by Meghan March
How to explain her new reality without pissing her off to an incredible degree? Probably not possible. So Graham fell back on his standard M.O.—he ignored her question.
He plucked her off the bench, and when she protested, he said, “Worry about it in the morning.”
Ro was still sputtering when Conan shouldered the door to the locker room open and stepped out into the night. He strode across the camp, heading for a narrow building that had a solar light glowing next to the door.
He paused. “Open it, would you?”
Ro complied, grasping and turning the knob. Conan used his foot to push the door open and stepped inside the surprisingly well-lit room containing three sturdy-looking cots covered in crisp white sheets.
This was clearly the infirmary or clinic or whatever they called it. IV poles stood waiting for use next to the cots, and a steel instrument tray was pushed into the corner. Ro tried not to speculate about what kinds of injuries they expected to deal with that merited surgical tools.
A full complement of kitchen cabinets and countertops, complete with deep triple sinks, wrapped around two walls of the room. A closed door was visible in the far right corner. Beau sat in a leather executive chair, his boots propped up on a desk pushed up against the front wall. He put down the book he was reading when they walked in. Wait, was that World War Z? Ironic.
Dropping his boots to the floor, Beau appeared to be studying Ro in Conan’s arms. Ro assumed it was out of character for Conan to be carrying women all over hell and back. Which was surprising, given his recent penchant for it.
“Drop her on the cot. I’ll wrap her up and get you an ice pack. Where you putting her tonight?”
Ro was wondering that as well. Although, all she really cared was that there was a bed. Sleeping on the ground this last week, even with her sleeping bag, had sucked. She’d gotten soft over the years. Roughing it for a week without indoor plumbing or an air mattress used to be a regular occurrence in the Callahan family.
Conan sat her down on the cot closest to the door and moved to lean up against the counter, ignoring Beau’s question. Beau rolled the chair to a cupboard and grabbed an ace bandage and rolled over to the cot. He didn’t comment on her borrowed clothes as he surveyed her swollen ankle. An ugly bluish-black bruise had formed, stretching from her heel around to the top of her foot.
“I know you think I’m full of shit, but if you start walking on this too soon, you’re going to do more damage.” Beau said this as though he knew she was going to argue with him.
“How long? Really.”
He studied her ankle. “Hard to know exactly, but you’d be better waiting a week rather than a day.”
“Two days.”
Conan chose that moment to join the conversation. “This isn’t a negotiation. You want to be hurt worse?”
“You can’t tell me that if you or one of your commandos sprained an ankle, you’d have him on bed rest for a week. That’s ridiculous.”
Conan inclined his head. “Fair point. But we’ve got crutches here that fit us and any of my commandos would be on desk duty until Beau gave him the all clear. Especially now. In case you haven’t noticed, little girl, everything’s changed, and it’s going to keep changing, and not for the better. You need to get smart … and quick.”
“You condescending asshole. You think I don’t know that everything’s changed? While you’ve been hiding here in your little fortress, I’ve been out there,” Ro pointed toward the outside, “and I’ve seen it firsthand. I know it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better. Do you think I don’t realize that? Do you think that maybe I have a damn good reason to be in a hurry to get where I’m going, and that’s why I’m trying to get there as quickly as I can? People are confused right now, and scared, and hoping someone’s coming to save them. It’s not going to be too much longer before everyone gets desperate and violent, and it’ll be survival of the fittest, or survival of the best armed and most ruthless. You better believe I’m going to be tucked away safe when that happens.” She looked toward the wall, not wanting to meet Conan or Beau’s eyes after her speech.
Conan pushed off the counter and stood before her. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. Beau kept wrapping her ankle.
“At least we can agree on one thing: you need to stay safe and in one piece.” His tone was implacable. “You might not agree with my methods, but at least we’ll agree on the result.”
Ro tugged her chin out of his grip and crossed her arms. “Whatever. I’ll stay tonight and regroup in the morning.”
Stubborn woman. That’s what she was. A stubborn ass woman. After Beau had wrapped her ankle and handed her an ice pack, Graham didn’t waste any time scooping her up and carrying her to the cabin he shared with Zach and depositing her on his bed. He could have put her on the couch, or even in Zach’s bed, but the possessive part of him wouldn’t let him put her anywhere but his bed. Jesus. If he didn’t rein himself in, he’d be pissing on her like a dog marking his territory. And that wasn’t a kink he understood.
“Please tell me this isn’t your bed.”
“No can do, sweetheart. It’s this or the ground.” Graham felt a twinge of guilt for lying, but it had been a long fucking day, and he wasn’t up for another argument with her. He had three men out in the field, and his dick needed some attention. And he didn’t think he’d be successful in convincing her to take care of it. Though the thought had his cock twitching.
He lit the oil lamp that sat on the nightstand while he waited for her to explode.
“Look, Conan—”
Graham couldn’t help the chuckle that came out. He knew he hadn’t given her his name. He wasn’t big on offering information, let alone personal details. He supposed Conan was marginally better than calling him asshole.
“It’s Graham, not Conan. Graham Buchanan.”
“What, no rank and serial number?”
“Not anymore, sweetheart.” Graham liked her sassy attitude. This one could definitely hold his interest past morning. And she’d certainly already charmed Zach. But Zach was a sucker for all pretty women.
“I thought once a Marine, always a Marine?”
Graham’s gaze snapped to her face. Had he been wrong? Had she really been bait? Fuck. He needed to know once and for all.
He leveled his don’t you fucking lie to me stare at her. “I’m going to ask you one time, and you better tell me the whole fucking truth or you won’t be leaving this room … who sent you?”
She met his stare head on. “What are you talking about? No. One. Sent. Me. Are you dense?”
“Then how do you know I served in the Corps?” Graham’s voice had taken on the deadly quiet tone he generally reserved for interrogations. But that didn’t seem to stem her attitude.
“Are you serious? It’s obvious you’re military … or were. Everything from the camo paint to the M4 to sending guys out for fire watch to the way you make your bed! And I didn’t know you were a Marine. It’s just something my dad always says. You know, ‘There are no former Marines?’ So back the fuck off.” Graham could almost feel her grinding her teeth as she said the last words.
He opened his mouth to speak when his radio squawked.
“The boys are coming in fast. They’ve got a fourth. Being carried in by Cam. G-man, you copy?”
Graham grabbed the radio but locked eyes on Rowan when he responded, “Roger that. Male or female?” He’d taken out the earpiece after his accidental soaking and turned up the volume, so she was hearing the report, too.
“Female.”
The word got her attention, and comprehension seemed to dawn. Her mouth dropped open. Speechless. Graham would bet a decent amount of money that it didn’t happen often. He also felt a warm rush of triumph—she wasn’t bait. Which meant that his instincts weren’t going to shit, and even better, she was fair game.
Still staring at her, he replied, “Roger that. I’m on my way.”
He clipped the radio
to his belt, looked at Rowan, and did something he rarely did—apologize.
“I’m sorry. I have reasons, but I won’t make excuses. You good to bed down for the night?”
She looked stunned. “Yeah, I’m good. Did you ...” she trailed off. Apparently when she was stunned, she couldn’t form complete sentences. But Graham knew exactly what she was asking.
“Yeah, I did.”
Graham left a speechless Rowan in his cabin and headed toward the command post. Jonah, the only married member of the team, would be waiting for him. Graham looked down at his watch; it was closing in on oh-one-hundred. Jonah had a bed with a warm, willing woman waiting for him, but tonight, so did Graham. Well, she was warm, at least. Willing was a stretch at this point.
Graham made his way to the concrete structure they’d built to house the command post and the armory. It was centrally located and was one of the few buildings that weren’t already on the premises when he’d inherited the ranch from his uncle.
Sure enough, Jonah was standing outside the door waiting for Graham.
“Perfect timing, G. They’re just coming in the west bolt hole.”
“If she’s in the shape I suspect, then she needs to go straight to Beau to get checked out,” Graham replied.
“Already radioed him.”
Three of the men—Alex, Jamie, and Cam—moved soundlessly into the compound. Alex and Jamie broke off and headed toward Graham and Jonah while Cam, woman in arms, headed toward the clinic.
Alex and Jamie were grim-faced when they stopped in front of Graham and Jonah. Graham didn’t speak, just waited for the report. Jamie slung his M4 over his shoulder and pulled a bandana out of his pocket and started to wipe the paint off his face. Alex white-knuckled his rifle. Neither spoke for a long moment, and then Jamie, normally the happy-go-lucky one of the group said, “G, you know we’ve seen some fucked up shit in our day, but I’ve never felt so good about killing someone as I did tonight. I don’t know exactly what they did to that girl, but she’s practically catatonic.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“That all of them?” Graham needed to know if they needed to be ready for someone seeking revenge.
Alex answered, “I don’t think so. There were four trailers. Seems like there should have been more.”
“You torch the trailers?”
Jamie nodded. “We lit those fuckers up like the Fourth of July.”
Alex was still shaking his head, as if picturing what they’d seen.
“They had her chained up like an animal, not that she could probably move anyway. She’s in a bad way, man. I don’t know if she’s going to make it. She was covered in blood and mud and God only knows what else. She looked like she’d been beaten almost to death. But if I had to guess, the physical injuries might be the easier ones to heal.”
Graham nodded. For all the shit they’d done and seen, violence against women bothered them the most. Zach especially, and with good reason. The human psyche was a fragile thing, and there was no telling if she’d be able to pull herself through it.
“You get a name from her?” Graham asked.
Jamie shook his head. “Lia, I think. She didn’t say much. Just went limp as soon as Cam picked her up and told her she was safe.”
Ro waited until she heard the door latch before she slid to the edge of the bed. If they’d rescued that woman, Ro was damn sure going to see her, and no one could stop her. Not that she would actually ask for permission. She knew Conan—Graham—would’ve shut her down hard if she’d gotten over her shock quickly enough to ask before he’d left.
The clinic wasn’t that far across the camp. She could hobble there. It might not be pretty or quick, but she could make it. Right?
Ro hopped out of the cabin on one foot, using the wall for support. Once she made it outside, the distance between the trees seemed to multiply. Her right quad was burning from bearing the brunt of her weight and the awkward hops. Ro leaned up against a thick oak, pausing to catch her breath before hopping forward again. So ... the clinic was a little farther away than she’d thought, and her balance was suffering with her fatigue. Stumbling, she put the full force of her weight on her injured ankle to catch herself, sending hot streaks of pain shooting up her leg. Holy shit, that hurt like a mother. Not doing that again.
After what seemed like an hour, Ro leaned up against the wood-sided wall of the clinic and could make out Beau’s black hair and another man through the window. Thank fuck it wasn’t Graham. Somehow she knew he’d make her regret this little jaunt. She pulled the door open and hobbled inside.
Beau was rolling around on his stool, grabbing supplies, and Ro could make out a blanket-covered form with a mass of brownish hair on the pillow. She couldn’t be sure of the actual color, as the brown seemed to be mostly from dirt. At least Ro hoped it was dirt. The woman’s face was a swollen mass of overlapping, multi-colored bruises; she looked like she was wearing a Halloween mask. A man with buzzed light brown hair was standing over her. Ro swallowed back the rising bile. She just hoped that her interruption of the creepy trio had saved the woman from further abuse.
“Fuck me running. Are you serious right now?” Beau was looking at Ro with disbelief. “How the hell did you get here? And don’t tell me you walked.”
His snapping blue eyes dared Rowan to lie to him … or maybe they were daring her to tell the truth.
“I—” Ro started to explain—something, somehow—when two large hands wrapped around her waist from behind and yanked her off her feet. Before she could make a sound—or complain about being manhandled—a deep voice filled her ear.
“I’d like an answer to that same damn question, woman.”
Ro could feel his hot breath on her ear and against her neck. He was holding her suspended, his hands nearly spanning her waist. And Ro didn’t have a tiny waist.
Before her thoughts could head fully into the gutter, he spoke again, “I’m pretty damn sure I left you in my bed not fifteen minutes ago and told you to bed down for the night.”
Ro squirmed in his hold. “Seriously? You didn’t see this coming? You honestly thought you could tell me to stay put and I would? Especially after what you told me?”
As Rowan’s voice started to get louder, the man with the high and tight buzz cut stalked over.
“Keep your voice down. Or do you want to wake her up and scare the shit out of her?”
Ro looked down, chastened. “I’m sorry. He just ... pisses me off. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me you didn’t walk over here yourself,” Graham said in a low, quiet, and quite frankly, scary as hell tone.
Ro figured he meant that rhetorically, and didn’t bother answering.
“I swear—” Graham started, but Beau interrupted.
“This isn’t the place to be having this discussion.”
“I just wanted to see—” Rowan began to speak, but shut her mouth when Graham threw her over his shoulder, caveman-style.
“Now you’ve seen. And we’re leaving.”
Turning her face away from his black shirt, Ro could see the amused smirks on the faces of Beau and the other men. Assholes. Every last one of them.
Rowan struggled against Graham’s hold as soon as they were outside, which added fuel to the fire that was Graham’s temper. He’d always thought of himself as relatively even-tempered, but this girl somehow knew exactly how to rile him up.
“I oughta beat your ass for that stunt, woman. What the fuck were you thinking? How the hell did you get from my cabin to the clinic? Fly? Wait—don’t answer. I don’t want to know, because then I will beat your ass so red you won’t be able to sit for a week.”
She stopped struggling. Smart girl. Graham strode through the dark, up to the door of his cabin, and wrenched it open. “Now let’s try this again.” He stalked through the front room, into the bedroom, and dropped her, not as carefully as before, onto the bed. “You … stay put. Sleep. Get me?”
Graham
didn’t know what pissed him off more—that she’d disobeyed a direct order, which didn’t happen often to him, that she’d probably injured herself more by hobbling over to the clinic on her own, or that Ro’s face had been as white as the sheet covering the injured woman when she’d caught sight of her bruised and battered face. Graham had never wanted to wrap someone up and protect her from all of the bad shit in the world before, but he was becoming acquainted with the feeling. Rowan didn’t need to see that. If the little bit he’d learned of her character already was any indication, she was going to beat herself up for not mounting a rescue effort herself.
Graham leaned over Rowan on the bed, where she was now propped up on the pillows. His bed. His pillows. Graham braced himself with an arm on either side of her body and spoke quietly.
“I know what you think you were doing, but you shouldn’t have. You hurting yourself worse won’t help her any. You need to worry about Rowan.” When he finished speaking, his face was only inches away from hers. He could feel her breathing, which had quickened. In the yellow flicker of the oil lamp, her pupils were dilated and Graham’s gaze was drawn to her tongue as it darted out to swipe across her bottom lip. He groaned and started to pull away. His movements were halted when Rowan’s hands tangled in his hair and dragged his head down to her mouth.
Rowan didn’t know what kind of craziness had possessed her, but in that moment, she had to kiss him. She had to have his lips on hers, if only to block out reality for a minute. As wrong as it seemed, his caveman-like actions, his protectiveness, and his quiet words, had her body softening and readying itself for him.
And although Ro might have started out in control of the kiss, he didn’t let her keep it. One of the hands that he’d used to brace himself had moved to cradle her face, angling her so he could cover her mouth more fully with his. He slanted his lips as his tongue sought entry. He slid his knee between her legs, and his hard thigh rubbed against her center, sending flares of pleasure though her, making her gasp. When she opened, he conquered. Tongues tangling and body clenching, Ro dug her nails into his scalp. Graham growled, pulling her up and into him. Then a throat cleared, Graham jerked away, and she was grasping at air.