W

by Anne Leigh

  He was a man who held his position with the highest regard and I’d met him two times.

  The first time was when he was introduced to us during a private meeting with our team to brief us on how the newest chemical weapon designed by the Syrians, and was being tested in Panama, worked. I remembered him to be the most unassuming man. He was brilliant but he wasn’t arrogant. He’d explained it to all of us – how to neutralize the agent – without making us look stupid. He’d mentioned a lot of scientific terms, but he also simplified it so that as soldiers we understood exactly what we were dealing with. My team was comprised of men with high IQs combined with physical and mental toughness; however, scientific jargon could still make our heads roll and our eyes glaze over in boredom. When we came out of the meeting, Drake and I both looked at each other and found a newfound respect for a guy who could undoubtedly concoct ricin in the blink of an eye and create a nuclear device in his own lab, but was humble enough to admit that the antidote he’d developed may not be a 100 percent effective and he needed the SEALs skills and judgment to ensure that it did.

  The second time I’d met him was on a hot summer day in Colombia. It was a day I’d never forget.

  It was the day I’d made a vow to him.

  Placing him above my code to my teammates.

  Promising him an oath stronger than the trident I wore for my country.

  I never expected him to collect, yet desperate times called for desperate measures.

  So here I was, standing in the balmy Southern California air with his one and only daughter who was giving off waves of anxiety and fear, mixed with the cold chill in the air that made her rub her open left hand over her right arm.

  Athena hesitantly walked towards my bike, a custom-made MV Augusta F4 that I’d previously stored at my mom’s property in San Diego. Her steps slowed when she was only three steps from reaching me and she’d asked, “Can we talk?”

  I nodded. Here was not the place to talk. There were eyes roaming around us, ears picking up on our conversation. I would not be surprised if the amateur clowns had scanners to hear what Athena and I were talking about. Anyone could pick those gadgets up anywhere nowadays – on the internet, from a friend who knew a friend, just about everywhere.

  She’d looked really concerned about Denton. The guy was going to be okay. He’d most likely be waking up with leaves in his mouth and dirt in his eyes; but other than a bruised ego, he’d be fine. I had no intentions of coming between them. As long as she wasn’t in the line of fire, she was free to do whatever she wanted. The line of fire was delineated and set in stone tonight when I’d confirmed she was being watched. By who? I hadn’t any idea yet and I would find out. Her love affair with Mr. Basketball Star would have to wait until she was out of firing range.

  Her body shook with another visible shiver. She wasn’t used to the light cool temperature which was equivalent to a nice summer night for me. It would take a half hour to reach my place in Laurel Canyon. I’d been renting a one-bedroom apartment close to USC so I could be close to her for surveillance, but knowing we were being watched, the best thing to do was to lose the rookies and ensure that she would be safe for the night. I wasn’t taking any chances with her safety. She was under my protection and she’d remain alive because of it.

  I took my shirt off and handed it to her. She needed it more than me, especially since we’d be navigating the steep canyons in about twenty minutes. The higher altitude in the hidden canyon hills gave way to cooler breezes which would make her freeze. She’d just have to suffer pressing on my back for the whole ride. It may be an unpleasant experience for her since my back may not be smoothest surface; it was filled with tokens of hard won fights during my SEAL training days, carved-out, broken skin from numerous missions, and thickened by the extreme weather conditions that I’d been constantly exposed to.

  She let out a sigh as she put on her helmet, sat on the pillion, and when she pressed her upper body, now covered in my shirt, on my back, she let out another heavy-drawn sigh. Obviously she was taking this as a painful punishment.

  Too bad. I could deal with her comfort later. Right now I had to get us out of there while losing the three comedians who I was ninety-nine percent sure would be tailing us.

  While she was talking to her friend, I checked the traffic on my phone. The 101 would be the best bet. I could get rid of these clowns on the freeway. The side streets would provide many opportunities for them to track us.

  We settled on the seat, the engine revved, and when I released the somewhat heavy clutch, I knew that this baby was going to get us out of there, according to my plan. I felt Athena’s hands tighten over the front of my chest, her legs clamping tighter against my jeans. I was pretty sure that she’d felt the smooth, thick power of the engine as we entered the freeway.

  Looking over at my right side mirror, I eyed the black SUV following us. Typical. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t clearly see the passengers and even the driver’s side was thick with black tint.

  Traffic was extremely light and while I’d love to play with these fools, I had Athena on the back and if I was to take a wild guess, her teeth were chattering from the sudden burst of cold air the acceleration my bike created when I shifted to the left lane.

  I downshifted and revved to pass three cars, feeling Athena’s shoes lift in the air, then felt them digging into my lower legs. I couldn’t say much right now, not when we were traveling at a speed where I was edging between the legal speed limits and being flagged by the highway patrol – an inconvenience we couldn’t afford. I lifted my right hand off the handle and raised it to her right hand, momentarily giving her reassurance that we were going to be okay. A red Mercedes C250 filled with teenage girls honked to the right of us, with one of them yelling out the window, “Hot biker, yeah!!!”

  This seemed to relax Athena a little bit since her viselike grip loosened.

  The teenage girl yelled something again, but I couldn’t hear because when I revved, the engine produced a loud sonorous sound. I felt Athena’s shoulders shake with laughter. Just a few seconds ago, her body was stiff as a board, now she felt softer, looser, maybe fifty percent more relaxed.

  I gently let off the gas. We’d lost the stalkers-in-training ten minutes ago when I’d maneuvered my bike to the slow lane and got in front of a semi then worked my way swiftly to the fast lane. That last-minute move probably caused Athena’s heart to skip ten beats, so in a way, I’m relieved that she found something funny to laugh about right now.

  I eyed the Hollywood Boulevard exit and changed gears. Now off the freeway, I could feel the heat radiating from the under seat exhaust. This was one of the drawbacks of this superbike, it tended to cook the pilot and the passenger in order to generate that 200 horsepower, with adjustable compression and rebound damping in high and low-speed range.

  If I was feeling the engine start to boil from the under seat exhaust, Athena would undoubtedly be feeling it too. I wouldn’t want her burning her thighs which was exactly what would happen if we strolled at this leisurely pace. Gunning the engine once more, I drove us through the winding, bendy roads, managing the turns with crisp precision, one that I had a lot of practice on since this here, in the hidden hills, in the midst of Hollywood’s elite, was a place I’d called my home. It was my parents’ place, but since mom loved San Diego, she only came here when she needed to drive to L.A. and stay overnight.

  I typed in the security code for the front gate and as soon as the wide metal gates opened, the lights in the foyer turned on. I killed the engine and my left foot touched the ground.

  From my side mirror, I glanced at Athena while she took the helmet off of her head, her long dark hair spilling over her shoulders. I couldn’t see her facial expression because she turned her cheek to soak in the sight of my hideaway. She’d removed her hands from my back, making me feel at a loss for words because now that we were here, I knew I had to start talking.

  I was about to remove my helmet, preparin
g to stand, when lean, soft hands grabbed my shoulders and motioned for me to stay still. I followed her lead and in a few seconds, I felt the softest touch of a fingertip, tracing the middle of my back, following the line of my spine.

  I couldn’t move.

  I didn’t want to move.

  With the touch of a fingertip, she quieted the rioting thoughts in my head of how I was going to tell her that she had to be under my protection for an undue amount of time, until it was safe for her to be alone, until the threat against her father was no longer there.

  And when she replaced her fingertip with her lips, for the first time in years, I wasn’t thinking of ops or missions or my past; I was under the spell of that soft skin touching that spot on my back that was marked with my battle scars.

  She planted a kiss right on top of one of the scars, the layer of skin covering the spinal disk that made me unable to move for more than two months because of the swollen tissue. I could do a minimum of 100 push-ups in two minutes, swim 500 yards in under 9 minutes, run two miles in under 8:30 – and my heart rate would still be under 45. At this moment, I could feel my heart beating erratically, my skin itching in awareness, and my mind trying its best to rationalize the situation.

  Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. Foxtrot.

  What. The. Flying. Fuck.

  There was no way she was getting under my skin.

  Because if she did, I’d be balls to the wall in deep, deep shit.

  I’d lost my breakfast, lunch, and good thing I didn’t eat dinner or I would have regurgitated that too.

  The breakneck speed that Mr. Muscle drove his beast of a bike would be awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping…if I wasn’t on the back of it. He’d woven in and out of the freeway lanes with unflappable precision and impeccable timing. I’d closed my eyes most of the ride. I didn’t want to see what I was meeting before my end of days so I’d let him take charge of me.

  He might have spoken a maximum of twenty words to me, but there was something I felt towards him…something like trust. Trust that he would not bring me harm. Trust that he would take care of me. Trust that he’d keep me alive.

  My arms clasped on to his broad chest like a succubus, afraid to let go for even a second. When he leaned down to maneuver us, I felt his hard, bulging pec muscles. When he straightened to change positions, I snuggled closer to his back, seeking comfort in the naked display of raw maleness and undeniable strength. I even tried to squeeze a bicep and I hoped he thought I was feeling super scared.

  Throughout the ride, because it was definitely not a drive, my thoughts kept trying to piece things together – if my dad sent him, then my dad was in trouble. If Mr. Superman here was assigned to protect me, then my dad was in a hellhole of trouble. I wondered if he’d contacted Mom too. He and Mom have been divorced for ten years, but they were on amicable terms. I was pretty sure he’d let her know if she was in any danger.

  A car filled with young girls had honked at us and yelled, “Hot biker, yeah!” and I agreed with them. Mr. Universe was amazingly ripped, if this was how the top half of his body looked like, I could only imagine what glorious wonders were hidden below his jeans.

  You definitely got your wish tonight, Athena. You reached way more than third base with this guy. Granted, he was oblivious that I was ogling him, but can anyone blame me? This was the first time I’d touched a naked work of art. He was hard…everywhere. The skin on his back wasn’t soft. When my cheek came in contact with his hardened, tough scars, I knew this man’s body had been through hell and back.

  He’d lifted a hand and touched me, as if to let me know that he’d make everything okay. Sometimes words were useless, not needed, and in our present situation, even if he had tried to speak, I wouldn’t be able to hear with the loud sounds stemming from his bike’s engine and the still somewhat heavy traffic on the freeway.

  Finally, after the craziest ride of my life, he’d slowed our speed as we entered through a metal gate. We passed a few tall trees and stopped in front of a one-level house. I’d never been to this part of the city. I hadn’t been in L.A. for long; other than touring the L.A. Live/Nokia Center, hanging out at Rodeo Drive, and doing the usual touristy activities at Universal and Disneyland, I hadn’t really been anywhere. Being in college took up most of my time with group work, assignments, and because I was still trying to blend into the college life.

  I scanned the homey-looking place in front of me. We’d climbed up a hill so I knew we were on a hilltop or a canyon or something like that. It was a ranch-style home, surrounded by shrubs and foliage, the exterior of the house looked well-maintained, with a wrap-around rustic porch that extended from the front to the side of the house.

  He turned off the engine and waited on me to finish my perusal. I took a deep breath and finally exhaled since I’d been holding my breath and my life for the past twenty, thirty minutes. Taking off my helmet, my legs planted on the small metal footrest, I thought of how this man had gone out on a limb for me. He didn’t have to tell me that someone was following us. I just felt it. Maybe it was instinct or just my knack of knowing when something’s not as it should be, but the way he swung in and out of traffic clued me in that he was evading someone.

  He ensured I was safe.

  Protected.

  Valued.

  I didn’t know his name, but the scars on his back and some I felt on his front, close to the middle of his chest…somehow they consoled me, eased me, comforted me – this man would take a bullet for the people he tucked close to his heart.

  Before he could get up, I placed him in a stronghold, pulling his shoulders down, and to my surprise, he succumbed to my quiet request. My left fingertip traced the raised scars that I could see, examining them closely, the light from the front of this house giving me enough visibility. He didn’t move a muscle as I lightly drew on his back and when I felt the biggest scar, almost feeling like a big lump sticking out because of the rigid flesh around it, I couldn’t help myself.

  I touched my lips to the scar and whispered, “Thank you.”

  His back became ramrod straight, and rising slowly from his seat, my hands glided away from him.

  I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to kiss his back, or any part of his body. I just couldn’t stop myself from going for it.

  I’d learned this in life: If something was going to make you think twice – you go for it. Either you’re going to enjoy the outcome or you’re going to regret it. But whatever it was, just go for it. Because you don’t know if you’re ever going to have that chance to do it again.

  He took his helmet off, opened his right palm up to help me get off of the bike, and as soon as he was ascertained that my balance was okay, he let go of my hand.

  He didn’t say anything as he led me inside his house.

  My hands gripped the edges of my borrowed shirt, well, technically a shirt that was forced on me. His steps were long and determined, obviously he had nothing to say about what I had just instigated.

  God Athena, you’re so stupid.

  Why would you dare kiss a guy, without his consent, the first time you met him?

  Met him? I didn’t even know his name.

  I kept my head down as I sat on the black leather sofa that matched with the living room decor. As soon as he indicated with the extension of his left hand that he wanted me to stay in this room, I sat idly on the farthest chair, just below a huge abstract painting.

  Contrary to the outside façade of the house, the inside was pretty much a reflection of the guy who brought me here.

  Stingy with words.

  Minimalist with the decorations.

  Black leather couches, off-white walls, few metallic lamps.

  The marble floor felt cold against my feet since I’d taken off the wedges I’d been dying to remove the whole night and left them by the entrance.

  Lost in silence, I waited for him. He’d nodded when I’d asked if we could talk. Me being here was basically him saying “yes” to the talking part.


  As time dragged on, my eyes started to drift close.

  The soft tinkling sound of glass against glass woke me up.

  “Soda.” His voice clear, his full lips kept moving, but my brain was short circuiting. If this guy’s back was a work of art, his face was a solid masterpiece. His broad jaw was smattered with stubble, his nose firm, a sculptor would have had a hard time perfecting his facial features because he exuded masculinity and rawness with his steely firm gaze. The lamp hit his eyes and I was rewarded with a glimpse of the iciest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

  Two years ago, my dad and I went on a Scandinavian cruise. While I loved everything about the trip, the one thing that stuck to memory was how clear, how blue, how glacial the Norwegian fjords were. The man standing in front of me, now dressed in a light blue shirt and jeans, offering me a soda in his commanding voice, his eyes ---- his eyes brought me back to that place. The color so unexpected, unique, one-of-a-kind.

  He was tanned all over, making his light blue eyes even more contrasting, striking, captivating.

  “Athena.” His stern rough voice breeched my thoughts, “Drink the soda. You need the sugar.”

  Wow.

  His spoken word count was now reaching a record limit.

  I reached for the glass and brought it to my lips, the cold liquid massaging my dry throat.

  Making himself comfortable on the wide reclining chair straight across from where I was sitting, a tight smile graced his face.

  In a rough hard voice that could command an army of men to obey, he declared, “My name is Webb Worthington. You can call me Webb.”

  My body was wired to take the harshest form of punishment, from the freezing water temperatures to the hottest climate on Earth. I could survive hard combat, high pressure mental situations, near-impossible recons.