On His Six

by Patricia D. Eddy

  And then she turns and smiles at me. I inhale sharply and tangle my fingers in her hair. “What changed?”

  Her brows furrow. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your eyes. I see you, Wren. It’s like you’re…back with me. After we left the safe house, you disappeared. Even earlier, in the shower…”

  Her cheeks flush pink, and she stares down at my wrist where Zion’s bracelet still rests. “I didn’t realize I was hungry until the food showed up.”

  “It wasn’t the food.” Her eyes were so vacant after we left the mansion. And now, the copper flecks burn bright.

  With a nod, she covers my hand with hers. “It kind of was.” Her voice drops, and she pushes the tray aside, then snuggles against my chest. I can’t see her eyes anymore, and she wears her shame like a mask. “When…Blondie found me in the security office, I was so scared. I didn’t know where you were. Or if you were even still alive. He told me he was taking me back to Kolya, and I thought…for a minute…it’ll be easier. I won’t care about anything. I won’t be scared. I won’t hurt. I won’t have to fight anymore.”

  “Wren—”

  “Let me finish. Please?”

  Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, I wait.

  “And then…you were so scared. I’ve never seen you…scared.” She waves her hand. “I know we’ve only known one another for two weeks, but come on.” She peers up at me, the corners of her lips curving into a smile. “Pretty much our entire relationship has been one terrifying event after another.”

  “Not every event.” Her nipple rises under the plush fabric when I skate my thumb over her breast.

  Wren bats my hand away and links our fingers. “Hush. You know what I mean.” After a sigh, she scoots up a little higher so we’re eye-to-eye. “Nothing after the lights went out felt real. I remember everything. West cutting the zip tie. Kolya…gasping for air. How Semyon and Elena held onto each other the whole flight. Ford standing there with Pixel.”

  The dog yips, and I toss her another fry.

  “As stupid as it sounds…this,” she gestures to the remnants of our meal and then to the two of us tangled together, “is the first real moment I’ve had since we left the safe house. And…I want more of them. All of them.” Running her fingers over Zion’s bracelet, she meets my gaze. “With you. I love you. We’re real.”

  Long seconds pass, and she touches my cheek, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You can talk now. I’m done.”

  My laugh still surprises me. The raspy tone. The way my entire body feels…warmer. Lighter. How I can’t help smiling. “Just following orders, sweetheart.” Several slow, tender kisses later, I draw back. “Come to Seattle with me. At least for a little while. We’ll go to West’s wedding. The future…”

  “I can work from anywhere.” Her words tumble out in a rush. “I’ll need to fly back here once in a while…either for a job or just to see everyone. But…Boston stopped being home when Zion died. I want a fresh start, Ry. With you.”

  Epilogue

  Wren

  Two days later, Ryker eases the keys from my hand and unlocks my apartment door. So much has changed since I took Pixel out for what should have been an uneventful walk. He’s tense, and I know he’s hired someone to pack everything up for me, but I can’t leave without a few essentials.

  My favorite sweater. The photo of me and Z at the Sox game. My mother’s jewelry box—where I store a collection of stones and crystals I’ve collected over the years. The green pendant Zion gave me. Pixel’s toys, and the soft fleece blanket from my bed.

  But there’s one other reason I had to come back here. “Give me a minute?” I ask as I zip up the suitcase.

  “I’ll be right outside the door.” He eases the bag’s handle from my grip and brushes a light kiss to my lips.

  Every day this man amazes me. He’s still very much the same tough, hates-talking-about-his-feelings person he was when we met. But we don’t always need words. He understands me, even when I don’t understand myself.

  Sinking down onto my bed, I let the pendant warm against my palm. I can’t wear it. My neck is still raw and painful. But I need a touchstone.

  “Z? Semyon and Elena are safe now. Ford is driving them to Maine this afternoon. Kolya…donated twenty thousand dollars to get them started, and we found them an in-patient recovery program that will let them stay together. New identities, jobs waiting for them when they get out…” I turn the green glass over in my hand, tracing the edges with my index finger. “I wish you could have met Ryker. You’d like him. Or…maybe he’d drive you crazy. But…I love him, so you’d find a way to get along.” The image of the two of them facing off almost brings a smile to my face. “I…won’t be back here again. Not in this room. So, come find me in Seattle, okay? I love you, kid. Always and forever.” Heading out to the living room, I stop with my hand on the door knob.

  “I promise.”

  One week later

  Ryker

  Wren leans back against me as we stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows in my—our—apartment. Pixel snores in the corner, a princess on the world’s plushest dog bed. West and Cam’s wedding was a quiet, small affair, thank God, and as we walked the few blocks home, Wren got me to admit it wasn’t the torture I’d anticipated.

  “What are you thinking, little bird?” Scoring my teeth along the shell of her ear, I relish the shiver that runs through her.

  “Ten days ago, you stood in front of me, naked, and I told you I loved you for the first time.”

  “I remember.” Every second of that night is burned into my brain. As she lay under the sleeping bags, sated and peaceful, I cataloged every word. Every feeling. Every emotion. Joy. Fear. Pride. Shame.

  Turning to me, Wren slides her hands around my neck. “You said the words almost forty-eight hours before I did. How did you know?”

  I scoop her up into my arms and carry her to bed.

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “Not…exactly.” After I slide the green straps off her shoulders and her dress pools on the floor, I nudge her down onto the mattress, then kneel between her thighs. “Before I met you, I woke up every night screaming. Every fucking night for six years.”

  Wren unbuttons my black dress shirt, exposing the scars across my chest.

  “I tried therapy. Sleeping pills. Alcohol. Nothing quieted my demons. And…I couldn’t figure out why. Until you.” I shrug out of the shirt, then take her hand and press her fingers to the scar below my left eye. “You asked me what happened. Back in Boston. That night…the demons didn’t come.”

  “You…loved me before we went to Russia?” Her voice rises a few notes, and I chuckle.

  “No, baby. Not then.” I let her undo my belt, then step out of my pants and briefs. “Can I hold you?”

  When we’re nestled together, skin-to-skin, her nipples pressed to my chest and our legs entwined, I run my fingers through the soft curls of her hair. “I never wanted to talk to anyone. Even West and Inara…if it wasn’t about the mission, I rarely said two words to them. But you… Every time you asked me a question, I wanted to answer. I needed to answer. Needed you to know what I was thinking. Feeling. I couldn’t explain why. Pissed me off.”

  Now it’s her turn to laugh. “I could tell.”

  “When you were taken, I knew. That night. West called me on it, and I tried to deny it, but…I couldn’t.” My eyes burn, and all I can see is Wren. Bruised. Bleeding. Afraid.

  Warm fingers tighten on my hip. Over one of my many scars. “I’m here, Ry.”

  I can’t tell her everything yet. If I could, I’d tell her being with her makes me feel like I matter. Like I’m more than my scars. My damage. My broken body and shattered mind.

  I’d tell her how I hadn’t smiled in months. Hadn’t laughed—real laughter—in years.

  Most of all, I’d tell her how she saved me.

  “Kiss me, baby.”

  Her lips are warm, soft, and she tastes like rain. And tonight, a
hint of wedding cake. Of sherry. And of need. I pinch her nipple, and she arches into my touch.

  I skim my hand over her breast, down her stomach, all the way to her mound. Sliding a finger between her slick folds, I swallow her moan, tangling our tongues in a dance I never wanted to learn, but now can’t live without.

  “Ry,” she whimpers. “More.”

  I trail kisses over every curve, adding a second finger when her eyelids start to flutter. The first gentle caress of my tongue has her hands fisting the sheets, and fuck. I inhale deeply, unable to get enough of her scent.

  “I love you, little bird,” I say against her clit.

  “Need…you…” she gasps and grabs my arms. “I want to see you, Ry. Please.”

  One of those late night conversations I didn’t want to have, but don’t regret for a second? She’s on birth control, and I’m clean. So when I slide home, there’s nothing between us.

  “God, Wren. You feel…so good.” I suck my drenched fingers into my mouth, then lean down to kiss her. She moans again, and I thrust deep. Clutching my ass, she urges me on, and I raise my head just enough to look into her eyes.

  “Come with me, baby.”

  Make me whole.

  And she does.

  Hello,

  Thank you for reading On His Six. This story is special to me for so many reasons, and I wanted to take a few minutes to tell you why. Books always seem to mean a little more to me when I know something about the author who wrote them, and I hope you’ll agree.

  I write characters I call “beautifully broken.” Why? Because I think in some ways, every one of us is a little bit broken. But broken isn’t always a bad thing.

  Have you ever played with a glow stick? When you pull one out of the package, they’re inert. Dull. Dark. Useless.

  But once you break them, they start to glow. They’re light in the darkness. They’re useful. They’re perfect.

  We all go through dark times in our lives. Times that threaten to break us. Times that do break us. But that doesn’t mean we’re anything less than beautiful. Or capable. Or perfect. Just the way we are.

  I’m broken in some ways. I have anxiety and ADHD. I’m short. I’m nearsighted. Yet, I’m beautiful. I’m beautiful because I’m me. I’m the person I’m meant to be. And I love that person.

  You? You’re beautiful too. Yes. You. No matter what. Because you exist. I hope you’ll come on a journey with me through my books. See the Also by section for a list of the other books I have available or visit my website: http://patriciadeddy.com.

  If this book affected you, please, send me an email. I love talking to readers, and most other authors I know feel the same. You can reach me at patricia@patriciadeddy.com.

  You can also join my Facebook group, Patricia’s Unstoppable Forces, where we talk about books, life, and everything in between.

  And above all, I hope you’ll continue this journey with me. Second Sight is Dax’s book, and he and Ryker…well, in some ways, they’re two halves of a whole. Brothers in every way that counts.

  Turn the page for a special sneak peek of Second Sight, and ONE-CLICK it TODAY!

  Love, Patricia

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  Sneak Peek - Second Sight

  Six Years Ago

  Dax

  A dim halo seeps around the heavy canvas our captors tack over the cell doors. After so long here, I can almost see in the dark. Small variations in the rock walls. The flutter of air moving a corner of the shroud. My toes—if I wiggle them. Not that I’ve tried recently. The infection will take my leg soon. Or my life.

  Let me fucking die already.

  Ry’s gone. Escaped. Hours ago. Killed at least four on his way out. We were supposed to go together. But I can’t walk. He set my broken femur two weeks ago. One of the few times they let us stay in the same cell. But what should have been a minor burn festered, and now my whole leg is swollen and hot to the touch. At least they don’t tie me up anymore.

  Booted footsteps shuffle down the hall. I’m not as good as Ry. I can’t always tell who’s coming. The canvas is ripped away, and I blink rapidly, the dim lights of the hall searing my eyes after so long in the dark.

  Rough hands close around my arms, someone throws a bag over my head, and I’m dragged from my cell. My leg screams in agony, the white-hot pain sending me barreling towards unconsciousness. Until they drop me.

  Breathe. In and out. Focus.

  “Get him up,” Kahlid—the guy in charge—says, and I’m hauled onto a table. Before I can try to fight, they’ve tied my wrists together, then lashed me down with ropes around my torso, my hips, and my ankles.

  Oh fuck. This is new.

  “Sergeant Dash. How are you today?” As Kahlid pulls off the hood, I spit at him, but he’s too far away.

  “Fuck you.”

  The punch to my jaw isn’t unexpected. Hell, that’s how the fucker says hello. I taste blood, the metallic flavor turning my stomach.

  His smile worries me. As does the glint in his eyes. “Would you like some water?”

  This is some sort of trick. Say yes, and they’ll waterboard me. I grind my teeth together, glaring at him, but in my current state, I doubt it’s very effective. After Kahlid nods, one of his lackeys grabs my jaw and digs in, forcing me to open my mouth. A pill lands at the back of my throat, followed by half a bottle of water, and unprepared, I swallow before I can stop myself.

  “Antibiotics only, Dash. Do not look so…frightened.” Starting to pace with his fingers laced behind his back, he continues. “Your friend Ryker killed several of my men last night.”

  “Good for him.” Another punch, more blood staining my lips. “You gonna keep that up? You want me to talk, it ain’t gonna happen if you break my jaw.”

  “I do not want to hurt you, Dash. I only want to know where your friend Ryker was going. He will not get far. We shot him many times. I am worried for him. Tell me his escape route, and I promise you, he will not be harmed when we find him. We will treat his wounds and send him to hospital.”

  “Yeah. And I’m Santa Claus.” I don’t have the energy to keep this up. My leg throbs with every beat of my heart, my split lip is swelling rapidly, and I’m nauseous from the water they forced down my throat.

  Kahlid leans over me, and shit. The bastard’s a good actor. He actually manages to look…concerned. “What I have to do, Dash…you will not heal from this.”

  Is he finally going to kill me? Fear snakes its cold, bony fingers around my heart, but I’m so far gone, so weak, in so much pain death would be a welcome relief. “That’s not…my…fucking…name. Whatever you’re…gonna do…just get it…over with.”

  Behind Kahlid, two of his lackeys pull on thick, rubber gloves, and my stomach churns. Not the blowtorch. Or a belt. Or even a metal rod. This…has to be something different. Kahlid grabs a fistful of my hair—it’s longer now. Hangs into my eyes. “Where is he? Tell me and I will not have to do this.”

  “Go…to…hell,” I grunt. “You’ll never…find him.”

  Kahlid slams my head down on the wooden table, and the edges of my vision darken. His crooked smile is the last thing I see as a harsh, caustic liquid splashes into my eyes, and I start to scream.

  The metal tray lands on the stone floor with a crash, and I jerk awake, my heart racing. The cell door slams shut, and a weak glow of light dims as the canvas flops back down. I don’t know how long it’s been since they blinded me. Kahlid told me I screamed for half a day. Then he broke the last two fingers on my left hand when I still wouldn’t
talk. The one time they dragged me out of this cell since, my whole world was a muted sea of dull, washed out colors and agony every time I forced my swollen eyes open.

  Crawling slowly, only able to use one arm and one leg without passing out from the pain, I feel along the filthy stone floor until I find the edge of the tray.

  Fuck. I hope Ry made it.

  I scoop up a bit of the rice slurry with my uninjured hand, then let it fall through my fingers. I can’t. They’ve taken everything. Dax Holloway doesn’t exist anymore. Hell killed him. I don’t know when it happened. Every beating. Every scar. Every time they threw me in that goddamned hole. Left me there until I was out of my mind with hunger.

  I can’t walk. Can’t make a fist with my dominant hand. Can’t…see. Why keep fighting? Months ago, I was ready to give up. Starved myself for what I think was a week. Until they force fed me, then whipped Ry until his back was bloody. But he’s gone. Safe. Or dead.

  Forcing myself to sit up, I grab the tray and fling it against the bars. That’ll earn me another beating. More broken bones. I don’t give a shit. “You want me to talk? How’s this? You’re all a bunch of sadistic fucks. You can carve me into a thousand pieces, and I’ll still never tell you what you want to know!”

  I collapse, my head hitting the dirty floor. Shouts echo down the winding stone hall, and I try to scramble back, knowing they’ll come for me. I don’t care what they do, but I won’t make it easy for them.

  Despite all the months I’ve been here, I still can’t understand much Pashto. But Kahlid’s men sound panicked. Heavy footsteps race down the hall past my cell, and then…

  Gunfire.

  Not AKs. Not Taliban guns. Colt M4s. SEALs. Special Forces. Rangers.

  “Go, go, go!” someone shouts, a hint of a Southern twang coloring their words.