by Alex Grayson
“I’m sorry, I can’t believe I—”
“Shh.” I press my finger against her lips. “It’s okay. Just lay back, let me make love to you, let me remind you what you do to me. Remind you who you belong to. Remind you that I belong to you.”
“Forever.”
“Yeah, sweetheart. You’re mine. Forever. That hasn’t changed, never will.”
Her lips quiver when she smiles. “Good.”
“Good.” I slide out, then back in, barely able to hold myself up anymore with how damn good it feels to be inside of her. “Can I fuck you now?”
She rolls her eyes and I take that as a yes. So then I fuck my wife, loving each stroke more than the next and wondering how every single time it gets better… but knowing it’s simply because it’s her. It’s always been her, it’ll always be just her.
About Anna
The first time Anna tried to read a romance novel, her hair caught on fire when she leaned over a candle to sneak a peek at her mom’s Harlequin. She thinks being hit on the head with a shirtless Fabio until the smoke cleared is what sparked the flame for her love of romance.
Anna was born in Wisconsin, but currently lives in Texas with her husband and two boys. She writes sexy romance that always has a happy ending and loves bringing characters back for cameos. Less than six degrees of separation connects any of her novels.
When she’s not writing or reading, she’s watching reruns of her favorite romcoms, talking to her dog and cat like they’re human, eating carbs, or practicing hand lettering.
Visit her at www.annabrooksauthor.com
Frayed Edges
Freya Barker
Life throws up roadblocks.
Trouble divides.
When distraction invites danger, will the edges keep fraying or will love survive?
1
Luna
The second the coffee maker stops gurgling I snatch up the pot, pouring myself some much needed reinforcement.
Another restless night with my husband’s side of the bed empty.
It’s been that way a few too many times since last year’s attacks on his club. Four people were injured, including the club’s matriarch, Momma, who hasn’t been the same since. I know guilt gnaws at him, since he wasn’t there when they got hurt.
Some of the legitimate businesses the Arrow’s Edge MC runs are still recovering from the sabotage by another MC looking to horn in on Arrow’s Edge’s territory. It’s made Ouray hyper vigilant, especially since he worked hard for so long to put his club on the straight and narrow.
The weight of responsibility he feels is so heavy on his shoulders, they’ve visibly slumped.
Instead of getting better with time, it only seems to get worse.
I’ve tried talking to him, but he’s shutting me out. Actually, I’m sure he’s shutting everyone out because, after all, he’s Ouray, the club’s president. He needs to be strong, confident, and unshakeable at all costs. Except I can see he’s shaken, questioning himself, which is why I think he started sleeping at the club more often than not. The way he used to before I came into his life. Needing to keep his finger on the pulse at all times.
It hurts my heart to feel him slipping away.
I grab my travel cup and walk to the sliding doors.
“Come on, Jack,” I call our dog inside.
I need to get going if I want to make that eight o’clock briefing.
I tap our son, Ahiga, on the shoulder. Other than a half-assed wave when he came downstairs, our fifteen-year-old, hearing-impaired son has been bent over his bowl of cereal and his phone.
Let’s go, buddy. Put your bowl in the sink. A brief nod is all I get before he does as I ask.
Although I can’t blame it on genetics—Ahiga is our adopted son—all three of us need some time before we’re fit for human consumption in the morning.
It takes me two minutes to drive from home to the MC compound on the other side of the county road to drop Jack off with Ouray, who happens to stand outside when I drive up. Smoking. Something he seems to have picked up again recently.
Jack hops out of the SUV the moment I open the door, and I lift my index finger to Ahiga, motioning for him to wait. I’m dropping him off at school on my way into town. Up to last year he was home-schooled at the club, but last August we enrolled him at the local high school and after a bumpy start, he’s been doing quite well.
“Hey, Sprite.” At least my husband still remembers his nickname for me, even if he didn’t remember to come home last night. He looks up from petting the dog, a little guilty. “Sorry about last night, I got—”
“It’s fine. I’ve gotta run.” I realize I’m being bitchy but I’ve heard the excuses before.
I try to escape, but a strong hand on my arm pulls me back. “Hold on,” he rumbles, swinging me around. The next moment I have his lips on mine and his tongue in my mouth.
I can’t help it: just like every other time Ouray kisses me, my knees go weak and I’m unable to resist him. It’s always been an effective weapon of his whenever I’m pissed about something.
Except this time when he lets me go, I’m sad. Heartbroken we still feel the love and have this unreal chemistry, but it doesn’t seem to be enough to bridge the disconnect in our marriage.
“I’ll be home tonight. Promise.” He ducks his head to look into my eyes.
I force a smile, even though he said the same yesterday and the day before but never showed up. I’m tired, I’m worried, and I’m at a loss what to do or say anymore.
I can feel his eyes on me as I get back behind the wheel, turn down the driveway, and swallow down the lump in my throat.
“…stake out Patrick and Hua McNamee. We’re looking for anything unusual in their daily routines.”
I haven’t been paying as much attention as I should while my FBI team discusses our latest case, the suspected corporate espionage from the large industrial gases company in the region. A few years ago, they developed the cutting-edge technology to extract helium from CO2 as the first in the world. That put a target on their backs and had other national and international competitors scrambling to catch up.
Two months ago, a Chinese competitor introduced the identical process to their lineup, which caused many eyebrows to rise. Including those of law enforcement. We’ve spent countless hours digging through employee files and backgrounds, until yesterday when my teammate, Jasper, found an interesting connection between one of the plant’s engineers, Patrick McNamee, and their Chinese counterpart. His wife, Wu Chen Hua, is a niece of the CEO.
“I’ll take the house,” I volunteer, surprising even myself.
I haven’t offered to go on stakeouts in forever. Or at least since Ouray and I got married and adopted Ahiga a few years ago. The start of our relationship had been challenging enough, with him the president of a motorcycle club I was investigating in my role as FBI agent.
After that, I was never eager to be gone too far or too long from my family.
Something my team is well aware of, hence the odd looks they’re sending my way.
“Are you sure?” my boss, Damian Gomez, wants to know.
“Positive.” I know to keep my answer short. Too much elaboration or explanation and it would only fuel the unspoken questions on everyone’s faces. Too many questions might undo my resolve.
I’m done sitting at home waiting.
Ouray
Fuck.
This day is just getting better by the hour.
I watch as Yuma walks into my office, unstable on his feet. It’s fucking two in the afternoon and he’s already drunk off his ass.
The man has always been a little off the beaten path—a bit wild and unpredictable—but since he sustained his injuries last year; he’s been utterly lost. The wounds may have healed but they had a psychological impact on him. At least that’s what our resident psychologist, Trunk, tells me.
Trunk has tried, like I have, to pull Yuma’s head out of his ass. Both gently and forcefully. S
adly neither method netted much, which is why I’m surprised as shit to have him walking in here out of the blue.
“Before you say anything…” He raises his hand to keep me from speaking. “…I finished my last bottle of Jack Daniels this morning.”
I fold my arms over my chest and lean back in my chair. “Until the next one.”
He shakes his head vehemently and then winces, shoving his fingers in his hair. “I mean it.”
“What brought that on?”
He snorts and drops down in the chair across my desk, his gaze drifting out the window. “I’m sick of myself. Momma…she needs…fuck, I don’t even know what she needs, but she’s disappearing in front of my eyes, Nosh is just getting angrier, and I…I drink and hide from it all.”
It’s an accurate description of the past nine or so months. His mother is slipping farther and farther from reality and Nosh is getting more angry with every setback.
“What do you need?”
He seems surprised at my question. “Me? Fuck if I know. Guess layin’ off the juice would be a good place to start.”
The road is paved with good intentions, but I’ve learned sometimes you need a ride. “Talk to Trunk. Find out what your options are, and fuck, brother, follow through ‘cause we need you here.”
I’m not lying. The club sustained some huge hits last year and trying to keep morale up is a goddamn full-time job.
“Am I interrupting?” Luna stands in the doorway, looking from me to Yuma and back.
“No,” he says, jumping up. “Was just about to find Trunk.”
“Just saw him go into the garage.” He staggers out of my office and Luna turns to me, her eyes wide. “Is he hammered?”
“Yup, but he says he wants to quit,” I tell my wife, running a hand through my hair as I get up and round my desk. “Whatcha doin’ here in the middle of the day?”
I snag her around the waist, but instead of sinking into me, she plants her hands on my chest, keeping her distance.
Knew she was pissed this morning when she dropped the dog off, but I thought maybe she got out the wrong side of the bed. Looking into her serious eyes, I’m not so sure.
“I have to leave,” she announces, sending a jolt through my system. The fuck? Suddenly blood is roaring in my ears and I miss her next words. “…Haven’t been in the field for a while, so I took the assignment. Not sure how long, but I—”
“Leave? Now?” I manage, feeling almost panicked.
Fuck, for the past months she’s been my touchstone. The one person who gives me strength rather than saps it like everyone and everything else seems to. A sick feeling curls in my stomach.
“Yes, this case we’re working on. Like I said, I’m not sure how long—”
“What are you telling me?” I snap, unable to keep the sudden surge of fear from my voice. I see her lips press tight as she twists out of my arms.
“If you’d quit interrupting, you’d know,” she fires back just as sharply.
“Jesus, that’s all I fucking need, worrying about you on some fucking assignment. Like I don’t have enough on my goddamn plate already. To top it off, I have to come home to an empty bed?”
I can see the exact moment it happens. Her face blanches and then evens out, without a single emotion showing. “Coming home would require actually showing up. You should stay here at the club, you seem to prefer it anyway.” She turns and reaches for the door, as she mumbles, “I’ll be in touch.”
I know I’m in fucking trouble when she walks out of my office, head high, spine ramrod straight, and without so much as even a kiss goodbye.
2
Luna
Christ, this is boring. I’d forgotten.
This woman does little else than drop her kids off at school and pick them up again.
Yesterday, I thought we might have some excitement when she took a different route from the school, but all she did was spend an hour at the grocery store. I ended up grabbing some snacks while I was trailing her down the aisles, which wasn’t a smart idea. Wrappers and empty bottles are littering my vehicle and my stomach is uncomfortably full with crap.
Emotional binging.
I spoke to Ouray once in the past four days. That was the day before yesterday, to check in on things. For the first time since we’ve been together, the conversation was awkward, stilted. I’d been hesitant to let him know I opted to catch a few winks at the local motel where the team was staying, rather than waste time driving home.
It makes more sense: with surveillance like this you never know when things suddenly run hot, requiring all hands on deck. Doesn’t mean I don’t have an ulterior motive for staying away from home.
I’ve tried talking to him about it—how his withdrawal from us as a couple has impacted me—but he doesn’t hear me. Maybe if he feels what I have felt for months, he’ll get it. Fuck, I hope so, because even though it was my choice to create some distance, I’m afraid it’s hurting me more than it is him. During the phone call it almost sounded like he was indifferent.
I jump when the car door opens, almost going for my sidearm.
“Easy, Roosberg.” Damian folds himself in the passenger seat.
“What are you doing here?”
“Checking in on my team. That okay?” He regards me closely, as I try to rub off the fatigue I know is showing on my face.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“Everything all right, Luna? Happy to take over for a couple of hours if you need some rest.”
Tears sting my eyes at his concern. Wouldn’t that be something? Badass FBI agent crying on the job? Christ, I’m a mess. “I’m good,” I manage.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” he offers after a long pause. “I may be your boss, but I’m your friend too.”
“I know that.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind me pointing out that I’ve noticed a difference in you.” He holds up his hand to stop the protest about to tumble from my lips. “Hear me out. I don’t claim to be a particularly enlightened man when it comes to relationships—just ask my wife—but even I can see the kind of demands stress puts on a marriage. I’ve been there. Or maybe I should say my wife has.”
Curiosity piques at the implication of what looked from the outside to be a solid relationship might have been shaken at one point or another. “You?”
“Fuck yes, me. Or rather, us. We’ve had a few rough spots, and I bet if you asked any one of our married friends, they’ve hit some of their own along the way.”
“Hard to imagine,” I mumble, thinking about Dylan, who seems blissfully happy with his chaotic household. Or Jasper, who all but dotes on his family. Difficult to see any of them as struggling.
“Allow me to provide a guy’s perspective, since it’s usually us who fuck up.” I grin at that. “Men tend to focus on one thing at a time, whatever needs priority. Unfortunately, it leaves little room for anything else. It’s been made clear to me, on more than one occasion, it feels like I tap out—ignore everything else—nothing could be further from the truth.”
I raise my eyebrows. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve studied enough psychology to know guys process differently from women, but it still sounds like an excuse to me. Damian must read the skepticism on my face. He grins, shakes his head and clarifies.
“Look, I can only speak for myself, but I can assure you the reason I allow myself to get so fixated on whatever I’m dealing with is, the sooner I get it out of the way, the sooner I can get back to what’s really important to me: my wife and my family.”
Damian gives me a lot to think about, but even if he’s right, I’m still stuck on the fact Ouray could’ve communicated something to me one of the many times I tried to address what I perceive to be a growing divide.
It’s getting close to three—almost time for Hua McNamee to pick her kids up from school—when a dark luxury SUV pulls up beside my undercover vehicle. Before I have a chance to take a closer look, the soft plop of a silencer has me duck for cover, glas
s showering me.
I’m wedged under the steering wheel for the only cover I have. A sitting duck, with the SUV much higher than this damn Corolla, they could just pick me off. I manage to free my gun just as I hear much louder gunshots fill the air.
Ouray
When is she coming back?
My son has planted himself in front of my desk, a stubborn look on his face.
For the past four days, since Luna went on assignment, Ahiga’s been moping around the clubhouse. It was easier just to stay here, have him drive back and forth from school with the other boys. Lisa, who took over cooking for the club after Momma got shot, has kept him under her wing before and after school and he’s been sleeping in the boys’ quarters.
Don’t know. I sign back.
Do you even talk to her anymore? His fingers betray his agitation.
Kind of busy, bud.
His snort is audible. We’ve noticed.
“Watch your tone,” I caution him, echoing my words with my hands.
Jesus, everybody’s on my case. I told Trunk off yesterday when he mentioned something about me spending too much time here and too little with my family. Like I don’t fucking know that. But what goddamn good does that do if I can’t provide them with a safe place to live, a secure income to live on. We depend on the club for that, but the fucking club has barely recovered from the shitshow last year.
Someone has to tell you to get your head out of your ass.
I shoot up, kicking my chair back at Ahiga’s words, but the boy doesn’t flinch. He stands proud, with a defiant lift to his chin.
Sonofabitch.