He wasn’t big and cut, but then again, she hadn’t been expecting that. His limbs were long and thin, the kind that you had to feel to know how strong they really were. His torso was lean, no bumps and ridges of muscle. That stomach showed tone, though. The muscles weren’t round-bodied, they were flat and his skin sunk in to show all the sections. When he sat on the other side of the bed, a huge black fist was visible on his back, taking up as much of the canvas as it could. It was beautifully detailed. She wondered if there were fingerprint ridges in the pad of the thumb that was facing her way.
There were two thumps and she assumed those were shoes hitting the ground. Next, he stood and undid his belt without turning around, but then he paused and spoke over his shoulder to her. “Sorry, Momma. I don’t wear underwear. Should I keep these jeans on?”
Her throat ran dry at that, then her brain kicked in. She had two kids in this house, the youngest of which woke early at times and came running to her mom’s bed.
“Does that door lock?” he asked, reading her mind.
“Yeah.”
He padded back to the door and she checked out his feet. Manly, knobby toes. She liked them.
“Are you looking at my feet?”
Busted, she affected an innocent look. “What? Me? Feet? What for?”
His grin was beautiful as he leaned over to turn off the bedside lamp. “You wanna see the size of my cock, just say the word. Don’t go by my feet.”
She began to giggle, then covered her face. She sounded like an idiot.
“Momma, kiss before I turn this off.”
She uncovered herself, letting him lean down. The kiss was sweet, gentle, then the light clicked as the room plunged into darkness. She listened to his footsteps, the rustle as he dropped his jeans, more as he slid into bed. The mattress shifted in an unfamiliar way, and reality came over her again. A man was in her bed.
“Good night, Momma.”
She smiled up at the darkened ceiling. “G’night, Knuckles.”
Chapter Seventeen
In the distance car alarms were squawking. That was the only sound cutting through the ringing in his ears as his boots picked their way across broken rubble and dust. It didn’t even look real: the baked stones pale on the outside, a slightly darker almost-yellow on the inside. And he could only see the inside because they were blown to shit.
His foot kicked a few out of his way, reducing a knee-high pile by half to make his way over it. He blinked a couple times, then wiped at his temple in irritation. His glove came away red.
He raised his head, squinting at the sun. Jesus, that shit was ridiculous in this fucking country. It baked you dry in your camo, so dry you didn’t even know you were shriveling.
And now he was fucking leaking besides.
The ringing continued, nearly knocking him off balance as he stepped over the rubble. On the opposite side his foot skid forward and he went down on one knee. He must really be hurting; that knee hitting rock didn’t even register. Then he did tumble forward, catching himself on both hands and the other knee.
“Fuck,” he spat out. At least, he thought he did. He couldn’t even hear it himself.
He flopped onto his ass, yanking his foot free of the pile that used to be a security wall, and as he held the ankle of that boot he froze, staring at that opening he’d rent in the bricks.
An arm. A small, chubby arm. Short. Wrapped up in a white cloth. A sleeve.
He stared, but the arm remained as still as the rock that served to kill and catacomb. Just a child, impossible to tell if it was a boy or girl. Just an arm.
Death was here.
He gasped and scurried back like a crab, managing to find his feet eventually. He couldn’t catch his breath. He pulled at the neck of his jacket, then yanked the chin strap of his flak helmet and let it hit the ground. Unlike the air, his scalp was damp and sweaty. If there had been wind, it might have been refreshing. But there was nothing but heat, and it was already feeling like the sweat was boiling in place.
“Fuck. Fuck.”
He had to get it together. Where had he been? What was he doing?
Three people ran by, and he jumped, watching them as both hands tightened on Claire, his assault rifle. Just civilians, the one in the middle supported on both sides by friends. From the hip down on the left, he was missing his leg, sprinkling a trail of blood behind.
Where the hell was his unit?
Gripping his AK tighter, he scurried into the center of the destroyed road, splitting his brain power between breathing evenly and scanning the area. Not a single US soldier to be seen, just people running in all directions. All civilians. No desert camouflage anywhere.
His heart rate increased, bringing the high-pitched squelch in his ears to a new chord. A more painful one. He covered his right ear, wincing and shouting, out of desperation to hear anything other than this fucking noise.
Still, he searched. He’d been coming from the south, so he headed back that way. He skirted the rubble, sticking to the center of the street. A car was on fire, those intense flames a mere drop in the bucket compared to this fucking sun.
The opposite end of the block was obscured with black smoke. Fuck, he remembered where he was. Security outside the Iraq Foreign Ministry. Easy gig. Green zone.
The side of the road was suffering a major identity crisis. Apparently, now it wanted to be a new swimming pool; the crater had to be eight feet deep. The smoke hitting his nostrils was chemical and acrid, making him cringe again. Burning metal and fuel.
What the fuck was wrong with his head? How close was he to that blast?
He’d been talking to someone. Who was that? Anthony. Anthony something from Detroit, big black guy. Funny as hell. Where the hell was he?
He moved through the smoke carefully. That was probably stupid; he had no idea what was on the other side, and the shit coated the inside of his mouth and throat so thickly he was instantly hacking, only increasing that painful pressure in his ears.
The plumes of black parted with his footfalls, and he saw more madness on the other side. More bodies, looking like mere bloody rags dropped on the street and left to sit as they fell. More screaming, loud enough he could clearly hear it. A woman wailing, on her knees, a body flopping lifeless in her arms. Another dead child.
He had to look away, finally catching sight of Anthony. The big guy was nodding, talking to an Iraqi security force captain, and gesturing to the other side of the huge inferno he’d just passed by. The captain was nodding, motioning for more men in the same uniforms to follow him.
Knuckles kept walking, so fucking relieved to see someone he knew he damn near started weeping like a bitch. As he approached, Anthony turned his way, frowned, then his face changed. He was saying something but Knuckles couldn’t hear a word. Knuckles frowned and broke into a jog, and Anthony did the same, still talking. But all Knuckles heard was an internal fire alarm going ape shit.
He did feel a quick percussion close to his right ear, mere millionths of a second before Anthony’s head exploded in a mist of crimson and bone. High-powered sniper rifle, somewhere high up.
Instinct made him duck just as a hot jolt wrenched him a hundred-eighty degree, flinging him down on his back. A loud ping sent concrete up by his feet, and again he was scrambling backwards on hands and feet, shoving his way behind all of eighteen inches of broken brick cover from a collapsed building. Rounds hit the pile behind him, making him shout even though he couldn’t hear it. But he could certainly feel it. The pressure shooting out of his chest, his throat constricted in terror, vocal cords rasping, making another hacking fit start over.
Where was everyone? Shit. He was alone. No, not this, not right now. He couldn’t be alone like this.
Tears streaked down the sides of his face from his eyes, and when a pair of hands gripped his shoulders he bellowed, and that he could hear, striking out at whatever was around him before opening his eyes.
Danielle looked alarmed but deflected his hands easily
. He immediately stilled, awareness sinking in with immense relief.
That dream hadn’t haunted him in years. That was the memory that drove him into the bottle, and when that couldn’t knock him out anymore he dove headlong into heroin. On the occasions where he was trying to get clean the DTs would have him hallucinating, and he was right back there on that burning, crushed street. Trouble with hallucinations was you couldn’t wake up from them
Knuckles covered his face with both hands, the racing heart veering more towards embarrassment now. Safe from the nightmare he realized he’d woken up next to someone he liked, cared about, shouting, and flailing like a cliché movie soldier.
“Any chance you can forget about that?” he muttered, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“No way. That was...that was from something that happened to you, Knuckles.” Her voice was soft and far too fucking understanding.
“Yeah.” No point in lying. She’d been married to a PTSD case that couldn’t keep his shit together, to the point where he’d hurt her in the worst way possible. Remembering that conversation from the night before he sighed and pushed himself up on his arms to a sitting position. He cracked his jaw, then he took in the sight that was Danielle Prince in the morning.
Her hair was fluffed up funny on one side, and as he looked at her she fidgeted with it, noticing his gaze. He had to smile, noting that she hadn’t gotten dressed yet. Kneeling on the bed, covers pushed back, still in that little T-shirt and a pair of pink panties.
Not black, not cherry red, not hot pink with black lace. Pale pink cotton panties. In spite of the nightmare remnants his cock stirred, eyes on her breasts.
“Knuckles, do you wanna talk about it?”
“No.” He met her eyes now. “No point. I haven’t had that nightmare in years.”
“Any idea what brought it back?”
He shrugged a shoulder, scratching his chest. “No. Just...” Then he frowned. “Well, maybe. Yesterday I met a guy that had served, too. I was talking to another soldier for the first time since Chip died.”
“Chip?”
“A brother. A Red Rebel.” Another yawn. “I said my unit name like I was reciting my birth date. I can’t remember the last time I really thought about that so specifically.” Jesus, he was a real Chatty Cathy today. “But did I wake you? I’m sorry.”
She looked down at her hands, shoved between her thighs. “No. I was just watching you. You moved around a lot, then you were shouting.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I really haven’t had that nightmare in a while.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I can go.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, shifting to the side, and shoving her legs under the blankets. “Just get your head right. It’s fine.” She stretched out on her side, hands under her pillow, looking up at him with honest concern.
Usually that look would shrink his skin. From Danielle, his heart warmed and he mirrored her position, chuckling as she grinned at his acceptance of her suggestion.
“Did you sleep well?”
She nodded, licking her lips. “I did. Thank you for talking with me.”
He shrugged again. “No sweat, Momma. Told you I care about you. If I just wanted to fuck you, I wouldn’t have made friends with your girls.”
She giggled. “You haven’t made friends with Grace. At all.”
“Are you kidding? She was calling me an asshole the whole time I was dragging her drunk ass home. You only say that to people you like.”
“Sure.”
Knuckles went still as her giggles stopped. He reached out, took her hand, and ran his thumb over the back slowly.
“So, strange...waking up like this.”
Danielle wrinkled up her nose. “Why?”
He shrugged his free shoulder. “Just... usually I wake up alone.
“Do you prefer to wake up alone?” she asked, looking down at their joined hands.
“Not at all,” he assured her, shaking her fingers. “It feels good.”
Her smile was glorious and he knew he was beaming right back at her.
Just as it occurred to him that she wasn’t wearing very much, and the bed was so warm and comfortable, the door knob rattled briefly, followed by a thump.
Danielle let go of his hand and covered her mouth just as a voice in the hall cried “Hey! Why is the door locked?”
“It’s Annie,” Danielle said unnecessarily, throwing back the covers to get up while also uncovering him and getting an eyeful of what else was getting up. The flush in her cheeks was adorable, as was the pink on the tips of her ears.
“I guess I should get dressed,” he drawled, rolling to his back, and stretching.
Danielle’s eyes stayed on his morning wood she climbed off the bed. “Yeah, it’s not really a house of nudity,” she murmured wryly, cheeks coloring as she pulled a pair of loose lounge pants up her pale legs.
“Okay,” he granted, swaying his legs off the side of the bed. “Should I jump out the window?”
“I don’t think that is necessary. There may be some awkward questions but—”
His grin slipped. “If you want, I’ll go out the window.”
She stilled, a sweatshirt at the ready on her arms, about to be pulled over her head. “No,” she said, giving him a curious look. “It’s okay, Knuckles. Annie’s smart but she is still young.”
“You’re sure?”
The cotton covered her head, then she pulled the hem down, smiling broadly. He liked the look of her, happy and mussed from sleep. He wished she was mussed from fucking.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll go out first, explain to Annie we have a guest for breakfast.’
“Grace will give me the gears.” Where the hell had he dropped his jeans?
“Grace won’t be up for another five hours, methinks. And when she does appear I think she’ll be a bit too green to judge.”
Jeans tagged, Knuckles fed his feet into them and hopped them up over his hips. As he did, he knew he was grinning happily. Who know he’d find this domestic discourse so…pleasant?
Jeans must have made him decent enough for Danielle to open the door, then she left. The door stood open. He found his thermal without trouble and made his way down the hall. Around a corner and he was in the kitchen. Annie looked up from the kitchen table where she sat across from Danielle. For the first time since he’d met her, Curly wasn’t smiling.
“Morning,” he said, trying on a grin.
Her mouth screwed up tight and she turned away from him, and Danielle sighed as she met his gaze.
“Annie, “she said gently, reaching out a hand. “I like Knuckles, And I know you do, too. But for grown-ups it’s...different.”
No answer. Knuckles frowned, the tension in the room becoming thick.
“Curly,” he said, hand on her shoulder. With a jolt, she ducked out from under it, got to her feet and darted out at the kitchen, down the hall, then her door slammed.
“Shit,” Danielle breathed, running a hard through her hair.
“What’s going on?” he asked, hands on the back at Annie’s chair. “What’s that about?”
Danielle fidgeted, both hands. “I think…I think she’s had a crush on you, Knuckles.”
“What?”
“She’s young but she’s still a girl and—”
“Momma, I never did anything.”
“No, I know. “She gave a small smile. “It is just on her side. Annie can be sensitive at times…”
“Should I talk to her?”
Danielle shook her head. “Let her cool off a bit. I’ll make chocolate chip pancakes.”
He parked his ass in Curly’s chair. “Oh. Those sound good.”
“I can make a couple extra,” she teased, hands on his knees.
He smiled, but this revelation about Annie was surprisingly worrying. “I feel like I gotta talk to Annie.”
She shook her head, “Give her a few minutes, trust me. She is a thinker. She’ll argue this out on her own, then you�
�ll be BFFs again.”
“I feel bad.”
“I know. But she’ll be all right.”
His burner shook his ass cheek, and he leaned sideways to dig it out of his pocket. “I’ll trust your Mom knowledge then.”
“Thank you.”
He flipped the phone open as he snuck a quick kiss, then leaned back. “Yeah?”
“How quick can you get here?” Jayce.
“Two minutes. What’s up?”
“Guidinger just walked in. Wants a meeting. Buck and Tank are on their way in.”
At the mention of that prick his stomach tightened. “Okay. I’m on my way.” As he hung up he caught the disappointment on Danielle’s face. “Sorry, Momma. Duty calls.”
She nodded, but she’d leaned back. Not meeting his eyes.
“Hey, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He’d heard plenty of men bitching about their old ladies wanting them around more often. Now that he was in that position he had no idea what their problem was. He liked that she was going to miss him.
“Momma,” he sang softly, ducking his head to get a better look at her face. “Hey. I am not leaving because I want to. Believe me. Annie in her room, Grace still passed out, I’m thinking if it were up to me I’d have you back in your room so fast it’d make your head spin.”
When her chest heaved, he knew he was winning her over.
“But I got to go take care of something. So, that little flutter you got right now, you keep that simmering until I’m back. Yeah?”
She shook her head and gave a laugh. “What makes you think I’m...fluttering?” Now she looked him in the eye, and she might have been a bit pissed off but he liked that, too. Danielle Prince was no push over.
He leaned his head forward, and her nostrils flared a bit. But that stubborn set of her jaw stayed put. “Would it be okay if I kept my flutter going, too?”
Now she laughed, and it was not sarcastic. Her head went back, and he even saw the fillings in her molars. Big, out-loud laughter. “You’re not fluttering,” she sputtered, resting her chin in her hand.
He got to his feet, leaned over her to the point where she had to rest against the back of her chair, and brought his face close. “Don’t doubt it, Momma. I’m hurting here, too.” Then he kissed her, bending her back slightly in her chair, smiling when her hands went around the back of his neck. Her tongue made the first move, and it was him that had to pull back. “Damn,” he murmured against her lips.
Shelter (Red Rebels MC Book 5) Page 18