Stranded (Auctioned Book 2)

by Cara Dee

  Gray was all smiles and asking about Isla, how she was doing, if they had babyproofed their townhouse yet, if they’d come up with a name… And when he wasn’t doing that, he found other ways to avoid Darius’s looks.

  He came by every night as usual but made it clear he was in no mood to talk. If Darius pushed, he’d leave.

  “You gotta let him go through this, Darius,” Ryan said one night over the phone. “You know that. You can’t protect him from that kind of anger.”

  “It’s gonna eat him alive.” Darius took a drag from his smoke and used the empty chair on his balcony as a footstool. “He’ll do something reckless.”

  “You brought me back when it was me. You’ll be there for him too.” Ry cleared his throat, and in the background, a baby cried. “Where’s Angel?” He spoke to someone, presumably Greg. “All right. Can you take him—hah, yeah. Thanks, love. I’ll be right there. Sorry about that, bro.”

  “No worries. Full house, eh?”

  “Not full enough.” There was a smile in Ryan’s voice. “Anyway, did you plant the bugs?”

  “Aye.” Other than the tracker in Gray’s phone, Darius had snuck a letter and the bottle cap into Gray’s bag. If—when—Gray split, he’d probably bring it, and he’d read the letter eventually. “Ordered three. I have one to spare just in case.”

  Ryan hummed. “And you’re sure he’s gonna run.”

  “Positive. He’s already shut out his family by lying to them, and he won’t talk to me.” Darius blew out some smoke and put his cigarette out in the cup on the table. “The counselor claims he’s ready to go home and start a more long-term thing with a head doctor there.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And he doesn’t seem too thrilled.” Darius had a theory about that. “Ry, if he feels alienated because of everything, wouldn’t that be a reason to avoid going back home? Maybe thinks he’ll feel even more distanced from it all.”

  “Plausible,” Ryan replied pensively. “You went through that, I remember.”

  “I did?” Darius scratched his jaw and squinted.

  “You kiddin’? You spent two months on my couch after that kidnapping in Turkey. You refused to see Willow and Elise.”

  Shit. Now, he remembered. Back then, he’d been new in the field, and every time something happened, he saw family members when he looked at clients. He’d brought two young sisters back to safety with their American mother; everything had gone off without a hitch. Then he’d been on his way home, and he’d felt like a stranger to the world around him. Not to mention he was terrified of seeing the sisters he’d saved in Willow and Elise, only with a less fortunate outcome.

  It wouldn’t have been the first time. His second field mission had given him issues with PTSD that he’d taken out on Lias, their youngest brother. He’d hovered, didn’t let him go anywhere on his own—in short, almost suffocated the kid. All because Darius had projected his fears.

  “Jesus Christ,” Darius sighed heavily. “I should’ve retired sooner than I did. I’m not the right person to help anymore.”

  “That’s quite a leap. What brought that on?”

  “The shit I’ve buried over the years,” Darius muttered. “Who am I to preach about taking things slowly and going through recovery properly when I never did it myself?”

  Ryan didn’t answer at first.

  Checking his watch, Darius noticed it was twenty minutes past two. Gray was usually here by now. Had he left—no…no, not yet. He’d told Agent Donahue he’d be there first thing in the morning for a final meeting. He was gonna do his best to describe the places he’d been held along the way.

  Darius was gonna be there too, but for another reason. They’d finally located the yacht off the shore where Darius and the others had been stranded. A briefing Darius wasn’t nervous about. It’d been almost three weeks. Whatever little evidence they hadn’t been able to cover was taken care of by now.

  “Maybe that’s why you need Gray, Darius.” Ry’s voice shook Darius back to the present, and he cocked his head. “Maybe you need to recover from this together. You said yourself this attachment you’ve formed for him is different from the other times. It’s a kid from home. You have buddies in common. Not to mention it’s been years since you were in the field before him. Maybe now you’re ready to unbury all that.” Fuck, I hope not. “I’m not saying you should leave it to him to rescue you—same way you can’t rescue him. But you can get help together.”

  He’d rather not, to be honest…

  The idea of seeking professional help made his skin crawl.

  “Maybe,” he muttered, humoring Ry. “We’ll see, I guess.”

  Twenty

  The day after, Darius arrived back at the hotel before Gray did, so he sat down outside the entrance and waited.

  Gray had never shown up last night.

  On the flipside, Darius now knew that the trackers worked fine. Two red dots had appeared in the app Ramirez had designed, showing Gray had been in the hotel area.

  A black SUV with tinted windows pulled up, and Darius straightened. Could that be—no. Instead, it was a family of four stepping out. Goddammit.

  “Mom, you promised it was going to be sunny,” a little girl complained.

  “I’m sure the sun will come out soon, my darling.”

  Dad was stuck with the luggage, Mom was fussing over the kids, the son was glued to his phone, and the daughter legit started crying because it might rain. Sweet fucking hell, no wonder Darius had never wanted a wife and kids and that whole…thing. Stealing cuddles from his nieces and nephews was one thing. This was another shitshow.

  Gray was in the next car with tinted windows that pulled up, thankfully. Door halfway open, he said something to the driver, nodded, then stepped out. Shoulders hunched, hood up. He closed the door and tucked his hands into the pocket across his stomach.

  “Gray.”

  He looked up, and that first reaction was everything. There was relief before his expression shuttered to become unreadable.

  “Hey,” he muttered. “I’m tired, so I’m gonna—”

  “We’re gonna talk.” Darius’s tone brooked no argument, even though he kept it patient and low. “It won’t be long. You can rest after.”

  “But—”

  “Let’s go.” Darius nodded toward the path leading to the beach.

  Gray sighed and made sure to show how reluctant he was.

  Sometimes, he really was a kid. Under better circumstances, Darius would’ve found it funny.

  “You didn’t come over last night.”

  “Yeah, sorry, I fell asleep.”

  Oh really, because it looked like he hadn’t slept at all.

  “How did it go today?” Darius opened the nearest gate to the beach and removed his shoes.

  “Swell,” Gray answered sarcastically. “Had a meeting after with the counselor who’s done with her evaluation—I mean, she’s been done for a while, but she wanted to set up her recommendations for long-term treatment. Cognitive therapy and something called EMDR for my PTSD—and Zoloft and some other shit I got prescribed today. I don’t know what EMDR is, though. I didn’t read about it in college.”

  Darius frowned. If he remembered correctly, a buddy had gone through EMDR sessions or whatever they were called. He’d had severe flashbacks triggered by sounds. “I think it’s a type of exposure therapy to alter your triggers or how you react, but don’t take my word for it.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Darius’s frown deepened. “Didn’t she explain what it was?”

  “Yeah, but I guess I tuned out.” Gray shrugged. “Was this what you wanted to talk about?”

  Jesus Christ. “No.” Darius suppressed a sigh and looked out over the empty beach, something they could thank the cloudy sky for. A storm was rolling in over the horizon, black clouds pushing at white ones. They had some time before it got here, though. “Let’s have a seat, knucklehead.”

  They walked closer to the water’s edge, crossing a sandy crest
that would offer at least a semblance of seclusion.

  Darius sat down first, Gray choosing to stand for a moment and stare at the water. He’d had the same apathetic expression after Jonas had died.

  “Tell me who you’re mad at.” Darius leaned back a little and planted his hands in the sand.

  “Who says I’m mad?”

  “Try again.”

  Gray huffed and kicked off his sneakers, then sat down with the stubbornest look on his face. “I feel weak, okay? It pisses me off. I almost had a panic attack because someone scraped a goddamn chair on the floor. Seriously. We were done with the session, and an agent pushes out his chair to stand up, and I nearly freak out. How pathetic is that?”

  Not one fucking bit. “Let’s see…” Darius scratched his chin on his shoulder as he worded himself. “You spent the day going over locations you’ve been held. Garage bays, storage units, warehouses, et cetera. You’re balls deep in memories from a time you didn’t know you were gonna survive. Consciously or not, you catalogue everything you see and hear. Pipes and plumbing, creaky floorboards, keys in locks, boots on concrete—” At that, Gray flinched. “Chairs scraping on linoleum floors… Gray, you’re not pathetic at all. You’ve just survived three months in hell. You gotta give it time.”

  “No, I gotta get stronger,” he argued. “I can’t even defend myself. Ninety percent of the time, I wanna hide under the covers with you as my bodyguard. The other ten percent of the time, that’s what I’m doing.” There wasn’t any time to take selfish pleasure in that; Gray pressed forward and included a pleading look. “You have to teach me, Dare. I’ve seen you in close combat. I’ve seen you fight. I wanna do that too. You never look scared.”

  Darius was plenty terrified, he’d only learned how to hide it.

  He was scared right now. Mainly because Gray had a point. Making himself stronger and more able would give him confidence. The problem was, Darius shared Gray’s needs. Ninety percent of the time, he wanted to hide under the covers, too, and be the knucklehead’s bodyguard.

  “Please, Darius.”

  God-fucking-dammit. There was no way Darius could actually say no. Everyone had the right to defend themselves, and if someone was gonna teach Gray, Darius wanted to be the one to do it.

  “You realize this won’t make the triggers go away, yeah?”

  Gray nodded. “But maybe I won’t be so chickenshit frightened of everything.”

  Darius couldn’t argue with that. “Okay. We’re going home soon anyway. We could meet up at Ethan’s gym—”

  “No!” Panic and anger flooded Gray’s eyes. “I wanna start now. Right now, right here. Teach me something. I can fight—I’ll prove it—but I can’t control myself the way you do. The way you handled those cartel fuckers—you were so fucking calm through it all. I was on the verge of panic the entire time.”

  This was quickly taking a turn for the worse. First of all, Gray couldn’t fight. Few people could. Even the most vicious grapple in a hockey rink—one that resulted in fractures and open wounds—was no proof of fighting skills. A bar fight, that was pathetic. Second of all, Gray wasn’t in the right mind-set to learn. If he had been hotheaded before, it had nothing on now. Part of fighting well was to lock away the emotions and act strategically.

  Gray tried another approach. He snuck closer and kissed Darius’s cheek and went for a lame joke. “Come on, gorgeous, don’t be a pussy.”

  Darius eased back a few inches and cocked a brow. “That won’t fly with me. You can’t goad me into this shit, Gray. That’s the difference between a fighter and someone who thinks with their feelings.”

  That struck a nerve. Or twenty. Gray scooted away and glared. “I get it. You don’t wanna teach me. You just wanna point out how incapable I am, that I don’t think right, that I act on emotions.”

  “You’re doing it right now.”

  Gray growled in frustration and shot to his feet. “Sometimes you’re fucking infuriating, Darius.”

  Wasn’t the first time he’d heard that, but no matter. He stood up too and wiped the sand off his hands. “I’ll teach you, but it’ll be on my terms—” To his shock, he was cut off when Gray turned on him with rage in his eyes and charged.

  “I’m not a fucking kid!” He threw his fist out and managed to catch Darius in the jaw. “If I say I’m ready, guess what! I’m ready!”

  What the actual… Darius blinked and shook his head, then cupped his jaw. He was completely fucking stunned, so it took a moment for the pain to spread. He groaned as it finally hit, and he flexed his jaw carefully.

  Gray thought it was a good idea to come at him again, but this time, Darius was ready. He caught the fist midair and glared. And squeezed. Hard.

  “Enough.” His voice was low and dangerously threatening. For one long second, Gray looked stricken. Darius took the silence as an opportunity to teach the little shit something. “A good fighter avoids the fight, Gray. It’s a last resort. It’s not a way to show whose dick is the biggest. It’s not a way to display strength or gain the upper hand. It’s not an outlet for kicks. It’s how you eliminate a threat. It’s the last punch that counts, not the first.”

  It didn’t take much to make Gray fall backward. Darius twisted his hand and shoved, and the kid ass-planted right on the sand. The murderous glare made a return, though he was still struck mute.

  “Have you heard of the IDF?” Darius squatted down in front of Gray, who shook his head. “It stands for the Israeli Defense Forces, and they’ve been teaching their soldiers Krav Maga for decades.”

  “I know what that is,” Gray muttered.

  Darius nodded once. “I trained with a former IDF soldier for nine years, knucklehead. What does that tell you?”

  “That you’re a slow learner?”

  Darius flattened his mouth, partly to hide his amusement. This kid didn’t stand a goddamn chance against his own smartass mouth. He had no filter whatsoever.

  “Maybe,” Darius allowed. “It could also mean two other things.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “One, you can’t defeat me. You can only learn from me. And two, my experience has given me enough knowledge to know that you’re not ready to fight.”

  “Did learning Krav Maga turn you into an arrogant piece of shit too?” Gray countered.

  All right, Darius had to admit it was difficult not to let Gray rile him up. God knew he was a motherfucking natural at it. Sweet Christ. Standing up again, he folded his arms over his chest.

  “When does a fight begin?” Darius asked.

  Gray rolled his eyes. “You already know my answer will be wrong, so why don’t you go ahead and tell me?”

  “It starts up here.” Darius tapped his temple. “By being able to read your opponent and know when and how to strike, the fight can be won before it even starts. Because it shows, Gray. You know you would think twice if you met me in a dark alley, and it’s not ’cause you’ve seen me fight. It’s not because I spend countless hours in a gym either, since I actually don’t.”

  “I get it,” Gray said irritably and stood up. “It’s a confidence thing. But you can’t say a mentality can defeat a fist. Look however cool you want, if I punch you again, you end up hurt.”

  “True,” Darius conceded, “but you won’t punch me again.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “It’s a fact.”

  Too easy. Gray was way too easy to get heated. As thunder rolled in over the ocean, Gray gnashed his teeth and flew at Darius, who simply moved to the side. And it didn’t end there. Gray attacked over and over, and Darius diverted each blow.

  “You started this fight, Gray,” he warned. “You gotta end it now. That’s a mind-set you need to adopt. If talking your way out of an argument isn’t an option—and if you can’t flee the site—you go all in, and you fucking end it. You hear me?”

  “Shut up!” Gray shoulder-checked Darius in the chest. “Fuck! Move!”

  Darius didn’t. Feet rooted firmly in the sand, he demonstrated how vulne
rable Gray had made himself in that position. “You never know if your enemy has a weapon. Look what you did.” He locked Gray’s neck behind his arm and planted a fist to Gray’s chest. “I would’ve been able to cut you wide open if I had a knife.” He drew the fist down Gray’s body, gave his stomach a halfhearted blow, then raised his hand to the kid’s face. “Two fingers, right here.” His thumb and forefinger hovered an inch away from Gray’s eyes. All while Gray struggled to get free.

  In Gray’s defense, he did manage to get an elbow in Darius’s stomach, which made it easier for Darius to go harder. The kid had to fucking learn. So he swiftly inserted a foot between Gray’s legs and shoved at his chest.

  Gray toppled over with a shout.

  It started to rain.

  “Come at me again,” Darius demanded. “You don’t quit once you’ve started, Gray. You go and you go until the opponent’s down. Does it look like I’m down?”

  “I hate you!” Gray yelled. Not one to give up that easily, he jumped up unsteadily and tried to punch Darius.

  “I see it coming,” Darius snapped. “Go faster, keep ’em comin’, don’t stop. Quick blows, aim for vulnerable spots. This ain’t martial arts with finesse, Gray. Take me out, goddammit. Throat, eyes, balls, neck—anything sensitive. Anything that hurts with minimum force. Don’t stop.”

  When Gray tried to kick, Darius grabbed the foot before it made contact with his groin and twisted.

  “Ow, motherfucker!” Gray went down hard and cried out, probably in fury more than hurt. A whimper was almost drowned out by a crack of thunder. The rain came down heavier, and Darius wiped his arm across his forehead.

  “You wanted this,” he growled. “Get the hell up and fight me.”

  “Why, so you can humiliate me more?” Gray dragged himself up and pushed back rain-slicked hair from his forehead. “Just say that I’ll always be too weak to defend myself. I can take it.”

  Thunder roared above them.

  Darius hated the look in Gray’s eyes. They were on the same side, goddammit. He wasn’t the enemy.