The General

by Gadziala, Jessica

  "Something wrong?"

  "Quin has his 'what the fuck' voice on," I told her, leaning down to press a kiss into her temple. "I will call as soon as I know something."

  I climbed out of bed in Jenny's house, shrugging into my clothes, then making my way out.

  We switched.

  My house and hers.

  Spreading our newfound relationship everywhere that we were allowed to.

  The air outside had the chill of winter with the promise of spring. And as I made my way to the office, I couldn't help but think that maybe in the summer, Jenny and I could walk around Navesink Bank holding hands instead of pretending we were just boss and employee still.

  Though, to be honest, Jenny got off on the boss.employee thing in bed sometimes. So there was a silver lining in every cloud.

  "Any idea what is going on?" I asked Jules as I stepped inside the office, seeing only the wide eyes, the worry line across her forehead.

  Whatever it was, it had Jules worried.

  It had to be big.

  "Everyone is in Quin's office," she told me, pressing a mug of coffee into my hands and shooing me away.

  I walked into Quin's office - one almost as familiar as my own, finding our team standing around, arms crossed, brows furrowed.

  My gaze sought Quin.

  Who was standing out front his own desk, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  Why the hell wouldn't he be at his own desk?

  On that thought, my gaze shifted to where you would usually find him.

  And I found out why he wasn't seated there.

  Because someone else was.

  And she was leaned back in his chair, her feet kicked up on his desk, tossing his quartz paperweight up in the air over and over, looking very much like she hadn't a care in the world.

  She was maybe in her mid-twenties, dark-skinned, dark-eyed, long of leg which she had clad in simple black skinny jeans that met her red Chucks. Her black hair was freely curling around her shoulders, shifting around her white tee as she tossed the ball.

  "Everyone is here now," Quin said through gritted teeth.

  "Oh, now that is not a good way to start out relationship, is it, Quin? By lying to me," she clarified, shaking her head at him.

  Across from me, Gunner looked like he was actively trying not to laugh, and I couldn't help but wonder if he knew more about her than I did, or he simply found the entire office of fixers and ex-military being held captive by a young woman hilarious.

  Yeah, it was probably the latter.

  This was Gunner we were talking about.

  "Who isn't here?" Quin shot back.

  "A big man from an even bigger set of woods," the unknown woman supplied.

  "You showed up here an hour ago," Quin reasoned. "It takes over two for him to get here."

  "That would be true if I didn't know for a fact that he is already here. His car passed through the tollbooth about twenty minutes ago. Because you have a meeting set up with him. So, the way I see it, you are lying to me and you didn't text him at all like you pretended to, or the text tipped him off. Let's see, shall we?" she asked, pulling out her phone, tapping away at it for a long moment while the rest of us shared looks, no one knowing what the fuck was going on, but not exactly worried enough yet to draw weapons. "Here it is. Our friend Quin here texted Ranger one-hour-and-three-minutes ago saying: Wolf in the henhouse. Window building next door. Rifle. Just in case. Well, now, that is definitely not how we forge friendships."

  "Babe, don't even know who the fuck you are, what the fuck you're doing here, or why the fuck you think I want to be friends with you. So you'll excuse me for being cautious. Now how the fuck do you have access to my or Ranger's texts?"

  "Call off the sniper attack, bring in your Babysitter, and we can talk," she told him.

  And since we had no idea who she was or what she wanted - or, quite frankly, what she had on us - Quin had no choice but to follow her demands, call off Ranger, tell him to come in.

  He did about five minutes later, seeming to take up half the room, the rifle still in his hand, though not aimed at anyone in particular, just there in case he needed it.

  "Happy?" Quin asked, tone low, furious. For a man used to being in control, being the one in power, being made to bow and kowtow and follow orders was clearly grating on him.

  "Getting there," she said, putting the quartz ball down, but keeping her feet on the desk, looking around the room that seemed to see too much, know too much, something that had me stiffening.

  "So, Quinton Baird. Should we start with you?"

  "Start with me how?"

  "You have quite the record, don't you? And that wife of yours too. Killed a man. You'd never know that by looking at her. Your woman either," she went on, looking right at me. "Socialite darling husband killer. Your woman, of course," she said, looking over at Gunner, "is clean. She'd have to be with how - what's a nice way to say 'uptight' - she is."

  "Gunn, no," Quin demanded as Gunner pushed off the wall, ready to go at her. You didn't fuck with our women. And in Gunner's case, you didn't even get to talk shit about Sloane's personality."

  "Good boy," she cooed at him with a smile. "Does he know how to give his paw and roll over too?" she asked, looking back at Quin.

  "Enough with the theatrics, lady," Quin shot back, hitting his breaking point. "We get it. You have shit on us. We all know what we've done. We don't need a history lesson. So get the fuck on with who you are and why are you here. Are you blackmailing us?"

  It wouldn't be a bad set of people to do it to.

  All of us made a nice sum of money.

  And some of our women had even more.

  Sloane and Jenny, of course.

  "Is he always so moody?" she asked, rolling her eyes at Miller. "Anyway. Fine. Ruin the fun. My name is Nia. And I'm your newest employee," she informed Quin, making his brow raise, surprised only for a second.

  Quin was the boss for a reason.

  He recovered quickly from surprises.

  He saw opportunities where others saw complications.

  And he had this uncanny fucking way of knowing people's specialized skill sets.

  So that was how Nia joined the team.

  She had a nickname that day too.

  The Hacker.

  Smith - 4 months

  Quin kept me off active duty while I was still working on Jenny's case. He'd call me in on the occasion that someone else needed a hand with paperwork or some surveillance or something, but I didn't have any cases for myself all that time, allowing Jenny and I to create this secluded little life.

  It was good in a way, I guess, that he finally decided it was time for me to get back to work.

  We couldn't live in a dream world where we could spend just about every waking hour together, where we were the only two people in the world.

  I was going to need to work.

  Jenny was going to have to find ways to fill her days.

  We couldn't live in a fantasyland forever.

  She'd understood, had given me a smile saying she was behind on her Etsy orders, that it was good that she would have a few days to catch up.

  I'd had Miller and Lincoln come in, help me put in a new security system in her house even though we had changed all the locks and passwords a while back. I was being paranoid, but I didn't like the idea of leaving her all alone in that giant house by herself. I'd offered my place instead, but she had paled a bit and admitted that she was freaked out to be there all alone with the bears and coyotes roaming around.

  Lincoln assured me that he would check in on her. Bellamy offered to drop in and teach her to play poker though she had never shown any interest in learning that particular skill. Miller told me that she would drop in, figuring maybe Jenny would be sick of all the testosterone stinking up her place.

  I'd kissed her, packed a bag, and headed out.

  It was hard, at first, to focus, to keep my mind on the job instead of wondering what she might be doing all alone
in that house, if she was getting work done, if she was having bad dreams without having me there for her.

  Then, of course, shit heated up.

  And no matter how in love you might be, that is not on the forefront of your mind when you're alone against five-to-one odds in a street fight. Then, it is all about the adrenaline, the training, the instincts, the sick sort of pleasure I still got at times for bashing some heads together.

  The job hadn't been the simple ass-kicking assignment Quin and I had originally figured, had become this whole thing between rivaling gangs, needing Kai, Lincoln, and Miller before, in the end, Bellamy and Finn needed to be called in instead, leaving me behind to ensure that everything went to plan, that the client was happy, that there was nothing that could trace back to any of us.

  Then Finn headed out on a flight.

  The next day, so did Bellamy and I.

  And we were supposed to be heading home.

  To Navesink Bank.

  To my woman who hadn't seen me in two weeks, who I had only gotten three short phone calls with in all that time.

  But this was Bellamy we were talking about.

  I should have known better than to look away from my fucking drink.

  I woke up half a day later facedown in an unfamiliar bed in some luxury hotel room, a white envelope sitting next to my face.

  "That fuck," I growled as I forced my arm to move, to reach for the letter, finding all the muscles slow and weak, making my fingers grab for - and not close around - the envelope four times before they finally got it, flicked open the fold, and pulled out the white postcard.

  Welcome to Hawaii.

  Hawaii?

  I rubbed my tongue around my mouth, trying to swipe away the dry, cotton feeling of my tongue, gums, and roof of my mouth from whatever he'd used to knock me out, as I flipped the postcard over to find Bellamy's scrawling script.

  You're welcome.

  He thought I'd be grateful for being drugged and kidnapped and deposited on an island instead of letting me go home to my woman?

  On a grumble, I flopped heavily over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, waiting for all my muscles to remember how they were supposed to work.

  There was a knock at the door, making me sigh, forcing my lazy body upward and across the room, reaching for the locks, then pulling it open.

  And there she was.

  In Hawaii.

  With a lei around her neck.

  And a small, uncertain smile on her lips.

  "At least he didn't drug you," I said with a smile of my own, reaching out, dragging her against my body.

  "Is kidnapping something I was supposed to mentally prepare myself for?" she asked against my chest as she took a slow, deep breath, drawing me in like she often did. She said I smelled like sawdust and campfire.

  She smelled like sugar cookies and clay, her unique, perfect scent.

  "It never used to be," I told her with a chuckle. "But then..."

  "Bellamy," she filled in for me.

  "Yep. Bellamy," I agreed.

  But after weeks away from my woman, getting an island vacation with her where we didn't have to hide anything, could be exactly what we were - a couple very newly, but very deeply in love? Yeah, I was okay with it.

  So, well, we mentally prepared ourselves for future kidnappings.

  Because... Bellamy.

  Jenny - 10 months

  The apartment sold without a hitch, actually going into a bidding war, getting me a solid hundred-grand more than the listing price.

  I'd found a new finance guy - one with no links to my former father-in-law. I gave him some of the money to invest, and socked the rest of it away.

  I was busy with my jewelry business. Well, busy by online clay jewelry selling standards. I'd sold over two-hundred pieces.

  But prices at only about ten to fifty dollars a piece, I wasn't exactly raking it in.

  It felt good to make my own money.

  But I was being practical, careful with what came from the sale of the apartment, Teddy's car, the expensive furniture I hated.

  Not because I was living some big, grand, expensive life, but because I had a future to think about now.

  One with Noah.

  One that maybe, possibly, hopefully included children. Who I would want to have the chance at having any kind of education they might want. I never wanted to have a child who would feel like they had to settle down, a daughter who thought her only choice was to marry to have an easier life. I wanted them to have dreams and goals and plans for themselves before they settled down. I wanted them to be sure of themselves, so full of confidence and the knowledge of their own self-worth that they would never settle for abuse of any kind. In fact, would never settle for less than they deserved.

  Meaning everything.

  I wanted to sell the house.

  But the real estate agent told me that with the tragedy surrounding Teddy's death, it might be a good idea to wait a year or two since that information would have to be disclosed to potential buyers.

  For some reason, if time has passed, they are less likely to turn away because of a body.

  The house would be worth another two million at least, some of which I was thinking of using to build on to Noah's house, make it livable for a family. Put on a garage so I could get in my car without worrying about bears. It was the right place to raise children. Surrounded by the wilderness in a house their daddy built with his own two hands, filled with furniture three generations of Smith men had carved. Maybe if we had a son - or a daughter - Noah could bring them to his workshop, teach them how to work with the tools, make things that could last too, be passed down to future generations.

  Bertram had left me alone.

  For the most part.

  I'd gotten a note about his upcoming election campaign that, in very careful wording, told me to butt out.

  Which I was happy to do.

  I was so far beyond that. Beyond him. Beyond the woman he once knew me as.

  I was simply waiting for the day when he thought he no longer needed to have any contact with me at all.

  I had a feeling it would be after the ring on my fourth finger had a new ring sitting with it.

  We weren't in a rush, though, to be married. It was all paperwork.

  I loved him.

  He loved me.

  That was what was important.

  Invitations, centerpieces, cakes, bands, that was all the superficial stuff.

  We'd get around to it. Eventually.

  I was, though, a bit anxious for a new last name, if I were being perfectly honest.

  I would become Jennifer Smith. A more average, unassuming name I couldn't have come up with myself.

  No more tires to politicians, to old money, to big corporations.

  Just a woman. A wife. A, hopefully, mother.

  The front door opened and slammed, making me walk out of the kitchen, finding Miller walking through my entryway, making me follow to find her throwing herself down on the couch in the great room like she was a weighted, boneless mess.

  "Bellamy?" I asked with a knowing smile.

  "Bellamy," she agreed with a pained whimper as she pressed her palms into her eyes, likely banging with her hangover.

  If we had children, what an odd, ragtag group of aunts and uncles they would have with this group of people that were so close we couldn't call them anything other than family.

  I noticed as she reached for the coffee and pain medicine I handed her that there were little pig noses clinging to her earlobes.

  And the smile then was huge.

  Smith - 1.5 years

  "What? I thought you would be happy!" Nia said, rolling her eyes.

  "That you hacked into doctor records, invading not only my - but Jenny's - privacy?" I shot back.

  Nia wasn't great with boundaries.

  Any information that could be found, to her, meant it should be.

  Most of us didn't live in that world. We knew
that some shit was private, some issues were meant to be brought up between couples, not to one party, betraying the other.

  "I just thought you would like to know," she said, shrugging a shoulder.

  "You're saying that as though Jenny wouldn't have told me herself."

  "But if she was going to tell you, wouldn't she have told you before she set up the appointment?"

  Alright, that was a sound bit of logic. It didn't make her snooping any less invasive, but it did raise some questions.

  Like why Jenny set up an appointment with her gyno without telling me.

  Sure, we had shit pop up that we didn't always talk about the second it happened. It wasn't like I knew the date of her last breast exam or anything. But this was different.

  This was an appointment to get her IUD taken out.

  Next week.

  And she hadn't discussed it with me.

  That was, well, not like her. Not like us.

  We didn't do things behind each other's backs, make plans without comparing notes.

  So, yeah, Nia needed to learn to keep her nose out of our medical records, but it also looked like I needed to have a talk with Jenny.

  A few hours later, long enough that Nia wouldn't think I was rushing home to confront my wife even if that was exactly what I was doing, I made my way to our house.

  Formerly, my house.

  Half of it was tented, something I worked on in my off time. The addition. Off the side. Then eventually up. We'd have to take over the spare bedroom for the staircase, but we'd be gaining new rooms on the second floor, so it was a sacrifice we were willing to make even if Jenny had been using that as her workspace since moving in after the wedding.

  "Jenny?" I called as soon as I opened the door.

  "You're home early," she said, walking out of the bedroom with furrowed brows. "Is everything alright?"

  "Is something wrong with your IUD?"

  Okay.

  So that wasn't the smoothest way to bring up a touchy subject, but I hadn't really found a better way to open the dialogue from the somewhat short drive from the office.

  At that, she jumped back slightly, her eyes going big.