by Charlie Hart
My eyes close and my head falls back as we begin to explore one another more fervently. My pussy is wet, and he guides me to my back, leaning over me with a hungry expression.
“Are we using sex to avoid a difficult conversation?” he asks, a firm hand on my wrist, as he uses his other hand to open me.
“Do we care?”
Fingers press inside me, making me squirm, and I bite down on my bottom lip hard. He circles my clit with his thumb, with more ease than I’d expect from a man who’s spent his life on a remote island.
Though now he’s in the Navy. Maybe he’s been to lots of places, been with lots of women. If he has I don’t care. Now, I only care about this moment.
He moves his hand harder against my pussy, and I feel myself close to orgasm. He dips a finger against my g-spot, forcing my legs to shake, my hand to press hard against his chest as I release a soft moan of pleasure that starts at my toes and crawls up my spine.
“Oh, God, Em, oh, Em.” My knees buckle together, but he forces them apart, knowing what I need better than I do. “I need you, now,” I beg, pulling at his hand, his chest, drawing him to me.
I need his capable body resting over my narrow frame, cradling me, keeping me safe. Making me forget and remember all at once.
I take hold of his cock, and bring him close. My legs wrap around his body as he sinks against me. He brushes my loose hair from my face, nose to nose, eyes on eyes, beating heart against beating heart.
“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he admits, his cock inching inside me, making me gasp as he pushes deep.
I take him all, my body expanding the same way my heart has, for all of these men.
“Don’t talk,” I say, not wanting his truths to change my mind. It’s already been made.
We move as one, hips rocking and bodies shaking, slick with sweat and filled with pleasure. For hours we make love, and just when I think there is no way we can go again, Emerson surprises me.
We don’t speak again. He understands, in some way, that what I really need, what I really crave, is to get lost. In him.
He lets me.
Exhausted and spent, he finally lays on his back, eyes closed, breathing shallow. I lightly brush my lips across his lightly, and murmur, “I wish things were different. Wish I could be everything you deserve.”
He doesn’t respond. He’s asleep.
With a small sigh, I crawl out of bed, and dress.
I know what I have to do.
I rip a page out of the journal Huxley bought for me, and scribble a note of apology.
I’m sorry for leaving this way.
You’ve all been so wonderful, but I can’t do this.
Please don’t try to find me. It will only put you at risk, and that’s the last thing I want.
-Tia
It’s short, but what else can I say when I know this choice will hurt them all so much?
I fold it and place it on the table next to Emerson, then scrounge around in his jeans until I find his key card in the back pocket. I also take the cash from his wallet. I’ll need it to get south again. I have no idea where I’ll go, only that the longer I stay in Alaska the more danger my men will be in.
Running will only get you killed, it’s Fallon’s voice in my head. I know it’s the truth. But better me than them.
Emerson mutters something in his sleep, a tangle of hair falling across his handsome face. My lion.
My heart squeezes, wishing things could be different, but knowing it would be selfish for me to stay.
Quietly, I make my way down the stairs. There’s a set of keys on the table by the door. It’s for Huxley’s Hummer. I think about taking it. But I know I’ll never get past the security gate in it, and it would be easier for them to track.
I’ll have to leave on foot. The town is only about a forty-minute walk from here. If I can make it there, I know I’ll find temporary shelter at the old convent that’s been turned into a shelter.
And then what? My brain screams, as I trek through the deep snow, eyeing the gate that goes around the compound. I can’t climb it. It’s too high, and there’s electrical barbwire around the top. I’m going to have to sneak through the security gate. Somehow get past the guards.
I wait almost an hour, hidden behind one of the guard buildings before I find my chance. The gates open to let a black SUV through, and while the guard is talking with the driver, I sneak around the vehicle.
My heart pounds wildly as I head towards the forest that stretches before me. I don’t hear any shouts, or any indication that I was seen as I dart into the shelter of the trees.
I’m safe.
No, not safe.
Not even free.
Not sure I ever will be.
I blink away the tears that burn my eyes as I follow the road towards town. It’s a longer walk than I’d thought. I’m not sure how much time goes by, but my feet are numb, and each step becomes painful, and I still can’t see the town’s lights.
God, maybe I went the wrong way.
I did not think this out. As usual, I made a stupid emotional decision without thinking about the consequences. Because really, where the hell am I going to go?
The hum of an engine behind me has me turning. Headlights of a vehicle approach.
I move closer to the trees, hoping I wasn’t spotted. But the vehicle slows as it approaches, and when I glance over my shoulder, I recognize the truck. A dark pickup with slightly tinted windows.
Fallon’s truck.
Shit.
Three figures are in it and I see one point in my direction as the vehicle pulls over to the shoulder of the gravel road.
I should have known they’d come after me. I think about running, but I know they’ll just chase me down. And I’ve already humiliated myself enough. Time to face their anger and tell them why I have to leave.
Maybe if I explain it to them, they’ll help me find shelter somewhere else. Somewhere that won’t put them at risk.
I start to walk towards them as they get out of the truck. The headlights blind me so that I can only see their silhouettes.
There’s a deep chuckle. “Well now, what do we have here.”
It isn’t until I hear the unfamiliar voice that I realize the three burly figures stalking towards me aren’t my husbands.
My breath sticks in my throat, as fear climbs its way up.
I stumble, tripping in the heavy snow and falling backwards.
“Don’t be scared, sweetheart,” one of the men says. They’re close enough that I can see their faces now. “We want to help you.”
“I’ll help her all right.” The guy that’s furthest away grabs himself in a vulgar gesture.
And I do the only thing I can.
I run.
Continue the journey in the Wife Protectors, Six Men of Alaska, Book 2
Continue the Journey
The Wife Protectors
Chapter 1
Tia
The snow crunches under my already frozen feet. I want to run fast and far, but it’s near impossible in these woods where snow drifts are knee high.
I refuse to lay down and give up, but the men are gaining ground. It’s not just their boots I hear, it’s their heavy breathing, their grunts as they try to catch me.
They’re so close.
Too close.
Tears gather in my eyes, I blink wildly, not wanting to cry, needing to keep my head, but when I trip over a fallen tree half buried in the snow, I can’t hold back any longer. My lungs burn as a sob rips from my throat.
One of the men makes a wild noise like a wolf howling as they surround me.
“And where do you think you’re going?” The man hisses through missing teeth.
They hover over me, a group of three, dirty, dangerous men, reeking of alcohol and smelling of urine. The fresh fallen snow and clear air of Alaska feel a million miles away, even though I’m laying in and under it.
These are the men Fallon warned me
about. This is why he kept me close. Not in a birdcage, behind lock and key, but under his wing, shielding me from the horrors I didn’t want to imagine.
I never should have run. I should have trusted my men. My husbands. I should have believed that they would protect me.
Fear drove me away from the safety of their arms. Not for myself, but for them.
Worried that my father and the man he sold me to would find me, I forgot about the other dangers that lurk in the shadows waiting to consume and devour.
In this new world, I am prey, and the men whose hands grab at me now are the enemy.
A knife is drawn, it presses under my chin, warning me to stay put.
Where would I go? I ran from the only safety I ever had.
My ankle throbs, my chest heaves. This can not be the way it ends. I don’t for a moment think this pock-faced man might slice my throat. What he plans is worse than death. I see it in all of their eyes.
Lust.
Hunger.
They plan on feeding on me.
Taking me.
Using me.
“Get away,” I yell, for the first time in my life knowing true fear.
“Keep your mouth shut, you little whore,” the man with the knife snarls, kneeling beside me. His two accomplices leer above us, licking their lips and reaching for their groins.
They don’t plan on waiting. They plan on doing this here and now.
I spit out a response, “I’m not your whore.”
The men just laugh. “You’re wrong, princess. That’s exactly what you are now.”
I scream, rolling away from them, knowing I might not get far, but a few feet is better than lying here and giving up.
I’ve read the history books. I know that there have always been men in the world ready to take and abuse what doesn’t belong to them. But now, with the population dwindling, and men outnumbering women ten to one, violence has become the norm.
I saw this first hand growing up, but I wanted to believe Alaska would be different. And even though my husbands warned me, I didn’t heed their words.
Now I will pay for my recklessness.
“Get back here, you little slut,” the knife-wielding man grunts, grabbing my shoulder and yanking me around, then slamming me back down on the ground and positioning himself between my legs. The immense weight of him forces me deep into the snow, my clothing soaked and my skin nearly frozen. My chest aches with terror as he looks down at me with such evil intentions.
“You can’t run from us,” he says. His words are laced with spit, it falls across my cheek and I inhale sharply, shocked by his vulgarity. “We already have you.”
“Mac,” one of the men growls out. “We should take her to the cabin, she’s a flight risk so long as she isn’t locked up. And we want her alive.” He laughs then, a dark and gravelly roar that clouds the night sky.
The knife is under my chin again, and his other hand wraps around my long hair, fisting it and yanking it back. My lips quiver from both the cold and the fear coursing my veins.
“Fine.” He grips me by the hair at the nape of my neck and tugs me up. I let out a yelp of pain, but he just chuckles. “You’ll be hurting a lot more when I’m through with you.”
My feet are raw, my eyes frozen open, and every breath feels like I’m swallowing ice as I’m pulled and shoved back through the woods towards the men’s truck. When I scream for help, the blade of the knife is pressed under my chin, and it keeps me in check.
I’m not ready to die.
“Get in.” The toothless one opens the driver’s side door. This is the last step I’m going to take before I’m gone forever, and I dig my heels into the snow, realizing just how far I am from home. From my husbands.
My resistance enrages my kidnapper, and he slaps my face, and then barks with rancid breath, “Get in the fucking truck.”
Fighting him is pointless. There are three of them, and only one of me. My cheek burns from the back of his hand and I know that fighting is futile.
I ran so I could protect my husbands from the truth I’m hiding. Even if I’m to become nothing but a plaything for these monsters, at least I saved the men I married. That has to count for something.
Still, I am not going to bend over and take the horrors they offer. No, the country may believe women are nothing but a means to an end, but I know I’m worth more than that.
We drive for what feels like an hour, maybe more, even though I know barely any time has passed. One of the men is in the bed of the truck, and I’m squeezed up front between the other two. They pass a bottle of liquor between them as we drive, hands on my thighs, groping me, and I keep my eyes fixed on the road, memorizing every detail I can manage. Refusing to believe this is the end for me.
I will get free of them.
“Shit,” one of the men mutters when headlights appear behind us. There’s a vehicle coming towards us, quickly, and I suck in a deep breath, hoping against hope that this is my chance to escape.
The truck flashes its lights, obviously wanting us to pull over.
“What do you want to do, boss?”
“Just keep driving.”
For a moment I think that the hope of rescue is gone, but then the vehicle behind us accelerates, inching dangerously close to pushing the truck off the road. I dig my fingernails into the dashboard of the truck, no longer just scared of being kept prisoner - suddenly the horror of being pushed off the road into an icy death takes hold in my chest.
“Who the fuck is this bastard?” The driver grunts as we come to a stop.
“Just let me do the talking,” the toothless guy says as the vehicle behind us comes to a stop as well. He turns to me, lifting his jacket, exposing a handgun and warns, “Keep your head down or this guy dies.”
A shiver races down my spine, and I don’t doubt he means it.
The truck door opens behind us, but I keep my head down, not wanting to be responsible for anyone’s death.
“You guys in need of assistance?” A familiar, deep, pure male voice asks coming up to the driver’s side.
No. No. No.
I know that voice.
Giles. My husband.
Please, please, please don’t be alone.
“We’re fine,” the driver says, jumping out of the truck before Giles can see me. “You’re the one trying to force us off the goddamn road.”
There is still the pock-faced man in the bed of the truck, but I can’t see what he’s doing. Two of my captives are alone with Giles.
My skin crawls with fear. I’m alone in the truck with Toothless, and he grips my leg, warning me. “Don’t do anything stupid, Princess.” His breath is rancid and my heart races. I wish I could turn, lock eyes with Giles. I want him to know I’m here, alive.
“You guys are far from town,” Giles says in the distance. Toothless and I sit silent and still, listening to everything they say.
“Didn’t know that was a crime,” the driver snarls.
There’s a moment of silence, and I can imagine the men staring each other down.
“You need something?” the pock-faced man asks.
Another pause.
“I’m out looking for someone,” Giles says, voice even, and I hear the crunch of snow beneath boots, like he’s walking back towards the truck.
No, stop, I want to scream. These men are dangerous. Giles may be military trained, but three against one isn’t a fair fight. And, they have guns.
“Best you stay where you are,” one of the men says, the threat clear in his voice.
“I’m not meaning any harm, just wondering if you saw a woman wandering in these woods?”
“What would a woman want with you?”
“You’re Janglers right?” Giles asks.
“We prefer the term mercenaries.”
“I’m Alaskan military.”
“Then you know you have no business with us.”
“And you know I have authority to check your vehicle.” More crunching of snow unde
r boots.
I hear the click of the man’s safety being released, as one of the others yells out another threat to stay where he is. I know Giles doesn’t listen, because I hear the argument that pursues.
I struggle to turn, needing to see through the back window. Giles takes a swing at one of the men, and the driver goes flying backwards, but the pock-faced man is already charging him, slamming his shoulder into Giles’ gut and pushing him back against the hood of his vehicle.
Fists fly, and the driver charges again. Giles fights them off. And for a second I’m in awe of the man. My husband. Red hair flashes in the moonlight, and his face is feral.
Toothless pushes my head back down, fingers digging into my skin.
A blast stuns us both, reverberating in my ear. Toothless jumps from the truck - me staying put is now a secondary concern. A gun was shot.
“What the hell?” Toothless shouts.
Now alone in the car, free from my captures clutches, I turn to look out the back window once more. It takes me a few horrifying seconds before I realize the pock-marked man is now pointing his revolver straight at Giles’ chest.
Frantically, I glance around the truck for anything to use as a weapon. I open the glove compartment, spilling garbage and papers, and then I see the glint of metal.
A gun.
I pull my gloves off, and grab the cold steel in my hands. I’ve never held a gun before, let alone shot one, but I’ve read about them in books. Luckily for Giles I never forget what I read.
I flick the safety off and hold the gun in trembling hands.
The men argue. Even Giles, who never raises his voice is demanding access to the truck, but a gun is pointed at his chest. It’s suicide to fight them. There’s a smack of flesh against flesh as Toothless tries to drag Giles to the ground.
Fear strangles me. I have to do something.
“Enough.” The driver screams. “You have five seconds to get back in your truck and drive away, or the next bullet goes into your heart.”
Giles pulls his own weapon, and he’s quick to draw it and point it at the man with the gun. I barely hear the next words that are exchanged. All I can think about is protecting my husband. He will not die because of me.
