Hers From The Start: A Collection of First In Series Reverse Harem

by Laura Greenwood

  I felt his nose crunch as I slammed into it with the meat of my palm. His head twitched a bit, but he didn’t move his body, nor did he try to defend himself. What the hell? I drew back to hit him in the throat but was stopped by a jab of searing pain in my head. Whimpering, I dropped onto the couch. A thousand needles poked at my head. At even more of a disadvantage, I tried to kick him in the crotch, but he grabbed my foot in an iron grip. He didn’t squeeze, but I was sure that he could easily crush my foot if he did.

  “Please, Riley, calm down. Listen to my voice and try to breathe. I’m not here to hurt you. Defensive measures aren't necessary with me.” I realized as he spoke that my breathing was labored, and I was sure my eyes were wild. I twisted my foot out of his hand, vulnerable. “Please, really look at me, Riley. Look at my eyes, and you’ll be able to see I’m being honest.”

  Like I’d actually be able to read lies in his eyes. That only happened in books and on angsty teenage vampire shows. I considered his unusual eyes, and though he did seem genuine, I wouldn’t be basing my next move on perceived sincerity.

  “Step away from me, and I’ll think about calming down.” If I can get to one of the guns hidden in here, I won’t hesitate to shoot this time. The man had to be some sort of special ops if he was able to move across the room with such speed.

  He backed away, keeping himself between me and the front door. I was happy he was going in that direction—I needed a bit of room to reach the gun in the holster sewn to the side of the couch.

  Trying to ignore the constant pains in my head, I pulled my legs up on the couch, hoping to convey that I was settling in. “You have me up against a wall. So talk.” I placed my arm on the side of the couch, as close as I could get to the gun without reaching for it. I’d already seen that he could move fast, so I needed to be faster. Unfortunately, it was all I could do not to grab my pounding head.

  He spoke, his voice passionate and caring. The words caused me to freeze and the tone shook me. “Riley. I have the answers you need. I’ve watched over you for the past five years. I came here because I must help you.” I opened my mouth to argue and the volume of his voice rose. “I need to help you, to know you. You’re in danger, and I can’t stand watching from the sidelines anymore.”

  What sidelines?

  “My name is Anthony, and I know where your family is.” He rushed his words as if to prevent me from interrupting.

  My long-numb mind exploded. Thoughts raced so fast I saw my brain shatter in colors. The rush of emotions exacerbated my headache. I cried out in pain and reaching my gun was forgotten. I couldn’t think about my family, my desolate past, or the danger I was in. There was only pain.

  Convinced I was having an aneurysm, I tried to stand, but my legs buckled under me. “Call 911,” I gasped. My vision blurred, and I knew I was losing consciousness. I couldn’t stop my body from splaying out on the floor—my muscles weren’t listening to my brain. Anthony’s panicked yell sounded like it came from several rooms away.

  In the moment before my vision went black, it occurred to me that he spoke in the present tense. He hadn’t said ‘was.’ He’d said ‘is.’

  They’re alive.

  The events of my afternoon flooded my mind when I woke from a dreamless sleep. My memories were clear; I remembered Agent Abbott—Anthony—and our entire interaction. His insistence that he knew the whereabouts of my family gave me wild hope. I played our interactions over and over in my mind.

  He must’ve carried me to bed. How often does this guy work out to be so strong? I’m no damn pixie.

  Headache gone, I leaped from the bed and ran down the stairs, searching for Anthony. The house was silent and dark. I had no idea how long I’d been asleep. It was bright daylight when Anthony knocked on my door, that much I knew, but in my disheveled frame of mind I couldn’t remember what the time was. For all I knew, it could’ve been before noon or almost twilight.

  A ding came from the living room. I ran to check my phone, but there were no messages—it was a stupid game notification. It’s already eleven? My search of the house was fruitless. He was gone. Boneless, I sank down onto the same couch I’d cowered on earlier. Alive—they’re alive.

  My mind split open, ripping away the numbness to let the emotional pain out like a knife cutting open a pathway to my tortured memories. The faces of my children flashed in my mind.

  Every day for five years, I paced the rooms and halls of my home, memorizing the pictures on the walls. Every day I recited precious stories of my husband and children so that my memories would stay fresh. But I didn't speak of my children to anyone, except the people working on their case. For five years, I’d refused to say their names out loud. I kept them inside, in my mind and in my heart. My attention moved to a picture of both of my boys, taken the day we brought our youngest home from the hospital.

  “David,” I whispered, “are you still taking care of your little brother? Do you still call him Dannel?” Daniel would be six and David would be eleven. For the millionth time, I wondered what they’d gone through, and if they’d suffered. I rose, trying to recapture the numbness before the pain broke me. Those kinds of questions always lead to pain. I was desperate to find numb again. How could I know if Anthony was telling the truth? His disappearance made his claims even less credible.

  It took me several minutes to compose myself. Shuffling into the kitchen for a bottle of water, I grabbed it out of the fridge, but didn't drink. Instead, I ogled the clear liquid, wishing it was alcohol. Opening the cabinet above the refrigerator, I looked up at the bottle of whiskey. We always kept the liquor there, well out of the reach of the curious David.

  About a week before my world went black, I’d purchased the bottle. I wanted to drink the entire bottle and make the pain disappear. My numbness was gone, and the pain was back as if the horrible events happened yesterday.

  The weeks after their disappearances were horrible. I couldn’t come up with a single reason why Michael would leave with the children. Horrible scenarios plagued my thoughts, leaving me anxious and nauseous.

  After extensive questioning of me and anyone connected to our family, the police called in the FBI. They agreed it would be out of character for Michael to leave with the kids of his own volition. They also agreed that he would’ve needed help. Help to vanish without a trace—and to be able to take their things. I was left with the baby books and memory boxes and the hard drive with pictures stored on it.

  Both Michael and I lost our parents before we met each other; mine in a car crash, his to cancer and a heart attack. There was no family to help him and our friends wouldn’t have.

  The investigators found no links on his computers or phone. They combed the house for forensic evidence. Nothing came up. There was no evidence of foul play, and the only DNA they found was ours.

  With no clues, our only option was a reward hotline. I cashed out our meager retirement plan to put up the ten-thousand dollar reward, but each tip turned out to be someone angling to get the money. After a year, they canceled the reward and told me they assumed his actions were intentional. They turned my family, my heart, my reason for living, into a cold case. They said they were forced to assume Michael had indeed taken the children.

  I closed the door on the whiskey and trudged upstairs to change into workout clothes. My solace was my gym. The dapper Anthony might return and give me answers, but it was more likely that I’d never see him again. Might as well continue my monotonous life. I changed and bolted out of the house before I changed my mind and guzzled the whiskey instead.

  With my family gone, I’d taken a three month leave of absence from my management position at a local coffee shop. The position was ideal because I’d always liked to work with the public, plus the shop was close to home and offered decent pay and hours.

  When I couldn’t face another day of sitting beside my phone, begging it to ring, I returned to work. But still, I’d go home at night and lie awake, staring at my phone. Sleep would elude me
for days at a time, which would cause me to get sick and take more time off work. Thankfully, the owners were always patient with me.

  Once I began my self-defense training, I learned pushing my body to the brink of exhaustion was the only way I could manage to rest. I’d sleep all night with just an occasional nightmare.

  I’d worked my way through every available self-defense class, traveling farther and farther away from home to find a challenge. A former Marine started to do private training at a gym near me. He was willing to continue my training beyond the generic classes I’d already taken. He encouraged me to explore martial arts and spend more time building up my strength and endurance. The exertion tired my body and my mind; I lost weight, settling into a size twelve again, some days even a ten.

  Elias, my trainer turned friend, had said my body was likely meant to be curvy, since I’d done intense workouts for four years and stopped losing weight. I was happy with my body and hoped that I’d be able to show it to Michael one day. He loved me no matter my appearance, but he’d be happy for my health.

  Lacing up my running shoes, I put earbuds in to stream some of Michael’s favorite music and jogged the mile to my twenty-four hour gym.

  Heading straight for the punching bag in the corner, I jogged in place to keep my heart rate up as I wrapped my hands. The bag swung to and fro as I punched and kicked out my anger and frustration. My body moved to the rhythm of the heavy guitar riffs and drum beats of Black Sabbath.

  I pulled my fist back to hit the bag again and found my right bicep locked in a strong grip. I turned and lashed out at whoever was behind me. Elias jumped out of the range of my fists and emotional turmoil. My shoulders sagged once I knew I was safe, that it was just Eli, and my rage and pent up ire left me at once, exhaustion taking its place.

  “What are you doing here so late?” He pulled out my earbuds. “Do you need to spar and wear yourself out?”

  “Not tonight.” I yawned. “I’m tired. It’s been a long and emotional day.” I turned to the small refrigerator in the corner to grab another bottle of water. This time, the thought of replacing water with whiskey didn't tempt me.

  “Riley, what happened? I knew today would be hard for you, but you normally hole up in that shrine of a home for the day. Did something change?” He touched my arm and peered down into my eyes.

  I debated what to tell him, if anything. He’d become a close friend and confidante. I couldn’t stand to speak to any of the friends Michael and I had shared before his disappearance. They had eyes full of pity. I didn’t want their pity, or their sorrys, or their wishes they could help. I simply wanted my family. Elias didn’t give me pity—he gave me defense. He gave me the confidence that I’d be able to keep myself safe in a world that would rip my children from me. He pushed me to work harder and train longer, and I owed him a large part of my sanity, such as it was.

  “Honestly, I think you’d have me committed if I told you how my day went.” I laughed humorlessly as I walked over to the weight bench and sat down. Crazy or not, I knew I needed to run my day by someone, and I trusted him more than I trusted anyone alive.

  “Sit down, E. It's a strange story.” I told him the details of my day. I even included how easy it was for Anthony to disarm me. His face displayed shock throughout the entirety of my story, and when I finished with, “and then I woke up,” his jaw dropped.

  “Riley, doll, you can't go back to that house.” I tried to interrupt, but he put his hand on my mouth. “No arguments. He neutralized you in seconds, leaving you utterly defenseless. And then you blacked out—most likely due to emotional stress—but we need to have you checked out. And then you’re staying with me. I won’t let you argue this.”

  I sighed and studied his face. Elias was another exceptionally attractive man, but for years, he was purely my friend. Any other possibility had never entered my mind. After the surge of hormones I experienced today while dealing with Anthony, I found myself considering Elias in a completely different light. I imagined myself allowing a modicum of attraction into my life. A smidgen of desire.

  He kept his blond hair cut close, still a Marine at heart, even though he’d been honorably discharged before I’d met him. Warm eyes, the color of milk chocolate, were framed by thick lashes any woman would kill for. He often joked that his eyes were shit brown, but his self-deprecating humor was lost on me. His eye color was stunning.

  Raised in the southern U.S., his family was from Greece. I didn’t believe him until I searched for blond Greek men online. Apparently, there was an abundance of blond hair in Greece. Who knew?

  His speech was void of accent, at least to my ears so used to hearing a Tennessee twang. Until he told me he was born and raised in Knoxville, I would’ve never guessed he was Southern.

  “All right.” I sighed. “Thank you for believing my story and for once again being what I need.” I leaned against his thick arm and put my head on his shoulder. “Take me to the ER and waste most of our night. Let them pronounce me in perfect health. Then will you at least take me home to pack a bag and grab some of my guns?”

  “Riley, I’ve got plenty of guns. You know that.” He chuckled and gave my hand a squeeze.

  I rolled my eyes and got to my feet, “Yes, but they’re not my guns.”

  He slung an arm around my shoulders. “Okay, let’s go get you checked out.”

  We rode to the local university hospital in his massive Ford truck. There was something about men and trucks in the South, and Elias wasn't immune to the pull of a super-duty. I didn’t mind his truck obsession because it was a smooth ride. By the time we reached the emergency room door, I was lulled to the brink of sleep.

  “Eli, I want to sleep. Take me home,” I groused as he opened my passenger door.

  “Not a chance.”

  I glared at him until he reached across and unbuckled my seat belt. His chest brushed against mine, and I sucked in my stomach as I tried to stamp out the spark of arousal.

  Don’t stress it. It's been an insane day and your hormones have been all over the place. It was an instinctual reaction. It doesn’t mean you’re disloyal to Michael.

  Elias stared at me with one eyebrow cocked as I gave myself a mental pep talk. “Can we go in now?”

  I gave him an exaggerated huff. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter Two

  Our emergency room visit passed without much drama, all things considered. They drew my blood and took my vitals. The longest wait was after the CAT scan—the results took an hour. It was one of those hours that you think it's been at least a half hour, but only three minutes have passed. The enormity of my day overwhelmed me, and I spent the hour dozing as tears leaked from my eyes. Elias sat beside my bed with one hand on my ankle. The simple touch of another human was comforting, but I battled a guilt monster for wanting it.

  The doctor pronounced me stressed and sent us home. “I told you so,” I said as I climbed into the truck.

  Elias rolled his eyes and pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward my house to get my overnight bag and guns. “About your visitor earlier—do you think there’s any chance he was telling the truth?”

  I watched the passing landscape as we sped home, battling with myself, trying to decide if Anthony could have any relevant information. “I don’t know. I’m going to call the local FBI office in the morning and see if they’ve ever heard of him or his alias. Although, I highly doubt they’ll have any idea who he really is.” He was probably some freak that heard about my case on some documentary. It had been featured on a few websites and occasionally brought out the crazies.

  Elias peeked at me from the corner of his eye. “In the morning.” Eli’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

  His words rubbed me the wrong way. Surely the FBI would at least want to know it happened. “I suppose you’re right, but what else can I do? I feel even more lost than I did two days ago.” I rubbed my eyes. “How am I going to figure out who this guy is and what his true motives a
re?”

  The brakes on the fancy truck squeaked as we pulled into my driveway and parked. He spent some time staring out the driver’s window, contemplating my situation while I took the opportunity to study his profile. My newfound interest in him flitted around my stomach, both exciting and confusing me. Was it okay to be attracted to someone when on the verge of possibly finding my long lost husband? What kind of person did that make me?

  A horrible person, Riley. You are a horrible, horrible person. You’re going to hell wearing gasoline-soaked panties. Apparently, my libido disagreed with that assessment because I felt a tingle of potent desire. My head smacked against the headrest and I groaned in frustration.

  Elias laughed and grabbed my knee, not helping my tingles in the slightest. "Riley, come on. Let's get your bag, and I'll settle you in the guest room at my place. You'll be safe, and you can rest."

  Shoving the truck door open, the dull throb of a headache began again. It was becoming an annoyance. "Eli, my head is starting to hurt again. Maybe there's some allergen in the air around this place that’s causing me to have a headache as a reaction." I sniffed the air, my nose pointed up as I turned in a circle. "Smell anything? I don't."

  Eli stopped on the porch and watched me twirl in a circle behind him. "Give me your keys, you goof. I'll check the place out before you come in."

  He reached into his boot and withdrew a small pistol. "Here, stand inside the door, stay alert, and use this.” He handed me the gun gingerly, as if afraid I didn’t know what to do with it. “Just don't shoot me!" He slipped into the quiet house.

  Unwilling to wait in the doorway, I crept in behind him. He was already deep inside, and I didn’t like not knowing where he was. "Eli!" I shout-whispered. He appeared at my elbow like a ninja.

  He didn't bother whispering. "Riley. Sometimes you’re a badass, but you’re awful at sneaking." He clapped me on the shoulder before walking soundlessly up the dark staircase.