by Aubrey Irons
The smirk drops from his lips and he narrows his eyes; he knows what I'm talking about; “And what exactly did I lie about,” He growls.
“About what’s none of my business.” I say quickly, trying to push down the rising jealousy inside and hating every second of it.
Bryce laughs; “What, her?”
I say nothing, because I don't trust what I might say to that.
“Jesus you're something else sometimes, you know that?” He snorts and shakes his head; “There's nothing there, you know.”
I shrug as casually as I can; “None of my business if it-”
He growls and yanks me away from the crowds onto a side street off the market; “Well I'm making it your business, and I'm telling you there's nothing and never was anything there.”
I shrug again, still saying nothing since I don't trust my words, and I can see him roll his eyes exasperatedly at me; “We were addicts together, that’s it. We used to shoot together. There was no romance there, no fucking spark or passion or whatever.” His hand tightens on my arm, his eyes flashing as they bore into mine; “She sold me heroin, sometimes I let her use some with me; that's it.”
He looks angrier than I thought he'd be, and for a moment, I feel a pang of guilt for even having brought this up. Honestly, it isn't my business. Whatever is in his past that I don't already know is in his past. It belongs to him, and I've got no right to accuse him of anything or insinuate dishonesty for not sharing something.
Yeah, this is what being around him does to me. It's been a long freaking year working down the hall from him, by the way.
“That's a part of my life I left a long fucking time ago.”
Except for the needle I found; the last straw on an already strained relationship, if you can even call it that.
But that's not a conversation for here or for now.
“Fine,” I mumble; “Sorry.”
He looks away, looking conflicted; “Listen, since we're coming clean…”
I narrow my eyes at him; “Now what.”
“You need to know something about Blackriver and why they're doing all this; what Benson's goal is.”
I can feel my pulse quicken; “What?”
“I know why Benson went after Chelsea and Javier, and I know why he took Logan.”
I can feel my pulse thudding in my chest as I swallow heavily, thinking of my brother and wherever he may be; “Revenge?”
Bryce shakes head; “No.” He looks away, raking his fingers through his dark brown hair; “He's after something; something valuable that I found and hid from him,” He says quietly.
“What?” I shake my head; “Hang on, Javier said Benson was adamant that it wasn't about money; that it was about tying up loose end-”
He barks out a laugh; “Peyton, it's always about money. The whole world is about money.”
“Easy to say when you have it.”
Bryce shoots me a look; “I don't remember your paychecks from Archer being exactly light either, babe. And we both know what we both had before all that.”
He knows about me and about my past, and in ways no one else does, not even Logan. Just like I know about his.
“So, what's so valuable?”
Bryce nods slowly before he turns, his eyes looking right into mine; “Diamonds.”
I can feel my body tense up; “Diamonds? What diam-”
He turns and looks out towards the sea again; “The diamonds we found out in the jungle in Africa. The ones that I buried.”
11
Bryce
P A S T
“What exactly are you fucking telling us?”
Rafe is looking at me with that dark, icy stare he gets that pierces through the heavy brows and the thick beard covering his face. I swallow thickly, wincing at the lancing pain of the cracked rib in my side as I try and match his look right back at him; “Jacob’s dead, Rafe; I’m sorry.”
The muscles in his neck clench tight, and he holds my gaze a second longer before he swears and rips out of his seat, knocking the chair to the ground as he roars. He whirls and puts his fist through the drywall behind him as he howls.
Rory looks up at me, shaking his head; “What the fuck happened up there in Seattle?”
Others from the table are getting up trying to calm Rafe down, trying to collect him and let him know they’re all there for him. Because that’s what brothers-in-ink - men of the reaper - do.
Especially when you find out your son’s dead.
“We were ambushed; Carter knew we were coming for him and coming for the money. There had to be fifteen guys waiting for us when we kicked in that fuckin door.” Rory’s holding my gaze, and I can feel the hard shell we all wear start to crack around the edges of myself. I can feel myself start to doubt it all, and start to doubt their trust in me.
After all, I’m not dead.
“Hey, c’mere brother.” Rory stands and puts his arm around me, clapping me hard on the back. It’s a comfort, even if it hurts like a motherfucker; “You did OK-”
“Jacob, man-” I’m fighting back emotion and clenching my jaw as he pulls back; “Jacob, he-”
“Did you abandon him?”
“Not a fucking chance.”
Rory nods grimly; “Then you did what you did, and this is how it shook out.” He shakes his head; “That’s life under the eye of the reaper, brother. You know it, I know, Jacob sure fuckin knew it, and you better believe Rafe damn well knows it.”
“I got some of the money-”
“Fuck the money, man. You’re whole; you’re here. A brother is worth more than a bag of cash, Bryce.”
Tell that to Jacob.
He looks back at the other men in the room, paying their respects to a now quieter, grieving Rafe before he looks back at me; “You talk to that recruiter again?” He says quietly.
I nod.
“Shit, man; the Marines, huh?” He shakes his head; “Rafe’s gonna fuckin hate that.”
“The code makes provisions for active duty, even voluntarily joining.”
“The code was written during Viet-fucking-nam, Bryce.”
I look at him grimly; “If I leave the cloth for any other reason, my life is forfeit; I know that. But I gotta get out, Rory; I gotta-”
“Long as you come the fuck home afterwards, I’ll back you.” Rory shoots me a hard look; “Just come home, brother; after you see the world and clear your head.”
Right, after I clear my head fighting a war of ideals in the Goddamn desert on the other side of the world.
And of course, that Bryce never does come home. That Bryce dies out there in the desert along with that other Hudson, and that other Logan. Because the men who come out the other side of that? Yeah, no one knows who they are.
Least of all them.
P R E S E N T
“I don't want you doing this.”
I'm leaning against the doorframe of the hotel bathroom watching her finish putting makeup under her eyes, batting her lashes at her own reflection as she puts the finishing touches on. She looks fucking incredible, of course, which is putting me on edge; on edge because she's looking like this ready to go out with another man.
And not just any guy. I mean I know about Hugh back home, but that's different; sort of. That's mostly out of sight and out of mind, and Hugh isn't some thuggish psychopath working for Blackriver. I don't know shit about this Anderson guy, but I know enough to know he’s a predator, and her wearing that fucking sexy little evening dress she's wearing has her looking every inch like prey.
Peyton turns and shoots me a look; that blazing fucking defiance every step of the way.
“It's dangerous and it's risky.”
“I'm a big girl,” She says patronizingly, patting my shoulder and pushing past me out out of the bathroom.
We seriously need a new hotel room, even if they did fix the door after some strange looks and muttered questions from the front desk.
“I'm going to be right there, if anything happens, just-”
“Bryce,” She levels her gaze at me; “I'm a big girl and I can handle myself. It's going to be fine.”
Yeah, it's all fine watching you flirt with another guy, even if it is for the mission.
I can already feel my blood boiling.
Anderson is every inch as piggish and thuggish looking as I expected, being one of Benson's guys. Jesus, does that guy hire a type or what.
He's red-faced and sweaty, bulky in that meathead way as he steps into the restaurant. I keep my head facing forward but my eyes are glued with a vengeance to the man as he scans the room, locks onto Peyton, and grins before he elbows his way through the crowd to the table next to mine.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hello,” She says in a sultry voice that has me gritting my teeth and making a fist under the table; all charm and temptation.
It's for the mission; it's for getting Logan back.
“So you must be Sasha's friend. Damn girl, you're way hotter than she said you'd be!”
Jesus Christ is this guy for real? I can feel my hands clenching in my lap.
“Oh, well, thank you!” Peyton gushes, like that was some sort of charming fucking compliment.
“Hey! Waiter!” Anderson barks, making me cringe again. This guy is the fucking worst; “Let's get two drinks over here.”
“Oh, I- I don't drink,” Peyton says with a smile.
He laughs; “What! Who the heck doesn't drink?”
People who lived through the worst parts of addiction or have seen the devil that comes out of the bottom of a bottle, that's who, you fucking prick.
Anderson laughs again; “Fuck that, ‘course you do!”
“No, I really don-”
“Waiter!” The older waiter comes over, his face neutral but cloudy as he smiles thinly at Anderson; “Two whiskies. Whiskey OK with you, babe?”
“I don't drink,” She says quietly, her voice on edge. I can feel my teeth grinding.
“Yeah two whiskies should do it, pal,” Anderson says, shooing the waiter away. He turns back to Peyton, this woman he has no business even looking at, and he doesn't even seem to realize that; “So, here we are, huh?”
“Yeah, here we are!” She says, smiling at him as best she can.
This plan is shit. If I thought it before, I'm sure of it now. We're never going to make this work, because this guy is a fucking moron, and there's no way I'm going to let her do this. Using a honeypot to get access is one thing, but this is fucking ridiculous. This guy is way off and way out of line already. He's a loose cannon, and it's putting me on every edge I've got.
Anderson leans forward suddenly, grabbing both her hands, and I see her flinch; “What say we just skip the drinks and get outta here, huh?”
I expect her to freeze, to seize up at the sudden grip on her hands. With her background, that's gotta be triggering something, especially from a big drunk asshole like this prick.
But she's smooth; Goddamn is she smooth.
Peyton just laughs; “My my, now that wouldn't be very lady-like of me or very gentlemanly of you!” She slaps his hand playfully; “And I do like myself a gentleman!” I find myself flinching and my hand gripping onto the edge of the table like I want to break it off. I know first hand how much Peyton does not “like herself a gentleman.” Because I can be a lot of things, but “gentlemanly” is not one of them.
And I don't remember any complaints.
Anderson chuckles; “Well, shit, yeah I can be all the gent you need, babe.”
She giggles, her hand tracing up his arm. Every single cell in my body roars, every alarm goes off in my head, and I'm hardly aware that I'm gripping the tablecloth tight enough to practically tear it in two.
Their drinks come, and she doesn't touch hers, but that’s not what I’m watching; I'm watching her flirt with him. She's giggly, and smiley, and friendly in a way, well, in a way I haven't seen in more than a year.
And it's enraging to watch.
I know it's for the mission; I know this isn't “real”, but Jesus Christ, I'm going to explode in a second if he puts his fucking hands on her one more fucking time.
They're leaning close, and he's blabbing about hunting or something, and she's at least making a very good show of hanging onto his words; giggling at stupid lines. I can feel the rage and the fury building and bubbling inside of me, barely able to stop myself from outright glaring right at them, or worse.
And then he leans in to kiss her cheek, and I lose it; I'm done.
I shove my chair back loudly, loud enough that she breaks just for half a second and jerks her head my way. I need to get the fuck out of here; need to get away from this before I detonate.
I'm shoving my way through the restaurant, and I'm just barely able to hear her laugh once more at something that douchebag says; “I need to go use the ladies room; don't go far, handsome!”
Fuck that, I'm out of here.
“Where the hell do you think you're going?”
I ignore her voice outside the restaurant, a scowl on my face as I continue on into the shadows by the side of the building.
“Hey! Will you fucking stop?”
I stop and whirl around to Peyton; “What?”
“Excuse me? 'What'? How about what the fuck was that back in there?”
I can feel the rage roaring inside but I force it down as I narrow my eyes at her; “That? That was fucking bullshit is what that was. I wasn't going to just sit there watching you flirt with that piece of shit.”
She rolls her eyes, which has the simultaneous effect of getting right under my skin but also perking my arousal with the sexy way she pushes her long blonde hair back from her face; “Oh, right, because I want to have dinner and get hit on by dipshits like Anderson. This isn’t about you or me, Bryce. It's about me getting my brother back.”
“We can't do this, not like this and not with that fucking guy.”
She narrows her eyes and smirks; “Oh, and why is that, Bryce?”
I snarl; “Because! Because he's- he's-”
“He's what, flirting with me?” I grit my teeth and say nothing, and she rolls her eyes again; “I should get back in there.”
“Fine.” I turn and storm down the dark and deserted side street next to the restaurant, heading back towards the hotel.
“Jesus, Bryce! Jealous much?”
I whirl; “You're Goddamn right!” It's bubbling over, and I can't stop it now. The lid of me keeping my cool is popping off and I can't get it back down, even if I wanted to.
Peyton freezes, her lips just parted enough, her eyes blinking wide in the soft light as she looks up at me. Her tongue darts out over those soft lips, and I think of every laugh that I miss; every smile, every kiss, every touch.
And then I think of his hand on hers, and it's a ubiquitous “his”. It’s Anderson, or Hugh, or any other fucking guy that puts their hands on her.
And it's more than I can fucking stand to even think about.
I do it before I can even stop myself. My arms slide around her, I'm pulling her close before she can even process it, and I'm kissing her.
Jesus fuck did I miss those lips.
She whimpers as I crush my lips to hers, like they're medicine I so desperately need to survive. I kiss her like I'll drown without her lips on mine; like she's my last breath of air.
Break it. Break the kiss and slap me, or push me away or something to stop this before we both lose control.
But she doesn't do any of those things. Instead, she moans, and that's fucking it for me.
I push her back against the wall behind us, mashing my body to hers and feeling her warmth radiating under my skin as she presses her body against mine. I'm rock hard and growling into our kiss as my hands slide down her sides, down to the edge of that sexy dress she put on tonight, for someone else.
She's panting, whimpering into the kiss as I slide my hand up her thigh; not going right in, but letting my fingers remember the skin there that they missed for so long. We're moving li
ke a whirlwind, right here in the shadowed dark of the side-street, but I don't even care. It's been entirely too fucking long, and my lips need to remember hers; my hands need to remember the warmth of her skin. Her breath catches as I get higher; higher up the outside of her leg until I growl as I feel the lace edge of her panties.
And then suddenly, I can feel her freeze beneath me, and I know before another second passes that it's over just like that. I know the moment is broken, even before I feel her pull away from my lips with a gasp and feel her hand flat against my chest, pushing me away.
“No-” She says quietly, her hand pushing against my chest.
I know it's over but I can't let go just like that, and I growl as I lean into her once more.
“No!” She's shaking her head then, and stepping back and out from under my arms; “Stop it, just-” She shakes her head; “Just stop it.”
“Peyton-”
“This isn't going to happen, Bryce!” Her eyes are wild as she looks up into mine, that blazing fury of hers that I can't get enough of lingering and bubbling right beneath the surface; “You don't get to just step in like this and-”
“What, because I can't watch you with that fucking assh-”
“I'm not yours to watch!” She barks out; “I mean what the fuck was this, marking me as your own or some macho bullshit like that?”
Yes.
I'm silent, but she shakes her head, taking deep breaths and smoothing her dress down; “I'm going back in there and-”
“The hell you are.”
“We need this, Bryce.” She hold my eyes with her own, those bright blues of her piercing right into mine; “This isn't about us, remember? It's about Logan, and getting him back.”
I hate that she's right, and I hate that I've let that truth take a second seat to her getting under my skin like this.
“I'm going back in there,” She says evenly, as if daring me to say otherwise again; “I'm going to to go say goodnight to that piggish prick, I’m going to let him arrange another date, and then I'm going back to the hotel, where you're going right now.”
I grit my teeth, but I can see that flame blaze in her eyes; “For Logan, Bryce,” She says quietly, pleadingly; “Please.”