by Christa Wick
"Not yet," Boone answered. "Just that no one used my real name where I was at."
As he spoke, his left hand brushed against the right one, the gesture drawing my attention to more scars that made me wonder if the burn pattern I could see on his skull extended down his right side.
Reaching his chair, I sank to the floor on my knees. Tears flowed from me as he looked from the corner of his one good eye, the rest of his body immobile.
"Lincoln didn't do this…" I started, but it was getting hard to breathe.
"No, Big Red did some of it."
Boone lifted his shirt to expose his abdomen. There were more burn scars along the right side. Hiding within them were several inch-wide indentations in his stomach.
"Just these, but they were more than enough."
"He stabbed you?"
"Stabbed and cuffed, then took me down to the chapter in West Bay."
He stopped to take a hard swallow then said nothing further.
"It's true about the cage fights?" I asked.
A slow nod.
"To the death?"
Another slow nod.
Fuck! All these years and my "dead" brother was locked in a damn cage a couple hundred miles south of me. Big Red knew, others in Thunder Valley had to as well. But I had remained clueless the entire fucking time!
"I didn't know," I whispered. "Fuck, I'm so sor—"
O'Donnell interrupted with a knock on the door. He didn't wait for either of us to answer, just entered and stood a few feet away.
"Ash, I just got word from the team in Thunder Valley."
My brain got stuck on "Ash" so hard I missed the mention of my hometown.
"Big Red and his son were picked up," O'Donnell told us. "Bunch of others, including Bolo. Crankhead by the name of Weaver started spilling his guts half an hour into custody. They talk like that when they are overdue for their next hit."
Boone looked at me. "Weaver?"
"My age," I explained. "Grew up in the trailer park on the east side of town. Definitely an addict but Little Red liked having him around. Kind of the court jester."
"Just wanted you to know," O'Donnell said, his unflinching gaze on my brother.
"Thanks," Boone answered before dismissing the man with more polite finesse than I could imagine, let alone execute. "I guess I'll be seeing you at the hearing tomorrow."
O'Donnell nodded, backing from the room and closing the door behind him.
"So," Boone said, his tone lightening. "I heard you got a girl?"
"Avery Watkins," I answered, half a dozen of my own questions hovering at the tip of my tongue.
Was "Ash" what the sick fucks in West Bay called him? Were they the same assholes who had burned his flesh or put the visible dent in his skull?
"Joe Watkins' kid?" he asked. "Cute little redhead you were trying to work up the nerve to ask to prom?"
"Yeah," I agreed. "She's in the kitchen. Do you want to—"
He shook his head.
"There's very little I want to do in life, baby brother. Tomorrow, I'll get Lincoln out of jail. I don't know where I'll be the day after."
My tears restarted, made me feel so weak.
Boone wrapped his hands around my skull, their incredible strength still present despite the scarring. He planted a faint kiss against my forehead then retreated.
"I'll come back," he said, his tone already a million miles away. "I always do."
14
Avery
Huddled on a bed in our room at the WITSEC Safesite and Orientation Center, Callan and I watched a video play on a government loaner laptop. The video came from a thumb drive. The rest of the orientation material was pre-loaded on the computer. There was no internet connection to research beyond the material our caseworker had provided.
I understood why there was no internet, but the video on Flagstaff, Arizona, one of the cities they had given us to choose from, wasn't as informative as WITSEC probably thought it was.
"Like, how cold do you think it is in Flagstaff right now?" I asked.
Callan looked at his watch. "Ten p.m. for them. I'd say it's still above freezing."
I shivered at the thought that a few hours difference would have the temperature below freezing. I had never been north of the frost line until after Little Red ordered the hit on Callan.
"I'll keep you warm, love," he whispered, his breath hot on my ear.
Just that word—love—coming from his lips was enough to melt me.
"Do you like it?" I asked as pictures of the areas "natural wonders" began to play.
"It's pretty," he answered after a few long seconds. "Decent university and several community colleges in commuting distance. Good public transportation…and we don't have to live there forever."
"Yeah," I agreed. "Plenty of entry level jobs with all the tourism there, too."
"That won't be forever, either," he promised.
Closing the laptop with a sigh, Callan placed it on the nightstand. Moving to the center of the bed, he pulled me until I straddled him.
"Tell me what's really bothering you, baby."
I picked at a thread on his shirt. At the moment, even our clothes were borrowed.
"Will your family know where you are?" I asked.
I didn't care, of course, about being in contact with my family. There was just my father. Even if he hadn't reported the truck stolen, dear old dad was a man I never wanted in my life again. He would always try to shake me down for cash or free labor. Worse, I would never be able to leave him alone with a baby or toddler for fear of him drunkenly dropping or burning the child.
Simple fact—Joe Watkins didn't deserve to be anyone's grandfather.
Callan's family, on the other hand, meant the world to him. Lincoln was out of prison, but Callan had only been able to see him for a few hours after the release hearing before another U.S. Marshall shuttled Lincoln away. We didn't even know if he was being offered a new identity in WITSEC.
Boone was in the wind. Callan had confessed, in whispers while the shower was running, that he thought Boone was out exacting revenge on members of the Steel Tide who hadn't been rounded up by the FBI yet.
That left Dylan Tilley. Unlike Lincoln's exoneration, Callan's father had been granted an early release because there still wasn't proof that Big Red had set him up. His conviction was in the early days of the Steel Tide turning criminal, so he didn't have any information he could give up on them. Maybe he had something on the people he'd met in jail, but we were as in the dark about Dylan as we were about everyone else.
"Right now, it's you and me," Callan answered, fingers threading behind my neck to pull me close. "The rest will shake out later."
Accepting the kiss he was offering, I let my weight settle against his chest. His hands moved to massage my tense shoulders before dipping down to the muscles of my lower back.
"Are there strings attached to this back rub?"
A throaty chuckle told me all I needed to know.
“You’ll thank me later when my cock’s in you and you’re not too stressed to ride it.”
I buried my face against the crook of his neck and whispered my retort.
“I’m never going to be too stressed or too tired to ride your cock.”
“That’s my girl.”
Callan gave my ass a firm squeeze then flipped me onto my back. The bed bounced but it didn't knock against the wall. We'd made sure it couldn't after our first night in the center when the neighbor on the other side—someone whose face we would never see—knocked back.
With the lights still on, Callan gazed at my face and lovingly stroked my cheek. The bandages were off his hand. His thumb had healed from the surgery. But the scar would always be there—a reminder to me that Callan Tilley kept his promises.
He brought his mouth to mine. My lips opened to the gentle exploration of his tongue. When the kiss ended, he started a leisurely slide down my body.
“These legs need to be wrapped around my shoulders.”
Looking up, he froze.
"Love, why are you half a second away from crying?"
"I think we would be happy in Flagstaff," I said, sniffling in a weak attempt to stop the tears that threatened to spill out.
Callan moved back up my body. He cupped the sides of my face.
"These aren't happy tears," he said, erasing one from my cheek with a soft kiss. "Does being happy scare you?"
I nodded. Hell, after a childhood with my father and being invisible most of my life, even compliments scared me. Being happy, loved and cared for damn well terrified me.
“Scares me, too,” he confessed. "I've never had so much to lose now that I have you."
Callan wasn’t the type of man to cry, at least not easily. But I could see deep emotion shimmering in his gaze.
“How do you keep from going crazy from the fear?”
I needed to know. Some days I felt one kind word or kiss away from the loony bin. That in itself seemed certifiable.
“Let me show you," he said, his voice as soft as his smile.
Straightening until his weight was on his knees, he stripped his t-shirt off then turned his attention to the robe I had put on after my earlier shower. Slowly, he peeled the fabric off my shoulders and down my arms to expose my chest.
Callan cupped my breasts as his mouth slowly advanced on one nipple. The back of my head dug into the mattress as he circled the tight bud with his tongue. My arms curled around his shoulders, hugging him to me.
Thick fingers found their way between my pressed thighs. He took short, curling strokes against my clit, his tongue moving in the same pattern between small bites to my breast. The sensations had me straining to ease his access. My breathing became erratic, signaling how close he already had me to climax.
“Not yet, love.” He finished removing my robe, the fabric finding its way to the floor as he settled between my open thighs.
Pinching my lower lips apart, he started to gently suckle at my clit. The tenderness he exhibited provoked fresh tears. He had told me back in Charlottesville that sometimes he would take me roughly, but every night since our arrest it had been this loving intimacy.
As if each night might be our last together, he wanted me to know how thoroughly cherished I was. And, no matter how much his manner had thrilled me that first time, I didn’t need the roughness, just the strength that was always present.
Reaching down, I caressed the angry red scar on his left hand. “Do you think we can ever have children?”
The thought had been pushing at me all week, as if the happiness I felt couldn’t be spent on just one person without overwhelming Callan with my need.
His mouth moved along my hip, kissing the sensitive hollow on one side before moving to its twin on the opposite hip. For a few seconds, I thought he hadn’t heard me or didn’t want to hurt me with the answer. Moving back to my mound, he kissed the top split then looked at me.
“Yeah, baby. I think we can. The Steel Tide is going down. The arrests in West Bay and Miami hit the organization hard. O'Donnell told me a bunch of the guys in the Miami chapter are turning up dead.”
He shook his head like he was shaking off the past. Refocusing his attention, Callan pushed his tongue deep inside my pussy.
I wrapped my fingers around the back of his head and tugged him upward. “I want your cock in me.”
He surfed up the bed, his arms pushing between my body and the mattress so that he could hold me tightly against him as he slowly sank into me. He nuzzled my neck, whispering sweet somethings as his hips took up a slow rhythm. I could feel him hard and moving inside me. My knees hugged his hips, my breaths leaving me in wet gasps of pleasure because of how damn thick he was.
Wrapping a hand around my chin, Callan forced my mouth open. He kissed me, deep and twirling as his hips ground more tightly against me. Need whipped through me. My hands landed on his back. Fresh marks appeared beside fading ones as I dragged my nails against his flesh to keep from screaming.
Stopping the kiss, he panted against my ear, letting me know he was close.
Together, love. You and me...
I lifted against him one last time, the scream finally breaking from my throat as I climaxed. He had repeated the words many times since leaving that interrogation room. He said it when we dreamed of the future. He said it at times like this when our bodies melded together, the many repetitions etching his promise in my flesh and in my bones.
Together, love. You and me.
Epilogue
CALLAN
~ Two Years Later ~
Pulling into the drive, I hit the remote to open the garage door. My gaze bounced around the sedan's mirrors as it always did. Maybe, I admitted to myself, it bounced around a little more than usual because of the truck pulling in behind me.
The truck's driver and passenger weren't a threat. They were targets.
"Is anything wrong?" Avery asked, her body stiff where she sat in the backseat next to our daughter Grace.
"No," I answered, flashing a thumb's up that Lincoln and my father could see from their positions in the truck.
Even though I said "no," I pulled into the garage more cautiously than usual and didn't shut the door behind us.
Sensing my trepidation or experiencing some of his own, Lincoln jumped out from the passenger side of the truck and hustled over to my door.
We were all dressed up for Grace's christening, but beneath his jacket was the reassuring bulge of a pistol. He carried his weapon toward the front. My 9mm rested snugly against my spine.
"Wait here while I check the inside," I said, getting out of the car.
Glancing in the back seat, I felt a hard squeeze at my chest. Avery leaned protectively over Grace, the position discreet from how many times she had practiced in these first four months of little Gracie's life.
"It's okay, love," I told her. "Just going through the motions."
Entering the house through the garage door, I moved quietly through each room, my eyes and ears alert for the sound of someone in the house or something deadly they could have left behind. Closets were checked, so was the space under the beds.
Straightening up from looking under Grace's bed, I froze.
A slim, rectangular object wrapped in shiny pink paper with white polka dots and a white ribbon had been left on the center of the mattress. I thumbed one edge of the package. The paper gave a little, better revealing the shape and solidity beneath. Realizing it was a book, I tore the paper off.
Aged green cloth cover, a small gold-threaded illustration of a boy trying to capture the other half of his suspenders. I knew the title without reading it.
Now We Are Six.
A.A. Milne
Light headed, I staggered away from the crib and called everyone inside. Avery came in holding the baby, their bodies wedged between Lincoln and my dad.
I held the book up so my brother and father could see.
"Your mother used to read that to you boys," Dad said.
"It was in Grace's crib, covered with pink wrapping paper."
Fear flashed across Avery's face.
"Someone was in the house while we were gone?"
Lincoln gently caught her as she started to turn away and hustle back to the car.
"It's okay, little sister," he said, prying Grace from her arms. "I'm pretty sure it is a present from everyone's favorite ghost."
Her gaze landed on me. I nodded.
Provided everyone was telling the truth, no one in my family had heard from Boone in more than a year—since before we even knew Avery was pregnant. But he had somehow learned about the birth and even the date of the christening.
I just wished he had stuck around instead of snuck around.
"It's okay, love," Avery said, wrapping her arms around me. "It will all shake out, remember?"
Nodding, I hugged her back.
"Seems to me that it's better than okay," Dad said, opening the refrigerator and finding a six-pack of Reaver's Choice in bo
ttles. "Someone left behind our favorite libation, as well."
"After dinner," Avery ordered, reclaiming Grace from Lincoln's arms. "Which I will start prepping as soon as I change her out of this gown and put her down for a nap."
Watching my beautiful wife and sweet baby girl disappear into the next room, I allowed myself to relax. Lincoln took the book from me and paged through to its end.
"When I was One, I had just begun," he read to my father and me.
I smiled, but the expression was one of both joy and melancholy.
"It was your mother who wanted you boys to stay six for ever and ever," Dad said, quoting part of the poem's last line from memory. "But I know she would be proud of the men you have become."
Turning away, Lincoln grabbed the cutting board. "I think I'll get started helping Avery with dinner."
"You just want an excuse to hold an onion in your hand," Dad chuckled, his own gaze growing wet at the mention of my mother. "I think maybe I better do the chopping for you."
"I'll do all the chopping," Avery said as she came back into the room. "I'll even let you crack open a beer before dinner if you all agree to stay out of my kitchen unless summoned."
Snapping my heels together and executing an elaborate half-bow, I threw her a wink. "Yes, my queen."
"Trained," Lincoln teased, grabbing the first bottle and handing it to Dad.
"Damn straight," I agreed, my eyes still riveted to my wife as she moved around the small kitchen to pull down pots and pans.
Catching me looking at her, she blushed a soft pink that would have made my dick swell if my father didn't nudge me at the same time.
"Too soon to be making a new one," he said. "Better you watch some football with me and Link while we all catch up."
"I'll be out in a second," I agreed.
Waiting until we were alone, I sidled up next to Avery and pulled her into my arms. She yielded immediately.
"Sorry if my actions earlier scared you, love."
"I was scared," she admitted. "But you don't have to apologize. You sensed something was off and you were right."