Angel: An SOBs Novel

by Irish Winters

  Sweating and dirty, his face was a mottled pattern of blacks and reds. His lips and his nose were bleeding. “Guys, get my dog to sickbay,” he ordered as he staggered to his feet and took her with him.

  He tilted to the side, and Suede forgot about everything but holding him up. “Where are you hurt? What can I do?” she asked as she dabbed her shirtsleeve to the cut over his bloodied eye.

  “Get out of my way, for one thing,” Pagan growled behind her, his arms full of a whimpering German Shepherd. “Not sure the last time I got grounded, Suede, but you’re going to fit right in,” he muttered as he angled Gallo through the first doorway in the hall.

  McQueen stood positioned with his hand on yet another control panel across from the steel door. “Hold onto your seats, lady and gentlemen. It’s about to get ugly.”

  “Not my mountain!” Chance hissed. “The yellow pad, sir, not the red one.”

  “This?” McQueen asked, looking over his shoulder to where Chance stood leaning into Suede. “For Christ’s sake, it’s too damned dark in this cellar. I can’t tell what’s what. Take an action item, Chance. Install bright whites down here and get rid of that goddamn yellow shit.”

  Shifting his palm from the red pad to the yellow, he winked at Suede. “Don’t look so worried, ma’am. It’ll all be over in a minute or two.”

  He pressed the button and… BOOM! A clap of thunder roared, and the structure overhead shuddered like a wet dog shaking itself. She steadied Chance with a palm to his chest so they didn’t both fall down.

  Once the structure stopped vibrating, Kruze spoke up from the lighted doorway where Pagan had taken Gallo. “Do you think that got all of them?”

  McQueen lowered his head as his silvery brows clapped together. “Sure as hell hope so. Your brother won’t let me drop the MOAB.”

  “Guys,” Chance growled, clearly in pain. “Let’s save the MOAB for another day, shall we?”

  What’s an MOAB? Suede wondered, but didn’t ask.

  “I guess,” Kruze grumbled as he turned back to Pagan, “but it would’ve been cool.”

  Chance leaned heavily into her side, every bit of his big body trembling. “Are you okay?”

  “Me?” she bit out, peering up to see past those swollen eyelids. “You’re the one who’s bleeding, and we’ve got an army outside ready to kill us, at least we used to, and Gallo’s hurt, and—”

  He slammed into her, covering her open mouth with his, and that was as close as she came to chewing him out. He swallowed her angst along with the tears that had come out of nowhere. “This is what I do, baby,” he growled against her tongue and lips. “If you can’t handle it, I need to know now.”

  “You can’t get rid of me that easy, so shut up and kiss me,” she growled back, her fingertips dug into the sides of his sweaty head and all of her feminine receptors on overload as she claimed his mouth with a vengeance. She bit his bottom lip so he’d remember whom he was dealing with. This man had his nerve, insinuating she couldn’t handle a few bad guys. If he could, she could. But it also made sense to know what that red button did now that the ground had stopped shaking.

  “I take it that’s a yes?” McQueen muttered from somewhere—else.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Opting to stay on his feet, Chance dragged Suede upstairs, headed for the shower instead of the tub. Fiercely in need of a long nap, he wanted the grime of an op-gone-bad off his body and down the drain first. He also needed to keep her too busy to look outside the windows and see the carnage his home defense system had wreaked on those men.

  The falling snow would soon cover the blood and gore, but McQueen and Kruze needed time to cart what was left of the bodies into the woods. It’d have to be a long shower, and Chance hoped he stayed awake long enough to make love to her when the scrubbing was done.

  Damn, Grunt had taken it personally when he’d found a black ops guy on his tail. Those guys would’ve beaten Chance to death if one of them hadn’t fired on Gallo. No one hurts my dog and gets away with it.

  Chance had come up swinging, kicking, and shooting like a madman then, his second wind a tsunami of righteous wrath. He’d seen red the split second before he’d nailed six of Grunt’s men. Around then, Pagan and Kruze stormed the scene, popping lead and enough yellow smoke to mask their dash-and-grab getaway. Damned good seeing them.

  But Gallo still laid bleeding and whining on the ground then. Out came the LAW, and the Sinclair boys nearly died together. If it hadn’t been for Pagan blubbering like a baby because he’d gotten his mother’s dog shot, it could’ve been the end. But when he stumbled to his knees to cradle the whimpering dog, Chance and Kruze stumbled, too. The rest was history.

  The shooter missed, and somehow, they all made it home in one piece. Gallo would live, and Suede got her first lesson in what a future with a covert operative was like. Dicey, at best.

  “Slow down. I need to look at you,” Suede prompted, running to keep up with him as he dragged her along.

  “Trust me, you will,” he answered, shoving his bedroom door open, then locking it behind him. He wasn’t worried now that Pagan attended to Gallo. An animal lover since birth, Baby Brother had a few veterinarian classes under his belt, plus he’d volunteered at various animal shelters across Mission Bay area before he’d joined the Navy. Gallo was in good hands.

  “Chance, please,” Suede begged as into the bathroom they went. “I’m serious. Let me take care of you.”

  “Oh, baby,” he growled as he reached over his shoulder and ripped his shirt over his head. “You’re going to take good care of me.” If I can last.

  The smile that he loved, half shy and half seductive, blossomed over her face in a heated blush. “I can do that,” she said with a sexy nod at his zipper.

  “Then get out of those pants, woman,” he ordered, his cock at attention despite his condition. He’d left his snow gear in the basement, but the jeans he always wore under that gear had to go. He peeled out of them, his muscles already tight with an overload of lactic acid and fatigue. He needed a shower and a good workout, in that order. Suede was that workout.

  “You’re bleeding,” she murmured as she shed her clothes, then hugged up against him, her fingertips to his collarbone.

  He wanted to take a step back from her just to look at her nakedness, but he was doing good just staying upright. “No, I’m not. I’m good.”

  “Stubborn man,” she growled as he tugged her into the shower and turned on the spray.

  “Tired is more like it,” he replied, his face in the water and the heat of it working its magic. The cuts around his eyes and mouth stung the worst, but they were nothing. His kidneys worried him. Grunt had meant to kill him with his bare hands, and the bastard nearly had. But most of all, Chance didn’t want Suede looking at him like she might cry.

  Collateral damage came in all varieties, and the emotional impact on families was the worst, the one the rest of the world failed to see. What he’d just lived through, barely, reflected in her eyes. The tropical light was gone, replaced by a swirling storm of pain. Suede was hurting for him. Knowing he’d put that pain there, and would again… That he couldn’t change this part of who he was, messed with his mind and his mission.

  His battle weary heart cried, ‘For God’s sake, tell her you love her!’

  But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not now. First things, first.

  Suede stood behind Chance, running her fingers up his back and into his hair. He bowed his head and let her carry on. A soft, warm breast bumped against his back and a slender foot eased between his feet, but for once, Chance was too tired to act on his naturally horny impulses. He’d deflated to half-staff and was glad for the break. Sex with Suede was not in his immediate future. He didn’t have the energy, not so soon after battle. Warfare and killing juiced some guys up, not him. That initial spike of adrenaline was long gone.

  She worked her own magic up the tight muscles in his neck, her thumbs kneading the knots out and enticing warmth in. While
he stood there in the spray, she worked gradually down his shoulder blades. From his rigid traps to his lats and onto his obliques, she coaxed a soothing balm into his battered body. A paid masseuse couldn’t have done better.

  “Turn around,” she said quietly. “Lean against the wall, so you don’t fall down.”

  “I won’t fall,” he lied, but he might. His knees wobbled, the after-effects of the beating he’d survived.

  “You’re a stubborn man,” she told him.

  “We’ve already established that,” he muttered, his eyes closed, so the sight of her lush, naked body wouldn’t tempt him. This wasn’t going to be one of those nights he outdid himself like a horny teenager in the sack. He was fading too fast for that.

  Her fingers smoothed down the sides of his head to the hollow of his neck. Applying just enough pressure, she worked over his shoulders and biceps and all the way down to his wrists. She washed his hair, then smoothed body wash over his shoulders and down his back. Skillfully. The last of his strength ebbed away when she started on his pecs.

  “I need to sit,” he admitted.

  Reaching around him, Suede turned the faucet off. “No, you need to go to bed.”

  Agreed. He jerked one of the two bath sheets off the table beside the shower stall while she wrapped herself in the other.

  Suede took hold of his hand and said, “I’m taking you to bed.”

  The patience in her tone about did him in. While part of him wanted to tell her no, that he didn’t need to be looked after, the rest of his battered body couldn’t come up with a reason not to be coddled for the first time in years.

  She led him to his side of the bed, pulled the blankets back, and down he went. “Go to sleep,” she told him, which sounded like a good idea once his head hit his pillow. “I’m here.”

  “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to tell you?” he asked, his brain already fogged and on its way to oblivion.

  “I think it works both ways when you love each other. You took care of me and now I’ll take care of you. Go to sleep, Chance.”

  “Ibuprofen,” he muttered before he drifted off. “Four.”

  She returned quickly with a glass of juice and the tablets. He leveled himself on one elbow, swallowed the meds, and “G’night,” was the last thing he said. But he thought, ‘How do you know I love you? I haven’t said it yet.’

  *****

  You poor man. Suede sniffed as she nursed the stubborn man asleep at her fingertips. Bruises covered most of his body, and he was swollen where no man wanted to be black and blue. She’d gently scrubbed him in the shower to make sure nothing was broken. My goodness, what they did to you.

  Overwhelmed with the entire day, she left him to sleep it off. Pagan, Kruze, and McQueen hadn’t come upstairs yet. Too pumped to rest, she resorted to what she knew best for therapy: cooking and baking. Imagine her surprise when she found dry yeast in Chance’s refrigerator. Incentivized by that small discovery, Suede mixed up a batch of sourdough bread starter, and set it, loosely covered, at the back of the counter. In three or four days, the bread she’d make from that starter would go great with a big pan of soup. Maybe loaded baked-potato soup if Pagan hadn’t eaten all the bacon.

  She was cooking with gas now. Banana bread came next because the bananas on the hook were ripe. Then cheesecake and caramel brownies, chocolate chips with walnuts, and shortbread cookies because everyone loved shortbread cookies. No milk remained in the Sinclair fridge, but a hint to the right brother at the right time would surely take care of that. Suede wasn’t worried, but she’d have to learn how that drone delivery system worked one of these days. How difficult could it be?

  Setting the coffeemaker to brew ten cups, she cleaned the mess she’d made, her nervous energy quelled for the moment. By then, the counter was covered with a good choice of homemade goodness, but the bread pans on the highest shelf in the pantry called to her, and since the yeast wasn’t gone yet...

  A half-hour later she was up to her elbows in flour and dough. The last sheet of chocolate chip cookies came out darker than she liked, but men didn’t notice over-baked anything. They were locusts. Get out of their way and just let them eat.

  She’d just greased three bread pans and set them on the counter nearest the oven to warm when Pagan appeared at the kitchen door, his sleeves rolled up and his arms across his massive chest. “If Chance isn’t smart enough to keep you, I will,” he said by way of greeting.

  Suede blew a puff of air to clear the tangles that kept flopping into her eyes. “What if I don’t want to be kept? Not all women are domestic, you know.”

  “Says the woman with flour on her cheeks and butter all over her hands.”

  She had to give him that. “I guess I should practice what I preach, huh?” A tired chuckle bubbled out of her. “What’s going on now? Where are Kruze and McQueen?”

  Pagan flipped the closest chair around and straddled it. “Outside. As far as what’s next, guess we’ll find out soon enough. You like to cook.” He made that a statement.

  Suede nodded. “Sometimes. It’s my release valve. I couldn’t go anywhere without an escort when I lived with York, so most of the time, I stayed in.” That brought back a raft of ugly memories she didn’t want to share. “It was easier. I didn’t have to deal with the paparazzi, and in the kitchen, I had total control. So I watched cooking channels and I learned.”

  His nose twitched. “Smells like you’re good at it.”

  “You’re just hungry. Come on in and grab a cup of coffee and a couple cookies while they’re still warm.”

  “They’re warm?” That got Pagan off his chair. He didn’t settle back down until he had a mug of coffee and a plate full of chocolate chips cookies. “We got any milk around here?”

  “That’s what I was wondering. There’s none in the fridge. How does that drone delivery system work? I’d never heard of something like it before I, umm, dropped in,” she said as she punched the raised dough and rolled it onto the freshly floured tabletop.

  Pagan chuckled around the whole cookie he’d just stuffed into his mouth. “Works good. Chance and McQueen set it up with the local grocer down in the valley. All we’ve got to do is call, give him our order, and presto, chango. Within hours, groceries show up on the doorstep. It works with the department store, too. I’ll show you once you’re finished with whatever you’re making now.” His nose twitched. “Smells good.”

  Suede stopped kneading. “Do we still have a doorstep?”

  His eyes scrolled to said door. This side of it appeared untouched. “Hope so. If the charges went off like they should’ve, the porch will still be intact, too. I don’t know for certain, but I doubt those guys got this close. Kruze and McQueen would’ve said something by now if they had.”

  “Is that where Kruze and McQueen are? Cleaning up the... the forest?” She puffed at the persistent curl that kept dropping into her eyes.

  “Don’t think about it. They know what to do.”

  Silence reigned in the toasty kitchen. Suede wondered what Kruze and McQueen were doing with all those bodies and parts. She swallowed hard. Pagan was right. It was better if she didn’t think about it. “How’s Gallo?”

  Pagan cleared his throat. “Sleeping at the moment. He’ll be okay. I was just kidding when I said he’d never walk again. Sorry ’bout that. His big butt got in the way, nothing too serious. I doped him up to clean and stitch the wound, but he’ll be fine. He’s like Chance. He just needs twenty-hours of shuteye, and he’ll be raring to go again.”

  Suede sliced the dough into three loaves, kneaded them into shape, slipped them into the pans, and covered them with a towel before her mind circled back again to what lay in the woods. “Do we just keep adding to the body count in Chance’s cemetery then?”

  “It’s more like a morgue at the moment. Sullivan’s already called a team in to remove the bodies. They should be here in a couple hours.”

  That was good to know. The idea of dead bodies, especially York’s, hidd
en nearby creeped her out. “So what’s next, Pagan?”

  By then the cookies on his plate were gone. He rapped his knuckles on the table and turned to the door. “That depends on you, Suede.” He turned back to her then, his dark green eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite read. “You’re no different than Chance. Montana’s a great place to live, but you can’t hide here forever.”

  That caught her by surprise. “I’m not hiding.”

  He grunted on his way out the door. “Bet me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Americans,” McQueen growled. “And mercenaries. Every last one of them.”

  Chance nodded. After sleeping the rest of the previous day away, he’d awakened early this morning with Suede’s lush body tucked in next to his. Nothing beat the warmth that flooded his soul at the feel of her against his belly and thighs. After smoothing a hand down her shoulder and arm to her hip and getting no response, he’d eased out of bed and let her sleep.

  The rest had done him good. His back hadn’t been hurt nearly as bad as he’d expected. One eye was black and a couple teeth were loose, but he was as good as ever. Waking up to the aroma of fresh baked cinnamon rolls hadn’t hurt, but those cookies she’d left in containers on the counter? Best damned things ever with a good cup of coffee. She must’ve baked all night long.

  Dressed in casual wear, jeans, and a crisp white polo, he now held a cup of black coffee in one hand and Suede’s hand in the other. She hadn’t slept as long as he would’ve liked, but she’d wanted to be included in this discussion, so here she was. Right beside him where she belonged. She’d chosen a light pink knit sweater that hugged her ample curves, black jeans, and leather boots, the short kind that met the hem of her jeans. McQueen’s wife had done well shopping, but Chance couldn’t wait for the day that he took Suede out to get her own things. A man needed to do that for his woman. Buy things for her. Spoil her. Dress her up. Undress her.