Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3)

by Halliday, Suzanne

  “Okay, here goes. You know how sometimes your man … um.” She made the yikes face and actually blushed. Meghan was intrigued. “You know, when he touches himself.” The little shiver said a lot. “I’m like …” She put both fists up to her chin and made her eyes go wide.

  Tori laughed first. Then Meghan. Finally, Lacey giggled softly and shook her head.

  “Yeah.” Angie laughed. “You heard me. Love watching my man handle his junk. Come on,” she joked. “You guys know what I mean, right? Who else likes watching their man stroke his, uh …” She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to because as she asked the question, Victoria raised her hand. Then for good measure raised the other hand and waved them in the air like a cheerleader.

  “Me, me!” she announced. Her enthusiastic response and a husky sounding, “Mmm mmm,” cracked them all up.

  “Hey.” Angie snickered. “Just ‘cause you agree with me doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for a reveal. Looks like you’re up.”

  “This might be more information than we need,” Lacey said drily.

  “Shh. I wanna hear this.” Meghan patted Lacey’s hand and smiled. “Haven’t you always wondered about those two? Now’s our chance to find out.”

  Laughing good-naturedly, Tori smirked right back at them. Pinning Meghan with a direct look, she simpered, “You’re not the only one who likes being tied up.”

  Lacey smacked her knee and declared, “Well, holy cow. I did NOT see that coming.”

  Angie rolled her eyes. “Did she just say holy cow?”

  Meghan studied Tori for a moment, noticed the smug grin, and then the light-bulb went off. “Wait a minute. Tied up, you say?”

  Tori nodded in the affirmative, sniffed dismissively, then picked at some imaginary lint on her clothes.

  “And who’s doing the tying?” she asked. Pfft. She wasn’t dumb. Tori would be dangerous restrained.

  “Oh. My. GOD!” Angie doubled over laughing. “For fucking real?”

  Tori smirked and nodded while Lacey just looked confused. “I don’t get it,” she admitted.

  “Sweetie,” Meghan murmured gently. “It’s Draegyn in the ropes. Not her. Get it? She ties him up.”

  Lacey was just so damn cute sometimes. Her faced full of confusion, she asked, “But how? You can’t tie up a Justice Brother. These guys are like Vaseline on rope. Nothing would hold them.”

  “And I think that’s the whole point,” Angie added. “Am I right, Mrs. St. John?”

  Grinning mischievously, Tori explained, “Yeah, but he plays along so nicely. It’s so sweet and all kinds of hot the way he lets me take control. This one time,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I tied him to a chair and did all sorts of nasty things while there was nothing he could do about it.”

  Releasing a hearty snort of laughter, Meghan asked, “Was binding him to the chair a little like that scene with Black Widow in the Avengers? You know the one, where she sat there all tied up and then just stood up and walked out of the bindings?”

  “Something exactly like that.”

  “Wow. I think that little nugget of information earned all of us a drink.” Meghan got up, headed to the wet bar, pulled four glasses from a cabinet, and lined them up. “Get over here, ladies.”

  Gathering around her, they each took a Jameson shorty—neat, of course—and held their glass up to toast.

  “To Justice,” Meghan said briskly.

  “To Justice,” her sisters repeated.

  Shooting back the Irish whiskey, they slammed their empty glass on the counter and then looked at one another. Finally, Lacey threw up her hands and huffed an exasperated sigh. “Okay, okay. It’s my turn. I know you want me to say something wild and titillating, but honestly, girls, it’s just not like that.”

  Tori cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow. “Tell them about the collar.”

  Shit! What? A collar? Meghan started laughing hysterically. Angie was flat-out bellowing her surprise and amusement. Tori just kind of sniggered, and Lacey turned fifty shades of red.

  Oh, my god, she thought. Fifty shades. Get it? The reference made it all even funnier.

  Lacey stomped her foot and growled at Tori. “ Shush! Be quiet or you’ll wake the boys. And it’s not that type of collar. Now, cut it out. This isn’t funny.”

  Through barely controlled chuckles, Angie asked for clarification.

  Poor, sweet Lacey. She really was one of a kind. Even if Cameron stripped her naked, tied her to a St. Andrew’s cross, and used a riding crop on her, she’d find some way to make it sound like he gave her a pedicure and a dozen roses. However she explained was going to be be priceless.

  “Someone here told me that dressing up and acting out sexy little scenarios could be fun.” She said this with a pointed look in Tori’s direction. Mrs. St. John’s love of costumes was widely whispered about. Meghan remembered hearing that she took a turn as a very pregnant belly dancer and another time that a lab coat and some sexy garters made an appearance.

  “Anyway, my husband is sort of the anti-costume type. He’s more of a … au natural kind of a guy.” She shrugged. “I mean, I get the whole birthday suit thing, but I can only do so much with that. So as a way of playing with him, I started adding just one article of clothing or an accessory.”

  “I like where this is going,” Meghan exclaimed.

  “Mmm, think a frilly apron …”

  “And nothing else, in case you didn’t get that part,” Tori helpfully added. Her sly wink made Lacey chuckle.

  “Or sometimes, just his tie.”

  Angie started throwing out suggestions. “How about a suit vest? Or maybe just a pair of socks! Oh shit, sweetie. This is genius!”

  Smiling, Lacey wrapped up her less-than-perverted reveal. “So, yes. I have a couple of really pretty collars. Mostly lace and ribbons. One has crystals. And no,” she growled with a mocking smile. “Nipple clamps do not count.”

  “Like you’d ever let…” Angie bit off the rest of what she meant to say when Lacey suddenly ducked her head and started messing with her hair. When Angie started to snicker-laugh, they all joined in.

  THEY WERE LYING around in the great room, watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians while hurling insults and saying rude things during every episode. It reminded Meghan of Cam, Drae, Parker, and Alex. Somewhere along the line, the women of Justice became their female counterparts.

  Two bowls of popcorn were placed strategically so everyone could scoop a handful. They’d wisely left the alcohol at just one shot each and then moved on to Diet Coke. It was rounding up on eleven, and she was getting more and more amped up as each silent hour passed. What the fuck was going on, and why hadn’t they heard from any of the guys?

  They all detected the sound of cars in the driveway and sat up. Putting the popcorn and sodas aside, each one of them turned expectantly toward the door. Their long wait was over.

  Boom! Thud! The poor wood door getting quite a workout, crashed open and into the darkened foyer stumbled a clearly inebriated Alex. He acted like a man who either won the Super Bowl jackpot or been declared king of the world. In short, he was big time hammered and looking like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Where’s my Irish fuck goddess?” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

  Actually, what he yelled didn’t sound anything like that. He was far too drunk to form intelligent words, but that was what he meant.

  Right behind him, Draegyn and Cameron appeared, each quickly moving to either side of the Major. Cam looked a trifle wobbly, but Drae had the clear-eyed expression of an experienced designated driver. Meghan stepped forward but when Alex attempted to move toward her his feet instantly tangled. He’d have gone down in a whiskey-soaked heap without his brothers there to hold him up.

  “I’m drunk,” he hollered. “Skunk drunk and on Gen-fish-bitch too. Not that Jamizbuns shit you drink.”

  Angie’s amused snicker wasn’t helpful.

  Tori asked Drae, “You okay, honey?�
�� and she heard Lacey’s tsk-tsk.

  Alex? He was a ranting lunatic as the guys tried to get him moving toward the steps.

  “Ur-my-wife-ga-dammit,” he snarled. “The-wife’s-na-suppose-ta-leave."

  His legs went out from under him at the first step. Twisting and struggling in Drae and Cam’s grasp, he waved his hands at her slurring every word that came out of his mouth.

  On a miserable sob, he bobbed his head at his brothers. “Doesn’t-lu-me.”

  “What?” Meghan asked.

  Cam answered and that was when she knew he was almost as hammered as the Major. “He shed … you dun lub him.”

  She felt Tori’s hand on her shoulder. “Irish, shh. Don’t talk. Let them get him up the stairs.”

  The entire way up the big staircase, Alex drunkenly railed at her. Gesturing wildly, he whined, “Shoe-know-u-always-win.” Then right before the top, he went still as though a thought suddenly popped into his alcohol-addled brain.

  “Hey!”

  Meghan froze. Angie murmured, “Ten bucks says this is a doozy.”

  Looking at the wildman her thoughtless behavior unleashed, she struggled to keep a straight face when he gave her a whiskey-infused Dom look and growled, “Hugh-wanna-go? Ish-fine. Go. But-first-u-haveta-feed-ur-beash.”

  “Beash?” Lacey whispered.

  “I think he means beast,” Meghan explained

  “Ohhhhh,” all the ladies murmured at once.

  Finally, on the landing, Cam and Drae struggled with her man’s beefy body but weren’t prepared when he shoved from their grasp, teetered near the top step, and pointed down at her.

  “Imma-hang-u-from-the … up-there.” He pointed at the ceiling. “An-get-my-flog …”

  He didn’t get to finish the thought because Drae hauled off and punched him sending the Major to the floor.

  “Alex,” she cried and ran frantically up the stairs. Cradling his head as she crouched over him, Meghan sent Drae an accusing glare. “What the hell is wrong with you? Was that necessary?”

  “Well, since he was about to go into nauseating detail about a flogger he seems particularly proud of and your wicked ass and what he intended to do, I thought it best to curtail the rant.”

  “Are you serious?” she asked anxiously.

  Cam was sitting on his ass with a befuddled expression and the ladies were climbing the stairs behind her. Instead of ripping Drae’s head off, she wanted to kiss him for cutting off where the Major’s rant was going.

  “Just one more thing to make me wish I could clean my brain with bleach. First, you and him in the tack room, and now, chapter and drunken verse on the virtue and pleasures of the modern day flogger. Thanks, Irish. Like I need that shit in my head.”

  Anxiously biting her lip, she asked, “What about Parker? And Cam?”

  “Well, luckily for you, they were keeping up with him drink for drink, and I was sober as a judge, so I’m the only one who’s gonna remember any of what he said.”

  Draegyn smiled at Angie when she got to them. “Sully’s waiting for you, Angel. You better get home. The man’s a mess. He and Alex got into a bit of a scuffle, but he was drinking coffee as we left. Told me to tell you to get your naughty ass home and to be ready for a serious spanking. Don’t think he’s happy about whatever you two ladies are up to.”

  “Sorry, sis,” Meghan murmured, but Angie just shrugged. With a worried frown, she added, “Let’s talk in the morning, okay? We should re-think the timing on our departure.”

  If Angie responded, Meghan didn’t notice. She was too busy helping get Alex up off the floor. It took all of them—Drae, a less-than-helpful Cam, Lacey, and Tori—to maneuver his dead weight down the long hallway to their bedroom. Tossing him on the bed like a sack of potatoes, Drae brushed his hands off and grinned at her.

  “Y’know, that felt good.” Shaking his hand, he made a fist and stared at the knuckles. “Owed the prick a good punch. Been saving it up for the right time.” Fingering his jaw, he told her, “He almost sent me to the fucking dentist. But dammit, I pulled back. No fun in coldcocking a sloppy drunk.”

  Tori laughed and put her arms around Drae’s waist. “If I remember correctly, Big Daddy nailed you pretty good.”

  Cameron, who was starting to flag big time, slung an arm over Lacey’s shoulders. “Les-go home, Ponytail, so’s you can have your wicked way.”

  Lacey murmured as she passed by, “He’ll be asleep before he hits the bed.”

  Leaving her to deal with the mess she made, Angie gave her a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek then helped Lacey get a stumbling Cam moving. Drae and Tori lingered till everyone else left. Meghan felt a lecture coming on.

  She wasn’t disappointed when it came.

  “Meghan.”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “O’Brien.”

  “Valleja-Marquez.”

  Eesh. She cringed with each name he bit out.

  “Get your shit together, woman.”

  Meghan sheepishly nodded. “Don’t worry, Drae. I know what to do.”

  “You know what this is really all about. Right?”

  They stared at each other for a good long minute. Not for the first time, she thanked the angels for sending Draegyn St. John into Alex’s life.

  “Yes.” She hung her head. What else could she do?

  “I hope whatever this was all about is worth it.”

  Tori hugged her husband. “Shh, don’t growl. Irish knows what she’s doing. She just made a tactical error, that’s all. Let’s give her a chance to course correct.”

  Drae looked down at his wife and then up at Meghan. With a droll smile, he shook his head. “Anyone ever tell you ladies how scary y’all are when you stick together?”

  “Family,” Meghan muttered.

  “Indeed,” Tori replied.

  After a long, sleepless night while she stood watch over her passed out and snoring husband, Meghan finally crawled into bed once she was satisfied that he wasn’t going to stop breathing or choke to death on vomit. Exhausted and wrung out, she’d sent Angie a rambling email, composed entirely on her phone, suggesting several ways to re-think their New York to Boston itinerary. There was quite a bit of damage control she needed to do before things were set right.

  At some point she must have drifted off because the next thing she knew, Alex stirred at her side. With a pained groan, she heard him struggle to sit up and fought the urge to jump up and lend a hand. He wouldn’t want her help. Not at the moment. She could hear the rawness in his voice and knew they weren’t out of the woods yet. Squeezing her eyes shut, she feigned sleep but remained on high alert, listening to every sound he made.

  She heard him grunt with effort as he stood next to the bed, fumbling with his clothes. When his pants hit the carpet with a thud from the heavy belt buckle he wore, she peeked and saw that he was stripping down to nothing but skin. When he started toward the en suite, she quickly shut her eyes again. Watching him limp and lurch felt like a giant, damning finger pointing directly at her.

  The shower turned on, and she heard a few grumbled swears and then quiet. In this case, it wasn’t music but water soothing the angry beast. Relieved that he was all right, she started mapping out a plan to make things right when sleep got the better of her. Next thing she knew, it was ten o’clock, and she was alone in the big bed with no sign of Alex. Only his discarded clothes in a pile on the floor and the indentation in the pillow on his side of the bed offered any indication that he’d been in the room.

  Oh, shit. Hastily throwing back the covers, Meghan dashed into the bathroom and set about getting dressed. There was important stuff to do, and the sooner she got to it, the better.

  It was no real surprise to find Draegyn at the kitchen table, sipping a coffee and helping himself to an enormous pile of Ria’s handmade breakfast biscuits. He looked up when she approached and gave her a thorough once-over.

  Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, she filled it with hot coffee and joined him. Caffeine first. A
lex second.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “Studio,” was his one-word reply.

  Taking a careful first sip of the blisteringly hot beverage, she grimaced and quickly added a half-pound of sugar to the bitter brew. “How do you drink this awful stuff?”

  Drae snorted. “Puts hair on your chest.”

  They drank in silence, and she even managed to choke down a biscuit. Meghan wasn’t hungry, but instinct told her she’d need her strength to get through the upcoming confrontation.

  Finally, when she was sure about her plans, she looked at Drae. “Is the door locked?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Even if it was, I can override the controls.”

  She almost laughed. “Then why’d you even give him a key?”

  “Why?” he barked with amusement. “Because he’s Alex Marquez and he likes to think he has control over everything.”

  Word. He hit the nail on the head with that comment.

  “Look,” he said with a determined glance in her direction. “I’m not gonna tell you what to do. Despite a direct command from her husband, my wife refused to tell me what the hell you’re up to, so I’m sort of forced to say nothing and let you take it from here.”

  Thanks,” she muttered.

  “But please tell me you’re not still thinking about getting on the plane tomorrow morning.”

  “Yeah. That’s not happening, Drae. I’ve told Angie to fix things so we don’t have to leave till the middle of next week. Plenty of time to straighten him out and feed the beast.”

  He laughed at her comical statement and nodded approvingly. “He’s limping like Quasimodo this morning. Spending a couple of hours in the studio kicking the fucking shit out of his drums isn’t going to help.”

  “I know.” And she did. Alex existed on a knife’s edge between having a normal, active life and being half-broken by his old injuries. Not taking care of himself only made things ten times worse.

  Standing, Drae pushed in his chair and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Please remember, he’s just scared. That messed-up piece of exhausting old-world bullshit passing for a dude is so raw over the prospect of being apart from you that he made a scene, got shit-faced drunk, tried to rip Parker’s nuts off, and then almost gave us all a flogging workshop. Go easy on him, Irish. In the end, he’s just a man.”