, and he quickly

maneuvered over, stopping

near the men. Lucas got the door and

Jon ducked in, stil

holding her. They shut the door after

him, leaving him in the

roomy and private compartment to

deal with the hysterical

woman in his arms. Max wisely

already had the privacy

screen rol ing up between them.

“Rachel.
Rachel
.” She refused to

respond, fighting him

like a wild animal. As he held her

hands away from her

throat, he saw terrible things in her

face, desolate things.

The woman he knew wasn’t in

control. This feral, wounded

creature didn’t understand soothing

words, meditation and

balancing chakras bul shit. His heart

wrenched, a

combination of shared anguished and

deep fear, as he

realized he was seeing the darkness

that had likely made

her pick up that gun four years ago.

He believed in Fate. Fate had brought

them together,

and no matter how bad this was, Fate

had meant this

moment to happen, to give him the

chance to go head-to-

head with her past, prove that she had

someone in her

corner who could help her put it to

bed, let those wounds

heal.

He pinned her, forced to abandon

gentility or finesse to

unlatch the lock on the col ar before

she could strangle

herself. It tumbled from her neck, but

when he had to shift

his grip, she scrambled to the far side

of the limo, breathing

hard. She curled up in the corner,

fists clenched, body

drawn tight as a bow.

Damn it, he’d told her he’d be

whatever kind of Master

she most needed, even if he had to set

aside rational

thought and answer uncontrol ed

animal instinct with the

same. He’d told Cole the truth. He

would protect her with

everything he was, even the darker

side al men carried

inside of them. From the lingering

effect of the club

performance, he had more than

enough banked animal lust

wil ing to roar up to the forefront and

help.

“Don’t touch me. Get away from me.

Leave me alone.”

To hell with that.

His two instincts flip-flopped, the

primordial eagerly

surging forward, the protective

shoved to the background.

But they were one and the same in

this instance. And he

was a lot fucking stronger and faster.

Yanking her out of the

corner, he banded an arm around her

waist and flipped her

to the limo carpet on her hands and

knees.

She tried to turn on him with nails

and teeth, giving him

her rage. He was pleased to see it,

even as he control ed

her, shoving her back down to her

elbows. He held her

there grimly, one hand on the back of

her neck as he freed

himself from his trousers. The skirt

was so short that this

position ful y exposed her ass, the

pussy stil ripe from their

earlier fucking, wet from that and the

girls’ shower play. As

he slammed into her, he heard her

snarl, her cry of protest.

He gave himself over completely to

that instinct, his cock

hard and thick, knowing what was his

to take, but he

wouldn’t leave it at that. He was

driving into her like a

battering ram, but she was getting

hotter and wetter, and

when he slapped her ass, a hard

spank to command her

attention further, she contracted on

him, a short gasp

breaking up the outrage.

“Stop. Stop it.”

As her arousal built, her furious,

frantic demand became

an anguished plea. A plea that

stabbed him in the heart, for

she was pleading for his help, to

drive al the rest away, to

make al the shrieking pain in her

heart and head stop.

Stop it. Please stop it.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for

her. So in answer,

he let go of her neck and braced his

body over her with one

arm, reaching beneath with the other

to find her clit and rub

it with knowledgeable fingers,

feeling how swol en it was.

Her hand latched onto his braced

forearm, her forehead

against his elbow. Her teeth sank into

his arm, but as an

anchor, not an attack.

She was stil pleading, incoherent,

and the tearful sound

of it, the way the nails of her other

hand dug helplessly into

the carpet, tore something apart

inside of him.

He would give her pleasure, but that

wasn’t the end goal.

He was striving for pure possession,

the message it sent.

What he’d told her.
Mine to protect.

Mine to cherish.
And

she did deserve to be cherished, god

damn her ex-

husband to hel , and al the evil in the

world that had taken

her son from her. She was the only

one who didn’t see it.

The message might not be getting

through, but the

elemental force he knew dwel ed

within her was surging up

to balance the madness. He was

thrusting hard enough to

give her rug burns.
Good.
Her breath was pumping as hard

and fast as he was now, punctuated

by short, jerky sobs.

Her cunt was so slippery it was

making provocative sucking

noises while he fucked her. She

cursed him with a creative

viciousness that demanded an

answer.

Dropping down over her then, he put

his arms on either

side of her shoulders, back pressing

into hers as he kept

working her. When he pul ed the

dress down, her breast

fil ed his palm, the nipple firm as a

new cranberry when he

pinched it. She tried to buck him off,

but her body was in

control now, softening to the claim of

his, and her hips were

rising to meet him. Ramming home,

the deepest thrust yet,