Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  They’re getting worse.

  The people visiting his dreams are haunting him in a way I’ve never known possible. The people he loves. The people he hates. The people he doesn’t know. They’re all there. Taunting him. Torturing him. His cries were so pitiful. The loss in them. The pain. The fear.

  I’ve read the statistics. I’ve read of the suicide rate among military vets. I’ve read about suicide itself. What drives a person to believe that living one more day is just too horrible to even contemplate? What leads them to believe that better isn’t possible? Now, I know. At least for Link. It’s helplessness.

  I’m sure there’s more to it or maybe better words, but helplessness is what I think of as I watch Link in the throes of a nightmare. He’s used to taking charge. He’s used to making things happen. He’s used to forcing his body to work beyond its limits.

  And to him, none of it is enough.

  He’s helpless to make someone continue to breathe in and out.

  He’s helpless to make their blood continue to flow through their veins.

  He’s helpless and unable to switch his body for theirs in the dark coldness of their grave.

  He’s helpless in taking away the pain the living must endure when their loved one dies. He can throw money at it, but he knows how pitifully small that generosity is.

  He’s helpless to see things that aren’t seeable and he hates himself for not knowing who wants us dead. His belief that he cannot save me.

  He’s the strongest man I’ve ever known. Yet he sees himself as nearly useless.

  At least that’s what he thinks.

  He had three nightmares last night. Each worse than the last. I wipe away a tear as I remember, then pour a glass of orange juice and take my medicine. The pain is a little better today, so I take another Percocet, but only half. I need a clear head. I need to dust and clean Link’s home. I need to help Link with whatever he needs help with. Be the cheerful person he needs me to be.

  Hooking the leash onto Fate’s collar, I slip on the boots and wrap my robe tighter around me. Heading to the door, I notice the flash of the red light on the alarm system.

  Damn.

  I don’t know the code to go out.

  “Eight-four-six-nine-one-seven-two.”

  I jump and whirl around at his deep voice. Lord help me Jesus. He’s leaning against the wall, running a hand through his hair, grinning that lopsided grin I love so much. Naked. Gloriously and amazingly naked. Half man. Half steel. And his cock. Dear heavens. It’s pointing directly at me.

  “Eight-four…” I grin at him and feel my cheeks turn red. I’ve already forgotten the rest. I grin bigger. “I know there was a sixty-nine in there somewhere.”

  He pushes away from the wall and walks toward me so seriously, with so much intent that I back up a step and Fate runs behind my feet, giving him a little growl from beside my ankles. I drop her leash and she skitters away, growling from beside the couch.

  “Eight.” He pushes my hair back with one hand and makes a fist, pulling until it almost hurts. “Four.” The other hand circles my neck, his thumb caressing my jugular. “Six.” He pushes me backward until my back is to the wood. “Nine.” The hand on my neck drops to the tie of my robe, and with one jerk, it’s free. “One.” With one foot, he nudges my feet apart. “Seven.” He’s between my legs, bending to nudge his cock against my sex. He waits, rubbing a thumb across my lips, then leans forward and whispers against my mouth. “Two.”

  With a thrust of his hips, he’s inside me, crashing me backwards into the door, his hand curled around my shoulder to protect it. I whimper against his lips, raising a leg to wrap around his waist. Giving him a new angle to send me soaring to a new height of pleasure.

  “I.”

  God. His weight is against me, his hand pulling my hair, his teeth on my neck as he says the word.

  “Love.”

  With each thrust, I feel him hitting the very core of me.

  “You.”

  My body takes over, twisting and turning on itself, suctioning him into me, grasping him, begging him to never leave. I cry out, begging him not to stop. I don’t need to worry. He doesn’t. He won’t.

  Harder. I’m on my tiptoes now. My shoulder aching, my body shuddering, my hair being pulled at its roots. And I love it. So many sensations. So much to feel. His teeth and lips on me, biting and seeking. His fingers digging into my flesh. His cock. Dear heavens, his cock. Spearing into me, over and over, his hips circling and twisting to give each thrust a new opportunity to drive me to the edge.

  I fall off the cliff as he jerks my head back harder, his teeth biting and nipping at my jaw. He thrusts again, stiffens, straightens. With a roar, he thrusts one more time, pouring into me with a curse.

  We stand there, our breaths coming in hard gasps, his forehead pressed against mine. The side of his mouth lifts into that grin. I can’t help it. I grin back.

  Ggggrrrrr.

  My eyes widen just as his eyebrows draw together. We both look down at the same time. Fate has her teeth wrapped around his steel ankle, biting it with everything she’s got, her little paws digging into the floor.

  He laughs and steps backward, sliding out of me. I nearly groan at the loss as he bends. Fate growls again as his hands circle her body, her teeth digging in harder to the steel. He laughs again and finally picks her up, holding her until they are eye to eye.

  “Are you protecting Mommy?” he coos to her and her ears fluff back up at his baby voice. I melt as she licks the end of his nose. “You’re a good girl, yes you are,” he goes on before holding her under his chin. Fate gives a tiny little ‘woof’, the first bark I’ve heard since we found her. But it’s half-hearted. Just like me, she can’t seem to resist anything he does.

  While he plays with her, I’m still leaning heavily against the door, my legs shaking from the unexpected onslaught. I blow out a breath and it gets his attention. “You okay?”

  I smile and close my robe, tying the sash. “I could wake up to that every day.”

  “Me too.” His eyes search my face. “Let’s plan on it.”

  I hold out a fist and he bumps it, then curls a hand around my wrist. “It’s close to sunrise. You should see it from the deck. Let’s pull on some clothes, take Fate out and watch with a cup of coffee and whatever wonderful thing I smell.” His hand releases me and lifts to my hair. “Then, you wicked temptresses have to leave me alone for the day.”

  Fate licks his neck and my mouth falls open. “Us? I have you know, we were minding our own business when…” I point at his cock “…that nailed me to the door.”

  “Then I guess I’ll just have to wear a blindfold any time you’re around.” He leans in and inhales the scent of my hair. “And nose plugs.” I giggle and he smiles. “And earplugs.” He kisses me, the puppy squished between us. “See. Wicked temptress if I’ve ever seen one.”

  My heart flutters. My stomach flutters. A place darker and deeper flutters.

  He kisses me again, then pulls away with a groan. “Clothes. Coffee. Food. Sunrise. Then work.”

  I nod and take the dog from him, afraid she will pee on the floor if I sit her down.

  Then we pull on clothes and we take the coffee and food outside while Fate finds a new favorite spot for her business. It’s cold. And it’s beautiful out here, the sky brightening moment by moment before the sun peeks over the mountain.

  “Wow.”

  The colors of the sky reflect off the water of the lake so far below, surrounding our world with blues and pinks and oranges. I look around. There’s so much I couldn’t see last night in the dark. The forest around us. The rocks. The lake. And layer upon layer of mountain ridges stretching into the horizon. Huge mountains. It feels like we’re on the very top of the world.

  “I love it here,” I tell him.

  He pulls my back to his chest as we stand there, watching the sky explode in color, crunching on bacon and the egg muffins I’d baked. “These are really good,” he says an
d takes another bite.

  “Bisquick, eggs, cheese and some veggies. I doubt it would be Nichol approved, but I used to make these all the time. Zap one in the morning and I’d have instant breakfast on the way to work.” I swallow. How far away that all seems now. Being married. Pregnant. Driving back and forth to a job I loved. Stopping by to see Nat and the boys. Sunday dinner with my family.

  I’d lost Ryland almost eight months ago. It’s spring now, even though the coldness of the morning wants to argue with the calendar. I’m no longer married and now I’m leaning against the chest of someone I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. The same man who, just a couple days ago, I thought I would leave and never see again.

  Taking another sip of coffee, I puzzle through our relationship, the love we have for each other and wonder if there is any chance of it lasting. Take away the danger we are still in, we have such different lives. He told me he wants to train himself until he’s fit enough to go back into Delta. He wants revenge. He wants to fight again.

  Me. I don’t know what I want to do.

  I’d be willing to follow him anywhere, I know that much. I’d also be willing to let him go, if that was what he needed.

  Pain punches me in the gut, wraps its hand around my heart, then squeezes its way up to my throat. I can’t imagine leaving him. Not being with him. So silly. We haven’t known each other that long. Not long enough to feel this desperate for him. Not long enough to be willing to sacrifice for him. Not long enough to … need him this much.

  But I do.

  My thumb turns the ring on my finger. My pretend marriage that feels so real. More real than anything I’ve ever experienced, not even in my real marriage a lifetime ago. More real and beautiful and special than I thought love could possibly be.

  And yet there’s so much I don’t know about him. Children. I don’t even know if he wants children someday. The hand squeezes my throat harder at the thought. What if he does want children and I can’t give them to him? He’d be such an amazing father. How could I rob him of that experience?

  I set down my coffee and turn in his arms before my morose thoughts cause me to crumble to the ground in sadness. “I was thinking of making chicken and dumplings for dinner. What do you think of that?”

  He kisses my nose. “You. Me. Fate. A fire. I think chicken and dumplings would be perfect.”

  I hug him close, my head on his shoulder, feeling the beat of his heart against my chest. “I think it would be perfect too.”

  I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know how to make us be okay. But I do know how to soothe him right now. Today.

  And maybe, if destiny allows, we’ll have tonight and then I’ll get the chance to soothe him again tomorrow.

  One day at a time.

  Chapter 3 – Duffy

  Cursing at my computer screen, I want to ram my fist through the glass. I’ve been sitting here for hours, searching for clues, tapping into emails. Looking for keywords.

  Nothing.

  Not one fucking single thing that moves me an inch closer to understanding the situation I find myself in. I lean back in the chair, hear Grace humming from somewhere in the house and correct myself. The situation we find ourselves in.

  I push the computer mouse away from me. Not even the conspiracy theorists seem to have a clue. It’s pretty amazing how close they come to the truth sometimes. Close enough to make some top-level people squirm.

  Turning in the chair, I watch the TV again, flipping through the news channels for anything new. I catch the last of a segment about the Malibu explosion, then turn back to the computer to catch what I missed, searching for ‘Link Duffy Explosion Malibu California’.

  Immediately, a slew of news broadcasts fill the screen. I click on the one that says ‘exclusive’ and a pretty reporter in a dark blue jacket begins speaking to a camera.

  “Three days ago, billionaire playboy Link Duffy’s home went up in a ball of flames. At first, the cause of the explosion was blamed on a gas leak, but other sources believe something more insidious is responsible. Maria Keyes, with our Malibu affiliate has more…”

  I perk up, leaning forward in my chair as the newscast switches to a brunette reporter who’s trying to push her wind-blown hair out of her face.

  “Thank you, Katelynn. I’m here in Malibu, speaking to a local fisherman who was on the water the morning Link Duffy’s home exploded. Roger Thompson was on his boat, less than a nautical mile from the Duffy property when he witnessed some interesting things. Mr. Thompson, can you please share what you witnessed that morning?”

  The camera pans out and she turns to an older man, sea worn and wrinkled, a cap pulled low over his brow. “Yes ma’am. I had started fishing early that morning and was making my way back in, a little after eight in the morning. I’d stopped to try a new spot that seemed to be teeming with possibilities based on the gull action, when I heard a noise that sounded just like a rifle blast shooting a large caliber round. I counted four more shots about two to five seconds apart.”

  The reporter jumps in. “How do you know it was a large caliber round?”

  The man’s eyes narrow and I see it. He’s ex-military. “Fought in Nam, ma’am. Still know those sounds in my sleep.”

  She pulls the mic away from him again and asks, “What happened after the shots?”

  His eyes narrow again. “That’s when it gets interesting. Heard the start of a boat engine and saw it about half a mile away.” He points and the camera tries to follow him, focusing on nothing but empty sea. “A few minutes later, I heard a helicopter coming up behind me. I turned and the damn thing, sorry ma’am, flew over my head. Low. I watched it for a while and began to wonder if the damn thing, sorry ma’am, was going to run into the cliffs. Then it gained altitude and then veered sharply to the right. Then boom.”

  The reporter asks, “Why didn’t you bring this to anyone’s attention before today?”

  The man glares at her. “I did. Reported it to the police. My house burned down last night. Almost took me with it. Thought it might be in my best interest to make my report public so I called you folks.”

  The reporter faces the camera. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson, for trusting WMAL as your trusted news source. Katelynn, the world is hearing it from us first. Based on our exclusive insights, it appears foul play might have contributed to the death of Link Duffy. Back to you.”

  Katelynn looks seriously at the camera. “If, indeed, Link Duffy is dead. In a few moments, I’m turning the broadcast to Michael Hopson, who is stationed outside Fire Chief Ken Shelton’s office where Chief Shelton is expected to address the press on his findings. Michael, over to you.”

  A serious looking man faces the camera now. “Thank you, Katelynn. As you said, I’m in front of Fire Chief Ken Shelton’s office where we are expected to learn, any moment, if Link Duffy’s body was located in the charred remains in one of the homes located on his family’s cliff side compound.”

  There’s blah blah about my family; aerial shots of the cliff side estate. More background on me. More playboy billionaire shit.

  I hear Grace coming down the hallway, the dog’s nails clicking right behind her. I turn and see her pause at the doorway, a plate in her hand. I frown when I notice how much she has loosened her sling. I think she’s pushing herself too hard.

  “Hungry?” she asks and takes another step into the room. “Just sandwiches for lunch, if that’s okay.”

  I turn the massive office chair and pat my lap. She smiles bigger and comes forward, sits the plate on the desk and curls on top of me, all six-feet of her. Then she looks at the computer, frowns and then turns back to me. “Anything new?”

  Picking up the sandwich, I take a bite, not realizing how hungry I am. “Fisherman witnessed the shooting and helicopter attack. Then gets his house burned down the next night.” She gasps and I nod. “Right now, I’m waiting for the fire chief to report on if he found any remains during his investigation.”

  She w
atches me take another bite and brushes bread crumbs from my lips. “He’ll say no, won’t he?”

  “If he’s honest, yes. If he’s not…” I shrug and take another bite. “This is damn good. Thank you. You always know what I need.”

  She smiles and snuggles closer, winces and readjusts. She brushes another crumb from my chin. “Your stubble is getting really thick. I can’t believe how fast your beard grows.”

  I was about to tease her about her legs, when the fire chief saves me from stupidity and appears on the scream, walking to a make-shift podium.

  “Ladies and gentleman, I’m Ken Shelton, fire chief of the Malibu fire services. Thank you for coming out today. I’m here to report initial findings on the Duffy home explosion three days ago. My preliminary findings are that there were no human remains located on the premises.”

  Reporters go wild, tossing out questions. The fire chief holds up a hand.

  “Due to the public interest in this investigation, a second fire investigator will be arriving later today to confirm my findings. If anything changes, or if anything new is discovered, we will address it at that time.”

  More hands fly up and Michael Hopson bullies himself to the front. “Sir, a witness has reported hearing what he believes were gunshots moments before a helicopter flew over Link Duffy’s house. Were there any bullets found on the property? Any sign of foul play?”

  “As this is an ongoing investigation, I’m unable to comment on anything other than to report that there were no physical signs of remains within that property. Thank you.”

  He steps away from the make-shift podium and ignores the shouts of other reporters while Hopson turns back to the camera. “And there you have it. Preliminary reports indicate that there were no human remains within the Duffy home, which creates additional questions. The top one being … where in the world is Link Duffy? Katelynn, back to you.”

  I groan.

  Dammit. I hate the press.

  “Where indeed, Michael,” Katelynn’s unsmiling face is saying to the camera. “And Grace Johnson, the nurse and physical therapist treating Link Duffy following an injury he received in Afghanistan. The pair have been missing for three days now. Tonight, at eight-thirty p.m. eastern standard time, our Tennessee affiliate will be covering a candlelight prayer vigil…”