Saving Grace (Misty Grove Book 2)

by Paige, Victoria

  Yes, they were definitely discussing The Reaper tonight and putting that fucker permanently out of their lives.

  *****

  They’d spent most of the drive back in silence. The relief of having Grace back was shadowed by what was still ahead of them. How would his wife handle her abduction? Matt had seen the room where The Reaper held Grace. The CSI tech had been bagging Grace’s pajamas. There were ropes on the bed, a ripped shirt on the floor, and she’d been dressed in that fucker’s shirt. Fury ratcheted up inside him again, but he managed to beat it back. All that mattered was sitting right beside him—the woman he loved to distraction.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to protect you.”

  “Don’t—” Grace cut in sharply. She took his right hand from the steering wheel and held it on her lap. “Please don’t blame yourself, baby,” she said tenderly. “I survived. You saved me and killed that psychopath.”

  Matt didn’t say anything.

  “Are you going to get in trouble for killing Ric?”

  His jaw tightened again at her familiarity with the kidnapper. Why couldn’t she just call him a psycho.

  “Trent said it’s going down as self-defense. I did stab that motherfucker with his own knife which he intended to use on me. Add to the fact we have one dead deputy and a couple more injured. No one’s sorry to see The Reaper gone, but Trent will still need to take my official statement.”

  “Matt, about Ric …”

  “Not here,” he growled. He kissed the back of her hand before letting it go to resume his grip on the steering wheel.

  “But …”

  “I need to get you safe—”

  “But Ric is dead and the Carillo Cartel should be thankful to you—”

  “From me, Grace.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “I’m a hair trigger away from losing it, gypsy,” Matt said quietly. “He nearly succeeded in taking you away from me. I can’t talk about him while I’m driving.” His face hardened as he glanced her way. “But make no mistake, once we get back to the loft, we’re talking about what happened.”

  “Matt, maybe we should wait for a few days to discuss this.”

  “No.”

  “What if I can’t talk about it just yet.”

  Fuck!

  Instead of pulling sharply to the shoulder, Matt slowed down before he parked the SUV on the side of the road. He slammed out of the vehicle though and walked to its front. He stared back into the car and could have kicked himself for putting the troubled look on Grace’s face. But dammit, she had to push the issue.

  Fuck!

  She opened the door and jumped down. Matt was grateful to whoever gave her a new shirt because he would have ripped The Reaper’s shirt off her, and fuck knows what else he would have done.

  “Get back in the car,” he ordered.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Grace snapped.

  “He took you from me!” Matt roared. “The heat cams on the drone,” he broke off as a wounded growl escaped from his throat. “I saw what he was doing to you and I was helpless to stop it!”

  Grace eyes widened, all color leaching from her face. “Nothing happened,” she whispered and his eyes drilled into hers. She looked away. Some shit definitely happened.

  Matt paced the front of the vehicle like a caged tiger, his voice turning guttural. “Don’t lie to me Grace. Don’t fucking lie to me.”

  He stopped walking, rested his hands on his hips and stared at the night sky. He exhaled deeply. Getting those troubling thoughts out of his head had restored a measure of equilibrium within him, but he was far from okay.

  “You’re right,” Grace concurred. “We need to talk about this at home. Not on the side of the road.” Without another word, she climbed into the vehicle.

  Matt saw Millie’s vehicle slow down beside them, but he waved the diner owner through, indicating that everything was fine. He got in beside Grace and they resumed their drive back to the loft in charged silence.

  When they arrived in Misty Grove, he felt her stiffen, and when he pulled up at the garage, her breathing had become ragged.

  “Roger?” she asked, her voice muffled as if clogged with tears.

  “His funeral is the day after tomorrow.”

  “He didn’t deserve to die.”

  “No. He didn’t,” Matt agreed. The pain of losing his friend pierced him where he was already vulnerable. He’d never felt this raw, like a blade had scraped him from the inside out.

  “His death was so senseless,” Grace’s voice hardened. “Makes me not regret that Ric killed that two-faced Cristiano. Does that make me a bad person?”

  Matt glanced at her sharply. This was so unlike her to be so cold. If there was one thing about Grace, she saw the good in people. Just like that guy in Dallas who had helped the accountant.

  Too much. This was getting too much for both of them. Something had to give.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Grace

  It was only when we entered the loft that everything hit me: watching Roger and Troy getting gunned down in front of me, Cristiano kidnapping me, and my subsequent abduction by Ric, Elliot’s betrayal and his bloody end, and, finally, Ric’s mind games. There was no amnesia this time to delay the horrific events of those last twenty-four hours that hit me full-force. The emotional toll drained my energy. I stumbled a few steps at the threshold, feeling lightheaded.

  My body began moving without me moving it. Matt had wrapped his arms around me and guided me to the couch.

  He sat me down and crouched in front of me, concern written all over his face.

  “Sit still. I’ll get you something to drink,” he said. Halfway toward the kitchen, he paused, and turned back to me. “Have you eaten anything?”

  “Just that energy bar one of the deputies handed me,” I replied. My stomach was in knots. “Water is fine.” For now, at least.

  Matt regarded me with grim contemplation before disappearing into the kitchen. He returned with a fruit yogurt cup and water.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Try a couple of bites. You might find your appetite,” he coaxed. He sat down beside me and pulled the foil top off the yogurt. He dipped a spoon in it and held it in front of my mouth.

  “I can feed myself,” I protested, trying to grab the yogurt and spoon from him, but he kept them out of reach.

  “Let me do this,” his voice scraped like gravel. “Please.”

  I relented and I was surprised that after the first few bites of blueberry yogurt, my stomach settled better.

  “I’m sorry I lost it in the car,” he said after I’d finished eating.

  I tensed, waiting for him to say more.

  His slate-blue eyes were intent. “We don’t have to talk about what happened tonight.”

  “But you want to.”

  A muscle ticked his jaw. “Yes. I was being unreasonable though. You’ve been through so much, and the last thing I should do is pressure you into telling me what had gone down with The Reaper.”

  “You weren’t being unreasonable,” I said quietly. “Sometimes it’s better to rip off the Band-Aid.”

  “Babe,” he said gently. “I was being unfair at least. You’re the one who that motherfucker terrorized …”

  “It’s just as hard for those left wondering,” I countered. “Matt, I get you, and I thought …” I inhaled raggedly and shuddered. Ric carving on my skin was nothing compared to that one memory I numbed myself to, but if I could move forward from this, I had to tell Matt.

  “Grace?”

  Matt’s face was etched in tense, expectant lines, his eyes were warm and encouraging, albeit alert.

  “He did things to me,” I whispered, meeting Matt’s gaze, but he remained remarkably stoic. And the words started flowing. I told him everything from the time I stabbed Ric and escaped him the first time, to when Elliot betrayed me.

  “That son of a bitch,” Matt hissed. I stopped talking and he cracked his neck to one side as if to re
lieve some tension. “Please continue.”

  After I told him how Elliot got killed, I stopped, not knowing how to tell Matt about what happened next.

  He sensed my hesitation and carefully took my hand. “Hey… you okay?”

  “I was covered in Elliot’s blood,” I said in monotone, my eyes were unseeing, my mind lost in a scene like a movie reel. “I felt detached after that.”

  “You were in shock,” Matt reminded me.

  “Ric brought me into the shower.” I ignored my husband’s strangled growl. It was now or never. If he looked at me differently after this, then so be it. “He stripped me.” My chest was splintering and my eyes burned. “His hands were all over my skin and I …” Matt’s grip tightened around my hand. “I didn’t fight him. I let him do as he pleased.” I looked at my husband then, and his eyes were ablaze with cold fury, his mouth flat. “Say something, Matt.”

  He visibly swallowed. “He touched you?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. I wasn’t prepared for Matt suddenly jumping to his feet.

  “Matt?” I started, pushing up from the couch.

  He walked right up to the wall by the bedroom, hauled back, and punched a hole through the drywall.

  “Matt!” I shouted just as he let loose and hit the wall again. I grabbed him around his waist, but he spun around. He gripped my shoulders and backed me against the wall. Trapping me with his body, he buried his face between my neck and shoulder, breathing heavily.

  “I failed you,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Please don’t blame yourself,” I begged. “As long as you won’t look at me differently, we can get through this.”

  He stared at me in confusion. “Look at you differently? What are you talking about?”

  I glanced away, but he cupped my cheek gently and tipped my chin so I was looking up at him.

  “Gypsy, I love you so much, it hurts,” he said huskily. “Did you think some sick bastard is going to change the way I feel for you?”

  “There was no penetration,” I rushed on, needing to make that clear. “He touched me between my legs, but that’s it, I swear,” I started to ramble.

  Matt held a finger to my lips. “Hush, babe,” he murmured soothingly. “You, back in my arms, are all that matters now.”

  “I felt like he’d tainted me.”

  Matt crushed me to him again. “Never think that,” he growled. “How could you think my feelings for you are that shallow?”

  A twinge of guilt pricked my chest for having doubted my husband. It might have taken Matt a while to figure out his feelings for me, but once he said he was all in, he meant it. I inhaled the essence of his skin. He smelled faintly of sweat, expensive scotch, and gun powder. All man. I felt safe again, but more than that, I needed to find out if my experience had damaged me in some way.

  “I want you to fuck me,” I whispered.

  Matt froze, raising his head and narrowing his eyes at me. “It’s too soon, Grace. Don’t force this. I was an asshole earlier. Let’s take this one day …”

  “Don’t let him take this from us, baby,” I said softly. “I want to know only your touch. Take his away. Please.”

  I knew my plea struck a deep chord inside him when resolve hardened his eyes. He nodded, reaching past me to open the bedroom door. Matt swept me up in his arms and carried me into the en suite bathroom. He lowered me on the counter space between the two sinks, his arms caging me on either side.

  There was burning possession in his gaze as he locked eyes with me. “I’m hanging on by a thread here, Grace. I may not be gentle.”

  “I don’t want you to be gentle,” I replied.

  “If you change your mind just say no. I’ll stop.”

  “I need you to reclaim me, Matt,” I begged. “Mark me as yours …”

  I gasped when he slammed his lips on mine. I clung to his shirt as his body pushed me back while his hands continued to grip the counter. Our teeth clashed viciously, and his tongue ruthlessly demanded every response from me. My shoes fell to the floor while he pulled my sweats off as well as my shirt.

  “What is this?” He growled, staring at the mirror. “He marked your skin?”

  “What does it say?” I asked nervously.

  “It’s an ‘Il’ and a small letter ‘m’.”

  “Il mio something maybe.” I instantly regretted my speculation for a feral look came over Matt’s face.

  “In the shower,” he barked, and I obeyed.

  He got in behind me, extending his arm to turn on all jets. The hot water scoured my skin in a cleansing mist. When Matt cupped my breasts, I stilled, suddenly feeling chilled. Shit. Maybe it was too soon.

  “It’s me, gypsy,” he whispered in my ear as if sensing my withdrawal. “Just me.” He squeezed my breasts and pinched my nipples. I could feel his restraint and his hardness. His cock pressed at the small of my back. “Remember when I made you come in the shower?” I whimpered at the memory. “Think of that, babe.” He turned my neck so he could kiss me, and as he devoured my lips, he palmed my left breast while he lowered his right hand and fucked me with his fingers. Pleasure flamed deep in my belly, growing steadily. My mind couldn’t think past my husband’s fierce possession. He never stopped kissing me, swallowing my moans of ecstasy as I fell apart in his arms. As the shudders of my release left me, I lost Matt’s fingers and the shower turned off. He quickly toweled me dry and carried me out of the bathroom.

  “Can’t risk you slipping on the tiles,” he muttered as more than two hundred pounds of pure man stretched on top of me. He lowered his head to feast on my breast, sucking the tip before swirling his tongue around the dusky nipple. He grew increasingly urgent, letting go of my boob and moving lower, kissing my belly button and then lower still.

  My fingers dug into his hair. “Matt …” I moaned in desperate anticipation. He nudged my legs apart and dove right into my drenched core. He flicked my clit and ran his tongue up and down my slit. He drove me to my second orgasm, more intense than the first. Without waiting for me to come down, he climbed up my body, pushed my thighs further apart and slammed inside me.

  “Only I get to taste you,” he growled as he pounded hard inside me. “Only I get to fuck you. Get me?”

  “Yes,” I gasped, my body arching as he reached between us to finger my swollen bundle of nerves, triggering a less intense, but longer climax.

  “Mine, Grace. You’re fucking mine.” And as I pulsed around him, I felt him swell and grow harder. He was close. His pumping turned erratic. “So sweet, so goddamned sweet.” His arms propping him up started to shake. I clenched around him and he let out a strangled groan as he shoved himself all the way inside me and came. Hot, jets of semen filled me. Matt didn’t stop thrusting and continued to pump until I milked every last drop from him.

  “Mine,” he whispered before he collapsed beside me and dragged me on top of him.

  Warmth and security blanketed around me. My husband had reclaimed me in every way.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Two weeks later

  Matt

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Why all the secrecy?”

  Matt glanced indulgently at his wife, grinning at the impatience written all over her face. They’d just come from the ranch where Doctor Ryan finally did an ultrasound on Grace’s belly. Although, he’d been so sure they’d be having twins, it turned out there was only one heartbeat. A very strong one at that. Two weeks ago, when the doctor informed them about the blood test results, she’d indicated a very typical pregnancy. This was good news as far as Matt was concerned. Grace never experienced morning sickness, and one wouldn’t suspect she was pregnant at all other than her voracious appetite that almost rivaled his own.

  This past fourteen days had been difficult. This visit with Doctor Ryan helped lift the veil of grief that had hovered over them with the death of Roger. Troy was also on the mend, having been released from the hospital a week ago.

 
Things had moved fast on the prosecution of Hector Vargas. Matt accompanied Grace to New York to meet with the U.S. Attorney handling the former cartel kingpin’s case. She handed over the flash drive, leaving Troy’s name off the list. This happened six days ago. This morning, they’d received news that the evidence from the memory stick could be used, and they’d organized a special task-force from DEA, FBI, and ATF to go down the list. Some they would use as witnesses; others they would arrest.

  As for his wife, Matt felt she’d done enough and he was relieved she had taken an indefinite leave of absence from the DEA.

  “Well?”

  Her voice pulled him out of his ruminations.

  “We’re almost there, babe.”

  He heard her long-suffering sigh and chuckled. Probably not a good idea to keep an eight-week pregnant lady in suspense what with her raging hormones. Thankfully, they’d reached their destination. Matt turned onto a wide, aggregate driveway until it stopped at a sprawling Frank Lloyd Wright inspired prairie-style home.

  “Matt, who lives here?” Grace asked quizzically. “Beautiful house.”

  “Do you like it?” he asked meaningfully.

  His wife’s mouth formed an “O” before settling into a dazzling smile. Her green eyes lit up and her face reminded him right then why he always wanted to make her happy. She hopped out of the vehicle before he could circle around to get her out.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask,” she laughed. “Is it yours?”

  “Just say the word, babe, and it’ll be ours,” he said.

  “Matt …” Grace whispered, her eyes turning suspiciously weepy.

  “Looks like you don’t like it,” he teased. “You’re crying.”

  That earned him a playful punch on his uninjured side as his wife quickly wiped away the moisture from her eyes.

  “Wanna check it out?” He grabbed Grace’s hand and pulled her beside him. “I figured living on top of the garage with all those fumes isn’t a place for a pregnant woman, not to mention raising kids could be precarious in that environment.”