Nine Marines' Shared Property: A Reverse Harem Romance (Love by Numbers Book 8)

by Nicole Casey

  The rest of the squad had walked up behind me. The bouncer glanced at me then to the squad then he opened the door.

  “Thank you,” I said, and we walked in, calmly but focused and determined.

  We ran into Axel and Travis on the way to the bar. “No sign of her,” said Axel.

  I didn’t break stride. I walked up to the bartender. “I need to see Michael.”

  “He left about an hour ago.”

  “It’s an emergency.”

  He looked at me then at the eight other Marines standing behind me. “Is there a problem?” he asked timidly.

  I nodded slowly.

  The bartender took out his phone and stepped away. He returned a moment later. “He’s not answering.”

  I took in a deep breath. “Look,” I said, “our friend’s in trouble.”

  “Gwen?” he asked.

  I cocked my head to the side and furrowed my brow. How quickly he jumped to that conclusion. “You know Gwen?” I asked.

  He nodded. “She was here a while ago. They left together.”

  I put my hands flat on the bar and leaned in. “Where does he live?”

  “Hold on a sec.” he walked away, slowly.

  “It’s an emergency,” I shouted after him.

  The bartender opened the register then he took a pad and a pen, wrote something down and came back to me. He handed me a slip of paper. “I knew something wasn’t right,” he said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He pointed to the slip of paper. “That’s his address,” he said very seriously and he stepped away from the bar.

  When we were in the SUV, Santiago entered the address in the GPS. “It’s not far,” he said. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  I told the guys about the phone call I’d received from Holly.

  We were there in five.

  19

  Gwen

  I just needed to clear my head. Elijah had said he only had one night off before they were shipped out and he needed to see his family; Santiago and Nolan both told me they had a lot of work at the moment; Travis hadn’t answered my texts. It seemed like a distance was growing between us, and they hadn’t even gone overseas yet. I took a walk along the beach. Fresh air, a cool breeze, waves crashing onto the sand, that was supposed to calm me down and help me to think straight.

  Instead, I caught Axel walking along the water, his arm around a girl. They were laughing and bumping shoulders, exactly like we had done weeks ago.

  How could I have been so gullible!?

  I wasn’t as much angry with Axel as I was angry with myself. I had seen all the signs, but I’d chosen to delude myself with fairy tales.

  How could I have been so stupid!?

  I walked after them, my hands balled into fists. I was going to confront him, yell at him, smack him. I didn’t know what, but I knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

  As I stormed my way down the beach toward Axel and the girl in his arms, my anger shifted to sadness then pity. My pace slowed while the pace of the happy couple walking away from me sped up.

  I stopped and I stared at them. I watched them disappear from view. The cool breeze turned chilly. My hair whipped me in the eyes. The tide came in and wet my feet. I didn’t try to step out of the way.

  Cold and wet and angry, I turned and walked back to my car. I pulled out my phone to send Travis a text. The wind whipped my hair into my eyes. I didn’t care. I typed furiously, ‘It’s over’ and hit send.

  A few seconds later my phone vibrated in my hand. I looked at the new message. I shouldn’t have; I was in no mood or state to discuss the matter. But I looked at the message anyway. It wasn’t from Travis; it was from Michael.

  In my fury, I’d sent the message to him and not Travis.

  Why did it matter? It was over with Michael, too. I shouldn’t have replied, but I did.

  I apologized for the confusion, said the text was meant for someone else.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  Not only was I apologizing to Michael, a man who deserved no such consideration, but I’d also inadvertently let him know that I wasn’t seeing anyone. Worse than that; I’d let him know that I was currently on the rebound.

  Stupid!

  I sat in my car for nearly an hour texting back and forth with Michael. He was trying to apologize for what had happened over a year ago, and, some time in our exchange I realized that I was lashing out at him for the hurt I was feeling from what I’d just seen: Axel walking along the beach with another girl. Then I started apologizing for that!

  Michael told me that I should drive up to Los Angeles, that we should talk things over in person. I had the good sense to drive home instead. However, his invitation stirred in me. It mixed with the hurt and anger I was feeling. I wasn’t thinking straight, and Michael kept persisting.

  Michael had always been good at telling me what I wanted to hear; and I had always been bad at spotting his manipulation.

  A few days later, I drove out to Los Angeles.

  I told myself I just needed a change of scenery. I didn’t even go to Tree Top—not at first. But eventually, and predictably, I did end up there.

  Michael was charming—he hadn’t lost his touch. He said the right things, and he kept giving me delicious cocktails.

  For a while, I was my old self again; LA Gwen was back: Carefree Gwen, Live For The Moment Gwen. And it felt great—for a while.

  Somewhere and somehow over the course of the evening, things started to go south.

  “I think you’re drunk,” said Michael

  “Of course I’m drunk,” I said at, perhaps, an inappropriate volume. “That’s the fucking point.”

  “I’m going to take you home.”

  “You’re going to take me back to San Diego?”

  But Michael had a very different idea of where my home was. He intended to take me to his home. And it wasn’t until we’d reached his street that his intentions became clear to me.

  “This isn’t San Diego,” I said.

  He laughed.

  “Where’s my car?” I said.

  He laughed again. “Don’t worry about your car.”

  He pulled into the garage of his apartment complex and parked the car.

  “Why’d we stop?”

  “You’re home,” he said. He walked around the car and opened the passenger-side door.

  “This isn’t my home,” I said. “Take me to a hotel or take me to my car.”

  He unfastened my seat belt and tried to pull me out of the car. I kept repeating that I wasn’t going to stay there, that I wanted a hotel. I took my phone out and tried to phone for a taxi, but he kept pulling on me and my phone fell to the floor.

  “Take me home,” I shouted.

  “You are home. This is where you belong.”

  I shouted again, but he covered my mouth.

  I bit and punched; I scrapped and clawed. But a few minutes later, I was in his apartment being dragged down a corridor, pulled into his bedroom and thrown onto his bed.

  “You’re as feisty as ever,” he said. He stood over me, grinning, and unbuttoned his shirt.

  I sobered up pretty quickly then. I jumped off the bed. The room started fading in and out, tilting and turning. I reached out and grabbed a lamp on the nightstand for support.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Michael grabbed me by the arm. “You’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.” He pushed me back onto the bed.

  But I didn’t let go of the lamp; it came with me, the cord offering a little resistance before being yanked out of the wall socket.

  I tried to sit up, but he put his hand on my neck. I swung the lamp and hit him on the side of the head.

  I expected it to shatter in a thousand pieces. I expected him to reel back, stagger and fall to the floor. But none of that happened.

  Instead, the lamp hitting his head made a dull thud sound. Michael said, “Owe” and he grabbed my wrist. “What the fuck do you think yo
u’re doing?” He squeezed my wrist and the lamp, not Michael, fell to the floor.

  “That’s not how we treat my property, here.” He pinned my arm to the bed and he climbed on top of me. “I treat my property real good,” he said with a crazed look in his eyes. “You’ll see. You’ll see how good I treat my property.”

  I squirmed and scrapped, but he straddled me, pinning my other arm to the bed with his knee. “You’re my property, Gwen. You know that, don’t you? You’re mine.” He unfastened his belt. “You’re my property and I’m going to take real good care of you.”

  I bucked and thrashed. He lost his balance just enough for me to pull my hand from under his knee.

  I punched him in the neck, not hard, but I hit the perfect spot. He let go of my other hand, threw both his hands up to his throat and rolled over.

  I jumped out of the bed. My foot, however, landed on the lamp lying on the floor. I lost my balance and fell face-first, too surprised and disoriented to effectively break my fall with my flailing arms.

  Smack! The hardwood floor hit my cheekbone. Pain shot from my face to the back of my head, but I didn’t stay on the floor.

  I pulled myself up and ran to where I thought the door was. I couldn’t be sure; my vision wasn’t so clear, and it was dark in the room. But Michael stood in my way, one hand on his throat, the other stretched out in front of him as if to ward me off. I saw pain in his eyes, and that invigorated me.

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” I said.

  He didn’t move.

  I kicked him in the knee.

  He crumpled, and I walked past him.

  He grabbed me by the hip and pulled me to the bed.

  I kicked. My foot hit his chin and then his chest.

  He fell back, and I ran to the door.

  The corridor was dark and unfamiliar. I looked left then right.

  “You fucking bitch!” Michael called out from behind me.

  I ran left. There was an open door to the right. I glanced in the room, saw that it was a small living room and turned around.

  Michael was staggering toward me.

  I spun around, opened the door behind me and went in.

  It was the bathroom—and a small one at that. I locked the door, turned and, my back against the door, slid down to the cold tile floor.

  “Gwen.” The doorknob rattled. “Gwen, are you all right?”

  He sounded so concerned and sincere. He should have been an actor.

  “Gwen, unlock the door. Let’s talk this out.”

  I felt tears welling up. I had to fight them back. Get it together, Gwen. Now is not the time to get weak.

  The doorknob rattled again. Michael punched the door. “Gwen, unlock the door!”

  “Fuck off and die!” I shouted back.

  “Gwen.” His voice was soft and smooth now. “Gwen, we got off on the wrong foot. You had too much to drink, and that’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

  I pulled myself off the floor and searched the small bathroom for something I could use as a weapon. The rod holding the shower curtain came down with ease.

  “Gwen, you can’t stay in there forever.”

  I turned the rod over in my hands. I had no intention of staying there forever.

  “Gwen. Everything’s going to be OK.”

  I held the shower rod at my waist and practiced thrusting it forward, like I planned to thrust it at Michael’s chest.

  “Gwen, aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to lie down, get some rest?”

  “Michael, I’m going to unlock the door.”

  “That’s good, Gwen. I’m glad you’re being reasonable.”

  “I’m going to come out and then I’m going to call myself a taxi.”

  His voice was soft and peaceful. “Whatever you want, Gwen. Whatever you think is best.”

  I took in a deep breath and gripped the rod. I propped it against the door and used it to pull the switch of the lock down. Click.

  The door opened.

  I yelled and ran at him. The rod hit his stomach. He jumped back and grabbed it with both hands.

  I kept charging forward. Michael fell to the floor and pulled the rod from me.

  I didn’t look back. I ran down the corridor. I turned left and found myself in the kitchen. It looked vaguely familiar, but from the two open doors on either side I couldn’t remember which one led to the front door.

  I ran toward the right. I crossed the threshold and beyond the small entryway I saw the front door. In two steps, I’d reached it. I tried to open it, but it was locked. As I searched for the lock, a hand came around me, covered my mouth and yanked me back.

  I kicked and thrashed. I felt my feet hit his legs and my elbows hit his chest.

  Then an arm wrapped around my neck. The door, at arm’s reach in front of me, faded to black and disappeared.

  I don’t know how long I was out—long enough for Michael to have stuffed a hand towel in my mouth and tied my hands behind my back. I sat on the floor, my back against the wall, the bed to my left and the nightstand lay toppled over to my right.

  I tried to speak, but the towel muffled my voice. I tried to spit it out, but it was stuffed in too far.

  Michael sat on the bed, his elbow resting on his knee, holding an ice pack to the side of his face. He must have heard me murmur, because he turned to me and lifted his head off the ice pack. “I had to tie you up. You understand? You were acting crazy, throwing things, locking yourself in the bathroom then attacking me with a shower rod.”

  He set his head back on the ice and continued, “But I don’t blame you. You’d been drinking. You’re not yourself. Who knows what your boyfriend in San Diego did to you.”

  He lifted his head. I could only see the side of his face, the corner of his eye, but I saw plenty of rage. He gritted his teeth then threw the ice pack against the wall. Smack! Shards of ice shot out in all directions.

  He stood from the bed and lumbered to the door. He stopped at the threshold and, without looking at me, said, “Things will get better. You just need time.” He pulled something out of his breast pocket. When he turned to me, I saw that he had my phone in his hand. “By the way, I saw that you’ve got two text messages, one from a Christy and another from a Holly. They both want to know where you are.”

  He chuckled and put the phone back in his pocket. “I’m glad you didn’t tell anyone where you were going. That’s good. That will give us all the time you need.” He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him.

  20

  Axel

  The last time we’d all ridden in the SUV with Santiago at the wheel, we were on a midnight mission to save a damsel in distress, Gwen who needed us to come to her, to comfort her. At the time, I’d treated it like a game, a little role play. I hadn’t imagined that it would turn out to be a dress rehearsal.

  Now, we were riding in the SUV, with Santiago at the wheel, on a midnight mission. Gwen was in distress, and this time it was for real.

  I had no idea what kind of situation she was in, but I knew it couldn’t be good. The expression on the bartender’s face when Taylor suggested Gwen was in trouble did nothing to ease my mind. He knew more than he’d let on, and what he knew disturbed him.

  As we drove to the address the bartender had given us, no one said a word. I was grateful for that. I didn’t want anything to break my focus.

  When we arrived, Santiago made no effort to look for a parking space. Instead, he pulled the SUV onto the sidewalk and parked it on the lawn in front of the apartment complex.

  We filed out, quickly and orderly.

  Taylor found the building—it was behind the first row of buildings. With a flick of the wrist and a point, he instructed us to follow him. Unsurprisingly, the building’s front door was locked; an intercom and keypad mounted beside it.

  Taylor pressed a few buttons at random.

  Elijah and I searched for another entry.

  A voice came crackling through the intercom.

  “Sorry,”
said Taylor, “but the code’s not working.”

  I heard a buzz then a click, turned my head and saw Taylor opening the door. That was fast.

  He held the door open while we filed in, quickly yet quietly. We followed Taylor up the stairs, J.P. right behind him, and me right behind J.P.

  I didn’t know the address; I didn’t know what door to look for. But Taylor didn’t need any help. Without wasting a step, he led us down the corridor to the last door on the left.

  He motioned for us to come in closer. Once we were in place, he knocked.

  I put my ear to the door. I heard something, movement from inside. I nodded to Taylor. He knocked again.

  It was unmistakable: the sound of feet shuffling up to the door. They stopped; the door was not opened, and not another sound was made.

  Taylor looked at me. I motioned to the door with a nod, balled my hands into fists and stuck out my chest. I was ready for whatever was on the other side of that door.

  Taylor didn’t knock again like I expected him to. Instead, he spoke. “Michael, my name is Taylor. You need to open the door.”

  Footsteps shuffled away from the door, and quickly.

  Taylor looked at me then at the others. Axel put an index finger in the air, suggesting we give him a minute.

  That was about all I was willing to give.

  A moment later, the sound of footsteps came again from the other side of the door.

  Taylor knocked, more forcefully this time. “Michael, we have to talk.”

  “What do you want? I don’t know any Taylor.”

  Taylor took a deep breath. I, and the rest of the squad, tensed up and flexed.

  “Michael,” Taylor said calmly. “You’ve got three seconds to open the door.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then I’m coming in.”

  We heard the familiar click of a lock.

  The door cracked open. Michael peered out from between the crack.

  Taylor kicked the door wide open.

  He barged in. I followed close behind, and the rest of the squad close behind me.