Sons of Justice 1: In Good Hands (Siren Publishing LoveXtreme Forever)

by Dixie Lynn Dwyer

  She stretched it out again, happy to be rid of the reminder of her injuries, except for that damn scar on her ribs and the stitches that would need to come out in a couple of weeks. That was going to take another visit to a doctor, one that could be trusted. Hopefully this Spartan guy had connections. It was a good cut. All the other bruises were gone, and all she had left was the constant feeling of uncertainty and fear in her gut. She didn’t think she would ever be rid of it, and she probably should hold on to that feeling, too. It would remind her that trouble could be around the next corner. That was how life needed to be led now. A constant fear.

  Spartan and John were probably pissed that she hadn’t called right away, but her injuries were severe, and she was scared. Still sort of was but had been conditioning herself to remain in survival mode. No one would ever know who she really was, what she had gone through, or where she was hiding.

  Repose, Texas, was hopefully far enough away from Sun Valley, Arkansas, and Stanston Furro. She shivered. She wanted to stop and check the town out further, but she had been driving for days—today more than fourteen hours—and her injuries were still making her tired, giving her migraines, too, after the concussion, and she was determined to get to Spartan and John’s before sundown and begin her new life.

  That thought brought tears to her eyes and a longing to have her fathers right here with her. But she didn’t know if they were dead or alive. No one did. So she was on her own, something she was used to, and felt she could handle until taking that job in Sun Valley. She took a deep breath and exhaled. She hadn’t wanted to call John and Spartan. She wanted to handle this on her own, but she couldn’t exactly give her real last name, or have anything go into any computers with her real name, or Stan’s men would track her down. She was in what her fathers called survival mode. Trust no one. Always be on guard. Have an escape plan. Be prepared. Be ready to defend to death if necessary.

  As she got to the entrance of the new development and campground, she saw the tall flagpole and the very large American flag and P.O.W. flag flying high. She didn’t notice many people around the neighborhood of modest-looking homes with large pieces of property, but they noticed her.

  As she got to the end of the development, she spotted the cutest little blue house with a fenced-in yard and empty planters at the windows, and it looked vacant. But then her eyes went ahead of her, and there was another entrance, a military one with guards. She pulled up, caught off guard by the attractive soldiers standing there giving her a smile.

  “You lost, miss?” he asked, bending down to look at her, eyeing over the blouse she wore.

  “I don’t think so. I’m here to see Spartan and John. They’re expecting me.”

  He squinted at her, kind of gave her the once-over, and nodded.

  “Name?”

  “Cherokee.”

  He gave another nod. “You’re going to head down the straightaway along the woods until you come to the first cabin on your right. That’s the commanders’ home. I’ll call up and say you arrived. Have a good day, ma’am.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. You, too.” He stared at her as she continued on her way.

  She was used to men looking at her. She knew she stood out with her long blonde hair and deep green eyes. Had enough compliments over the years and her dads had been asked if she modeled or if they would consider having her model since she was eight. They declined. As she matured more and more, they got protective and had her learn everything from shooting various types of guns to hunting and surviving in the woods. She preferred camping out over lodging indoors, but then when college came, things changed. She wanted to be professional, respected, and also capable. She loved teaching children. She had a soft tone and a calm demeanor until pushed. She was soft-spoken and empathetic toward kids. She prayed she could find a teaching job, and that the one that may be available in town was still available this fall. She still had some recovering to do before she could stand up and teach all day in a classroom and not have the migraines. They should pass by then, or at least she hoped they did. When they came on, they were bad.

  She was still practicing her martial arts and would try to find a place to train if there wasn’t anything available here at the center for civilians. She ran nine miles a day and would continue to train and be on guard.

  She pulled up along the path and found the very large log cabin. It was gorgeous, and it, too, had an American flag out front as well as several pickup trucks and even full-sized Jeeps. She parked in front of the house and saw two tall, very serious-looking men come outside. By the doorway another stood. Holy shit they’re big.

  The one guy with the shoulder-length hair and beard stood out. He approached, along with another man, also tall, filled with muscles and facial hair, well-trimmed. She swallowed hard. This was it. Either help or a huge mistake. She was shaking inside.

  She got out and closed the door, smoothed down her skirt, and felt her heart racing. They were fierce, attractive, and not as old as her dads, but maybe close to forty.

  “Cherokee?” the tall one with dark brown hair nearly to his shoulders, beard, and tanned skin fiercely asked her.

  He had lots of muscles and some tattoos stuck out on his arms and on his neck past the collar. He was lethal looking. As he looked her over, she felt her body tingle, and intimidation attacked all her senses. She was having second thoughts, and then the other one-eyed her over, looking a bit surprised if she had to guess, and then he squinted at her.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m Spartan, and this is John,” the guy with the tats and the beard said. One hell of a name for such a force of a man. It suited him well. They both approached and towered over her. John was just as big, shared the same deadly expression, and sported a similar but more trimmed beard around his lip and chin. He was extremely attractive, and nothing like what she’d expected.

  He reached out his hand, and holy crap his large hand encased hers, making her feel tiny and delicate. He seemed to feel it, too, holding her hand a second longer than he intended, and then John was there greeting her hello.

  She pulled back and then shook John’s hand and, oh dear, same instant attraction. This she didn’t need at all, but she was used to blowing off men. She would do the same here.

  “This is something else. It’s a pretty big house.” She looked away, pulling her hand from John’s and practically giving them her back. As she turned, she felt the ache in her side but recovered before placing her hand against it. It didn’t go unnoticed, as she felt their eyes on her. That was when three other men, just as big, maybe bigger, came out of the house looking at her. She swallowed hard and looked up at Spartan then took a retreating step back and placed her hand on the open window of her door.

  He stepped closer and placed a hand on her hip.

  “Don’t be scared. We were all concerned and wondering when you would arrive. You feeling okay? Still in pain?”

  She shook her head but looked away from him.

  “I appreciate the help you’re offering, although I think it should be fine. It’s just the identity stuff I need help with. Well, and a job.”

  “We’re not taking any chances. You’ll share the entire story soon enough so we know what additional precautions we need to take,” John said firmly, making her jump slightly.

  She eyed him over. “We’ll see. I’m not here to be a burden. Just following my dads’ orders and hoping things work out.”

  The other three guys came over, one clearing his throat. They all gathered around her, one more handsome and intimidating than the next. Supposedly all commanders in charge here of whatever exactly this training facility was.

  “This is Nolan, Hans, and Brye. Men, meet Cherokee.” Spartan introduced them, and they each reached hands out to shake hers, and all of them took in the sight of her just as she was taking in the sight of them and feeling palpitations. Holy shit they were big and attractive. Muscles upon muscles and add in the military attire, tight black shirts, camo pant
s, and oh yeah, she was attracted to them. This was not good at all.

  “Why don’t we head inside? Have you eaten?”

  “No, sir, been driving for about fourteen hours today.”

  “Fourteen hours? You haven’t eaten?” Brye asked, sounding pissed.

  He was tall, muscular like some martial artist, and had very short hair, almost making him look bald. He was tan and had hazel eyes she couldn’t help but admire. The man was a sight. She had to give herself a mental kick and remind herself that she had enough trouble with men, and nearly getting raped, having her virginity ripped from her without consent, should make her protect that virtue with everything she had. She cleared her throat.

  “Wasn’t hungry,” she replied and then locked her door, but as she turned back, all five men were staring at her and Brye’s eyes roamed over her chest. She started to walk, glanced down, and noticed the top hung a little lower, showing off more cleavage than she ever would. She fixed it and walked along with them surrounding her. It made her feel uneasy and nervous.

  She was shaking she was so intimidated, but she wouldn’t let them see how fearful she was. She was the daughter of two soldiers, and nothing was taking down her defenses. Especially not five pieces of eye candy.

  “We have plenty of things for lunch and were just preparing food. Eat and we’ll talk,” Spartan commanded.

  As they walked into the kitchen, she took in the sights of all the upscale décor and industrial stove, the stainless-steel appliances, and was impressed. The table could fit about twenty people.

  “Is this like the main eating hall or something?” she asked, pressing her hand along the wood, finding it smooth to the touch and also a beautiful piece.

  “No, just our place, but we have guests often,” Nolan told her.

  “It’s a gorgeous table. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She bent down to see underneath it to see how sturdy it was and what support mechanism it had. She was quite impressed.

  When she stood up, the men were looking at her strangely.

  “Oh, sorry, someone made this right? A very talented carpenter if I had to guess. The craftsmanship is superb,” she stated, still running her hand along the top, seeing the variations on the grade of the wood and the natural patterns that the stain and finish on it brought out.

  Byre smirked. “She loves your table, Commander,” Brye said with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

  She was surprised as she looked at Spartan.

  “You made this, sir?” she asked, and he squinted at her. They seemed to chuckle. Like maybe her calling him sir was funny, but he was older, and he was a commander, plus in charge. She was being respectful.

  Spartan, a fierce, superior-looking man, gave her a nod.

  “Made it years ago when we first established the community here. What would you like to drink?” he asked, changing the subject and obviously feeling uncomfortable talking about his natural talent.

  “Water is just fine,” she said.

  “What kind of cold cuts do you like? We have everything,” Nolan said, and she looked at him. He was tall, had brown hair, and dark eyes. He had to be about six feet three.

  “I can make my own. No need to fuss over me. I appreciate the offer.” She walked closer, moving slowly, her ribs still sore and because of that damn scar that still needed the stitches removed. She didn’t want to wait around another couple of weeks. The men watched her and stopped what they were doing.

  “Broken ribs or bruised ones?” Brye asked her. Their expressions hardened even more.

  “I’m fine.” She went to put some bread on her plate when Spartan spoke.

  “He asked you a question. Answer him,” he stated firmly in a tone that told her she better answer.

  “Healing ones,” she replied, squinting at Spartan. This man would find out fast that she wasn’t here to take orders from them. That she had things under control. Except for the minor issues of hiding her identity, getting a job without having to show her credentials under her real name, and finding her fathers.

  “There are rules you’ll need to follow, and rule number one is to respect and take orders from Spartan. He has your best interest in mind.”

  She looked at Hans who’d just spoken to her. He was intense, and add in the Russian accent, and she didn’t even want to think about what he could be capable of.

  She finished making a sandwich and didn’t look at any of them.

  “I’m not here to take orders from anyone. I’m not military.”

  “Sure as shit ain’t,” Brye mumbled.

  She turned to look at him.

  “Hey, if this is a problem and you don’t want me here, or you think I’m a burden and you don’t really want to help, then I’ll leave right now,” she stated firmly and felt the ache in her head hit her instantly and then the slight dizziness. She set the plate down, gripped the table with her other hand, and closed her eyes and started to take easy breaths. She heard the mumbled curses and then felt the huge, warm hand on her hip.

  “Easy, are you going to pass out?” Nolan asked her. She shook her head.

  “No. Give me a moment please.”

  “What do you need? Water?” John asked, and she nodded. It was quiet, and the bottle of water was placed down in front of her. She took a sip and then blinked her eyes open. She needed to eat and to drink. She had to pull over a few times.

  “I’m okay.” She then lifted her plate and started to move when Nolan took her plate from her and John kept a hand on her hip.

  “Sit down,” he stated.

  She took the seat and then rubbed her forehead.

  “Still feeling dizzy?” John asked.

  She looked at them. “I’m fine. I need to eat and to drink and then try to get some sleep. It’s from the concussion.”

  “Concussion?” Brye asked, and they started to take positions around her and the table to eat lunch. She nodded, took another sip of water, and then took a bite of potato salad. She felt her stomach rumble, and apparently they heard it.

  “You’re damn lucky that didn’t happen while you were driving,” Hans stated.

  She held the sandwich and looked up at him across the table.

  “It did happen, several times, but I got through it.”

  “Damn,” he exclaimed, all aggravated.

  “What are your other injuries?” Spartan asked, staring at her.

  She could smell the cookies from where she sat and wondered if they had baked them.

  “Did someone make those cookies?” she asked, blowing off his question.

  “Yes, and don’t avoid the question. What were your other injuries?” Spartan asked and narrowed his eyes at her.

  She stared at him, taking in that beard, the long hair, the tattoos peeking out from the collar of his tight shirt that showed off his muscles. The man had seen action. Lots of it. He was seasoned and hard-core. He appeared to be in charge.

  “I need to eat and drink then get some rest,” she said.

  “So we’re going to need to sit down, tomorrow once you’re settled into the house, to go over some information. We need to figure out what recon needs to be done and, of course, setting you up with a last name and that teaching position in town,” John stated.

  She chewed the bite of sandwich and then washed it down with a slug of water.

  “Recon, sir?” she asked John and saw the expressions of the others.

  “First, there’s no need to call any of us sir. Our first names are just fine. Secondly, we need details of what happened,” Spartan pushed.

  “I was showing you respect for your position and for what you’re doing to assist until my dads come back into the picture or the danger is over. As to whatever details you’re talking about, I don’t think there’s much you need to know. I got out of there. I’m alive and prepared to do what is necessary at any given moment in whatever situation arises.”

  Spartan leaned back and squinted at her.

  “Maybe I wasn’t too direct ove
r the phone when we talked a few weeks back. Your dads gave you my contact information for a reason.”

  “You should have called us the second trouble started,” John stated.

  “John,” Spartan said his name, and now John looked pissed and then looked her over. Her top was gaped open slightly, and she pulled it closed and glanced at the other men surrounding her at the table. She definitely stood out.

  She held John’s gaze and straightened her shoulders.

  “Why didn’t you call before things got so out of hand? There must have been some warning signs before this attack?” Spartan asked her.

  The others were quiet and just watched her. She had told Spartan over the phone about some of the minor injuries but that she was okay and far from the place where it happened. He sounded annoyed over the phone, and she could see now the man was a force to be reckoned with, and so were the others. They each had intimidating attributes, but by far, Spartan’s beard, shoulder-length hair, and tattoos were most intimidating right now while his dark eyes held her eyes with full attention. He’d wanted to come out and get her with his men the second she called and said she was in a bad situation and that her fathers had given her his number. She’d had their numbers for more than ten years. She never imagined having to use them, having to call Spartan.

  Yet here she was, uncertain about trusting them and only having her fathers’ orders to go by as guidance. Could she maybe not tell them everything? Why did they need to know anyway? It wasn’t like she would give them Stan’s name or the others’. He said they were here to protect her. He was referring to this group of men right here. She would have had a panic attack.