Fighting For Valor

by Patricia D. Eddy

  I need to say something. Thank you. I don’t deserve this. Anything. But the words won’t come. Pritchard’s still talking, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. I trace the contours of the eagle, the rest of the world fading into the background as those two words ring over and over again in my head.

  For Valor.

  “Ripper?” Cara whispers in my ear, now standing next to me. “Come back.”

  “Sorry,” I say with a shake of my head. “What did you say, Commander?”

  The expression on his face—amusement—fades. “That isn’t the award I wanted you to have, Sergeant. If I could, I’d trade that out for the Congressional Medal of Honor. But after talking to Mr. Moana,” he gestures to Trevor, “and doing a little investigation into Commander McCabe and Sergeant Holloway, I thought you might prefer a little less publicity. That is, if you’re going to continue the work you’re so obviously suited for with them and their teams.”

  He’s giving me my life back. All of it. But more than that, he’s allowing me to choose the life I want. I swallow hard and salute.

  “Thank you, Commander.”

  He returns the gesture. “I have to get Parr back to Fort Bragg so he can be processed and sentenced. Ms. Phillips? Should you ever want your job back at JSOC, you only have to ask.” Pritchard passes her a business card, and Cara tucks it in her pocket. “But regardless, I promise you, by the end of today, all records of Caroline Phillips ever working at JSOC will be scrubbed from our databases. Permanently.”

  The commander spins on his heel and heads for the door, his footsteps quick and efficient, almost silent. At the last second, he turns, sweeps his gaze over all of us, and nods. “The United States Armed Forces thank all of you for your service and bravery. Good day.” With a final salute, he closes the door.

  I’m free.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cara

  I turn to Ripper. “Is that it? It’s over?”

  He wraps his arms around me—carefully—and shakes as he presses his lips to my neck. Behind us, the man from last night, West, nods. “It’s over. Rip can be Jackson Richards again if he wants to.”

  “Wait.” I pull back to stare at him. “What name were you using?”

  Dax, sitting next to Ryker, snorts and shakes his head. “Rick Mercury.”

  “Like…Freddy Mercury?”

  Ripper refuses to meet my gaze, his ruddy cheeks turning a duskier shade. “I liked Queen.”

  “I love it.” Cupping his cheek, I force him to look at me and lower my voice. “I don’t care what your name is. I just want a chance to see where this goes.”

  “Oh, it’s going somewhere,” Ryker says as he lumbers to his feet and heads for the coffee pot in the kitchen. “Like Snoqualmie. At New Year’s.”

  Ripper stares daggers at him, and I look from Ryker to Dax and back to the man in front of me again. “What? Someone better explain—”

  And then his lips are on mine, and I don’t care because there’s so much promise in his kiss, I can feel it down to my toes. I’m vaguely aware of the rest of the group shuffling and moving around us, but until Ripper comes up for air, I can’t be sure of anything.

  “For now,” he whispers against my cheek, “just trust me.”

  “I do. But I feel like there’s some inside joke I’m missing here.”

  He links our fingers and scans the room. “I don’t even know all of you people. So what the fuck are you doing here risking your freedom to stand up for me?”

  Despite his words, there’s genuine affection and wonder in his voice. A tall, older man with graying temples and his arm around a woman with blond hair steps forward. “Trevor showed up at our apartment at midnight last night. Said he had a plane waiting and you might need backup. We came.”

  The woman holds out her hand to me. “I’m Joey. That’s Ford. Ripper…when he was—”

  “Isaad,” Ripper says quietly.

  “He helped us. Without him, we never would have escaped Faruk’s compound.”

  “I work with Dax,” Ford says. “We own Second Sight.”

  West speaks up next, angling his head to the woman at his side. She leans on a cane, a cup of coffee in her free hand. “This is Cam. My wife. Former army ordinance specialist and owner of Emerald City Security.”

  “Royce Nadiri,” the other older gentleman says. “Army. And my fiancée, Inara Ruzgani. Former Army Ranger sniper now on Ry’s team.”

  “That’s Graham.” Ry gestures to the young man currently leaning against the counter alone. “Coast Guard. Reservist now. You know Dax, but Evianna’s his fiancé. You’ve heard of Alfie, the home automation bot that came out a couple of months ago?”

  I nod.

  “Hers.”

  My head spins with all the names and faces, everyone here to make sure Ripper wasn’t alone.

  “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Pritchard could have arrested all of you.”

  Ryker and Dax look at one another, then at Ripper. “We’re family,” Ry says simply. “That’s what we do.”

  Hours later, we’re all sitting in a backyard not far from Ripper’s apartment. West and Cam’s house, apparently. A couple of the guys stand around a grill, the scents of meat and corn on the cob filling the air.

  I still can’t keep everyone straight, and the single beer I’ve been nursing for half an hour has already gone to my head. At my side, Ripper looks vaguely uncomfortable, but at the same time, happier than I’ve ever seen him.

  “Are you okay, handsome?” I ask, and almost topple over as the whole world tilts on me. Giggling when he pulls me into his lap, I barely notice the pain from my various bruises. Not when he’s so very willing to touch me, to hold me, to rain kisses along my neck and up to my ear.

  “Gonna take me a while to wrap my head around this family thing,” he says. “But, yeah. I’m okay. Should probably get you home soon, though.”

  Home. To my apartment. My empty, solitary apartment. I don’t know why, but I just assumed I’d be staying with Ripper. But, we’ve only known each other a little over a week. No logical person would ever be ready for the “move-in-together” stage that quickly.

  Except me.

  Charlie comes running up to us, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He’s been playing with this little white fluffball of a dog ever since we got here, the two of them chasing one another around the yard, both retrieving toys whenever one of the guys tosses one, and generally having a blast.

  He rests his head on my thigh, and I lean down to scratch behind his good ear. “Gonna miss you sleeping next to me tonight,” I whisper. “Take care of Ripper for me, okay?”

  “Cara?” The look on Ripper’s face…it’s like someone slapped him. “You want to…? I didn’t mean—fuck.”

  I don’t know what’s wrong, and neither does Charlie. The dog whines and butts his head against the hand Ripper has clenched at his side.

  “What is it? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  “I thought you might want to stay with me. And Charlie. To move in.” Shaking his head, he stares down at the grass under his feet. “It was a stupid idea. My place is so small. And you could go back to your life in Fort Bragg now.”

  “All of my belongings fit in a small suitcase. Never was one for stuff.” Glancing around the yard at the small family, half of whom stood up for Ripper without even knowing him, I blink back a tear.

  “Rip, what the hell are you doing. This is a celebration. Cara looks like she’s about to face a firing squad,” West says as he sets two plates with burgers and ears of corn on the table next to us. “If he’s being a jerk, Cara, just tell me—or Cam or Inara. They’ll put him in his place.”

  “I…it’s okay,” I stammer. “I don’t need—”

  “You’re part of this family now.” West grins. “We take care of our own. Even if that means the newest member of Hidden Agenda gets his ass kicked. Hey, Graham!”

  The young guy talki
ng with Inara looks over. “What happened to probie?”

  “You moved up in the ranks, kid.” Pushing to his feet, he claps Ripper on the shoulder. “This is the new probie. Feel free to lord it over him for at least a few weeks, you hear?”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!” Graham salutes West, then offers Ripper a sheepish grin and a shrug. “Sorry, probie. No one crosses the SEAL.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Ripper mutters. But the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile, and for once, the gesture seems to fit him.

  I cup his cheeks and turn his gaze to mine. “I’m not going anywhere. Except with you. Probie.”

  Epilogue

  Ripper

  A week later, this new life of mine starts to seem real. Cara’s clothes hang in my—our—closet. Her tea has its own shelf in the kitchen, and when I come in from a long walk with Charlie, the smells wafting through the small space make my mouth water.

  She stands at the stove, earbuds in, humming to Queen’s Radio Ga Ga as she stirs a bunch of chopped vegetables in some sort of sauce. The dark bruise on her cheek is fading, and the dizzy spells that plagued her for days every time she stood up seem to have passed.

  A soft yelp escapes her lips when she notices me watching her, and her cheeks redden. “Sorry. I didn’t expect you back until dark.”

  Charlie pads over to her and sits, waiting expectantly, and she laughs. “All right. Only because you’re the best dog ever.” The little jar on the counter labeled “Spoiled Rotten Dog Treats” was one of her contributions to the apartment, and she lifts the lid, holds up a biscuit, and waits until Charlie starts wagging his tail. “Good boy.”

  He retreats to his bed while I wrap my arms around Cara from behind and peer over her shoulder. “This smells amazing. What is it?”

  She adds tomatoes, milk, and crumbled bread to the sauce pan, gives it all a stir, and then turns down the heat. “It will be my famous Bolognese. In about three hours.”

  “How much of that time do you need to be at this stove, sunshine?” My lips find her ear, and I score my teeth over the shell.

  “Maybe once an hour…for five minutes,” she says on a shudder. “God. I’ve missed you, Ripper.”

  I haven’t touched her like this since before she was taken. Once I got her back, she was so bruised and beaten up, I was terrified I’d hurt her. And now, my own fears return. What if I can’t? What if the other day was just a fluke? Desperation born from more than six years of loneliness and pain?

  As if she can read my thoughts, she wriggles out of my hold. “Bed. Now, soldier.”

  I don’t hesitate, even though my heart is pounding so hard, I can feel it in my ears. After she angles a lid over the top of the pot, she unties her apron and drapes it over one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

  “Talk to me,” she says, fitting her body to mine. “I can always tell when you’re getting stuck in your own head, you know.”

  “I know. It’s kind of creepy.”

  She jabs me lightly in the shoulder, then sobers. “You get this look in your eyes, Rip. Like you’re bracing for a blow.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t.” Her finger touches my lips. “Don’t ever apologize for the darkness inside you. I don’t expect you to banish it. Or hide it. Or for it to suddenly disappear. The only thing I need is for you to share it with me. When you can.”

  I want to say the words. The three words we’ve both been dancing around, but can’t force ourselves to say. Instead, I thread my fingers through her hair and guide her on top of me. “I don’t know why you want to be with someone so…damaged,” I whisper. She smells like passion fruit and mango, and there are times I look at her and I can’t believe she’s real.

  “We’re all damaged in different ways.” Her brown eyes fill with pain, and she skims the backs of her knuckles along my jaw. “What they did to you was vile, and I hope West and Graham killed every single one of the men who hurt you.”

  “Pretty sure they did.”

  Cara sits up and snags the hem of my t-shirt. When it lands next to the bed, she kisses a deep scar along the right side of my chest. “How many of these do you remember?”

  “Every single one.”

  With a sharp gasp, she stops, her palms flat on my skin. “God. Ripper.”

  Wrapping my arms around her, I flip our positions. “Everything I went through, sunshine, led me to you. I’d love to be able to forget. The scorpions, the whips, all the times they held me down. But if I could, this—you—we never would have met.”

  Sliding down her body, I loosen the button on her jeans. “I’ve wanted to taste you for days.”

  “Well, then get to it.”

  The soft skin of her stomach quivers as I kiss just above the waistband of her panties, and when I can smell her arousal, I yank the jeans down her hips, followed by the scrap of black lace between her thighs.

  “You taste,” I say between little licks and one brief nibble to her tight nub, “like the sweetest fruit. Like sunshine and rain and…and love.”

  She whimpers, and I dig my fingers into the soft, pillowy flesh of her thighs. “More. I need more.”

  I’ll give her anything she wants. For the rest of her life if she lets me. She writhes on the bed, digging her heels, trying to find purchase, but I pin her down with my arm across her belly. “I want to watch you come, sunshine. I want to see you fly apart in my arms.”

  When she does, soaring higher and higher until her back arches and she’s gasping for air, I suck on her clit, and she screams my name.

  I drink her release in, her sweetness coating my tongue and healing something broken inside me.

  As her trembles subside, I reach behind her and unhook her bra. With her breasts bared, I can lavish attention on each nipple, and Cara moans. “You’re going to make me come again.”

  “That’s the whole point, sunshine.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Wriggling away, she strips me of my khakis, then my briefs, and wraps gentle fingers around my dick. “My turn.”

  The brief moment of panic fades quickly when she whispers my name, and I stare into her half-lidded eyes, seeing nothing but love reflected back at me.

  As she slides her hand up and down my shaft, I tense, but then Cara whispers in my ear, “You’re safe, Ripper. Let yourself feel.”

  I am safe. With Cara, I’m always safe.

  Her lips wrap around my crown, and all I find is pleasure. I love this woman, and for the first time, the idea of us heading where Ry thinks we’re going…to Snoqualmie over New Year’s with my two brothers fills me with nothing but peace.

  As she runs her tongue up and down the underside of my dick, I groan. “I need to be inside you. Please. I won’t last.”

  Her lips slide over me, and I flip her onto her back, spread her legs with my knees, and position myself at her entrance. “Cara…” Pushing home one inch at a time, I wait for her to focus those deep brown orbs on me. “I love you, sunshine. I didn’t think I could let anyone in again. But you…with you I don’t feel broken.”

  “You’re not broken.” Her legs wrap around my waist, and she cups the back of my neck, just like the first night we spent together. “You’re Jackson Richards. You’re a hero. You’re my hero. And I love you.”

  Her use of my real name lets something break free, something I hadn’t been able to touch since they took everything from me, and the last vestiges of my secret shame fade away. I don’t have to pretend with her. Don’t have to be anything other than what I am. Who I am.

  Ripper.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Ripper and Cara’s story. I hope you enjoyed it. If you have a few moments, I hope you’ll consider leaving a review on your purchase site of choice.

  Up next, you can find Trevor’s story. Pre-order Call Sign: Redemption today!

  Oh, and if you made it this far and were one of the first few people to buy Fighting For Valor, then you should be rewarded. Download a whole SET of bonus scenes for the entire
Away From Keyboard series now!

  THE END

  About the Author

  I’ve always made up stories. Sometimes I even acted them out. I probably shouldn’t admit that my childhood best friend and I used to run around the backyard pretending to fly in our Invisible Jet and rescue Steve Trevor. Oops.

  Now that I’m too old to spin around in circles with felt magic bracelets on my wrists, I put “pen to paper” instead. Figuratively, at least. Fingers to keyboard is more accurate.

  Outside of my writing, I’m a professional editor, a software geek, a singer (in the shower only), and a runner. I love red wine, scotch (neat, please), and cider. Seattle is my home, and I share an old house with my husband and cats.

  I’m on my fourth—fifth?—rewatching of the modern Doctor Who, and I think one particular quote from that show sums up my entire life.

  “We’re all stories, in the end. Make it a good one, eh?” — The Eleventh Doctor, Doctor Who

  I hope your story is brilliant.

  You can reach me all over the web…

  patriciadeddy.com

  patricia@patriciadeddy.com

  Also by Patricia D. Eddy

  Away From Keyboard

  Dive into a steamy mix of geekery and military might with the men and women of Emerald City Security and North-West Protective Services.

  Breaking His Code

  In Her Sights

  On His Six

  Second Sight

  By Lethal Force

  Fighting For Valor

  Call Sign: Redemption

  Midnight Coven

  These novellas will take you into the darker side of the paranormal with vampires, witches, and more.

  Forever Kept

  Immortal Hunter

  Elemental Shifter

  Hot werewolves and strong, powerful elementals. What’s not to love?