When we got that letter, I was so angry I went off like a hell storm. Punching two holes in my bedroom wall and I went downstairs to grab a bottle of water to cool down. Only to be more explosive up by the time I hit the kitchen, so I trashed the pantry. Smashing jars of pickles, expensive jellies, ripping boxes of rice to smithereens, cans had huge dents in the sides, noodles were crushed, and all of it was left to rot on the ground, right next to my newly injured bare feet. By the time I was through, the luxury custom built pantry was torn into a pile of unfixable rubble. The only thing left standing was its metal frame. The pantry was initially built into the cookie cutter house as a safe room. Much good it did me. I didn’t feel safe. I was a vicious monster on a tirade because I was being held like a caged bear unable to break free into the wild to find my mate.
Gonzales was yelling for me and pounding like a madwoman on the door to get me to come out. But I refused. Once I finished my Neanderthal temper tantrum, I dropped to the ground in a ball of blood, sweat and tears and wept like a baby. Haphazardly tossing cans around the room as my adrenalin rush plummeted and I was left with noodle arms, a shattered heart and pieces of glass still imbedded in my feet, both soles and the top. I think I might have broken a bottle of jam on top of my right, size thirteen foot. I sat inside for three hours. Until Gonzales called in reinforcements, because I refused to acknowledge her and I knew she was scared I had killed myself. I would never do that. I’m not suicidal, I’m just swimming in an ocean of deep penetrating anger and pain. I’ve always known I’m a loyal man. I’ve always understood I never half ass anything I’m passionate about. But what I never realized is my passion and loyalty ran this thick and deep into my very soul. Marking me.
When people fall in love, they are supposed to love the person. They are supposed to, in the event things don’t work out—they are to move on. I could never do that even if I tried. These feelings will never cease and they’re getting worse. Definitely not my unfathomable need to act like a dog and pee on her to mark my territory; symbolically of course. And the words mine, mine, mine, mark, mark, mark is all I can think about. It runs through my head like an obsessive ticker tape. So when I tell my doctor I feel like I’m going insane, I’m not joking. It’s not a ploy. It’s the damned truth.
Two marshals and my new doctor were called and came to the house to talk me out. Which I did, once I realized the kind of drama I was creating because I was so pissed off. Feeling a bit childlike and embarrassed, I exited the pantry. Blood smeared the pristine floors as I walked into the guest bathroom downstairs and ran my feet under warm water, sitting on the edge of the porcelain bathtub, expelling the shards of glass. Which in turn, bled like the devil once the glass was sitting at the bottom of the tub. I refused to go to the hospital. So I took the extensive medical kit from Gonzales and stitched myself. She never left my side, which gave me a tiny bit of comfort to know I wasn’t all alone in this world. I grunted and swore like a trucker when the needle pierced through my lacerations and I quickly whip stitched them closed. It wasn’t my first time doing it. Many of my tattoos cover up scars I’ve gotten over the years from working for the military and getting stabbed or shot in the field. I’m just good at stitching so I’m only left with a faint scar. I’m certain Emily’s not even noticed them hiding underneath all this ink. A huge scar from a knife is hidden in the depths of my colorful Mother Mary tattoo that flows from my chest down my stomach. The bird by my crotch hides another mark. My physical body is littered in memories of pain and torture and my heart is stuffed full of love for one woman. Strangely ironic, but it is what it is.
Okay, enough of this. It’s time to get the show on the road. I’ve got to go see my Mama Bear and since my fake orders included Gonzales having to be in attendance she is coming with. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like I plan on talking to anybody. Except maybe Davis if I catch up with him at some point. When Brewer granted me this short furlough I had to sign a separate document, stating that if I spoke to or involved myself in anyone that was a civilian and not under arrest, I would be thrown into the brig for the duration of my stay. That’s safe link protocol and those rules are not to be broken. It’s a safety precaution—I get that. The government, figuratively, double crosses their T’s and dots their I’s. Not allowing for any margin of error.
“Are you ready…now?” She taps her shoe on the floor in playful annoyance. Trying not to smile when I shoot her a raised brow.
“Remind me why I don’t tie you up and keep you in the trunk until this is over?” I tease, cracking her a half smile as I tug my black leather jacket over my plain black tee and holstered guns. I’m packin’ heavy tonight; two knifes, three guns, a set of cuffs and two zip ties. You never know what you might run into and for whatever reason she gets into trouble or I feel threatened, I want to be able to protect myself. My clothing choice isn’t any different than normal. Black cargo pants, black military issued belt, black leather shit kickers, my growing facial hair now trimmed down to a short goatee. Hair shorter than normal, I buzzed it extra short today after I showered. Doesn’t look too bad against my tan skin and Gonzales gave me a rather lively catcall when she saw me, expressing her approval of my new look. Not that it really matters what she thinks or not.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she snips, as I head past her and down the steps of the Stepford abode, headed to the car parked in the driveway.
“I would. Now get in the car. I don’t have time for idle chit chat. We have a concert to attend and you are going to be nice and enjoy yourself,” I order, in my deep voice making sure she catches what I’m puttin’ down.
With a huff and a stomp, she get into the car and I take my place in the driver seat. It’s time to see my love.
***
“Wow, James, is that Stricken?” Gonzales yells over the thunderous crowd, her finger pointing to Johnathan taking center stage.
“That’s Johnathan Striker, their singer. The whole band is Stricken.”
“Is he Emily’s babies’ daddy?” She innocently asks.
“Yes,” I growl, angry, not wanting to have this conversation with her. Those babies might be his by blood but those kids are mine too, dagnabbit.
“Whoa! Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” she says, holding up her hands, watching me. I clench my fists at my sides as my anger rolls off of me in tidal waves.
On the way here she drilled me about how it was working for a band of this magnitude. I didn’t give her much to go on. I don’t divulge my past that often. I don’t think it’s anyone’s business. Except Emily’s. When we arrived, we parked, claimed our tickets at Will Call and found our row close to the stage. The opening band just finished their set and now it’s time for the main show. Which means it’s time to see Emily.
“Hello DC! How ya’ll doin’ tonight!?” Johnathan calls out and the crowd goes wild in response.
“Well, as I am sure you all know, this show was put together last minute. It was our way of sharing in the birth of my twins with all of you fans.” His hand gestures to the screen and a picture of my children come up and I about lose it. My eyes fill with watery tears and my heart aches so much I have to rub it. Gonzales reaches over and grabs my forearm for support and I let her. I don’t know if I can do this. This is more painful than I thought. Look at them—both so beautiful. Jenna and her red hair and Eric with his brown.
“And those little buggers couldn’t have been born if it wasn’t for me having been blessed with Emily, the most amazing woman on the planet. Who came into my life last year as a co-road manager and I quickly fell in love with her.” I protectively growl and stomp, willing myself to calm down or I will be tearing through this crowd and climbing onto the strange and beating the pulp out of that cheating coward.
A spotlight shines and my heart falters, my palms turn slick with sweat, as my soldier gets painfully hard and my mouth salivates, watching my Emily, my Mama Bear, being illuminated in all of her beauty, wearing a red corset matching perfectly with her c
omplexion.
“Say hello to my best friend Emily, the mother of my children,” he introduces her and she waves and that does it, the tears I was holding back break free and I lose myself in her magnificence. She looks amazing. So perfect and supple.
“It’s okay James.” Gonzales leans in and reassures me, her hand still gripping what she can of my forearm.
Johnathan at some point starts singing and I can’t stop staring at her. My eyes forever glued to the only part of me that matters as she stands side stage with Stacy, her best friend. His arm draped over her shoulder while they dance.
The fifth song starts and I finally break myself from staring so I can try to enjoy this concert and listen to the music.
“This is a new song I just wrote,” Johnathan explains.
“You’re my world, my shelter from my rain,
You’re the pills, that wash away my pain,
You’re the light, that guides me on my way,
You’re the words when I’ve got nothing to say,
And in this world where nothing else is true,
Here I am, still, madly in love with you,
Still deeply in love with you,” he sings
I can’t believe he is confessing his love for her in this song! Madly in love with her? I’m the one madly in love with her! He wasn’t or isn’t. I am!
I look over to Emily and see her slow dancing, her arms wrapped around her torso swaying and a giant of a man comes up behind her and touches her shoulder. That is it! I’ve had it! I start forward, plowing through the crowd. Gonzales grabs my jacket from the back and pulls. It doesn’t stop me. I’m still going. Three more rows, I’ve got only three more rows. Suddenly I’m tackled from behind and tossed onto the ground. Falling to my knees and then onto my stomach in one hard blow. What the hell?
“Don’t you do it, brother!” Davis yells into my ear. My body face down on the concrete between clusters of fans.
“Let me the fuck up, Davis!” I boom, pushing myself up onto my knees and he’s still sitting on my back.
“I will tie your ass up if you don’t get your shit together, brother. Now she’s not with Johnathan, he’s with Cammy. I will tell you the rest when you get your fuckin’ head outa your ass. Do you get me?”
I nod, and blow out a deep hard breath to keep myself from blowing through the barricades to get to her.
“Who in the hell is that giant?” I grind out, my teeth clinched unable to full gain my composure. Both of my large hands planted flat on the floor, hanging my head.
Yanking me up by the back of my jacket, my southern friend helps me stand. Gonzales is standing right behind him with the biggest eyes I’ve ever seen. She pushes past him to dust off the front of my jacket and my shoulders. Grabbing my face in her, hands she forces me to look her in the eyes.
“You scared the shit out of me. Do not do that again. I know you love her. I know you are angry. But this has got to stop. You are destroying yourself. Get your act together before you do go insane,” she orders, worry written in deep lines across her forehead and around her pretty indigo eyes.
Solemnly I nod, and frown. I know she’s right. I just don’t know how to control myself. Not when it pertains to her.
Dropping her hands from my face, Davis waves us on to follow him and we do. Weaving our way in and out of the crowd and into a side room not far from backstage. It’s smaller band room with three chairs, a couch, a coffee table, white walls and cheap tan linoleum floors.
“Sit.” Davis gestures to the chairs and I listen, not wanting to argue with a man I’ve known and been friends with for many years. I lean back in the chair, kicking my boot up and resting it on my knee, my arms crossed tightly across my chest.
“I know you wanted to come here James but acting out is just going to hurt you and her both. If she sees you go mad it’s going to rip her apart. You haven’t been the one to help keep her together, the rest of us has been. Especially Stacy. That man is a saint.”
Silently, I bob my head in agreement.
“There will be a party afterward if you want to get a closer look at her. I know she’s attending because Claire is going to be there. I talked with her and she was elated to come and spend some time with Emily. Now you can lurk and check her out from a distance. I spoke to Brewer and he said that was okay. But I am to report if you get out of line or talk to her. It’s my ass on the line here too. He and I will both be in front of the firing squad along with you and Gonzales if you don’t buck up and cut your stupid shit. We know you love her. It’s obvious, man. But don’t hurt her because you can’t control whatever it is you've got brewing inside.” His tone is soft and heavily saturated in his southern accent. I can’t seem to do anything but bob my head, agreeing with him wholeheartedly.
I know he’s right. I need some medication. As soon as this is over with I have to talk with Brewer and tell him I want out. If that doesn’t work, I’m going to seek medical help to be heavily medicated until this is over with. Walking around with a huge chip on your shoulder isn’t healthy—I know this. I’m also acutely in tune with the fact that I am rapidly getting worse. Something has got to give. I can’t take it anymore.
“Fine, now who’s the giant?” I ask, my stern unwavering words pouring from between clinched teeth.
“That is Emily’s new bodyguard that Johnathan hired for her. His name is Bruce, but Emily refers to him as The Wall. They are good friends and not romantic in the least bit, he has a girlfriend that he’s been with for six years. I did a background check on him. He’s been to drug rehab twice, an ex-college football player, has a degree in criminal justice, and was a police officer for three years in Vegas. He just quit his job as a corrections officer at prison to work for Stricken as Emily’s bodyguard. Johnathan must be shelling out the big buckeros to get the man to quit his job.”
I nod again, “Okay, so do you think he likes my love? Men are known to like her with or without girlfriends.”
He chuckles at me and smiles, shaking his head. Sure glad I give him some entertainment…Not.
I’m being serious. I’d like to be taken that way.
“James, she’s fine. I think he might have a little crush but it’s nothing to worry about. She wouldn’t touch any man or woman even if they tried. She loves only you.”
I sigh, releasing all the tension I didn’t realize I was harboring so deeply. She loves me. Not in the past tense. If she’s not with Johnathan, The Wall; or whatever it is she calls him, Claire or anyone else then maybe I have a chance. Supplying me with a glimmer of hope. Hope, that this glimpse of her from a distance will help me survive the next year without her. With aid in the form of some medication, of course. Davis is right; I need to get my shit together. I need to be the man everyone knows me to be. Not the loose cannon that I’m turning into. Whoever that is isn't me. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m lost.
“See that’s good news. Now the show will be over in thirty minutes. Let's get out of here and go to the club. This way you can watch her walk in,” Gonzales peeps up.
I give her a curt nod and stand.
Davis furnishes me with a brief handshake and a pat on the shoulder. “I’ve got this, don’t you worry. I will talk to Claire and she will at least know you are there.”
“Thanks.” I clap him over the shoulder and we leave. Him returning to the backstage as Gonzales and I head over to Orchid.
Chapter Sixteen
~James~
Bar- Orchid.
“Stand over here, Gonzales, they are right there.” I point to the black SUV I know has my Mama Bear inside. It parks next to the building as Davis and some bodyguards take point and corral any possible problems. Keith, D, Price, Stacy and Emily all exit the vehicle. Bruce, her new bodyguard, who is bigger than a brick shithouse is holding open the back door for my love, who is most definitely drunk.
“Hey Sugar, you comin’?” The giant man asks her.
“Don’t you even think about it,” Gonzales scolds.
“He’s being nice by calling her sugar, he’s not trying to get into her pants.”
I snicker. “I know that. If I thought it was more I would already be over there and putting a bullet through his brain.” I’m dead serious.
“You would not.” The waver in her voice tells me she doesn’t quite know whether to believe me or not.
“I would. Now quiet.” I turn to view my sweetheart walking adorably to the door. Her heels sinking into the loose gravel.
“Yup. This sugar is comin’ and comin’ and oooo baby… I really wanna be comin.’ Where’s Papa Bear when I need him?”
She said my name! She’s talking about me in regards to coming. Oh hell. I glance down and yes, I’m hard. What does that beautiful goddess do to me? Grabbing my package, I adjust him before Gonzales notices the bulge. Twice in one night I’ve gotten turned on. The funny thing is it isn’t much different than all those times I was her bodyguard and watched her from afar with a stiffy in my pants. The night she had the date with Claire here in DC, she was across the room gesturing me to figure out where the boys were. They hadn’t arrived yet and the adorable hand signals she was giving me turned me on. I’m not ashamed to admit it anymore. I was before. But now I freely accept the spell she’s bestowed upon me.
Stricken Rock Series: Complete Box Set Page 84
