“What about the shooter?” I ask, feeling my headache get worse with all the shit pumping into my brain.
See, this is why I got out of the service. I’m so sick and tired of having to live my life one step ahead of the next asshole. It infuriates me to have to give up the freedoms we have because some idiot has a hard-on for us.
“I don’t know. At first I thought it was an enemy trying to lull us into trusting him, but not after Evie too. That guy, whoever he is, is seriously saving our asses every time it seems like we’ve lost. Cleo and Lenny both would have died if he hadn’t been there, and Blaze himself admitted that Evie would have been toast without that shot that killed the loan shark’s thug.”
“True. I know it. I’m just sick and damn tired of all this bullshit, man. I gave all that shit up so I could live like I want to and only do jobs I want to, and here we are again, on a sinking fucking ship with no life boats,” I snarl, yanking at my hair in frustration.
Our agency, The Watchers—something we all started together after we left the Army—is a business that we don’t really need anymore but keep because, I have to admit, I don’t see any of us just giving up battle entirely and riding a desk.
What we do requires skills we learned in the Army, but this time we don’t have to do shit that goes against the grain. Most of my jobs are protection assignments for bigwigs and sometimes, on the odd occasion, I ride shotgun with Storm protecting some senator’s kid after death threats are made.
It’s simple, easy, good work that pays well and keeps me on my toes.
And now this.
“Look, I know this pissed you and Lex off, what with everything pointing to Kinsley being a target and all, but you have to promise me you’ll take it easy. I need you riding hog on Blaze if this shit goes south. He was Gunny’s best friend, and he’d go crazy on us all if he thought he could nail the sonofabitch who killed him.”
“I know, which is why I never said a fucking word in there, Jericho. You think I don’t know he’d start tearing shit up again and going crazy on us all? I get that. I also get that we may actually have an easier time of it now that he has Evie with him to love and go back to.”
“Nothing better than the love of a good woman,” he muses, making me grin as Kinsley pops into my head.
“True. And yes, you nosy bastard, she is mine, so you can stop fishing. I smelled that trout the minute you started reeling it in, old man. You’re getting rusty.”
He grins unapologetically and shrugs in that casual way that always makes me wonder how a big-ass bastard like Jericho could ever pull off nonchalance.
“Just wondering since she’s Lex’s blood is all. He okay with this?”
“Asshole practically pimped me to Kinsley when she landed and I looked ready to boot her. You should have seen his face though when she started rhapsodizing about our true love and sex life.”
We laugh at that because I’ve told him about Kinsley a million times, and Jericho knows her about as well as any of us do, despite only now meeting her.
“She’s a firecracker that one. You watch your ass, or she’ll skin it for you. Cleo likes her too, so I reckon she’s cool. Just do me a favor, man, don’t go there with her unless you intend to go all the way. She’s a softy under all that fire, and she’s fragile despite what Lex thinks.”
My sigh is loud, and I lean my head back as he turns into the parking lot, shutting the engine off with a click as the silence settles around us. Jericho is my pal. Lex and me, we’re best buddies from way back, but with me and Jericho, there’s a quiet bond that I rely on a lot more than I rely on Lex and his dumb ass.
“She has this book, ya know, with all these plans in them that are just…so messed up and way too much for one person to ever aspire to. Sometimes I want to just burn that piece of shit and tell her to forget half that crazy shit and just live. Then I stop and wonder if I could do that to her. Those are her dreams for a future that I’m not sure I could be a part of.”
That’s my biggest fear, and something I haven’t mentioned to anyone, not even Lex because the guy is dead set and decided that she’s in need of saving. What if I mess things up and end up hurting her by denying her everything she’s wanted?
I know for a fact that I can’t do half that shit. That wedding she planned down to the silverware? Never going to happen, and not because I don’t want to bind myself to her, because I do, but because I can’t ever do it.
No matter how much I want to. I know myself, and I know my limitations, and I know for a damn fact that marriage will never happen for me. Kinsley wants the marriage certificate and big wedding. She deserves it, too.
But I’m not that guy, and I’d hate myself if I ended up hurting her because I can’t give her that commitment. No, that’s not true. I damn well can and have committed myself to her already, now that I pulled my head out of my ass and realized that she’s always been it for me. It’s been that way since she looked at me with her bright blue eyes and smiled so adoringly.
It’s the proof of it that I can’t give. And, if not, do I even have the right to ask her to give me anything else? Can I really ask for children, knowing I never gave Kins my name? Could I do that to her and expect her to sacrifice that vital part of her and spend her life as mine, in my heart always mine, but never on paper.
“She’s mine, Jericho. She has been since she was sixteen years old and I fell hard for her. I spent years running from it, at first just to stop myself from doing something that we’d both have regretted. Then because I knew, I even know now, that I can’t be what she needs. I’m selfish though; I want her. So, instead of doing what I know to be right and letting her go, I’m holding on for all I’m worth and praying I’m enough to make up for the rest.”
“Marriage still taboo for you?” he asks quietly, his face and tone holding no judgement.
This is why he’s my sounding board; he never judges me for my shortcomings, no matter how messed up I can be about certain things. I once told him all about my shitty childhood, living in a house with people who were at war with each other constantly.
Too stubborn to quit, but living with so much hate that I knew from an early age that what they had just wasn’t right.
“Always.”
“She’s different though, bro. You could trust her.”
“I know that, Jericho. I fucking knew that since the beginning. It’s me I don’t trust, man. I’d marry her, and no matter what happened I wouldn’t ever let her go. I know myself, and I know how I can be. Remember Elia?”
“That mangy fucking mutt that used to follow you around camp?” he snorts, chuckling quietly. “I remember. You kept him with you even though the little shit was hell to have around with his barking and constant crapping.”
“Yep, because he was mine. I decided to keep him, and no matter what a little shit that mutt was or how many times I had to pick up dog shit so the colonel didn’t shoot him, I did it.”
“Ahh, I see. You’re afraid that you’ll claim her, marry her, and never let go no matter what happens?”
“Exactly. We’re opposites in every way, man. She hates disorder, and I thrive on not having one scrap of it in my life besides when I’m on assignment. She doesn’t like surprises, and I love not knowing what I’m doing from one day to the next. She’s got all these plans, and all I want out of my life is the freedom never to plan another thing ever again.”
Which sounds irresponsible, but I can assure you, it isn’t. I spent years planning shit. First, it was sleepovers and ways to avoid my parents whenever I was at home. Then, it was the Army and getting out of the house before my mother found out I’d enlisted and started going nuts. In the Army, everything is ordered and structured. You eat and sleep on a schedule. Take a shit on a schedule. Every single thing is someone else telling you what and when to do it.
I’ve had a lifetime of that, and I refuse to do it again just to keep Kinsley. Sure, I know she needs order, but I also know it’s so much more than that. It’s no
t the planning and order that she craves. It’s being in control so she won’t get blindsided as she did by her nana’s death.
It’s facing mortality and understanding that you could die tomorrow and haven’t done everything you wanted to. Yeah, I get her flow.
She’s on this quest to pack so much into her life so that she won’t regret anything she didn’t do if she happens to die.
“She’s the one for you. I saw the way you two looked at each other when you brought her over to Storm’s. She’s got it bad for you, man, so just don’t break her heart, okay? She deserves more. Maybe…maybe just find a way to make her let go a little, King.”
Let go?
“Explain.”
“Whatever is going on with her, I mean. I saw the way she was dying to clean the minute she walked into Lenny and Storm’s. And her hair and makeup? She looked like she was about to step onto a runway, dude. No woman should have to go to that much trouble, not looking as good as she does.”
It must be me, I know it must, but I don’t understand a thing he’s saying or what he’s getting at here. So what if Kinsley wants to look good? I like that about her, how she’s always trying to look good even when she doesn’t have to. Most chicks just don’t even make an effort most of the time, but with Kinsley, I know she always will.
Shit, she looked ready to pose for a photoshoot with bruises on her face. The hair was a little funky, but I mostly find that shit adorable.
“Uh?”
“Look at Cleo. She’s a beautiful woman, and I’m not just saying that because I love her.”
“Yeah, okay. So?”
“So, she’s beautiful, and she knows it because I tell her all the time, right? Before we got married, she’d go to all this trouble to shellac her face, going for that natural look shit that most chicks do. Now? She hardly even touches lip gloss, man.”
“Still not getting it, Jericho.”
He huffs and gives me a frown, shaking his head in pity.
“No chick is going to spend an hour painting a face on if she already feels sexy and beautiful.”
Wha—?
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh, motherfucker. Do your job as a man and make that woman feel like she could be sexy with a cold sore even. If you want her, if she’s yours, you fucking make sure she never has to put a dab of makeup on again, not unless she wants to.”
Shit. I get it. I really do, and just thinking about the copious amounts of cosmetics my girl has had on all day, even just waiting for me to come upstairs from the bar, that makes me feel like shit.
And then I get angry because she’s been with the same dick for years and this is the way she feels? My Kins doesn’t feel good enough about herself to go without cosmetics in an apartment above a freaking shithole bar?
“Shit. I should kill the dick she was with just for this alone,” I mumble, tucking my chin as irritation engulfs me.
Jericho snorts too and nods.
“You need another pair of hands, I’m there. Now get your ugly ass outta my truck and go cuddle that adorable little freak. And don’t forget, Cleo wants her at Lenny’s—”
“On Saturday. Got it.”
Chapter Eleven
Kinsley
The only thing worse than being stood up for a sex date is waking up to the sound of the shower running just as my bladder starts hailing me to let me know it’s still alive and very much in danger territory.
Ow, I have to tell y’all, I am not happy. Nuh-uh. Not one bit. I got all bathed and sweet smelling and stretched out on the bed in a very uncomfortable pose that left my nether area completely open and exposed.
Then I waited an hour, my ear trained for any sound at all. Then I got a fucking cramp and had to cry and walk it off since it involved a rather delicate area that I do not want to talk about.
Then I lay down and waited some more, only to fall asleep spread out like a loose-limbed hussy. I woke somewhere around three to the sounds of Josh yelling up that he was done for the night.
Then I fell asleep again with some serious rage when I realized what the time was and that I was still alone in the bed.
And then insecurity set in, because this whole experience stinks to high heaven, like something I’ve smelled before and, believe you me, it is not a scent I ever wanted to smell again.
Ahh, sweet rejection, how fare thee my old friend?
So yeah, not a good moment for me, but what was I going to do about my stupid feelings at three in the morning? So, I eventually fell asleep again, this time after donning my ugliest jammies and slapping cold cream on my face to remove all the makeup I put on after my bath.
And now, here we are again.
The morning after. My nemesis. That cold bitch that knoweth my weakness and will exploit it to the max. I do not even want to look at King before I call Lex and tell him I want to stay with him or go to Mama and Daddy’s.
But I kind of don’t have a choice because, holy cow in a shit field, I need to pee so badly I can literally feel the urine circling my drain and that is not a pleasant sensation.
I try clenching and ignoring the burn. Then I try pretending it’s not as bad as it is. By the time my bladder starts to spasm and unclench stuff downstairs, I know the jig is up.
I vault to my feet, and by that I mean I old lady slink to the side of the bed and slide off, my back bent like a gargoyle as I hustle toward the bathroom with a lumberjack-like deep groan of pain.
I do not want to do this, I repeat, I do not want to do this, but I have absolutely no choice in the matter because it’s either go in there and pee, or I will disgrace my family line and leave a puddle dripping from my legs to the floor.
I’m in before I can change my mind, and I almost moan in pain when I fall onto the toilet, everything seizing when the sound of the running water in the shower hits my ears.
Sweet release!
“Good,” I whisper, gritting my teeth against the need to scream.
The shower shuts off and I’m almost, so close, to done that I want to hit something when King comes strolling out of the stall, a huge grin on his face as he grabs a towel and dries himself right in front of me.
While I’m peeing.
Intruder alert! Lines being crossed here, lady, I think as I go lax with the best relief I’ve ever had.
My Nirvana doesn’t last long though because one, I just peed in front of a guy I almost slept with—double cringe—and that’s a no-no in my book. It means I’m allowing an intimacy that I shouldn’t have.
And two, sweet holy angels in heaven, you do not understand what King looks like naked, dripping with water first thing in the morning.
While I’m sitting on the toilet, a waterfall coming from my bladder, and a white face full of cold cream that’s clumping and caking to top it all off. Just to add that extra cherry on top, I think, hating this fucking day already!
Because, yes, I’m one of those vain assholes who never wants other people to see her looking anything less than at least semi put together. The other morning’s bad hair doesn’t count since I had a lump on my head that stopped me from brushing my hair.
But I had makeup on, and I at least looked okay. Right now, I probably look like I’m auditioning to join an aboriginal tribe and this peeing bit…it’s not helping.
And remember, I’m already feeling all kinds of unstable thanks to his not bothering to show up last night. Memories hit me then, of that other morning when I had to sit at a table across from him and listen to him make plans about seeing his girlfriend, just hours after we were together.
“Morning, babe.”
I grunt at his cheery greeting and grab a piece of toilet paper, wiping with enough force to ignore the heating of my sex—oh but that chest is glorious!—as I rise and flush with as much dignity as I am able to in this situation.
“Kins?”
Not talking. Nope. I just walk over to the sink, wash my hands and float out, ready and so freaking able right now to forget that I came here for
a reason.
“Kinsley?” he asks again, following me out and into his bedroom where I grab a fresh pair of jeans, clean underwear, a tank, and my toothbrush.
“Kinsley! Jesus woman, what the hell? Stop ignoring me.”
Fat chance, mothersucker. I snort, closing the door and locking it before stripping and slamming into the shower. I take exactly twenty minutes to wash my hair, shave, and dress before I brush my teeth and look into the mirror.
I should dry my hair and do my makeup before I start my day. That way, when I have to actually admit to myself, and probably Lex as well, that I’m an asshole, I won’t have to face it with my own face on.
That probably sounds weird, but it’s not all that bad, trust me. Once, my therapist and I did this exercise where we role-played. It sucked hobo vagina, but I came out of it with an outlook that the poor man would probably cringe at and call unhealthy, like I care.
No, the whole role-play taught me that it’s not that bad being me, and I still can be, with me, when I’m alone. Maybe. Okay, only sometimes when I’m too weak to fight this persona off.
What I show to the world, that’s a role. Someone I play regularly because if I pretend to be all perfect and put together, and everyone else sees only what I want them to see, then they won’t realize that I’m just a normal woman with bad hair in the morning who gets the occasional zit.
It makes me feel safe, I guess, and you know what? That’s fine. So what if the Kinsley everyone else sees is wearing me down and making me old before my time? She’s at least not some pathetic loser who lies in a bed for hours, naively thinking that some chump is going to show up and finish what he started hours earlier.
Nuh-uh. She’s a ball-busting champion who doesn’t care that sex was good because, you know, there are other things to do besides play with a pair of hanging balls and satisfy her vagina’s needs.
“Good girl,” I whisper, smiling at her in the mirror. “You just keep doing what you need to and we’ll be fine. Just don’t think about where he was all night, or with whom, and we’ll make it out of here without crying like a dumb asshole.”
THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle Page 54