by Zoe Dawson
Bracing her shoulder, she shifted her position and grabbed onto his arm. “Talk to me, Neo.” Her heart skittered when he frowned. “Neo?” she whispered softly.
He met her gaze, the faint early morning light casting his face in disturbing shadows. “What?”
“You’ve been through a lot. Do you want to talk about it?”
He stared at her a moment, then looked away as he began toying with her hair. His voice was gruff when he finally answered. “I was scared as hell. I don’t like admitting that weakness, but I can’t lie about it to you.”
She wished he would look at her, that he wouldn’t avoid her gaze the way he was. A flutter of uncertainty stirred in her middle. “It’s not a weakness.”
“It is if you’re a SEAL, Chry.”
He didn’t say anything else, his face unreadable as he continued to finger her hair. Chry watched him, trying to think of something to say that would ease his mind. And she suddenly realized that she had been as guilty as he in the past about not being open. Her own apprehension and doubt had kept her from speaking out, that he didn’t know what went on in her mind any more than she knew what went on in his. With a burst of insight, it hit her that this was about building bridges and the honesty and openness—and trust—it took to do that. It took her a moment to assimilate that realization, then another to think about what he needed to know. And she realized that if they took care of the present, the past would take care of itself.
Trying to ignore the quavery feeling in the pit of her stomach, she frowned, clasping his shirt in her hand, trying to find the right words.
“We have something special between us, Neo. Something that no one can take away from us regardless what happens to us physically, emotionally, mentally. We…” She tugged him close to her. “We may discover we’re not good together romantically or we can’t find a way to work it out, but we will always have this between us. There isn’t anything that you can say that will make me turn away from you, ever.”
2-Stroke’s hand stilled, and there was a slight change in his breathing, but Chry kept on, afraid to look at him, afraid what she might see in his eyes. “I have no secrets or regrets. I was thrilled to be assigned to your team. I had nightmares that you wouldn’t accept me in that role. I should have told you how I felt before you left. It might not have changed anything, but it would have let you know that you didn’t have to feel so guilty about just leaving me without an explanation. But stupidly, I thought it was easier to say nothing. The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you, but I hurt you anyway, and I feel awful about that.” She finally looked at him, met his somber gaze. “We love each other,” she whispered, holding his gaze, hoping he could see the absolute sincerity in her eyes. “Beyond the physical, beyond the fantasy, beyond sex and desire. It transcends all that.”
2-Stroke stared at her for a moment, the expression in his eyes softened into something warm and honest. “You really mean that, don’t you?” He smiled then, a soft smile that made her go all weak and warm inside. “I knew all that the moment I met you.”
Profoundly touched by his admission, she tried to smile back. “You were eight years old, Neo.”
The smile deepened, and the light in his eyes had a trace of mischief. “Yeah, I certainly was.”
He kissed her neck, then hugged her. “I have been so worried I was going to lose you. I couldn’t think straight.” He took a breath. “I only loved one other woman in this world, Chry. My mom. She was taken away from me too soon. I feel that same way about you, but I’m beginning to wonder if a million years would feel too soon.”
He met her gaze, his expression drawn. He frowned and looked away, carefully smoothing back her hair. “It brought all of it back to me. The panic, the fear, the sickening dread.”
“Oh, Neo…”
The torment in his eyes made her heart stall, but he went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “I got so angry at everything back then and now. I could handle—” His voice broke, and he roughly massaged his eyes. “You are right. We do have something special.” He swallowed hard and swiped at his eyes again, trying to control the moisture that gathered along his lashes. He drew a deep breath and dropped his hand, his face scored by the same raw emotion that had roughened his voice. He didn’t meet her gaze as he went on, his voice strained to the limit. “I was so torn up inside after I left, and I was having such a hell of a battle with feelings that I thought I had buried years ago, that I couldn’t put it all together.” Finally, he looked at her, his face ravaged by torment. “When I lost my mom, I lost myself. Then I found Riley and Dean, and I lost them too. I thought somehow, I didn’t matter, that all that mattered was standing up for what was right. I think I left for BUD/S believing I didn’t deserve you. Somehow I had squandered my relationships and been punished for it.”
Feeling such pain for him, Chry touched his face. “Neo, you do—”
He didn’t let her finish. “But I know now that was wrong. I had been living under such a false belief and the truth set me free.”
She smiled through her tears, and whispered, “I’m so glad about that.”
She figured there were things from the past and present that would still have to be worked out. She could understand that. All her own pieces had only just fallen into place over the past few weeks. But with 2-Stroke, it was different. He had spent ten years denying that elemental part of himself, because loving her had left him vulnerable, because he wasn’t totally sure of her, because he harbored doubts. It nearly killed her, knowing that he had kept that hidden from her for so long, that they hadn’t the time to work their way through that. Today, he needed to know that she loved him, no matter what.
His eyes were so stark, she couldn’t stand it anymore. Hanging on to her smile despite the ache in her chest, she caressed his mouth with her thumb. “We were so young and so misguided.”
Not giving him a chance to respond, she exerted a firm pressure on his jaw and drew his head down, then covered his mouth with a gentle, healing kiss, knowing that he needed gentleness.
They snuggled together, and before she knew it, she’d fallen asleep again. The sun was higher in the sky when she woke up. 2-Stroke was still asleep. Feeling almost normal, barring the pain in her side, she eased to the edge of the bed and, holding her side, she put her feet on the floor.
Pushing up, she used the mattress, then the footboard to make progress. Straightening to her full height, she shuffled across the floor to the bathroom. Inside, she did her business and was so proud of herself.
The house was still and warm. The faint tinkle of wind chimes sounded encouraging.
When she left the bathroom, 2-Stroke was still asleep. She went for the door, uninterested in getting back into bed. Stepping out into the hall, she saw Saint was just coming out of his room with Aella in tow. Oh, so they were—um, an item.
She cleared her throat and Saint’s startled gaze jerked to her. “Chry. What are you doing out of bed without assistance?”
“I’m feeling better and I’m completely starving.” At that moment, her stomach rumbled.
Aella came forward. “Then we better get you something to eat.” She smiled and offered her hand. “Do you need help getting down the stairs?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Saint said.
Chry laughed softly. “Do I have a choice?”
“Nope. You can’t argue with your doctor.”
“I could, but it would be a losing battle.” She saluted Saint and Aella took her arm. She was actually thankful for the help as she held onto the banister on the way down. She was just so glad to be out of that bed and on the mend.
Entering the kitchen, they paused, then continued as Marta rose from the table.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile. “It’s so good to see you up and about, Chry. Are you all hungry?” Marta went to the counter and filled up the coffeepot with cold water, then poured it into the reservoir on the coffeemaker. She filled the basket with fresh grounds and s
lid it into place and flipped the switch, her mood calm for someone so young to be handling such a potentially dangerous job as maintaining safe houses. But it seemed courage came in many different packages.
When she turned around, she indicated the table. “Have a seat.”
Aella helped Chry into her chair, then she and Saint took chairs opposite her. Marta took her hands and squeezed them. “Eggs, bacon, and toast sound good?”
“Immensely,” Chry said.
There was a sound from the doorway, and 2-Stroke entered the room. He was pushing up the sleeves of his Henley T. He stopped when he spied her, the stiffness in his shoulders relaxing. Reading his watchful look, she gave him a smile, then turned back to Marta. She was humbled by the compassion in the woman’s eyes.
“Thank you for everything, Marta. I don’t know where we would be right now if it wasn’t for you.”
“It gives me great pleasure to help you after all that your government did for my family.” She gave Chry’s hands a firm squeeze before going to the stove.
2-Stroke considered the two of them for a moment, then went to the counter and reached for a mug. Once he realized the coffee wasn’t finished brewing, he leaned back against the counter, his legs crossed, his arms folded over his chest. The solemn lines around his mouth were less pronounced, and there was a softness in his eyes that tugged at Chry’s heart.
“Good morning,” he said.
She couldn’t help remembering early this morning when he’d confessed everything to her, and she felt closer than ever to him.
Caught up in taking him in, she barely managed to restrain herself from going to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. 2-Stroke looked up, his gaze connecting with hers, and for an instant there was an unspoken communication between them that was so beautiful, so revealing, one that transmitted their commitment to each other, which fueled her need to be alone with him, intimately alone with him.
He picked up on it, and his eyes started to glitter with barely checked need. They promised her—later.
Marta bustled about, the sounds of frying followed with the delicious aroma of food, and her stomach clenched hard. When the coffee was done, 2-Stroke poured mugs for all of them while Marta set creamer and sugar on the table.
They ate like one big happy family, Chry feeling so much a part of the two SEALs after working with them so diligently in Prague. Aella was quite funny, and Marta had a wicked wit as well.
“Do you want to get some fresh air?” 2-Stroke asked. Chry nodded vigorously.
“I would love that.”
They rose and he grabbed their coats and boots. “We’ll just be out back,” 2-Stroke said There was no mistaking the pained look on Saint’s face. His chin came up, a sure indication that he was prepared to debate the issue. “I won’t overtax her.”
He opened the back door, and she squealed, “Snow.”
They all chuckled, and slipping his arm around her, 2-Stroke helped her down the stairs. She gingerly bent over and gathered up some snow. Before 2-Stroke had an inkling of what she was going to do, she threw it and hit him in the chest.
“You—backstabber,” he said and bent down.
She held up her hands. “You wouldn’t hit a recovering gunshot victim, would you?” She gave him her sweetest of smiles.
He laughed and chucked it toward the small trees and shrubs behind her.
The cold air felt so good and she walked around in the snow, enjoying the squeaking sound and the cold against her skin, reviving her.
He walked up to her. “You look great,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Rosy cheeks, pink skin, your hair loose…beautiful.”
Her brows rose. “I feel so much better. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispered. “We will have to take everything slowly.”
“For sure. We will have to get the doctor’s permission for everything it seems.”
“Saint knows what he’s doing,” he said. “It’s just until you’re well.” He kissed her, his mouth warm against her chilled lips. “I think that’s enough for now. We should probably get you back into bed.”
She slipped her arm through his. “I would love a shower.”
“Fair enough. But you might need some assistance washing, you know, with your injury.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“I know it’s a hardship, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”
She giggled as they went inside.
Back up in the room, they entered the bathroom and he turned on the shower so the water could heat. He helped her get undressed, careful as he pulled her shirt over her head. Slipping his arm around her, he guided her under the spray.
“Tip your head back,” he said.
She complied and he wet her hair and washed it, the feel of his hands in her hair heavenly.
After rinsing and applying conditioner, he washed her, his hands riding over her body in a way that was very neutral. He took care of his own body while she held onto his waist and kissed his back.
Once he turned off the water, he helped her out and dried her off with one of the big, white fluffy towels, then ruffled it through her wet hair, then his. With the stubble on his face, he had that rough, dangerous look. She stared up at him. He cupped the side of her face with his hand and tilted her face up while opening his mouth over hers careful with his body against hers.
Her breasts met the wall of his muscled chest, his skin hotter than the water had been, tingling through. She suppressed any wayward thoughts, the pain in her side telling her she wasn’t well enough.
With her hips cradling his, her other hand slid up the back of his neck, pulling him closer. She loved the warm, comforting feel of him, the way he was so hard to her soft curves.
He slid his tongue in her mouth and she felt cherished, the taste of him, the soft way he kissed her all a testament to his tenderness.
She felt the full force of his love, could taste the sweetness on her tongue. There were so many other ways to be intimate. Bolstered by how he was handling himself, she wanted to lie with him wanted, him close to her, needed him to hold her after such a close brush with death.
She kissed him back as the fervor of his mouth gentled a bit more.
“Neo.” She whispered his name, and he smiled at her with deep affection in his eyes and on his devastatingly handsome face.
Everything about him felt good.
He lifted her into his arms, and he smelled so good, like soap and shampoo, the wet silk of his hair soft and in such a sexy disarray, all she wanted was for him to hold her. He kissed her again, this time a little frantically as he walked her from the bathroom into the bedroom. All she needed was him here with her. They could face all of it when they woke up, but they would be together. He held her tightly against him, then released her so they could dress. Then they came together under the covers, wrapping each other tightly in their arms.
It was the calm after the storm, the calm before the storm. Tonight, they were going to put their lives on the line again, sprint toward freedom and the opportunity to fight another day, take down Darko and Zasha on their terms.
14
The room was dark and quiet when he entered. He closed the door silently behind him and ghosted across the suite’s living area. He dismissed the first bedroom and went right for the room that was in the middle. It’s where the boy would be sleeping with guards on either side.
He’d killed many people, thousands in the war, old men, women, children. There was no distinction to him, faces, deeds, or reason long forgotten. The thing he always remembered: There was never any mercy.
The boy’s father had never seen it coming. The mother, she was racked by grief and never put up a fight. He was Darko’s killer and he never challenged his master’s orders. But he, this one moment in time, did not understand the outright murder of this family member. The only blood Darko had left.
It wasn’t his place to challenge the reasons. He was only t
he weapon.
He opened the door and slipped into the room. The ambient light from the window showed a slight figure in the bed. He approached on soft feet, pulling the combat knife from its sheath, the blade gleaming in the dim light. He gripped the handle and raised his arm to plunge the blade to the hilt in the boy’s heart.
His arm swung, but a strong hand clasped his wrist before the blade could make it to the boy.
“Alek, run!”
2-Stroke roused before the alarm could sound. Something…he didn’t know what was off. It was his innate sense of time that always had him waking before he could be buzzed awake. The bed was warm and soft, but Chry was warmer and softer and he didn’t want to separate from her. But they were heading out under the cover of night. He nuzzled his face in her neck and whispered, “Time to rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”
She made an indistinct sound, reaching for him as he slipped out of bed and got dressed, the center of his back tight, his shoulders stiff. He went to the window and looked out. Nothing moved. The street was empty except for the usual cars. Marta’s van sat in front of the house waiting for them.
He continued to scan, and his gut clenched in warning. Maybe his discomfort was in anticipation of the distraction his brother was supposed to provide so they could get out of the city with the best head start possible. Worrying about Striker wasn’t going to make this any easier or smoother. His brother was a Tier One operator. He knew what he was doing and rarely failed in the execution. Both Iceman and Preacher were also top-notch operators, smart, resourceful, and deadly. He had to trust them to give them the cover they needed and to get themselves clear with Alek.
If anyone could keep him safe, it was the three of them.
On high alert, he turned away from the window. All the gear was packed up, and Marta had delivered the van in the early afternoon before they all retired for shut-eye in anticipation of the long, perilous drive to the border.
When he opened the bedroom door, Saint and Aella were coming out of their room. It was interesting to see them together. It was clear that his teammate was smitten with the very pretty ATF agent.
