“It wasn’t a good environment. I don’t need anyone taking care of me financially or otherwise. I needed his professional skills. Just as I need yours to get a job so I can pay for myself and put this situation behind me.”
They stared at her.
“It may not be behind you if this guy was so dead set on making you his woman. Sounds to me like a town in crisis and inundated with corruption,” John said.
“Probably some dick on a power trip. Maybe he’s dead,” Hans said.
“Maybe not. We can easily find out,” Brye said.
“No. No, don’t start looking into things. They’ll find me here then. All the pain, the running, the driving, the fear I live with every day and night will be worse because they’ll come for me.” She stood up, pushing the chair back.
“Easy, Cherokee. We know what we’re doing,” Spartan said, standing up and looking at her. “Trust us. We need to know who these men are and if they’re looking for you. That’s how we can protect you and the people of Repose.”
“I’ll call Genova. See if he can come here to remove those stitches or when he’s available today.” Hans said and walked out of the room.
“Trust us to protect you, Cherokee. We promise you won’t regret it,” John said to her.
She wasn’t sure what to do, but what choice did she really have? They seemed capable and sincere. She was hundreds of miles from Sun Valley, surely Stanston and his men wouldn’t try to find her. Would they? She gulped and knew tonight was going to be a bad night of sleep. Her nightmares woke her several times, and now her head was really starting to pound.
She reached up and rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. When she felt the hands on her shoulders massaging them, she tightened.
“Easy. We’ll see if Genova can give you anything stronger for the migraines,” Brye said to her.
“I should go shower and lie down. That will help immensely,” she whispered.
“He can’t come by until this afternoon,” Hans said, coming back into the room.
“Brye, you and Nolan walk her back to the house so Cherokee can shower and rest,” Spartan ordered. “John and I will bring over Genova later to remove the stitches and talk to Cherokee.”
“Okay. Come on, honey. Let’s go,” Brye said and walked with her and Nolan through the kitchen and to the back porch steps. She couldn’t wait to shower and then go back to bed and lie in the darkness.
* * * *
“What the fuck, Spartan. She was beaten, stabbed, and nearly raped by this dick.” John ran his fingers through his hair.
“I know. It really fucking pisses me off. We need the names and to find out where these guys are now, if this Stanston guy is alive or dead. Once we do that, we can determine the level of concern for her safety. I can’t have her teach at that school if these men are looking for her.”
“We could go take care of them,” Hans said very seriously.
Spartan stared at Hans. He was the quietest of all of them and definitely not a man to fuck with.
“Seriously, Hans? They’re civilians, and this isn’t a mission against terrorist enemies.”
“He hurt her, broke into her home, attempted to rape her. He cut her, scared the hell out of her, and made her cut him. She’s scared and even resistant to us. I want to protect her,” Hans said.
“We all do. It’s why she came here. Why her fathers left her my number,” Spartan said.
“It’s more than that. You feel it as the others do. You’ll all deny it, but it’s there. It’s real. She isn’t going anywhere,” Hans said and walked out of the room.
“What the fuck?” Spartan said.
“She beautiful, sweet, and a victim. We all feel the attraction,” John said.
“She’s Field and Harrow’s fucking daughter. She’s twenty-four, and we’re all pushing forty. She’s a goddamn school teacher. Seriously, John? What the fuck?” Spartan raised his voice.
“So you feel it, too,” John countered and stood there straight-faced as Spartan just stared at him.
“Get what you can on this guy and the town. On the down-low. Then let me know,” Spartan ordered.
John shrugged his shoulders.
* * * *
Cherokee thought she heard banging, but she was so tired after showering, taking some pain meds, then lying down in the dark room. She kept a pillow over her head and wanted to ignore the sounds, but then she heard her name being called. Someone was in the house. The door opened slowly.
“Cherokee, it’s Hans and Spartan. The doctor is here,” he said in a low voice.
“Go away.” She rolled to her side.
“Can’t do that. He’s a busy guy and is here now to remove the stitches.” Hans walked into the room.
“She was sleeping?” Spartan asked, joining Hans.
She started to come out of the funk of her sleep. The headache was dull now but still there. That was when she realized she wasn’t wearing much clothing. Just a loose tank top and boy-shorts underwear. She moved the pillow, and both men were staring at her, with those hard, firm expressions.
She started to sit up and moved the pillow over her body.
“The doctor is in the living room. He can remove the stitches there. Get dressed,” Spartan said as if reprimanding her for what she wore.
“I was sleeping. In my own bed, in my own place,” she said to him, but he walked out of the room.
“Ask Doc about the headaches so he can help you,” Hans said, eyed her over, then walked out of the room.
She got up, washed up, brushed her teeth, and threw on a pair of shorts and her bra. When she walked into the living room, some tall, gorgeous-looking guy was there talking to John, Spartan, and Hans. She’d expected the whole crew. As she entered, the doctor looked her over and smiled.
“You must be Cherokee.” He introduced himself and shook her hand. “Mike Genova. Everyone calls me Doc. So I understand you have some stitches that need to be removed?”
“Yes, sir.” She then glanced at Spartan.
“Can I see them first?” he asked
She raised her tank top up, and he placed a hand on her hip and lowered down and whistled.
“Damn. Well, whoever did the stitches did a good job. With this many, you’re going to have a scar but a botched or quick suture job would leave a deeper scar. Hopefully you won’t have much of one.”
“I hope not. Don’t need any physical reminders. The mental ones are enough.”
He stroked her skin and gave her a wink. “I bet. Are you having trouble sleeping? Having nightmares about it?” he asked and then took her hand and led her to the couch. She didn’t answer. She looked at Spartan and the others then worried her bottom lip.
“Here, sit down on the couch. Listen,” Doc said as he started to place things on the coffee table and talk softly to her. “It’s perfectly natural to have flashbacks and to have nightmares. It’s common after something traumatic.”
“You mean like posttraumatic stress?” she asked.
“Exactly.” He then looked her over. Hans and John stood behind the couch, and Spartan came over next to Doc.
Doc placed his hand on the couch next to her knee and thigh, and he looked at the bruising on her upper thighs.
“Any other injuries or bruises?” he asked.
“Mostly everything healed. There are just some bruises left.” She ran her palm over them.
“Tell him about your ribs, too,” Spartan said, and she glanced up at him. He stood there with his hands on his hips, staring at her.
“Broken or bruised?” Doc asked.
“Both.”
He squinted. “Stand up for me and lift your top.”
She stood up. Doc was tall and pretty big, so even though he sat on the coffee table, he was chest level with her ribs, and he placed his one hand on her hip, looked at the stitches first, then ran a hand along the skin over her ribs. She looked at Spartan, who watched with a seriousness expression, which had to be his constant expression.
“Did the doctors who looked at you check your spleen, do a full analysis?” he asked.
“Yes, he was thorough. At first he thought there might have been some bruising inside, but then further tests proved there weren’t. His main concern was the knife wound. I guess my ribs on this side stopped it from going deeper.” She lifted that way. When she did, she tilted her hips and then lifted a little. When she looked at Doc, he looked at Spartan.
“She’s in your care and under your protection, correct?” he asked.
Spartan nodded.
“I take it you and the team will handle things accordingly.”
“Yes.”
Doc nodded. She squinted, not knowing what he meant, but then Doc smiled and asked her to lie down on the couch so he could take out the stitches. He needed her relaxed. How the hell could she relax when all these large, muscular, good-looking men surrounded her? Was he insane? Even Doc, though older, was hot.
“Bring her arm above her head, Spartan, and hold it there so she doesn’t twitch.” Doc started to cut the first stitch.
“I’m okay. I won’t move,” she said to Spartan.
She tried holding her top up with one hand. Spartan had her arm above her head, and in this position, her breasts were pushing from the bra and her top. Spartan looked her over and held her gaze. She had to turn away. His expression and hold on her heated her body. So she looked up at Hans and John. Their eyes moved from her body to her breasts to her face.
“You’re doing fine, and when those stitches are gone, it will be behind you,” John told her.
She stirred when she felt Spartan stroke her wrist on the hand he held above her head. Then Doc’s hand was on her stomach, and Spartan’s grip firmed slightly. Was he getting upset that Doc was touching her so? He was doing what was necessary. Before long all the stitches were out and Doc ran his palm along her skin.
“Whoever did the stitches did an excellent job. You apply ointment to it a few times a day and there will be barely any line there or scar. Understood?” Doc asked.
“Thank you,” she said, and he nodded.
Spartan released her hand and arm, and she went to sit up, but Doc took her hand and helped her as Spartan pulled her shirt back down.
“You’re having migraines, too?” he asked.
“Concussion,” she whispered, and Doc looked like he was clenching his teeth. His cheeks caved in.
He gave her a soft smile and patted her thigh.
“I’ll give you something to help with the pain, as well as to sleep at night.”
“I don’t want any sleep aids.” She fixed her top.
He licked his lower lip. “You’re here alone. Am I correct?”
She nodded.
“Then it can help. You don’t sleep much at night. You’re not getting your rest, and then, during the day, you’re pushing to keep up. It brings on the migraines.”
“I don’t want to be unaware of what’s going on around me. What if someone were to break in or something?” she asked.
‘“Not going to happen with us around, and on this property,” John said.
She looked at him. “I don’t know that.” She looked down and wrung her hands together. Doc covered them.
“Someone should be staying here with her.” Doc stood up. He started to pull some things from his bag. Some samples of migraine medicine that was stronger than over-the-counter stuff and some ointment for the scar then something for sleeping.
“Here is my card, with my cell phone number on it. If you need anything, even in the middle of the night, you call me. I’ll be here, with my brothers,” he said, shocking her and apparently shocking Spartan, John, and Hans who looked angry, or maybe insulted, like the Doc thought they weren’t taking care of her. Which of the two, she wasn’t sure. The doctor stood up, and she did, too.
He reached out and stroked her jaw, holding her gaze. “No one as beautiful and sweet as you should have had something like this happen. Remember, I’m a phone call away.” He winked then gave Spartan and the others a nod.
“I’ll check in on her in a few days.” He headed toward the door, John following him then closing the door behind him.
She pulled her shirt up, trying to avoid Spartan’s gaze and not read into the mumbled curses behind her and Hans and John exchanging heated words.
She looked at the scar. It was light but still apparent. She more than likely wouldn’t be able to wear a two-piece bathing suit again without drawing attention to her skin. She hoped the ointment worked. Spartan’s finger covered hers as she traced the scar. His other hand went to her hip.
He bent down lower. “Hey.” She looked up at him. “It will heal. Use the ointment and hopefully it won’t be too noticeable, but if it is, it’s okay. We all have scars. Some run deeper than others. They’re our battle wounds, and no one can minimize them. They make us who we are, Cherokee.”
She nodded, and her eyes filled up with tears.
Her stomach rumbled, and he laughed and stepped back. John placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Food. She needs to eat. Her stomach is rumbling,” Spartan said.
“I’m okay. You guys dropped off plenty of things the other day.”
“You haven’t touched anything,” Hans said with her refrigerator door open.
“What do you mean?” Spartan asked.
“I haven’t been too hungry.”
John squeezed her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest. “You need to eat. You obviously missed lunch, too. Come over for dinner.”
She stepped from his hold. She felt too stimulated. Too attracted to him. It wasn’t a good idea.
“I shouldn’t. I’ll be fine. Really.”
Spartan nodded. “Okay. We’ll touch base with you tomorrow. Have a good night.”
“You, too, and thank you for introducing me to Doc.” She saw the scowl on Hans’s face. The man was pissed.
“Tomorrow.” John then gave her a wink and the three men walked out of the cottage.
She locked the door and wondered what had happened then figured she’d better keep her distance or she could wind up in a worse situation than she was already. Feeling scared, weak, and vulnerable could push her into these men’s arms, and she wasn’t ready to have her heart broken or her body used. In fact, letting her guard down and letting any man close enough to even kiss her was probably many, many moons away. Being assaulted changed things, including her outlook on men and trusting any of them. She had a new life to put together. Teaching, living alone, and handling things on her own were necessities. So avoiding being alone with any of those men she felt attracted to was part of surviving. She would do it. She had to.
Chapter Three
Hans was wide-awake and sitting on the back porch of their home. After Doc had seen Cherokee and stated that she shouldn’t be alone in her cottage, they all felt guilty. If she wasn’t eating and sleeping well, maybe they should take turns staying there with her. Sleeping on the couch? The thought both enticed him and scared him. She was so beautiful, youthful, and sexy. Not like any fucking schoolteachers he had when he was in school. The woman’s green eyes alone drew everyone in that she spoke to.
He took a deep breath and exhaled. This attraction he and that the others felt toward her couldn’t be ignored for much longer. Not when they all couldn’t stop thinking about Cherokee or keep from watching over her. The fact that Spartan kept denying all the requests for guardianship even had Cesar in a state. He, too, tried discussing it with Spartan and John, but both men were adamant about even having the conversation of claiming guardianship over Cherokee, even with Cesar’s approval. Spartan was hung up on two things keeping him from claiming her. One that they were all close to forty years of age and she was twenty-four, and two, Cherokee was Field and Harrow’s daughter. Her fathers trusted Spartan, John, Nolan, Brye, and Hans to protect h
er, not seduce her into their beds.
That thought didn’t sit right with Hans at all. He was thirty-six years old. A soldier for life. A man who never settled down in one place too long and was always ready for the next mission, the next hunt. Now here he’d been in Repose, Texas, for the better part of three years. He ventured out for special operation missions, and none that were anything like the years past, and he was okay with that. Was he getting old? Was he not good enough for a woman as youthful and gorgeous as Cherokee?
He hated thinking that. Not when such an attraction was there and he’d never felt anything like this for any woman ever. Not the instant attraction, nor the longing for more of her. Hell, he fucking fantasized about her. Wondered how those green eyes would look while he made love to her and made her come. With thoughts of that came thoughts of his commanders, his team, his brothers right there with him, claiming Cherokee together.
He looked back toward her house, noticing the light was still on, like every night since she’d come here. He watched over her, even though she didn’t know. He came out here and kept watch. Maybe he should tell her or, better yet, maybe he should sit right on her back porch and—
He heard the door squeak open and closed, and there she stood, all bundled up in a hoodie. She looked around her and then toward him. She wouldn’t see him on the deck. He was dressed in a black hoodie and sweatpants, and then he watched her, wondering what the hell she was doing. It was four a.m. Where was she going?
He sat forward in his seat. Kept eyes glued to that body. He could practically smell her shampoo and that luscious aroma that was all Cherokee.
She went to the center of the back lawn, giving him a clear view of her. When she opened up her arms and he heard the sobs, he sprang into action. He was off the steps and walking toward her.
“Go ahead. If you’re out there, come. Come for me. I don’t care.” she said in between sobs. He paused and looked toward the woods and trees. Whom was she talking to?
“Cherokee.”
She gasped, turned around, and faltered backward.
He shoved his hood off his head.
Sons of Justice 1: In Good Hands (Siren Publishing LoveXtreme Forever) Page 5