by Diana Gardin
“Don’t care.”
She moans and arches into me. “Ronin…”
Finding strength I really wish she didn’t have, she pushes away from me and takes a step back. Holding up a finger, she smiles. “Later.”
Scanning me, she licks her lips. “I might not be able to wait until we get home, though. You’re the sexiest James Bond I’ve ever seen.”
I smooth a hand over my dark suit, my fingers glossing over my real (unloaded) pistol situated in my hip holster. “And there’s no Bond Girl out there more stunning than you.”
She holds out her hand. “Shall we?”
We exit the condo and ride the elevator down to the parking garage. Our condo, because the day after everything went down at Margiano’s distribution center, she officially moved in with me. Her house in the suburbs is on the market, and having her with me every day on a permanent basis feels like the best decision I ever made.
Almost.
Yesterday was the arraignment for Albert Margiano. Mick is testifying against his uncle, in exchange for a lesser sentence. I think he regretted the fact that his uncle went after Olive solely because Mick wanted her. But if he ever gets out of prison and attempts to contact Olive…well, that’s a bridge I’ll cross if I ever get there. Just because Mick isn’t the cold-blooded murderer I thought he was, he was still an abusive asshole to Olive, and I’ll never let him near her.
I’m confident that nothing will end well for Mick.
It was satisfying as hell, watching the D.A. tell a judge everything that bastard has done, and sitting in the courtroom with Olive by my side as I watched the judge deliver the news that Elle’s killer will stand trial not only for her murder, but also for the murder of Grace Hodges and a whole host of other crimes, a deep sense of rightness filled me, and I knew that I was set free from everything that’s plagued me for years. The Margiano crime family’s been cut off at the head, and we all know what happens to snakes when the head is separated.
They die.
The streets of Wilmington, North Carolina, will be that much safer for it.
After court was over, Lindy Hodges admitted that she knew Grace had gotten in bed with Margiano’s crew, but she was too scared to tell us, fearing retaliation from the Margianos. Olive and I both hugged her, letting her know that we understood her doubts and that we were happy she no longer had to live with that fear.
Unlocking the doors of my new Ram, I lift Olive inside and round the front to climb in on the driver’s side.
“You realize that I’ve never in my adult life dressed up for Halloween, right?” I ask her as I start the ignition.
She shrugs. “I haven’t either. But Jeremy and Rayne made a compelling case.”
I snort, pulling out of the parking garage and heading for the downtown home that my best friend shares with his wife. “If, ‘Dress up for our party or be shamed for the entire next year’ counts as compelling, everything I thought was true in the world no longer is.”
She looks at me, brows lifted. “Even though I make a stunning Bond Girl?”
Reaching over, I grab her hand and lift it to my lips. “Not that. That’s definitely the truth.”
Every day I’m still trying to figure out how I got so damn lucky. If Jeremy hadn’t asked me to watch over Olive while he went on his honeymoon, I don’t like to think about what would have happened. She might not have turned to me when she needed help. She might not be the center of my world the way she is now. There are way too many “might not’s” that I don’t want to think about.
I’m just thankful we made it out on the other side as the new Ronin and Olive, together no matter what.
When we walk into the Teague house, the party is in full swing. Decker runs up to us as we close the front door, and I take one look at him dressed as a Storm Trooper and Night in a doggie R2D2 costume and lose it.
But then my stomach clenches and my heart expands when Olive drops to her knees beside the little boy and takes him into her arms. “You and Night win the best costume award,” she announces, hugging him tight.
He pulls back and gestures toward the big stone fireplace in the center of the great room, where Jeremy and Rayne are standing with Berkeley, Dare, and their friends from Lone Sands, Drake and Mea Sullivan. Olive’s neighbor from her old neighborhood, Macy, is here with her husband and her son. “Wait till you see Mom and Dad.”
For Decker, I don’t roll my eyes, but Jeremy is truly in his element. Olive squeezes my hand, and when I glance down at her that bottom lip is squeezed tightly between her teeth as she tries to stifle a laugh.
Jeremy is in full costume as Anakin Skywalker, and Rayne, tucked into his side, is dressed as Padmé Amidala.
“Oh, my God,” whispers Olive. “I just can’t with their little family cuteness.”
Leading Olive by the hand, I walk with her over to Jeremy and Rayne. Olive places a hand on Rayne’s stomach, and both sisters look down at the tiny bump protruding there.
“I still can’t believe it,” whispers Olive as the sisters exchange a look that only they can understand.
My hand goes to the back of her neck, squeezing gently as I swallow hard against the emotion threatening to choke me alive. When Olive looks up at me, there’s something in her eyes that I’m thanking God for every day.
Trust. Deep and never-ending. It’ something I’m never going to take for granted, and one day in a future not so far away Olive is going to be the one with the bump.
This is the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my days with. Start forever with. And I can’t fucking wait to see her pregnant with my baby.
Pulling her toward me, I drop a kiss on her forehead and then lead her into the party to join our friends.
My palms sweat as I take another sip of the bourbon meant to calm me. Jeremy stares me down from where he stands in the kitchen, his hands folded across his chest and a smirk on his face.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?”
“The right time,” I growl, setting the glass down on the island.
Jeremy spreads his arms wide. “Everyone she loves is here in this house. It’s been the right time all night.”
I nod, pacing away from him. When I turn around again, I bounce on my toes like a fighter getting ready to head into the ring. “You’re right. I gotta do it now before I lose my goddamn mind.”
Jeremy nods. “Thank God. Rayne’s taking Deck up to bed soon, and he’ll be pissed if he misses this.”
I shove Jeremy’s shoulder as I pass him, and zero in on Olive as I walk back into the great room. She’s sitting in a chair by the front window, talking to Grisham’s fiancée, Greta, and she looks so relaxed and happy that I just pause for a minute to take her in.
Until I feel Jeremy’s index finger digging into my spine.
“Do it, asshole,” he hisses in my ear. “Or I’ll shoot you.”
Rolling my eyes, I don’t bother to turn around. “That’s your finger, Brains.”
“Sentiment’s still true,” he assures me.
I’m not the kind of guy who stands in front of a roomful of people and makes a pretty speech. Olive knows this about me. So she won’t fault me if I screw this up.
I hope.
Holding her in my focus, I stride over to her and stop when I reach her chair. She glances up at me, pausing in her conversation with Greta, and her eyes light up.
God, I love this woman.
“That, right there.” Her eyebrows furrow in confusion as I drop to my knee.
Greta gasps, her hands flying to her mouth, but Olive’s eyes well with tears as she holds my gaze in hers. She doesn’t move a muscle, her eyes burning into mine.
“That’s my whole reason for being, Red. When your eyes light up just because I’m around? It’s not just the best damn feeling in the world. It’s the driving force of my day. Every day.”
A single tear rolls down my girl’s face, and I want so badly to reach up and brush it away. But first, I need to ask her the most import
ant question of my life.
“Will you let me keep making you happy to see me, every single day, for the rest of our lives? Will you marry me, Olive Alexander?”
Olive’s face breaks into a beautiful smile, dimples and all, and I take a breath for the first time since entering the great room.
“Yes,” she says simply.
My heart pounding, I reach into my pocket and pull out the simple, platinum engagement ring. A solitaire, pear-shaped diamond sits on top, sparkling and perfect, exactly the same way my future wife does.
After I slip it onto her finger, she slides off the chair and right into my arms.
“I love you so much,” she whispers fiercely in my ear.
Greta’s voice pipes up. “If you two get married before Grisham and I do, I’m going to kill someone.”
The room erupts in laughter, and then applause, and through it all I hold on to the woman who saved me from a lifetime of loneliness and revenge.
She’s the best fucking promise I ever made.
Don’t miss Bennett and Sayward’s story.
Please read on for a preview of the next book in the Rescue Ops series,
Mine to Save.
Bennett
I never wanted this shit.
Taking the time to add the lemon on the edge of the glass just like the coed requested, I slide the tumbler across the scuffed wooden bar toward her. I give the chick the fake-ass smile I’ve perfected in the past few years. She giggles, fluttering all kinds of long, dark lashes at me while simultaneously pushing her big, fake tits together in front of my face.
My dick doesn’t even twitch. I’m so far removed from this type of flirtation it’s almost funny. As soon as she slips a wad of folded-up bills into the tip jar I turn away and lift a brow at the next paying customer.
And the night continues.
I wash glasses. I make drinks. I watch as the town’s idiots get drunker and make more bad decisions.
And all I can think about is, maybe bartending was the perfect job for me when I was fresh out of the joint. But now? After what I experienced over the past few weeks, I realize how motherfucking bored I am.
My fingers twitch, itching to do something. Really do something. My brain flashes back to the night I helped my buddy, Ronin Shaw, rescue his woman from a mob boss. The explosives. It had been awhile since I’d made something go boom, but that shit was like riding a bike. Once I started, the rest was smooth sailing.
After I pour the remaining drops from the last bottle of SoCo into a tumbler and pass it to a grizzled old man, I stride down the length of the space behind the bar.
“Be right back. Headed to the stockroom,” I mutter to the other bartender, a recent hire named Kandie who gives me then a nod and a smile in response.
I slide past Kandie, which is difficult because her ample ass cheeks take up more than half the space behind the bar, and she cuts her gaze toward me.
“You tryin’ to cop a feel, B?” she asks with a smirk.
I would abso-fucking-lutely be trying to do just that, because Kandie is as hot as they come. Sexy hourglass figure wrapped up in tight clothing that leaves just the right amount to the imagination. I know she sexes it up more than necessary on the nights she works here, dropping the neckline on her tops and squeezing into the slimmest jeans possible, and it works for her. The girl cleans up in tips from the college-aged crowd who’s been frequenting The Oakes for the past month, and there’s no shame in her game. There are nights she takes home more than I do, and I just laugh while I watch her count her tips. Her brown skin is smooth, and the miles of waves in her thick black hair puddle around her tits tonight, even though she changes her hair up weekly.
But Kandie made it very clear when I hired her that not only does she not sleep with coworkers, I wouldn’t be on her list even if she did. She doesn’t swing my way.
Bumping her hip with mine, I hit her with the Bennett Blacke charm. The fact that she’s immune to it doesn’t stop me one bit. “Fuck yes, I am. Gotta get my touches in when your hands are full of booze, or else you’ll punch the shit outta me.”
She laughs, deep and throaty, and I can see the dude she’s pouring the house draft for visibly swallow as he stares at her. She purses deep red lips at me and blows a fake kiss. “Kiss this ass, B.”
“As soon as you’ll let me,” I toss over my shoulder as I push through the swinging door toward the back hall and the stockroom.
I pass by the open office door on the way there, and then I backtrack a few steps and pause in the doorway.
“Mickey? Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” Leaning against the doorjamb, I fold my arms across my chest.
Mickey Oakes, the bar’s owner and a longtime friend, glances up from the scattered piles of paperwork on the desk. I’ve been working hard as hell trying to get the books back to their pristine condition after Mickey’s organized crime-bound son, Mick, rolled into the place two months ago and fucked shit up.
Mickey swipes a hand across his forehead. “You done good work here, boy. Can’t tell ya how much I ’preciate it.”
Mickey always sounds like he’s got a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth, even though he dropped the habit over a decade ago.
I grunt in response. I’ve only been doing what needed to be done. I’m not gonna let him thank me for it. He hired me to do a job, at a time in my life when no one else would. He was there for me while I got my life together, picked up the pieces from everything I’d smashed to hell.
Shaking my head, I push myself off the wall. “How you been feeling?”
As if on cue, a hacking cough starts in his chest and it doesn’t let up until his weathered face is almost purple and he’s wheezing to catch his breath.
Cursing, I rush back out into the bar and grab a glass of water. Bringing it back to him in the small, cluttered office, I watch as he takes a sip, the coughs dying down slowly.
There’s a grapefruit-sized lump in my throat that I try like hell to choke down.
I never knew my own father, but I’m guessing that the way Mickey treats me is the way someone’s old man would treat him. He tried right up until he couldn’t anymore to build a good relationship with his own son, but that weasel screwed it up more times than I can count. If I had a father like Mickey…well, I’d appreciate him. That’s for damn sure.
Looking at me with a worn and exhausted half-smile, he thuds his chest with a fist. “Been better.”
Clearing my throat, my words are more of a grunt than a reply. “Then what the hell are you doing here? You should be home. Resting up.”
After another gut-splitting round of coughing, Mickey gulps more of the water and winces like he’s in pain. “I got emphysema, son. Goes right along with the cancer eatin’ away at my lungs. Ain’t no amount a restin’ gonna help. Wanna make sure I help you get these books straight after my fool son done messed it all up.”
Then he glares at me, but his lips twitch in his attempt to hide a smile. “I don’t need no babysitter. Ain’t you got customers to wait on behind my bar?”
I wave my hand at him, my stomach knotted up with worry, and continue to the stockroom.
What’s that old man gonna do with this place?
Running a bar was never in my grand life plan. Shit, I never even had a grand life plan. Claw my way out of the rural, backwoods town where I was raised in the low country of South Carolina, be the best soldier I could while I was in the army, and that was about it. That was as far as I got before it all went to hell.
When I almost ruined my whole life within two minutes of blind rage.
I pull liquor bottles down off the shelf and place them in a crate, which I haul back out to the bar. After I shelve them and toss the crate under the counter, I scan the bar area and note that I have new, familiar arrivals.
Sitting at a couple of high-top tables just behind the row of stools are a group of faces I never expected to see.
My buddy Ronin Shaw wears his usual too-intense expression on h
is face. The man always looks like he’s carrying the weight of the fucking world on his shoulders, and I’ve told him on more than one occasion that he needs to lighten up. He’s seated beside his boss at Night Eagle Security, Jacob Owen. My gaze skates over Jacob toward Jeremy Teague, his long hair pulled back into a bun at the back of his head. Sliding over to the table beside them, my eyes land on two more NES team members, Grisham Abbott and Dare Conners before finally settling on her.
Sayward Diaz.
The woman they call Viper.
I can’t help it when my eyes travel from the exotic features of her face straight to the hint of cleavage visible above the vee of her T-shirt. She might think she’s hiding the luscious curves hidden underneath her uniform of jeans and a zipped-up hoodie, but there’s no running away from how sexy she is. When I force my gaze back up to her face, it’s to find her looking at me with irritation-filled hazel eyes. She shifts, her nose twitching with a show of disinterest as her sensuous, full lips roll between her teeth. Her long, dark hair is pulled into a messy bun and she’s not wearing any makeup, but who the hell cares with a face like that?
When a woman looks this fucking perfect without even trying, she’s a danger to society. I’ve also seen what she can do when she’s sitting behind her computer, so the Viper tag? I get it. She’s straight-up nasty with her tech. No one can hide.
“Two Coronas with limes please.” I don’t even notice as the barely legal girl bats her lashes and slides her credit card across the counter. “And I wouldn’t mind if you wrote your number on the back of that receipt.”
“What the hell are they doing here?” I mutter aloud as I pull two Coronas from the fridge and stick a lime into neck of each. I grab the girl’s credit card and swipe it, offering her a distracted grin as I slide the white slip of paper back for her to sign.
“I’m off the menu, baby girl, but if you keep comin’ into this bar I might be persuaded to change my mind.”
