Before she turns to leave, she reaches a hand out and touches the back of mine briefly.
“Stay safe,” she murmurs.
“You too.”
Then she’s gone.
The blaring of the ship’s horns—two long blows—is the indication to the crew that danger is approaching, and they are to get below deck. There’s a scrambling around of the few night-shift members, but it doesn’t take a lot to run a small tanker like this. There are only twelve crew members, and they’ll all be below to minimize injuries. The exception is the captain and navigator, who will stay in the control room with Benji. If pirates were somehow to make it past us, there’s a fifth Browning in there set up on a tripod aimed at the door. No one is getting in without Benji’s say-so.
I see the light of the speeding boat just before Benji announces, “Two thousand yards out. Merrit and Kara… at your will.”
The approaching boat is closer to the stern, which is Merrit’s gun. It’s coming at a high rate of speed with no signs of slowing, so it’s clear their intentions are nefarious. As such, Merrit doesn’t wait. He lets loose, the booming noise of the machine gun drowning out everything. Tracers light up the bullets’ trajectories, helping Merrit to keep his aim just short of the approaching boat. At the same time, Kara lets loose a volley of bullets, spraying the water from bow to midship, letting the approaching pirates know we’re heavily armed.
I stand braced, my own M27 trained on the boat. I want to look to my right, lay my eyes just briefly on Rachel to know exactly where she’s positioned, but I can’t.
The ear-splitting bursts of rounds lasts no more than ten seconds in totality, but it’s enough that the approaching speedboat now five hundred yards out swings hard to the right, throwing a wave of seafoam outward at the abrupt maneuver. For a moment, I think the boat might tip over. It’s close enough to the lighting of the tanker that I can make out perhaps ten men on board, some with rifles. They grab hard onto railings so as not to pitch over the side, and while I can’t quite make out the detail, I suspect their faces are masks of fury and frustration they won’t be sacking this vessel.
Within moments, the boat is out of sight and soon out of earshot. Benji will be watching it carefully on radar, but I seriously doubt they’ll be coming back. If they had weaponry to rival ours, we’d have seen it. Besides, they have to know we have radar capabilities by how quick we were to defend our space.
Yeah… pretty sure these pirates are just shit of out luck when it comes to this tanker. I expect the added benefit to tonight’s attempted raid is that word will pass that this shipping company has put the money into security and won’t be trifled with. The pirates will move on to a weaker prey, but I’m betting more and more companies will be hiring companies like Jameson to escort them through dangerous waters.
“Hold positions,” Benji instructs over the comms, but that was unnecessary chatter. It’s protocol to do so after an aborted attack, just in case they make a quick turnaround for a foolish second run.
To my surprise, Rachel slings her rifle over her shoulder and comes walking my way. She’s technically not on duty. Had Benji needed her, Cage, and Sal, he would have called them up.
I hold my place against the railing at midship although I harness my rifle as well.
“That was exciting,” Rachel says drolly when she reaches me. She leans her hip against the rail, resting her arm on the top. The swishing sound of sea spray as the tanker cuts through the water is almost relaxing in a way, particularly now the adrenaline has waned.
“For Merrit and Kara at least,” I reply. “They got to fire the big guns.”
She doesn’t respond, but looks out over the black water. I turn my head that way as well.
“I don’t think we should go on ops together,” I tell her carefully.
Rachel shrugs. “It’s not like I have many more to go on. I’m sure Kynan will cut me out after the first trimester is up. He won’t have any problem assigning us to different teams.”
“Just the really dangerous stuff,” I clarify. Because fuck if I can concentrate on what I’m doing if I’m worried about her. I hated admitting that to her, but she sort of forced it from me.
“I understand,” she replies quietly, still looking out over the water. “But concert security isn’t so dangerous, right?”
Chuckling, I turn to look at her. The breeze is whipping the shorter locks of her hair that have fallen out of her little ponytail. “No, I wouldn’t worry about you quite the same providing concert security versus going up against pirates.”
“I’m sorry you worry about me,” Rachel says, taking a step in closer to me. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
I don’t even need special skills at reading between the lines here, because her meaning is blatantly clear.
What I’m sure she really means is, I’m sorry you worry about me because I just don’t really feel the same about you.
While Rachel has warmed up to me tremendously over the last three weeks, I still know that this will never be anything more than what it is right now. We’re sharing an experience—childbirth—and because we’re wildly attracted to each other, we’re using the baby as an excuse to continue fucking each other. I know damn well had Rachel not gotten pregnant, we would have never hooked up again. We barely spoke to each other unless it was work related in those weeks in between the first time we were together and when she found out she was pregnant.
I don’t respond to her last statement. No need to. I’m not going to stop worrying, and she’s not going to stop wanting me not to worry. Instead, I nod back toward the door that leads below deck. “You should go get some sleep. Your shift will be here before you know it.”
As if the mere suggestion of sleep hits her body in a physical way, she gives a long yawn followed by a sheepish grin. “Yeah… I could use a little more sleep. Call me if the pirates come back.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You know that I will not do. I hope you sleep through any potential attack that may come.”
Rachel then does something so uncharacteristic I almost doubt I’m seeing it. She wrinkles up her nose and sticks her tongue out at me like a petulant five-year-old. It’s fucking adorable, but before I can even laugh, she’s spins around and heads for the door.
I take a few moments to admire her ass as she walks away from me. It’s a great ass… round and toned. I wonder how her body is going to be changing over the next few weeks. It won’t be long before that flat tummy gets a little bump going, and the thought of it turns me on.
What a fucking perv I’ve turned into, but I can’t be too abashed. Everything about Rachel Hart turns me on, and it did long before I ever fucked her. I’ve always had the hots for her like every other dude at Jameson. I’m just the lucky bastard who is currently fucking her, and fucking her exclusively.
It will totally suck when it’s over.
And it would be over. There is simply no way I can make it work—being a single father and leading this type of career. In fact, as soon as we make it past the twelve-week mark, I plan to tell my parents about what’s going on. They’ll need to get ready for their oldest son to move back home. The farmhouse is big and sprawling, but even I know it’s going to be a tight fit with the baby and me in there along with everyone else.
We’ll make it work, though. The Wrights always have. And I know there’s no way in hell my mom will have it any other way. She’s not going to let me or her grandbaby out of her sight for a while, but I’m sure I’ll get my own place one day. Maybe build something small on my parents’ land.
It would be hard readjusting to farm life. I’m not averse to the hard work at all, but I am opposed to a mundane life, and that is what will await me in the Nebraska cornfields.
Oh, well. It’s a sacrifice that will be totally worth it once that baby comes.
That I know without a doubt.
CHAPTER 14
Rachel
I strut through the Social Room of the Wicked Horse, having jus
t stepped out of the lobby elevator. I’m wearing my sexiest dress—a low-cut number in silvery ice blue that compliments my eyes. It barely covers my ass, and any slight bending forward will reveal I’m not wearing panties.
Normally when I come off a high-speed, dangerous op, I’m totally amped to work out the excess energy at The Wicked Horse.
Add in the fact that I’m having the best sex of my life with Bodie, and I’ve got raging hormones coursing through me, I can barely contain myself right now. I need Bodie, and I need him bad. There’s a little bit of shame in the fact that he knew it, too, because as we were landing at McCarran in a private jet yesterday, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Tomorrow night. You and I are going to tear up the club.”
Bodie texted me a bit ago, and said he was coming out a little earlier than we had planned. He wanted to play some poker with the other team members in The Apartment for a bit.
As I walk past the long bar that takes up one wall of the room, I notice Jerico standing at the end. I hardly ever see him here anymore and never without Trista. He waves a hand at me and nods down at the drink he’s got sitting before him, a silent invitation to come join him. I’d rather get to Bodie, but there’s something to be said for building up the anticipation.
By the time I make it to Jerico, he has a ginger ale over ice waiting for me. I would have preferred water since I’m not nauseous, but the sentiment is nice, so I don’t say anything.
“All caught up on your sleep and the time difference?” he asks. It’s a standard question after traveling halfway around the world but over the years, I’ve trained myself to sleep on the flights to help with my bounce back.
“I’m good to go,” I tell him as I take a sip of the ginger ale, leaning my forearm on the bar.
“Sounds like you guys had a bit of excitement out there,” he says conversationally. I’m sure Kynan told him all about what happened with the pirates coming at us and turning tail when we fired warning shots their way from the Browning. There’s a slight twinkle in Jerico’s eye, and I know he misses this life on occasion.
“Where’s Trista?” I ask as I look around.
Jerico picks up his whiskey from the bar, takes a sip, and replies, “On her way here. Where’s Bodie?”
I grin. Clearly Kynan’s been filling him in on more than just how the operation went. “Kynan’s been blabbing, huh?”
“I admit I heard about the infamous pregnancy announcement you made at Kynan’s party a couple of weeks ago and how you also kissed him after. But even if I hadn’t known that, I would have figured it out during the competition you had with Sal. Bodie paced all around with worry during each contest. It was written all over his face.”
“Ironic he’s in The Apartment right now playing poker,” I say with a small smile, swishing my ginger ale around in my glass. I take another small sip. “He sort of wears his heart on his sleeve.”
“Sounds like that bothers you,” Jerico observes thoughtfully.
I’ve known Jerico a long time. Over ten years since I came to work at Jameson, the company he founded. We’re friends, but not overly tight. Still, he’s perceptive and doesn’t have any stake in Jameson anymore. He could be a sounding board for me, because I’m finding myself having mixed feelings on practically everything.
“When the pirates were approaching, Bodie didn’t want me up there. Said he would worry about me too much, and it would make him ineffective,” I tell Jerico.
Jerico shrugs. “So?”
“So, I’m pregnant with his baby, currently fucking him exclusively, and he’s developing feelings for me. This spells disaster.”
“Have you two agreed this was just casual?” he asks with concern on his face.
“We have,” I say with a nod. “But can it really be casual when there’s a baby involved?”
Jerico takes another sip of his drink. When he sets it down, he leans in toward me. “Okay, no bullshitting me, Rachel… everyone knows you’re pregnant and it’s Bodie’s, but I haven’t heard what the game plan is. Are y’all going to raise the baby together?”
Clearly, Kynan has kept some things secret.
I give a shake of my head, and the fact I can’t look at him when I do that seems to suggest to me that I must have some shame in my decision.
“So, what are you two going to do?” he asks curiously. There’s no condemnation in his tone, so I look back to him.
“I um… I’m just not ready to be a mom at this stage in my life,” I tell him softly. “Bodie though… he wants the baby. I agreed to carry it for him, and well… I think he’s going to go back home to Nebraska, so his parents can help. Clearly, he couldn’t stay here and do this type of work as a single dad.”
“It would be tough,” Jerico concurs, his gaze traveling slowly down my front to land on my belly. I lower my face so I can see what has his attention, and I’m stunned to see my hand resting on my stomach, rubbing in gentle, wide circles.
A loving caress right over where my abdomen will soon start extending. I’m already feeling like my pants are a bit tight on me, so I kind of expect any day now to wake up with a baby bump.
My hand falls away. I’m startled by the realization I was doing that subconsciously. I look up to Jerico guiltily, and I see it written all over his face.
Your brain might be saying you’re not ready to be a mom, but your heart may have some different ideas.
Fuck.
Just fuck.
No.
Fuck, I can’t even think like that.
I set the ginger ale I’d been holding with my other hand down and give him a tight smile. “Well, I better go find Bodie. I’m sure he’s wondering where I am.”
“Of course,” Jerico says with a gallant nod of his head. “Enjoy yourself tonight.”
“Oh, I intend to,” I reply a little too rambunctiously, and Jerico snorts.
I turn away from him, tingles already settling in between my legs at the prospect of being with Bodie soon. I stop, though, when Jerico calls out my name.
Looking over my shoulder at him, I raise an eyebrow.
“If you want to talk it through and need an impartial sounding board, I’ve got your back. No judgments here.”
This time, my smile is generous and grateful. “Thanks, Jerico. That means a lot.”
Because one of the things that has been giving me trouble lately is how others are going to view me when it comes to light that I’m giving the baby to Bodie. I’m going to be vilified, I know. How could a woman—a mother—give her child up when she’s perfectly capable of raising it herself?
At least, that’s the question I keep asking myself several times a day. How can I do this?
How will I be able to live with myself after? Will the regrets destroy me? Will my actions destroy my child?
My head swims with the damage that could be done by one decision I’ve made.
I give a mental shake, forcing those thoughts away. They have no place in The Wicked Horse. This club is about forgetting reality for a bit and immersing in fantasy.
That is what I’m going to do with the one man who is rocking my world so hard I’m not sure I even recognize it anymore.
I get my swagger back, strutting from The Social Room to the hub just outside the doors. From there, I can take a number of hallways leading to the different-themed rooms, but I choose the one that goes back to The Apartment.
The private club within a private club and where currently several members of the Jameson Group are all hanging out.
Bodie’s eyes come to me the minute I walk through the door, the bouncer standing there giving me a nod of recognition when I pass by his bulky form. My eyes stay on Bodie while I wind my way through some of the patrons standing around chatting. I sidestep a couple wildly kissing while the woman jacks the man off without a care in the world.
That’s what I want tonight.
Not a care in the world except for Bodie and feeling amazing pleasure at each other’s hands.
As
I get closer, I go ahead and spare a glance at the other players. I bristle just slightly when I see Sal sitting there. Our relationship has been somewhat strained since I beat him at the hot-dog-eating contest, although I suspect it has something more to do with some underlying misogyny on his part. I also see Cage, Kara, and Merrit sitting there. The only one missing is Benji, but he doesn’t hang out here too much.
The poker table seats eight, and it’s filled. I don’t recognize the other three men who are playing, although one of them is making fuck-me eyes at Kara as she sits opposite him. She’s definitely getting laid tonight.
So am I for that matter.
Kara looks up to see me approaching from where she sits next to Bodie. Her face lights up, and she says, “About damn time you got here.”
I move around the table and come to stand beside Bodie’s chair. He pushes it back slightly and his arm comes around the back of my legs, pulling me in a little closer so I’m leaning on the side of his seat. I can see his poker hand, and it sucks. I watch as the betting goes around the table.
I’m not really paying attention, though. I’m having a tough time with it when Bodie’s hand spreads wide on my outer thigh, and he strokes lightly up and down. I rest my hand on his shoulder, leaning into him a bit further.
His hand moves to the back of my thigh before slipping in between. I go still as his hand moves higher. Bodie sucks in his breath slightly when he realizes I’m not wearing panties, and I get dizzy when his fingers prod at my slick entrance.
Lightly grazing his fingers through my swollen lips, he studies his cards and jokes with the other players as the betting goes higher with each person. How in the hell he can carry on conversation is beyond me, because I can barely even think straight.
I lean into him a little more, scooting my leg out to give him more access.
He doesn’t take it, though, making me crazy by the lazy movements of his fingers giving me no penetration or touch to my clit where I really need it.
Wicked Choice (The Wicked Horse Vegas #4) Page 11
