The Strength of Three

by Annmarie McKenna

  She’d take whatever she could get, for as long as they wanted her, and deal with the aftermath of them leaving her when it happened.

  First she had to get through the next few grueling hours in the presence of her condescending family and friends who didn’t understand how she could move away and never come back.

  She’d seen the faces of the people at the funeral. The raised eyebrows, the lips curled in distaste, the whispering with not even an attempt at being behind her back. Under normal circumstances she would have had a panic attack. She would have let their hatred wash through her to the point she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

  Instead, TJ and Jon had never left her side. Hell, there wasn’t a moment when at least one of them didn’t have a hand on her. They had effectively grounded her and kept the attacks she’d suffered her entire life at bay.

  “I’d like that. Very much.”

  TJ’s nostrils flared with her declaration and his lips melded with hers. When he finally lifted away, he pushed her hair behind an ear. “You don’t know how good that makes us feel. Let’s get this over with and get back on the plane.”

  All talk stopped the second she came through the door. The eerie silence filled the living room of the house she’d grown up in, sending a chill over her body and leaving goose bumps along her bare arms. Every eye in the room was on her. Talk about being the life of the party.

  Except this wasn’t a party. It was her mother’s memorial. Surely they didn’t think she wouldn’t show up? TJ stepped in behind her and ushered her forward with a hand at her back. Jon followed.

  The airplane suddenly looked better and better. Why had she talked herself into this?

  “Come on, baby. Pay your respects and don’t worry about these people.” TJ clasped her fingers through his and tugged her deeper into the room.

  Some kind of ballgame played on the years-old TV, and people she used to call friends huddled on the threadbare sofa, loveseat and chairs, whispering and glaring as if she’d committed a crime. If only they knew the life she’d really lived behind closed doors.

  Hell, they did know, they just hadn’t cared. All those people staring goggle-eyed at her right now were adults she’d trusted. They should have protected her. Instead, they’d turned a blind eye. Maybe they were the biggest reason she’d run the second she’d gotten the chance.

  It takes a village to raise a child…

  Where had her village been?

  “Just let me find my father and brother and then we can leave,” she murmured. It was plain to see there was nothing left for her here. Even the deputy sheriff, Blake Anderson, who stood off in one corner, turned his head when she looked at him. At least he had the decency to look ashamed by the behavior in the room.

  “I think I saw ’em in the kitchen,” someone snarled.

  Chris did her best to ignore the attitude for which she’d done nothing to deserve. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and headed for the booming sound of her sloshed father.

  Some memorial this was for a woman who shouldn’t have had to give her life to the man who beat her every night.

  Jon pushed through the swinging door and they were greeted by the same reaction they’d had in the living room. Dead silence.

  Her father’s lip curled up in distaste when he saw her. He took a long swig of the half-empty beer bottle he held, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, belched and then tossed the bottle in the air, flipping it end over end. He caught it upside down by the neck and threw it in Chris’s direction like he was throwing a hatchet.

  Everything happened at once. She screamed, TJ yanked her toward his chest, covering her head with his hands, and Jon launched himself across the room at Robert Marshall with a primal yell. The glass bottle shattered against the wall and tinkled to the ground.

  Her brother, Carter, stomped across the kitchen, ignoring Jon, who subdued her father with minimal effort against the sink, one arm thrust up and back behind him. Robert howled in pain, screeching for Jon to get the fuck off him.

  The door flew open. Deputy Anderson had one hand on his gun and probably ten looky-loos behind him.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Carter roared at Chris, raising a hand to slap her.

  Chris cowered.

  She didn’t need to. TJ grabbed Carter’s hand before it had the chance to make its sweep and bent it backward, bringing Carter to his knees.

  “You better get some handcuffs out, Deputy, or I can’t guarantee I won’t break this arm.” TJ’s expression was one she’d never seen on him before. Feral might best describe it. Yet his words were calm.

  “She fucking killed her.” Carter’s howl was punctuated by a vicious bend to his arm and a yelp of pain.

  Deputy Anderson took his time retrieving the cuffs at his belt. There was something on his face. Almost a look of…satisfaction? Shock held her immobile.

  “How can you accuse me of this?” She expected the rejection, even hatred or violence from her father—he probably felt the need to turn on someone since his punching bag was gone now, but not accusation, and certainly not from her brother. She hadn’t even been there, for God’s sake. The tears threatened to start up again.

  “Kind of hard to kill someone from a state away,” Jon threw over his shoulder.

  She could see neither of her protectors had broken a sweat yet her brother was practically in tears on the floor.

  “My mother hated her for leaving.” Spittle shot from Carter’s mouth.

  “Shut the fuck up, boy.” Robert attempted to turn around only to have Jon jerk his arm higher. He gave a drunken hiss.

  “If she had stayed, this wouldn’t have happened.” Carter’s eyes bugged and sweat coated his face.

  “What wouldn’t have happened, Carter?” Deputy Anderson asked.

  “She wouldn’t have fallen down the fucking stairs, you moron. She was always moaning and wailing about that bitch.” He stabbed a finger in Chris’s direction.

  A thousand thoughts went through her head, the topmost being what had she done? Had she killed her mother even if inadvertently?

  Deputy Anderson stepped closer, admiring the hold TJ had on Carter, but still not attempting to handcuff her brother.

  “I was so fucking sick of her pathetic whining. You’d think Christina was a princess the way she talked about her,” Carter spat.

  The tears fell. Her mother had loved her after all. She’d never said the words to her, or shown her with hugs, but for Carter to be spouting what he was, Lana had to have felt something for her only daughter.

  “So what did you do?” the deputy asked, obviously looking for something. A confession, maybe?

  “Nothing that we shouldn’ta done sooner,” her father screamed.

  Chris gasped as did the onlookers behind them all.

  Anderson sighed as if he’d had enough and slipped the cuffs from his belt. He stepped around the stunned Carter and slapped one end on her father’s wrist, bringing it out of Jon’s hold. “Robert Marshall, you have the right to remain silent.” He pulled both of Robert’s arms behind his back and Chris heard the click of the second cuff.

  She heard something about assault and battery but not much else over Carter shouting, “You can’t fucking take him. That’s entrapment. He didn’t do anything but find that bitch dead.”

  A second later, three more deputies pushed through the mob at the door to help secure both her father and Carter and lead them through the house and outside.

  Chris stood there stunned. What in the hell had just happened?

  Deputy Anderson stopped in front of her as Jon once again took his place at her side and TJ the other. She warmed in an instant.

  “I’m sorry, Christina. I didn’t want for this to happen this way but we hadn’t had any luck getting either one to crack. I figured you might be some kind of impetus.”

  “But what if I hadn’t come?”

  He shrugged. “Then I would have gotten them some other way. Besides, we h
aven’t really gotten them yet. The coroner’s report could only say she died in the fall. They couldn’t prove if she was pushed or not, but, honey, I know how things went down in this house. She may have blamed her bruises and broken bones on being clumsy, but she wasn’t. Your mama was a good woman in her own way, she just wasn’t strong as you when it came to getting the hell out. There wasn’t a true confession back there, but I’d had enough of their caterwauling, and they did attack you, so I had a reason to arrest them. Do you have a number where I can keep you informed? The minute I know anything, I’ll let you know.”

  Jon handed the deputy his card. “We appreciate it.”

  Chapter Six

  Chris sank into the buttery soft leather seat of the jet and let sheer exhaustion take over. The last couple of hours had proven to be more hellish than the moment she’d learned of her mother’s death. First they’d followed her father and brother to the police station and she’d listened in as her father continued to spout his evilness, never confessing so much as saying her mother had gotten what she’d had coming to her. His filth hurt worse than any physical blow he could have landed. And he still blamed Chris for her mother being so depressed that she’d probably taken her own life.

  His ramblings had been so ridiculous—depressed after all these years, when all she had to do was call?—Chris had finally gotten up and walked out, but not before he’d turned his venomous filth on her, shouting and spitting and vowing vengeance through the one-way glass. For what she didn’t know. She hadn’t caused her mother to die. Robert Marshall was even more delusional than she remembered him being.

  He hadn’t once mentioned caring that his wife had lain at the foot of those stairs like some kind of animal until Carter had gotten home and found her. Hell, he hadn’t shown any kind of remorse whatsoever in losing Lana.

  Remembering the look he’d given Chris when she’d walked past him and out of his life for the second time made her nauseous still. Full of hatred, it alone promised retribution.

  Chris wanted nothing more than to be home where she could snuggle under the covers and let it all go. She looked up the aisle to the two men who’d brought her here and scratched her idea. She wanted to be at their home, in their bed, wrapped in their arms, letting them take care of her. They’d proven to her through the stress of the funeral, the memorial and the police station they could be more than the sex machines she’d always envisioned them being. Didn’t help that she’d listened to all the rumors about them.

  The last couple of days should have scared them off her completely. She was a woman with more emotional baggage than a sea of women, any one of which they could have chosen instead of her. But they hadn’t. Instead they’d insisted on coming with her. They’d held her hand and rubbed her shoulders and never once had she been left alone. They were a pillar of comfort at a time when she would have had no one. She would forever be grateful for that.

  Chris glanced back up at Jon talking to the pilot and TJ to the steward. TJ gestured to the back room of the plane. It had been her intention to head there first thing, but she’d only made it to the second row of seats before collapsing.

  Beyond the closed door was a big bed. For now it would have to suffice for snuggling under the covers. TJ’s concern-filled gaze met hers. He walked away from the steward, leaving the other man talking to his back, and stopped a foot away from her. He lifted a hand, palm up. “Come on.”

  His gravelly voice sent a frisson of pleasure through her when there should be none. How did both of them do that to her so easily? It was like her body knew they owned it and would give in at the weakest suggestion, but nothing about his demeanor said he was suggesting anything. Her legs shook like wet noodles as she stood.

  TJ lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed across her knuckles. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her, turning her inside-out? He pivoted and led her to the bedroom.

  “Take off your clothes, baby, and lie down for awhile. Time to try and rest. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

  She stared at him. He must have gone crazy. He’d asked her to get naked and into bed, then tacked on a “try and rest”. She hadn’t thought it possible for men to think of naked and rest in the same sentence. Her eyes watered. She’d gotten this same kind of reaction from them for two days. No fooling around, no insinuating sex, just seeing to her needs.

  Chris sat on the edge of the king-sized bed and crazily wondered how they’d gotten the damn thing on the plane. It took up most of the space in the room, leaving just enough to open the door to the tiny lavatory on one side and nothing on the other.

  TJ loosened the tie he’d worn for the funeral and pulled it from around his neck with a whoosh. His shoes were next. He toed the shiny loafers off at the heel, his gaze never leaving hers.

  “Need help?” He smiled at her. Not the devilish, I-want-to-fuck-you smile she expected but a tender one that said he understood what she was going through and made her feel a hundred pounds lighter. Chris kicked off her own shoes, a pair of heels she rarely wore for a damn good reason—they scrunched her toes to oblivion—and jumped to her feet. Reaching beneath her skirt, she rolled the much-hated pantyhose down her legs and sat again to pull them off completely.

  TJ had his belt unbuckled, his pants unbuttoned and unzipped, his shirt untucked, and was in the process of relieving himself of his shirt. It fell to the ground with a soft thud and he crossed his arms in front of his belly. His back arched as he lifted the undershirt up and over his head, tossing it to the floor also.

  Chris’s heart thudded. The sight of his ripped abs was absolutely mouth-watering. She understood how he and Jon drew so many women to themselves. They were drool-worthy.

  “Don’t make me remind you one more time to strip, baby.”

  Shit. Chris shook her head, but nothing would divest her mind of the image before her—a sleek line of dark hair leading from his chest and disappearing into the top of his boxers.

  One of TJ’s eyebrows rose. Chris felt her face heat.

  She flew off the bed again and fumbled with the button at the side of the skirt. Damn. Her fingers felt like sausages. In the end she simply yanked it down over her hips and cringed at the ripping she heard along the waistband. Why the hell was she so anxious to get out of her clothes?

  “Oh good, you had the same idea.” Jon’s voice made her head snap up. A huge smile revealed his straight white teeth. She felt her cheeks heat and wondered if he’d heard her clothes rip in her eagerness to get them off her body.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t think she’d do it unless I provided a little encouragement.” TJ stepped over and pulled her against his chest. His lips feathered over hers, his hands held her gently at her hips.

  She melted against him, letting him take her weight, and opened her mouth under his. Fling, schming. She’d been deluding herself thinking she wanted this relationship to end.

  The idea should have shocked her. It didn’t. She’d been a non-believer in men for so long, yet here she was falling for two of them, and if she were truly honest with herself, she’d have to say she’d been slowly headed this direction for months. Self-protection had held her back.

  TJ’s hands wandered under her blouse, carrying the fabric up as they went. “Hands up,” he murmured.

  She complied and let him rid her of the shirt, leaving her in only her panties since she hadn’t worn a bra. The rasp of a zipper sounded next to her. She hadn’t even realized Jon had moved, she was so focused on TJ and his kiss and touch. Now Jon turned them so he could stand behind her, his chest along her back. His hands covered her breasts and plucked lightly at her nipples, drawing a sigh from her.

  This was right where she wanted to be.

  Jon nibbled on her ear as the plane’s engines whined to life. TJ’s fingers trailed down her abdomen, pausing to swirl in her navel. Then his touch was gone and she felt a pat on her butt. “Get into bed, baby.”

  Chris hesitated and bit her lip before clearing her throat. “How
?”

  “How what?”

  “How do you want me,” she rasped, feeling heat coil deep in her belly.

  TJ chuckled. “In the middle on your side.”

  She reached for the waistband of her panties. Jon stopped her. “Leave ’em on.”

  “Wha—?”

  “You take them off and I’ll want to do something you’re not prepared for right now.”

  TJ rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “We’re just sleeping, Chris. No sex. Sleep. You’ve had a hard couple of days and when we make love to you again, we want you whole, not pieces of yourself.”

  Tears filled her eyes. This was not how men were supposed to act. They were supposed to take, take, take. Yet TJ and Jon had shown her time and again just how opposite they were to men like her father and brother. She mouthed thank you to Jon, took a deep breath and stretched out on the bed. It tilted as TJ climbed on after her, then Jon. They sandwiched her, lending their warmth to her chilled skin and cocooning her in their dual embrace.

  She’d never felt more protected or loved. Or less tired. Her exhaustion seemed to have disappeared in their arms and suddenly she wanted answers.

  “Why do you do this?”

  “What?” Jon’s voice was groggy, indicating she wasn’t the only one who’d been tired.

  “Share.”

  TJ rubbed his nose in the crease of her shoulder. “It just sort of happened one night when we were with the SEALs. Made us both sit up and see how much we were missing, that we could feed off each other’s excitement and make the woman feel that much better.” His lips traveled across the back of her neck.

  “It made finding a woman who enjoyed a ménage that much more special,” Jon added, his fingers wandering over her belly. “Like you,” he whispered. “We’ve been waiting for the one woman who would make us feel whole.” His gaze met hers, making her breath catch. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  TJ’s arm slipped over her hip and his hand settled over her navel, big and strong and firm. And permanent. Chris swallowed as the irrevocable feeling fluttered in her tummy. More than she’d ever wanted something like this in the past, she wanted their offering of permanence now.