Nobody's Lost (Rescue Me Saga #5) (20 page)

“I’ll try to keep my options open.”

He chuckled. “You do that, Red.”

Megan rested her body against him and enjoyed having his arms around her. This might be all they would ever have, and if so, she’d come away grateful to him for helping her explore the world of kink in a safe setting with someone she could trust. Maybe someday she’d find a Dominant who wanted to have a sub. If not, she’d have a treasure trove of memories of her time here with Ryder.

Chapter Fifteen

R
yder awoke early the next morning and wanted to kick himself from his bed to San Diego for exposing Megan to his baser side last night. She was innocence and sunshine. He, death and destruction.

He glanced at her closed bedroom door on his way to the kitchen. He hoped she’d slept okay. Today, he’d watch for signs of subdrop with her, this being her first experience.

As he opened the refrigerator door to pull out the ingredients for breakfast, a gunshot rent the quiet morning.

What the fuck?

He ran to the bedroom to check on Megan, but when there was no answer, he opened the door to find her slip of a nightgown lying on the bed.

“Megan! Are you in the bathroom?”

No answer.

Her camera case lay open on the dresser. Jesus Christ. She’d gone outside alone.

And all he had to protect her with was his Bowie knife. He didn’t even have his boots on, so he ran to the bedroom to retrieve them as well as the knife before running out the patio door. If he snuck up on whoever had fired the shot, he’d have a better chance of taking them down.

But what if he was too late?

Around the side of the house he crept, heading in the direction of the gunshot.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Megan.

He followed her voice. Had she been wounded? At least she was alive.

“Oh, God. I can’t believe I did that.”

Her voice didn’t sound like someone under attack. “Megan!” he whispered loudly. “Where are you?”

Not bothering to quiet her voice, she called, “Over here! I think I’ve bagged your lunch.”

What the fuck was she talking about? She’d said she couldn’t shoot furry little critters. He rounded the sage and rocks to find her crouched high on one of the larger boulders, a sidearm dangling from her hand.

“Are you okay?”

“No. I think my heart’s going to pound out of my chest.”

No visible wounds. He glanced around to see what she’d shot. Several feet away lay a rattlesnake, squirming slowly, but definitely out of anything resembling its strike position.

“You shot a rattler? Did it bite you?”

“No. I think I scared it as much as it did me. When it started toward me, I freaked out and just pulled out my gun and shot it. It’s not dead, though.”

He walked over to it and gripped his knife. The bullet had struck the snake right in the head. “I don’t think it will be using this body any longer. You’re a very good shot.”

“Patrick taught me.”

He’d have to remember not to get on either Patrick or Megan’s bad side. Fuck, if the man knew what Ryder had been doing with his little sister last night…

Offering a prayer of thanks to the rattler for sacrificing its life and for being a brave warrior within its territory, Ryder sighed and bent down. With one swift motion, he chopped off the head and, with another whack, the tail. Despite its appearing dead, he knew rattlers could bite for hours after death.

“Oh, God! Why doesn’t it stop moving?”

“It takes a while. Sorry.”

“It’s not suffering, is it?”

“I can’t say, but since its brain has been separated from its body, I don’t see how it could. Its warrior spirit has moved on. Just the body’s nerves and muscles moving. Like when a chicken runs around after you cut the head off.”

“So I’ve heard, but the only dead chicken I’ve ever seen comes wrapped in cellophane in the supermarket.” For a city girl, she wasn’t freaking out as much as he thought she might. “I guess I’m going to get to find out for myself if it tastes like chicken or not.”

He turned toward her. “You mean you want to eat it?”

“Might as well. Isn’t that the Native American way—to eat what you kill? Besides, this probably will be the last time I’ll get to try something like that.”

He grinned. The woman was full of surprises.

Then she met his gaze, dead serious. “I’m going to make my time up here an opportunity to try all kinds of new things, Ryder.” Her words were more a warning than a statement of fact. “Thanks for last night.”

At least she’d dropped the Sir when speaking to him now that they weren’t in a scene. Role-playing for fun rather than doing an actual power exchange helped ease some of his guilt over what he’d exposed her to. Then again, even the way she said his given name did things to him. Hell, she could call him shithead and he’d probably get turned on.

“Want to keep the rattle as a souvenir?”

“Um, no, I think I’ll pass. I won’t need any reminders of what I did.”

He glanced over at her and saw tears rolling down her freckled cheeks. Cleaning his knife on some scrub brush for now, he returned it to its sheath and walked toward her.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She shook her head, negating her words, and he opened his arms for her to come to him. Cradling her, he sat on the rock.

He stroked her soft hair. “Shhh. It’s okay. We’re going to cook and eat it. The meat will nourish our bodies. If you like, we can do a ceremony over it, thanking it for serving our needs, but I said a prayer over it before I made it safe to handle.”

“That’s okay. I already told it how sorry I was, just before I—”

“Then it knows.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. He’s moved on now to other hunting grounds.”

She sat up and gazed at him. “We need to do a ceremony like that for you.”

He lowered his hand to his side. “What do you mean?”

“A ceremony to let you know that your service is appreciated, but that you need to move on, too.”

He glanced back at the snake. “Not the same thing.”

“Why not?”

Because…hell, he didn’t have an answer, but just knew in his gut this was different.

Gino D’Alessio had been killed in an ambush that left Master Sergeant Montague severely injured. D’Alessio had been deployed to Afghanistan sooner than he was ready, all because Ryder ended up with a severely displaced fracture of his arm while playing football during some down time on Super Bowl weekend in Kandahar. If he’d been more careful or had found a better use of his time, his unit might not have been caught in that ambush. Even so, Ryder would have been there to call for airstrikes in time to avoid the attack.

All my fault.

Jerry had talked him into coming to the club in LA again a couple of days after Ryder had heard the news of the clusterfuck with Ryder’s unit in Kandahar. The club’s owner mostly wanted to talk with him and help him try to process what had happened. He’d also been one of the first people to reach out to him after the tragedy in Fallujah, but Ryder hadn’t wanted him to see what a mess he’d become.

By then, Sherry had moved back to New Mexico and Ryder tried to avoid cities, so he left the Marines and came home riddled with a shitload of guilt to wallow in.

“Hop down.” He guided her off his lap and to her feet. “Let’s get this snake into some brine. I’m thinking for your first taste of rattlesnake, we’ll go with a chili, but it’ll take some prep time.”

When he retrieved the carcass of the snake, she cringed away from the squirming meat, but didn’t scream or run away. Ryder held it to his side, out of her sight, as they walked back to the house.

“How often do you see Carlos?”

“He stops in every now and then. Haven’t seen him in a few weeks. Why?”

“Just wondering. You’re awfully isolated up here. What if you’d gotten bitten by that snake out there? You could die before someone found you.”

There had been times when he courted danger, almost asking for that outcome. Hell, even a few weeks ago, he’d come near to putting an end to his pain. But the idea of checking out that way no longer appealed to him.

Not since meeting Megan. Or maybe it had more to do with having a mission to focus on again. He gave a mental shrug. Whatever it was, he knew he wasn’t going to let PTSD rule his life from now on.

“You’re right. I’ll set up a deal where I check in with him at least once a day.”

“You can always call me, too. Two contacts a day, one in the morning, one at night, and then if something happens, you won’t be out here as long.”

He wasn’t sure he could handle being in touch with her by phone every day—and not being able to touch her body, hold her hand, kiss her. Jesus, last night was a fucking mistake he’d have to carry with him the rest of his life.

“Think about it, Ryder. For now, I want to know when my next kink session will be.”

“We’ll see.”

Megan slugged him playfully on the arm. “I wish you’d quit saying that.”

“Anticipation is half the journey, Baby.”

He couldn’t wait for tonight. He’d hate himself again tomorrow, but the thought of not participating in more of her initial journey into submission twisted his gut even more.

*     *     *

Megan knelt on the rug waiting for Ryder that evening. He’d touched her more often today than before. Innocent touches, but each one still sent her reeling. She wanted more. So much more.

Soon they would have their second session. He’d left her waiting here for what seemed like hours but probably wasn’t even fifteen minutes.

“Anticipation is half the journey, Baby.”

True. Her heart beat faster, and her breath became shallower just thinking about him walking into the room. This time, he’d asked her to remove all of her clothing first. He assured her they would not be having sex, even though she wanted him to be her first lover. But she would settle for the time spent exploring her kinky side. In many ways, it was probably as intimate as having sex would be.

Not that she had any sexual experiences to compare.

Blindfold already in place, she tilted her head to where she’d be looking at the precise spot he’d directed her to gaze at yesterday.

With daylight gone, the room took on a chill, and she felt her nipples grow hard as an air current passed over her. Where was Ryder?

She couldn’t wait for—

“Beautiful, Baby. Thank you.”

She smiled. “My pleasure, Sir.”

His voice came from near the doorway, but the next time he spoke, he was closer to the bed. “Are you ready to try some new things?”

“Very ready, Sir.” If only he knew how wet she was thinking about this time together. Maybe—

“Take my hand. It’s in front of your breasts.” She reached out and made contact with his warm hand. “Stand.” She let him help her to her feet. “Hands behind your back again.” She complied. “Very nice. Let me inspect you.”

Inspection? Would he find her body exciting or lacking in some way? He moved so silently that she hadn’t realized he now stood behind her until he spoke once more. “So beautiful. Mine. For tonight, at least.”

She went from euphoria at being claimed to sadness because he would only allow her to be his submissive for a short time.

The heat of his body warmed her backside before he wrapped his arms around her and cupped her small breasts. She wondered if his wife’s were more ample.

He pinched her nipples. “I love how responsive you are to my touch, my gaze.”

She smiled. He liked them.

His lips brushed the side of her neck. He’d instructed her to tie her hair into a top bun tonight. She supposed so he could do things like kiss her neck without a mouthful of hair. When he nipped at her skin, she moaned.

“Nice. Thank you.”

She wasn’t sure what she’d done to elicit his praise, but his words made her happy.

“Ready to play?”

She nodded.

“Speak. You can’t know if I’ll see a nod or shake of the head. I need to hear you consent verbally.”

“Yes, Sir. Your submissive is ready.”

The hands that had been stroking her breasts stopped, and she worried that he hadn’t liked her referring to herself as his sub, but she didn’t know how else to name it, at least in this moment and this scene.