ROMANCE: MENAGE ROMANCE: Tapped and Taken by Two (Pregnancy Sports MMA UFC Fighter Romance) (Alpha Male Romance) (41 page)

Bristol waffled. She didn’t want many people to know, but Lindsay was right. Like a good lawyer, she needed all the info so she could mount her counter attack when she needed to.

“It’s Lucas’. The guy from the picture.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. The picture is from yesterday.”

“I know.”

“Then it…wasn’t a one-time thing?”

“It was a two time thing. And it won’t happen again.”

She thought about him walking out of her bedroom, and her heart beat faster. How could he just go like that? How could he feel nothing?

7

In the evening, Lucas could see Bristol by the pool in the setting sun. He’d always liked that she spent so much time there, it allowed him to keep an eye on her from his living room. Today, not so much.

Her bathing suit made him sad. Not the bikinis she normally wore, a practically Victorian one piece black thing. On the flip side, he didn’t know what he’d do if he’d seen her in a bikini, lying with her nose in a book.

He’d finished the one she was reading, and wished he could talk to her about the end. She was pretty close.

Thinking about space and aliens kept him from thinking about the worst day of his life. Funny, because on the worst day of his life, he’d been reflecting on the previous worst day of his life, the day Ronnie skyped him in Iraq to tell him she’d lost the baby. It was still early, not even out of the first trimester, and they hadn’t told anyone yet. They both knew it was common at this stage, tons of parents—especially first time parents—went through it. He’d found support groups online, she’d been to one at the hospital.

He felt like he was starting to get himself pulled together when the Humvee went over the IED in the road. Lucas remembered a dull thunk, everything swirling, then black. He’d been in the back seat on the driver’s side, as far from the right front tire, which hit the thing, as he could get. The blast threw him fifteen feet, clear of the wreckage. The driver, Hernandez, survived, but without either of his legs. Washington, the guy in the back on the right didn’t make it. And neither did the guy sitting shotgun. Brett Marshall. The man who became more like a brother to Lucas than any other man alive, certainly more than his biological brothers. They’d rock paper scissored for the front seat, and because he was hot, hungry, and bored, it’d pissed Lucas off to lose. The last thing his best friend heard him say were curse words.

He’d apologized while he held Brett’s hand. Washington was a lost cause, Hernandez stabilized, and Lucas knew Brett was fading before his eyes. He said he was sorry a thousand times, hoping Brett would open his eyes, tell him he knew. But nothing. He died there before the helicopters could get there.

Lucas wrote a long, rambling letter to Brett’s widow, who he’d never met. Talked to her on Skype soon after she got the letter and told her what happened, told her it was eating him. She told him through her tears he was foolish, Brett knew he loved him.

But Brett was only the first part of that day. He didn’t get to see the email for almost a week after the attack, but Ronnie sent her message that day, a few hours after the Humvee blew up. She didn’t even bother to call. She couldn’t even do it to his face. They were going to be married. Bitch still had the ring, for all he knew. A few sentences.
I can’t do it anymore. Can’t be with you because you remind me of our lost baby too much. Please don’t contact me again. Stay safe over there.

Of course he’d tried to contact her, he loved her, he was so confused, and besides, all of his stuff was at her house. Her best friend, a guy named Steve, as if that shouldn’t have been a red flag, finally called him back and told him to chill, to back off, she was paying rent on the house for the next three months, was leaving all his stuff there, after that he needed to figure it out himself.

So Lucas didn’t do love anymore. Didn’t do relationships, didn’t do babies. For a while he’d pick a girl up at a bar and bring her home, but it always left him feeling sleazy and empty. Now he did nothing. Just him and his right hand. No sex was better than these occasional flings.

So what the hell had he been thinking, engaging in something like that with Bristol? And Jesus, now she was pregnant.

He glanced out at her by the pool. It was his job to watch her.

For how much longer, though? He couldn’t do this. She tore him up inside. He remembered the way her face looked when he walked out that morning, but he didn’t remember the way Ronnie’s face looked, because she hadn’t even left him in person. In his support groups he’d heard about couples getting closer after the death of a baby, and he’d hoped that for him and Ronnie. Instead, she’d vanished too. He’d lost both of them.

He would give Bristol his notice tonight. Accept the job with Maxine’s people. He didn’t want to, wasn’t interested in dealing with the constant noise and party lifestyle, but it was better than this.

On her chaise, Bristol stretch, and rolled over. Even the soles of her bare feet turned him on. She deserved better than him. Better than Ricky, for sure, and he was scared that he wouldn’t turn out to be much better than Ricky given the type of person his father was.

He watched until she went in the house. Usually at this point she would knock on the door to dismiss him, tell him goodnight. They might exchange a few verbal spars at one another. Today she cast a wistful glance at his door as she picked up the novel. Only a few pages left.

She must be at the part where…it didn’t matter.

She headed into the house, where the security system took over his job for him. He knew some celebs liked to have a guy in the house at all times, and they’d done that a couple times when Reed made some specific threats, but mostly, Bristol liked her privacy. And now she was all alone in that big house.

*              *              *

Bristol made a point to change the sheets on her new bed. Didn’t want to smell the sex on her sheets. By the time she got into bed it was almost two. She clicked off the lights, and lay staring at the ceiling. At some point it started raining and she could hear the drops on the ceiling outside. The downpour matched her mood.

What had she expected?

She rubbed at her stomach, tried to distract herself thinking about what fun she’d have as someone’s mama.

Outside she heard the gate open. Lucas leaving? Wouldn’t surprise her. She didn’t own him, after all, and he was technically off duty now that they weren’t on high alert while Kyle Reed was still in jail. The gate ground closed, and she found herself blinking away tears.

She heard something else…the soft click of the lock on the heavy front door.

Now cold fear drenched her. Lucas wouldn’t leave, then open the door. He had a key, of course, and knew the codes. But why would he come in here?

He wouldn’t.

She grabbed for the panic button Lucas had given her and hit it. There was someone in the house with her.

“Lucas?” Bristol hated the way her voice quavered. She hit the call button again, four steady pulses like they’d practiced, so he’d know she wasn’t accidentally hitting it in her pocket or purse or something.

Someone laughed downstairs.

Definitely not Lucas.

She knew the laugh. She’d been married to it. Her fear evaporated. She knew she’d changed the bedroom, but had she changed the gate codes? He did need in and out to get his stuff, she’d been away, and he was just Ricky…

“Ricky, what the hell are you doing here?”

The house was still dark, so his voice floated up out of nowhere.

“You’re still my wife, Bristol. What the hell are
you
doing? I come in here and you’re calling out to him?”

She didn’t like his tone. Went to flick on the light but it didn’t work. The fear which melted away crept back.

“You left me, Ricky. Where’s Samantha tonight?”

“You’re my wife, Bristol.”

“Only because the paperwork isn’t final. The paperwork
you
wanted. Why aren’t any of the lights working?”

She heard him moving around downstairs, maybe coming up? She couldn’t tell. Where was Lucas?

Lucas isn’t coming, a dark little voice told her. Again, her mind played the video of his bare back as he left and never looked back.

It’s his job…

A creak as Ricky set foot on the stair he always managed to hit, it was how she always knew when he was headed upstairs.

“Tell me how long you’ve been fucking him.”

“Have you been drinking?”

Of course he had been, this was Ricky they were talking about. When wasn’t he drinking?

She retreated back to her bedroom. He’d be mad when he saw she’d gotten rid of the red wall paper and bedspread he liked so well.

“It’s been two months since you left me,” she reminded him.

He appeared at the head of the stairs, a black shadow against the dark night.

This was her husband. Soon to be ex-husband. She had nothing to be afraid of. Over ten years, she’d already gotten the worst he had to offer.

“You give me nothing, and you’re fucking around on me.”

“Ricky, don’t you remember? You asked me for a divorce because you were in love with Samantha. She’s probably worried about you.”

“Samantha’s more of a whore than you are!”

Ricky smashed a vase in the hall, but something downstairs crashed, too. Ricky wasn’t alone?

Bristol tried to get the bedroom door closed where she could lock it. Then she’d call the police. They wouldn’t take too long to get here.

She leaned against the door but there was something in the way. His foot. She pushed into it as hard as she could, and though it must have hurt, he gave a shove into her and sent her tumbling back. She lost her grip on the door and fell onto the new purple carpet. Ricky advanced on her, looming in the doorway.

8

Beep….Beep…..Beep…..Beep

Four beeps, like they’d practiced. Any other woman and he would have suspected she was trying to lure him in, to try and win him over. Bristol wasn’t like that, though. If she was beeping him, she was in danger.

Lucas flew out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans and shrugging into a t-shirt. He kicked into a pair of sneakers and threw on a black baseball cap. Finally, he slipped on his holster and tucked in his pistol. He hoped he didn’t need to use it. There was always a better way, he firmly believed that.

Rain thundered down, drenching Lucas as he ran across the driveway. The mansion was completely dark, which was odd: usually the outdoor security lights stayed on, and one or two lights downstairs. The lights in the guest house were on, so it couldn’t be a power outage.

He tried the door and found it locked. Tried to use his code and red letters on the screen told him it was invalid.

Would she have changed the code on him? He wasn’t sure. He tried again, and it buzzed red again. One more wrong code and it would ring the security office, and the police would come. He tried it a third time, and the panel went dark. No alarms. Someone who knew about the system had disabled it, and cut off Lucas’ access.

He went around to the pool, picked up a metal chair, and used it to smash the sliding glass door. If his incorrect code hadn’t triggered the police, this certainly would. Loud and unsubtle, but he needed in to the house now. He needed to know Bristol was alright. Something crashed upstairs. He heard voices, a man’s voice, raised in anger.

If he hadn’t been such an asshole, he’d probably be with her right now. Would have been here to defend her.

Her and the baby.

He sprinted for the stairs. He knew to avoid the fifth stair all together because of the creak it made.

Once he got to the top of the stairs, he heard voices and knew who was in the house.

“No!” Bristol cried out. “Don’t!”

A soft thud, and an “oof” from Ricky—she’d hit him. Then a heavier thud, and Bristol cried out.

Lucas launched himself into the bedroom like a guided missile. It was dark, but Ricky was a bigger shape in the dim light from the window. He tackled him, pressing the smaller man to the floor.

In the moment he saw everything he’d ever hated, everything that ever made him mad. And he wanted to punch all of it out of Ricky’s face.

“It’s my house! You’re screwing my wife!” Ricky slobbered out.

Ricky shoved at him and squirmed away, running for Bristol. He took a hold of her and she screamed, turning on him, clawing at him. He overpowered her. He certainly not a big guy but he worked out, and his muscles and his crazed anger didn’t let him down.

“Don’t move or I’ll hurt her.”

“What do you want, Ricky?” Lucas asked. Reminded himself that 99% of his job was dealing with losers and assholes just like Ricky.

“I want her!” He squeezed Bristol, twisting her arm uncomfortably. She winced, and the pain on her face made him want to pull the gun from his holster and put a bullet between Ricky’s eyes.

“Rick, my man, that’s gonna be a problem, because she doesn’t want you anymore. You’ve got a good thing going, got a good woman at home waiting for you. Why don’t you let her go, and walk away? Go home and sleep it off.”