“It’s hot here,” Nikki muttered for what seemed like the millionth time since their arrival in the South.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” Richard said. “This is nothing compared to Iraq.”
Nikki cut her eyes toward Richard and mumbled something incoherent, to which Richard snorted in response. The two of them couldn’t seem to be in the same room together without one of them becoming snarky.
“Anna?” Will placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed. “You okay?”
She had barely spoken since the sentencing had ended, and as she glanced up, the bright sun reflecting radiantly in her green eyes, he saw the gathered moisture there. Her hair was considerably longer now, her loose waves hanging heavy down her back. She’d lost some weight in the past few months as well, her dress pants and top hanging a bit loose on her now, something he attributed to stress.
She shook her head. “I just…I just can’t believe it’s finally over.”
Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close and sighed. “You did good, you know that? I’m really proud of you.”
“You did phenomenal,” Nikki chimed in, grabbing Anna’s hand and holding it between both of hers. “We’re all proud of you.”
“Can you believe he got the death penalty?” Richard muttered. Closing his eyes, he lifted his face to the sky and let out a sigh. “Tennessee hasn’t put a man to death in long time…”
Cuddled against him, Anna flinched, and Will shot Richard a look that went unnoticed, as the man’s eyes were still closed.
“Tactless,” Nikki said, glaring daggers at Richard.
“Obnoxious,” Richard continued to mutter, “Loud, meddling—”
“Meddling?” Nikki hissed. “How about grumpy, pouty—”
“Stop,” Anna said, pulling away from both Will and Nikki and sitting up straight. “Just stop, please. I’m fine, and I’m fine with the jury’s decision. Luke deserves exactly what’s happening to him. He did horrible things to so many people. I only wish that they could have found evidence tying him to Monica…” She trailed off as several tears fell from beneath her lashes. “She deserved justice. I couldn’t save her, but I at least wanted to feel as if I’d avenged her somehow.” Balling her hands into fists, Anna squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. “She deserved better than this.”
Nikki reached for her and Will waved her off, quickly getting to his feet. “Come with me,” he said, wrapping his hands around Anna’s wrists and giving her a gentle tug.
Reluctance temporarily passed over her face, yet she quickly acquiesced, slipping her hands into his and allowing him to help her to standing. Glancing at Richard over his shoulder, he silently conveyed that he wished for him and Nikki to wait there until they’d returned. Richard made a face but gave him a nod, and Will started down the steps with Anna by his side.
They rounded the side of the courthouse and entered a small, nearby park littered with stone benches, with a vine-covered gazebo in the center. Hand in hand, they made their way to the gazebo.
Once inside, Anna pulled away from him. Her eyes still wet with tears, she shook her head sadly. “Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you? You didn’t have to stick with me through this mess, yet you did. I love you, Will. I love you so much.”
Will sighed. She just didn’t seem to get it. No matter how many times he told her that there wasn’t any other place he’d rather be than wherever she was, going through whatever she was going through, she’d yet to really believe him.
That wasn’t to say it had always been easy. No, of course it hadn’t been. It had been a nightmare: two high-profile court cases, both his and her business printed in papers and talked about on television for all the world to watch and judge. Other than his two brothers, his family hadn’t spoken to him in quite some time.
But it really hadn’t been all bad. There were moments in between, when it had been just the two of them, where Will had realized what it meant to truly love a woman. It really was the little things—a simple smile, a soft touch, or the way her eyes lit up when he entered a room. It was the way she still made love to him, fiery and full of passion, no matter what pain the day had brought about.
It was those moments that had made up for the hell they’d gone through, those moments that had surpassed any amount of stress, and emotional pain or anger that either of them had experienced throughout the whole ordeal.
And even now, now that circus had finally come to an end, now that there was nothing else to do but go back to living their everyday lives, he was still exactly where he wanted to be—where he always wanted to be: with her.
Fuck it, he thought, reaching into his suit jacket. He’d wanted to wait until at least tomorrow when they were back at the hotel, not wanting Anna to associate the two events with one another, but maybe this was the right place and the right time. Maybe instead of thinking back to this day and shuddering, she’d remember it with a smile.
Pulling out the small black velvet box from his pocket, he dropped down on one knee and lifted it to Anna.
Her watery eyes went wide with shock as her hand clasped over her mouth. “Will,” she mumbled behind her hand, shaking her head to and fro. “Oh my God, Will…”
“This is just the beginning,” he said, flipping open the box and revealing a cushion cut two-carat diamond ring.
It was nothing near as elaborate as he’d wanted to get her, but knowing Anna, knowing she preferred simplicity, he’d found a happy medium.
“You’re free now,” he continued, smiling up at her. “Free to start your life on your terms, without anything holding you back. You can do whatever you want, be whoever you want…” He trailed off, his smile deepening into a grin. “And now I’m going to be selfish as hell and ask that you be free with me. That you start your life with me, and that you do whatever you want, be whoever you want, as my wife.”
“Oh my God,” she sobbed, her hands falling to her sides. “Oh my God, Will…”
“Anna,” he continued, “will you do me the incredible honor of being my wife?”
“Y-y-yes,” she stammered through her tears. “God, yes.”
Grinning broadly, Will jumped to his feet and pulled the ring free from the box. Taking her left hand in his, he slid the diamond onto her ring finger. Then, lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re free,” he murmured, wiping the falling tears from her cheek. “This is a good day.”
“I’m free,” she whispered, smiling through her tears. “Thanks to you.”
“Ohmygod!”
They both turned, finding Nikki and Richard standing at the park entrance, Nikki jumping up and down excitedly and Richard grinning.
“Oh my God!” Nikki continued to squeal, waving her hands around like a madwoman. “Let me see! Let me see!”
Anna flashed him another smile before running out of the gazebo and straight to Nikki. Shoving his hands in pockets, Will took his time walking back, quite enjoying the sight of Anna looking far happier than she had in a long time.
Meeting him halfway, Richard clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations, sir,” he said. “You ready to go home now? Because if I have to spend another day with that…that…” He trailed off, looking toward Nikki with a grimace.
“She’s too loud,” he continued. “Good Christ is she loud.”
Laughing, Will shook his head. “I’m more than ready, Jeeves. I’m more than ready.”
About The Authors
Fantastical realm-dweller Madeline Sheehan is the USA Today bestselling author of the Holy Trinity Trilogy and Undeniable Series, and the Thicker than Blood Series, co-authored with Claire C. Riley.
A Social Distortion enthusiast, lover of mud and anything deemed socially inappropriate, Madeline was homegrown in Buffalo, New York, where she can be found engaging in food-fights and video game marathons with her husband and son.
Welcome to her world of fantastical romance,
full of unconventional love and unsc
ripted emotions.
https://www.facebook.com/MadelineSheehanBooks
www.MadelineSheehan.com
Claire C. Riley is a bestselling British horror writer whose work is best described as the modernization of classic, old-school horror. Author of the bestselling Odium The Dead Saga series, as well as Limerence The Obsession Series, Thicker than Blood series co-authored with Madeline Sheehan, and much more.
Claire lives in the United Kingdom with her husband, three daughters, and one scruffy dog. She’s a lover of epic romances and an eater of cake!
She writes characters that are realistic and kills them without mercy.
https://www.facebook.com/ClaireCRileyAuthor
www.clairecriley.com
COMING SOON
From Madeline Sheehan and Claire C. Riley
Beneath Blood and Bone (Thicker Than Blood #2)
Sneak Peek
Eagle
I should have killed it right off the bat. I shouldn’t have just stood there, letting it come at me over and over again, desperate to rip into me but without the strength to actually do so. But I couldn’t help it. The boy—the Rotter—was no more than seven years old, his features more preserved than most of the Rotters who had been outside and exposed to the elements. He’d been trapped inside his home all these years, the bones of his family scattered throughout the small, broken-down farmhouse while he continued to live on, pacing the floors and clawing at the walls, ravenous with an insatiable appetite for death.
The boy lurched forward again. He tripped over the broken leg of a chair and fell toward me, his jaw snapping furiously. I swung out with very little force, my gloved fist softly connecting with his emaciated chest, sending him stumbling backward again.
You didn’t see a lot of Rotters this young. The children had been the first to go, too small and too weak to fight off their attackers. Usually they were people the child had loved and trusted, his parents, friends, or neighbors. The children hadn’t understood, hadn’t realized until it was too late, and by then, there was nothing left of them.
But this one, this boy, he’d been bitten, a large chunk of grayish flesh was missing from his arm. His family, I guessed, had been unable to kill him, even after he’d attacked them.
“E?”
Jimmy, one of my guys, the man who’d gutted my wildcat’s man and left him for dead, appeared on the opposite side of the living room. A mangy-looking motherfucker whose disgusting appearance was as filthy as his appetite for mayhem, he glanced between me and the Rotter, his expression curious. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I snarled in response. “What the fuck are you doing?”
The Rotter, having noticed new meat, had switched direction and begun shambling precariously toward Jimmy. Looking entirely unperturbed, Jimmy raised his crossbow and sent a handmade arrow slicing through the boy’s thigh. The leg folded and although tripping him, didn’t do much to deter the boy from reaching Jimmy. Laughing crudely, Jimmy raised his bow again, pointing an arrow at the boy’s other leg.
I pulled my trigger and the bullet speared through the boy’s right temple and flew out the other, killing him instantly. He fell backward, landing hard on the floor. His wide-open eyes, clouded over with infection, now trained lifelessly on the ceiling.
“They aren’t fucking toys,” I ground out.
Jimmy’s eyes met mine, his pinched features wrinkled in confusion. “Everything okay with you, boss?”
Pulling my blade from my belt, I sent it soaring across the room, embedding it into the wall directly next to Jimmy’s head. Wide-eyed, Jimmy glanced at the blade and then back to me.
“Don’t ever fucking ask me that again,” I growled.
Without a word—a damn good thing for Jimmy—he nodded once and disappeared from where he’d come.
I stared after him a moment before glancing back down at the boy. Stepping forward into the living room, I knelt down beside him and grabbed hold of the arrow before yanking it free. It came loose easily, releasing a gush of thick black liquid. After tossing the arrow aside, I then dragged my fingertips over his eyelids, closing them. I didn’t know why I did it; I’d never done it before, usually not caring one way or another and content to let the Rotters live, rather than giving them mercy. Unless they gathered in a sizable horde, the Rotters posed no real threat to me. They weren’t fast anymore, the majority of them rotted to the point of putty. Mostly, like everyone else, they were just in my way.
Gritting my teeth, I stood up and surveyed the room. This was the fourth house we’d hit, collecting what we could—clothing, bedding, dishes, whatever we could find that was still worth something today. I hadn’t been out scavenging for supplies, other than vehicles, in a long time, and now that I was out again, I remembered why I’d stopped. Being inside a home full of pictures and furnishings of a well-lived life, of a family, I couldn’t stomach it, didn’t want to remember it. Like everything else good that had been swept from our lives, I wished the homes, the pictures, the memories would have gone too, disappeared like everything else had.
I’d had a house like this once. Not a farmhouse, but something bigger and better. A row home in a thriving city, but a home all the same. Full of pictures, laughter, the television blaring, the smell of home-cooked meals…
“Fuck this,” I muttered, then turned around and headed for the front door. Kicking it open, I descended the porch, taking all four steps at once and marching back toward the three pickups parked out front.
I climbed inside my own truck, a monster four-wheel drive with a 6.2-liter V-8, a full backseat, a covered bed, and rigged with everything I could manage to find and fit on it necessary to survive in the Wilds if it ever came down to that. Iron bars were welded over the windows, a steel-covered grill fitted with ax blades protected both the front and rear lights, metal plates were hung over the wheel wells, and heavy-duty flood lamps were affixed to the roof. I always kept a healthy supply of canned and dry food along with water in it at all times, enough to last me a month. Spare tires and fuel as well.
Rolling down the driver’s side window, I spit out a wad of foul-tasting saliva through the bars, still tasting the fuel I’d siphoned earlier from two deserted minivans we’d come across. Who knew if the fuel was even still good, but more often than not it was, and fuel, much like women, was worth its weight in gold these days.
Glancing down at my gloved hands, I pulled the leather from my fingers and stared at my dirty palms. I was itchy with all sorts of shit I didn’t want to be feeling, emotions I hadn’t felt in so long, and never wanted to feel again.
Wildcat—Evelyn—the bitch had gotten under my skin something fierce. I couldn’t keep lying to myself. These feelings weren’t something I was going to easily wipe away with a fuck and a drink. The woman had caused a ripple in the carefully constructed existence I’d managed to whittle out for myself, a ripple that for some fucking reason was sending me into a tailspin. Suddenly nothing felt…right, least of all me. I was losing control. And for a man like me, who was barely in control to begin with, even I knew it was a dangerous thing to lose what tenuous grasp I had left on it.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I clenched my hands, my dark knuckles whitening the harder I squeezed.
Get your shit together, I told myself.
You’ve never had your shit together, a familiar voice answered.
Goddammit, I needed a cigarette. Chewing tobacco. Anything to take the goddamn edge off.
Prying my hands from the steering wheel, I reached across the cab and popped my glove box open, pulling free a flask that had once belonged to my uncle. I whipped off the cap and took a long, hard swig of honest-to-God whiskey that dated back to before the world had ended. I kept it there, bringing it out only when I really needed a taste of the good stuff.
Only this time, the moment the familiar flavor exploded in my mouth, instead of satiating my need for oblivion, it flooded me with memories. The sound of my uncle’s laughter, his voice
hoarse, raspy from too many years of smoking two packs a day, the sound of hard rock booming from inside the garage while the two of us worked on cars. The feel of his hand on my shoulder squeezing lightly, just before he took his last breath.
I was truly fucking losing it. Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and took another swig of whiskey, hoping to drink away the past, but only succeeding in causing more images from a life long gone to rise to the surface.
Red hair and blue eyes.
Dimples.
Laughter.
Hair matted with blood, eyes clouded with disease.
Sunken-in cheeks.
Snarling growls.
My stomach clenched painfully, my face twisting with discomfort as I sank even further into my memories, feeling all the pain that came with them, every bit as sharp and as cutting as…
Instantly, the familiar rage was back, manifesting itself as a dangerous hum inside my blood, causing it to boil and burn as it pumped through my body. Locking my jaw, I sat rigid in my seat, glaring down at the flask in my hand.
It was better this way. The anger took hold of me, swallowed me whole, made it possible for me to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Focus, I told myself. Fucking focus.
The voice inside me only laughed.
Furious at myself, I screwed the cap back on the flask, then tossed it back inside the glove box and slammed it closed. When I looked up, I focused again on the house in front of me, on the men beginning to filter out of it, their arms full of pilfered goods.
Feeling entirely not right and pretty damn sure I was losing my mind, I pushed open the door of the truck and grabbed an armful of supplies from the nearest man. After tossing the finds into the bed of my truck, I spun around and marched back toward the house for more.
Shut Up and Kiss Me Page 22