Surrender (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-
seven

W
hen she heard
everyone leaving, Grace came out of the room to say good-bye to Avery and Gunner and to meet the brothers.

Both looked at her with a mixture of kindness and suspicion, which she supposed came with the territory. Darius, Adele and Dare himself had looked at her the same way.

She didn’t know exactly what kind of agreement they’d all come to, but it felt like a peaceful one, judging by the lack of tension that had flared earlier. And while Dare walked them out to the dock, she rustled in the refrigerator and found what she needed to make the dish Darius had taught her years earlier.

By the time Dare got back, the fan was blowing the delicious smells of meat and rice throughout the house.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I rested the entire time you were meeting, and I’m all better,” she told him. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh.”

“You’re suspicious.”

He shrugged. “I’m always suspicious when someone does something nice for me.”

“Because you think they want something from you.”

He thought about that for a long second before answering. “Everyone’s always wanted something from me. I can’t remember a time when they didn’t.”

“That’s sad,” she told him. “Mainly because I feel exactly the same way.”

“Don’t we make a pair,” he muttered.

“All I want to do is cook you dinner. I’m assuming you want it spicy?”

“There’s no other option.” He smiled then. She’d started to love when he smiled. She’d begun to grow love where she’d thought none could ever grow.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to find out that she hated him for doing that. She wanted a single good memory from one man in her life.

“They’re going to help,” he told her, and she paused midstir and breathed a sigh of relief.

“There was some fighting. I’m guessing Jem and Key weren’t completely happy with what they found out.” She tried to keep her voice light but failed.

“Grace, no one blames you.”

“Well, good for them. I blame me.”

“You’ve done a lot of good. For yourself, with Marnie. You helped a lot of women, didn’t you?”

She turned from the stove to face him. “I tried. I got them out of Louisiana,” she said. “Whatever happened from there . . .”

“They had to take responsibility for,” he finished.

“I don’t think many of them knew how to. They spent their lives being controlled by men, thinking they deserved it. And then they’re supposed to move on by themselves and suddenly become independent?”

She realized she could’ve easily been talking about herself, quickly looked away, took a sip of her soda.

“You did it,” he said quietly.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I never say shit I don’t mean. That’s a waste of time and energy.”

“She was the last one who was there for me,” she said, and then she stopped as if she could hear Rip’s
show no fear
speech. He’d taught her many useful things, and all of them would help her deal with him when the time came.

“I’m sorry, Grace. I really am. But you’re not alone.”

“It’s better that way. People get hurt because of me.”

“This wasn’t your—”

“Don’t say it, Dare. Don’t.”

He didn’t press it, and she was grateful.

It was like waking up from a nightmare, and she’d done that too many times already. How much was one person supposed to bear before they broke?

Why wouldn’t she just break? Crack. Cut from reality with a resounding crash and never, ever come back. It would be so easy to be crazy. Unattached. Uncaring.

She craved easy. Dare wasn’t that, but as much as she tried to warn him away, she didn’t think he’d go. And so she blurted out, “I never thought I’d live very long.”

“That makes two of us. Guys like me aren’t supposed to.”

It wasn’t a self-pitying statement or a self-deprecating one. It was an honest statement from an honest man.

An honest man she could love, if she didn’t already. “Maybe together, we’ll add it up to a little bit longer.”

He didn’t say anything, but he did give a slight nod.

“When are the others coming back?”

“Tomorrow night. They’ll tie up loose ends, and then we decide how best to handle things from here.”

“And you’re not worried that they’ll be followed?”

“No. They’re careful.” He took a taste of the gumbo directly from the pot, closed his eyes and smiled. “Woman, food like this is definitely the way to my heart.”

“I’m glad,” she said softly, met his gaze as a blush heated her cheeks.

She wasn’t used to this kind of relationship—or any relationship, especially not without that edge of combativeness. She and Dare had sparred enough. He knew her hot buttons just enough to force her to drop the act.

Vulnerability with the right person wasn’t bad at all, she decided. Especially when Dare turned the stove down to simmer and tugged her into his arms. He bent his head to kiss her, first on the neck, flicking his tongue down along her collarbone, giving her a pleasant shiver down her spine. When his lips met hers, she moaned softly against his mouth. Their tongues danced together, and she felt like she could kiss him like this forever.

Except they didn’t have forever. They might not even have the next twenty-four hours, if Rip had anything to say about it.

* * *

Dare was in the goddamned gray, and he’d been there his entire life. Something had to be black-and-white one day, so clear-cut that he knew exactly what he was supposed to do.

It was never simple. He could sit here and bemoan his fate or sink into the beautiful woman offering herself and so much more to him. For right now, it would have to be enough.

“Stop thinking,” he told her.

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder. Stay in this moment with me.”

To help her, he lifted her and brought her into the bedroom, laid her down, pulled down the borrowed shorts. Without tearing his eyes from her face, he fingered her clit, and she gasped, arched up off the bed. “How’s that?”

“Good,” she managed, and he rolled his thumb over the tight bundle of nerves again.

“Just good?”

“Very. Dare . . .”

He smiled then, loved watching her soften. He wasn’t sure why she’d decided to give in, give herself up to him, but he wanted to show her it was the best decision she could’ve made.

He didn’t want to let her go, wanted to wrap her up and keep her safe. If he thought he could run away with her, keep her from Rip and his revenge, he would.

But there was no sense trying to outrun the past.

Now who’s thinking too much?

He laid down next to Grace, who began to move down his body. He wanted to stop her, to give her the pleasure, but instead, she bent her head to lick his cock.

Her tongue was warm, her palm cool against his skin, and he bit out a curse. She hummed around his shaft and continued to suck him, stroke him, work him the way she wanted to. He could come this way, wanted to . . . but wanted to be inside her even more.

“Grace, let me fuck you,” he murmured, and she looked up at him under her long lashes and flushed, but she complied, moving up his body, pushing his back down to the bed.

She was warm against his skin, so inviting, and his dick had taken control. Dare was okay with that, especially when Grace wrapped a palm around his shaft and stroked as she eased it against her sex. Teased herself with it for a few seconds and then just said, “Please.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. He wrapped an arm around her back and flipped her gently so she was on her back. Then he took her. Put one of her legs over his shoulder so she was wide-open for him as he thrust, giving it to her the way she’d liked it the first time, varying between hard and gentle.

He was falling so deeply for her—told himself this was inevitable. That she felt it too. That no matter what, they were both in the right place at the right time.

* * *

Afterw
ard, Dare insisted she remain in bed while he reheated the gumbo and brought it to her.

“So spoiling me’s okay?” Grace teased him.

“Yes,” he said seriously. “Deal with it.”

She spooned the chicken, sausage and seafood mixture into her mouth and chased it with a sip of cold beer. This was so perfect, so different from the dire circumstances that had surrounded her days earlier.

But those same circumstances were all still there, hovering in the background like the proverbial other shoe waiting to drop. And it would always be that way, so for now, she’d simply stop and enjoy this time, because she’d never had anything like it before.

He polished off several bowls of her soup and sat back with a very satisfied look on his face.

“Is that for me—or for the gumbo?”

He pretended to think about it, and she gave him a playful shove. “This doing-nice-stuff thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I like it.” He pulled her to lie on top of him, the T-shirt of his she w
ore riding up.

The breeze from the open window settled over them, the night air cooling them down after their long bout of lovemaking. Round two or three—she’d lost count.

There would be more. She knew that. But for now, they rested, acted like two normal people who more than liked each other.

Except they weren’t normal and this was so far from a date. Still, she liked it. “Darius always said you were tougher than he was.”

At his father’s name, Dare seemed to sober up. “Yeah, well, he tended to exaggerate.”

“You talk about him in the past tense, even though you don’t know if he’s really dead.”

“I have to. It’s the only way to move forward,” he admitted. “I’ve looked everywhere. Put out feelers. Doing anything more would be dangerous if he is still alive. This way, if anyone’s ever listening to me, they’ll think he’s definitely dead, and maybe they’ll stop looking too.”

A good plan, she had to admit, even though his face grew tight with emotion.

“I was twelve the first time he brought me here,” he said. “I thought it was the greatest place on earth.”

“Me too,” she said.

“You really love it here.”

She nodded. “I was hoping to stay here forever.”

He didn’t bother to tell her she couldn’t. She knew it, and there was no reason to rub salt in what must already be burning wounds. So she continued, wondering if he’d answer her next question.

“Was there ever anyone special for you?”

Dare had learned over the years that the answer to that question most women wanted to hear was no. Luckily, it was also the truth in this case. “No. There were women, of course, but once I enlisted, there was barely time for anything but that.”

“And keeping S8’s secret,” she said quietly.

“How did you—”

“They talked about you all the time. They loved you.”

He didn’t know if it hurt more or less to know that. “For Darius, there was someone special. And he ruined that—he ruined her.”

“Avery’s mom?”

“To name one. He wasn’t a great husband to my mother, either.”

“He’s a good man.”

“He’s a good soldier. An even better merc. And if he just hadn’t gotten involved in relationships when he had nothing to give, then I’d add on the
good man
part.” Dare had never wanted to hurt anyone like that, never planned on it, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“Darius and Adele always kept me at arm’s length,” she told him. “They were always kind. I didn’t want for anything. But to get that close to having something normal and still not be allowed all the way in, it was almost . . .”

“Cruel,” he finished for her. “I grew up in it. They didn’t mean it to be, but it was. They didn’t know any other way.”

She’d forgotten how Dare must’ve grown up, how he would’ve been through some of the same stuff she had. Still, “I’d take them any day over Rip.”

“Agreed. But hell, Grace, no child needs that shit.” He’d been born into this lifestyle. So had Grace. He’d learned that you can’t control the violence, that you could only take the punishment, control what’s insi
de you so it doesn’t kill you first.

It might be deemed abuse, but not in the typical fashion. But his childhood was spent learning about tactical errors and guns and knives. Close-quarters battles and hand-to-hand.

His father was a nonviolent man who worked in a violent world—used any means necessary to survive. He passed that lesson onto his son, and Dare learned it as a necessary part of life.

When he told her that, Grace said, “Doesn’t seem fair to do to a kid.”

He nodded. “I learned survival. Not always a bad thing.”

“At what price?” she asked, and Dare told her, “There’s always a price that comes with survival. Who’s to say what it’s worth?”

Chapter Tw
enty-eight

J
em took t
he stairs with Key up the four flights because Key still couldn’t handle the enclosed space of the elevator. Jem knew exactly where that fear came from, knew his baby brother would white-knuckle it if he had to . . . but Jem wouldn’t put Key through anything further. Hell, he owed him too much already.

When they got to the landing, they both stilled. Something was wrong—the door to their place was partially open, and it didn’t look as if it had been kicked in.

“Fuck me,” Jem said. He went in, gun drawn, with Key backing him up. Luckily, he’d taken his computer with him, because that would’ve been what they wanted. For the most part, it looked like a random robbery, their clothes strewn around, dishes slammed to the floor.

But Jem knew better.

“Part of the herding process?” Key asked. Jem nodded.

* * *

It was after
midnight when Avery and Gunner arrived at the tattoo shop. Jem and Key had rejected the idea of staying there, and so they planned to meet up late the following night and head back to the bayou.

Now Avery used Gunner’s washer and dryer as he drew on a sketchpad, shielding it from her view. She didn’t know if he was drawing her or not, but she wasn’t self-conscious about it.

“You and Key are getting closer,” he noted, not looking up at her.

“You think?”

“Come on, Avery, who are you kidding?”

She shrugged. “I have more to worry about than my feelings.”

“Now, that’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say all day.”

“And I believe Dare about trusting Grace.”

“And now you’re back to square one,” he told her. “Sometimes, men think with their dicks,” Gunner pointed out.

She raised her brows. “Sometimes?”

Gunner muttered under his breath, then said, “Fine—we’ll let Dare guide us through this one.”

He put aside the sketchbook, said, “Come on, I’ll show you the panic room.”

She followed him downstairs—it was the same level as the garage, but she felt like she was on a different planet when she walked in and the security system slammed the two doors shut around them.

“This is very bare.”

Gunner rolled his eyes. “Typically, people who hide here are grateful, not pissed at the lack of pretty.”

No, pretty had left the building, probably scared away by the cement-block walls and chilly atmosphere, despite the near hundred-degree temp outside. “This is worse than prison.”

“Trust me—if you’d been there, you’d know better.” He showed her the alarms, the codes.

“Why do I have the feeling we’re sleeping down here tonight?”

“Trust those feelings,” he said as he released the security. “You can bring a blankie.”

“Asshole,” she muttered as they went back upstairs. Instead of going for the sketchbook again, he opted for the laptop. He poured them each a whiskey, handed her one before he began typing.

“Seems my tracker is underwater,” he told her. “Fuckin’ TV shows are ruining my game by giving away all my tricks. Before
Burn Notice
, none of the bad guys thought to look for trackers. Now, forget it—you have to install it inside the door, and even then they have these scanner things . . . you’re not even listening, are you?”

“Not really.”

“Typical. No regard for technical genius,” he grumbled.

She stared at the dot on the screen, which remained unmoving. “How long did it take him to find it?”

He smiled. “He wasn’t that smart.” He showed the path the man took, out of the bayou and into New Orleans, before he turned around and made a circle.

“So he’s staying in the city.”

“I’d bet on it.”

She paused and then asked, “Do you think Powell killed Darius?”

He stopped typing. “It doesn’t matter. Dare’s already hell-bent on revenge. And that’s a hell of a way to live and die, hear?” He took a sip of whiskey and then downed the rest of the brown liquid with a smooth chug.

“It matters to me,” she said quietly.

“Drink,” he told her, like that was the answer. Maybe it was.

She took a small sip and watched him carefully. He’d stilled a little. Typed more, read more, stilled.

She waited, even though patience certainly wasn’t her strong suit. Finally, he told her, “I think we need to call Dare.”

“What did you find?”

“We’ve got a problem. Grace’s mother is alive and well.”

“How did you find that out?” she asked, and he slid her a sideways glance that basically said,
I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.

What he actually said was, “I have my resources.”

“You’re all so brooding and mysterious. Do you cultivate that or does it just come naturally?”

“Everything about me is natural,
chère
.” He drew out the last word and smiled, and yeah, she could totally see women standing in line to marry him. The fact that he’d actually done so three times was what surprised her. He didn’t seem the type to be caught by anyone or anything.

Unless he lets himself.

Yes, Gunner was definitely an interesting one. “Grace told Dare that Rip took her mother away. You’re saying she left the island—and Grace—behind voluntarily?”

“For a lot of money, and she appears to be suffering no twinge of a guilty conscience.” Gunner cursed. “Grace said her mother was taken away when she was twelve, right? Said Rip killed her.”

“Maybe that’s what she thinks.”

“Maybe. But hell, twelve years of programming from a grifter. Add in six more from Rip and we’ve got the makings of a perfect con.”

“I know why I’m doing this—why Dare is. I can even understand Key and Jem, but you? You’re not involved.”

“You keep believing that,” he muttered, and then, with his voice tight, he said, “We’re being hunted. No one hunts me in my goddamned home.”

Avery believed he could take on anything. All these men could.

The problem was Grace. Could they trust her? Her gut said yes, but there was so much evidence against her.

She dialed Dare’s number, prepared to tell him the news while Gunner got their beds together in the panic room.

She was in no rush to go down there again. But when Jem and Key showed up at the door, she knew there was no longer a choice.