Saved by His Submissive

by Angel Payne

  He whipped his stare back. It had morphed into a glare. “This is for the better.”

  “Really?” she flung back. “This what, Garrett? Tell me, what the hell am I to you now?” She grabbed his ring again then held it up between them. “Is this going to just become an expensive little amulet?”

  A pulse rammed in his jaw. “That’s not fair.”

  “That’s truth! This ring is supposed to stand for sharing our lives, Garrett. For sharing, not for running from each other!”

  The accusation ignited him. Thank God. He surged toward her, his face curled with ferocious intent. It thrilled her. At she could still get to him. There was hope.

  “So what now?” She knew it was a push. But desperate times called for having girl balls. “Well, Garrett? Do you have the answer for this one? What do we do? Do we define what we have left over? What am I going to be now? Your roommate? Your responsibility? Your precious ‘mission package?’ Do I get to be ‘turned over’ once we’re back, so I’m not your damn concern anymore?”

  He yanked back with a violent jerk. His whole body coiled. There was no way she couldn’t feel it. His thick thighs shook the bed as he prepared his body to act on the bail-out his mind had clearly commanded. Sage’s body went taut, preparing for the Arctic cold that would take over as soon as he bolted.

  But he didn’t leave. As he’d truly promised, he stayed. He lifted his hand to engulf hers, surrounding her fingers plus the ring inside a grip that bordered on crushing. The sight of him consumed Sage’s senses with equal effect. She was swept away anew by his rugged beauty, suffocated in the fire of his powerful, unmerciful focus.

  “You’re mine.”

  The words rumbled from the depths of his chest. She was left with no doubt about their intent. They were vows, not just syllables.

  “You’re mine, Sage. Call in any deity or god or spirit you want; I’ll swear by their names and all their fucking saints and angels, too. As far as I’m concerned, it took them all working together to bring you back to me, anyway.”

  She parted her lips, wanting to say something but choked by a maddening desire to kiss and wring his neck at once. He didn’t make things easier by sliding to the floor next to her, taking a knee as he continued gripping her hand. “You’re not a gift I’m going to waste. I swear by this ring and everything it still means to me, you will be safe. I’ll protect you from any animal, asshole, criminal, or deviant who thinks they can lay so much as a fingernail of harm against you. And yeah,” –he finally rose to his feet, let her go, and crossed back to the window— “that includes protecting you from me too.”

  Sage didn’t shift. At last, she let out a hard sigh. The hard hunch of his shoulders told her he was ready to keep sparring with her, but what good was it going to do? The damn bear had made up his mind and taken his position. If the poles of the whole damn earth flipped and told him that position wasn’t right any more, he’d fight to the death for it. Fate had stripped him of getting to do it for over a year, and now the man wasn’t just making up for lost time, but doubling his efforts. To him, the stance made sense—because to him, her number one enemy was only a breath away. His own.

  Fine. If that’s the way he wanted to look at things, that’s what she’d work with.

  All she had to do now was give him bigger enemies to fight.

  You want to keep me safe, Sergeant Hawkins? That’s just peachy by me, baby. Let’s rumble.

  Chapter Seven

  Ironically, perhaps even thankfully, the embassy made the decision to send Sage and Rayna home on a commercial flight instead of a military transport. The news came down early the next morning, and Garrett was packed and ready to head to Suvarnabhumi Airport by three that afternoon.

  On one hand, he was glad they’d be enjoying the marathon-length journey in civilian comfort; on the much larger other hand, he already sensed that Sage wasn’t going to let him relax much during the next twenty-four hours. She boarded the van with a serene smile and a graceful glide that didn’t match the fuming woman who’d turned her back on him in bed last night, unwilling to hear his explanation about had happened—more accurately, hadn’t happened—at the hotel. Thinking back on all that now only reconfirmed his suspicion. Sometime between giving him that cold shoulder and this afternoon’s warm smile, she’d hatched a plan of some kind—and something told him he wasn’t going to be happy he couldn’t pound a few irritated fists into the fuselage of a pretty 747.

  The departure from protocol was explained as necessary due to the media frenzy that had developed stateside for the girls’ story. Every major news station wanted their shot of the “miracle nurses’ return to the living,” and the Army, knowing a prize PR op when they had one, sure as hell wanted to supply it. The circus began even at Suvarnabhumi, with CNN, Fox News, BBC and a few of the other major networks on hand, cameras and microphones recording every step they took to the plane. Garrett, Zeke and six other guys from the squad were there, dutifully surrounding Sage and Rayna in a sea of US Army dress blue, as they’d been instructed.

  Orders or not, Garrett didn’t leave Sage’s side, not even when she stopped to buy flowers from local children, or when she veered off their path to take up CNN’s offer for a wave to Heidi on their live feed. When she paused again and said she needed to use the bathroom, he didn’t break stride, forcing her along by the crook of her elbow.

  “We’re twenty yards from the plane,” he said into her ear from locked teeth. “You’ll get your chance there.”

  With a deft wrench, she broke free from him. She tilted her head, eyes flashing like a confident little cat. Garrett knew that look. It always made him yearn to slam her into a wall and fuck the breath out of her. Not a damn thing had changed.

  “I have to pee now, Sergeant Hawkins. If you’re worried about ‘protecting’ me in the ladies toilet, you’re more than welcome to join me.”

  For a second, he thought of calling her bluff. But the next moment, he looked down at his dress blues, followed by a glance at the news crews. The last thing he needed was some cameraman revved on three Red Bulls, catching a secret shot of him pulling a pissing match with their “darling” of the moment. He bit out the f word beneath his breath, let her go, and leaned against the wall. She smiled and sashayed into the bathroom.

  She had him by the balls, and they both knew it.

  Three hours later, the scheming little minx didn’t seem inclined to loosen that grip any time soon. Shockingly, Garrett hadn’t punched any holes into the 747 yet—though that trend might change any second now.

  The temptation pressed harder as her husky laugh broke the air again, a response to another joke cracked by Ethan Archer. He’d always liked Ethan, one of their hardest-working squad members despite being male model pretty, until about an hour ago. The young corporal was pulling out all the stops on his I’m-so-modest-and-you’re-so-cute act, and Sage was doing very little to slow him down. It had gotten worse over the last ten minutes, when a pocket of turbulence caused some of Sage’s bottled water to dump on Archer’s thigh. The sight of her wiping off the spill in a fretful frenzy had Garrett clutching for his seatbelt release.

  That was it. Her stranglehold on his family jewels stopped now. She’d be spending the rest of the flight next to him, where he could keep an eye on her saucy, conniving little backside until Mount Rainier circled into view.

  As he rose, Archer did too. When the corporal turned, looking for the nearest head, at least three women lifted their heads in open appreciation. Garrett chuffed. Come to papa, Dolce and Gabbana,

  Archer easily observed that the nearest toilet was two rows behind Garrett’s location. The corporal scowled. He knew a showdown with Garrett was inevitable in this direction, but if he bee-lined for the head at the front of the plane, it was a blatant pussy move.

  Archer turned toward the rear toilet. Garrett made his way to the little service galley past its door.

  “Hawk.” Archer gave him a tight smile. The guy was pretty but not stupid.
He had to know what was coming.

  “Hey, Runway.” Garrett deliberately used the guy’s nickname, which had been bestowed by the squad due to Ethan’s centerfold-ready looks. Though Ethan earned it in a more legitimate sense by taking down a drug lord’s helo with a ground rocket six months ago, it was clear at which context Garrett aimed with the label right now. Archer’s wince confirmed he knew it too.

  “Is something up?” the corporal asked.

  Garrett leaned against the bathroom door, deliberately ignoring the question. “You and Sergeant Weston seem to be having fun.”

  To his credit, Archer planted his stance and squared his shoulders. “Seems like she’s needing a little fun.”

  “Yeah, well…playtime’s over.”

  “She told me you two are taking a break. She also told me it was your choice.”

  Garrett grunted. Two days ago, he’d been gasping against a hundred daggers of grief in his chest. Archer’s words dumped a gallon of acid onto the leftover scabs. The shit overflowed and stung his retort. “Yeah, that’s probably what she said. That doesn’t mean she’s ready for a goddamn romp on the mattress, man.”

  Archer ticked a brow. “Who says I want to ‘romp?’”

  Acid, say hello to Mr. Matchstick. “I know what you want to do, asshole.” Garrett grabbed the corporal by the V of his shirt. “I know you’re deeper into that kinky tie-me-up shit than Zeke, and that you’re already thinking of strapping her down in some deviant dungeon and—”

  “The proper term is BDSM, Sergeant.” For some reason, the guy’s composed comeback was more censuring than a cuss-ridden rant. “And, when power is properly exchanged by a willing submissive and a loving Dominant, the results can transform people. It even heals them from things, such as being on the run and fearing for their life every day for a year.”

  “Thanks for the gung-ho on that, Corporal.” He didn’t relent on his hold. “Now keep it the hell away from Sergeant Weston.”

  Archer returned a careful nod. “Respectfully speaking, it seems Sage is capable of making that decision for herself.”

  “As you brilliantly mentioned two seconds ago, Sage just spent a year running in the wilds of Africa then the jungles of Thailand, not sure who to trust or where to go. I don’t think she knows what she wants for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  “Ah, but you do. And now that you’re ‘taking a break’ from each other, you know that even better.” The guy tilted his head with that unnerving Zen-like concentration. “Respectfully speaking, of course.”

  It was official. Garrett now wanted to put his fist into Archer’s perfect face more than the plane’s wall. He could practically feel Shrink Sally popping up on his shoulder, pen tapping her chin, gently discussing crap like misplaced aggression and sideways control issues. He gave the doc a hard mental shove. After her specter did a header into the box of snack pretzels, he refocused on Runway.

  “You want to bring respect into this?” he snarled. “Good. Go ahead. Respect her—from as far the fuck away from her as you can get.” He unfurled his hand from the guy’s shirt. With less decorum, he jerked open the bathroom’s door. “After you’re done fixing your makeup in there, plant your ass in my old seat. I’ll watch over Sergeant Weston from here on in.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  He ignored the little lip twitch Archer added to that, knowing it would take his ire to places it shouldn’t be. Not that it wasn’t there already. Not that deep inside, he didn’t admit that every note of the guy’s subtext hit the nail on its damn head. Not that he didn’t know he was using protectiveness as an excuse for every emotion he had and every asshole move he made—a pair of lists that seemed to be swelling by the hour.

  Sage’s perturbed sigh broadcasted that fact to him as he claimed the seat next to her. But when he twined his hand into hers, she didn’t resist. He waited a minute. Tightened his hold. She shifted a little but didn’t pull away.

  He turned and narrowed his eyes at her in curiosity. She kept her eyes fixed on the in-flight movie, her brows quirking at the action on the screen. “I had no idea Stallone could still run that fast.”

  He snorted. “Some things haven’t changed.”

  She leaned her head back. “I guess not.”

  He looked down. “Hands,” he murmured. “Not elbows.”

  The corners of her mouth quirked. He was talking about their hold on each other. Usually they twisted themselves together all the way to their elbows. It was a tiny detail she probably thought he’d forgotten.

  “I remember.” He said it into her ear. “I remember everything, Sage.” He drew back a little before going on, “I also remember this usually meant I was deep in the doghouse.”

  Her lips lifted a little higher. “You have a good memory, Sergeant Hawkins.”

  Garrett glowered. “Fine. I was an ass to Archer. I’ll apologize.”

  “I’ll give you that,” she countered. “You were a butthead to Ethan.” Her gaze didn’t waver from the small village getting blown up on the overhead screens. Garrett watched the orange and yellow colors reflected in her eyes, though he seriously wondered how many of those fireballs were due to the movie. “But that’s not why you’re in the doghouse, and you know it.”

  He forced a deep breath in and back out. “Were you listening when Zeke talked to you, Sage? Didn’t he explain—”

  “Yes,” she snapped, “he did. I got the whole Zeke Hayes special rundown, okay? You didn’t go through with it. Fine. I heard him, loud and clear.”

  His gut twisted. “But you don’t believe him.”

  “No, that’s not—Oh, God!” She huffed, sounding exasperated. “I believe him, Garrett. I do.”

  He wondered why his intestines still felt like goddamn knots. “All right. So…what is it?”

  She finally jerked her face at him. “What is it?” A snort burst out of her. “Are you honestly asking me that?” She looked nearly ready to punch him. Garrett wished she would have. He wished for anything other than the tears that pooled in her eyes instead. They didn’t just turn her gaze the color of Kryptonite. Her pain was that shitty stuff for him. “You went there in the first place, Garrett.” She pulled in a shaky sigh. “It was a crappy thing to do.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. In that silence, he lifted his free hand to thumb away her tears from her cheeks. After that, he gave her a quiet nod. “You’re right. And I’m sorry.” Before he continued, he nudged her face up so their stares were entwined again. “But I’m not sorry for why I did it. I meant what I said last night, Sage. I’m going to protect you, if I have to protect you from me.”

  She struggled to shake her head. Her face told him she didn’t understand, but he knew what filled the gaze he gave her in return. Knew it in every corner of his soul, every beat of his heart. He’d only have a few more moments to convey it to her, courtesy of the dress blues rules they were already shattering, but if he got ten violations slammed at him, it’d be worth it. For a year, he’d dreamed of this. For every dream orgasm he’d had with her, there were ten fantasies of this. Of having her near, holding her safe, flooding her with a stare full of his love…

  He’d walk through a thousand more slimy jungles for this. He’d throw down his life for this.

  If he lost her again, he’d want to be dead, anyway.

  * * * *

  In true Pacific Northwest style, the Seattle-Tacoma weather gods broke out one of their best downpours in honor of the girls’ homecoming. It was another lucky twist of fate, because when Heidi was finally reunited with her daughter and the TV cameras zoomed in for their close-ups of the mother and daughter sobbing on each other, nobody paid attention to one Sergeant Hawkins behind them discreetly wiping “rain” off his own face. Rayna had a similar reunion with her brothers, who could easily fill out most of an epic movie cast even with two of their seven out on deployments. Zeke kept careful watch nearby, until something outside the terminal window caused a thunderhead to cross his face that made the clouds
outside look like cartoons.

  After making sure a Sea-Tac security officer was instructed not to take his eyes off Sage, Garrett snuck behind the camera crews and stepped next to his friend. “Dude, you look like you saw the spawn of Hell himself.”

  Zeke’s lip curled with rancor. “I did.”

  “What’re you—”

  His friend cut him short with a rough grunt and a curt nod. Garrett followed the trajectory of that move, looking outside. Their plane had taxied to a gate at the end of the terminal, adjacent to what looked like the airport’s main security operations. Considering who they’d just shuttled home, the move wasn’t surprising. His scrutiny took in a one-story building with a mess of communication equipment on its roof, with a swarm of people in dark blue uniforms both inside and out. There were four standard-issue police cars present, flanking a black van that looked anything but standard. Because it wasn’t.

  Standing in the rain outside that van, his wrists and legs chained and his elbows bracketed by two FBI suits, was the man he’d last seen kneeling in jungle grass, busted in the act of trying to broker women into slavery.

  King.

  If blood could really scream, Garrett was certain his did. Rage and disbelief took over corner of his body. As if beckoned merely by the strength of that chaos, the asshole below raised his head for a moment. He turned up a slow grinn as soon as he spotted Garrett and Zeke. He took in their fury, and tongued his lips as if finishing off a juicy steak. “Evil” was too good a term for the bastard. So was “worm in the sewer of humanity.”

  Garrett barely controlled the craving to pound down the window. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  Zeke emitted another furious rumble. “I don’t know. But I’m gonna damn-well find out.”

  “Good.” It was agonizing to take in a breath. His hard nod came easier. “Good.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “You sure as hell will.”