Vengeance: The Program Book 4

by N. M. Catalano

  When a man has time to think, it’s not always a good thing. I’ve had nothing but time to do just that.

  In the solitude, thoughts of the war we’re now in fill my head with everything that can go wrong and has gone wrong. The dagger that’s imbedded in my chest burns with life and eats away at me. I let it, because that keeps me right here. Pain is your friend, it keeps you green and focused and never lets you forget.

  It’s a love hate thing watching over Gwendolyn. Even though she’s in there and I’m out here, she chases away my ghosts. She fills me and pushes away all of the ugliness that’s stained my soul. Her beauty blocks out my sins, and she makes me feel worthy.

  In the darkness I can pretend for a little while that life is normal. There’s me and her and nothing else.

  I’ve been here so many nights, her movements back and forth inside her house are like choreography to me. I know her routines and I can tell her moods by the way her body moves. Maybe I’m going a little whacko, but I make up all these scenes of what’s happening inside, her words, what she’s doing, the clothes she’s wearing. Sometimes I pretend we’re watching a movie together, other times I imagine her fussing at me for leaving my socks on the coffee table, and sometimes when I really want to torture myself, I envision us in the shower together, or taking a bath, my hands caressing every square inch of her body. But every single night when the last light is turned off and I’m alone in the silence of my truck, I take her to bed. Sometimes I haul her over my shoulder, sometimes I cradle her in my arms, and sometimes we’re laughing as she rides piggy back. She’s mine. All mine. Sometimes it’s rough and hard and dirty, other times I worship and adore her tenderly. But every night she belongs to me, she’s in my arms, and I’m showing her again and again where she belongs. There’s no place I’d rather be than right here, because it’s the closest I’ll ever get to Gwen.

  Or so I thought.

  Because right now her little fist is tapping on my window.

  “Bull,” she says and snaps me out of my shock. “I know you’re awake. You’re staring right at me. Open up.”

  “Damn, woman, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” I bark at her.

  I can see her body tense as she narrows her eyes at me. She’s not supposed to be out here. She’s supposed to be in there. Safe and warm, not in the street in the dark.

  “Well, Brainiac, coming to get you,” she retorts.

  “What? Why?” I’m still staring at her.

  Just what in the hell?

  “Because,” she drawls and rolls her eyes. Lord have mercy, this woman is gorgeous even when she’s annoyed. “Nan wants you inside having tea. Right now,” she forces out tightly.

  What?

  “Pardon me?” I blink at her.

  “Would you just open the window already?” she knocks again, harder this time.

  “For Christ sake, woman,” I mumble as I turn the key in the ignition and push the button to lower my window. Instantly her scent wraps around me. Roses. She always smells like roses. A growl rumbles low in my throat. I’m addicted to it, and every time I get a whiff of her it’s like a shot of my favorite whiskey.

  “There’s no need to be like that,” she says quietly and lowers her eyes. “I’m sorry I disturbed your…whatever it is you’re doing. Nan just wanted to be hospitable.” Aw, hell, I hurt her feelings. That makes me feel like a horse’s ass. “Jerk,” I hear her mumble quietly. I smile, I can’t help it.

  She might be reserved, she might be pure, (at least in my eyes), but she’s a feisty little devil and that just does all kinds of the right things to me.

  “Tell her I said thank you, but that’s not necessary,” I attempt to be polite and make up for being an ass. “Why don’t you get back on inside, Gwen.” Before I pull you in here and take you away some place and have you all to myself.

  She glares at me.

  Hell, you did it again, dumbass. I roll my eyes. Maybe the guys are right. Maybe I am a Neanderthal.

  “It’s not going to kill you to have tea with an old woman, you know, Bull.”

  I’ve done totally pissed her off now.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I grumble, annoyed at myself.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she’s curt. “I don’t really care. But she’ll probably come out and drag you in by the ear. As a matter of fact, maybe she should.” Her chin lifts, that defiant hot streak inside her peeking out.

  I want to laugh, but I know what’s good for me, I’ve got that much sense.

  “You’re right,” her eyes widen and her expression softens. Her face is almost inside the window and it’s only a few inches to her lips. I want to kiss her so damn bad, kiss my carelessness and total lack of social skills right out of her pretty little head. I want to kiss her until she’s moaning and can’t think at all. I want to devour her because she’s the only thing I want. “Back up a little so I can close the window,” I turn the key in the ignition.

  She’s surprised, I see it all over her face.

  I get the window up, disengage the ignition, and get out of the truck. She’s stepped back a few feet but she hasn’t left. She probably can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I want to kick myself for making her feel bad, it’s the last thing I want to do. The things I really want would probably have her running in the opposite direction as fast as those little feet could carry her. My gaze travels down her body, and damn that body, to land on her feet.

  “What are you wearing?” I blurt out.

  She lets out a huff. “You’re impossible, do you know that?” She turns and practically stomps to the front door.

  “What? What did I say this time?” I follow behind her completely confused.

  “Just forget it,” I hear over her shoulder as she climbs the few steps at the front porch.

  Gwendolyn and Mrs. Merriweather live in a large multi-story craftsman style house. It’s grey, with white trim and columns, and real ballast stones around the porch and the foundation. The stones were probably used when the town was first colonized and brought over in the hulls of ships to help stabilize them. We know the home belonged to Mrs. Merriweather and her husband. We know because we investigated everyone in town when the shit hit the fan with Summer, and I was especially interested. What we don’t know is why Gwendolyn moved in with her, but we guess it was to give her a hand since she’s, well, old. Gwen’s already inside and has left the front door open for me. I step into the house and close the door quietly behind me. It’s even more beautiful on the interior. It looks like it still has the original dark wood paneling and wainscoting along the walls and up the stairs, and on the built-in bookcases and shelves. It’s pristine in its condition, although it’s got to be almost a hundred years old. Tables are topped with Tiffany lamps and all kinds of knick knacks I don’t want to get anywhere near.

  “This place is like a museum,” I mumble.

  “Don’t be standing there catching flies, lad,” Mrs. Merriweather calls from around the corner. “The tea be getting cold.”

  I crack a smile. You’ve got to love that old woman.

  I look down at my feet and wonder if I should take my shoes off. Then I remember how perfect Gwen’s feet looked in those…what were they, they looked like dainty little slippers. She probably has perfect feet with perfect little toes.

  Lord, I’ve got it bad.

  I head in the direction Mrs. Merriweather’s voice came from and find Gwen and her grandmother seated at the kitchen table in a very large kitchen. There’s a rose decorated porcelain tea service in front of them, complete with a creamer, sugar bowl, and three tea cups and saucers. One obviously is for me. Stepping into the kitchen, I take a seat between the two of them and bring the cup and saucer closer.

  “Tell me, lad,” Mrs. Merriweather begins. I inwardly cringe. Here we go. “How do you take your tea?”

  I’m Surprised. I was expecting the third degree, the grilling, the investigation I would have no choice but to cave to.

  Hell if I know
how I take my tea, I never drink it. But this is nice, real nice. Normal. Normal people doing normal things. I could get used to this.

  “However you take it would be just fine, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Merriweather nods, then picks up the sugar bowl. She plops a cube of sugar in my cup. “Stir it, lad,” she directs me. I do. I swish the block all around until I think it’s gone. Then she adds a little cream to it. “There you go, right as rain,” she smiles as she lifts her own cup and holds it gently in front of her with two hands.

  Gwen’s watched the entire interaction with an amused expression but hasn’t said a word since we’ve come inside. I go to pick up the cup but my fingers and hands are so big, I’m afraid I’m going to break it. I turn the cup and saucer a little bit this way, then a little bit that way, trying to figure out an angle my paws can grip it. I can sense both their eyes on me, watching me. I feel like an ass because I can’t figure out how I should pick up the damn thing. Finally, I just palm it, it disappears in my hand, I lift it to my lips, and sip. Surprised, I mumble, “This is pretty good.”

  Mrs. Merriweather’s grinning at me, I know Gwendolyn is too behind the cup and her hands.

  “Well done, Bull. Now,” she pins me with her stare. “Why don’t you be telling us why you’ve decided to move into your truck in front of our ‘ouse.”

  Aw, shit!

  I knew it was coming, the woman pulls no punches, but I’ll be damned if I know what I should tell her.

  I force down a swallow of the hot beverage and meet her gaze. She’s daring me to give her a line of crap.

  “I’m watching out for the both of you.”

  I decide to be honest.

  I can feel Gwen’s eyes on me, and that makes me sweat a little. I don’t look at her, because I can’t. But I don’t have to. I know she’s wearing a top that makes me salivate. I’ve never seen her wear it before, I’ve memorized everything about her, and I know you can see the luscious curves of her breasts through the almost transparent fabric. I also know the jeans she has on today hug her curves in all the right places. I want to peel them off. And the shoes make me wonder if I’ve got some kind of latent foot fetish. What I do know is I absolutely have a Gwendolyn fetish, anything Gwendolyn.

  I’m so fucked.

  Mrs. Merriweather sets her rose painted cup down on the saucer. “Why do you think you be needing to watch over us?” she asks me point blank.

  Mrs. Merriweather makes me squirm, but she makes everyone squirm.

  “Because of what happened with Summer, ma’am,” I answer her honestly again.

  Mrs. Merriweather and Gwen were the ones who told us Summer was missing when she’d been kidnapped. They know she’d been beaten, they saw her afterwards, but they don’t know the details. What they did see was enough. She nods and drinks her tea. We sit like that for a moment until she speaks again. “That’s mighty fine, Bull, thank you.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” because it is. I wish I could do more.

  Especially about Sasha. But I’m not letting that nightmare out in the sanctity of their home.

  I glance a look at Gwen. She looks different today. Without moving my eyes, I take in what I can of her. Her lips, I want to stare at them, but I resist. They’ve got a red hue, like she’s been kissed long and hard. Lord! And her eyes, they look bigger, the green hypnotizing me. The blouse she has on is tempting me to touch her, to feel her, to explore the treasures it’s barely hiding. I want to moan with the frustration of having to hold back. Her gaze is fixed on me, not on my face, but my hands and body. I wish I knew what she was thinking. Her expression is soft, and her eyes are tender. Until they meet mine, then everything shuts down.

  “Will you be continuing this, lad?” Mrs. Merriweather asks me as if sitting outside their house all night long was not the most unusual thing I could do.

  I turn my attention back to her. “Yes, ma’am, as long as it’s necessary,” because the only way anything is happening to them is over my dead body. That is not gonna happen.

  She nods. “I see. Then the only proper thing to do is for you to be staying in ‘ere with us. It’s not right for you to be sitting out there the ‘ole night.”

  Wait. What?!

  “WHAT?” Gwen’s cup lands on the saucer.

  “Excuse me?!” I choke on the tea I was swallowing.

  “Gwendolyn, when we get ‘ome this evening, you’ll be making up the guest room down the ‘all from you,” she continues as if Gwen and I haven’t both lost our shit. “Bull, bring your things this evening. There ain’t been a man staying ‘ere in a right many years, so you won’t be finding things you might be needing.”

  “But…but, NAN?” Gwen’s eyeballs are about to pop out of her head.

  “Gwendolyn, the man’s been sleeping out there for weeks, and we are the reason for it,” she waves a hand at me. “Tis the right thing to do. Now don’t be arguing with your Nan.”

  I’ve got to get this situation under control STAT.

  “I do appreciate that, but it really isn’t necessary,” besides the fact I’m not sure I can keep my dick in my pants if I’m under the same roof as Gwen all night long. Every night. Indefinitely. “I’m fine out there. I’m used to it.”

  “See, he’s fine, he said so,” Gwen jumps all over the argument.

  Despite the fact I know why I shouldn’t be in the house all night with her, that right there gets under my skin. She really doesn’t want me here. Well, that sucks. Too bad she’s not getting rid of me, even if I am camped outside.

  “Gwendolyn, it’s settled. Bull is ‘ere to take care of us. The lad’s practically family,” the old woman states flatly.

  “Mrs. Merriweather, really, I don’t think…,” I try to argue once again.

  “Posh, lad. It wouldn’t be proper. It’s settled,” she shrugs her chin to both of us. “Drink up, the both of you will be late to work.”

  I don’t argue with her. Instead, in my head I go through all the arguments I’ll give her why this can’t happen. I tell myself that there is no way I can do this. But I’d be lying if I said wasn’t happier than a pig in shit. I steal another glance at Gwendolyn. She’s outright staring at me, and I want to tell her it’s not my damn fault.

  Finally, she asks me, “What do you like to eat?”

  You.

  “Nothing special. But I can cook, I love to grill,” I answer as my mind is filled with visions of my face buried between her thighs as she’s got my head locked in a death grip between them, her hands on my shaved head pushing me onto her as she screams out her orgasm.

  That little scenario would not go well here.

  I am in so much trouble.

  “Och, a barbecue, Gwen does love a big piece of meat that’s dripping with juices, don’t you love?” Mrs. Merriweather paints quite the picture.

  My gaze shoots to Gwen and I know I’m wearing a perverted grin, visions of shooting a load all over her flashing in my head. Her eyes are wide, her mouth is open and a bright red blush covers her face. With our eyes locked, I hear her take a sharp intake of breath.

  She’s envisioning the same thing I am. My big piece of meat filling up her mouth. My dick is thinking it, too, as it pulses and swells in my pants. I resist the urge to squeeze it and choke it back down.

  I am completely screwed.

  Mrs. Merriweather gets up and clears the table of the creamer and sugar. “We best be getting along. Summer and our boy Rock will be opening the shop up.” She’s all business, and I’m sitting here feeling like a boy who’s been chastised waiting to be excused.

  “Are you finished?” Gwen asks quietly with her hand ready to take my cup.

  “Yes, thank you,” I mumble, not quite sure what I’m supposed to do.

  “Right then, let’s be off,” Mrs. Merriweather flicks her wrist at me, motioning for me to stand up.

  I do. They gather their things as I watch, then I go out the front door and they head out to the garage. I follow them to the coffee shop and hand
them over to Rock. I leave to go to my house so I can take a nap and get cleaned up. Most likely after I take care of the image of Gwen liking my big piece of dripping meat.

  And that’s how the first day of this new arrangement begins. Because according to the bossy old woman, I’ll practically be moving in with them as of tonight.

  Things are about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

  CHAPTER 10

  Gwendolyn

  Could things get any more complicated?

  Someone just shoot me now and save me from all of the misery I’m about to endure. Bull staying in my house right down the hall from me, sleeping, eating, bathing under the same roof. What the hell was Nan thinking? And why didn’t she talk to me about it first?

  I’m livid.

  “Um, Gwen?” Summer asks quietly.

  “What?” I answer as I slam the cabinet door where I just refilled the small takeout cups.

  “I don’t know what has you on the warpath today, but try not tear the place apart.” She’s joking, but she’s right.

  The morning rush has come and gone at the Magic Bean, and thankfully we were so busy I barely had any time to think of my new predicament. And what I’m going to do about it. I turn and face her. Warpath was appropriate, I’ve been on a silent rampage and apparently I was throwing a tantrum. “Have I been that bad?” I ask as I scrunch my face with embarrassment.

  “Maybe just a little,” she grins and holds her hand up with an inch space between thumb and finger. “Did something happen?”

  I glance over my shoulder toward the dining room. Nan is sitting at her usual table crocheting like she always does. There are only a couple of other tables with customers absorbed in whatever keeps them occupied. I glance at Gringo on the other side of the room. It’s his turn to sit with us, one of them always does. My heart hurts a little. I don’t know what’s going on, no one’s said anything to me about Sasha not being around, but looking at him, I can see it’s killing him. When he’s here, he’s constantly on his laptop, his fingers furiously banging on the keys and his eyes devouring whatever he’s reading. It’s tragic. Anger and danger roll off him in waves. I guess he knows and that’s why he sits there. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to be bothered.