Dirty Little Lies: A Men of Summer Novel (31 page)

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Beau-Remi cursed again. “He started all dis, Mad,” the accent slipped. “Playin’ doz games with de agency, makin’ ever’one look over der shoulders all da time.” He shook his head at the memory of how Ben had used the agency and the Kin against one another to find that bastard trying to take control. “An’ you know dem brothers of his, they was always ass-kissin’ dem agents. One of dem, dey know he’s breathin’ … dat’s why dey go a’ter her.”

“English, Beau-Remi,” he murmured. “Come on, I know you can do it.”

Beau-Remi snorted at the admonishment. “Wha’ we do now?”

Mad continued to tap his finger against his knee, watching his brother thoughtfully. “Watch her back like we’ve been doing,” Mad assured him. “We just keep her covered.”

“Poor lil’ Grace, poor lil’ boo,” Beau-Remi sighed heavily. “Men o’ war got no business havin’ such a sweet little tang.” He shook his head sadly. “Our boo, she hurtin’ now.”

Mad glanced away from the anger in his brother’s face. Yeah, Grace was hurting and he hated it just as much as his brother did. That was why they refused to be part of the Maddox family when they were younger. The continual games, the constant machinations, and the instinctive sense that someone in that family was willing to spill the blood of their own. Even as boys, they’d known with some instinct they couldn’t explain that there was something corrupt there.

“I think it’s time we go see Uncle Vince,” Mad murmured as another heavy splash sounded from the edge of the river. “We need to get this done, Beau-Remi, and get home. We have our own things brewin’, and I don’t like the feel of things here. We take her with us if Zack can’t ensure her safety. The rest of them can go to hell, for all I care.”

There were too many secrets, too many lies that stretched too far. The lure of power had been known to corrupt many a good man, and the power Vince could wield, if he were a man to use it, was extensive. Someone wanted that power, and if they had to kill Grace to ensure they had the time to steal it, then they wouldn’t bat an eyelash at doing so.

“Get some sleep,” he warned his brother. “We’ll go in tomorrow.”

chapter twenty-one

“Do you know how much I love you, Daddy?” The little girl sat on the floor in front of the couch as her father worked on his laptop behind her and she watched cartoons.

“How much do you love me, girl?” The smile in his voice caused her to giggle.

“I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.” She sat still, waiting.

“So where’s my hug?”

She jumped up from the floor to the couch and wrapped her arms tight around his strong neck as that deep chuckle she loved so much wrapped around her.

“You’re my best girl, Gracie,” he promised, holding her securely to his chest.

“I’m your only girl, Dad,” she laughed.

And he didn’t say anything. He just hugged her tighter before kissing her on the forehead and then asking her about her day in school.

She couldn’t remember the expression on his face, she thought, frowning up at the ceiling. Somehow, over the years, she’d forgotten the smaller details. Like the scars on his face. She didn’t remember the scars on his face. Had he gotten them during the explosion?

She didn’t really care where he’d gotten them, she told herself, but she knew better. She cared. She didn’t want to care, because doing so only underscored how much her father had meant to her when she’d meant so very little to him.

She had been replaceable, and he’d replaced her with a little girl who liked doing all the things he wanted to teach her. As though the sons he’d trained hadn’t been enough. Most men didn’t want to train their daughters to kill, but her father had been so disappointed when she cried over the squirrel he’d killed the night they went camping and refused to eat it.

Who was with them?

She remembered Cord, Sawyer and Deacon, Baer and Banyan, but there had been others there as well, boys whose faces she couldn’t remember and whose names she couldn’t recall.

But she remembered the disappointment in her father’s eyes when she’d cried over the squirrel. Why did he have to kill the poor little squirrel? she asked him. What if it had baby squirrels that needed it?

Oh, Daddy,
she’d sobbed, completely heartbroken that her father could do something like that,
how could you be so mean?

And when he cooked it over the fire, she’d refused to eat, and she’d been so hungry. But her father hadn’t packed snacks or chips or apples. He’d wanted to teach her how to eat off the land.

She refused to eat that poor little squirrel, though, or the wild creatures the other boys had killed, skinned, and cooked over their fires.

“Here, squirt.” A bag of chips, a candy bar, and a ham and cheese sandwich dropped in front of her on the sleeping bag where she’d sat, trying not to cry after everyone ate all the animals they’d killed. “I went to the store down the road for my dinner. Good thing I figured you for an animal lover, too, huh? Critters don’t taste near as good as ham and cheese with chips.”

She looked up into bright, vivid violet eyes. They weren’t green eyes like her father’s and brothers’ or cousins’. They were like jewels in a sun-darkened face nearly hidden by all the long, curly black hair surrounding it.

He plopped down on the sleeping bag next to her, followed by his twin. There were so many twins in the Maddox family, almost always boys.

Both of them unwrapped sandwiches and bit into them with gusto.

“Eat, and I’ll show you som’din’ cool.” The twin winked teasingly.

“What is it?” She wiped her eyes, then lifted the sandwich and unwrapped it slowly.

“I have a caiman.” He bent forward, those violet eyes sparkling in fun. “Your papa isn’t happy wit’ me either, ’cause I bring ole Joe with me.”

If her daddy didn’t like it, then she would make sure she did like it.

“I’m so mad at my daddy,” she mumbled tearfully, her breath hitching. “He didn’t bring me nothin’ to eat. And he killed that poor little squirrel.”

“Eh, sometimes he forgets little girls are supposed to be soft and sweet.” He waved her father’s supposed crimes away. “That’s what brothers are for, to make it all right when they forget.”

“My brothers don’t like me,” she confided, staring up at the young man somberly, not questioning why she’d trust him with that secret. But she remembered the outcast feeling that overcame her each time they were around. They would watch her, but they rarely talked to her. Never had they interacted with her as the two violet-eyed boys were doing.

“No. Not true.” Disbelief filled his expression, though he kept his voice low so others wouldn’t hear. “An’ you so sweet? Why would they not like you?” There was the faintest hint of some accent Grace hadn’t heard at the time. But she remembered thinking how pretty it sounded.

“Baer says I’m like Momma,” she whispered, staring down at her sandwich, wishing her brothers liked her—because she knew, even as young as she was, that her momma didn’t like her. “But I’m really not.” She knew she wasn’t. “Him and Daddy were yellin’ about it and didn’t know I was there—”

“Well, now, boo, sounds to me Baer needs to learn some manners, huh? I tell him you nothin’ like that person, eh? Trust me, he listen to me right proper.”

Who could not listen to the boys with such beautiful eyes, she remembered thinking.

She’d confided in the two boys that night as her father and the other boys tracked through the trees and did their boy things. She hadn’t wanted to go, because she was cold and hungry, and so sad for that little squirrel.

Her father had left her at the fire, promising all she had to do was call for him and he’d be there. But she’d been all alone until the twins showed up with their sandwiches, smiles, and gentle teasing.

She’d fallen asleep listening to that young man tell her stories about the caiman he’d promised to show her. She didn’t know what a caiman was, but it sounded very fierce. And when she awoke the next morning, he and his brother were gone.

Her father never took her camping again, and Grace never forgot the disappointment in his eyes that night.

Calli probably killed and skinned her own wild game, then cooked it herself over the fire. Her younger sister likely didn’t get frightened alone in the dark, and thought a campfire and sleeping bag was the place to be.

Her fists clenched as she rolled to her side, glaring into the dimly lit bedroom, hating the anger and resentment she couldn’t seem to stop. Because it wasn’t Calli’s fault. It was her father’s fault. He hadn’t had to leave Grace behind to take his younger daughter camping. Even as a child, Grace would have understood.

She would have liked having a sister—

The bedroom door pushed open.

Eyes widening, Grace had little time to react before Zack was at the side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, sitting up as he turned, stalked to the dresser, and gathered up an armload of her clothes.

“Did you hear me?” Grace jumped from the mattress, hurrying to follow after him. “Zack, dammit, what are you doing?”

He moved quickly up the hall, then disappeared into the master bedroom.

Storming into the bedroom, she came to a hard stop at the bottom of his bed and glared at him, bemused by the sight of him shoving her clothes into one of his dresser drawers.

Her chin lifted defiantly when he turned back to her, arrogance tightening the features of his face as he met her glare without so much as a hint of wariness.

“I told you earlier, you sleep in this bedroom from now on,” he reminded her. “You can move your clothes tomorrow, but tonight, you will sleep here.”

“And what makes you think I’m in the mood for sex?” Her fists clenched at her side, anger churning with the loss and grief raging inside her. “Especially with someone who’s been lying to me as long as you’ve obviously been doing.” She wanted to scream, but if she did, she was terrified she’d end up sobbing instead. This was breaking her. She could feel herself shattering from the inside out and didn’t know how to stop it.

“I didn’t ask you for sex, I said you
will
sleep in this bed, with me, just as we agreed earlier.” He stepped to her, gripping her upper arms and pulling her against him before she could avoid him. “And I hated every fucking day that I had to stare in your eyes and keep that truth from you. Every day that I knew by revealing it, I’d only be endangering you.”

“You could have told me at any time in the past weeks.” Shaking her head, she denied any reason he could have for not telling her. “At any time, Zack.”

“Would you have believed me, Grace?” The sudden softness of his voice, the knowledge in his eyes pulled a sob from her chest as she fought to hold on to her emotions, hold on to the pain ravaging her. “Without seeing him for yourself, would you have believed me? Could you have accepted it?”

No.

No, she would never have accepted it.

“I’ll never know, will I!” she forced herself to snap at him. “And I’ll never know how much you’ll keep from me in the future—”

“Don’t you dare.” His face was in hers so fast, she didn’t even have time to gasp. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let you come up with an excuse to throw me out of your life like you do everyone else you think you might end up caring for or who might care for you. You made me a promise earlier, and by God, you will stick by it.”

And he wasn’t about to give her a chance to refuse.

Immediately his lips covered hers, stealing the protest she hadn’t really considered giving and overwhelming the bleak, soul-deep pain with a pleasure she’d never known except for in his arms. In the rapidly growing storm that tore through the senses and seared them with rich, vibrant flames.

Wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on to him like a lifeline, an anchor to keep herself from falling into the pit of complete agony she could feel rising inside her, Grace took his kiss and returned it with her own. As she was rising to her tiptoes, a moan left her throat—and any thought of holding back or holding some part of herself from him didn’t even exist. The only way to survive at this moment was in Zack’s arms.

As she fought to push him as high as she knew he could push her, stroking against him, her tongue battling his, lips stroking, her fingers in his hair, holding him to her. The loose pajama top she wore was quickly unbuttoned, her breasts freed for his stroking hands, for his far-too-experienced fingers. Gripping one tight point, Zack exerted just enough pressure to send a flash of fire and ice surrounding nerve endings. The pressure eased, then returned, and the slight tug and grip sent the sensation tearing through her, arrowing straight to her clit before it tore to the depths of her pussy.

Her juices spilled from the aching depths, muscles clenching and desperate for penetration, for the pleasure-pain of each thrust filling her vagina.

She ached, she needed.

There were moments when she wondered how she’d managed to live without his touch, without knowing the powerful, rocking completion he gave her each time he took her. And she knew she’d never survive the emotional chaos building inside her if she gave in to it instead.

“Ah hell, Grace. I swear this is all I can think about anymore: how fucking good you feel.

How good he felt.

And he felt so good. Strong, broad, and warm.

Pulling her arms from around his neck, Zack pushed the material of her opened pajama top from her shoulders, his hands stroking down her back, his callused palms sensually rough, incredibly gentle as he tracked her flesh from shoulder to hip.

The feel of her the cotton pajama shorts she wore sliding over her hips and down her thighs, leaving her naked against him didn’t seem completely fair to her. He should be just as naked against her.

She tugged at the elastic band of the gray knit pants that did nothing at all to hide the fierce erection beneath the material. Pulling the band back from the engorged crest, she slid the material down over his thighs, the backs of her fingers caressing the length of the shaft on a slow, downward glide.