His Angel: The Wounded Souls Series

by Leah Sharelle

“What things?” Darth asked, dropping into his assigned seat, his back ramrod straight, tension oozing from him.

  “Weapons. Lots of weapons, many that non-military people should not have. She also had explosives, pressure trigger devices, which the tech team are investigating to see if they are the same kind used to kill—”

  “Jason,” Booth interrupted quickly.

  I glanced at Darth, who had his hands fisted on the table, his knuckles white. Jesus fucking hell! Surely Callie didn’t have anything to do with killing Vegas. She was a bitch, yes, but a murderer? I felt bile rise in my throat, and I had a desperate urge to go find Memphis.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry, Darth, I’m just trying to do my job. It’s harder when the people involved are people I know,” Jason apologised.

  Darth lifted his chin but said nothing. What could he say? Callie had us all fooled, and we allowed her to be part of the Wounded Souls family. She joined us at gatherings when Shiloh was present, hell, I think even Darth slept with her once when he and Vegas were not exclusive. It had to be hard on the poor bloke knowing he had shared a bed with Callie.

  “I need Steel and Creed to come down to the station with me.”

  My head whipped up at the mention of that. What the hell for?

  “What the fuck do you need us for?” Steel said, beating me to the question.

  “There was a particular rifle in the boot along with the other weapons. It looks to be a sniper’s weapon. I could do with your help.”

  “Go down to the station, both of you. Maybe you can identify it as Jerry’s,” Booth said immediately.

  I understood the need to see the gun, but I just didn’t like the idea of leaving Memphis even though she was doing great around the compound on her own. Last week, the guys and I had practically decluttered the whole building for her, made sure the hallways were clear, and sharp edges were fixed. With Shiloh living here, most of that had been done the day she was brought home from the hospital, but it was only at a certain height.

  Deck spent two days rounding off the steel banisters that might hurt Memphis’s hands. Anything that could not be altered had received foam padding, so now she had a safer environment to live in. It wasn’t the house she grew up in, but I hoped it was somewhere she would want to stay, maybe even forever.

  I gave my pres a chin lift and stood from my seat.

  “One more thing. Callie is asking to see Mia,” Jason announced.

  “Not fucking happening,” Steel roared, the chair in front of him suddenly flying across the room, narrowly missing the top of Ford’s head.

  “For fuck’s sucks, VP. Don’t you start throwing shit,” Ford grumbled as he leaned over and picked up his cigarette lighter, which he’d dropped when the chair came at him.

  “Mia is not going anywhere near that crazy bitch. She has been through enough after being arrested on bullshit charges, kicked and hurt, then used as fucking bait, and seeing two people get shot and killed right in front of her eyes. She isn’t going to have any more stress,” Steel said menacingly.

  I had to agree. Mia was finally starting to get the light back in her beautiful, brown eyes again. She was glowing with her pregnancy—thanks to Steel’s constant, adoring attention, the woman wasn’t allowed to walk anywhere if Steel was near, and Steel was always near. The love my VP had for his wife was endless, and it was fucking great to witness.

  Booth raised his hand in the air. “Agreed. Calm down, Cooper. You and Creed go now. I will personally watch your wives and make sure they don’t so much as burp without assistance,” Booth said dryly, making fun of Steel’s over-protectiveness and trying to lighten the mood.

  “Let me just go tell Memphis what’s going on,” I said as I stalked to the door with Steel right on my heels to do the same with Mia.

  ———

  Steel and I walked down the steps of the police station in shocked silence.

  We were ushered into a small room when we arrived at the station and were showed the massive arsenal Callie had stowed in the boot of her car. Rifles, handguns, bowie knives, pressure triggers, explosives. The worst of it, though, was the other stuff the officers recovered—gaffer tape, rope, cable ties, things that could be used for tying people up. What the hell had she been planning? And for who? Memphis, the other woman, or little Shiloh? I wanted to run back in there, put my hands around Callie’s throat, and demand she tell me. Knowing would be bad, but not knowing was worse. Rogue was still out there somewhere, and for all we knew, he was planning to take one or all of the women. Even now, with Callie in custody and all the shit in her boot safe in the station’s evidence room, the danger was still very real.

  “I can’t believe this shit. Fucking rope, guns, and knives. Jesus Christ, Creed, I don’t think I will be able to let Mia out of my sight for the rest of my life.”

  “I know, mate, and that rifle. Fuck me. I remember admiring that thing years ago when Jerry first started training us. Now it terrifies me to think he wanted to shoot one of our own with it.”

  It only took a brief look to rightly identify it as Jerry’s rifle. God knew we had looked at it enough in the commandos to know who it belonged to. The same gun was in the photo from when Shiloh and Charlotte were hunted by him, and more than likely, it was the same weapon that killed Tori. Forensics still had to confirm that, but I knew, in my gut, it was the same gun used.

  A thought suddenly crossed my mind. Did Jerry already know Callie had been arrested and his weapons and sniper rifle confiscated? The man was already in desperation mode, but this new situation could turn desperation into full-blown reckless danger. My mind instantly went to Memphis. Rogue’s phone call to me the night before my wedding insinuated he was after her now. He’d already killed Lila Rose, and there was no fucking way he was taking Memphis from me, too. A shiver of dread ran down my spine. Memphis was at a total disadvantage. She would not see him coming and didn’t know his smell, so she wouldn’t be able to fight back. I needed to get back and wrap her in cotton wool or bubble wrap, then hide her in our room until all this shit was over.

  “Let’s get back to the compound and fill Booth in on what happened in there. I need to get eyes on my wife,” I muttered and threw my leg over my bike. I lifted my fingers to my lips and pressed them to the painted image on the tank. The hard ball of guilt that sat in my stomach made its presence known as I did it. Guilt that Lila Rose hadn’t been on my mind every second of the day for the last few weeks. Even thinking her name didn’t bring pain to the heart like it usually did. Memphis had changed that by inserting herself into my life, in my heart … Jesus, fuck! Was she? Did I? My mouth started to dry thinking of loving another woman. I couldn’t possibly be in love, could I? I closed that door years ago, promised never to put myself out there again. I promised her I wouldn’t.

  Steel revved his engine. “You ready, Apollo?”

  With narrowed eyes, I raised my middle finger without looking at him. The roar of my bike’s engine drowned out Steel’s booming laughter. Fuck, I hated that fucking mission name. Fucking Steel.

  Chapter 17

  MEMPHIS

  The crick in my neck and the grumble in my belly told me it was time to stop writing and go find something to eat. I didn’t just reach my word count goal, I smashed it, and I had a feeling this book was going to be my best yet. For the first time in my writing life—hell, my entire life—I had real experiences to call on. The characters in my book laughed together while taking romantic walks—Creed and I did that. I finally got my promised walk around the compound property, and we held hands, walking slowly around as he told me all about the place. Yes, I was used to holding hands with Creed, had done it for years, but this was different because I wasn’t being led around as the blind person. Nope, this time, I was strolling with my husband, hand in hand, enjoying the moment of being married.

  I smiled at the memory of making Creed laugh. When I had tried to get up from the bench seat near Shiloh’s playground, my foot had fallen asleep, and I lost my balance.
Creed tried to save me from falling, but something went wrong, and I ended up taking him down to the ground. I landed right on top of him, knocking the wind out of both of us. The sound of his deep laugh would stay with me forever, and the vibrations from his chest morphing right into mine made me happy. I prayed at the time that there had been a smile accompanying that laugh, but when I reached out with my fingers to see, Creed had gently stopped me. Instead, he grabbed my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, and then he wrapped his arms around me and lifted us to our feet in one swift move.

  Even though he stopped me from finding out if he had a smile on his face, I bet my next royalty check would make him smile.

  “Memph? You in here, Angel?”

  Creed’s voice startled me out of my daydreaming. Shit and double shit, my time for explanations was upon me.

  “Hey, baby, yeah. I’m in the sitting room,” I called out.

  All the suites in the compound were the same, and the sitting room was actually just a spare room. Our master bedroom was big enough for not only a queen bed but also a couch and had an ensuite bathroom. We also had a TV and a small dining table in our room, and with the spare room, it made up our living quarters. Charlotte and Mia had helped me set up my writing area in the spare room. I wasn’t trying to hide it from Creed forever. I fully intended to tell him… at some point, which it seemed was now. I hurriedly tried to visualise what Creed would see when I felt him enter the room.

  “What are you doing, Angel?” he asked.

  His deep voice went straight to my core, which was already slick from the sex scene I’d just finished writing, and now it was weeping just from his voice.

  Self-control, Memphis. Heard of it?

  “Memphis, you’re cheeks are all flushed, and the pulse in your neck is beating fast. You okay?” I could hear the smirk in his tone. He knew very well what was wrong with me since he knew I loved his voice.

  “Fine, fine, I’m just fine,” I stammered as I reached for the cover for my Braille translator and hastily covering it, hoping to stave off any further questions.

  “Is that your Braille thing?”

  Nope, not lucky enough. Bugger!

  I let out a sigh. This was it. “Braille translator. You and Lila got it for me not long before she…” I fluttered my hands in the air, not finishing my sentence.

  Creed didn’t like talking about Lila in the past tense, and he certainly didn’t like talking about her death. It irked me sometimes because I wanted to talk about her. She was my sister, and I loved and missed her terribly. There was no one left in my family to talk about her with, just Creed. It wasn’t like I wanted to get into the nitty-gritty of how she died. Creed explained that to me already with sparse details, and that was fine with me. Some reminiscing would be nice, though.

  Creed was silent for a moment. I could tell he was pacing around the room and could hear him picking up things and then replacing them. I had lots of framed photos of Lila, Creed, and me. It may sound weird for a blind person to keep such things but, most of them, I remembered being taken, so in a way, I could still see them in my mind, and having them soothed me when things just got too much. When I knew I was losing my sight, I studied every single photo and which frame they were in, storing in memory every expression when the picture was taken, and how I had felt at the time. They were all I had left of my sister and were my most important possessions.

  “Yeah, I remember. So, what is all of this, anyway?” Creed rushed to change the subject like he always did.

  With another sigh, I told him the truth.

  “This is what I do for a living. The bookstore isn’t exactly a goldmine, so a few years ago, I started writing romance novels. Turns out I have a knack for it, and I have ten published books to date,” I said nervously and waited for his response.

  “How the fuck do I not know that?” Creed’s question was delivered with a rough growl.

  I stood up from my seat and looked around the room.

  “Where?” I asked instantly.

  “Two steps to your left.”

  I reached out with my hands and took two steps, my hands finding Creed’s hard chest. The T-shirt he was wearing was made of the softest material and was tight, too, because I could feel his washboard abs. The heat radiating from him warmed my palms, giving me that calm Creed always brought me.

  “Baby, it’s okay. I never told anyone. Lila knew I wanted to write and encouraged me to write short stories, poems, things like that, and send them into teen magazines. Then, when she died, and I was alone more often than not, I turned the short stories into longer ones. Aggie from the bakery helped me find a number for a publisher, and one day, I sent one off.” I fisted his shirt and pulled him closer to me until I could feel his breath on my face.

  “I have been so stuck in my own grief, too busy keeping everyone at arms-length, I forgot about you,” he said grimly, guilt colouring his tone.

  “That’s crap, Apollo. You lost your wife in horrific circumstances, and you were badly injured during battle. That is enough for anyone to deal with in a lifetime. They are just books, baby, and are the ramblings of a woman with too much time on her hands.” I said the last part with what I thought was a goofy grin. I did not want Creed going into his head and getting broody on me. The guilt he put on himself was more than enough without me adding to it.

  “I like it when you call me that,” Creed said huskily into my ear, sending jolts of pleasure to my centre.

  “Huh? Apollo?” I asked, confused. How could he expect me to talk with rational thought when my pussy was weeping for him.

  “No, not that”—he growled with a gentle bite to my earlobe—“baby. I like that,” he said. Then he traced the shell of my ear with his tongue, and the wetness and his hot breath nearly buckled my knees.

  Oh, God, please take me now. My whimpers were loud as he kissed my neck, and then he sucked, then licked, and then sucked again. I hoped he left a mark on my skin. I wanted to wear Creed’s mark, show everyone I was his.

  “Those little moans you make drive me fucking wild, Angel, have I told you that?” Again, he finished the sentence with a low, possessive growl.

  All I could do was nod my head and groan. No words came to me as the sensations in my body took over all control.

  I felt his hands at the zip on my dress, then the cool air of the room hitting my heated skin as he lowered it slowly.

  “You aren’t wearing a bra, Angel?” Creed muttered just before his mouth moved from my neck and took one nipple, sucking it hard into his mouth.

  I arched my body against him, giving him more access. My hands were now in his short hair, my nails scraping against his scalp.

  “Um, no need… the dress… has a built-in… shelf bra.” I panted the answer, fiercely trying to concentrate on not coming just from his glorious mouth on my breasts, which were so sensitive I imagined it would not be hard at all to accomplish,

  “Great idea. Buy more. I want access to your fucking perfects tits like this always,” he ordered as he swapped his attention to my other breast, his fingers tweaking at the wet nipple he’d just finished lathing with his tongue.

  Oh, sweet, beautiful torture. When his fingers moved from my nipple, and his hand grasped my whole breasts and squeezed, I cried out in pleasure.

  “Creed, I need more,” I begged and sought out his mouth. I needed to be kissed, devoured, consumed by the one man I loved more than anyone.

  Creed must have sensed my needs because he took my lips in what could only be described as animalistic. His tongue pushed roughly into my mouth, tangled and twisted with mine, stealing my breath, owning me. Desire like nothing I had ever felt before spurred me on as I matched each of his strokes, moaning low when he groaned, and nipping and sucking when he did. Over and over we sparred, seeking dominance over the other.

  “What do you want, Angel? Tell me.” Creed panted against my wet, swollen lips, hovering over them, not breaking our connection completely.

  “I want
you deep in me, Creed, so deep I will still feel you tomorrow,” I begged against his mouth before my tongue traced the inside of his mouth, his lips, and then back to his tongue.

  Creed released a feral growl, one I had never heard from him before, and it was desperate with need, need for me. A heady feeling overtook me as my panties were roughly ripped away, and his fingers pushed into my wet opening.

  “Fucking soaked. So fucking wet for me.”

  Before I could agree with him, Creed pulled away, and I could hear the ripping sound of a zipper. Within a few seconds, I was lifted up, and my legs immediately wrapped around his waist, my bare calves tightly holding onto his firm arse.

  “I am so fucking hard, Memphis, harder than I think I have ever been. I don’t think I can be gentle, Angel.” His words were husky, hungry.

  This was what I wanted—Creed out of control for me, out of his head and in the moment with me.

  “Fuck me, baby. Take me now,” I encouraged him. I could feel his hard shaft at the entrance of my pussy, taunting me, teasing me. With my hands firmly on his shoulders, I lifted my hips in silent invitation.

  “Oh, Jesus, woman, you undo me,” Creed whispered. Then, without warning, he slammed into me, and with one thrust, he was balls deep, so deep that a small flash of pain hit me. Not a bad pain, he was just so deep. Never had it felt like this.

  My head fell against his neck, and my teeth caught my bottom lip to stop the scream I wanted to let out.

  “Let me hear you. Scream for me, Memphis.”

  And I did just that. A harsh cry of pleasure tore from my throat, and then another one, as he thrust in and out of me. His brute strength kept us upright as he continued to pummel me with his hard cock. Without being able to see it, I could feel the intensity from Creed, and his rasped pants and sexy groans helped me reach the pinnacle.

  The release I craved was so close, I could taste it. Normally, at this point, Creed would take his fingers and rub my clit with slow strokes, making me fall, but with his hands almost painfully clenching my arse, guiding me over his cock, I had to do something myself. Taking one hand off his shoulder, I found my nipple and began pinching it between my fingers.