by Belle Aurora
I was so close to being resurrected. I could taste it, taste Lexi’s full, sweet lips as they worshipped me.
Thinking of the woman down the hall, alone in her bed, made my gut clench. How easy it would be to sneak into her bedroom and watch her a while.
Yeah. I was a sick fuck. And old habits died hard.
God. The memory of her....
My chest ached as my mind conjured up an image of her beaming up at me, smiling in that soft, warm way that was reserved for me and me alone.
I missed her.
It had been too long.
Finished with the book, I closed it then hugged my drowsy son close to me. “You tired, little man?” He nodded into my chest and I smiled. “Want me to stay until you’re asleep?”
Another nod, weaker this time, and a thought crossed me.
I would kill for this child.
Running a hand through his messy hair, I closed my eyes, breathing him in. He smelled of green apples, fabric softener, and something uniquely A.J. I pressed my lips to his head and held them there, missing him already.
One scrawny arm flopped down across my stomach and held me tight. His voice was whisper quiet. “You’re coming back, right?”
I frowned to myself. How could he ask me that?
He snuggled deeper into me, and my frown intensified. “Hey.” When he didn’t move, I nudged him and, slowly, he looked up at me, his eyes sad. “I’m coming back.” But his eyes remained sad, and I felt the familiar ache I always felt before I had to go. “I promise.”
A.J. looked up at me a long moment before he nodded. I held my little man tightly, wanting to reassure him but unsure about how. Then, I reached down and undid my watch, handing the heavy metal to him.
Grudgingly, he took it, and when he blinked up at me questioningly, I told him, “I’ll be back for that.” His eyes widened before he looked back down at the watch. God, this kid. The look of pride at being entrusted with something big like an expensive wristwatch was all I could handle. “You’ll keep it safe for me, yeah?”
His nod was solid, enthusiastic, and when I saw his slight smile, the aching feeling in my chest eased slightly.
I wasn’t sure about a lot in life, but I was sure about one thing. I loved my son. I loved him something fierce. And if somebody were ever stupid enough to fuck with him, I’d be there, Glock in hand.
Cock.
Click.
Boom.
Fuckin’ try me.
An hour later, the little guy draped over me was fast asleep and I needed to jet. Carefully as I could, I slid out from under him and readjusted the covers. I stood there a while, watching him, my gut coiling tightly.
I didn’t want to leave.
But I had to.
Before I left, I ran a light hand over my son’s hair, bent down, and kissed his brow. Whisper soft, I told his sleeping form, “Love you,” and I fucking meant it.
Those words, they didn’t alarm me as much as they used to. I had learned so much in my time away. How to appreciate life to its fullest was one of those things. I spared one last look at my child before slipping out into the night.
As I walked down the street, to my home, I wondered how long I could continue to hide in plain sight.
Fuck.
A smirk lined my lips as the answer presented itself.
Forever, if I needed to.
“How much longer?” I asked, very clearly pissed.
He sighed. “I don’t know, Twitch. These things take time.” I heard his chair squeak. “What, you think they’re just gonna go ahead and trust what I’ve got to say about you?” He scoffed. “Please, son. The U.S. has reluctantly recognized your life again, but Australia isn’t so willing.” He paused. “There’s an empty grave with your name on it, Twitch. You think that doesn’t raise questions? Think on this. Your grave disappears, your girl goes berserk and wants answers.” He let out a long exhale. “The longer this takes, the better for you. Trust me on that.”
Ethan Black, my unlikely associate, was right, and it ribbed me to no end. I was sore. “Yeah. Whatever.”
“Look,” said the FBI’s main man, “everything will work out. You knew this process was going to be a lengthy one. You said you were in it for the long haul. What’s changed?”
Yes, I had. But seeing my son last night had me thinking. “Say I wanted to out myself now,” I queried. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Ethan laughed humorlessly. “Fucking hell.” When I didn’t utter a word, he went silent a short second, then explained, “You faked your death, Twitch, and although pseudocide is technically not a crime, you’re looking at so many other charges you’ll drown in ‘em. Conspiracy, felony tax evasion, forging a death certificate—want me to keep going? Your girl will go down for illegally collecting life insurance. Oh, and here’s your biggest one. Fraud.”
Right. Got it.
“That all?” I smirked when he let out a string of expletives.
“Keep your fucking head down and stay out of trouble,” Ethan groused, and from the sounds of it, he was as tired of this conversation as I was. “I got work to do.” And then he hung up on me.
Alone in my room, a block away from the house that held my son and my woman, I thought about my current position, about Ethan’s advice.
Keep your fucking head down and stay out of trouble.
My lips tilted up at the corners.
Nah.
That wasn’t my style.
Standing quickly, I dressed and grabbed my keys. Before I left the house, I pulled my hood up over my head and slid on my Ray Bans. Hiding my tattooed hands in my pockets, I walked outside, headed towards my unassuming Nissan Patrol, and stepped inside.
It was Monday, and I knew where she was. Same place she was every Monday.
My Lexi was a creature of habit.
I drove quickly and once I got there, I parked, looking out my tinted windows. And there she was.
My restless soul eased at the sight of her.
I was far enough not to be noticed but close enough to see the soft curve of her ass. And, fuck me, she looked beautiful.
The yoga instructor, a slender dude in his forties, stood in front of the six women in a pose, balancing on one leg while pressing the opposite foot into the prone knee, with his arms straight up over his head.
The women matched his pose, and when Lexi wobbled, he rushed her, placing his hands on her waist to steady her.
My eyes flashed and the anger began to build.
Look, I might’ve changed some in my absence, but I wasn’t a fucking saint. The sight of another man’s hands on my woman had my heart thumping. It made me want to smash heads.
Jaw tight, I continued to watch.
When he said something, smiling, and Lexi spoke back through a wide grin, my stomach clenched painfully. They spoke a few moments, and when I couldn’t take my eyes off those hands at her hips, my neck started to heat, my hands balled into fists, and I muttered under my breath, “Get your fuckin’ hands off her.”
As if he heard me, the asshole’s hands slid away from her but not before lingering a short moment. And, honestly, I couldn’t blame him. Lexi was a beautiful woman.
Only when he stepped away did my gut uncoil. I took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Anger issues would plague me the rest of my life, but I was working on them.
She was dressed in black workout tights and a loose white tee, and I watched the neckline of that oversized tee slide down past one shoulder, revealing the thick strap of her sports bra. She had on a pair of white sneakers and her thick, brown hair was up in a high ponytail.
Quite suddenly, memories assaulted me and I closed my eyes, wanting so desperately to dive into those recollections and live there a while.
Lexi in my bed.
Lexi on her knees.
Lexi sucking me so nicely as she looked up into my eyes.
A low groan escaped me, and my brows lowered as I gripped my hardening cock, s
queezing it tightly. “Shit.”
My head fell back and I closed my eyes tightly. My lips parted as I fought to control myself; a frustrated sigh blew out from between them.
Yeah.
It had been too long.
I needed my baby.
A frown pulled at my mouth.
Did she need me?
As quickly as the thought came, it went, and a snuffle of light laughter left me.
Of course she did. Loving me was all she needed.
I’d make it worth it though. I’d love her back, love her hard, leave her satisfied, and make her surrender herself all over again. And she’d do it, willingly. I knew what my woman liked. Time doesn’t change those particular tastes.
I should know. It hadn’t changed mine.
The thought of Lexi, naked and willing, my hand wrapped around her thick, dark hair, had my dick beading.
I squeezed it tight enough to bruise and bit the inside of my cheek, reveling in the pain. “Jesus.” I hissed in a breath through gritted teeth. “Gotta get out of here.”
Before I left, I spared one more glance towards my woman, and just as I did, she turned to talk to a lady behind her, smiling openly as she lifted an arm, held it across her chest, and kept it there, stretching.
And my soul screamed out for her.
With a deep sigh, I started the car, reversed, and then exited the parking lot.
Once upon a time, in the land of gods and monsters, there lived an angel.
And her name was Lexi.
Chapter Two
Lexi
I was cold and wet with perspiration but momentarily ignored the vicious need to shower. The second I walked into the house, I called out, “Hey, anyone home?”
To my absolute delight, no one answered, and with a light sigh, my feet took me into the kitchen. Grabbing a chair from the table, I dragged it, ignoring the low screech that vibrated throughout my ear, and then stood on it. Opening the highest cabinet on the left, I reached in and pulled out a strategically hidden chocolate bar. With a happy smile, I climbed off the chair, sat on it, opened the wrapper, and took a huge bite.
Eyes closed in sheer bliss, I chewed slowly, savoring the sweet, rich taste.
I looked down at the chocolate bar, feeling mildly guilty about eating the delicious treat almost immediately after finishing a workout.
With a light shrug, I took another bite, and uttered, “Meh. Screw it.”
This was why I worked out, wasn’t it? So I could eat what I wanted to? And right now, I wanted chocolate, so.... “Yum,” I garbled as I threw the rest of the bar into my mouth.
The front door opened and my eyes widened. I took the foil wrapper and shoved it into my bra, chewing quicker.
“Okay, little dude,” Molly said. “Take your shoes off and put your bag away.”
As A.J. rushed past the open doorway, he yelled, “Hi, Mum!”
Putting a hand to my mouth, I continued to chew, swallowed hard, and then called back, “Hey, honey.”
Molly walked into the kitchen and looked closely at me. She grinned and asked, “Have you been eating chocolate?”
How did she know? “What? No,” I said a little too quickly.
When she frowned, smiling, and brought her finger to the corner of my lips, she pulled back and sniffed her finger, smirking. “Chocolate.” Then her brow narrowed. “Where’d you get chocolate? I want chocolate.”
Shit.
Busted.
The twenty-two-year-old had fast become a member of this family. Yes, it was small and broken, but Molly fit with us. When Julius recommended her as a part-time nanny for A.J., I was hesitant. I should’ve known anyone that Julius recommended would have been checked thrice over.
He was not a man to take chances. Neither was his wife, Alejandra.
I missed them both quite a bit.
They lived with us for six months when they first moved to Sydney, and at their time of arrival, Alejandra had not been in a good state. Having been attacked and held for days, she was more than just physically damaged. Mentally, she was so fragile that she seemed almost brittle, to be knocked down at the slightest touch or sound or breeze, and after her ordeal, she barely spoke anymore. It didn’t matter how many times I went over it in my head; I couldn’t begin to understand what that poor woman had gone through.
In mere days, she’d lost a finger, had multiple bones broken, been repeatedly raped, and suffered permanent eye damage at the hands of a maniac with a hunting knife. She was now badly scarred and utterly petrified of doctors. However, Julius loved her just the same. In the time they lived with us, I got a firsthand view of just how wounded she was.
At times, the memory still haunts me.
I remember waking to the sounds of terrified screams and wailing cries, panting and gasping for air, and by the time I was out of bed and rushing down the hall, Julius was attempting to regain control inside their room.
“Wake up, baby,” he uttered, then more frantic, “Fuck. Wake up!” Then, louder, “Ana!”
But the screams continued, and I stood at the end of the hall with a hand pressed to my chest in a weak attempt to calm my racing heart. When the yelps and panicked shrieks finally subsided and were replaced with the sounds of low keening cries, I grudgingly went back to my room, but sleep never came.
At one point, I heard shuffling out in the hall, so I put on my robe and stepped out of my room, and what I saw broke my heart.
Julius carried a pile of sheets into the laundry. The smell of urine was faint, but it was definitely there.
I moved into the open doorway, and feeling my presence, he twisted back to look at me, dressed only in pajama pants, looking dazed and sleep worn. I didn’t miss the marks at his neck and scratches that marred his chest, his mocha skin partially reddened. “Hey,” he whispered, then went back to stuffing the sheets into the washing machine. “Sorry we woke you.”
Julius, I was coming to realize, had the patience of a saint. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. After a short hesitation, I asked, “Is she okay?” With his back to me, he shook his head, and I stepped into the laundry room. “Another memory?”
“She, uh—” He cleared his throat. “She got tangled in the sheets. Woke up terrified.” He sighed softly, tiredly. “Had an accident.”
It was utterly depressing that this sweet woman had gone through so much in her short life that becoming tangled in sheets posed a threat, to frighten her enough into wetting herself. It killed me to watch her refuse help.
I was a qualified social worker. I had resources, if she would only reach out and take what was offered. At my fingertips, I held the best of the Australian mental health system. But I understood fear better than anyone, and what it could do to a person was truly destructive.
“Maybe we can try again with the therapy,” I spoke quietly.
Julius let out a faint bark of laughter. “Yeah. Good luck with that. She barely speaks to me anymore. How you gonna get her to talk?”
My reply was honest and bleak at that. “I don’t know.”
He breathed in deeply, then let it out slowly on an exhale. As he passed me, he pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “Sorry we woke you.”
The next morning, I found Ana sitting at the kitchen table, opposite A.J., and when I shuffled in half asleep, she smiled. Sure, she didn’t talk much anymore, but she was still as kind to me as she could allow herself to be, and if a smile was all she could spare, I’d gladly take it.
I squeezed her shoulder gently. “Morning, Ana.” Pausing by my son, I bent at the waist and wrapped an arm around him, pressing kisses to the side of his neck. “Morning, honey. Are you hungry?”
He made a face before wiping at his neck. He was a little boy, after all. “No. Ana made me toast.”
My eyes smiled at her when I straightened. “Thanks. Can I fix you something?” In response, she returned my smile but held up her mug, telling me she had all she needed. I checked the fridge, and muttered, “Okay, well, I’m thin
king bacon and eggs.”
At that, Julius stepped into the kitchen, looking sleepy and just woken. “I’m down for that.”
I snuffled out a laugh before turning back to Ana. “Do you notice he’s nowhere to be found until someone’s cooking?”
She turned to her husband, her eyes full of mirth, but simply sipped at her coffee. He sat by her, and with a harsh grunt and shrill squeak, her chair was dragged over to him. She put down her mug as he began to whisper into her ear. I discreetly watched them as I started to cook. Whatever he said had an effect. She began to nod slowly, closing her eyes, and when he pulled back, she lovingly framed his face in her hands and looked him in the eyes. When she spotted the dark circles beneath them, her face fell and she leaned in, pressing soft kisses to his full lips.
Regardless of what Ana had gone through, one thing was clear. She loved her husband more than words could describe. A love like theirs was rare, rarer still to survive all they had. I adored them both, and even though they had their problems, I was rooting for them.
As I fried eggs in one pan and bacon in another, I threw some bread into the toaster, and when it popped, Julius stood, lending a hand and pulling out two plates.
That was when A.J. struck. “Why do you have nightmares?”
My entire being stilled. I know he was just a child, but we had spoken about this and he knew he had no business asking Ana such a personal question.
So when she responded, I was stunned.
It took her a while. Her voice was quiet and sounded husky from lack of use. “Because bad people did bad things to me.”
I heard A.J.’s chair squeak, and then he was walking over to her. When I glanced at Julius, his back was ramrod-straight and I knew he was listening. My son sat by the small woman and looked into her white, damaged eye. “Did they do that?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Does it hurt?”
Ana shook her head. “No.” She took A.J.’s hand and touched it to the scars by her eye. A.J. winced, but she smiled encouragingly. “It’s okay. I don’t feel it anymore. It’s numb.”