by Angela White
When she came into view, Marc asked, “You sense me?”
She frowned, not comfortable talking to him about the things she could do. “I’m not sure.”
He dropped down. “You all right?”
“Not really, but I’ll be better when we’re rolling again.”
She lit a smoke, preparing herself to take a chance. Would he believe her?
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a bad storm coming. A winter storm,” she said quietly, waiting for the questions.
“Snow?”
She didn’t look at him. “A lot of it, and I think it’s going to get colder. I’ve got a roll of plastic.”
Marc smiled, showing sexy white teeth. “I’ve got a staple gun and duct tape.”
His unquestioning acceptance brought her eyes up, and they stared at each other. Both of them could feel that old connection wanting to grow again. He glanced away before she could.
“What smells so good?” he asked.
“Omelets. It’s all rehydrated or powdered, though, so don’t expect much.”
Powdered eggs suck, Marc thought.
Angela continued cooking with a chuckle of agreement, not searching for his thoughts but not blocking them either.
“Can I do anything?” He followed her slowly, mindful about keeping his distance.
“Yes. Teach me some defensive stuff today after lunch.”
“Sure. We’ll start with the basics and go from there.”
“I need something I can use now.”
Her insistent response bothered him. “I know quick ways, but they’re for Marines. Not pretty,” he warned.
She shrugged, brushing a stray curl behind her ear as she shut off the stove. “Pretty doesn’t matter. Only results do.”
“Remember you said that.”
Angela frowned at the second warning, but didn’t ask for details or change her mind as she handed him a plate and sat down on the far end of the couch. “I will. Let’s eat.”
Angela wrote in her journal during the meal and then bundled up and slipped out the door without a word, leaving Marc to worry as he gestured for the wolf to follow her. Where was the carefree young girl who had insisted they build a clubhouse in the middle of a snowstorm? Where was the innocent enchantress that he had eased into womanhood, and how could he get her back? There had to be a way.
When he stepped out, Marc was surprised by how much gear she already had on the porch. Obviously, she was serious about the storm, and he kept his eyes from lingering on the rounded ass sticking from the rear of her Blazer each time she retrieved something else. He carried her things inside instead.
Coming for the last load, he noticed the temperature. It had dropped nearly five degrees in less than two hours. That definitely wasn’t normal, and it confirmed her warning. Again, not that he’d really doubted. Her gift had always been a part of their lives, one of the reasons his mother had been so against him spending time with her, but it didn’t bother him anymore now than it had then. It was useful, and he had little to hide. Marc had often wondered what it would be like to experience things the way she did, but he didn’t envy her abilities. He knew the terrible price she paid for them.
“Need some help?”
Angela hadn’t known he was right behind her, and Marc noted the hand flinching downward before she stopped herself. “I’ve got it.”
Her tone was sharp, and he backed off, stepping through thick Bermuda grass as he went to get his own things. She was trying to keep the wall between them, and he would respect her wishes…for now.
It only took them half an hour to improve the cabin’s temperature, using large sheets of plastic to enclose the area around the couch. They worked together in silence, Angela anticipating his needs as she had when they were kids.
Once finished, they dug out warmer clothes, and Marc tossed a plastic-wrapped pouch on her bedroll. “Thermal blanket. Used to be a part of my sniper gear.”
Trying not to frown at the word sniper, she tossed a similar package on the couch. “He left some of his things behind this year.”
Their similarity, from supplies to transportation, made them both sad. What a great team they would have made. It also had Marc more uneasy about the future. Her man also had sniper training. Great.
4
Angela tried to calm herself down. She knew Marc wouldn’t hurt her, but she still flinched as the door opened and he came in from doing a walk of the perimeter.
“Ready for your first lesson?”
She nervously rubbed sweaty palms down her jeans. “In here?”
He motioned at the small area, aware of how uncomfortable she was. “Warmer in here, more room out there. You pick.”
“Outside,” she chose, hoping the cold might distract her from her fear of being touched, of being hurt. She was already shaking. Stopping at the foot of the steps, she drew in a deep, calming breath.
Marc took off his gun belts and set them on the porch that was lined in scraggily patches of weeds trying to grow, with little success. He examined the fear on her face as he stalked toward her.
“We can start out slower.”
“I can do this.”
Marc began to circle her. “I believe that too. Just remember to think.”
She nodded, and he rushed her.
Marc swung a leg behind her knee and gently took them to the ground. Not letting his weight fall on her, he tried not to think of her as a woman, but as a cadet to be trained.
Fear bursting through her mind like a rocket, Angela struggled thoughtlessly.
Marc clenched his teeth in an effort to stay soft. She felt good!
“Rubbin’ that body against a man won’t make him stop, honey.”
Angela froze, cheeks bright red. “I don’t want–”
“You can’t talk your way out, either. You have to think and then act. Lock your ankles together and try to throw me off.”
She did as he said–heart pounding, mind screaming.
“You have to get in control of it, Angie. Being scared makes you human, but you have to think too. Your hands should be trying to find a weapon, while your legs keep trying to throw him off. Your gun, his knife, a rock–anything in reach–and don’t waste your time yelling. It’ll only tire you out.”
Angela sucked in air, closing her eyes against the fear in her heart.
“He’ll be saying things, pawing at you, but surprise is your weapon. Distract him and then bite, punch, kick, whatever it takes, but don’t let him roll you over.”
It was hard to concentrate when she wanted him off her.
Marc raised a brow. “Make me.”
She surprised him with an almost gentle hit to the chin, and they struggled against each other, Marc using only pressure, no pain. The fear was intense, preventing his body from responding.
After a full minute, he let her roll him over and off.
She was on her feet in an instant, hair wild, eyes flashing.
“Lesson two. When a man corners a woman, he waits to see if she’s a runner or a fighter. Your body language will tell him how to prepare for you, and again, surprise is your weapon. Keep your hands at your sides. Make him think you’ve frozen, and when he moves in, cup your hands into a fist and bring them up at the same time as your knee. Pound his nuts into his stomach and run for a weapon or your car. If you miss, you’ll be on the ground again. Ready?”
She was glad he had given her the warning this time, but couldn’t help freezing when he rushed her. They were on the ground a second later.
“Lock those ankles, Angie. Use your knees! You can’t hurt me, but I could hurt you, if I were a bad man. You need to pretend that I am.”
She answered him with a harder hit to the chin that sent tiny stars of vivid shades across his vision.
He let her roll him over again.
Angela quickly gained her feet for a second time, and Marc did a quick scan as he got up. Clear.
“Very good. Ready?” He moved in before s
he could respond.
Angela remembered to drop her hands, but she was afraid to hit him, terrified that he would return the favor, as Kenny had so many times.
Marc tripped her easily, taking them down again. This time, her arms were pinned by his chest and the heavy weight of his body. “Don’t roll over and don’t unlock those ankles!”
Angela twisted her hips to loosen her hands and flung a handful of dust half-heartedly in his direction. Her knee brushed his groin, and again, he let her roll free.
She got up a bit slower this time, almost winded as she tried to remember his instructions through the fear.
Marc realized he was going to have to use a different method to circumvent her terror of men. She had to handle him as a stranger.
He retreated a bit, ignoring the heart that didn’t want her to be afraid of him for any reason or length of time. She froze when he got close, obviously afraid of what would happen afterward if she hurt him, which she couldn’t. He needed to reach that place inside that came out when survival was on the line, so she would remember how to handle herself when it counted.
“Not going to the ground means the difference between rape and escape. You have to stop me by any means necessary.”
Angela frowned, retreating as he advanced. “I can’t attack you.”
“I’m gonna make it so you can. Remember to think.” Marc sent a very male gaze over her with clear want, letting the animal side out a bit, and saw fresh terror.
“Pretty bitch,” he growled, mimicking the brothers’ menacing tone almost perfectly. He hated her reaction but didn’t stop, forcing her to deal with it. “How ‘bout a kiss? Been alone a long time.”
She was still moving carefully away, and he was glad she was observing his face and not his hands or body. At least she knew that much.
He rushed her suddenly, and Angela brought her hands and knee up together. Neither said a word, Marc only letting his body strain against hers.
It took him a full minute to get her off her feet this time, Marc not trying, of course, and once on the ground, he kept her there, showing her where to hit, scratch, kick, and punch.
A few minutes later, Angela knew she was done, and stilled. She shut her eyes so Marc wouldn’t recognize how afraid she was that he wouldn’t stop.
“Done now… Let...me up.”
To her great relief, his weight was gone an instant later. There was no way she could have stopped him, and she knew he felt her shaking when she allowed him to pull her to her feet. She let go quickly and put some distance between them, stomach muscles now aching, pinching.
“You okay?”
Her words were breathy. “Good...exercise even...if I don’t...learn anything.”
“You will.”
Their eyes met, sparked, and hers darted away, making his brow pucker. He had provoked real fear in order to teach, but it had taken so little!
“I’ll work on it, Brady. Again...tomorrow?”
He was surprised she wanted to. “Absolutely. You did great. Next time, I’ll teach you ways to keep anyone from getting close enough to grab you.”
She nodded, sweating despite the chill in the gusting wind. She didn’t notice the wolf curling up on the porch, but Marc did and was glad. He was never completely sure the animal would return.
“Cool...Guns now?”
He considered. He had shown her proper cleaning and hand positions, and they’d done some dry fire exercises, but she needed to practice, and that made a lot of noise. It would draw attention they weren’t ready to handle. “Not until we leave here. For today, we’ll use something quieter.”
Pulse and respiration ragged, she only motioned agreement as they headed in, unwilling to ask him for more. She needed to get used to caring for herself. Wasn’t that why she’d called him, to teach her?
“You mean that?”
Angela was surprised that he was picking things up from her. The expression on his face said he hadn’t been expecting it either, and the moment hung between them like a flame in the darkness. Back in the old days, they had been open to each other in every way.
“Yes. Will you?”
He glanced away, thinking her eyes were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Pretty cars and expensive jewels had nothing on Angie’s baby-blues.
“Absolutely. In fact...” He dug in his kit. “I found this in Mattoon.”
He handed her a small, purple gift bag from his kit. It held an orange dart gun with half a dozen darts and a paper target. She saw the benefits even as she laughed at the toy.
“I’ll treasure it always,” Angela joked as he taped the target to the wall. She loaded the bright orange weapon and began to practice, concentrating.
Marc stayed in a rear corner, occasionally offering direction and trying not to sniff his hands. They reeked of her scent.
He kept a groan to himself. Damn, he had it bad.
When Angela looked around a bit later, the wolf was at the door, gray ears up, reddish-black nose down, observing contentedly. Marc had settled on the couch to clean his guns, and she felt peace and bitterness warring in her heart. This is how it should have been for them…and it had been stolen.
5
After a quiet meal of beans and Bambi, they settled in to wait out the storm. It wasn’t quite dark yet, and they were surprised upon moving outside. Not surprised to step out into cold, white darkness, but almost shocked by the amount of snow that had already fallen. It was still coming down in thick sheets, with at least six inches of the dirty grey flakes covering everything. The wind swirled the falling moisture into tiny tornadoes that raced across the cornfield to slam apart against the broken stalks and their tarp-covered vehicles.
The pair split up wordlessly, Marc waving the wolf after her as she stepped behind a large, ice-covered tree and out of his sight. The wind howled, growing stronger, and sheets of falling snow whipped violently, producing a whiteout effect that the flashlights around their necks barely penetrated. Making a fast round of the perimeter, Marc uncovered alarms, and then joined her on the porch, careful to keep his distance.
Angela didn’t meet his observant eyes, didn’t want him to know how scared she was. I have to warn Kenny this is coming, she thought, but only said, “I’ll be out here for a few minutes.”
Marc heard both statements. He wanted to stay and listen, but gently shut the door instead, jealousy burning in his heart.
He could feel it a moment later, a powerful wave of warning that vibrated in his teeth as it rushed over miles and miles of broken ground. He was hit with the urge to interrupt, to make his presence as her protector known, but that would give away the element of surprise, and the Marine inside held him in check. Longing to hear what was being said, Marc began to clean his guns. Again.
Angela slammed the door in her mind, trying to stop crying and shaking. Kenny was so mad!
His anger had slapped her, terrified her, and she wiped at her face as she rotated toward the warm den. He wanted her to go back to Ohio, said he would come get her when he was ready, but she could hear him wishing she would die there or anywhere along the way. Under the layers of fear, she was furious and more determined than ever. She would never give up. Never!
Marc saw her face as she and Dog came in, and acid burned in his gut. Her man couldn’t reach her physically, but he could emotionally, and he had.
“You okay?”
Her face was tear-streaked, beautiful black hair flecked with dirty snow.
“No, but I can’t fix it from here. Montana by the end of March sound right?”
That was exactly what he had figured when she’d told him where her man was going. “Yes, quicker if we do some night traveling too.”
Angela sat on the couch and pulled the quilt around her shoulders, unable to stop hearing the threats, the ugliness. Kenny had been angry from the start, but he had spun out of control quickly, suddenly screaming. Heart now skipping rapidly in fear, she paled further. Had he spotted something he shouldn’t ha
ve when she’d shown him the storm? Icy terror sank deep into her heart. Did Kenny know she wasn’t alone?
Angela flinched as Marc pushed the heater closer to her, kneeling down to increase the output.
Not mentioning it, he wished there was something he could do to make her feel better. When he looked up, she was staring with a desperate glare in her depths.
“Tell me you’ll support me, no matter what. Tell me the code, the Corps, and everything else comes second.”
Marc smiled bitterly, answering without hesitation, “Wasn’t it always that way? According to our family, I went against them and God to have you, and there was never a second that I wouldn’t have come if you’d called.” He sighed. “Obviously, there still isn’t.”
Angela gave him a shaky smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Marc clamped down on another attempt to get her to change her mind. “Me too. Fifteen years was a long time.”
Angela shuddered, closing her mouth on the hell she’d been through. Only the future mattered, and that was Kenny. He was a violent man, and finding her and Marc together might be enough to send him over the edge. Especially if he snuck up on them and spied anything, like the sparks. Blood would spill then, and her boy’s parentage wouldn’t be an issue anymore.
6
The frustrated twins watched the couple, both unhappy with the fighting lesson they had witnessed through shared binoculars.
The snow had Dean and Dillan pinned down in a thermal tent. They were unable to get any closer because of the wolf and the tracks they were too injured to cover. Forced to wait until the storm broke and their wounds healed, the brothers were studying every move of the man and woman as they plotted their revenge.
Shooting them was talked about, as was an open ambush during the next fighting lesson, but neither plan was put into action. In their conditions–both of their wounds angry and leaking–they couldn’t be sure of victory. The evil twins wouldn’t underestimate their prey again, and chose to hunker down to wait for their moment of triumph.