THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle

by Kristina Weaver

  I hold my breath and wait in tense silence as he thinks this over and then sighs.

  “Fine, I get that. But I promise you, Evie, I won’t give a shit about a damn thing if you don’t at least listen to me on what has to happen to keep you safe. I have a lot to do still, and if you want to get to those meetings, you’ll have to let me work.”

  All work and no play…

  Not in this lifetime, Mr. Peters, methinks you need some sex to remove that grumpy face, and I just may give it to you. All I need to do is some research.

  In the spirit of getting on with that, I rise and place my cup in the dishwasher.

  “I’m going to go work. Thanks for dinner. Spare blankets and pillows are in the hall closet.”

  Chapter Six

  Blaze

  The woman is an enigma, and I haven’t forgotten at all or let it escape me—the way I know she was hoping it would—that she never fully answered my question.

  I get what she’s trying to do with her designs, and I respect that a lot. It kind of reminds me of what we do at the agency all the time. We took the skills we have, but instead of letting the world see us as just killers and fucked-up vets like most people think, we’ve managed to serve and protect, mostly without having to go into someone else’s land and take what isn’t ours.

  No, that’s not me mocking or disparaging our great country or what we’ve done in the past or right now, it’s just a fact that to be a soldier you have to take orders and follow them to the letter, no matter what you think or feel.

  With this job, it’s all about choice and being what we truly are...instead of what people with preconceived ideas think we are.

  So yeah, I get Evie’s whole aim. She’s using her talent to make women in the business world feel like women without having to conform to what people think they should be.

  As I said, I respect that.

  But she didn’t tell me why she chose to do this, and we both know that was the real question. The woman is a mysterious one I want to explore and crack wide open. Don’t ask me why.

  I felt like crap after she left the living room and holed up in her room, and it took a shitload of self-control not to just storm in there and admit that I said it not because of her, but to remind myself of what I am now.

  Curvy women were always my weakness. Not plump or thin, but a woman with some tone under soft curves and nice accessories.

  Evie fits that bill to a tee. She’s short, and yet I saw her stomach and thighs in her sleepwear. She’s toned and not at all fat, I’d hazard to say she works out at least twice a week to keep in that shape.

  Her ass is just right, too, but it’s her boobs that really have me free spinning. I adore a good chest on a woman, and from what I saw when her nipples perked up, she has that in spades.

  I haven’t thought of some of the kink I practiced in the past in a long time. Not since my divorce and some of the nasty shit my ex yelled at me in the lawyer’s office. It shamed me so much I swore that if I couldn’t kick it, I’d make it impossible for me to do it.

  Hence the “no curves, hard-eyed women with no cares” rule. I also tend to pick chicks with minimum cleavage just to stay on the safe side. You see my problem with Evie?

  She’s exactly the right fit for me, at least the me who used to give a shit about anything but myself. She’s cute, smart, ambitious, and built like a fifties centerfold.

  My dick’s been hard since I laid eyes on her, and it’s been less than a day and already I have to warn myself not to go there. For one thing, she’s Jericho’s sister and he’d kick my ass and bury me, dead or alive, if I so much as hurt her feelings; and for another, I just don’t need this shit.

  All I want out of life is to work, chill in the home I built with my own hands, and maybe screw a random woman every once in a while. I sure as shit do not need to be stirring things up with that honeypot because I can guarantee that one will stick.

  Shaking the thought off with a curse, I finish putting away the leftovers and grab my phone, getting Gus on the second ring.

  “Yo, Blaze man, no more Wednesday night poker when you’re in town?”

  My grin is all teeth as I hear the gruff voice and picture Gus and his potbelly stretched out on the sofa beside his wife of fifteen years.

  “Not if you keep cheating. Anyway, I was supposed to be on down time.”

  “Supposed to be?”

  “Jericho’s sister ran into some trouble two nights ago. Some maniac got into her place and waited for her. Beat her up pretty bad before she kicked the shit out of him.”

  “Huh. Bet that boy of yours has already ripped the idiot limb from limb.” He chortles.

  “He got away.”

  “Shit, man. That sucks. You want me to set up something for the little gal?”

  “Yeah, and get in touch with some of your contacts. Maybe put out some feelers about a guy with a broken nose and some obvious bruising.”

  Gus wheezes, and I hear Marcia huff before he shuffles away from the TV and sighs.

  “I guess he taught her how to fight, huh? Good. I hope she kicked the fuck out of him. We thinking burglar, stalker, or addict?”

  “None of the above, my friend. He was here to kill her, plain and simple. She lost her towel in the struggle and he didn’t even go for a look.”

  “Christ! What is she into? Mob boyfriend? Drugs? Psycho ex?”

  “Nope. She’s clean as a whistle, as are all known associates and acquaintances. I figured stalker at first since she’s a looker and too damn trusting to spot a bad apple, but this doesn’t feel like it.”

  “Don’t discount it though. Jericho showed me a picture of the little gal, and she’s more than a looker.”

  “Hey!”

  “Just saying, Marcia baby. You know I only got eyes for your sweet butt,” he yells, making me smirk as I fall onto the couch with a tired sigh.

  “Look, Blaze, that little thing is adorable, and she’s obviously smart if what her brother told me about her is true, so she’s no one’s fool. If she’d pissed someone off, she’d be able to give you something on potential perps. She’s clean, and huh…” he trails off and I hear a keyboard clicking, letting me know he’s doing his own research. “Aww, she’s a sweetheart. Did you know she made some clothes for one of them retirement places so the old folks can dress and undress themselves even with limited movement?”

  I did not, and I have to grind my teeth against the warmth that spreads through my chest. Why couldn’t she be a spoiled little tramp with more looks than brains or heart?

  How the hell am I supposed to resist taking a taste of all that curvy goodness when the woman is a gem among the coal I’ve been wallowing in?

  “I didn’t; she never said.”

  “Well, she did. Shit, you see the mug on the last dog she took pity on and dated? Ugly motherfu— just ugly. Hmm. Damn man, there really ain’t a damn thing in the last year or two to make sense of this. Maybe some asshole saw her and took a shine?”

  “I don’t think so, but you’re right. Maybe some punk approached her and she blew him off. It’s possible he could have gone off the rails and waited for the best opportunity. I won’t discount that, but I don’t get that feeling here.”

  I’ve worked with stalking assignments before, and as creepy as that shit is, it’s all pretty predictable. The guys who do this weird shit usually at least try to get a piece of their victim before they kill them.

  This guy went straight for her throat and banged her up pretty good before that. Stalkers usually try to preserve their targets. There’s also been no indication of previous activity.

  I spoke to that Merle woman before banging on Evie’s door, not that I wanted to, but the old bird didn’t exactly give me a choice. She told me there’s been no activity that is at all alarming.

  I like that these people love Evie enough to be so involved, although I gotta say it’s annoying how nosy they can be.

  “Blaze, if this is all there is, then we’re shooting
in the dark, man.”

  “There was one thing. The neighbor came in and answered her phone sometime during Friday. He said it rang off the hook between four and six and he just lost the patience when it didn’t stop.”

  Gus huffs, and I grin, knowing exactly what expression I’d see if he were right here.

  “She gave out keys. That is not smart.”

  “Nope, but I won’t press her on that since I’ve run the other tenants and they all seem like good people.”

  “Good don’t always mean good, and you know it.”

  “Yep, but you know me. I am no fool when it comes to sussing people out. They’re clear as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Dang. Crap, there goes a quick resolution and a party in the woods for the asshole.”

  I laugh at that and shake my head. According to Gus, anyone who messes with family shouldn’t even smell a cop. They should be taken out to the woods and taught some manners, just in case they meet Jesus instead of the devil when he’s done with them.

  “Maybe not. I got Lex on the call and we’re hoping we can track it to at least a general location and go from there. If we can, we may have something to go on here.”

  “Yeah. Okay, you want me to come on out there tomorrow morning? I assume Jericho has you on the little gal?”

  “Yep. You guessed it. And yes, please come on out and do something with this place. A serial killer could walk in here and she’d offer him tea. She’s smart but way too trusting for her own good.”

  “Dang. She okay? You said he hurt her.”

  “Slapped her around a little and gave her a mild concussion, but she’s okay. So far it’s just been a case of scaring the hell out of her to get her to take this seriously. She thought it was a burglar or something before I disabused her of that notion. She’s agreed to work from home for the most part, but she’s Jericho’s sister, so who knows when she might change her mind and start arguing.”

  Gus laughs loudly and mutters something affectionately insulting toward Jericho since they both love to hate each other and love riling the other whenever we use Gus for jobs.

  “True. Okay, text me the addy and I’ll be there by seven thirty. You’re feeding me too, since I have to miss out on Marcia’s breakfast. See ya.”

  “See ya.”

  I end the call and lean back, my eyes watching the bedroom door with a frown. I don’t like the thought of Evie sleeping alone in the bedroom with her window so easily accessible and the fire escape that is definitely not safe or up to code security-wise; but, I have no other option since the guestroom I expected is nonexistent, and I can’t sleep in there with her unless I want to be married any time soon.

  Just the thought sends chills down my spine, and I settle for tiptoeing over and slowly opening the door when I don’t hear a peep. As expected, Evie is passed out from the painkillers I crushed into her rice so as not to argue about her taking them.

  I leave the door open so I can see in from the couch, after some slight adjustments, and force myself to walk away instead of staring at her while she sleeps like a loser.

  The door is locked, bolted, and secured, as are the windows I screwed shut after borrowing a power drill from Manny this afternoon. So, I settle in after grabbing a pillow and blanket and flip on the TV, not at all surprised when Evie’s channel of choice turns out to be cartoons.

  I grin and lean back, watching without much attention as I let the stress of the day fade away. Everything is dark since I put out all the lights, including Evie’s. The only glow is from the TV and my phone as I scroll through some emails and try to pass the time as I unwind.

  There is so much to do in a short time, because whether Evie goes to Jericho’s after her meetings are done or not, that asshole won’t let this go until he has eyes and hands on the animal who tried to hurt his baby sister.

  I don’t think I could let that go either, even if she is safe now, not after staring at her bruises all morning and realizing that she could have died. I get that she kicked ass, believe me that cranked my motor in a great way, but the fact remains she got lucky.

  The prick had her and would have killed her if not for her neighbor and the cherub. I won’t tell her that though, and not just because it would hurt her pride but also because I can barely think about how close that guy got.

  Just the thought makes my heart pound. I can’t imagine how terrified it would make Evie if she understood how close she came to dying. I’m almost asleep, my head drooping, when the shrill scream pierces the silence, bringing me instantly on high alert.

  When a moan follows immediately after, I’m on my feet and beside her bed in a heartbeat. Shit.

  “Evie? Sweetheart, wake up,” I mutter, shaking her shoulder gently as she tosses and thrashes on the bed, her face tortured and wet with tears that seem to stream without pause. “Evie!”

  She’s in the grip of a nightmare as I shake her, getting rougher the longer she cries out without waking. She only jerks awake with a scream when I grab her up and sit on the bed, her smaller weight cradled against me.

  “No!”

  “Shh, it’s okay. It’s Blaze. That’s it, sweetheart, stop fighting. I won’t hurt you,” I croon.

  “Oh God, that was worse than the actual thing,” she wails, falling into me with a moan.

  Her face, drenched with perspiration and tears is shoved into my neck, and she’s clutching at me so hard I feel her nails dig into my naked chest. Another beat passes as I rub her back, trying to calm her, when I feel her go ramrod stiff and scramble away, her body diving for the lamp beside her bed.

  “Don’t turn the lights out!”

  Shit. Goddammit. I should kill that monster for this alone.

  Her face is stark white with terror and those blue eyes, so like Jericho’s, are haunted with the remnants of the dream she has yet to shake off. I know what this feels like. I still occasionally wake up screaming and shaken with memories of some of the things I saw.

  My most trusted nightmare, the one I have without fail every few months, is one where I saw a friend get blown apart in combat, and I will never, ever forget the anguish and fear of that moment. So yeah, I get Evie’s yelling at me, and the anger that bursts forth.

  I usually have to beat my knuckles raw after that one, just to calm down enough not to scream and claw at my head to shake the images that won’t leave fully.

  “Evie, the lights have to go off sometime, baby, and better now when I’m with you than when I’m not and you have to face it alone.”

  “No! I-I can’t…I need the light,” she whimpers, making my jaw ache as I clench my teeth together.

  See, this is what really kills victims. It’s not the attack, though that shit is traumatic, I don’t care what anyone else says. But this, the aftermath, where you’re altered, where normal things that never bugged you before become so huge, when you’re afraid of the smallest things, this gets a person like nothing else.

  Evie, my poor baby, is not afraid of the dark so much as what she now fears hides there, and it enrages me to see that fear.

  Sighing, I get to my feet and go to her, pulling her into my chest with a growl when she tries to fight me.

  “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed. Hey now, hush, I’m not leaving,” I murmur, rubbing at her back in soothing circles as I pull her to bed and lower her down, covering her before stretching out beside her on top of the covers.

  Her breaths are still ragged and harsh as I start talking, and it takes a lot for me not to pull away when her little hand slips into mine.

  “I dream about one of my friends, Gunny. We did this one retrieval where we had to go into a cluster—a really bad situation to grab a reporter that had been snatched. There was enemy fire everywhere and explosions going off left and right. We were so screwed. I mean, literally, with the fire, explosions, and gunfire, I thought we’d hit the gates of hell. So Storm goes in, with Jericho and Gunny as back up, to get the reporter while Lex, King, and I cover their asses. We got her out of
there, all messed up and everything, but Gunny…he threw Storm and the chick out of the way and took heavy fire. You’d think that’s what killed him, but it wasn’t. Someone introduced an IED into the mix, as if we needed more. We were already practically screwed, and Gunny threw himself at it to save Storm and the woman.”

  I still remember the sounds, the heat, but mostly Storm’s anguished expression when that thing went off. We never found Gunny or what was left of him, but I remember looking right at him when the ball of fire hit him.

  Fucking nightmares.

  “Oh, Blaze, I’m so sorry. Jericho used to write to me about you all, and I sorta knew Gunny through him.”

  I nod and keep staring at the darkened ceiling, relieved that Evie hasn’t freaked out since I turned the light out. It’s sort of nice, the way her small hand squeezes mine as the images replay in my mind, bringing all the blood and suffering back.

  That was the one and only time I cried like a baby; the day they declared him dead and sent a flag to his family. Gunny was one of my brothers, our friend and someone whom we loved enough to name Gunny just as we named each other back in those days. Storm was Watcher, the kickass sniper and tracker, Jericho was Hammer, and the other guys and I have names no mother would approve of since we were the jokers of the group and got up to some naughty shit.

  The point is that I understand suffering, though never on this scale, and yes, I consider this worse because Evie is a woman, a soft one who gives her key to neighbors in case they need freaking sugar!

  She’s never seen violence like I have, and the fact that that violence was aimed her way infuriates me.

  “I chose design because it was easy for me. My fosters would give me an allowance to get clothes, but it was so little that I couldn’t do much with it, so I would go to the thrift shop and get all these eclectic pieces that didn’t match but looked good together and could be swapped out easily. By the time I was sixteen, my teachers were asking me to help them put some stuff together, and I sort of styled them for a small fee. That got me enough to fix an old sewing machine in the attic, and I’d experiment with patterns and fabrics just to see what I could do.”