The Wife Protectors_Giles

by Charlie Hart

  You can’t just kill a mercenary and walk free.

  Eventually, I will be called upon to pay the price. That is why I’m staying quiet. When the authorities come knocking, putting two and two together, I don’t want my husbands to be held accountable.

  The less they know, the better.

  Except it’s making our home unbearable in the meantime.

  And it’s all my fault.

  Huxley tosses his coat aside and sits down at the table, grabbing for the bowl of pasta, and dumping a large portion onto his plate. He bites into a piece of garlic bread, seemingly unaware of the six sets of eyes that are on his, waiting for an explanation.

  “Well?” Fallon demands.

  Huxley takes a sip of water, then takes a deep breath. “The body was found.”

  Muttered curses echo around the table.

  “Where?” Giles asks.

  “A cabin in the woods just east of town. But that’s not the biggest issue. The other two guys were found dead alongside him.”

  “Dead?” Fallon says, frowning.

  “Shot in the head.”

  “Who would kill them?” Salinger says, shaking his head.

  “That’s what your dad is trying to find out. Have you talked to him lately?”

  Sal’s jaw twitches. “I haven’t heard anything about it. You know I’d have told you if I had.”

  “This could be a good thing,” Fallon says. “If they’re dead, then there are no witnesses.”

  “There’s still going to be an investigation,” Giles says.

  “And what’s going to bring the government here?” Fallon rubs the back of his neck and stares pointedly at Huxley. “Whoever took them out did us a favor.”

  He puts his hands up. “As much as I’d like to take credit, it wasn’t me.”

  “Three dead mercenaries are going to cause a shitstorm of trouble,” Salinger mutters, poking at a meatball on his plate. “This doesn’t just go away. Huxley was right, the shit is going to hit the fan.”

  My appetite is completely gone.

  Giles places his hand on mine. “You okay?”

  “I’m not feeling well.” I put my napkin beside my plate and push my chair back. “Sorry.”

  The men are quiet as I leave the room, but I hear them start to whisper, some louder than others as I move to the study. My stomach is in knots and my chest feels like it’s being squeezed from the inside.

  I may not have killed the other two men, but somehow, I feel like their deaths are on my hands.

  My fingers tremble as I pour a large shot of Scotch from the decanter into one of the crystal glasses. I drink it quickly, wincing as it burns a path down my throat, then pour more into the glass.

  “What demons are you trying to drown?”

  I glance over my shoulder and see Salinger leaning against the wall, arms crossed, light brown eyes studying me intently. But that’s what he does - reads people.

  “You’re going to have to talk to one of us sooner or later,” he says, pushing off the wall, and walking towards me.

  I chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re the ones ignoring me.”

  He takes my glass when I lift it to my lips, then drinks the remaining gold liquor, lips pulling over his teeth and hissing in a breath. “Damn, that’s good stuff. Thank God for Huxley.”

  “So, you’re talking to me now?” I cross my arms.

  “Figure I’m going to have to eventually, considering you’re my wife.” He puts the glass down.

  I huff a breath and start to turn away, muttering, “Really. I’d begun to wonder if you knew that.”

  He grabs me by the waist, turning me around, and pulling me against him, his gaze hard when he says, “Why, because I haven’t fucked you yet?”

  I inhale sharply. He’s never spoken to me that way before. But then he’s right about one thing, he hasn’t fucked me. Hell, he’s barely touched me since we moved in here.

  “One of the reasons.” I jut my chin at him. Vulnerability and fear of the future, putting all my walls up. And even though I realize I shouldn’t push him, I bite out, “Maybe I’m not your type.”

  His jaw clenches and there’s a flash of anger in his eyes, which is something else I’ve never really seen from him. But then it’s gone, and he laughs.

  He freaking laughs.

  I try to push away from him, but his fingers tighten around my waist. He keeps chuckling, showing off the deep dimples in his cheek.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “It’s probably better than pulling you over my knee and spanking you like I’m pretty sure Banks would like to do.”

  I frown at him, then smack his chest, but he keeps smiling down at me. “Stop.”

  “You’re a hard person to read, even harder to get to know.” He tsks, then taps my forehead with his index finger. “All those lies you keep up here. Must be exhausting.”

  “If you want to know something, just ask,” I say defiantly, practically begging him to see everything I’ve been hiding. It would be a great relief to let it all out. But the more my husbands know, the more danger they’ll be in.

  At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. But I know there’s another truth I don’t want to face. I’m afraid of the way my men will look at me when they finally know the truth.

  “Okay,” Salinger says, taking a step back and pouring two more glasses of Scotch, then handing me one. He sits down on one of the couches and puts his feet up on the coffee table, crossing his ankles and leaning back as he swishes the gold liquid around in his glass, gaze never leaving me. “Let’s start with the pressing issue.”

  I suck in a breath, feeling exposed, and nod.

  “Why did you run?”

  “I was afraid.” It’s the honest truth.

  He tilts his head. “Of what?”

  I shift from one foot to the other, then take a sip of my Scotch.

  Salinger removes his feet from the table and leans forward. “Or rather whom?”

  Yeah, he’s good at reading people. It wouldn’t take much for him to get the truth out of me. Might as well just come clean. But then, what will they think of me if they know the truth of why I ran... that I’m legally bound to another man.

  “There are people looking for me,” I admit, that much he can know. It isn’t unusual. Most of the women who flee to Alaska are running from someone. “I’m afraid if they find me...”

  “You think we wouldn’t be able to protect you?”

  “I’m worried what they would do to you.”

  Salinger bites on the inside of his mouth while pursing his lips, dark blonde brows pulled down.

  The lines crease around his eyes, and I can tell he’s reading every movement, every sigh I take.

  “These people... for you to be afraid of them, they must be pretty powerful.”

  I swallow hard. “Yes.”

  “You must mean a lot to them if you think they’d risk going against our government to get you back.”

  Eyes closed, I take a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

  When I open them again, Salinger is in front of me.

  “I want to trust you,” he says. “And I believe you think you’re doing the right thing by holding onto your secrets. I know there’s no part of you that’s deceptive.”

  “I-”

  “I’ve dealt with shady people all my life.” His expression is pained. “My father is one of them. I get secrets, Tia. I’ve had to keep my own over the years. And there’s something I haven’t told you. That I haven’t told any of the men.”

  He’s wanting to open up to me, and I appreciate that. But I’m not sure I can handle carrying anyone else’s secrets.

  “I didn’t put my name in the lottery,” he confesses.

  That, I did not expect.

  “What?” I frown up at him.

  “My father put my name in. I was only there that night for security purposes, or so I thought.”

  It was one of my fears that first night.
That one of the men chosen wouldn’t want me. I don’t know what to do with his confession.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, touching my cheek. “I know that probably hurts you.”

  “Then why did you accept?”

  “It would have hurt you a lot more if I’d rejected you that night.”

  I snort. “Rather than rejecting me every night for the rest of our lives.”

  He smiles sadly. “I haven’t rejected you, Tia.”

  “You haven’t accepted me either.”

  His hand snakes around the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and he moves closer. “You’re my wife. The moment I said my vows, I accepted that.”

  “Then why do you keep your distance?”

  He presses his lips to mine and kisses me softly. It’s the first real intimate moment we’ve had. There are sparks, yes, but it’s more than that. It’s... acceptance.

  He pulls back slightly and holds my gaze, and there’s a resolution there. “When I finally have you, Tia, it’ll be when I know exactly who I’m sleeping with. No lies. No games. No false pretenses. Just you and me.” He presses his lips to mine one more time before saying, “Let me know when you’re ready for that.”

  Someone coughs from the doorway.

  Fallon is standing there with his eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed together.

  Salinger sighs, then whispers for my ears only. “I’m here when you want to finally open up. And I promise you, there will be no judgment.”

  God, I don’t deserve these men.

  I watch his back as he walks away and see the hard nod he gives Fallon.

  “How are you feeling?” Fallon asks when we’re alone.

  I rub my arms and shrug, turning away from him so he can’t see the emotions I’m struggling with. “I don’t know.”

  His arms wrap around me from behind and he pulls me against his chest, his chin resting on my head. I melt into him, grateful for the tiniest shred of comfort from him. I’ve missed him. Missed all of them.

  “I know you’re still angry at me,” I say, my voice shaky. “And you have a right to be. But I promise I won’t run again.”

  “I know.” He kisses the top of my head.

  We stand in silence for a few minutes, staring out the large window that looks into the yard.

  “I keep seeing his face.” I shiver, even now seeing the blood, feeling it on my hands.

  “Who?”

  “The man I shot.”

  Fallon sighs. “It won’t be something that’ll ever go away.”

  I turn in his arms and blink up at him. “Have you...”

  “Yes.” His lips thin. “And I know the guilt can consume you if you let it.”

  “How do you not let it?”

  “By repeating the truth. That you had no other choice.”

  “Didn’t I?” I shake my head, not knowing what the truth is.

  “Giles told me they would have killed him and probably you if you hadn’t.”

  I nod. I’d seen murder in the man’s eyes. Knew it was Giles’ life or his. I chose my husband. And I would every time.

  I rest my head on his chest, finally feeling a small sense of rightness settling over me. Fallon is my anchor. My strength.

  My fingers curl into his shirt, not wanting to let go. “Can I ask something from you?”

  “Anything.”

  “Make love to me tonight.”

  His hand cups my jaw and he tilts my face to his. “That’s not a request I’d ever say no to.”

  Chapter 12

  Tia

  Later that evening, I enter Fallon’s bedroom with a bottle of red wine and two glasses in hand. I came prepared, and I set them on his dresser. I take in his space, feeling his eyes on me as I look around. I only wear the thick cashmere robe Huxley gifted me, and warm slippers on my feet. I know by the look in his eyes that Fallon is already imagining me dropping the robe, pulling my naked body against his.

  I’m imagining it too. My body needs his tonight. I need his strength. His familiarity.

  My fingers brush lightly over the thick wool blanket on the foot of his bed, noticing the framed photo on his bedside table. Him, his parents and his sister, Caroline. My throat goes dry at the sight of her. She is exactly as Giles describe. She looks like sunshine and blue skies and apple pie. She looks like freedom in a way I’ve never felt.

  I close my eyes, grounding myself in this moment - not the past, not the future. Here, now, with Fallon.

  His bedroom is so different than my own. It smells like a man, like Fallon. All woodsy and tanned leather, earth. We’ve only lived here a short time, but already this room feels like him with his flannel shirts folded neatly and work boots lined up under the bed.

  He sets his phone in a dock, and soft, folk music envelopes us.

  I smile, the song familiar. Come over to the window little darling, I’d like to read your palm…

  “I wouldn’t have guessed you like this sort of music,” I say, moving toward him.

  “We still have a lot to learn about one another,” he says, brushing my hair behind my shoulders.

  “It feels like so much has been going on since we moved here, and I still haven’t had a chance to learn basic things about my husbands.” I look up at him, his eyes focused solely on mine. “About you.”

  The curtains on the French doors are pushed open, letting in the light of the moon. It feels romantic, like a getaway from all the tension in the house and I feel my shoulders fall as Fallon takes my hand in his, dropping his other hand to my waist.

  I giggle nervously. “Are you dancing with me, Fallon?”

  He smiles shyly. And I find myself grinning at the surprising tenderness. “My mom and my sister loved to dance and sing. Made me learn. Kind of.”

  Our bodies press against one another, and I think about his family’s cabin. The way Giles described fishing trips and summers at the lake. “Sounds like your family was just as perfect as Emerson’s.”

  “Same in some ways, maybe. But different than his, I think. I had a sister and it made me protective in ways he has never needed to be.”

  I nod, understanding that. “Well, I’m glad you had a sister who made you learn to dance.”

  Just then he steps on my toes and we both laugh, and he dips me low, making me laugh even harder. “I’ve never danced with an Alaskan mountain man before,” I tell him as he pulls me back up.

  “Lots of firsts for us then. I’ve never danced with a woman who I wasn’t related to.”

  With him, I feel myself relax for the first time in what feels like weeks.

  “Can we go out on the balcony?” I ask, already reaching for the door handle. “I don’t have one in my room.”

  He doesn’t speak, only nods, and follows me outside.

  “Oh God, it’s freezing,” I say, shivering.

  “You’re the one who wanted to come out here.” He wraps his arms around me, offering me an easy smile.

  God, I’m grateful for his welcoming embrace right now. I knew I needed someone to take care of me tonight, but I don’t think I knew just how badly.

  “You feel like home, Fallon,” I tell him, nuzzling against his chest.

  “Good. Because you are home, Tia.”

  I turn, pressing my back against his chest, and look up at the stars, feeling like if we could just get past the mess - the dead man in the snow and the fact that Giles’ recovery is taking a long time and the way my husbands look at me with distrust - then maybe this compound really would feel like home.

  “Do you know any constellations?” he asks.

  “Lots,” I tell him, remembering when I was a little girl, the way my father would methodically point out each set of stars, telling me the stories that accompanied them. With him it was never just about bonding as father and daughter - there was always a purpose, a point. A lesson. From far away, everything looks perfect, Tia. Look deeper. Closer. “That one there, it’s my favorite. Orion. See, seven stars.”

  Fallon
pulls me against his chest and his musky scent stirs something inside of me, reminding me that he’s not just a man, he is my husband. A man I love.

  “Orion was a great hunter, like you, strong and in charge,” I tell him. “And he fell in love with Artemis, the moon goddess.”

  “Romantic,” he says, brushing the hair away from my ear, and leaving kisses on my neck.

  “Well, his brother Apollo didn’t like it, and eventually they fought to the death.”

  “Shit,” Fallon says with a laugh. “That got intense real fast.”

  I turn to face him, my body in tune with his. I feel how hard he is for me; how much he needs this night just like I do. “We got intense pretty fast too, didn't we?” I ask.

  He nods. “We did,” he says, pulling me back into his room. “There is nothing I do halfway.”

  “Good. I like a man who knows what he wants.” I untie the robe’s belt and let it open to him. He wastes no time and draws my hips to his.

  “God, woman, I love you.”

  “Then make love to me,” I whisper.

  He lifts me to the bed, claiming what is his.

  Me.

  All of me.

  Our bodies entwine, becoming a messy tangle of emotions. Heat and passion and love. So much love.

  He moves me to the bed, settling himself on top of me. My legs wrap around him, having memorized his body, the way it moves against mine. Effortlessly.

  I gasp as he enters me, his size opening me up all over again, and the tightness excites him. He growls sweet nothings in my ear as we move, his big hands massaging my breasts, his mouth on my skin, kissing me into submission. Making this moment something more than sex. It’s bringing us closer together.

  Our bodies are slick with sweat as we climax, my whimpers turning to moans as he takes me to the place I’ve so badly needed to go. He comes, filling me up and making me whole.

  “I love you, Fallon,” I murmur as his eyes close, both of us basking in the moment. He kisses me again, his lips so soft and sweet. His need to command me and keep me in check is gone. After everything we went through in the woods, he knows I’m not going anywhere.