Gunner

by Heather Slade

  “Maybe if you did, you’d find someone else who loves you as much as he loves her.”

  “That was cruel.”

  “Why?” God, she irritated him sometimes.

  “Because no one will ever love me.”

  “You sure the person who might isn’t sitting right in front of you?”

  “You hate me.”

  “Come with me.” He stood and pulled her to her feet, dropped some money on the table, and led her out of the restaurant.

  “I don’t hate you,” he said once they were outside. “Quit telling me how I feel and focus on how you do instead.”

  “Are you saying you love me?”

  Gunner sighed. “I’m saying that if you could pull your head out of your ass long enough to admit that you and Doc are finished for good, there might be a chance for us.”

  Lena wrenched her hand from his. “You’re so fucking romantic.”

  Gunner leaned in close to her. “You know me. I don’t like bullshit. In fact, I hate it. So either let the idea of the two of you getting back together go, or don’t expect me to be at your beck and call.”

  “It’s your job.”

  “Not anymore, it isn’t.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Find a place of your own, and leave Doc and Merrigan the hell alone.”

  She crossed her arms again, but the look on her face was one of uncertainty.

  “Ask me to help you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ask me to help you find a house.”

  “You’d do that?”

  He led her over to the car and unlocked it. He opened the back door, reached in, and pulled out a folder. “Go through these and tell me which ones you want to look at.”

  She took the folder from his hand, put it back on the seat of the car, and put her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she said before reaching up and kissing him—and not on the cheek.

  Gunner pushed her up against the car and kissed her back. The heat between them was explosive in that it had been building for years. She was right to think he hated her, for a long time he had, but feelings that strong are easy to turn into something completely opposite.

  “Let’s go find you a house so the next time I kiss you we have the privacy to see where it might lead.”

  In hindsight, they’d never had a chance. She hadn’t just been in denial about her relationship with her ex-husband, she was obsessed with him. That obsession ended up getting her killed, and he’d been the one to kill her.

  Gunner shook his head. He often struggled with whether he regretted doing it, but always came to the same conclusion. If he hadn’t pulled the trigger, she would’ve, and his friend, partner, and mentor, would be dead, and so would she, because after she’d killed him, Gunner would’ve shot her. Same outcome, only delayed, and resulting in another death.

  Was he being equally blind when it came to Raketa? He wanted her, and it wasn’t just because he hadn’t had sex with anyone since her. He hated that he couldn’t remember more from that night, and it made him feel like the asshole he tried hard not to be.

  He turned around when he heard Raketa come out of the woods.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  She walked closer. “Go ahead.”

  “That night, you know, when we were together. We shouldn’t have had sex. I was drunk. That is a piss-poor excuse, but it’s the truth. I wish I could go back and undo it, but I can’t. I’m sorry for that.”

  Raketa opened her mouth and closed it again before turning away from him and stalking toward the house.

  “Wait,” he said, running after her and grabbing her arm. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here. I know you don’t trust me, and if what we did that night is part of it, I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

  She scrunched her eyes, her lips drew tightly together, and she wrenched her arm from his grasp.

  “Fuck you,” she spat before walking away from him a second time.

  —:—

  If he followed her, he would live to regret it. Maybe. As mad as she was, she just might kill him. They shouldn’t have had sex? How awesome that she lost her virginity at the ripe old age of thirty to a man who wishes they hadn’t done it. If she’d known then what she knew now, she could’ve had sex with anyone. It would’ve mattered just as much as it had with Gunner—which wasn’t at all.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” she heard him say. He was right behind her, but she kept walking. “Zaryana.”

  Raketa spun around on him. “Don’t you call me that. Not ever again. Do you understand?” She used the same condescending voice he had with her. Or had he? It didn’t matter. She turned back around to continue her march to his house.

  “Wait,” he said, grabbing her arm again, more firmly than before, knowing she’d try to pull away from him. He held her tightly enough that he could turn her around and encircle her in his arms.

  “Let me go. I don’t want this,” she said, refusing to look at his stupid, smug, beautiful face or his stupid green eyes that made her melt.

  “First, I will not ever call you that again, although I wish I understood why you don’t want me to; it’s a beautiful name. Second, as I said, I was trying to be a gentleman. I was apologizing.”

  “Etmez.”

  The look on Gunner’s face made her realize her mistake. She’d spoken in Azeri, not Russian.

  “Release me.”

  Gunner shook his head. “Were you his lover?”

  Raketa pushed at him with all her might, and he let go. “Fuck you,” she spat again, this time running toward the woods.

  Jesus. Is that what he thought, that she’d had sex with that disgusting piece of shit not worthy to be called a human being? The idea of it made her want to puke.

  When she got to the water’s edge, she bent over and put her hands on her knees. Her stomach was empty of food, but she expelled the bile that rose in her throat. Too soon she felt Gunner’s hand on her back.

  “Can’t you leave me alone? Please, just leave me alone,” she cried.

  “No. I can’t, and not for the reason you think.”

  “There needs to be no reason for you not to leave a woman alone who asks it of you.” Raketa hated the sound of her voice. She was upset and when she was, her accent grew stronger and it was harder for her to communicate the nuances of the English language. She hated her accent sometimes as much as she hated her name.

  Instead of walking away, Gunner swept her into his arms.

  “What are you doing? Put me down,” she shouted, punching at his chest.

  “We’re going to talk, and you can stop with the bad language; it has no effect on me. I don’t talk to you that way.”

  “You are not my superior. You don’t tell me how to speak. You are not my fath—”

  —:—

  Gunner almost dropped her with his sudden realization of who Makar Petrov was to her when she abruptly didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, he set her on her feet but kept his arm tightly around her.

  “He’s your father.”

  He’d seen the look on her face before. Not on hers specifically, but the look of utter despair, of pain too heavy to bear, of its concession, he’d seen many times. He had no words to take away what she was feeling right now, pain that he had handed to her.

  “Tell me about him.”

  Raketa closed her eyes, and a look of calm rolled from her forehead down her face. He recognized that too. She’d been trained to not show a reaction of any kind, and while she was still emotional—she had to be—she’d reined herself in.

  “You’re wrong. He was not my lover nor is he my father.”

  She was lying, but he had no intention of challenging her about it now. Instead, he addressed what he meant when he’d said they shouldn’t have been together.

  “What I should’ve said earlier but didn’t, was that I wish, so much, that the first time I felt your skin against mine, I had been completely sober. I wish that w
hen I close my eyes, I could remember every inch of your body, exactly how you felt. I remember, but not enough. And I hate that.”

  “You don’t remember anything.” The chill in her voice hadn’t warmed even a little. She was beyond angry, and she had every right to be.

  “I’m sorry, Rocket Girl. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

  “Let me go.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides.

  “From here. Let me leave.”

  Gunner shook his head. “You’re here for your own protection. Until we can—”

  “The same words Petrov used. How does it make you feel to know you think the same way as that monster?”

  Gunner stood perfectly still, wishing he had a way to get through to her, but not at all insulted by her words. She knew as well as he did that the situations were entirely different. Regardless of who Petrov really was to her, he’d abducted her and held her prisoner. Gunner was keeping her safe from him as much as United Russia.

  “You’re thinking that you’re keeping me safe from UR, aren’t you? Well, so was he. You’re thinking he didn’t give me a choice when he took me to Azerbaijan. Neither did you when you brought me here. You are no different. Don’t kid yourself into thinking you are.”

  Gunner let her walk away from him and turned back toward the water, pulling his shirt over his head and his shorts off as he walked. It was deeper on this side of the island, so when he walked in, the frigid water assaulted more of his skin.

  It wasn’t the same. Petrov held her captive. Gunner wanted to help her.

  He pounded the water as he swam, processing what he’d just learned. Makar Petrov was Raketa’s father, he’d bet his life on it. Who was the other woman being held on the compound?

  —:—

  Her words did nothing to thwart him. Gunner would not let her leave, and without a way to communicate with anyone other than him, she was trapped on this island. She knew she couldn’t swim her way to freedom. Even if she could, once she arrived, she had no one to help her anyway.

  United Russia wanted her dead. Petrov wanted her to deliver his daughters, and whether she did or not, she’d end up dead anyway. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that if she somehow managed the impossible and abducted the two of them, as soon as she handed them over, Petrov would kill her.

  She couldn’t go to the CIA for help, because they worked with Gunner.

  Raketa had always been alone in the world, but not like she was now. The only way she could stay alive would be to remain on this island with a man she was quickly coming to despise.

  —:—

  As he swam back to shore, Gunner thought more about his father than Raketa, remembering that the first time he set foot on this island was on this same beach when he was seven years old.

  “Where are we?” he asked his dad when he dropped anchor and climbed out of the dingy.

  “Indian Springs Island,” his father answered. “Come on now, I’ll show it to you.”

  He waited while Gunner climbed out of the boat, and then held his hand as they walked to shore.

  “What’s here?”

  “Not much yet, but it’s all ours.”

  He missed his father so much. He couldn’t imagine not having his dad in his life when he was growing up, or hating him like Razor felt about his father. The worst he could say about the man is he could sometimes be as cranky and ornery as Gunner was. Underneath it though, his father had a heart as big as his love for his country and family.

  One of his dad’s proudest days had been when Gunner followed in his footsteps and joined the Marines. At the time, his dad was a four-star, stationed on the West Coast. Given his own permanent address was in Maryland, Gunner should’ve attended boot camp in South Carolina, but his father had pulled some strings so he could go to California instead. If he hadn’t, Gunner never would’ve met Razor or Leech Hess, Lena’s father and the man responsible for getting him the gig at the NCS where he also met Doc Butler.

  Who knows how his life might’ve turned out if he’d taken a different tack. He probably wouldn’t have ever met Raketa either, and he was glad he had, no matter how much she currently hated him.

  9

  Raketa didn’t see Gunner the rest of the day. She heard him come and go, but never ventured out of the bedroom unless she was certain he was outside, and then, it was only to use the restroom or get some water.

  It would be dark soon, and he would likely be inside for the rest of the night. Eventually, she’d be forced to talk to him, and she still hadn’t figured out what she’d say.

  She could ask again to be let go, but that would be a waste of breath. He’d never let her; he was protecting her.

  What else could she say? That she’d realized she had no one else in the world she could turn to?

  She jumped when she heard a knock on the door and waited for it to open. It didn’t, and while she hadn’t heard his approach, she did hear him walking away.

  Admittedly, she was starving, and it was only her own stubbornness preventing her from eating. Now she was kicking herself for not getting food earlier when she was sure she wouldn’t run into him.

  The pangs in her stomach grew worse when the smell of whatever Gunner was cooking wafted into her room. It smelled divine, and she couldn’t remember the last time she ate. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

  Less than five minutes later, Raketa opened the door to her bedroom and walked into the kitchen.

  Gunner didn’t say anything, but he did stand, walk over to the oven, take out a covered plate, and set it in front of her.

  Beneath the cover he removed was grilled salmon, rice, and vegetables.

  “It’s really good,” she said after several mouthfuls. “Thank you.”

  When he didn’t respond, she looked up.

  “You’re welcome. Would you like more?”

  “Yes, please,” she muttered. “I can get it, though.”

  “Yeah? Know your way around a kitchen?”

  He was trying to tease her, and she appreciated his effort to lighten the tension between them. “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Good,” he said, standing and taking her plate. “It’ll give us something to do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll teach you how to cook.”

  “Oh, uh…”

  He set the plate down in front of her and then went back to his seat across the table. “Look at me,” he said, waiting for her to do as he asked before continuing. “Got a better idea?”

  When Raketa’s eyes met his, her mind filled with several better ideas. How could her body respond so quickly when a few short hours ago she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to look at him again? She looked down at her plate and raised another forkful to her mouth.

  “Yeah, I can think of a lot of better ideas too,” he muttered, almost causing her to drop her fork. “Listen, I think we should start over. Things got out of hand earlier.”

  Raketa nodded. “I agree.”

  “That things got out of hand or that we should start over?”

  “Both.”

  “Good.” Gunner finished the food on his plate and took it to the sink. “When you’re done eating, I’ll build a fire and we can sit outside.”

  Raketa nodded. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gunner left the kitchen and went out the front door.

  She could tell by the heaviness of his footfalls that he was still angry, but at least he’d given her an opening for them to talk again.

  —:—

  It was probably shitty of him to leave the way he had, but if he hadn’t, he would’ve been all over her.

  Raketa was the first person he’d shared a meal with at his kitchen table. When Razor and Shiv had been here, each time, they sat outside or in the living room when they ate. It felt good, looking up and seeing her across from him. That feeling had quickly changed, though. As his eyes took in her thin frame and he watched her take mouthfuls of
food he had made for her, something he could only describe as primal came over him.

  If he’d stayed in that room with her another minute, he would’ve thrown her over his shoulder, carried her into the bedroom, and torn the clothes from her body. Only after he’d looked his fill of her naked flesh, would he sink his body into hers in the way he longed to.

  Going caveman on her would most likely result in him never earning her trust, which was why he’d left the way he had.

  Her reaction earlier, before everything between them went to hell, puzzled him.

  It was as though she’d never experienced oral sex before. He kicked the pile of logs in front of him when he realized he couldn’t remember whether they had or not the night they were together.

  Probably not, since she left the next morning without so much as a see ya later. Given how inebriated he was, maybe the sex had sucked, and not in a good way.

  He adjusted his shorts, knowing that if he didn’t quit thinking about a do-over, she’d probably slap his face before she stormed back inside and sequestered herself in the bedroom for the remainder of the night.

  He stacked the logs in the pit, lit a fire, and then pulled two Adirondack chairs to the other side of it, so the shifting breeze wouldn’t blow smoke their way.

  Just when he’d decided she wasn’t going to join him, he heard the front door open.

  “Hey, there,” he said, looking her up and down. “Cold?” When he’d left, she had been wearing the same pair of shorts and shirt he’d stripped from her body earlier. Now she had on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. It was probably better that she’d changed, given his body’s reaction to remembering stripping her.

  Gunner motioned to the chair next to him, and she sat down.

  For a few minutes, he struggled with what to say. He was terrible at small talk. Sure, he knew how to flirt, but given the circumstances, that probably wouldn’t be the best approach. What did they have to talk about? He couldn’t ask her about her childhood, or even much about her life.