by Freya Barker
“Don’t move,” he hisses without looking at me. His eyes are focused on Josh, standing in my living room.
“What’s going on?” Trinny asks, hurrying onto the porch where I fold her into my arms, grateful to have her safe. “Mom?”
Before I can answer, Joe shoves Josh out the door, holding one of his arms twisted high behind his back.
“That’s assault,” Josh whines. “I can have you charged.”
“Try me. In case you haven’t paid attention, I’m the fucking chief of police. See how far you get with that.” He gives Josh a push, causing him to stumble down the steps. “In the meantime, I suggest you steer clear of Ollie. You show up here again—even just take a single step up her driveway—I will charge your ass with trespassing faster than you can spell it.”
“Do you know whom you’re dealing with?” he challenges and I suck in a breath. Seriously, the man has no sense of self-preservation, as evidenced by the low menacing growl coming from Joe.
“I don’t give a flying fuck who you are. You push your way into my woman’s house without invitation—you’re lucky you’re still standing.”
“Who says I didn’t get invited in?” He glances at me with a sly smirk on his face, but Joe is done.
“The video feed from this camera,” he bites off, jabbing his index finger at the obscure little camera mounted on a porch pillar, aimed at my front door.
Luckily for him, Josh has enough sense to call it quits then. He does it with a menacing glare in my direction before turning on his heel and stomping to his fancy-ass car. The threatening vibes coming off Joe suddenly turn in my direction when he swings around.
“Inside,” he barks. Trinny is the first to react, dragging me inside. The front door slams behind me, making me jump. “Give us a minute, yeah?” he directs at Trinny, before grabbing my arm and hauling me with him up the stairs—straight to my bedroom—where he slams the door shut as well. That snaps me out of my stupor.
“Not sure what crawled up your ass,” I start, swinging around to face him and finding him right there—hovering over me.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” He bends down and gets in my face. “That motherfucker manhandled you, not even two weeks ago, and you open the goddamn door to him?” I open my mouth to respond, but he’s not done yet. “Are you out of your mind? Are you looking to become a fucking statistic?” He takes a step back and shoves his hand in his short gray hair, closing his eyes and lifting his face to the ceiling.
“I thought…” I start, when I feel my stomach do a somersault. With my lips pressed together, I push past him and dive into my bathroom, barely making the toilet, retching up nothing but bile.
“Jesus,” I hear him hiss behind me.
I’m mortified, but not exactly in a position to do anything about it, since my stomach seems intent on working its way up my throat. I vaguely register the tap running, before swift hands gather my hair back, and a cold cloth is pressed in my neck.
“Better?” he asks, minutes later when my stomach seems to settle back in place and I lift my head.
“Headache,” I mumble, trying not to breathe on him. I keep my eyes firmly closed as I feel his arm slip around me, guiding me into the bedroom.
“Hang on here.” He gently pushes me to sit down on the edge of the bed, and I hear him open the door and call downstairs. “Trin! You got a big bowl or a bucket or something you can bring up?”
I work hard at breathing in through my nose, trying to ride through another roll of my stomach. The wet cloth is removed from my neck and I hear more water running in the bathroom.
“You sick, Momma?” Trinny’s voice is concerned, and I blindly reach for her when I feel her sit beside me.
“Don’t come too close, baby,” I whisper. “Don’t want you getting sick.”
“She’s right, girl. Best keep your distance.” Joe’s voice is gentle as he encourages my daughter to head back downstairs, which she finally does. I hear him approach. “Lift your face, honey.” With my eyes closed, I do as he asks and feel his fingers lifting my chin higher as he washes my face. I hope he doesn’t notice the few tears escaping.
“Have you got a clean shirt?”
Embarrassed beyond belief, I shake my head, resulting in a sharp stab behind my eyes. “I can do it.”
“I’ll grab it, you can put it on. Deal?”
“Top dresser drawer.”
I hear it opening and closing, before he presses a shirt in my hands. “Got ibuprofen somewhere?”
“Cabinet over the stove.”
“Gonna make you some tea, grab some pills, and then I’ll run Trinny across the street to catch the boys off the bus.”
“But—”
“Called Gomez. He’s sending Dylan to keep an eye out.”
“Okay.”
“Now get changed. I’ll be right back.”
The moment I hear him go downstairs, I let the tears fall, yanking my smelly shirt over my head, and tossing it as far from me as I can before pulling the clean one over my head. I’d much rather have a shower, but I’m afraid if I open my eyes, I’ll start heaving again. I manage to work my jeans down and take off my leg and sock, dropping it all on the floor, before rolling myself under the covers.
I must’ve dozed off, because I startle when I feel a hand pressed against my forehead. I carefully blink my eyes open to find Joe sitting on the edge of my bed.
“You’ve got a fever.”
“Figured that.”
“Sit up a little. You should take these.” He holds out a couple of pills in his hand. I take them, pop them in my mouth, and take a sip of the warm tea he hands me.
“Are the kids okay?”
“Doing homework at my place. Dylan’s already there.”
“Any sign of Christian?”
“Gomez had a man at the school, waiting. He didn’t show. Could be he made the fed, could be he got cold feet. Either way, we’re keeping a close eye.” The fingers he runs through my hair feel nice and I close my eyes, trying not to purr out loud. “I promised the boys Mexican so I’m taking Trinny with me, but Dylan stays with you.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, not about to argue.
“I’ll switch up with Dylan again after, get your girl to pack up some of her shit so she can crash at my place, and I’ll stick around here tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because she doesn’t need to get sick with less than a week of school left, and I already had what you’ve got. Now get some sleep.”
I feel his lips press against my forehead, and almost whimper when I lose them, but I barely hear him walk down the stairs, I’m already drifting off.
Chapter 11
Joe
Ollie’s couch fucking sucks.
There’s a reason I bought a huge sectional, big enough to hold both my boys and myself at once. Some weekends we’ll watch a movie and fall asleep right there, without needing to move. Ollie’s couch is small, great for snuggling up, not so good for stretching my six foot five frame out on.
So I slept for maybe two hours before cramping woke me up. To top that, I turn on her TV and notice she has the most basic of packages, which means it’s four thirty in the morning and I’m sitting in her recliner, watching fucking infomercials.
Ollie has been out since I put her to bed yesterday afternoon. Close to twelve hours now. I’ve checked on her a few times and she hasn’t moved much but was still breathing.
Over dinner, I explained to my kids why I would be staying with Ollie, while Trinny and an FBI agent would stay at our house. I could’ve evaded the truth, but I’ve never lied to the kids, not since Jenny got sick. I’m not going to start now. I’m all the boys have, and although they’re still young, they’re not stupid. They know there’s a risk associated with working in law enforcement. They’re also smart enough to know something has been up with our neighbors the past few weeks.
Mase was cool, mainly because Trinny was there, but Ryder had been a little freaked and ask
ed a bunch of questions. I answered most of them. Everyone ended up coming to Ollie’s so Trin could pack a bag. When the boys discovered Dylan is apparently an avid gamer, they couldn’t wait to get across the street with him. Mase barely said goodbye, and Ryder gave me a distracted hug, but it was Trinny who was hesitant to go. She needed a little assurance I’d look after her mom. “Wouldn’t let anything happen to her, Trinny.” She looked at me for a long time, before nodding and following the boys outside.
After I had a brief conversation with Damian Gomez, who informed me the phone the text came in from is a prepaid number, listing no account holder. So it doesn’t give us a who, but it gives us a where, since the number alone is enough to trace the phone back to a general area. Jasper was going to work on that.
I get up to check out the window. Sunrise will be at least another hour, but I can see the sky starting to lighten up a little. A few lights are on downstairs in my house, an indication Dylan is probably awake as well.
I snag my jeans off the floor and tug them on before heading into Ollie’s kitchen to put some coffee on.
“Mornin’.” I swing around to see Ollie leaning against the counter behind me, her hair a tangled mess around her still sleepy face.
My eyes do a quick scan down the sleep shirt I handed her yesterday afternoon, hitting her mid-thigh. One strong leg ending in a small foot with cute painted toes, the other visible to the knee. There it disappears into a socket, followed by a metal shank and ends in an artificial foot. “How are you feeling?” I ask when my eyes find hers again.
“Rough, but better.”
“Did I wake you?” I turn back to the coffee maker and finish scooping the grinds into the filter.
“No. Been up a while craving coffee, so it’s good you’re making some.” She pulls herself up on a stool, planting her elbows on the small island, as she takes her time looking me over top to bottom. Fair is fair, I guess.
“I’ll make you some toast while we wait. Gentler on the stomach.”
“Bread’s on top of the fridge.”
I pop a few slices in the toaster and dig around her cupboards for a couple of mugs and a plate. When I turn to her, I see she has her back turned, watching the TV from her vantage point.
“Wouldn’t have taken you for a Tiffany kind of guy. Not so sure that shade suits your decor,” she quips, watching a bit of the infomercial for a gaudy multi-colored lamp.
“Your cable package sucks,” I declare, making her turn to me with a grin on her face. A really fucking good grin. One that has the blood rushing to my dick, and I’m suddenly very aware of the fact we’re both half-dressed. My eyes slide down to chest level where her nipples are suddenly visible through the thin cotton material. “Butter on your toast?” My voice comes out hoarse, as I tear my eyes from the all too enticing view at the ping of the toaster.
“Please.” Hers sounds breathy, but I turn away purposely and dive into her fridge, welcoming the cool air. When I slide the plate of toast and a mug of coffee in front of her, I have myself back under control. Somewhat. “By the way,” she says after taking a healthy bite. “I have Netflix.”
“Now she tells me.” Her raspy chuckle has me smile.
When she picks up her plate and mug and walks into the living room, I follow her. “I see you’ve discovered my recliner,” she says, indicating the quilt I left draped over the seat.
“Only good seat in the house,” I confess with an apologetic shrug. “No offense.”
“None taken,” she says, sitting down in a corner of the couch, pulling her leg under her. “I was out of it yesterday or I would’ve suggested you take Trinny’s bed. It’s only a double, but you would’ve been more comfortable than on the couch.”
“It was fine,” I lie, ignoring her raised eyebrow as I grab the quilt, drape it over her lap and sit down in the recliner.
“So—what did I miss last night?”
For the next hour we talk. I tell her about dinner with the kids, the call with Gomez, and the fact her brother was a no-show at the school. She insists on keeping her daughter home, I disagree and explain Dylan will be her shadow for the last couple of days of school, so she can finish her year without interruption. It takes a bit of convincing, but she finally concedes.
That leads to a discussion around summer plans.
“I hope this is resolved before she goes on her Europe trip,” Ollie says pensively.
“First weeks of June, right?” Trinny told me a few months ago about the trip she was invited on. Her friend Kim’s parents planned to take their daughter to Europe for her graduation, and ended up inviting Trinny along. Good kid that she is, she’d been worried about who’d look after my boys.
“Yeah.”
“I booked my boys into a summer camp for two weeks. They’re leaving next Saturday, June first.”
“Where’s camp?”
“Mesa Verde. They’re pretty pumped about it, although Ryder is a little freaked being away from me for two weeks.”
“Good that it’s close,” she says, smiling, and it hits me again how pretty she is. No makeup, hair a mess, her face still a little gaunt, and yet with just that smile on those lips and in those eyes, she’s stunning.
“Can be there in no time if I need to. Or want to,” I add, grinning. “Two weeks is long for me too.”
“Funny, I was thrilled for Trinny about the trip, but dreaded her being gone for that long—now, I’m relieved. Hope this mess will be cleared up before she gets ba…ck.” On the last syllable, her mouth cracks open in a massive yawn, and I chuckle.
“Why don’t you grab a few more hours?” I suggest, glancing out the window to see the sun coming up. “I’ll make sure the kids get off to school okay.”
“No.” She throws off the quilt, tilts her head back, and stretches her body, every curve clearly defined. I swallow hard but can’t seem to look away. “I’m okay. I’m just gonna grab a quick shower while you’re still here.”
I watch as she gets up, tugs her shirt down, and heads for the stairs.
“I’ll put on more coffee,” I offer, staying seated so she doesn’t see the raging hard-on tenting my fucking jeans.
She looks back over her shoulder with a smile. “That’d be awesome.”
I’m so fucked.
Ollie
Ouch.
I watch as the thin trickle of blood runs down my leg and mixes with the water swirling down the drain.
I hate shaving, which is why this is the first time in weeks—since I had to get all dolled up for the fundraising gala—I’ve picked up my razor. I try not to think too hard on why it is I suddenly feel the need, especially since I can’t seem to complete the feat without nicking myself at least once.
Still, by the time I’m toweled off, I feel a lot better. Until I look up and see my reflection in the partially steamed up mirror.
Aside from my gnarled up stump, I have the body of a forty-year-old. Of course I am forty—turned so in April, a day I’d have been happy to ignore if not for my daughter and Grace turning it into a big deal—but that doesn’t mean I have to look it.
I’ve always been curvy, even as a teen. Big boobs, big hips, small waist, but everything was firm back then. Now the boobs are well on their descent, the big hips and solid thighs are dimpled beyond repair, and a distinct pouch covers my once flat belly. I’m lucky my hair still rocks and my skin looks healthy.
Why I suddenly care about the state of my body, I’m not sure, but it might have something to do with the bare chest I’ve been trying not to drool over for the past hour or so. Joe is built. Not ripped, per se, but wide, muscular, and strong—and so very appealing.
With a sigh, I turn away from the mirror and quickly get dressed.
By the time I get to the kitchen, I’m almost relieved to see he’s wearing a shirt as he shoves a piece of toast in his mouth.
“Gonna run get the kids off, then I’ll be back and we’ll figure out the day. You gonna be good here for a few?”
“I can come, I’m feeling better. Cook them some breakfast before they go,” I offer, and watch his face go soft as he takes the two steps that separate us.
It’s a really good look. I tilt my head back so I can see it, and at the same time one of his large hands slides along my jaw and into my hair. “Don’t want your girl sick, honey,” he says smooth as silk, and my one good knee almost buckles. “I’ll do the cooking today. You feel better tomorrow; you can have at it. Planning to open the pool this weekend, since it’s supposed to get warmer. Kids can help.”
I realize it’s probably for security reasons he’s including me—us—in his weekend plans, but I can’t deny it feels good. Strange, unfamiliar, but good. “Okay,” I agree easily. More compliant than I know myself to be, but I figure given the fact I’m not one-hundred-percent and my asshole brother has potentially put us on the radar of a mafia crime boss, I don’t particularly feel the urge to assert my independence.
His face is still close when he whispers, “Good.”
My mouth goes dry and I lick my lips, something that doesn’t seem to go unnoticed as he zooms in on my mouth. Blowing out a breath through his nose, he closes his eyes, pulls me closer and lowers his head. I strain my neck to reach him, pressing my lips against his. He seems to startle, fingers tightening in my hair, and I hear his sharp inhale before his mouth comes down on mine with a hunger I can feel straight down to my toes. I easily open for his tongue sweeping inside, and a tingle runs down my spine when he encounters mine.
But the moment my hand curves around his neck, fingers sliding into his short hair, he abruptly breaks away.
I’m still standing frozen, wondering what the hell just happened, when I hear the door close behind me.
Chapter 12
Joe
