Roar (Military Bad Boy Billionaire Romance) (Soldiers of Fortune Book 4) (4 page)

“
Letting me
” I roll my eyes; “I don’t remember asking for fucking permission.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

His lips part and that thin crease in his jawline tenses as his grits his teeth; “Why is it never fucking simple with you?”

“Because
this
isn’t simple, that’s why,” I snap; “None of this shit is. Nothing about today, or the day before, or the fucking three-hundred and sixty-five days before that are simple, and you fucking know that.”

He glares at me; “Logan would kill me if I allowed something happen to you.”

I bark out a laugh; “Little late for that kind of noble thought, don’t you think?”

Bryce’s eyes narrow; “That was different,” He says quietly.
 

“Sure.”

“I owe it to him to make sure you’re safe.”

I laugh, rolling my head away from him; “What is this, for
karma
? You fuck his sister behind his back so now you think you have to make sure I’m sa-”

I gasp as he’s suddenly against me, pushing us back into an alcove by a vending machine. His heat and his scent invade every sense I have as he stands there, blazing eyes full of storm and heat with his hands flat against the wall on either side of me; “You
know
that’s not what this is!”

His lips part, open with the force of his words and just inches away from mine. It’s the closest we’ve been since before. It’s
definitely
the closest we’ve been, and every single inch of my body is reminding me of that
very
quickly. Those lips; Jesus, would those be easy to kiss. That mouth would be so easy to melt into, and this whole
thing
would be so easy to slip back into.

Except we can’t; I know that, and I know he knows that.

I drag my eyes away from his, staring at the wall over his shoulder. I’m putting my cold front back up and hoping to God that it covers the quiver in my voice or the thundering of my pulse; “Whatever, we're wasting time.”

I can hear him sigh as he backs away from me, the heat of the moment drifting away like smoke as he takes a step back from me; “Fine, agreed; which is why I’m going after him.”

I shake my head; “Jesus, you are so fucking arrogant. Do you
not
listen at all, or just choose not to?”

Our eyes meet across the smoking wreckage of whatever was lying between us as silence descends on the hallway.

“They're going to look for us soon,” He says quietly, his voice edged and his eyes never leaving mine as he nods towards the hospital room.

“So get back in there.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Peyton.”

“Too late.” It’s a cheap, low shot, but I don’t care. I just need him away from me, and now.

Bryce mutters under his breath, shaking his head and looking back towards the room where his other brother lies recovering; where our family is struggling to hold on to one another even as I walk away from it all.

“Look, tonight, at my place. We'll all be there and we'll plan this thing.” He looks back at me; “Come to that.”

“Oh, nice olive branch.”

“Nice fucking attitude.”

I glare at him; “Fine, I’ll come.”

He turns and starts to walk towards the room before he stops and turns back over his shoulder; “You know, this doesn’t have to be like this; this whole thing between you and m-”

“There
is
no ‘you and me’, Bryce. I think I made that-” I stop and snort out a humorless laugh; “I think that’s been made perfectly clear by now.”

“Jesus, how about some
furniture
, Bryce.” Reagan arches her brow as she steps out of the elevator into my penthouse. My very bare, very totally empty luxury New York City penthouse apartment.

“Yeah, seriously.” Peyton says, avoiding my eyes as she steps out after Reagan. I glare at her, even if she’s avoiding looking at me. She didn't have a problem with the lack of furniture before.

I bought the place for the view of Central Park; for trees. Honestly, with what we suddenly became worth after taking over William’s company, cost wasn’t really a concern at all. I’d have paid triple for it just for that view of something that resembled nature. Living here in this city is just…fuck, it’s a
trapping
feeling. It’s a cage of metal and stone and glass that I’m constantly stuck inside of, and for a guy who grew up with the open road, the wind in his face and the feel of a motor purring under his seat, it can be a Goddamn nightmare. The view and the trees remind me of home; the good parts at least.

So what, I've got a bed, a few stools, a table full of tools, and a partially rebuilt 69' Indian motorcycle sitting on a grease cloth in the corner I’ve been messing with for a few months. What the fuck else do I need?

Peyton breezes right past me after her little comment, and I can feel my temper flare inside. I’m still bristling after running into her; still buzzing like I’ve just got a shock of something through me. It’s like this every fucking time after talking to her. For a fucking year. Every single Goddamn day working with her, seeing her, and knowing it’s done.

It’s like a static charge; a lingering, nagging, tingling feeling. It’s an itch you can’t scratch, a cut inside your mouth you can’t stop tonguing; a hunger you can’t satiate. It was there, once. However fucking stupid it was, however illicit and wrong the whole thing was, it was there, briefly.

And then it was gone, right along with her; sayonara and adios.
 

The others are already here, standing mostly but also sitting on the three stools around the cluttered table in my living room-turned-bike shop; Javier, Chelsea, Major Lawson, and Quinn.

“Can I get anyone anything?” I mutter as I walk into the room.

Chelsea looks up at me; “What do you have?”
 

I can’t help but smirk despite the heaviness of our being here; “Water?”

“Uh, sure.”

“I’ll get it.” Peyton immediately starts to make a beeline for the third cabinet to the left of the kitchen sink where I keep my three or four glasses before I watch her forcibly stop herself short; “Um, where are your glasses?” She says hastily.
 

Right where they fucking were the last time you were here. Or the time before that. Or that, or- fuck it.

“Third cabinet to the left.”

She shoots me a quick look over her shoulder before she moves to the cupboard.

Major Lawson steps forward; “Preliminary intel has Benson and his crew in Istanbul.”

I frown at the Major, standing where I am behind everyone else; "I thought you weren't helping."

He clears his throat; “The U.S. State Department does not officially recognize the missing person known as Logan Dempsey,” His face hardens and he turns to a very quiet Quinn; “But I Goddamn sure as hell do.”

Quinn looks at him and nods somberly. Her father was good to have this man as a friend. He’s saved our asses more than I can count at this point, and here he is probably putting his entire career on the line to feed us intel.

“So, guess I'm going to Turkey then.” I say, nodding curtly at the Major

“I can do you one better, actually.”
 

“Oh?”

He nods slowly; “There’s a contact there, someone the State Department has- well, we've been in contact before. They’re a disenfranchised Blackriver operative, apparently, and they’re looking to turn informant.” He shrugs; “Honestly, I don’t know how much I trust it, but she’s your contact and she wants to help.”

She?
I frown; Jesus it better not be-

“So when do we leave?”

I look up sharply at Peyton, seeing that ever-present defiant look in her eyes as she purposefully narrows them at me, as if daring me to say something here in front of everyone.

Thankfully, Lawson steps in; “I’m afraid there’s no way I could condone that, Peyton. Bryce simply has training and experience you don’t have. It’s far too dangerous.”

I mean, I’m hardly in the place to do this. I’m not mentally where I was before and I’ve been in a fucking city behind a Goddamn desk for five years, not in the jungle, not in the desert, and not in the MC before that back in California. But I’m the only shot. And Peyton might be
way
more equipped to do something like this than any of them know, but I’m sure as hell not going to be the one that says something.

“He’s my
brother
.” Again, she’s directing her words at me, like
I’m
the one saying no here.
 

“And we're going to get him back.”

Her eyes blaze at me, that same fiery passion that drew me in before. She’s stubborn, and strong, and really, a lot like
me
. That fire inside is born of pain and healing; it’s earned through being broken by the world and putting yourself back together piece by fucking piece.

It’s also infuriating when it’s directed at say, me, right now.
 

I mean, I
get it
. Of
course
she wants to go help Logan; fuck, we all do. But if there wasn’t enough of a reason for that guy to want me dead what with me sleeping with his damn
sister
, bringing that same girl into the crosshairs of danger sure as hell would do it. And again, she’s stronger than any of them know, and she’s seen more than anyone in this room but me knows, but now’s certainly not the time to bring that up.

“Peyton, they’re right, you’re not ready for something like this.”

She glares at me, shaking her head at me with that fierce look on her face, and it stings worse because I
know
she probably could handle herself just fine. But I’m sure a shit not bringing her into this.

I set my jaw and meet her angry stare with my own even look. She hisses and whirls, storming towards the kitchen like some sort of rogue tornado. I swallow the lump in my throat before turning back to Lawson and hoping no one was paying attention enough to get the subtext of that exchange; “So, Istanbul.”

“Your Blackriver contact will be able to give you better specifics about where he’s being held and what we’re up against.” He shakes his head; “I’m sorry I can’t do more here, son.”

I nod;
yeah, me too
.

I turn to see Quinn, standing silently by the window watching the rain trickle down; “We’re going to get him ba-“

“I thought my Dad was going around sowing seeds of peace?” Her eyes are red as she turns towards us, her mouth a hard line.

“He was.”

She starts to break then; “Then why do things like this keep happening to us?” She crumbles, and her sisters are right there to catch her, stroking her back and holding her close, and I can feel the rage roaring inside of me at the karmic injustice of this all.

I grit my teeth; “Because you've gotta tend those seeds, and sometimes you need to rip out the weeds. I am
going
to bring him back, Quinn.

She looks up and nods at me through tear-streaked eyes.

“Uh, guys?” Javier clears his throat behind me, and I turn; “She’s gone.”

Oh shit
.

Chelsea frowns, “What? Who?”

“Peyton,” I say, shaking my head;
Goddamnit
.