Authors: Joey W. Hill
words, as wel as
silence, were weapons far more
potent than a gun. They
could tear open the heart far worse
than a mortal wound.
She’d known that, the day she’d fitted
the gun under her
chin. Only a spasm in her nervous
hand had turned the
weapon, shot the bul et not into her
brain, but past her
throat. After that, she’d figured out
how to live with the
horrible pain of spoken and unspoken
wounds. But this
took her back to al of that, reminded
her what had pushed
her to that awful, isolated day in her
apartment.
Through the roaring pain, she was
vaguely aware of
Lucas being joined by Peter on the
other side of her. She
hadn’t even realized Peter had fol
owed Jon out, but now
she had a fortress of heated male
muscle around her, as
wel as a heady, lethal aura of barely
leashed fury. It pushed
in on her, held her up like bracing a
mannequin, but Lucas
and Peter had stabilizing hands at her
elbows, reinforcing
it. Then Jon stepped squarely in front
of her.
Chapter Seventeen
There wasn’t a lot of space between
her and the man Jon
knew had to be her ex-husband, but
after hearing that last
line, Jon moved into it without
hesitation, forcing Cole back
a step. While he might not have
Peter’s shoulder breadth,
his were wide enough to block
Cole’s view of Rachel and
focus him on the most important thing
right now—his own
wel -being.
“You’l walk away now, without
another word.”
Like the men behind him, Jon excel
ed at what he did by
correctly assessing others. Through
the few guarded things
she’d said, and his interpretation of
those things, he found
he’d had a pretty accurate picture of
Cole. Perhaps at one
time he’d been a man who’d loved
his wife, but time had
changed him, made him harder. Jon
saw a resentful beta
personality. Cole had likely seen
himself as an alpha, and
taken a wrong turn with it, probably
in many aspects of his
life. His son’s loss would have shut a
lot of avenues down,
made him even more bitter. Now Jon
saw a cauldron of
discontent and disappointment, and a
bul headed refusal to
look inward to resolve any of it. It
was everyone else’s fault,
not Cole’s.
Before ten seconds ago, he could
have pitied the man.
But he’d heard the missile Cole had
fired. The words had
hit Rachel dead center, shattering her
fragile confidence
with bul ’s-eye accuracy, for it had
targeted the things she
feared most about herself, as wel as
the unhealed wounds.
Every scrap of joy and pleasure
she’d earned tonight had
been blasted away. He’d seen it
happen right in front of his
eyes, the tightening of her face, the
anguish in her hazel
eyes, the way her body almost
crumpled in on itself in front
of him, so that she was ashamed of
everything about
herself, inside and out. When that
transition happened, his
pity changed to something else.
The rational nature and pacific
tolerance that
characterized him was replaced by
something Jon had
rarely felt in his life. Since the others
were so in tune with
him, he wondered if Ben had stepped
up to his side to
support him or to prevent murder.
When Cole’s expression got surly,
probably fueled by a
six-pack or two imbibed at the golf
course and over his
steak dinner, Jon’s lips barely
moved. “I mean it. One word,
and you wil regret ever being born.
More than you already
do.”
The man had the good sense to pale
beneath his golfer’s
tan. Whatever Cole saw in his face,
he apparently believed,
and of course it was reinforced by
the three men at his
back. However, frustration and
alcohol were overriding
good sense, and Cole’s hands closed
into half fists. Jon
could tel he was trying to get one
more look at Rachel, and
he shifted, engaging the man’s gaze
again. “You had your
shot. She’s not for you. She’s mine
now. You have no rights
here. Let it go and walk away.”
Cole’s jaw was hard as glass and as
breakable, but he
gave a short nod, turned on his heel
and moved away. Jon
saw a curious group of three golfers
standing by a car,
waiting for him. Apparently they’d
shared a meal, but they
hadn’t wanted to get involved in
whatever this was, even
boozed up as they probably were.
Cole wasn’t as fortunate
in his choice of friends as Jon was,
for certain.
Peter alone was intimidating enough
to back down most
aggressors, but when Jon turned,
Lucas’ silver eyes were
stil cold enough to have frozen
Cole’s dick off. And of
course Jon had known from the first
the most dangerous of
their group stood to his left. Devoid
of his deceptively
pleasant lawyer façade, Ben had the
face of a man who
could murder someone in the middle
of a crowd, and then
talk his way out of it while cleaning
the blood off the knife. It
was something he didn’t appreciate
enough about Ben.
Jon made a note to mention that to
him, send him a
Hal mark card that expressed it, if he
could find an
appropriate one.
But any satisfaction about that
disappeared when he
focused on what was most important
to him right now.
Rachel was looking down, her fists
locked in a knot under
her breasts. He slid his arms over
her, brought that curled,
wounded body in to his, holding her
close. But she reached
up between them, fumbled at the
fastener of the col ar.
“Take it off, please.” Her voice was
hoarse, raw.
“No, Rachel. That’s not—”
“Now.
Now
!” She shoved away from
him, pul ing at it. “Let
me go.”
She was constricting her breathing,
pushing hard against
her windpipe by tearing at the velvet
strap. As she spun
away, the slim heels weren’t made
for that kind of
uncontrol ed movement. One broke
and she stumbled, but
Jon caught her before her knees hit
the rough asphalt. He
lifted her, screaming and struggling.
Peter had already sent
an urgent gesture to Max, where he
sat in the limo at the
entrance area, and he quickly
maneuvered over, stopping
near the men. Lucas got the door and
Jon ducked in, stil
holding her. They shut the door after
him, leaving him in the
roomy and private compartment to
deal with the hysterical
woman in his arms. Max wisely
already had the privacy
screen rol ing up between them.
“Rachel.
Rachel
.” She refused to
respond, fighting him
like a wild animal. As he held her
hands away from her
throat, he saw terrible things in her
face, desolate things.
The woman he knew wasn’t in
control. This feral, wounded
creature didn’t understand soothing
words, meditation and
balancing chakras bul shit. His heart
wrenched, a
combination of shared anguished and
deep fear, as he
realized he was seeing the darkness
that had likely made
her pick up that gun four years ago.
He believed in Fate. Fate had brought
them together,
and no matter how bad this was, Fate
had meant this
moment to happen, to give him the
chance to go head-to-
head with her past, prove that she had
someone in her
corner who could help her put it to
bed, let those wounds
heal.
He pinned her, forced to abandon
gentility or finesse to
unlatch the lock on the col ar before
she could strangle
herself. It tumbled from her neck, but
when he had to shift
his grip, she scrambled to the far side
of the limo, breathing
hard. She curled up in the corner,
fists clenched, body
drawn tight as a bow.
Damn it, he’d told her he’d be
whatever kind of Master
she most needed, even if he had to set
aside rational
thought and answer uncontrol ed
animal instinct with the
same. He’d told Cole the truth. He
would protect her with
everything he was, even the darker
side al men carried
inside of them. From the lingering
effect of the club
performance, he had more than
enough banked animal lust
wil ing to roar up to the forefront and
help.
“Don’t touch me. Get away from me.
Leave me alone.”
To hell with that.
His two instincts flip-flopped, the
primordial eagerly
surging forward, the protective
shoved to the background.
But they were one and the same in
this instance. And he
was a lot fucking stronger and faster.
Yanking her out of the
corner, he banded an arm around her
waist and flipped her
to the limo carpet on her hands and
knees.
She tried to turn on him with nails
and teeth, giving him
her rage. He was pleased to see it,
even as he control ed
her, shoving her back down to her
elbows. He held her
there grimly, one hand on the back of
her neck as he freed
himself from his trousers. The skirt
was so short that this
position ful y exposed her ass, the
pussy stil ripe from their
earlier fucking, wet from that and the
girls’ shower play. As
he slammed into her, he heard her
snarl, her cry of protest.
He gave himself over completely to
that instinct, his cock
hard and thick, knowing what was his
to take, but he
wouldn’t leave it at that. He was
driving into her like a
battering ram, but she was getting
hotter and wetter, and
when he slapped her ass, a hard
spank to command her
attention further, she contracted on
him, a short gasp
breaking up the outrage.
“Stop. Stop it.”
As her arousal built, her furious,
frantic demand became
an anguished plea. A plea that
stabbed him in the heart, for
she was pleading for his help, to
drive al the rest away, to
make al the shrieking pain in her
heart and head stop.
Stop it. Please stop it.
There was nothing he wouldn’t do for
her. So in answer,
he let go of her neck and braced his
body over her with one
arm, reaching beneath with the other
to find her clit and rub
it with knowledgeable fingers,
feeling how swol en it was.
Her hand latched onto his braced
forearm, her forehead
against his elbow. Her teeth sank into
his arm, but as an
anchor, not an attack.
She was stil pleading, incoherent,
and the tearful sound
of it, the way the nails of her other
hand dug helplessly into
the carpet, tore something apart
inside of him.
He would give her pleasure, but that
wasn’t the end goal.
He was striving for pure possession,
the message it sent.
What he’d told her.
Mine to protect.
Mine to cherish.
And
she did deserve to be cherished, god
damn her ex-
husband to hel , and al the evil in the
world that had taken
her son from her. She was the only
one who didn’t see it.
The message might not be getting
through, but the
elemental force he knew dwel ed
within her was surging up
to balance the madness. He was
thrusting hard enough to
give her rug burns.
Good.
Her breath was pumping as hard
and fast as he was now, punctuated
by short, jerky sobs.
Her cunt was so slippery it was
making provocative sucking
noises while he fucked her. She
cursed him with a creative
viciousness that demanded an
answer.
Dropping down over her then, he put
his arms on either
side of her shoulders, back pressing
into hers as he kept
working her. When he pul ed the
dress down, her breast
fil ed his palm, the nipple firm as a
new cranberry when he
pinched it. She tried to buck him off,
but her body was in
control now, softening to the claim of
his, and her hips were
rising to meet him. Ramming home,
the deepest thrust yet,