by Elle Kennedy
His stricken expression tugged at her heart. “You won’t.”
He blinked. “No?”
Sofia slowly shook her head, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Don’t you know me by now, Derek? I’m stubborn as hell. I would chain you up in the clinic before I let you walk away from me.”
D’s eyes gleamed with fortitude. “I’m never going to leave you. I can’t promise not to act like an asshole or piss you off sometimes, but I can promise you that. I’ll never leave you.”
A ring of emotion circled her heart, flooding it with warmth, with love. Despite the joy overflowing inside her, she couldn’t fight one nagging concern. Swallowing, she lowered her hand to her stomach. It was still too early to be showing, but the baby was there. Inside her. Growing and thriving.
“You can’t leave him either.” The thought brought a fissure of pain to her chest. “You have to promise to be there for him too.”
The determination in his gaze burned brighter, and then he shocked the hell out of her by reaching out and placing his palm over her knuckles. Holding both their hands tight to her belly.
“I won’t leave him,” D said roughly. “I can’t pretend I know how to be a father. I’ll probably be fucking terrible at it at first, but I’ll follow your lead, baby. I’ll learn everything I need to know from you. I just . . . I want to be your family.”
The love in her heart spilled over, gushing through her in hot, gooey waves. She took a breath. Then another. Then said, “Okay.”
D searched her eyes. “Okay?”
She touched his face, skimming the scruff on his jaw. “You can come with me. You can do whatever you want to the house.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips over his. “You can be my family.”
He smiled.
Holy hell. He smiled a rare smile that actually reached his eyes, that lit them up and relaxed his entire face, and it was beautiful. He was beautiful. Still rough around the edges, still radiating strength and power and deadly promise, but there was more to this man than danger and violence. So much more.
He might not be the partner she’d envisioned for herself, but he made her feel safe and protected and completely at peace. He made her feel warm and weak-kneed and loved. He made her . . . feel.
“C’mon, let’s go inside so you can help me pack,” D said, reaching for her hand. “And I know you’re in a hurry, but maybe we can grab some lunch before we go. When we called from the bird, Abby told Kane you only ate one slice of toast today.”
Sofia sighed. “Are you going to monitor my eating habits for the whole pregnancy?”
“Yes. You should probably just accept it now to avoid any future arguments.” D laced his fingers through hers, then outlined their plans in a brisk, efficient manner. “Okay, so we pack. We eat. And then we go home. Sound good?”
Sofia leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked toward the house. “We pack. We eat.” Her heart was in her throat as she voiced the rest. “And then we go home.”
Epilogue
Porto, Portugal
They’d barely said a word during the ten-hour flight to Porto.
Which was unheard-of for them—Liam couldn’t remember the last time he and Sullivan Port hadn’t had something to say to each other. It didn’t matter the topic—sports, politics, frickin’ TV shows. They’d been able to talk for hours about any old bullshit.
The distance between them made his chest ache, but it wasn’t until they arrived at the marina that Liam realized it was only about to get worse. If the longing look in Sullivan’s eyes was any indication, they were about to face a fuckin’ ocean of distance.
“No,” Liam choked out as he followed his friend’s gaze.
Those gray eyes were glued to the gorgeous forty-five-foot sailboat in the nearest slip. Her sails were down, secured to the booms, but the way Sullivan was gazing at them, it was like they were unfurled and fluttering in the wind as the boat sliced through the waves.
“You agreed to go to rehab, damn it.” Liam couldn’t stop the accusation in his tone.
“This is my rehab, mate.”
Sullivan slowly stroked the tattoo on the inside of his forearm, black lettering that spelled out one simple name: Evangeline.
The same name scrawled on the side of the gleaming white yacht.
“She’ll make me better,” Sully said hoarsely. “She always does.”
Liam fought a jolt of panic. He suddenly envisioned Sullivan sailing into port, crawling the streets of some beachside shantytown, searching for someone to sell him H. Begging strangers on every corner for a fix.
As if reading his mind, Sully sighed. “It won’t happen, Boston. I won’t let it beat me.” He raked both hands through his messy blond hair. “You can wait here with me while I call in a supply order. I’ll get enough shit to last me for months. Just me and the water. Me and my girl.”
Liam swallowed. “I can come with you.”
“No.” The answer was fast, inviting no argument. “I need to do this alone. I need to be alone.”
Pain. Hot, gut-shredding pain. Liam could hardly breathe as he absorbed the rejection like a blow to the solar plexus.
But he understood where it came from, why Sullivan insisted on it. Sully had always been a loner. He’d grown up with no one. He opened his heart to no one. Not even Liam had access to every part of Sullivan Port. The man had allowed him to get close, probably closer than he’d ever let anybody else get, but Liam knew his teammate always held a piece of himself back.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I won’t fight you on this.”
Gratitude filled Sully’s eyes. Then it faded into hesitation, sorrow. Regret.
Liam’s breath hitched as his friend stepped toward him. When Sully lightly rested his hand on Liam’s shoulder, every muscle in Liam’s body tensed. Time stopped right along with his heart. He searched the other man’s face. Waited.
“I won’t be radio silent. I’ll keep in touch, mate. I promise.”
Liam nodded, wholly aware of his friend’s touch, the heavy weight of Sully’s palm. Then Sully wrapped one arm around Liam’s back and dropped his chin on Liam’s shoulder.
The hug was brief. Too brief.
“I need to call my guy at the market,” Sully said awkwardly, reaching into his pocket to pull out the burner phone Liam had given him.
“I . . .” His mouth felt like it was lined with gravel. “I’m not going to wait with you.”
Sullivan nodded. “All right.”
They stared at each other for a moment.
“Just . . .” Liam cleared his throat. “Stay safe, okay? And keep in touch.”
“I will,” his teammate promised.
They didn’t hug again. Didn’t speak again. They simply turned in opposite directions, Sully dialing a number into the phone as he headed for the boat, Liam walking on shaky legs toward the parking lot.
He fumbled for his own phone the moment he reached the car, his fingers trembling as he pulled up Morgan’s name.
“Hey,” he rasped when the boss picked up. “It’s me.”
“How’s Sullivan?” was Morgan’s instant response.
“Fine. He . . .” Liam bit the inside of his cheek. “He’s checking himself into rehab.”
“Good. You heading home now?”
“No. No, I, ah . . . I need some time off, Jim.”
Suspicion thickened the line. “How much time off?”
“I don’t know. A lot.” His gaze strayed back to the dock. “I’m going home to see my family. My nephew’s being baptized. And”—his heart caught in his throat as he saw Sullivan hop on board the yacht—“my ma’s eager to see me, my whole family is. So, yeah. I need time off.”
Morgan’s tone became uneasy. “Why does it sound like you’re quitting on me, Macgregor?”
He didn’t answer. He was too busy watching the way the sunlight caught in Sullivan’s blond hair.
“Boston, you there?”
“Uh.” He tore hi
s gaze off his teammate. “I’m not quitting, Jim. I’m just taking a sabbatical.”
“A sabbatical.” The boss sounded unconvinced.
“Yeah.” He clicked the remote to unlock the car. “I’ve gotta go now. Need to make arrangements to get to Boston.”
“Check in when you land,” Morgan said before hanging up.
Liam slid the phone back in his pocket and leaned against the car, the cold metal frame barely registering against his body. Numbness was setting in. A blessed wall to block off the pain he refused to give in to.
He needed to go home. He needed to be surrounded by the chaos of his family, annoying and judgmental as they were. If he went back to the compound, he would see Sully everywhere he looked. It was better to distract himself. To listen to his sisters lecture him about being childless, his brothers rag him about not having a wife, his parents chastise him even as they hovered over him and showered him with love.
They would distract him from the sadness lodged in his chest. From thinking about what he really wanted.
And what he couldn’t have.
Want to encounter a sexy new kind of alpha group from Elle Kennedy? Read on for a special excerpt from the first book in Elle Kennedy’s brand-new Outlaws series,
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Available now from Signet Eclipse.
“I need to get drunk and laid—not necessarily in that order,” Rylan announced as the group crossed the threshold into the bar.
Connor had to duck his head to clear the top of the doorway. So did the others. All five of them stood well over six feet tall, making an imposing sight as they entered the candlelit room. Every head turned their way, but fear dissolved into mild apprehension and disinterest once the patrons discerned that the men didn’t have Enforcer logos on their clothing. Most turned away, refocusing their attention on their companions or the alcohol in front of them.
“And look at that,” Rylan said in delight. “The bartender’s cute. Must be new, ’cause I’d definitely remember those tits.”
Connor followed his friend’s gaze to the long metal counter tended by a thin blonde with serious cleavage. Yeah, Ry would remember screwing her. Skinny and big-busted was his flavor of choice. Blondie glanced up and winked at the men, her pouty red lips lifting in a sensual come-hither-and-fuck-me smile.
A sense of desperation hung in the air and mingled with the cloud of tobacco smoke hanging over the room like a canopy. Sex, booze, and cigarettes—rare luxuries these days, unless you knew where to find ’em. And hell, you didn’t even have to pay to fuck anymore. Currency meant shit outside the city, and besides, most women were as eager to get screwed as the men who wanted to screw them. But Connor wasn’t here for sex. He was looking forward to a nice date with Jack Daniel’s. It’d been way too long since he’d felt the burn of alcohol coursing through his veins.
The bar used to be a morgue, and the compartments where stiffs had once been stored now contained bottles of alcohol and supplies that the owners of the establishment had amassed over the years. They’d brought in mismatched furniture, tables and old couches, splintered wooden chairs. No power in the joint, so they’d lit dozens of candles, which danced on the cinder-block walls and shrouded most faces in shadow. The small hospital on the floors above them lay deserted, because hospitals were a thing of the past. You got sick or injured, you died. Population control, the fuckers in the “government” called it.
Connor chose a seat that allowed him to monitor both the door and the smoky main room, while Rylan, Pike, and Xander scrambled for the rest. Kade got stuck facing away from the door, which meant he’d be the first one to get a bullet to the back of his head if trouble arose.
The tabletop was scratched and stained with shit Connor didn’t even want to know about. Without any discussion, Rylan went up to the counter to order their drinks. That meant he’d be the one paying the tab, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Blondie over there was right up his alley. In a barter-and-trade era, you sometimes paid a high price for whatever you were trying to acquire, but this was win-win for Rylan—he’d get the booze and the pussy. Which made him a damn lucky bastard, because the last time they’d come here, the bartender had been male and Connor had been forced to trade a rifle for a bottle of Jack.
Fate smiled on the attractive and horny, he supposed.
“So . . . do we move?” A trademark scowl twisted Pike’s face as he voiced the question they’d all been thinking.
Connor rubbed the stubble coating his jaw. He wished like hell he had a razor, but the one back at camp had rusted to shit, and their next raid wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow. “Don’t know. I think we should wait it out. The rumors might be bullshit.”
“Word is Dominik is heading south,” Pike reminded him. “He did a sweep last week, cleared out an entire camp only a few hundred miles from here.”
Bastard sure had, and damned if that didn’t make Connor uneasy. Of all the Enforcers in the Colonies, Dominik and his band of bloodthirsty psychos were the worst. They were vicious, determined, and damn good at their job. Dominik answered only to West Colony’s Enforcer commander, who in turn answered to the council members above him. The group’s orders were simple: round up every last outlaw in the colony, force them to rejoin society, or kill them if they refused.
If Dominik really was closing in on them, the smart move would be to get the fuck out. Head for South Colony, or try to find a ship heading east, but traveling was a bitch these days. More checkpoints, more Enforcers, more bandits.
Kade spoke up. “I say we stick it out. We’ve got a good thing going here.”
Connor couldn’t disagree as he thought about the abandoned wilderness resort they’d been living in for the past year. Tucked in the foothills of the Rockies, the camp consisted of two dozen cabins and a main lodge nestled in the trees. After scouting the area for weeks, the men had claimed the old place and promptly turned it into a fortress. The resort was more secure than a military facility, just the way Connor liked it.
Rylan returned to the table with a full bottle of whiskey and five shot glasses, which clinked together in his hand. Unscrewing the bottle, he poured a stream of alcohol over the glasses, the excess liquid joining the other stains on the rotting wood.
“Hey, don’t waste it,” Xander grumbled. “Who knows when we’ll have another chance to get shit-faced?”
Rylan flopped down in his chair, slugged back a shot, then poured himself another. “So what’s the final consensus?”
Xander rubbed the thick beard covering his jaw. “Pike thinks we should go. Kade wants to stay. Con is undecided.”
Rylan was quick to throw in his two cents. “I vote for staying. I like it here. And by the way, brother, what’s with the beard? You know it’s like a gazillion degrees out, right?”
“If your pretty-boy face were capable of growing a beard, you’d look like me too right now.” Xander sighed. “Shit. I hope we find some razors on the raid tomorrow. Maybe even an electric one.”
“And candy,” Kade added, brightening at the thought. “Some real sweet shit. It’s been ages since we came across any chocolate.”
“And some really filthy porn,” Rylan added with a grin.
Connor didn’t join in, mostly because he was scared he’d snap and piss everyone off. But seriously, chocolate and porn? A war had ravaged the entire globe, for fuck’s sake. Bombs had fallen on cities like raindrops and eliminated entire populations, and those who survived were now prisoners—sorry, citizens—of the Colonies.
And Kade’s biggest problem was that he couldn’t satisfy his sweet tooth?
They’re making the best of this shit.
Yeah, maybe. Maybe Connor was a negative motherfucker for dwelling on the chaos and destruction, but what was he supposed to do—act like everything was fine and dandy? Pretend that his life was filled with rainbows and lollipops?
Fuck that.
He raised his glass to his lips and gulped the alcohol. It burned his throat on the w
ay down, heating his stomach in a familiar, welcoming way. Screw candy and porn—the only thing he wanted from the raid tomorrow was a crate of booze. Even cheap wine would do. Anything to numb the angry, powerless feelings swirling in his gut.
“You know what? Who needs porn when you can settle for the real thing?” Rylan scraped back his chair. “’Scuse me, boys.”
Rylan headed to the counter, where he leaned forward and murmured something that made the bartender giggle. A few seconds later, the blonde eagerly followed him toward a corridor in the back, but not before tossing a not-so-discreet look at Connor and the other men.
“Think she’d be down for some company?” Kade wondered aloud.
Xander grinned. “One hundred percent yes. Did you see the way she looked back just now? That hot little number is dying to be tag-teamed.”
“Can you assholes forget about your goddamn cocks for one goddamn minute?” Pike snapped. “We’ve gotta make a decision. If Dominik’s on his way here, I say we go.”
“Since when are you scared of a fight?” Xander taunted.
Pike scowled at him. “Some battles aren’t worth fighting. Let Dominik do his thing, as long as he leaves us alone.”
And right there was the problem—Connor didn’t want Dominik to leave him alone.
He was itching for a face-to-face with that bastard, and if he didn’t have the other guys to think about, he would’ve taken off and fed his hunger for vengeance ages ago. But his men looked to him for guidance. Somehow, despite his many protests, he’d become their leader. They did what he said, even Pike, who didn’t like to take orders from anybody. Connor didn’t want any of them getting killed just so he could satisfy the bloodlust that had been poisoning his body for years.
Getting to Dominik was virtually impossible. Not only was he constantly surrounded by his legion of soldiers, but nobody knew where the West Colony Enforcers were headquartered. It wasn’t in the city, where those who survived the war had been shipped off to after the Global Council took control. Rumor had it the Enforcers moved around constantly, never making themselves targets. This was the first time Connor had an inkling of where Dominik was going to be. It was an opportunity he refused to let pass, but . . . did the men who trusted him deserve to die during his own quest for revenge?