Assassin's Promise, The Red Team Series, Book 5 (31 page)

He put his hands on her hips, his face against her belly as her tremors eased. The passion was slow to leave her body. Every move he made sent another ripple through her. She was breathing fast. He kissed her ribs, her breasts, her throat.

“Greer—” Her quiet moan was filled with frustration.

“I know. We’re not done.”

He reached over to the drawer of his nightstand and took out a Trojan. Covered, he spread her legs with his knees and held himself against her opening. He pushed in just the tip. She was tight, but still very wet. She bent her knees. Her hand wrapped around his on her hip.

He eased himself in a little deeper, watching her. He wasn’t a small guy, and he was stiff like a marble rod. Her hips moved to accommodate him. She wanted all of him, but he still went slowly, in a little deeper, a little more, letting her body get used to him.
 

“You’re torturing me,” she complained.

He grinned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Kiss me.” She took hold of his face, lifting up to match her lips to his. His arms circled her body, his elbows braced on the bed. She arched up beneath him, taking all of him. He felt her satisfied smile against his mouth. He began to move in her, pumping, in and out with slow strokes. She was already so heated, so ready for him, that she couldn’t take much of his gentle rhythm.
 

“Harder. Now,” she ordered.

He complied, pulling out and slamming in. He gripped the pillows under her and spread his legs—and hers—wide. He pushed in and out, holding her body to his, grinding himself against her clit, willing her control to break.

She cried out, a loud, guttural sound. He pumped against her, hard, his own release so close. Her third orgasm set him off. He leaned up, holding her hips to his as his release shot from him.

Slowly, slowly, sanity regained control of his mind, sooner than it did for Remi, whose body was still pulsing over his cock. He eased her hips back to the bed and settled down on top of her, holding her until her body cooled.
 

She was sweating—they both were. He loved the smell of her passion. As she came down, a strange pallor came over her face. Her breathing sped up. She dug the heels of her hands into his shoulders and pushed at him, locking her elbows.

“Get off me. Get off. Get off, Greer.”

He pulled back, withdrawing from her body. As soon as he sat up, she made a beeline for the bathroom. The door slammed shut.
 

Greer knelt on the bed, feeling a little shattered. What happened? What had he done? Jesus, had he hurt her?

He discarded the condom, then followed her to the bathroom. The door was locked. “Remi—what’s going on?” There was no answer, only the sound of running water. “Open the door.” He knocked again. He could hear her sobbing. “Open the goddamned door, Remi, or I will kick it down.”

He was just about to do that when the door swung open. She was standing with her back to him, her shoulders hunched, crying into a wet hand towel.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, coming close to her. He didn’t know what to do. He looked for blood on her legs, but there wasn’t any. “Remi, talk to me. What’s happening? I thought what just happened was amazing…I thought I brought you with me.”

“It was amazing.”

“Can I hold you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He did anyway. He stepped up to her body and wrapped his arms around her. “Why are you crying, then?”

She turned in the circle of his arms and leaned her forehead against his chest. After a minute, she looked up at him, the stupid towel obscuring half her face.
 

“I’m married.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Remi grabbed the fluffy white terrycloth robe hanging on a hook at the back of Greer’s bathroom door. Shoving her arms into it, she hurried into his bedroom. She should go. She really should, but she was too dizzy to leave. She dropped into the armchair near his window and put her head between her legs.

Greer knelt in front of her. His hands were warm on her knees. She was trying to breathe slowly, but she kept gasping. Oh, hell. She didn’t want to vomit now. Here.

He put his hand on the back of her head. “Look at me,” he ordered. She didn’t. “Remi, you aren’t married.”

She did look up then. “I was there. I think I know what happened.”

“I compiled your profile. You have no marriage license in this state or any other.”

“It happened before I left the Grummonds.”

“I hacked their system. They had no marriage listed for you—under this name or the one you used as a resident there.”

“They didn’t file marriage licenses.”

“Wait a minute. You were fourteen when you left. You weren’t old enough to be married, even with parental permission.”

Bile rose to her throat. She tried to fight it back down, but the memories she’d struggled so hard and long to avoid exploded into her mind. She covered her mouth and shook her head, mumbling from behind her hand, “I was twelve.”

The look of horror on Greer’s face matched the disgust roiling in her belly. She shot up from the chair and ran to the bathroom, emptying her stomach violently into the toilet.

Greer followed her back into the bathroom. He pulled her hair from her face and held it behind her until her stomach had calmed down. When she was finished, he handed her a towel. She went to the sink and washed her hands, holding cold water to her face for long moments.

Greer turned on the shower, holding his hand under the stream of water until it reached the right temperature. He pushed his robe from her shoulders, leaving it in a pile at her feet, then drew her with him into the shower.
 

All she felt was numb. She never wanted to fall in love. Never wanted to bring a man she cared about into her crazy life. Most of all, she never wanted to see his affection flip from caring to disgust, as Greer’s just had.

He was just being nice now, because what else could he do? Curse at her messed-up life and boot her from his room? That would probably come next.
 

She stepped into the shower stall with him, but kept her eyes averted. He shut the door, then reached for the shampoo. She tried to move out of the way so that he could access the jets of water, but he stopped her. He poured a bit of shampoo into his palm, then lifted her chin so that he could wet her hair.
 

She flashed a look at him. His eyes caught hers and wouldn’t release them. He was somber. Fierce. His eyes had the same edge in them that she’d seen when he looked at enemies. She blinked and looked away, grateful for the streaming water that camouflaged her tears.
 

He rubbed the shampoo in her hair, kneading her scalp. Some of her tension eased at his touch. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions. She was grateful she didn’t have to talk. She had no words left with which to defend herself.
 

She’d let them come to this point in their relationship without warning him away. Some things you just didn’t recover from.
 

He rinsed her hair and repeated the steps, this time with conditioner.
 

Things had moved so quickly, bringing them to this point so very fast. Reason never had a chance to catch up with her heart.
 

No, that was a lie.
 

She’d known from the night at her secret apartment that he was the only man who stood a chance in her life and in her heart. He was made of steel, absent any imperfections like fear or doubt.
 

He was a good man, and she’d trapped him in her hell.

Greer wetted a washcloth and poured a dollop of liquid soap on it. The delicious scents of cinnamon and vanilla filled the shower stall. At least she had that. When he was gone, she could always pull those from her cabinet and remember him. The bittersweet moments with her assassin cookie.

She didn’t resist as he washed her. When he was finished, he did a quick pass over himself, then rinsed both of them. He shut the water off. Cold air filled the shower as he opened the stall door. He grabbed a thick towel and wrapped it about her body, then handed her another for her hair.
 

He gave himself a quick rubdown, then took her hand. When they reached the bed, she started to collect her clothes. “I should go.”

He took her things from her and dropped them back on the floor. “No. We’re not done.”

“Greer, I told you I’m married.”

He lifted the corner of the covers. “You’ve said a lot of things. Now you’re going to listen to me. In.” He pointed to the bed.

She didn’t comply. Her feet were locked in place.

“Remi, I want to hold you in my arms when I say what I have to say.”

She blinked at the liquid in her eyes. He still held the covers open. She lowered her head, then ditched the towels and crawled into his bed. He followed her, then scooped her up and brought her close.

“This is what I have to say.”

Remi kept her arms folded between them, bracing herself to hear words he could never take back and she could never forget.
 

“You’re an educated woman. You know as well as I do that no twelve-year-old can get married, least not here in the U.S.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“So you know, too, that whatever bullshit they told you—”

“There was a ceremony. I signed my name in a Bible.”

He drew a breath before continuing. “Baby, listen to me. They could have had you walk upside down around the compound dressed in rainbows. It doesn’t matter. Whatever they said, whatever they had you do, has no bearing on reality. It has no foundation in logic, ethics, morals, reason—or any other measure of human behavior and intellect. You know this. You’ve helped deprogram former cult members.”

She gulped too much air. “But I...I can’t deprogram me.”

“Okay.” She felt him nod. “You’re not in this alone. I got my arm around you.” He kissed her forehead. “And you know I’ll slay your dragons. Or even just clean your weapons after you vanquish them.”

“I don’t know why you would.”

He laughed. “I told you before, the bad guys don’t get to fuck with the good guys.” He tightened his hold on her. “Take me through that time. Help me understand what happened. Who did what and when?”

“I’ve never told anyone this.”

“Maybe it’s time you shined a little light on it. You’re safe here with me. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“You should go, Greer. They will kill you.”

He chuckled. She felt that small puff of breath on her face. “I would love for them to try.”

“They killed my mother. They said she died of pneumonia, but she was healthy when she went back to them. Thin, but healthy.”

“Go ahead. Start your story.”

She sighed. “When I was twelve, the Prophet—”

“Josiah. AKA Senator Whiddon.”

“Yeah. He decided to take me and two of my friends as his wives. Wives number four, five, and six. I learned later, once my mom and I were away from the group, that he did that to trap us in the community. She thought he knew she was wanting to get me away. Once I became his bride, we were elevated in status. It became very difficult for either of us to ever be alone…or unguarded.
 

“Custom dictated that the prophet not consummate the marriage until two years after his wife began menstruating. My friend reached that threshold a year before me. She told me what happened during the consummation ceremony.

“There was a chamber above our worship hall. No one but the prophets and the male elders were allowed up there. It was considered sacred. The consummation ceremonies took place there.

“My friend told me the room was all white. There was a large bed made from white wood, with white linens. It was far more luxurious than anything she’d ever seen. It was up on a dais.”
 

She paused. Greer’s hand on her arm gave her strength. “There were restraints of some sort at each of the four corners of the bed. She was cuffed to the bed. The prophets took her first. Then they let the elders have her. Then the men had a feast as she watched them—and they her.

“My friend risked her life to tell us this. My mother broke into the chamber shortly after learning about this. I was terrified for her. When she came back, she packed a small bundle of food and clothes, and we left.”

“So the prophet never touched you?” Greer asked.

“No.”

“They have a different head prophet now. I don’t know what happened to Esrom Stanton, the top guy in your day. I didn’t think to search for him.” He stroked her arm. “Where was your father in all of this mess?”

“My mom was one of seven wives. My father was much older. He didn’t live much past my fifth birthday.”

“Do they know polygamy is illegal?”

She shrugged. “They don’t care. Each husband has only one legal wife. The rest are his wives within the community only. In the eyes of the law, they aren’t doing anything wrong. Earlier this year, I’d decided that I had to go back and face them, face my terrors. And I wanted to visit my mother’s grave.”

“How’d that go?”

“They wouldn’t let me in.”

“Bastards. I’ll get you in. And if you like, we can have your mother moved to a cemetery in Laramie. Then you can visit her grave whenever you wish.”

Remi frowned as a new thought took root in her mind. She pushed herself up to see him better in the dark room. Greer also readjusted himself, sitting up so that he was at her level.