by Bourne, Lena
Sanctuary is quiet and dark, but there’s a sliver of light under the door of Cross’ office.
“Come in,” he says when I knock, adding, “What can I do for you, Doc?” once I walk in.
My guilt for not being reachable these last few days, and for taking my time coming to Cross with Anne’s problem and the danger she potentially poses to all of us, is a cold weight in my stomach that even the worst of my raging will never move.
“There’s something you should know,” I say, taking a seat across from him at his desk. “And something I could use your help with. Well, Hawk’s help, but not without your approval.”
Cross leans forward across his desk, eyeing me with that steady, dark gaze of his that never reveals a damn thing about what he’s thinking.
“Hawk mentioned he got the garage to pick up a car from the cops for you,” he says. “And that there was some trouble with it.”
The weight of guilt in my stomach grows heavier still.
“It belonged to a friend of mine, a very old friend,” I said. “She got into some trouble with her ex husband…and the law.”
I add the last as an afterthought, but it’s actually the heart of the problem. The huge, racing heart of it.
“Alright,” Cross says slowly. “You’re gonna need to tell me more than that.”
“I want Hawk to get her a new identity, because she’s wanted by the feds,” I say. “And the husband she’s running away from is an FBI Special Agent.”
Cross’ poker face slips at hearing that, and I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve seen that happen. He’s not saying anything, and even the weight of my guilt is no match for the steadily growing weight of failure I’m experiencing now.
“She’s married to a fed and she’s wanted by the feds. And you want Hawk to take care of that. Am I understanding this right?” he finally asks, his poker face back on.
“Half of us are wanted by the feds,” I say edgily. “How’s this so much different?”
“She could be a plant,” he says slowly.
“I found her on the side of the road where she crashed her car while trying to get away from her abusive husband. The guy’s been using her as a punching bag for years. I saw her x-rays,” I say. “I’ve been hiding her up at my cabin after he found out she was in town, and that’s why he made up that charge against her, and now she’s wanted. It’s not over anything real. Do you think she’d fake an accident to get close to me? Come on, the feds aren’t that smart.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Cross says.
“She’s also the younger sister of my best friend from back home. My dead best friend,” I say, deciding to lay it all down. “She’s not here to spy on us for her husband. She’s here because I offered to help her escape her husband for good. My question is, can you help me do that?”
“What’s the guarantee he’ll leave her alone if we change her identity?” Cross asks going straight to the jugular of the problem like he has a knack for doing. “Hawk is good at that kinda thing, but is he good enough? I’m thinking this guy is gonna keep looking for her for personal reasons, and he’ll never quit until he finds her. That’s the problem with personal reasons. We’d be risking too much.”
It’s what I expected him to say. It’s also what I feared he’d say.
“Can the two of them work it out?” he adds.
I shake my head. “He’s tried to kill her before, and she’s sure he’s gonna do it now that she’s run away from him. Hiding her is better.”
Cross leans back, studying me across the desk, and I have no idea what he’s thinking even though his eyes seem to be burning right through me. Maybe I haven’t made my case strongly enough, maybe he needs to know more. But I’ve always been a man of few words, and I’ve always respected the right of others to make their own choices in peace.
“How much does this woman mean to you?” he asks suddenly.
All the words I could’ve said are jumbled up in my brain, yet I have no problem getting the ones to answer this question out. They’re right there, ready to be spoken, the truth of all truths, and I know it better than I know anything else.
“I love her.”
“But do you trust her?” he asks, smiling wryly.
I nod. “I trusted her brother with my life and I trust her too. But she is the victim of abuse, and people like that can be unpredictable. I trust her not to betray me on purpose, but I can’t be sure, she won’t do it unknowingly.”
Cross narrows his eyes at me like he’s surprised by my honesty. I am too. But I’ve never been an untruthful man, and Cross deserves to know everything there is to know before he makes this choice.
He sits back to think some more, but it doesn’t take as long this time.
“We’ve known each other how long? About a decade, give or take?” he asks.
I nod, not sure where he’s going with this.
“And in that time, you’ve saved my life once, Tank’s life twice, and about half the brothers’ lives as well,” he says and I nod again. “It’s safe to say a lot of us would be dead if you weren’t around.”
“I do what I do because I can, because I’m good at it, and because I’d do anything to help my brothers. Not to get praise and recognition,” I say.
“I know,” Cross says. “You’re a true brother.”
I don’t know if this is leading up to him saying no to me, or to him saying yes, and I wish he’d stop beating around the bush. He’s not known for doing that, so why’s he doing it now? It’s making me angry, and the weight of failure is just about unbearable now.
“I’d rather not mess with the feds if I can help it,” he says. “So killing the guy is out of the question.”
He pauses again. I stay silent too.
“But short of that, I will let you offer her protection,” he says, and I actually breathe a sigh of relief.
“The normal rules apply though, for her twice as much,” he adds. “She can’t know about what we do, and it’s on you to prevent her finding out anything. If she ever runs away and goes back to her husband knowing too much about us, we’re fucked. Am I being clear enough?”
“I hear you,” I say. “Thank you, Cross. I won’t forget this.”
He stands up and stretches his neck so it cracks. “We’re getting quite a reputation for helping ladies in distress, aren’t we?” he asks in that sarcastic tone of his that’s barely noticeable, but he’s not smiling or chuckling. “Not sure if that’s a good thing.”
I get up too. “It’s a good thing for the ladies, I suppose.”
He does chuckle now. “I guess. Tell Hawk you have my go ahead for him to do what he needs to do. But Doc, don’t let me regret it. It’s a big favor. She could destroy everything. Make sure she doesn’t.”
Maybe I heard a silent, or I will, at the end of that sentence, but I could just be imagining it. Cross doesn’t kill women.
“Stay reachable,” he says.
My heart starts racing and I’m not sure why. “You think you’ll need me in Vegas?”
Cross shrugs. “It’s possible. This job isn’t going as smoothly or peacefully as I’d hoped.”
“Are the Russians giving you problems?” I ask.
He’s been negotiating our first major weapons deal with the Russians for the past couple of weeks. When Viper’s Bite MC handed over their weapons running operation as payment for helping them out of a tight spot a few years ago, it came with a healthy number of existing clients, but there’s always room for more, and the Russian mobsters setting up shop in Vegas seemed like a perfect new client, at least on the face of it.
He shrugs. “It’s a huge order, and I’m afraid they might not be as truthful, as they claim to be about why they need all those weapons.”
He’s doing that deadpan sarcasm thing he does, but I can see he’s worried anyway.
“So I should get myself down to Vegas?” I ask.
I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if brothe
rs died while I was away doing other things. Vegas is a long way from my cabin in the woods. Too far to get there in a hurry.
“It’s not absolutely necessary yet,” he says and opens the door of his office. “But be accessible, because that might change quickly now.”
I promise him I will then leave the room to go find Hawk.
I should be happier that Cross agreed to help me than I am. But how can I not let Anne fully into my life? How can I keep secrets from her? She’s already asking questions. And I know secrets can destroy even the most promising relationships.
* * *
Hawk’s nowhere to be found in the building, so in the end I just call him from the driveway.
“I need a favor, Hawk,” I say as soon as he picks up.
“Shoot,” he says, but I get the distinct feeling his mind’s miles away.
“A new identity for a friend of mine,” I say. “As solid as you can make it. And as quick as you can.”
“My, you don’t ask for much do you,” he says. “Alright, give me her current details. What’s her name? Date of birth?”
“Anne Elizabeth Marsh, married Fisher, birthday is May 10, I think, don’t know the exact year,” I say. “She’s from Sunnyvale, Texas.”
“That’s the same place you’re from,” Hawk observes with a chuckle. “This is the lady with the crashed car, I assume. Is she your long lost high school love or what?”
“Something like that,” I say. Maybe one day I’ll tell him the whole story, but right now, I want to get back to Anne with this good news as soon as I can.
“Alright, I’ll see what I can do with what you gave me,” Hawk says. “I’ll call if I need more info or when it’s done. It shouldn’t take long. I’m heading back to Sanctuary now and I’ll have a couple of hours I can devote to this later tonight.”
I thank him, stress again that the new identity needs to be bulletproof and done fast, then hang up. It’s late but hopefully Anne will still be up.
17
Anne
I was asleep when he returned last night, but I woke with him sleeping really close to me, his arm draped around my waist and his even breaths tickling my neck. Instead of waking him, or moving, which could achieve the same thing, I just lay there, listening to the birds singing and chirruping outside, loudly and chaotically, yet still so beautifully, so perfectly heralding the rising sun and saying hello to a new day.
One month ago I was a prisoner in my own home, the prisoner of a man I loved, a man I once believed loved me more than anyone has ever been loved. A violent man, an abusive man, a liar. I was scared to leave and scared to stay, and now I know why. I finally know why.
I had lost myself, lost my strength and my soul, but not because it was destroyed. My true self was just swallowed up by the fog that never lifted, that only grew darker and more opaque with each day I chose to stay with Benji. I blamed myself for being too weak to leave. Cursed myself for choosing to stay in the nightmare that was my marriage to Benji. Convinced myself that escape was impossible. In the end, I accepted my fate, because I didn’t believe I could have anything better. Because I believed myself to be broken beyond repair.
But I wasn’t. I was just hidden. Or hiding. From myself and the world. The fog didn’t destroy me, it protected me. Protected my courage and my strength, so that I could use it to finally escape. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that Benji wasn’t the love of my life—or my soulmate as I believed him to be for a long time—but the single worst mistake I have ever made. I don’t know why I couldn’t accept that for so long, why it took years of insults and beatings for me to finally see it. I might never know the answer to that. But I do know it was never love. Now the fog is gone because it’s no longer needed.
It fled before the light in the eyes of the man sleeping beside me now. Fled before the passion and love he has for me, and which he showed me over and over again in this cabin where he allowed me to heal.
I must do all I can to make our future solid and certain, unburdened by my past, and the mistakes I made while I was lost in the fog.
I should call my husband and ask for a divorce. And make sure he never comes after me again. I have the strength to do that now.
I’ll beat him back with the proof I have of his abuse. This is exactly the reason I compiled it for.
Matt stirs and wraps his arm tighter around my waist. I can feel he’s awake even before I roll over to look into his eyes and make sure. They’re foggy with sleep, but the sun in them is already rising, the sun that warms me, the sun that drove away the fog and revealed me once again.
He kisses my neck hungrily, making me sigh, making my pussy yearn for his cock, making me forget all I was thinking about before, turning it inconsequential against this raw desire and primal need to quench it.
He’s kissing my breasts, and I’m running my fingers through his hair, down his back, touching his strong arms as I imagine licking his warm skin. But that can wait for a long evening by the fire, the one we missed last night. Now we must skip to the good part to make up for lost time.
He’s already on top of me, his weight perfectly balanced and seamlessly applied, his biceps and triceps and forearms coiled and taut as he towers above me, his kisses on my neck, my lips, my breasts, still hungry and full of fiery passion. We sigh in perfect unison as he enters me.
He pulls out then takes my breath as he parts me again. And again. The rhythm of our love making, of our joining, is as natural as waves hitting the shore, as perfect as the sun rising, and more beautiful than the song of all the birds in the world.
Soon fog overtakes my mind again, but this is the fog of pure pleasure, soft and inviting, as healing as it is protective. I surrender myself to it, become one with it’s softness, feel it thicken, become endless rolling waves of pleasure, gusts of bliss.
This is where I’m meant to be. Where I was always meant to be. In the arms of this man, kissed by this man, joined forever with this man.
* * *
“You’ll probably have a new name and identity later today,” he says as we’re facing each other over the kitchen table, the remains of our scrambled eggs and toast cooling between us. “Then you’ll be able to start your new life.”
“I appreciate it, but I think I should take care of my old life first,” I say, my head still floating on the fog of pleasure this man and only this man can give me. Just being in the same room with him is enough. But it dissipates in a split second before the sharp, hot sunlight in his eyes as he fixes them on me.
“What do you mean?” he asks equally sharply.
I’m not sure what to make of his tone, but I am sure that I don’t like it.
“I mean that I have to deal with my past, namely with my husband, before I can have a future.”
He shakes his head. “He’s hellbent on getting you back. And he’s not gonna just let you leave again once he has you back. You told me that. More than once. So why do you want to go back to him now?”
“I don’t want to go back to him,” I say more complacently, finally realizing where his harsh sharpness is coming from. “I’d rather never see him again, to be perfectly honest, but I think that speaking to him, and telling him I want him to leave me alone is the only way to get rid of him for good.”
He clutches his fist in the palm of his other hand on the table, his eyes still sharp, but not focused on me.
“I think that’s a bad idea,” he says. “You’re getting a new name, and there’s nothing you need to discuss with your ex. He just needs to be told to leave you the fuck alone. If I could do it, I would. But I can’t.”
I never took him for a coward and he certainly doesn’t look like one right now, so that last comment confuses me. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m right about this.
“If I see him and talk to him, I might be able to keep my name after all,” I say with a smile, and lay my palms over the ball he’s making with his hands on the table. The tension in them is palpable, like electric
ity made flesh.
“That’s what you want?” he asks. “Or do you just want to see him again?”
Does he really think that’s my reason for this?
I shake my head. “I don’t want to see him. I’d rather do practically anything than see him, but he’s my mistake and only I can correct it. I want this nightmare to be over, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder in fear that it’s caught me again. Do you understand?”
He looks at me for awhile in silence, his eyes bright, but his face unreadable. I don’t know if he understands, but I hope he does, I really hope he does.
“I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” I say once the silence grows too long and too thick to bear. “And I want us to have a peaceful forever.”
His face finally softens and he releases the electrifying fists. He wraps his palms around my hand and squeezes.
“Me too,” he says. “I just hope you’re right about this.”
The rumbling of a bike outside interrupts whatever he was going to say next. I’m sure it was something pleasant and encouraging, because that soft, foggy pleasure had already started building again between us. The rumbling is unbearably loud though, and it’s ripping apart the soft tension that could only have led to kissing and more. We’re both looking out the window at the driveway now, watching a man ride up to the cabin.