Beyond the Past (A Paranormal Military Romance)

by Fall, Carly

  Sighing, he rubbed his face. He needed to consider what exactly would happen between Gabby and him, what their futures looked like.

  He’d thought that by leaving her, she would be safe, and obviously, she hadn’t been. Yet, he didn’t know who was responsible for beating her. Could it have been a new boyfriend? If so, he grimaced at her judgment in men. However, it could very well be the government, the people who hunted him.

  Either way, he would kill the person who hurt Gabby. It was really that simple.

  But what about after? He felt confident in Joe’s abilities to make him disappear as far as the government was concerned, but could Gabby go back to her life? Did he want her to? More importantly, did she want to?

  He sighed and put his head in his hands. He had tried to do the right thing—protect Gabby—and failed.

  He stretched out on the couch and didn’t know what part of his body hurt worse— the physical pain of his tired and achy muscles as he tried to get back into shape, or the emotional and mental agony of having his broken and battered wife in the next room, and knowing he may be responsible for her state.

  Chapter 27

  Gabby awoke to the smell of bacon and coffee. Her mouth watered as she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten, and realized it had been at the café with Jerrod.

  Gingerly touching her cheek, she cringed and wondered why she hadn’t picked up any bad vibes from Jerrod. She considered herself a good reader of people, but her internal radar had completely failed with him.

  In fact, she had even liked him.

  As she thought back over the events leading up to them visiting that house where he beat her, she realized he must have drugged her wine while at the café; the only explanation to why she’d felt so woozy when they arrived at the house and her inability to fight back. Her husband had been a Marine, for God’s sake—he’d made certain she could protect herself. She’d spent many, many hours with him at the gun range as well as rolling around the living room floor as he put her through scenario after scenario of someone attacking her and what her moves should be to incapacitate her assailant enough to get away. Although most of those sessions had ended with them making love, she still walked around confident in her ability to protect herself.

  She had barely been able to stand in that basement.

  What kind of dirt bag, scum-sucking shithead drugged a woman, disrobed her, tied her to a chair, and beat her?

  One who wanted to make sure said woman wouldn’t be able to fight back. Instead, he’d wanted her afraid and feeling vulnerable. He had wanted to hurt her, and he’d also wanted answers. Jerrod had succeeded on all the above, except getting the answer he craved.

  What the hell had Garrett been doing there? At the time, the question hadn’t even registered, as she’d just been happy to see him. How had he known where she was? He had obviously followed her, but why? And who was that man in the wheelchair? She couldn’t remember his name. She had so many questions, which was both a blessing and a curse. The drugs seemed to be out of her system, leaving her coherent, but that meant she had to deal with reality.

  As she slowly sat up, she stared at the door leading out of the room. Too raw from her ordeal to take on any more pain, she didn’t want to confront Lucas. However, her need for food overrode her desire to crawl under the quilt and never come out.

  She moved slowly to the bathroom and used the toilet. She vaguely remembered Garrett taking her to a doctor who’d assured her she didn’t have anything broken or any internal damage. That was another odd thing—Garrett had taken her to the doctor in the middle of the night. What type of doctor kept hours like that?

  So many questions.

  Grabbing the sink, she stood, grimacing as the pain lanced through her ribcage and she noticed two prescription bottles sitting on the tank of the toilet—one a pain reliever, the other, an anti-inflammatory. She quickly read over the labels and saw was in the time frame to take more of both. She filled a glass from the tap and took one of each.

  She hesitated moving in front of the sink as the mirror sat above it. Lucas had told her not to look at herself, so it must be bad. However, she would have to peek at some point. “Just get it over with,” she mumbled.

  Keeping her gaze on the basin as she washed her hands, she watched the bubbles go down the drain.

  After drying her hands on a towel, she took a deep breath and slowly raised her head to gauge her injuries in the mirror.

  A large welt swelled beneath her left eye, and a nasty purple bruise colored her right cheek. Her lower lip looked as if it had received too much filler, but overall, as she recalled the pain, she thought she would look a lot worse.

  Lifting her shirt, she stared at her black and blue ribcage, and anger surged through her. “Fucking bastard,” she muttered.

  Turning away from the mirror, she walked through the bedroom and placed her hand on the doorknob. Lucas and she had so much to talk about, but she didn’t know if she was quite up to it. Maybe they could hash things out a little bit at a time so it wouldn’t be so overwhelming.

  She opened the door and went down the hall to the kitchen, her mouth salivating at the smells.

  Smiling, she remembered how, when Lucas hadn’t been deployed, he had always loved to cook Sunday breakfast and serve it to her in bed. After they’d eaten, they’d make slow, passionate love, talk for hours about their future, or sometimes nothing at all, and often, they’d not emerge from the bed until the late afternoon hours.

  As she turned the corner to the kitchen, she leaned against the doorjamb and watched him. He stood with his back to her as he worked over the stove. She studied his body, shocked at the amount of weight he’d lost. What had happened to him? Where had he been?

  “Are you going to stand there staring at me, or do you want to sit down and have some coffee?” he asked.

  She smiled. It was difficult to watch him in secrecy, as he always seemed to know when she lurked around a corner. She sat down at the table and he turned to her with a grin.

  “How are you today?”

  She shrugged, already feeling the effects of the drugs easing some of the pain and soothing the burning in her muscles. “I’m okay. Sore, but I’m going to be fine.”

  He placed a mug of coffee in front of her and turned back to the stove. “I’ve got eggs, bacon, hash browns, and fresh fruit on the menu this morning.”

  Her stomach growled, and she was surprised at how loud it was. She glanced at Lucas to see if he heard it, but he made no indication he had. “That sounds good,” she murmured as she carefully took a sip of coffee. He’d prepared it just the way she liked it: strong, with just a hint of milk. It burned her lip, but tasted so damn good, she drank it despite the pain.

  The silence weighed heavily as he cooked. A few minutes later, he brought two plates over to the table and sat down across from her. They didn’t speak as they ate, and the silence became uncomfortable.

  “I thought maybe we could talk a little bit today,” she said.

  He glanced up at her and nodded. “Sure.”

  “I have questions.”

  He shoveled a large forkful of eggs in his mouth, chewing as he studied her. “I do, too.”

  She smiled. “Okay. You can ask your questions first.”

  In order to avoid fights, they’d decided in the early years of their marriage that only one person would talk at a time. The rule had served them well.

  He nodded, but didn’t meet her gaze again. “Let’s eat first, then we can sit down.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. She’d known him almost her whole life, making her intensely familiar with his moods, body language, and tone of voice. She knew what to expect before he even opened his mouth to speak.

  Based on their history, she realized this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

  Chapter 28

  Lucas took his time cleaning up the kitchen. Then he made sure Gabby was comfortable on the sofa and tucked a throw blanket around her. After that,
he went out back and chopped some wood, brought it in, and threw a few more logs on the fire.

  Finally, he sat down.

  He’d hoped the physical exercise would eliminate some of the tension in his body, and frankly, some of the anger. However, he knew in his heart he didn’t have any right to be angry at Gabby. He’d left her, and what she did after that was none of his business. Besides, when she heard it from his lips that he’d walked away, there’d be serious hell to pay. When Gabby became angry, nothing more intense, or hotter, existed. They’d had some of the best sex of their marriage after she let loose on him in an argument. The first time she’d unleashed that fury on him, he’d just walked back into her life after abandoning her that first time, when they’d found themselves stuck in a convenience store in Montana.

  The sex had been hot as hell, and that’s when he’d promised he’d never leave her again.

  He didn’t think hot sex would happen this time, even if his body raged and yearned for her.

  Damn. He’d broken that promise twice, and each time, things hadn’t turned out well for Gabby. The first time, she’d ended up putting her life on hold and working in that crappy convenience store, hoping he’d one day return. The second time, she’d been tied to a chair, beaten.

  Maybe he just needed to realize he couldn’t protect her by leaving her—they’d be better off together, no matter what happened. He glanced over at her, and she stared at him, her blue gaze questioning. He never would have allowed anyone to lay a hand on her, and would gladly die before they could get to her.

  “So, what do you want to know?” she asked.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Was he ready for the answer to his questions?

  “Do you know who did this to you?” he asked, meeting her gaze and hearing the clipped tone in his voice.

  “Yes,” she said with a nod.

  “Who was it?”

  “He said his name was Jerrod.”

  “And you believe that to be true?”

  She shrugged. “I have no reason not to.”

  “Last name?”

  “Stern,” she answered.

  “How long had you known him?”

  She sighed. “Not long, a little less that a week. Do you think you can talk to me like I’m your wife instead of someone you’re interrogating?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh as he looked out the big window to the snowy ground, calm pond, and majestic trees, the soothing scene in front of him a direct contradiction to the turmoil within him. “Seeing you like this makes me really upset. I’m just trying to contain my anger.”

  “We’re talking, Lucas. That’s it. Let’s try to keep it nice.”

  He nodded and took a couple of minutes to gather himself.

  “Were you…seeing him?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer, and he stole a glance at her. She stared out the window, wrapped up in the blanket. He wanted to hold her, love her, and tell her what he’d done, but he couldn’t. His guilt wouldn’t allow it.

  “I guess I was sort of seeing him, but under the guise of being his realtor,” she answered, her voice soft. “I found him attractive, and wondered if there may be something there between us, maybe in the future.”

  Dammit all to hell and back. He inwardly raged at her words, but he had to keep reminding himself that he had left her. She’d attempted to move on with her life, just as he hoped she would. Not her fault she’d ended up on the wrong side of a fist.

  “Why did he do this to you?”

  She turned to him. “Because of you. He wanted to know where you were. For the record, I do as well.”

  His insides liquefied, and his breakfast might just make another appearance.

  But honestly, what did he expect?

  He had kind of hoped she had a lack of judgment and some bastard she was dating had knocked her around. That explanation would have been easier to take than admitting his actions proved responsible for this mess.

  “Did you fight him off? Did you leave any marks that will help identify him?”

  She shook her head. “I think he drugged me. I could barely move.”

  Lucas rubbed his face. The bastard had drugged her? Obviously, this Jerrod ass didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He knew if Gabby had been sober and in her right mind, she would have fought tooth and nail against Jerrod.

  “So, where were you?” she asked. “Were you kidnapped, as well? Did they hold you? Or did you walk away from me? If so, why?”

  He shook his head. “I’m still asking questions, Gabby. You said I could go first, and I’m not done yet.”

  “Okay,” she said with a yawn. “Sorry. My drugs are really kicking in. Keep going.”

  “Explain to me in detail exactly what happened. How did you meet him?”

  He listened as she explained her meeting with Rachel and some chick named Cherri, who introduced him as a co-worker in need of a house.

  “He seemed perfectly normal,” she murmured. “I didn’t have any internal alarms going off at all.”

  Gabby usually was a good judge of character, so this surprised him.

  “What happened, then?”

  “We talked on the phone a couple of times.”

  He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, shutting his eyes. “And then?”

  “Then I pulled houses that matched what he wanted, and we went to see them.”

  “What did he want in a house?” He gazed over at her.

  “He really didn’t have any special requests except the basement.”

  “And that didn’t seem odd to you?”

  “No. Everyone has that one thing that they want in a house, and his was a basement.”

  To beat the ever-living shit out of you.

  “What did he say to you when he … when he was—”

  “He kept asking me where you were. I kept telling him I didn’t know.”

  He nodded and cracked his knuckles.

  “Are we done? Is it my turn now?” she asked. “I’d really like to know what happened to you. Why are you so thin? Where have you been? Did they take you and imprison you, as well?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not finished. What did he look like?”

  “Tall, thin but muscular, black hair, blue eyes.”

  “How do you know he was muscular? Did you sleep with him?”

  She turned to him and glared. “You’re being ridiculous. You can tell the difference between thin and scrawny and thin and muscular without someone taking off their clothes, Lucas.”

  As he studied her face, the anger slowly evaporated. She must have felt it because she moved over next to him on the sofa, placing her hand on his cheek. His heart thudded in his chest as their eyes locked. He moved his gaze to her lips, thinking how badly he wanted to kiss them.

  He cleared his throat. “Did he . . . did he, uh, hurt you in other ways?”

  “Are you asking me if he raped me?”

  Just the word brought pain to his body, and he nodded, unable to speak.

  “No, he didn’t,” she said.

  “Thank God,” he whispered.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “I’m happy to see you,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

  She leaned in; her lips softly brushed against his, sending pulses of energy throughout his body and landing directly in his groin. Good God, he wanted Gabby with a ferocity he could barely contain. His guilt kept his hands glued to his knees as her tongue slowly stroked his lips.

  One kiss wouldn’t hurt.

  He reciprocated and opened his mouth, feeling the hot sensation of their tongues mingling as her hands ran through his hair. The familiarity of it made his eyes sting. He’d been alone for six months, and to have the woman he loved more than his own life touch him literally brought him to tears. Her caresses comforted him, excited him, and filled the emptiness in his soul he’d felt for so long.

  All the things he should be doing, like telling her the truth about h
is disappearance, evaporated. He wanted to show his wife how much he loved her with tender embraces, lazy, exploratory kisses, and by making slow, slow love to her.

  He leaned back against the couch as she straddled him. He placed his hands on her lower back and found the hem of the sweatshirt, gently sliding his finders up the sides of her spine.

  Gabby broke the kiss. “Help me with my sweatshirt, Lucas. I can’t lift my arm that high.”

  He gently lifted the sweatshirt above her head, her soft, fair, bare skin reminded him of white silk, and a brief flash of rage course through his body as he imagined that Jerrod fucker looking at it, and then putting his fist to it. As she ground her hips into his cock, sheer lust tore through the fury, making it disappear like a waft of smoke.

  Her large, perky breasts sat inches from his face, begging for attention. He took one nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the hardened peak as she held on to his head, her fingers moving through his hair as she gasped, and then sighed.

  He released her and she clamped her mouth over his as she continued to rock in his lap. Plunging his hands into her sweatpants, he grasped her butt, his fingers tracing down the crevice until he found her wet, slick flesh.

  She moaned as he rubbed her essence over her swollen nub, and then gasped as he slid a digit into her hot, slippery core. Sliding in another finger while rubbing her so familiar erogenous zone, he pulled back from the kiss.

  “I need to lie down,” she whispered.”

  He shifted and helped her stretch out on the sofa, then kneeled on the floor next to her and removed her sweat pants. Once she lay before him gloriously naked, he took in the swell of her large breasts, her tapered waist, the flare of her hips, and her milky white legs.

  “Good God,” he whispered. How had he ever walked away from her? Her outward beauty took his breath away, but the kindness in her soul humbled him beyond words. He didn’t deserve her, nor was he worthy of pleasuring her. Self-hatred replaced his outward rage at her attackers. The bruises and cuts on her face infuriated him, but the angry black and blue marks on her torso almost defeated him. How had he let this happen? How had he been so mistaken in his assessment of right and wrong?