by Lilly Atlas
So he’d take Brett’s advice and go home to the place where the person who was most vital to him was waiting for him to get his shit together. Not that he was close to that point, but he was working on it. And he’d work harder. And he’d involve Lyss in his healing process.
Jesus, he’d been a fool. Home was where he should have been all along. “Okay. Let’s go.”
With a snort, Brett slow-clapped. “’Bout fucking time, bro. You better stop for some flowers if you want her to open the door. Maybe a chocolate bar the size of your head.”
Shit. He was probably right. Lyss was bound to be pretty pissed at him. “Think I’ll get one the size of my dick instead. It’ll be bigger.”
Brett barked out a laugh. “Good to hear you joking again, man. Welcome back to the land of the living.”
She’d let him back; that wasn’t a concern. She’d made it clear she wanted to put a tourniquet on their bleeding relationship. Most likely she’d make him grovel a bit, but groveling was easy. He could swallow his pride and grovel like a fucking Olympic champ. Especially if it ended with him and Lyss back in their bed, together, writhing and sweaty.
But Brett was right. He should at least grab some flowers. Groveling combined with a little romance was sure to do the trick. Lyss loved the fuck out of daisies.
He snagged his leather jacket from a hook on the wall and made it halfway to the exit before calling out, “Wait, Jesus. Where am I gonna get flowers at midnight?”
With a laugh, Brett grabbed his own jacket and clapped Derek on the back. “Clearly you don’t piss your wife off enough. If you did, you’d know that Farhad actually carries some decent flowers. I’ll come with. Could use some mocha goodness before I head to Jessica’s.”
“Jessica? Who the hell is Jessica?” Derek asked as he followed Brett out of the building.
“Some co-ed at Georgetown. She just texted. Popped her ink cherry last week. Butterfly tramp stamp. Girl’s got tits for days.” He held his hands out in front of his chest and waggled his eyebrows.
“Christ, B, you seriously banging a college girl with a butterfly tat? Aren’t you getting tired of that shit? Another year and you’ll officially be a lech.” As they walked, he shrugged into his jacket and zipped it against the cold. DC didn’t get much snow, but it still got plenty chilly in the winter. “And what the hell do you know about buying flowers for a woman? You don’t keep ’em long enough to buy ’em dinner, let alone flowers.”
“Pfft. First off, yes, I’m fucking her. No, I’m not tired of it. I’m at least three to five years from becoming a lech, and just because I’m not serious about them doesn’t mean I don’t treat them right.” He pulled open the convenience store door and waved at the older man who looked their way when the door jingled. “I’ll have you know I’ve purchased many a flower. Fuck you very much.”
Derek wasn’t convinced. Brett put on a good show, but come on. They were in their upper thirties. Who still liked bed hopping at that age?
Just as they stepped into the warm store, LL Cool Jay’s Doin’ It blared from Brett’s phone. It was his signature ringtone for all his ladies. He shot Derek a Cheshire grin and pushed the door open again. “Be right back, bro. Looks like the lovely Jessica is getting antsy. Who can blame her when she’s waiting on all this?” He winked and slipped back outside with a, “Hey, sugar,” for his phone.
Derek rolled his eyes and waved at Farhad who was on his cell behind the counter before strolling to a refrigerated case at the back of the store. With the number of times he visited the store each week, it was hard to believe he’d forgotten the case of colorful flowers in the back.
A surprisingly full and artfully arranged bouquet of pink, yellow, and orange gerbera daisies rested front and center in the case. Perfect. Lyss would love them. She always got the same smile when he bought her flowers or surprised her in any way, really. It was almost sheepish, like she didn’t think she deserved the small gift. Made him love buying presents for her.
The moment his fist closed around the metal door handle, the hairs on the back of his neck surged to full attention. Years of SEAL training and countless missions had honed his instincts and taught him to trust his gut.
Every time.
Something was off, and his body knew it.
Holding as still as possible, he shifted his focus from the flowers to the store’s reflection in the glass case. His eyes widened and without a thought, training kicked in, and he dropped silent to the floor.
Just thirty feet away, a terrified Farhad stared down the barrel of a rifle held by a masked gunman.
Chapter Eighteen
Well, fuck. Looked like he wasn’t getting home to Alyssa anytime soon. While the idea of ducking behind some shelves and waiting until Farhad handed over whatever the gunman requested was probably the smartest and safest thing to do, there was no way in hell Derek could live with himself if he cowered like a pussy.
First off, Farhad didn’t deserve to be robbed, threatened, or even scared for one millisecond. Poor guy had been through enough with his wife sick at home. Every penny he made went toward her treatment and Derek would be damned if he let some punk asshole run off with even one of those pennies.
Then there was the fact that he was perfectly capable of taking out this larcenous bastard. After many years of planning and executing covert missions, Derek had developed the ability to size up his enemy in an instant. About five-foot-ten and on the scrawny side, the gunman shouldn’t pose any kind of serious physical threat. Sure, size wasn’t everything, especially when it came to someone with hand-to-hand combat skill, but Derek had both size and training, so he wasn’t worried.
What was worrisome was the hunting rifle aimed at a trembling Farhad. A Ruger bolt-action if he wasn’t mistaken. Not knowing the masked gunman’s abilities with the weapon or how twitchy his trigger finger was made charging him a stupid idea. At least not until he pointed that weapon somewhere else.
“Hands where I can see ’em, old man. Now! Can’t have you setting off any silent alarms.” His voice held just a hint of a tremor, like he wasn’t quite confident. That could be both good and deadly.
Crouched as much as his oversized body would allow, Derek duck-walked along the back edge of the store until he was at the end of the aisle farthest from the assailant. With a stealth born of countless hours of grueling drills, he worked his way to the front of the lane. When he peeked around the shelves, he had an unobstructed view of the gunman and terrified store owner. The attacker’s attention was fully rooted on Farhad, so he was completely unaware of Derek’s presence.
“Empty the register,” the thief commanded, motioning to the register with the gun. “Safe too. I know there’s one under the counter.” He tossed a tan sack on the checkout counter.
“I-I don’t k-know the com-combination.” Eyes wide and glassy, Farhad’s outstretched arms were visibly shaking.
Jesus. Why the hell did unqualified people try to play hero? The old guy was going to get himself killed trying to save whatever cash was in the safe. Anger heated Derek’s veins. That money was so important to Farhad and his family, he was willing to lie to the gunman to protect it.
Derek felt for the man, he really did, but it still wasn’t the smart move. Give the fucking thief what he wanted. What was a few thousand dollars compared to Farhad’s life? Who would take care of his wife if he was killed in a store robbery gone bad?
“Don’t bullshit me, Grandpa. This ain’t my first rodeo. Gun’s loaded and I have no problem using it.” The gun was tucked neatly into his shoulder, one hand on the barrel and one on the trigger. Those arms showed no signs of tiring. The man knew his way around a firearm. “Open the fucking safe. Fill the bag.”
Do it! Derek tried to send a mental message to Farhad.
“O-okay,” Farhad said. Sweat dotted his brow and trickled down his round face, which turned an unhealthy shade of red. All Derek needed was for him to keel over from a heart attack.
Farhad got to work e
mptying the cash register into the bag. With the way people preferred plastic to paper these days, there couldn’t be much more than a few hundred bucks in the register. Hardly seemed worth the risk of a prison stent. Now the safe, that would be a different story. Depending on how diligent Farhad was about making deposits, there could be a few thousand in there.
The street was clearly visible through the windowed front of the shop, but being midnight on a Wednesday, the area was vacant.
Across the street, Brett yammered away into his phone, his back to the convenience store. Derek whipped out his own phone and fired a call nine-one-one and don’t text back text to Brett. If the gunman heard the vibration, Derek would forfeit the element of surprise and possibly even his life.
Unfortunately, Brett was so involved in his phone call with Jessica of the butterfly tattoo, he completely ignored the incoming text alert. Motherfucker. Derek would be sure to kick his buddy’s ass for that later.
That was if he got out of this alive and in one piece.
Alyssa was home, possibly pregnant, and unaware of the danger to him. No way in hell could he go out like this, with his marriage a mess. Nor could he live with himself if he let this asshole walk away with money Farhad had worked his ass off for. Money he’d earned by spending time away from his sick wife.
Shit.
What a clusterfuck.
While Derek was pretty certain he could take out the gunman if he’d just shift his focus from the register for a second, there was a small chance shit would hit the fan and he’d be injured, or worse, killed. What he needed was a good distraction.
But, Christ, if things went belly up, he’d be leaving in a body bag, having never fixed his relationship with Alysa. That thought had his gut churning with regret. If he got out of this alive, not a day would go by where Lyss didn’t know she was the most important piece of his world. A minute wouldn’t pass where she didn’t feel cherished, loved, and pleasured. Definitely pleasured. Because let’s face it, he was gonna need a good, hard fuck to work the adrenaline out of his system after this.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably no longer than sixty seconds, Farhad had the register emptied. He raised his hands to head-level once again and cleared his throat. “I n-need to b-bend d-down for the s-s-safe.”
“Do it,” the assailant said. “And hurry the fuck up.” His right leg bounced like there was a spring in his shoe.
Nervous.
That could be deadly depending on how likely he was to clench his hand and fire at Farhad.
Farhad disappeared behind the counter and Derek tensed. This was his chance. All he needed was Farhad to remain hidden below the counter for thirty seconds and he’d have the gunman neutralized.
With a deep breath, Derek grabbed two cans off the closest shelf. Silent as a whisper, he made his way toward the gunman, still in a crouch.
Halfway to the gunman, out in the open, and just about to lob the cans toward the back of the store, a whimper caught both his and the masked man’s attention. Huddled behind a Trojan condom display opposite Derek’s position, two teenage girls huddled, crying. Fucking shitty parents letting their kids roam the streets of DC in the middle of a school night.
Jesus, he sounded like an old man.
Derek froze as the assailant swiveled toward the girls.
A redhead with long braids sobbed and held her friend. “P-please,” she said in a stuttered cry. “Please don’t hurt us.” Black mascara ran down her pale face much in the same way snot was running from her nose. “Please l-let us go!” She wailed so loud it was difficult to think.
“Shut up!” the gunman screamed. “Just shut the fuck up or I’ll shut you up.”
The volume of her panic lessened, but she still cried like her tears would somehow save her.
Next to the hysterical teen, her pixie-haired brunette friend stared straight at Derek. Her dark eyes were bug-wide and giant tears streamed silently down her face. Derek shook his head once and pointed to the gunman.
Somehow the girl knew what he was trying to convey, and she shifted her attention to the masked man.
“Get the fuck down. Flat on the ground!”
The silent one obeyed immediately, but the other was so hysterical, she seemed to miss what he’d ordered. “I said get the fuck down.”
As the attacker screamed at the girls, Farhad straightened. The gun swung in a wide arc, back and forth between the counter and the girls. With the criminal’s attention divided, and him seeming near panic, Derek had to act. He crept closer and just as he was about to lunge for the assailant, the hysterical teen’s eyes shifted to him.
And the robber noticed.
“The fuck you lookin’ at?” he screamed as he did an about face. There wasn’t any time. Not even a fraction of a second for Derek to react. Because if there had been, he would have charged. But the gunman fired off a round the very instant he turned.
Derek was so close to him, the impact of the bullet sent him flying backward. A fiery lance of pain seared the upper left side of his body, stealing his breath and clouding his vision. He crashed into a stacked soup display, smacking the back of his head on God knew what. Stars circled his vision while the girls’ screams mixed with the clunking of metal cans as they rained all around, and on him.
“Oh shit, oh fuck!” The gunman’s shrill screeches sounded, and all hell broke loose.
Derek’s head throbbed in time with his left shoulder. The room swam as his vision tunneled. He fought to remain conscious in the chaos that erupted. Noise came from every direction, cops screaming at the gunman to lower his weapon, crying from teenagers, and shouts about the man that had been shot. That had to be him.
Then, suddenly, the racket faded into the background and the pain receded, replaced by a comforting warmth in his chest.
Alyssa. She was there.
A beautiful cheerful smile on her face, she reached for him. He hadn’t seen that look of unguarded joy on her face in two years. Not since the day Katie was diagnosed. He’d kill to put that expression of happiness back on her face. And now he’d never get the chance to see it in person.
“Derek? Fuck. Stay with me, Der. Keep your eyes open. You gotta stay awake so you can kiss that pretty wife of yours. I’ll call her. She’ll meet us at the hospital. All you gotta do is stay the fuck awake, brother.”
Brett. His rushed speech held a panicked note. Thankfully he was outside when it all went down. His shouts faded to the background as Alyssa’s image grew blurry.
Just before the darkness closed in, her lips mouthed the words I love you.
Love you too, baby.
Always.
Chapter Nineteen
“Should I open that other pint of ice cream or should I have a second brownie?” Lyss asked as she swung her legs over the edge of the couch. “Decisions, Decisions.”
From her spot in a plush oversized armchair, legs dangling over one arm, Roxie tilted her head back and looked at Lyss. “Uh, did you really just ask that, chickie? Clearly, the answer is both. And while you’re up, you can get me some more as well.” She extended her arms in Lyss’s direction, clanking her spoon against the side of an empty glass bowl.
“Huh, look how well that worked out for you,” Lyss said.
“I know.” Roxie winked and blew a kiss. “Love you.”
“You better.” Lyss grabbed her own bowl as well as her water glass and padded to the kitchen in her woolly socks. “Hold on, I’ll grab your dishes in a minute. I can’t be trusted to carry more breakables than I already have in my hands.”
“Don’t make me wait too long. You know mama gets mad if she has to wait too long for her chocolate.”
With a chuckle, Lyss deposited her bowl and glass on the kitchen counter, then headed back to the den for Roxie’s. “Hand it over.”
Roxie gave her the dish then snatched the remote off the coffee table. “Mind if I flip on the local news? I want to check the scores.”
“Go for it,” Lyss said as s
he went back into the kitchen. After dropping a brownie in the bottom of Roxie’s bowl, she opened the pint of Ben and Jerry’s Half Baked and ladled a generous scoop on top.
“I totally forgot they were playing tonight. How are things with you and Gregg? I sorta got the impression when we talked the other day that things weren’t all roses and sunshine,” she called from the kitchen.
Roxie’s boyfriend of about a year coached for Georgetown’s football team. Seemed like a pretty good guy, though he hadn’t spent too much time with Roxie’s friends. In the fall especially, he was crazy with traveling and the team’s rigorous training schedule.
“Rox?” Lyss called out. She squirted a stream of chocolate syrup into the bowl. Might as well go all out. There was a chance she was pregnant after all. That called for a serious chocolate binge.
“Oh, sorry. He’s fine. Things are fine.”
Fine. Hmm. Lyss had been a girl long enough to know fine was never fine. When she returned to the living room, it was to find Roxie frowning at the TV screen. Her spine was straight as an arrow and a glimmer of unease shone from her eyes. “They lost,” she said, her voice flat.
“Oh, that’s too bad.” This was the first time Lyss had ever seen Roxie react this way. She had an almost…fearful look to her. Gregg’s team had lost games before and Roxie always shook it off with a, there’ll be other wins. Maybe things weren’t so smooth sailing with her and her man. “Everything good, Rox? Gregg having a rough season?”
“Huh? What?” Roxie turned to Alyssa and blinked as though trying to get with the program. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Just wondering if Gregg’s team is having a bad season and if it’s affecting your relationship. You seem…uneasy.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. They are having a craptastic season actually.” She waved away Alyssa’s concern and reached for her treat. “But we’re fine. I’m just being dramatic. Besides, we’re not here to talk about my love life. We’re here to get sugared up because of your dumb husband.”
