“Fucking assholes!” lashed out of him like a whip of lightning.
The sturdy log rail caught the first one-two punch as image after image of an older man hunched over a frightened fifteen-year-old Suede Tennyson rolled through Chance’s head like porn he couldn’t shut off. He pummeled that son-of-a-bitchin’ rail because he couldn’t hit Franks. The lies! The rape! Where were her goddamned parents when this was happening to their only kid? Campaigning? Preening for the media? Fucking the world?!
The solid pine uprights caught his wrath next. Then the log wall. Kick after well-aimed kick shook the timbers as Chance battered every prick in Suede’s life, and there’d been plenty. Mick and Vera Tennyson weren’t parents. They were fucking trolls!
“Stop it, Chance, stop!” Suede cried, her poor head shaking. “Please. You’re scaring me.”
He turned aside long enough to see the tears streaming down her reddened cheeks and dripping off her jaw. Her fingertips fluttered at her lips. Instant remorse stole his need to kill. Shit, what have I done?
She was right. He needed to tone it back instead of acting like the monster he knew he could be. Chance stilled, flexed fingers that were no doubt bloody, possibly broken. He sucked in belly deep breaths that still left him oxygen deprived. The need to end the allegedly dead Mitchell Franks in the most painful way possible was a hard beast to rein in.
Rage still held a tight grip as Chance forced himself back to reality. His vertebrae cracked. His jaw ached. He’d cracked a tooth. Both hands were bleeding, not that he cared that he’d hurt himself. It was the image of Suede—a fifteen year old, for fuck’s sake!—living through what she’d survived. Her whole life had been one nightmare after another. Fifteen!
Well, no son-of-a-bitchin’ more. Mick Tennyson had a rude surprise coming tomorrow. Vera Tennyson had already died at sea, a fitting punishment for the bitch who’d neglected her only offspring every day of her life. York—damn him to hell!—lay moldering in a shallow grave where wolves, bears, and wolverines could snack on him until spring as far as Chance cared. Franks was missing at sea, presumably dead.
DAMN! How does anyone treat a little girl like that? A child!
He flicked his wrist, sending red drops flying into the pristine white snow capping the rails, and—damn it—he winced at the pain radiating up his forearms. After another measured breath, the world settled back into focus. The red haze that had blinded his sight with temper faded.
He’d only lost his mind like this once before, that after he’d learned of his mother’s death. But her death by cancer was a result of natural selection, whereas this young woman’s spirit had been eroded her entire life by an acidic home environment. It was no wonder she’d ended up running with a wild crowd. That was what survivors did. They adapted, and sometimes, they ended up fighting the world when they didn’t have to.
DAMN! Another unrelenting wave of rage surged over him like poison he couldn’t shake. All those years... Yet there Suede stood, her spine straight, still giving life her best shot and still striving to overcome what for most people, would’ve been a crushing handicap. Still eager to be a better woman. Trying not to curse, the sweet, crazy thing.
Her persistence humbled him. Her light. Her courage. Desperate longing unfurled inside Chance as if a ray on sunshine had finally breached the hard knot in the deepest chambers of his heart, allowing her energy to cleanse his soul. Suede had become everything to him, and he wanted her more than his next breath. God, he loved her.
“Come here, you,” he growled as he pulled the woman he adored back into his arms, cupped his hand to the back of her head, needing her scent to calm the frightening beast he’d morphed into. That beast served his needs in battle and it would again one day soon, but this was Suede’s time.
Holding her calmed his tremors, and breathing in the light fragrance of her shampoo quieted the blood-rage in his heart to a slow boil.
“I’m sorry,” he said when at last he could speak. Even then, his eyes brimmed at all the innocents in the world who’d never stood a chance: the battered little girls and boys, the neglected babies and the elderly that no one knew suffered in silence. The mistreated cats, dogs, and horses. The sad-faced, over-burdened and beaten donkeys he’d seen overseas. Jarheads didn’t find them just in third world countries. There were places in America that were just as evil, but shit. This was the last thing he’d expected to happen in a governor’s mansion.
“I’m sorry,” he told her once again, still striving to be the man she needed in her life, not another bastard. She’d had plenty of them.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I get mad, too. I understand.”
“No, not that. Well, yeah. Maybe that too.” Chance eased her far enough back that he could see into her pretty eyes, if she was willing to look at him. “But I’m more sorry that I didn’t know you then. I would’ve brought you home to meet Mom and the guys. You could’ve lived with us where you’d have been loved every day. Spoiled rotten. Kruze would’ve teased the death out of you, and Pagan would’ve been jealous because Mom liked you best. I know she would have.”
“And you?” she asked, her voice a hopeful whisper. “What would you have done with me?”
“This,” he murmured, pressing a fervent kiss to the forehead that York had kicked only days before. Dixie had done a good job with the makeup, but Chance knew precisely where that bastard had left his mark. Bruises on faces healed, but hearts were a different matter.
The purest blues smiled timidly up at him. Suede’s nose wrinkled. As her arms circled his waist, her ear came to rest over his heart. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Chance wanted to talk of their future together. He needed to ask her that all-important yes-or-no question. His heart ached to tell her how much he loved her.
But there were too many wild cards still in play to talk of forever. Vicki Hex. Domingo Zapata. Not to mention the unknown mastermind behind Senator Sullivan’s staffing problem. The mysterious person who’d sabotaged York’s helicopter retreat from Old Man Mountain. The puppet master who’d had the balls to send his mercenaries into Chance’s front yard.
Could those three be one and the same?
Chance intended to find out. But holy shit, the more lowlifes he and his brothers uncovered, the more it seemed climbed out of the woodwork. This thing wasn’t over. For now, Chance did what he did best. He breathed deeply. He prayed. And he just held on…
*****
Suede inhaled the familiar scent of her hero, her lover—her kryptonite. She couldn’t lie to this guy, couldn’t hold back any of the things she’d never told York. With every detail of her assault, Chance only held her tighter. Well, until that moment when he’d gone off the deep end and pounded on his cabin, but even then, he hadn’t directed his rage at her. Not for a second. Neither had he questioned nor interrogated her, called her a liar or made her feel as if she had to prove the horrible truth she’d just dumped on him. He hadn’t defended Franks’ actions either. Not once had he intimated that she’d done anything to deserve the rape. Instead, Chance believed her. He was on her side, and how odd was that?
“You’re safe,” he whispered at the top of her head, his body still thrumming from his outburst. “With me, you’ll always be safe.”
“I know.” There was a certain luxury in knowing Chance would fight for her. That he’d die for her. No man had ever held her as gently or been as outraged at her pain. She’d always been the throwaway daughter and lover. Never the treasure. Until now.
Tears she couldn’t hold back streamed into his shirt, wetting him to the skin, yet he didn’t push her off. Instead, his big palms held her flat to his chest like he’d never let her go.
His heart throbbed beneath her ear with a rapid yet steady beat. Her nose sought his clean masculine scent, needing his brand of courage. She nuzzled into his shirt while she reached under his jacket, her fingers craving the feel of power in those massive muscles that even now, flexed protecti
vely around her. Suede couldn’t remember a time she’d felt so sheltered or had so much to live for. She’d gone from pauper to princess the moment York tossed her aside, the moment she’d fallen at Chance’s feet.
He didn’t have to say the words. She knew. He loved her like she’d never been loved before.
Chapter Forty-Two
Hellfire rained down on the elitist governor of Oregon, and Suede was glad to see that Mick Tennyson had no comment for the throng of eager investigative reporters at the governor’s mansion the morning after her story and York’s video aired. He certainly couldn’t deny what she’d said, and after hearing her version of life in his home, America woke up and took sides. Twitter crashed when people all over the world cried out in her defense. Facebook went wild. It seemed the world loved the young woman, who’d not only survived the neglect and abuse by powerbrokers the likes of York and Tennyson, but who’d stood up to them as well.
They called her brave and a fighter. An example to beleaguered women and girls everywhere. Out of the shadows, other women stepped forward with their horror stories of dates, weeks, and months spent living with York’s psychotic behavior. Not to be outdone were the dozens of claims of unwanted sexual advances, intimidation, and outright assaults by Oregon’s ‘charming’ governor—and his wife.
By then, Mick Tennyson’s political goose was deep-fried. The FBI cuffed him, courteously escorted him from the lavish home he’d never return to, and away he went in a black FBI van. Charges were pending. Micah and his crew caught it all on live TV.
And that deal between Micah and McQueen? To devote sufficient airtime to Suede’s unique plight. The investigative report lasted Two. Hours. Seemed Micah and his crew spent the time between Montana and New York City delving into Tennyson’s and York’s shady business dealings. Talk about a scoop.
Suede didn’t catch the live program thanks to Chance’s lack of a TV, but the recorded version that McQueen sent was just as good. She’d watched it earlier on Chance’s laptop from the comfort of his warm body where she’d been tucked in safe and sound. Odd. It was like watching a news story about someone she didn’t know.
A smile creased her lips at the scatterbrained look in her father’s eyes when he’d been trotted down the steps and away from the home Oregon’s taxpayers paid for. He deserved this comeuppance. If he only knew what Chance wanted to do to him, he might have considered himself lucky.
Lieutenant Governor Broderick Bale stepped up to the plate that afternoon as Oregon’s acting governor. Suede watched that too, via satellite link, this time from the kitchen where Chance and she were chopping vegetables for a pasta salad to go along with the venison roast in the rotisserie.
As his first official act, Bale held a press conference aimed at the Colombian degenerates in his town. He called out the National Guard to restore order to the streets and docks of Portland. He instituted a curfew, requested the state legislature to revamp the port authority selection process, and he invited Homeland Security to partner with him in making his state safe again.
“Green onions or purple?” Chance asked, a bunch of green onions in one hand, a succulent purple in his other.
“I like them both. You pick,” Suede told him. They’d both dressed in jeans. She’d topped hers off with one of Chance’s button-up shirts, the sleeves rolled up. He wore a dark blue henley.
By then, Pagan was in the air. Kruze was already in Portland. She didn’t know why, but she knew better than to ask. McQueen was back in D.C., but he’d called to make certain she’d seen the news.
“English cucumbers or regular? I’ve got both.”
She finished slicing the first of two sweet peppers, one red and one green. “It doesn’t matter to me. Exactly why are we making this dinner?”
Chance’s brows lifted. “No special reason.”
Shaking her head, she resumed her chore while he tended to his. Her nose filled with the pleasant aromas of—home. The venison bubbling on the rack and the scents permeating the kitchen was nice, but that subtle hint of wind, sun, and Chance that she adored? Priceless.
She drew in another breath, relishing this moment in her life when everything was absolutely perfect. If she could freeze-frame it, she’d keep it in a locket around her neck and save it for the hard days ahead. Because Chance was right. This thing wasn’t over, and she suspected the man she feared most would still come for her, or that he’d send someone to kill the Sin boys she now loved.
When chopping and rinsing were complete, the veggies went into a giant bowl with the rotini. The rainbow colored version. Black olives joined the mixture, then Chance’s secret family recipe, a bottle of store bought vinaigrette.
“Oh, no!” she squealed, surprised he’d ruin a fabulous dish with off the shelf dressing. “You don’t make your own?”
“Who me? Make salad dressing? Are you serious?” He winked at her. “I’m a guy. This is good enough—”
“But it’s not,” she corrected. “I’ll make my version next time, then you’ll know the difference between good, better, and best.”
He tossed the towel he’d dried his hands with into the sink. In two steps, she found herself in his arms and giggling. “Baby, I’ve already got the best,” he growled before he covered her waiting mouth with his, nibbling at her lips like they were on the menu.
They danced right there in the kitchen, and Suede couldn’t recall another day so fine. She knew he’d be off to another mission before long, maybe sooner than she liked, but for this one shining moment, she was that storybook princess and he was her knight in shining armor.
“Hmm,” she moaned, her cheek against his broad chest, her favorite place in the whole world. “There’s something I should tell you.”
Sexy maple eyes melted all over her. “What now?”
“I’ve fallen for you,” she breathed.
He grimaced as he dipped her backward, her head nearly to the floor. “That’s not funny.”
They never made it to dinner, and those jeans and shirts? Suede hadn’t a clue where they landed between the kitchen and the fireplace.
They went after each other like hungry savages, tearing clothes off, grinding lips and teeth while they fired each other up. The back of the couch served as a pillow when Chance took her from behind the first time, but now… She moaned as he stretched her arms over her head and straddled her, ruthlessly plundering her mouth, nipping at her lips and chin, her neck, as if dinner wasn’t waiting a room away. Feverishly hot, his cock pressed against her belly, inciting her with its hard, slow promise.
She licked up his neck to the underside of his chin, pinned to the blanket she hadn’t known he’d previously spread in preparation for this moment. Way up high in the rafters, tiny stars glittered down at her, and she was pretty sure they were leftovers from her last coming, because wow. Chance knew how to make her ache for more, more, more.
As usual after their initial frenzy, he’d shifted into a gentler, more deliberate gear, anointing her eyelids as he released her hands and cupped her breasts. Dropping his head, he captured her nipple in his hot mouth. The resounding jolt to her core thrilled her every time.
Buzzing with pleasure, she shifted her fingers from his muscular back down to his taut ass. A shiver rippled up his spine. He speared her with one quick thrust that left her pleasantly full and panting. Arching, she pushed her breast into that amazing mouth, and they were doing it again. Climbing higher and higher. Reaching for the stars. Falling into each other.
Sex had never been so thoroughly intense or so satisfying before Chance. But she wanted him to come first this time. She wanted that final thrust when he growled his pleasure. Not happening. She had no resistance against the fuse he’d lit in her core and... and...
“Come for me,” he commanded, like she had a choice. The orgasm rippled from her core to her fingertips, clenching him in the same fierce grip she found herself lost in. Aftershocks took over then, leaving her breathless and her lips on his collarbone, nuzzling and loving
the scent of his skin, craving his all male body and the honorable soul that came with it.
Still connected, he eased back enough to rub his nose on her chin before his lips found her mouth. “I fell hard for you, Suede Tennyson,” he said, the scent of peppermint washing over her face. “So damned hard. You’re the spark in my life. You make me want to live.”
It all came down to that, her living through that first terrible night, his making sure she did. “You could’ve left me,” she murmured, hating the way she needed him. Love was a funny, scary thing that had let her down in the past. Could this thing with Chance be real? Could it be as good as it seemed? Sometimes she wondered.
“Not happening, baby. I hold onto what’s mine, and…” He ground his hips against hers, lighting her core again. Did that thing never get enough? “You’re all mine.”
A smile broke out of her heart at the way he called her baby. Other guys said baby like she was a thing, but when he said it, she felt like she was his whole world. Threading her fingers through his thick, soft hair, she pressed her lips to his. His answering growl was all she needed to know. This was her mission in life now. To keep Chance happy.
And alive...
Chapter Forty-Three
“No! Don’t go!” Suede whined, lost in a nightmare where nothing made sense. Not Chance falling like he was. Not the way he kept sliding down Old Man Mountain when she knew what a good he was. Not how every time she’d almost touched his fingertips, he slipped farther and farther away.
“Grab onto me,” she begged him, her knees scrabbling for purchase on stone that had grown soft and spongy with every move she made. “Don’t let go!”
His eyes shimmering with regret. “I love you. I always have. I always will.”
“Then don’t leave me,” she cried, scared this was the end. “I can’t live without you!”
But he did let go. He did fall. She watched his amber eyes fill with the black dreadfulness of total terror. His arms and legs flailed. His strong fingers grasped at the nothingness between them until he—
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