War Bringer (29 page)

And then he leaned over her, fitting himself to her. She spread her legs as she felt the tip enter her. Kelan held his weight on one straight arm. His free hand gripped her hip, holding her, positioning her as he eased inside, deeper, deeper.
 

She was wet, from his mouth, from her orgasm. The deeper he went, the more he stretched her. It was the most amazing sensation, but then, so was everything he did to her. When he was fully inside her, he lowered himself down to her body, then spread his legs and began pumping himself in and out of her.
 

She lifted her legs, wrapping them around his hips. His body, moving over and in hers, made her feel incredibly alive. No. Not alive. Infinite.

When she started to move against him, meeting his thrusts, he lifted his head and grinned at her. “Come for me, Mahasani. Let me feel you let go.”

He moved so that he ground himself against her clit. She couldn’t hold back any longer. Her release was violent, endless. She wrapped her arms around his neck as it happened, desperately needing an anchor in a world that had lost all gravity.
 

He buried his face in her neck as his release took him. He pounded in to her, hard, harder, so deep, then he went still, which sent her off again. It was like she opened her heart to him and let him walk right into her soul. The rawness of it made her cry.
 

This was what she was going to leave. God, it hurt.

Kelan pushed his hand up into her hair and kissed the side of her. “Aw, honey, are you going to cry every time we make love?”

She sniffled. “I might. I can’t seem to help it.” She held his face, looking into his eyes, trying to see if he understood. “You touch my soul every time.”

He smiled and stroked her chin. “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I’m glad I didn’t meet you when I was younger. The wait for this would have been unbearable.”

He nodded. “I would have made us wait, years, if need be.”

She smiled at that, but the warmth faded as cold reality intruded. “Hold me tonight.”

“I will. Tonight and every night.”

Chapter
 
Twenty-Six

Angel went in search of Rocco, hoping to find him before Kit went looking for him. He’d removed his tracker necklace, leaving it in his room at Blade’s. It was not a good time to go incommunicado. If Ryker hadn’t seen him going in and out of the old barn at Mandy’s, none of them would have found him until he decided to rejoin them.
 

Mandy’s repeat client was in need of a sidewalker. She’d asked Angel to help again—and he was happy to, but it felt as if he was stepping on Rocco’s toes. His friend was the one who should be there with his woman, helping her build her career, seeing her growing confidence and sense of self. This first cycle of Mandy’s career only came once. And what a thing it was to see the way she helped her clients. Rocco was missing all of it, and Angel had had enough.

Angel climbed the groaning steps of the decrepit barn. The upper hay storage area was still fairly intact. Looked like someone had swept most of the old straw and mouse shit off the edge to the dirt below. There was a floor lamp, a worn ladder-back wooden chair, and a beat-up trunk. That was it. Rocco’s hideaway was a Spartan nest.
 

Rocco himself stood at one of the broken windows under a shallow eave. The hot September wind spilled freely into the dusty timbers.
 

“This place is a death trap,” Angel said, knowing full well that Rocco had heard him come up. Maybe Rocco had a death wish too.

“Go away,” Rocco said without looking away from his window.

“What are you doing here?”

“There’s nowhere at the house to have any solitude.”

Angel clenched his jaw, biting back the anger that flashed to the surface. Rocco wasn’t a whole man, in mind or spirit. Anger would mirror anger and serve little purpose in Angel’s mission.
 

“Mandy has a repeat client today. That guy without legs.”
 

Rocco turned halfway from the window. He sighed. “Forget it. I’ll leave.”
 

Angel should have let him go. Really, he should have. But the fact that Rocco was living freely, doing whatever the hell he wanted to do—everyone else be damned—stuck in Angel’s craw. He reached out and grabbed Rocco’s arm. “Not before we do a little talking.”

Rocco laughed. “If I wanted to talk, I’d have fucking come to you.”

“Yeah? Well, I came to you, so you’re gonna hear me out.”

Rocco ripped his arm free.
 

“You’re starting to really piss me off,” Angel said.

“Get over it.”

“I can’t. Not when I see the hell you’re putting your woman through.”

“That ain’t your business.”

“It sure as fuck is. She’s coming to me for the things you should be doing.”

A muscle bunched in Rocco’s cheeks. His eyes twitched as they narrowed. “You got a thing for her, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah.” Angel nodded. “Big time. She’s first class, all the way. And I watch you spit on her every single day.”

Rocco’s eyes narrowed. “The hell I do.”

“Every time she laughs, and you don’t notice. Every time she reaches for you, but you walk away. Every time she steps forward in her career, and you don’t see. In every little way that you can, you spit on her. You’re hurting, so you find little ways to make her hurt, too.” Angel paused and shoved a hand across his short hair. He lowered his voice, trying to calm things down a notch. “You gotta find a way to get your shit together or you’re gonna lose her.”

Rocco’s nostrils flared. “She’s having my baby.”

Angel nodded. “Yeah. But any man can raise your kid. That’s her choice.”

Rocco threw a punch that caught him off guard. Angel ground his teeth. “Wanna do that again?”

“Yeah. I do,” Rocco said. Before either of them knew it, they were sparring, moving back and forth across the creaking second floor of the barn.

Rocco realized, while his fist was lifted yet again, Angel had quit fighting a while ago. He pushed himself free and bent over. Jesus. Angel was his friend. He was hurting his friend. He was a sick motherfucker. He forced himself to breathe, though he wished he could just stop.
 

He felt Angel’s hand on his shoulder. “Feel better?”

He lifted his head and met Angel’s dark eyes. No. No, he did not. But at least he didn’t feel numb—he hurt like the punching bag Angel had used him for.

“Look, I’ll take your anger. I’ll take your fists and your rage,” Angel said, “but give your woman a little love. Please.”

Rocco didn’t answer. He wiped a dirty wrist across his face, watching as Angel walked away. He listened to the steps creak beneath Angel’s weight, waiting to hear his SUV fire up and drive away.
 

He realized this was what it felt like to live long after life had lost all meaning. It was as if a demon had stepped inside of him in the Hindu Kush and was slowly devouring his soul.

He looked over at the trunk sitting next to the chair. Dragging himself to his feet, he stumbled over to it like an addict to his drug. He turned the skeleton key and stared at the locked box inside. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked that box, too. Inside was an old six-shooter he’d bought from a dealer in Cheyenne. He didn’t want Mandy or the guys to know about it.

The relief that washed through him was heady. He lifted it out of the box, felt its weight in his hand. Opening the cylinder, he checked to be sure he hadn’t left a bullet in it. It was unloaded. He had to check, because his mind wasn’t his ally anymore. He might have brought another bullet out last time he came out. The single bullet was still standing in the box. It was all he would need, when the time came.
 

He spun the empty cylinder then held the gun in the palm of his hand. All he had to do was load up that bullet, pull the trigger, and kill the demon inside him. He drew a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.

It felt good to have an option. He sat there for a while, enjoying the freedom the cold steel in his hand gave him. After a while, he locked the gun up, then locked up the trunk, and headed back over to Blade’s to get back to work.

* * *

Wynn rubbed a towel over Zavi’s wet hair. She’d just washed him in the shower in the women’s locker room. They’d spent a fun afternoon playing in the pool. The compound here had so much for them to do, it was like living at a sleep-away camp.
 

She changed Zavi into fresh clothes. “Why don’t you shower too?” he asked.

She pulled her white terrycloth robe over her swimsuit. “I’m going to clean up in my room. All my things are there.”

“What kind of things?”

“My blow-dryer. My makeup.”

“I don’t like using the girls’ locker room. Why can’t I use the boys’?”

“What difference does it make? They’re exactly alike. They both have showers and towels.” She combed his black hair with her fingers. He was such a pretty little boy. “Besides, this is the one that I use, and I like having you with me.”

“How old do I have to be to use the boys’ locker room?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Seven?”

“Seven!” He fell back against the wall, deflated. “I’ll never be that old.”

Wynn laughed. “Come on. Let’s go back to the house. Kathy said she would have an afternoon snack for us. And then maybe we can go watch Mandy work with her client when he comes out.”
 

She was still smiling as they stepped into the hallway. The big house was a maze of halls and rooms, which she was trying diligently to commit to memory.
 

A door closed behind them. Wynn turned just enough to see one of the guys step into the hall.

Instantly she felt self-conscious. The unisex, uni-size terry robe she wore wasn’t exactly made for a woman of her height and weight. The top hung loose, exposing the cleavage her swimsuit revealed. The sides closed over her hips, but not down her legs. Most of one thigh flashed behind the terrycloth.

Clothed or not, it wasn’t nice to pretend that the man behind them wasn’t there. Zavi beat her to greeting him, though.

“Hi, Uncle Angel.” The little boy stopped walking and faced the big man.

Wynn turned again and smiled, then gasped. The man was fresh from a shower, bleeding from the corner of his lip and his left cheekbone.

“Good heavens. What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” He stopped just a few feet from her and Zavi.
 

Zavi took her hand. “They always look like that. Kathy said she’d have some cookies for us after our swim. And Casey will be home from school soon. Can I go see what kind Kathy made? I want to get one before Casey does.”

Wynn tore her eyes from Angel. The man needed to be patched up. Zavi would be fine with Kathy. “Sure. Stay with Kathy. I’ll catch up to you when I come in.”

She watched Zavi run down the hall that connected the gym building with the rest of the house. She was alone with Angel. Being face to face with him was like staring down a grizzly. He wasn’t as hairy, but he sure was intense.

“What happened?” she asked again.

“I was sparring.”

“With a Mack truck?”

His lips thinned.
 

“You could use a couple of stitches.”

“You sew?”

Wynn’s brows flew up. “Yes, but not humans.”

Angel shrugged. “Then leave it.”

“No. It’s actively bleeding. There’s a first-aid kit in the locker room.” She took his wrist and started back toward the women’s locker room.
 

He didn’t budge. “I’m not going in the girls’ locker room.”

She released his hand and shook her head. “You and Zavi. There’s no one in there. And we won’t be long.”

“You want to play nurse, do it in the men’s room.”

“Fine. We’ll go to yours.” They started in that direction. “And I’m not playing nurse. I’m trying to save your pretty face from some ugly scars.”

His demeanor changed. “You think I’m pretty?”

Wynn was surprised by that question. Her gaze swept over the hard lines of his face. He was many things…edgy, determined, fearsome…but pretty was definitely not among them.
 

“Of course not,” she said, smiling. “Pretty men would use the women’s locker room.”

He laughed then winced.

Wynn was glad he hadn’t been mistaken about the room being unoccupied. She had him sit on a bench by the lockers while she accessed the white metal box with a big red cross on it. She retrieved some antiseptic spray, some gauze squares, and a few different bandages, then set them next to him. She washed her hands then straddled the bench.

“Turn so you’re facing me,” she directed.

He did. His legs were spread open, his knees touching hers. They were big knees, attached to muscular thighs that his cargo pants hugged. Not to mention they were long legs. She thought about trying to adjust her robe to cover more of her own legs, and wished for the millionth time in her life that she were different. Petite. Slim. Pretty. Like most of the other women in the household.
 

But she wasn’t. She was what she was. And right now all that mattered was getting her boss’ friend patched up. She sprayed the gauze pad with the antiseptic and dabbed it against his torn lip. She made the mistake of looking up into his eyes as she pressed the pad against his skin. His black eyes had darkened perceptibly. Her lips parted as she pulled a long breath. This wound would be hard to seal, as it opened every time his mouth moved.

“Be still,” she admonished.

“I don’t want to be still. You have beautiful eyes.”

Again she met his look, then blinked and looked down at the pile of medical supplies between their legs. She took a butterfly bandage and taped the wound together.

She repeated the same steps with the cut on his cheek, moving along quickly so that he wouldn’t say anything else embarrassing and get her thinking about things that would never be. She wasn’t the kind of woman men looked at lustfully. Maybe someday she would find someone who was a fit for her. Maybe not.

But whoever her man was, he sure wasn’t going to be a friend of her employer’s, working in a dangerous shadow industry like they did. There was a word for what he was, and it sent chills across her skin.