Retribution (The Protectors, Book 3)

by Sloane Kennedy

  Michael.

  The name I’d never allowed anyone but my wife to call me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tate

  I waited a very long twenty minutes before I forced myself out of bed and padded over to the bathroom door. I felt childish with my ear up to the door trying to hear something…anything. I’d heard Hawke leave his bed, but hadn’t opened my eyes until I’d heard the bathroom door close. It wasn’t necessarily because I didn’t want to confront Hawke…no, it was more like I needed time to build up the suit of armor I would need to face him.

  Because I had no doubt that despite our moving encounter the night before, Hawke had nothing but regrets. He hadn’t said that of course, and he hadn’t done anything overtly obvious, but I’d felt it in every touch, every move after he’d eased himself off of me. The guilt in his eyes had been a living, breathing thing and I’d known it had nothing to do with what we’d done.

  Michael.

  I’d loved saying it. I’d loved seeing the pleasure flood his eyes every time I had. I’d loved knowing I had a piece of him that I knew in my gut not everyone did.

  But I hated that it was that part of the night before that he would have changed if he could. And I hated that I was being measured against a dead woman who’d clearly deserved to be put on any pedestal her husband chose to put her on.

  After the epic climax, I hadn’t been able to move and I hadn’t really wanted to despite the cooling cum all over my chest and abdomen. But the second Hawke had drawn me to my feet and sealed his mouth over mine, my body had started to come alive again. We’d ended up taking another shower together, but unlike the night before, Hawke’s touch had been quick and efficient and while his movements had still turned me on, I’d felt all the warmth from my lingering orgasm fade and be replaced by a bitter cold that had been a thousand times worse than any I’d ever experienced before.

  Because I was losing Hawke…again. Even though I’d never really had him.

  After the shower, we’d dried ourselves off and I hadn’t gotten a chance to taste Hawke again because he’d turned his back on me and crawled into his own bed, leaving me to the cool, empty sheets of mine. I’d managed to fall asleep at some point, but my brain had seemed to be even more hyper aware of Hawke than it had been before because I’d woken up every time he’d shifted in his bed. I’d given up trying to fall back asleep a couple of hours earlier and I’d spent the time trying to listen to the sound of Hawke’s breathing to see if he’d found the peace of sleep.

  Once he’d disappeared into the bathroom, I’d waited for the shower to come on. It hadn’t. And then my disappointment had started to shift to concern.

  Thus the standing in front of the door with my ear pressed up against it like a little kid. There was no sound of running water or a flushing toilet and I debated whether or not I shouldn’t just seek the safety of my own bed. After all, did I really want to hear Hawke tell me last night was a mistake? Did I want to accept that the promise he’d made to me was one more in a long line of broken ones?

  I didn’t.

  But I lifted my hand and knocked anyway. Because I couldn’t keep guessing if Hawke’s interest in me was based on needing to slake some physical need or if maybe there was something more there.

  I care.

  Hawke’s whispered declaration sparked through me so when there was no answer, I knocked again and waited and then turned the knob.

  He was standing in front of the vanity, his hands braced on the counter. He didn’t seem surprised to see me and he didn’t seem angry either. His eyes met mine in the reflection of the mirror and held me for a long time before he looked at his own reflection again.

  I could see the remnants of shaving cream dripping off the parts of his face that weren’t scarred, but it didn’t look like he’d actually shaved. I moved farther into the bathroom and soaked in everything I could about him. He was wearing his athletic pants but no shirt. His right side was facing me and I could finally see that the burn scars went from his face and neck all the way down to his waist. In the reflection of the mirror I could see his tattoo on his other side and I sucked in a breath when I realized what I was seeing. What I’d thought were just strange words were actually words that were written in reverse so that they only made sense when viewed in a mirror.

  I hadn’t even realized I’d been staring until Hawke’s arm shifted, blocking my view. But he was only reaching up to swipe away at some of the foam that had started to streak down his face as it began to break down.

  “They’re just for me,” he murmured as his eyes once again met mine in the mirror.

  I knew he was talking about the words that started on his chest just above his left nipple and went all the way down his side because he’d dropped his gaze to study them as he’d spoken.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, humiliation burning in my gut as I turned away. But then I felt his hand close around my wrist. Hawke didn’t say anything as he pulled me closer to him. He didn’t kiss me or hold me, he merely maneuvered me so that I was standing next to his right side.

  “Revay used to write songs.”

  I swallowed hard in the hopes that I could find my own voice. “She was a singer?”

  Hawke nodded. “She liked to sing, but her dream was to be a lyricist. She wanted to hear other people singing what she wrote.”

  “Was she successful?”

  “She sold some songs, but mostly to local bands. To really pursue it, she would have had to move to some place like L.A.”

  “Why didn’t she?” I asked, wishing like hell I could wrap my arms around Hawke because I could tell every word was costing him.

  “She knew it would mean spending more time apart. I was Special Forces so I was deployed a lot on missions and sometimes I was only home for days at a time. I needed to be near wherever I was stationed so it wouldn’t have been easy for me to fly to some place like L.A. or New York.”

  “She chose to be with you instead,” I said in understanding.

  Hawke nodded. “She gave up her dream so I could live mine.” Hawke dropped his eyes to study the few puffs of foam that lingered in the sink. “I put in my papers just before my last mission. I was going to encourage her to pursue her dream and I’d be the one to follow her wherever she needed to go to make it happen.”

  “But she found out she was pregnant,” I ventured.

  Hawke lifted his eyes to meet mine in surprise.

  “I overheard you and Ronan talking that day in the gym,” I admitted.

  Hawke studied me for a moment, but didn’t comment on my revelation. “We’d been trying for a few years and had finally decided to go see a specialist when we got the news. We were floored,” Hawke said with an uneven chuckle. “Revay had inherited the house in Wyoming from her parents after they died in a car accident so we decided to build a new life there.”

  “Is that where you guys were from?”

  “Yeah. Revay grew up in that house. My uncle’s property bordered her parents’ ranch.”

  The more Hawke revealed, the more questions I had, but I held my tongue in the hopes that he would continue.

  “We were living near the base I was stationed at in Texas. The night she was attacked was the night I got home from my last mission. The guys in my team wanted to take me out for a celebratory drink so I was late getting home. In the hour that I was drinking shots and celebrating impending fatherhood, Revay was being raped. By the time I got home, the house was already on fire.”

  My gut clenched as the ugly reminder of the true nature of the connection I shared with Hawke raised its ugly head.

  “I found her on the floor of our bedroom. She was naked and bleeding and the area rug she’d been lying on was on fire and had started to burn her. I was only able to get her as far as the front door before I was overcome with smoke.”

  My eyes shifted to the burn scars on Hawke’s side. I couldn’t stop myself from running my hand over the damaged skin. Hawke trembled beneath my seeking
fingers, but he didn’t move away from me or ask me to stop.

  “Luckily the firefighters showed up right after that and got us both out. Ronan was working in the ER when we arrived. He saved Revay’s life. She woke up long enough to tell me that it had been two men who’d assaulted her and that one of them had referred to the other as ‘Pops’ and then she told me she loved me. They had to intubate her right after that.”

  I stilled in my exploration of Hawk’s scars and closed my eyes. So that was how he’d figured out that it was a father/son duo that had hurt his wife.

  “I’m so sorry, Hawke,” I whispered as I shook my head.

  Hawke’s touch on my chin as he lifted it was brief, but it was enough to see that he held no censure in his gaze. His eyes fell to the tattoo.

  “The firemen were able to save part of the house. I found her notebook where she used to jot things down that she was working on in the kitchen, along with the ultrasound she’d had that day – the one that showed we were having a boy.”

  I let my hand rest on his side for another moment before I slowly worked my way around his back, trailing my fingers over the ripped muscles. When I reached his other side, my eyes fell on the reflection of the tattoo.

  “Can I read it?” I asked.

  Hawke watched me for a long moment in the mirror, his eyes dark with some unnamed emotion. And then he nodded.

  I dropped my eyes to the tattoo and began reciting the words in my head when Hawke whispered, “Would you read it out loud?”

  Emotion threatened to choke me, but I managed to swallow it down and began to read.

  “I know I need to keep living

  while I wait for you to come home

  But I don't know how to tell my heart to stop hurting

  since you're the reason it keeps beating on

  My days are empty, my eyes full of tears

  but the sound of your voice

  and the promise of your smile

  make it all disappear

  You're the other half of my soul

  the light that shows me the way

  You're my yesterday and my tomorrow

  The Angel that keeps me safe.”

  I could feel my own tears threatening to fall as I let my fingers dance over the beautiful words. I risked a glance up at Hawk and saw that he was barely holding it together.

  “One fucking hour,” he whispered in a guttural tone. Tears shimmered in his eyes and he angrily dashed them away. I lifted my hand to cup his cheek and forced my body between his and the counter. I drew him down until his head was resting against my neck.

  “I’m so sorry,” I managed to get out just before Hawke’s arms went around me in a bone-crushing hold.

  I felt warm moisture against my skin and knew what it meant. I kept my own emotions in check as I held on to Hawke as tight as I could. When he finally released his grip on me and leaned back, he quietly said, “Tate” as he shook his head dejectedly.

  “You don’t have to, Hawke,” I interrupted. “Last night…tonight, whatever happens, you don’t owe me any explanations. I’ll take any piece of you I can get,” I said. I searched out the shaving cream and put some in my hand. I pressed my lips against his in the briefest of kisses and whispered, “Just let me take care of you for a few minutes, okay?”

  Hawke stared at me for the longest time and then nodded the tiniest bit. But as I began to spread the shaving cream over his face, I heard a small sigh leave his lips and there was the slightest release of tension in his big body.

  And as I reached for his razor, I realized it was enough.

  It would have to be.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hawke

  “Are you sure, Mr. Duncan?” Tate asked the frail old man who just kept shaking his head. Frustration coursed through me and I felt the urge to throw something. I took a step back on the small, rickety porch and braced my hands behind me on the porch railing so I wouldn’t be tempted to do just that with one of the half dozen dying potted plants all around us.

  “Ain’t seen Buck or Denny for almost two years now,” Mr. Duncan announced. “Rumor has it they died in that explosion.”

  Tate glanced over his shoulder at me and I did my best to school my reaction. We’d been interviewing people for several hours now and I knew the walk down memory lane wasn’t good for Tate, especially considering how many people had looked at him with open distaste. I had no doubt that despite Tate’s inherent goodness, he hadn’t been able to escape the negative association forced upon him simply because he carried the Buckley name. Mr. Duncan, who it turned out had once been Tate’s math teacher, had been the only one who hadn’t spoken to Tate through the door. And so far he was the only one who’d had more than a few words to say about what may or may not have happened to Buck and Denny.

  “Do you mean the explosion at the meth lab near the Weathersby farm?” Tate asked as he turned his attention back to the old man who was rocking back and forth in a decrepit rocking chair.

  “Yup…they had the State Police down here for that one. Found a couple bodies too,” Mr. Duncan said with a nod of his head as he reached for his glass of lemonade. “Course there wasn’t much left to identify.”

  I ground my teeth together and turned around so that I was facing the street instead of the two men since I didn’t want Mr. Duncan or Tate to see my building anger. In all the years I’d been searching for Buck and Denny, I’d never even considered the possibility that they were dead. My one goal had always been to see the two men dead and buried, but now that I faced the prospect that they already were, it felt hollow. I hadn’t realized how much the prospect of hurting the two men, of making sure they suffered, had meant to me. Before it had just been a bonus, but now that I might not get it, I felt cheated.

  Fuck, what kind of man did that make me?

  Certainly not the kind of man who deserved to be with someone like Tate. Or Matty.

  Jesus, I needed to get a fucking grip. I didn’t want Tate or his kid. I wanted Revay. I wanted our son. Tate was just…a distraction. A warm, sweet, kind, gorgeous distraction.

  It was my own voice that called me a liar this time around. I hadn’t heard Revay’s whisper in my ear in a while…not since I’d actually buried myself deep inside of Tate’s body two nights ago. And worse, the only voice I now heard when I remembered the words scrawled across my body, my wife’s final ode to what we’d had, was Tate’s.

  “You ready to go?”

  I flinched when Tate’s arm brushed mine as he leaned against the railing next to me. I hoped to God he hadn’t noticed my reaction, but when he put several inches between us, I knew that he had. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Mr. Duncan had gone inside at some point.

  “Nothing?” I asked, since I’d ended up tuning out the end of their conversation.

  Tate just shook his head.

  Despite the intimacy we’d shared this morning in the motel’s bathroom, we hadn’t spoken much since then and I’d been incredibly careful not to touch Tate. Because he’d already seen me at my lowest. And touching him the way I wanted to just wasn’t an option – because I couldn’t give him more of what I’d only given to Revay. I would give him pleasure with my body and I’d take the same from him, but I couldn’t give him what I knew he wanted…what I saw in his eyes every time he looked at me. What I’d felt in his embrace this morning as his skin had soaked up the few tears I hadn’t been able to keep from falling.

  “We could try talking to the sheriff about the explosion, but I’m not sure he’d tell us anything.”

  “Why not?” I asked as I followed Tate down the steps and towards my truck.

  “He always looked the other way when it came to Buck and Denny. Pay was better, I guess.”

  “Buck paid him off?”

  Tate nodded.

  “How do you know?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tate said as he reached for the truck’s door handle. Despite my promise to myself not to touch him, I did just that and gen
tly turned him to face me before he could open the door.

  “It matters to me,” I said as I backed Tate up until his back hit the door. He didn’t struggle in any way and, in fact, he looked almost relieved.

  “I asked him for help once.”

  “The sheriff?”

  Tate nodded. “Buck made me run drugs for him when I was younger. I thought if I had the proof in my hands, the sheriff could arrest Buck.”

  “What happened?” I asked, though I pretty much knew the answer.

  “He put me in his squad car along with the drugs, drove me back to my house and told Buck what I’d done. Buck handed him some cash, told him to keep the drugs as a bonus and then beat me so bad I blacked out right there in the driveway. I have no idea how long I was laying there for, but Denny dumped some water on me, pointed a gun at my head and told me he’d managed to talk Buck out of killing me. But if I ever opened my mouth again, Denny said he’d shoot me himself.”

  “Tate-”

  “We should go, Hawke. There’s one other person I want to talk to.”

  Tate’s body had gone stiff as he’d spoken and as tempted as I was to try to coax some of the easiness back into it, I knew it wasn’t the time or place so I nodded and stepped back. I walked around the truck and got in and tried not to feel disappointed that Tate refused to look at me. It was, after all, what I wanted…distance, time to think.

  It only took a few minutes to get to our destination and I knew instantly who we were going to see when Tate told me to pull into the bank’s parking lot. His piece of shit ex had worked in a bank and had been the one who’d told Buck where Tate was two years earlier.

  “Your ex?” I growled.

  “Reggie,” Tate responded as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Although I suppose calling him my ex is generous. He was more of a fuck buddy and not a very good one at that.”