Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  Grace’s hand flies to her mouth as the screen changes to a house sitting among a grove of apple trees. “That’s my parent’s house.” Then she gasps again and does her best to cover my eyes. I wrestle her arm down and there’s a picture of her on the screen. High school, it looks like. Going up for a spike on the volleyball court, her mouth wide open, her eyes focused in total concentration, her curly hair a wild mess on top of her head.

  “That picture? They chose that picture?” She slumps against me in the chair.

  “Nice braces.” I wince as she elbows me and I don’t have enough air to tell her she looked sexy in those little volleyball shorts.

  The newscast goes on, proving additional details about the vigil and then moves to shots of storefronts along a quaint Main Street. There are signs in windows that read: Amazing Grace; Prayers for Grace; We love you, Grace.

  I pull her closer to my chest and the dog whines, sensing her distress. I reach for the little thing and place her in Grace’s lap. Grace’s fingers automatically sink into her fur.

  The newscasts wraps and we both sit there for a few minutes. I hug her to me a little tighter. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  She nestles her head against mine and brings the dog further under her chin. “Not your fault,” she whispers. “None of this is your doing. And I can’t wait until you find the son-of-a-bitch responsible for it.” She looks up at me. “Can I get in a good punch before you take him down?”

  I grin. “Depends. Can you punch with that gimpy left hand?”

  In response, she pulls back and fucking head butts me. She squeals, grabs her forehead, then reaches out to lay her hand on mine. She’s laughing hard as she pulls my head down and kisses what I’m sure is a red spot forming there. “I’m … so … sorry,” she says between giggles. “It … was … sup … posed … to … be … a … tap.”

  “A tap? You damn near took my head off,” I tease her, reaching up to rub the red spot forming just below her hairline. Damn, she’s funny. And goofy. And so freakin’ lovable. And has a forehead like a train.

  Being careful of her shoulder, I roll her towards me and give her a good pop on the ass. “That’s a tap.” I raise my hand higher and she squeals, but Fate has other ideas. She jumps for my hand, latching onto my thumb and holds on with her little white teeth. It doesn’t hurt, but she definitely gets my attention.

  Still giggling, Grace tries to sit up and reach for the dog, groaning and cursing as she goes. “No, Fate. No!” The words are too giggly to hold any authority. “Let him go. Does it hurt? Shit. Oh, good heavens. Stop it, Fate.”

  I just sit there and watch the continuation of the circus going on in my lap.

  Finally, the dog has let go and is on the floor and Grace is crushing my groin, trying to get turned around enough to get up. I circle my hands around her waist, giving her a boost, coming up right behind her.

  Taking advantage of the situation, I push her forward until she’s lying face down on the desk, my hand between her shoulder blades, careful with her wound. With my right hand, I rub her ass through the damn yoga pants and my cock twitches in approval.

  “Oh no!” she yells, still giggling.

  “Oh yes,” I say right back and give her a good swat, hard enough to sting my palm. She gasps and stills completely and I have an ‘oh shit’ moment. I can almost see her coming up and volleyballing my head.

  Then she moans and presses back into my hand.

  Interesting.

  Rubbing her other ass cheek, I bring up my hand, then take it down with a sharp slap.

  She moans and squirms on the desk, her breath coming hard. With a foot, I force her legs apart, then bring my hand down at her center.

  She jolts. “Oh.” Just a little sound, almost part of her breath.

  “Did you like that?” I ask her, surprised and then horny as hell, rubbing the sting away.

  “I don’t …” She pauses and licks her lips again. “I don’t know why, but yes.”

  Hmmm. My girl is a closet freak. How the hell did I get so lucky?

  And so distracted.

  Shit.

  I look at her ass again and know this will lead me down the path of temptation. I glance at the clock. It’s only two in the afternoon. Still plenty of time to finish my other tasks.

  No!

  Dammit.

  I step back, nearly tripping on the dog and Grace slowly raises from the desk. She turns to me, desire so pure on her face that I groan.

  No, Duff, I say to myself. No!

  This can wait until tonight.

  This must wait until tonight.

  She licks her lips and pushes her hair back from her face, her eyes dilating with need.

  Willpower. I have willpower in spades and know how to use it.

  She takes a step toward me.

  “Wicked temptress,” I whisper before I take her with me to the floor.

  Chapter 4 – Grace

  After my third round of sex for the day, I jump in the shower to cool down.

  I’m still smiling.

  Whew, that man knows how to use his body. And he sure knows how to use mine. His kisses. So wet and open mouthed, so delicious. They make my toes curl every time.

  “I’m taking the dog outside and walking the perimeter,” he calls to me from the bedroom.

  “Okay,” I call back.

  I raise my face to the streaming water, smiling. I can’t believe I head butted him that hard. It really was supposed to be a tap, then wham … I nearly knocked both of us out.

  After shaving my legs and all the other places that needed shaving, I force myself from the warmth. After getting dressed, I gather all of our dirty clothes and toss them in the washing machine. Then I start preparing the chicken for tonight.

  Looking at the clock, it’s a little after three. I want everything ready by six-thirty mountain time, the time of the candlelight vigil in the east.

  After I pop the chicken in the oven, I walk around the cabin to see what’s left to do. I’ve already dusted all the surfaces, mopped the floors and vacuumed the rugs on the main level. I even gave Fate a bath. I look at the wide, sweeping staircase leading to the top floor. I haven’t been there yet.

  I’m distracted by the sound of Fate barking, a soft little yippy sound. I walk to the window to see Link rolling down the side of the mountain. I gasp and run to the door, yanking it open and run outside. But he’s on his feet again, walking back up the hill. He turns, takes a step, then ducks and rolls.

  What is he doing?

  Whatever it is, Fate doesn’t like it. He’s fashioned her leash to something on the ground while he carries out his exercise in insanity and she’s running to him as far as the lead will allow.

  He stops the roll. Gets to his feet then begins running down the slope. He stops, turns and begins running back up.

  He’s testing his leg, I realize.

  The toe of the prosthetic foot catches a rock and he stumbles forward, catching himself with his hands and pushes up. I see what he’s doing wrong. The prosthetic leg has to be straight behind him before the microprocessors in it will automatically swing it forward into a step. The leg is remarkable, good for about any condition. But he’s rushing it, especially on this terrain. He can make his body go harder and faster, but the machine attached to his thigh can only do so much.

  Stepping back into the house, I pull on my boots and grab my jacket before heading out again. Fate sees me and pulls on the leash, trying to get to me while Link gets back to the top of the slope for another duck and roll.

  I pick her up and watch him punish his body on the downward descent. He stops, runs down the mountain a few steps. The prosthetic catches again, causing him to stumble. He ducks into another roll.

  What does he plan to do? Roll down this entire mountain? If he had a spleen, he would have busted it by now.

  Back on his feet, he pushes himself to run up the steep slope again.

  “The leg has to be straight, Link, before it will sw
ing forward. Force it straight back with your hip. It will feel awkward, but try it.”

  Without pausing, he begins to run down the hill again, this time snapping his left hip back faster than a normal gait and the prosthetic straightens more quickly. He makes it almost the entire way down his practice section of the mountain before the toe catches and he tumbles forward, ducks into a roll and takes at least six tumbles further.

  I wince for him.

  I know better than to tell him to take it easy. I know better than to ask him to rest. During his therapy this past month, he pushed himself so hard. I know he’ll do the same here.

  When he comes up, blood is streaking up his hand. Still, I say nothing.

  He runs to the top, turns and begins the path back down. He snaps the hip harder and the prosthetic straightens, whips forward faster. It looks a little awkward and he would hurt his back if he did this too much, but if he needed to escape this mountain…

  I pull Fate to my face as realization hits.

  That’s what he’s doing. He’s practicing an escape. He’s practicing terrain management, something we couldn’t do back in Malibu very well. Especially at this extreme angle.

  I watch him for over half an hour. I watch until it becomes painful to watch. He’s falling much less now. He’s getting the hang of what the leg will and won’t do and is practicing ways around it.

  When it becomes clear he isn’t stopping anytime soon, I turn, taking Fate with me. “I’m going back in. Need anything?”

  He shakes his head, digs his toes back into the dirt and pushes himself up the hill for more punishment.

  Back inside, I sit the dog down and wash my hands. I turn the chicken and transfer the clothes to the dryer. Then I stand there, wondering what else I should do. I feel lost now. Unsettled for reasons I don’t understand.

  I could go upstairs, but instead, I walk back into the bedroom and then into the room that is his office. It’s also a safe room, he told me earlier. He showed me how to activate the door if an emergency occurred. How to locate and use the radio.

  But this is a decoy safe room. The room criminals would think we would run to. The room they would target and spend precious time trying to access. The real safe room is underground.

  This room is large and is powered by a separate electrical and oxygen exchange system, he told me earlier. I look at all the computer stuff, trying to figure out what everything is. I’m not technically stupid, but I’ve never needed to know anything besides the basics. Why someone would need three huge computer monitors for one computer, I can’t fathom it.

  I touch the mouse and the screens come to life. I click on the icon for the security cameras. All three screens fill with images. In one, I see Link running back up the hill. I see a deer and her baby in another. Nothing but mountain in the rest.

  I click and see the inside of the cabin. As one room flicks to the next, a chill spreads up my arms. What would I do if a man were standing in one of the rooms? A man I didn’t recognize? A man with a gun?

  I shudder and turn away from the monitors, realizing I’d just thoroughly spooked myself. I peek into the hallway and then blow out a breath. I’m really spooking myself now.

  Walking out with a confidence I don’t feel, I head to the bathroom to put on the sling I’d left off after the shower. I’d loosened it earlier, hoping the extra movement would help stretch the damaged muscle, giving me a little more dexterity.

  That task finished, I walk back in the bedroom, I look around for something else to do. How do people with no jobs stand it? Do they really eat bon-bons all day? I nearly jump for joy when the dryer sounds its alarm, letting me know the clothes are ready to be pulled out, giving me something to do with my hands. Hand, I correct myself and begin the process of folding left handed. I’m getting better.

  It’s nice folding Link’s clothes, straightening out the wrinkles and pressing them flat. Picking up a pair of his boxer briefs, I hold them to my face, smelling their clean scent and thinking of the man who wears them.

  Feeling silly, I fold them and add them to the pile, then pick up a stack to carry to the closet. Link organized all our bags this morning, placing them in the closet, insisting that we keep them by the ‘real’ safe room door in case we need to grab them quickly.

  Kneeling on the floor. I sort the clothes and stuff them into bags, then sigh when that chore is done. I look around, my eyes landing on the safe. No, the ‘decoy’ safe, I remind myself. I shake my head. Link really thought of everything when he built this house. He has two safe rooms and two safes, this one for petty criminals intent on breaking in for monetary gain alone.

  Earlier, Link showed me the money he had stored in it. ‘Only’ five thousand dollars, he said. There was also some fake jewelry and a fake watch. “Hopefully, there is enough in this safe to make the bad guys feel like they’ve had a good day. The diamonds are good fakes and the watch has a camera inside that activates if the safe is opened incorrectly. The video feed is recorded through a live stream that several people, my attorney included, will be notified of. Gives us a greater chance of catching a criminal, tracking them. Possibly getting him off the streets.”

  I had just stood there in wonder. “So I should add 007 to my list of names for you?”

  He was so adorable when he’d wiggled his eyebrows and said. “Bond. Fabio Bond.”

  I look back down at the bags and see his Mary Poppins bag. Curiosity starts scratching at my brain. I unzip it and peek inside. Several wallets, a change of clothes, two of the burner phones, a bunch of other things and his pistol. I reach in to touch it…

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I scream and jump back, hitting my head on a shelf. Fate growls and offers a half-bark. I scream again when the floor lifts in front of me. I scream when Link pops up and yells, “Boo!”

  I throw a sock at him and he swats it away. “Aims getting better,” he says, still laughing as he pulls himself up through the floor, rumpling the very relieved dog on her head.

  “Don’t do that!” I yell at him. “You about made me pee myself.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and the corner of that damn mouth lifts into the grin that makes me want to bite his cheeks off. “I can help with that.” Then he lifts two fingers, giving me a come-hither gesture. He wiggles his eyebrows again.

  I blow out a breath. “It’s not fair, you know. That face of yours. Nobody can stay mad at that face.”

  He grins bigger and crawls over to me. “So … why were you sniffing my underwear?”

  I gape at him. I have no idea what to say. “Uh … I … how …”

  He leans forward and kisses me. “Cameras. I was downstairs checking the systems and caught you with your nose in my briefs. Then I caught you prowling through my ‘go’ bag. Thought I better stop you before you shot your foot off.”

  I huff. “I know how to handle a gun, you know. Grew up in Tennessee if you’ll remember. A brother. Grandfather who hunts and fishes.”

  He raises a brow. “That’s good to know.” He reaches inside his bag and pulls out the gun. “This is a Glock, but not the one you’ll be using.”

  Me?

  He seems to read my expression. “Yes, you.” He pulls over a metal case and opens it. Another gun appears.

  “Here’s a Glock 19. Standard. Easy to use.” He pops out the magazine. “This holds fifteen rounds. Total of three magazines are with it.” He points to the case to show me, then holds out the magazine in his palm. “On the back are numbers. Those numbers always face the back on any Glock. If it’s too dark to see, there’s a notch here that you can feel and always faces the front. Insert the magazine and push until you hear the click.”

  I swallow when he hands the gun to me. “I know it will be harder with your gimpy arm, but I need you to practice ejecting and inserting the magazine.” He watches me do it a few times, then makes me do it with my eyes closed. “Good job,” he says after a while. “Important safety announcement,” he says and grins at me. “Always
make sure it isn’t chambered before you do something like stick it in a bag.” He pulls the top of the gun back. “If it had a bullet in the chamber, it would have ejected when I racked the slide. To be extra safe, look inside.” He holds it up and shows me all the way through the grip. “Now, it’s safe to store.”

  He picks up a magazine again and hands me the gun. “I want you to load and chamber it now. We’re going to leave it sitting in its case inside the closet door fully loaded when we’re finished. Understand?” He looks at me, all seriousness on his face. “If you have to pick it up, it will be ready to shoot. And you will shoot if you have to.”

  I nod, swallow and offer him a fist.

  He bumps it. “Good girl.” He takes me through the process several more times, then completely empties the gun. No bullet in the chamber and no magazine in the grip. “Okay. Let’s both get in bed and practice what you’ll do if danger shows up.”

  The hair stands up on my arms. He’s serious.

  I point at him, gesture to his sweaty clothes and hold my nose, hoping for a delay. “Don’t you want to shower first?”

  He looks at me, his face as blank as a mask. He blinks, slow and long. “You’re seriously going to complain about my smell, stinky?”

  I scowl at him, huff and stand up, marching out of the closet. His laughter follows me all the way to the bed. “Bite him, Fate,” I yell.

  He comes out behind me, the empty gun in one hand, Fate in the other. I scowl at the little traitor before he sits her on the floor. “Before we practice, show me how you’ll hold the gun with your left hand.”

  He slaps it in my palm and I hold it out, peering down the sites. It’s awkward. The times I’ve held a gun, it was with my good hand. This is very different.

  “Okay, good enough. Now, with the people we’re facing, you cannot hesitate. If someone comes at you, you have to shoot. And keep shooting until that person is down. Do you understand?”