by Sara Brookes
Every muscle felt like a lead weight.
And lying on the ground felt good. So good.
Too good.
Which meant it was wrong.
Something was odd. Off.
Why the hell was he staring at the stars?
He’d been upright and mobile a few seconds ago. He’d been patrolling an area that had been swept three days prior. His unit had labeled the area safe and moved on. They’d even gotten the sign-off from Sarge before he’d cleared them both to relocate and start all their painstaking work again.
Both.
Wait. Shit. Both. He wasn’t as alone as he thought.
Diega.
Where was Diega?
She’d been right there beside him during patrol.
Fuck, no. That still wasn’t right. He hadn’t been on patrol. He’d been asleep. So exhausted, he plummeted into unsettled sleep before his head hit the pillow. That explained his confusion. His disorientation.
Diega had been resting as well. Sleeping at the tent they’d pitched special just for the bomb-sniffing dogs that worked alongside the unit. She’d worked hard. So hard. She’d deserved the break too.
Screams and yells sounded around him as people moved out of the line of fire. He hurt everywhere and nowhere all at once. Like a million bees swarming around him in a toxic cloud, crawling over his skin with their hairy little legs. Their force was destructive, much like the mines he swept for every day.
“Boyce!”
A familiar voice called out to him through the darkness. A guiding light through the agony tearing through his body. Pain clenched his chest. Gripped his throat. Stole his voice. Tightening its hold on him with bony fingers.
No, I won’t let it take me. I can do this. I am in control.
Boyce blinked, breathing fast and hard. His heart rate tripped higher with such force, he expected it to seize at any moment. The noise blaring in his head died. Everything came into focus, blurred, then cleared again.
He was back at Noble House. Not in one of the many nameless deserts he’d patrolled.
Saint’s face came into view. “You back?” Concern etched his lover’s face.
Fuck. It happened again.
Boyce couldn’t find the breath or the words to answer. Hot shame flowed through his veins, heating his skin. Not only had he broken again, he’d fractured in public. In front of people he considered his family. Showed them weakness. That he was human after all.
Christ, are the cameras still on?
“Boyce, stay with me.” He squeezed Saint’s hand tighter. A reassuring clench came in return, a relieved gust of breath followed. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”
I’ll be fine, he wanted to tell Saint. But, in truth, Boyce knew better. This wasn’t the first time he’d been hit so unexpectedly by what had happened when he was overseas. His past. The heartache that had cut him to the quick. The scar over his heart cracking and splitting open again. The resurgence of his time there had been coming less and less as the years drew out, but when they did hit, those terrible memories were overwhelmingly powerful.
This one had brought him to his knees.
Literally.
He swallowed, cleared his throat, and found the tattered scraps of his voice. “Asha?”
“Kochran and a few others will get her cleaned up. They’ll take care of her.”
“Did I hurt anyone?”
Saint pulled him tighter. “Don’t worry about that right now.”
Boyce wasn’t so screwed up in the head that he didn’t notice Saint hadn’t answered his question. Fuck. Heat lashed out, anger coursing hot and heavy because the last thing Boyce wanted was to be coddled and protected. Held, yes. He needed the reassuring comfort of a familiar body against his to remind him where he was. But he did not want to be shielded. He needed the truth.
“Did I hurt Asha?” Boyce asked tightly through clenched teeth.
“No,” Saint answered finally. “Just let me take care of you. Worry about the rest later.”
The rest.
Shit. What have I done?
Sagging, Boyce accepted Saint’s support as they stood. He couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on, but he was determined to walk out of there under his own power. He was not about to let this blip get the best of him, or allow it to change his standing with the other members of the club. To show them his flaw.
Wasn’t the first or last time someone had violently lost it inside the armory walls.
This lifestyle lent itself to such psychological stresses.
And right now, Boyce hated every single one of them.
Chapter Three
A snap and bright flash behind Saint’s closed eyes made him grunt. “You are not taking pictures of me while I’m trying to sleep.” Snap. Flash. “Fucker.” Annoyed he’d been awakened from a deep slumber, he tossed aside the sheet and rolled over. Saint smacked his own bare ass hard enough to leave a pink handprint. “Could at least get my good side.”
“Roll back over then.”
Snap.
Saint gestured with his middle finger.
Snap.
“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?”
“And you love it.” Snap. “And me.”
Saint pried his eyes open and waited until his vision cleared to look at the bedside clock. Nine in the morning. Only his sadistic boyfriend would have him up this early. He levered himself onto his side. Boyce stood near the bedroom door, camera in hand. Gloriously naked. In thirteen years, Saint had never tired of looking at Boyce. Never tired of his sense of humor. Or the way Boyce did his best to make sure everyone else was taken care of before him.
“Yeah, I guess I do love you. Lucky bastard.”
Boyce set the camera to the side and picked up two oversized mugs of steaming coffee. He crossed to the bed, sitting carefully on the edge as he held out one to Saint. “There are muffins in the kitchen. Ruth from the bakery said hello.”
Saint eyed Boyce as he carefully sipped the steaming liquid. Sweet and light. Just how he liked it. “I hope she gave you a hefty discount for gifting her with an eyeful of magnificent cock while you picked up breakfast.”
Boyce smirked. “She’s a lesbian.”
“So? I’ve seen that ass turn even the staunchest lesbian’s head.” Balancing his coffee on his knee, Saint leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to Boyce’s lips. Saint tasted the peppermint toothpaste Boyce preferred as their mouths met. When he pulled back, he noticed Boyce’s hair was still damp. Coffee. Shower. All signs someone hadn’t just crawled out of bed. “You’ve been up for a while.”
“Rough night.” Boyce’s voice had changed, dropping in pitch as he lowered his gaze to stare at his coffee.
Saint’s heart clenched tightly as his worry for the man flourished. Not again. He set their mugs on the nightstand before bundling Boyce in his arms. The fact Boyce sagged against him without argument spoke volumes. They’d dealt with what had happened two nights ago at Noble House as soon as Saint had gotten Boyce cleaned up and settled comfortably into bed. Saint had hoped by this point that night would all just be a horrible memory.
Wish in one hand. Piss in the other.
They’d spent yesterday in bed, sleeping and talking. Planning.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were tired.” Boyce’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, swallowing a few times before continuing. “No reason for both of us to be awake. I worked in the darkroom for a while. Had some work to finish up anyway. Didn’t really want to work, but have to generate income somehow. Have to pull my weight.”
Saint hated knowing that Boyce believed he wasn’t contributing. “How bad was it?”
“Pretty bad.” Boyce slipped his arms around Saint’s wai
st and pulled him tighter. “Worse than at Noble. The flash triggered something deep. Set something off. Every time I close my eyes right now, I think I’m back there.”
Something, some memory, Boyce had been repressing. Probably without even knowing he’d done it. The tightness in Saint’s chest grew. He understood the pain. The doubts and fears. Questioning everything.
Everyone.
Dealing with this kind of damage to someone’s psyche wasn’t foreign territory for Saint. His kid sister had been in and out of some of the best doctor’s offices and institutions in Atlanta with problems no one had been able to solve. Ultimately, she’d come to believe there was only one way out of her problems. Molly took her own life just days after Saint left for college.
Even years later, Saint still blamed himself for not being there for her more. Not doing...something. In an effort to better understand, he’d even taken some classes to learn what was going on inside someone’s mind. Maybe that was why he fought with Boyce so much about not being silent.
He wasn’t going to lose Boyce.
But no matter how much Saint insisted Boyce wake him up when the nightmares became too much to endure, Boyce refused to comply.
Stubborn ass.
As much as it pained Saint to admit, he knew there would be no way to sway Boyce. To reassure him it was all right to fully lean on someone else once in a while. Saint had even threatened to whip Boyce. But he’d quickly learned that while most people cringed at the idea, Boyce welcomed it. Even used it as a means to divert his emotional scars so he wouldn’t have to deal with them.
Someday... Saint sighed, knowing what Boyce needed was a swift kick in the ass.
When Boyce tried to pull away, Saint locked their hands together. “Stay here for a little bit.”
“I need to finish up.”
They’d had this argument already. Several times over since the break at Noble House. Despite the fact Saint hadn’t agreed, Boyce insisted on watching the video Kochran had sent them after he’d pulled it from the night’s run.
Saint wanted it destroyed, hating its very existence. And he’d very nearly hacked into Kochran’s network to do the deed himself. But because of his experience with Molly, Saint knew part of the healing process for Boyce included dealing with the reality of what happened.
Of knowing exactly what he’d done.
Saint’s jaw still ached from the punch Boyce had been lucky enough to get past him.
And he still felt the slash over his heart from how Boyce had shut himself away after the video ended. After he’d discovered he’d physically lashed out at someone he loved. It took hours to break through the reinforced barrier Boyce had erected.
Saint accepted Boyce, emotional scars and all.
It was a shame Boyce hadn’t accepted them.
Because he loved Boyce, Saint would give him the space he needed. At least for a short time. Then he’d get right in Boyce’s face so they could deal with the problem head-on.
Together.
If it came to blows again, then so be it. They’d lace up the fucking boxing gloves and go twelve rounds. Whatever it took. Saint was willing to fight for the man he loved. And he would do whatever he needed to do in order to prove it.
Even if he had to walk around wearing bruises.
“Anything you need to finish can wait,” Saint stated firmly, moving so he was lying on top of Boyce. When Boyce’s cock stirred against Saint’s stomach, he knew this was the right path to take. “I think we’re both done talking this to death. Right?”
Boyce nodded, a slight smile curling up one side of his mouth. “Yeah. Think we can find other, more interesting things to do with our mouths.”
* * *
Grae had an unsettling fear Saint and Boyce would only have a vague recollection of her. Sure, they’d all lived together for two years. Spent countless all-nighters studying. But that tiny nibble of the unease wouldn’t go away. Even more absurd to think she was quickly approaching her mid-thirties and pining for someone like she was a teenager again.
Two someones.
A decade was a long time. And they’d all changed. Lived separate lives in very different parts of the same state. Had different interests. Except they were all members of Noble House. That was one hell of a common interest.
Coincidences weren’t something Grae believed in.
Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to stop the images of that dirtybadwrong time they’d shared from flickering through her mind.
Grae shifted her weight between her feet. Memories of that very charged moment between them also reminded her how chaste and simple she’d kept her goodbyes after graduation. As though the friendship they’d shared was the only thing that had remained intact after that night. Standing in front of Saint and Boyce’s door was ridiculous. Right? Either she needed to knock and catch up on all the years that had passed, or she needed to go back to L.A. so she could hide in her office. Again.
No.
She needed to be there.
Though she didn’t know why.
She’d spent the entire drive to Northern California asking herself that question. Over and over. And in the several hours it had taken, she hadn’t come up with an answer. At least not a definitive one. All she knew was the gut-deep instinct that told her it was the right time to reintroduce herself to her former college roommates.
That they needed her.
And thanks to that alumni newsletter she hadn’t discarded, they’d been easy to find.
Something had happened on the stage at Noble House two nights ago. Something terrible. She’d been enjoying the scene, delighting in the level of skill the men possessed when they shared a submissive. When they cared for her.
In the power and energy that flowed between the men.
In the love they shared.
Grae had recognized the moment Asha handed over full control to Saint and Boyce. When the two men had kissed, she’d very nearly shoved her hand down her flannel pants and taken the ride with them. But she’d been worried about missing something, knowing when the two men crafted a scene for the website, they were in it for the long haul.
So she’d watched, vibrating with need as Saint had guided Boyce’s cock back into Asha’s mouth and started whispering things into his ear that were too soft for the microphones to pick up. Her whole body had throbbed with the desperate urge to get off. Hard and fast. And just as she’d been about to yield, all hell had broken loose somewhere off camera.
There was nothing she could have done but watch in horror as Boyce took a swing that Saint hadn’t been able to block. The cameras went dark seconds later. And Grae had been left with a surreal feeling she hadn’t been able to shake.
A feeling she’d just been witness to a painful break.
Kochran had sent a short, apologetic email to members who had been signed in that night or had been on-site at the club, but hadn’t given further details. Or even given status of the condition of Saint, Boyce, or the sub they’d been sharing.
In this lifestyle, things happened. Things went wrong. Rigging broke. Devices short-circuited. A whip slapped too hard against skin, drawing blood. Everyone who was a part of it, who surrendered or was in charge of someone submitting, knew the dangers. No matter how much safe, sane, and consensual was practiced, there was always a risk something could happen.
Many times wounds weren’t physical.
And what Grae had witnessed was the breakdown of a man who carried a great deal of hurt on his shoulders.
Maybe she was there because she needed to reassure herself that Boyce was all right. That they were all right. She would hate to see what happened have an adverse reaction on their relationship. Yes, it was their relationship. She had no business butting in.
She felt like an utter fool. But she still need
ed to know. A simple phone call or email wasn’t enough. So she would knock on their door. Remind them who she was. Give them the bottle of wine she’d bought on the drive up. Find out if everything was all right and be on her way. Back at home, safe and sound, tomorrow, working on her next project. Easy enough.
If she even had a job to go back to.
“Darling, if you grip that bottle any tighter, we’re going to have to rush you to the hospital to tend the cuts. If you’re looking for Kevin’s place, he’s across the hall.”
Saint’s faint drawl threaded through her, setting off a heat that flourished and awakened nerve endings. Oh, there wasn’t going to be anything quick about the visit. Grae clutched the bottle tighter, noting how profusely her palms were sweating. Great. That will make a lovely first impression.
Wait, wouldn’t that be second?
She lifted her head, unsure of what to say now because her little pep talk had failed.
Those slowly awakening nerve endings sparked when their gazes collided.
Holy hell. He looked delicious in person. Probably more so because he was shirtless. Even with all those lean, well-cut muscles, her gaze was immediately drawn to the large tattoo on the right side of his chest. A shield, surrounded by a trio of lions.
The Noble House crest.
Grae had seen it plenty of times. On the website when she’d logged in for a show or spent time surfing through the archives. She knew several long-standing members of the club wore the tattoo as a symbol of their loyalty to Noble House.
Boyce didn’t have the tattoo, which she’d never thought much about.
Until now.
Saint sucked in a breath as his eyes widened. “Grae Burrows. Holy shit, you’re the last person I expected to see here.” His forehead creased as he frowned. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that how it sounded. You just caught me off guard. You...wow, you really grew up.”
