by Marla Monroe
“Scope. If you really care about her you would ditch the lifestyle and settle down with her like any other normal couple. Raise Tommy and maybe have another kid or two between you. Don’t drag her down into what we’ve been doing the last few years.” Gunner’s voice had deepened and become strained.
“There’s nothing fucking wrong with what we’ve been doing. We don’t hurt people and we’re always careful when we play. I love the sound a woman makes when she reaches that second or third orgasm she never expected. I like watching that rosy glow their skin gets when they’ve gotten so aroused they could come with a warm breath across their clit. There’s not a damn thing wrong with me.” Scope couldn’t stop the edge of anger that crept into his voice.
Gunner was pissing him off now. If he wasn’t into Darla then Scope could understand, but the man was by his own admission. Fighting it maybe, but he wanted her.
“Are you sure, Scope? We like to whip people, spank their bare asses, and fuck them until they don’t know where they are. Where in the world does it say that’s normal?” he asked, his dark eyes flashing as his mouth twisted in a sneer. “Is it normal to need to tell someone how to fuck someone else? Is it normal to want to watch the quick pain from a pair of nipple clamps turn to pleasure?”
“Yes, Gunner. It is, at least for people like us. As long as it is consensual and everyone is happy with the situation, there’s nothing wrong with it or with us for enjoying it,” he said.
“We’ve never played with anyone we’ve actually liked and cared about before. We always took out people who knew the score or were fine with the kinky play. This is completely different. Darla knows nothing of this. How are you planning to explain it all to her? Were you going to just blurt it out there for her to sift through and figure it all out? In my experience shock therapy isn’t the best course of action,” Gunner told him, a sneer in his voice.
“So you’re saying you have feelings for Darla?” Scope asked, smothering a smile.
“Of course I care about her. She’s a sweet girl, and you care about her. That makes her important to me, but it doesn’t mean I’m okay with yanking her out of her normal world and slamming her into ours.”
“So what are you saying?” Scope asked in a tired voice. They were getting nowhere with this. “I should claim her, deny my needs and what works for me to make sure she’s safe and cared for?”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying,” Gunner said.
“What happens six months or a year down the road when it all gets too much for me? I’m no different than you are. I can’t just turn it off. It’s how I am. It’s not something I play around with. I’m going to want to control her sexually. The only difference is going to be that you won’t be there to keep her from getting her way outside the bedroom. You and I both know that I’ll do anything to make her happy.”
“Fuck, Scope. She isn’t going to flip out if it’s confined to the bedroom and there’s only you there calling the shots. The difference is adding me makes it the ménage relationship that will be so difficult for her to handle, and I’ll extend a lot of the controlling into her everyday life. She isn’t going to be comfortable with that.” Gunner opened and closed his hands over and over again.
Scope knew his friend was more agitated than he’d ever seen him before. He didn’t show nervousness like he was doing now. It had to be more the subject than any softening on Gunner’s part. Emotions had never been something Gunner understood or talked about. He left all that part of a situation to Scope to handle.
“You weren’t listening earlier. I told you that Darla isn’t someone you can walk all over. If you think that way, she’s going to walk all over you the first time you piss her off,” Scope warned with a slight grin. What he wouldn’t give to see that one day.
“I think you’re wrong, man.”
“Look. We’ve gotten off the subject of her working at that store. It’s too dangerous. Places like that are robbed all the time. The only way she’ll quit working there is if she doesn’t need to work there. If I offer her money, she’ll throw it back in my face and would probably never speak to me again,” Scope said.
“She can’t keep working there. Maybe we can find another job for her somewhere. You know people here. Ask around.”
“It’s a small town. I’m sure she’s looked for other jobs. I haven’t heard of any openings when I’ve asked around to see what jobs were available for us,” he said.
“Dammit, there has to be another answer! Knowing she’s there alone is going to drive me crazy. Pulling her into our world is just as dangerous, but hell if I know what to do.”
Scope realized that his friend was slowly talking himself into something he’d been totally against not thirty minutes before. No, they didn’t deserve her, and their lifestyle wasn’t exactly normal, but neither did she need to be working herself into an early grave in a dangerous situation. Besides, he loved her, had loved her since he’d joined up and left her behind.
* * * *
There has to be another answer to this. I can’t ignore the danger and allow her to work there any longer.
He needed to think, but his friend was beyond reasoning with now. Scope had been unconsciously in love with Darla since he’d left, and now that he’d seen her again, there would be no turning back for him. Where did that leave Gunner? He had moved to Perkins City with Scope since he had nowhere else to go. He’d never really had a home before. In fact, the Marines was the closest to one he’d ever known. Where could he go, and more importantly, how would he handle civilian life without Scope to balance him? They worked together. End of story.
Only it really wasn’t. Scope had thrown in an epilogue that threatened to rewrite the entire book they’d written together as friends over warm beers in third world countries. Would he choose Darla over those plans? Hell, he might not even think about all of the plans they’d made night after long, torturous night waiting for the mortar round that would end it all before it began.
I’m a fucking idiot if I expect him to turn his back on Darla after what I told him.
It wasn’t a question of if, but of when, and where they put him. They’d bought the house together and designed it to meet both of their needs. Could he live there with them but not be part of their relationship?
How the hell is that any different than the three of us together? It’s not, and I’m so screwed.
“Where are you going?” Scope asked when Gunner started walking toward the back door.
“I need a run. I’ll be back in an hour,” he told his friend.
“Hell no. You’re not walking out like that. We’re partners and that means we work things out and watch each other’s back. There’s no changing that. We fucking agreed, man.” Scope stepped in front of him, blocking the way.
“Don’t do this, Scope. I need some air.”
“More than we need to look at our options?”
“I need to figure out what the fucking options are before we talk about them. Give me some fucking room!” Gunner pushed past his friend, wrenched open the French doors leading out onto the back deck, then slammed them so hard he cringed, expecting to hear glass breaking. All he heard was the sound of flesh against wood.
Gunner tore down the steps of the deck leading to the back yard and stretched his legs as he crossed it, entering the trees a little too fast to be safe. Once he’d put at least three hundred yards between him and the house, he slowed his pace and settled into his rhythm.
Half a mile from the house, he cut back toward the road and shut down the voices in his head. Instead of trying to think of alternatives, Gunner counted his steps, his breathing, the cracks in the road, while his brain churned on the problem out of hearing range. It was how he’d always coped growing up on the streets. It was how he’d managed to conform to the strict rules and regulations that breathed discipline into their very souls before shipping them off across the world.
They’d taken a troubled, OCD young man who’d had no control over any a
spect of his life since he’d been four, and stuffed him into a uniform with a manual on how to do everything, from brushing his teeth to how to fall asleep by the count of five yet remain alert to any sound that didn’t belong.
Gunner’s childhood had been a long string of foster homes with periods of living on the streets. If asked back then which he preferred, he’d have laughed at them for even thinking they needed to ask. The streets, because there was never any question that you couldn’t drop your guard when you were out there. No one would lull you into a false sense of safety then pull the rug out just to watch you fall.
Years later, he was given the option of jail time or enlisting. He didn’t see an option there, but a few months later Gunner was questioning his choice. He’d been used to doing things his way, on his schedule, at his pace, but that all changed. The marines gave him a schedule, set the pace, and it was always their way—no exceptions.
The crazy little rituals he’d practiced while growing up had earned him all sorts of punishments, ridicule, and bullying. Those same rituals had a name, obsessive-compulsive disorder. That, paired with having no control over any part of his young life, had made him into a bitter introvert on the verge of becoming paranoid.
On the verge? Hell, I was full-blown consumed with it by the time I was twelve. I wasn’t crazy because I knew they were out to get me.
How he’d coped all those years virtually alone still amazed him once he’d learned more about what made him tick. Despite jumping out of the frying pan of no control and into the fire of even less control, Gunner thrived in the military once he’d adjusted. To be effective as a soldier, a good soldier, being OCD was almost mandatory. Making sure every bullet in his keeping was counted and later accounted for or that he made it to his position at exactly three seconds after the hour meant survival, not just for him but for his team as well.
Five hundred and thirty-six strides turned into two thousand and eighty-eight strides. Twenty minutes stretched into ninety minutes before Gunner stopped running and faced the facts. After his brain had turned the issue in every direction, including inside out, and mapped out every conceivable option and outcome, the answer hadn’t really changed. The only real question was when.
Darla needed help. He and Scope could give her what she needed. Scope loved her. He already cared about her. All they had to do was figure out how to win her over in the fastest possible way. All he had to do was figure out a way to tone down his need to be in complete control.
Right. That was going to happen.
He turned around and jogged back home. And it was home for him now. He and Scope had worked it all out years ago over countless nights of waiting out the enemy and wondering if each incoming shell was headed for them. He might run for a while, but he couldn’t hide from who he was and who mattered to him. Scope was the brother he’d never had as well as his best friend. He wasn’t fucked up crazy, just normally dysfunctional, but with Scope in the picture, it was okay.
It looked like he was about to become a partner in a real relationship. What the hell. How much different could it be than living with a bunch of men? He’d handle the security part of everything and leave the emotional crap to Scope. As long as he remembered not to push too hard at first, the three of them should be able to manage to work things out.
He stumbled and had to stop for a second. There weren’t just three of them, though. There was Tommy.
What in the hell do I do with a kid? They aren’t just tiny grown-ups. I have to talk to them and make sure they know and understand the rules. I’ll be responsible for him just like his mother.
Fuck!
“It’ll work out. I’ll be fine. Scope can handle Tommy.”
Only that left his partner handling everything, with Gunner just dealing with security and staying out of everyone’s way. Somehow he didn’t see Darla going for that or Scope letting him get away with it.
With a sigh, he started jogging again. His addled brain had totally overlooked Tommy. Yeah, the boy seemed like a really good kid. He’d minded his mom and didn’t whine about it. Maybe he had a good head on his shoulders already, but what did you talk to an eight-year-old-boy about?
Baseball. He seemed to like that. He needed a new glove, and more than likely he could use a bat and another ball. Gunner would talk to Scope about it. They might need to find out what team he played on, so they didn’t get the wrong style or type or something.
And just like that, he’d come full circle and made it back at his starting point. The house was dark, but then it was late. There was a good chance his friend had already gone to bed. If so, they’d talk in the morning. He wanted to go over the club’s paperwork again and make sure there was nothing in it that could be a problem for Darla if she agreed to go with them. When he’d been reading through it after their meeting with Max and Sawyer, Taylor’s husbands and the managers of Golden Shackles, he’d been looking at it with only his and Scope’s interests in mind. They had Darla to think about now.
He couldn’t believe he was giving in when he knew it could be a disaster in the making. People had narrow minds and weren’t above gossiping about each other. Neither would they think twice about hurting a fellow human being given half the chance. It wouldn’t matter if over half of the town was involved with the lifestyle. There’d still be someone who didn’t like it and didn’t believe in live and let live. Part of what worried him about it wasn’t as much that Darla would have to live with the gossip and name calling. It was more that he was afraid that he’d lose it and hurt someone if Darla got upset and cried.
Gunner walked into the house, locking the French Doors behind him. Then he slowly made his way around the bottom floor, making sure all the doors and windows were secured before heading upstairs. The light was off by the lack of it shining beneath Scope’s door. The other man had given up on him making it back at a decent time.
Gunner stripped once he’d made it to the bathroom and stepped into a lukewarm shower instead of waiting for the water to heat up. By the time the water had heated up, he’d finished soaping up and was ready to rinse off. Five minutes later Gunner leaned forward with his hands flat against the tiles while the hot water pelted down across his back. It felt good and helped to relieve some of the tension that was building there at the base of his back.
For better or worse, I’m in this. I just pray that it isn’t a huge mistake dragging Darla and her son into the middle of a controversial relationship.
Yeah, he was so fucked.
Chapter Six
“Hey, Della! You’ve got visitors, honey.”
Darla looked up from the sink full of dirty dishes at the sound of one of the other waitresses at Rizzoli’s, Betty Shield, and scowled. They’d been unusually busy all day for a Wednesday and she needed to get the dishes washed before it was time for her to leave.
When she walked through the door leading from the kitchen, a dishcloth in her hands, she stopped in mid-step at seeing Scope and Gunner standing to one side of the cash register. They looked so damn good standing almost at attention, as if waiting for a princess. Though both of them had on new, neatly pressed jeans and matching blue shirts, there the similarities ended. Gunner’s hair had grown out a little more than Scope’s had and there was a determined glint in his eye, where his friend’s face held what she could only describe as pure happiness. She couldn’t stop an answering smile despite her raunchy day.
“Hey, you two. How is the house coming?” she asked.
Scope stepped forward. He ran one hand lightly down her arm. “We’re almost finished. Once we have everything cleaned up, we want to give you a tour.”
“I’d like that. I’ve heard so many rumors about it that I’m a little curious,” she admitted.
“Rumors?” Gunner stepped closer now, his face having tightened into an expressionless mask. “What kind of rumors?”
She giggled nervously. She couldn’t help it. The way his body had changed so seamlessly made her nervous.
“
Gunner. Stand down. It’s cool,” Scope said with a pointed look.
“T–they’ve been talking about the sound system you’ve put in all over the house,” she told them, forcing a smile so maybe Gunner would calm down. “Oh, and something about a media room? I wasn’t sure what that was though.”
If she hadn’t witnessed it while it happened, Darla wouldn’t have believed it possible. Gunner’s face just melted into a softer look—relaxed even. He gave her a lopsided smile that flipped her heart in her chest.
“A media room is basically a home theater, Della. And yes, we built one in the basement. Big screen TV with surround sound and big comfortable chairs with built in drink holders so you have everything right where you need it,” Scope told her with a huge grin.
It was obvious he was excited about it and couldn’t wait to show it off. She giggled at his enthusiasm. The fact that she’d never seen anything like he was describing and had struggled to keep a decent TV for them to watch didn’t bother her. She was happy that he and Gunner would have what they wanted. They’d risked their lives and sanity for her and the rest of the nation.
“Excited much?” she asked.
“Yeah. Sorry. I just can’t wait to show you around. Gunner and I’ve been working hard to get it finished up. It’s going to be nice to finally live in a house again after tents and open sky, and the house has been so torn up that some nights we’ve had to sleep on the floor.” Scope grinned with a sheepish look. No doubt he hadn’t meant to share so much.
“Well I’m excited for you. Was there something you needed? I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but I’ve got to finish up so I can leave on time.” It bothered her that she had to rush them. They made her tingle all over just being near her, and she hadn’t felt that way in a very long time.
“Sorry. We got distracted,” Gunner said, speaking up. “Um, we wanted to invite you out to eat.”