Going In Blind_Brotherhood Protectors World

by Kris Norris

  “Rigs—Kent. Do me a favor? Don’t screw this up because of what you’ve worked up inside your head. Addison seems like a pretty amazing woman. One who knows firsthand about demons and scars, even if hers are on the inside. If anyone’s going to remotely understand how you feel and what you’ve been through—are still going through—it’ll be her. Give her chance.”

  “You say that like I have a choice.”

  Ice chuckled. “Got you by the balls, huh?”

  “Something worse. My damn heart.”

  “Guess you didn’t leave it behind, after all.” Voices sounded in the distance. “Gotta go. But…check in tomorrow. And call if you’re worried about her. I’ll do what I can.”

  The line went silent.

  Rigs tucked the phone back in his pocket, staring down at the woman in his arms. He couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through to lose her sight. She’d been incredibly brave. Not the kind of person to let an injury get the better of her. Still…

  He wasn’t exactly the poster-guy for mental wellness. Had spent the better part of two years hiding—telling himself he was healing when he knew damn well that he was avoiding people. Avoiding life. Pretending that he didn’t lose a bit more of himself every time someone reacted to his scars. That it didn’t hurt. But he’d been lucky. Midnight, Ice, Montana—they’d all reached out. Gone out of their way to make sure he didn’t spiral so deep he wouldn’t ever climb out. Who had Addison had in her corner?

  From the sounds of it, no one, other than Carl and Blade. He couldn’t imagine how hard it was to get through each day knowing she was responsible for her own symptoms. That it was all inside her head.

  He’d have to find a way to broach the subject without sounding judgmental, like Johnson and Seymour had. The last thing she needed was more pressure.

  Addison moaned, twitching in his arms. He shushed her, dropping a kiss on her head as he gathered her closer. She snuggled against him, inflaming his dick, again, then settled. He shifted just enough to relieve the throbbing ache—ensure she wouldn’t suddenly wake up with him poking her because he doubted his erection was going down anytime soon. Not with her scent filling the air, her skin touching his where one of her hands rested on his neck. Best he get comfortable, because he wasn’t moving until she’d slept. Until he’d gotten the feel of her out of his system.

  Of course, that would likely take more than a few hours. Days. Maybe weeks. Fifty years seemed like a reasonable amount of time.

  He snagged an ottoman with his foot, dragging it close enough he could brace his feet on it. Angle Addison so she leaned more fully against him. Ensure she wouldn’t roll off his lap if she woke suddenly from a nightmare.

  No doubts she had them. If her injuries were bad enough to mess with her head to the point she couldn’t see, she’d definitely have nightmares. Images. Voices. Memories she might not remember but played in her head whenever her defenses were lowered. That’s part of the reason he didn’t sleep much. Despite all his training, all his skills, he couldn’t control what looped inside his brain once he closed his eyes. And knowing he was vulnerable…

  Easier to avoid it, like he had everything else. Pretend he was fine when he knew he wasn’t. Even now, a part of him felt edgy. Restless because he hadn’t scouted the perimeter. Noted all the exit points and sight lines. Hadn’t laid a few well-placed trip lines. Not actual explosives, but a small charge that would light up the darkness—alert him if anyone tried to infiltrate her home.

  Which he knew was crazy in its own right. Like Ice had told him months ago—civilians didn’t wire their damn homes. Didn’t have armories with enough weapons to take on a few dozen tangos. But…he wasn’t the average civilian. And he’d vowed he’d never get caught on the wrong side of a surprise, again.

  Christ, it was a wonder he hadn’t gone blind. Hadn’t suffered the same fate as Addison. She seemed far more stable than he was. Didn’t seem fair that she was stuck in darkness when he spent all his time trying to hide in it.

  Though, if his damn heart had its way, he wouldn’t be hiding much longer. Not if he wanted to spend more time with her. And he definitely wanted to spend more time with her. All his time. He wanted to make her breakfast in the morning, spend the day talking. Maybe go for a walk. Get a coffee. Take her to dinner, then hold her in his arms all night. They didn’t even have to have sex. Not that he didn’t want her, but, sitting there, her whispered breath sounding around him, her silky hair curled around his neck, was better than most of his sexual encounters over the past decade. Which might have scared other guys, but not him.

  If Rigs had learned anything about himself, it was that he was a switch kind of guy. Things were either on or off. He was either happy or sad. He either committed to a mission or he didn’t. There wasn’t anything in between. No half-assed decisions.

  Most spec ops soldiers were switch men. They had to be. Had to make split decisions in the space of a heartbeat without agonizing over the choices. They needed to know their limitations, their strengths. There wasn’t time to be almost ready. Almost certain. Once the choice was made to go, he was all in. Two hundred percent. And he’d make damn sure he reached his objective.

  Which was currently curled up in his lap, lightly snoring. It didn’t matter that they’d just met. That he didn’t know if this was a fleeting moment or the start of the rest of his life. He’d already decided he’d embrace the suck—risk her leaving with his heart clenched in her hands. No going back, now. All he could do was steer into the hard.

  Rigs chuckled. He didn’t have a clue how to proceed. He’d never been involved in a serious relationship—couldn’t bring himself to do that to someone when he’d planned on spending his life in the Teams. He’d witnessed too many families torn apart by death or injury. His face case and point. So, sitting there, holding Addison, wondering if she felt even a fraction of the connection he did—it was alien. Uncharted waters. All he could do was dive in and hope he didn’t drown.

  She smiled in her sleep, and fuck if his heart didn’t skip a beat. His hands suddenly clammy. Now, he understood what Ice had been talking about. Why the man had been so singleminded. Who knew one tiny firecracker of a woman could bring Rigs to his knees? Make him rethink his future—willingly put himself out in the open. Until a few hours ago, it hadn’t seemed possible.

  Rigs sighed. No sense worrying over how he’d gotten here, now. Better to put his energy into moving forward—with Addison.

  He relaxed, watching her sleep as the rain continued pelting the window, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating her face. How her long, dark lashes contrasted against her creamy skin. Or the cute way she furrowed her brow, mumbling a few times before easing. He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, mesmerized by every tiny nuance of her face, when the front doorknob jiggled.

  He sat up, every nerve instantly primed, every muscle tensed. It could have been the wind. Or his head playing tricks on him. But after the attack on the foundation, he wasn’t making any assumptions. Instead, he stood, twisted to place Addison on the chair, then knelt, quietly removing his Beretta from his ankle holster. All the while watching the door—straining to hear someone try to turn it, again.

  Thunder boomed overhead, but it didn’t quite crush the pad of footsteps past the picture window in front of him. Didn’t obscure the slightly darker shadow from moving across the floor.

  He leaned over Addison, giving her shoulder a firm shake. She blinked as she bolted upright, her sightless gaze searching the room as she obviously tried to orient herself.

  “Easy, sweetheart, it’s just me. I wouldn’t wake you, but there’s someone outside.”

  Her focus settled on his face. “Kent? And did you just say there’s someone outside?”

  “Pretty damn sure. Heard the door jiggle then footsteps, followed by a shadow past your window. I’m gonna check it out. I want you to stay here until I get back.”

  “Screw that. If there’s someone out there, I’m better off shadowing you
.” She held up her hand. “I know. Blind as a bat. But I’ve done this a thousand times. Could do it in my sleep. And if you go out there alone, you’ll be putting yourself at risk because half your focus will be back here, with me. Wondering if I’m okay. If someone snuck in the back door. If you made a mistake by leaving. Or, have I read you wrong, and you’re not the protective type.”

  Fuck.

  She pressed her lips together. “I won’t slow you down or trip you up. You have my word.”

  Despite getting booted from the Marines, Rigs was still a soldier. Once a Marine, always a Marine, wasn’t just a catch phrase. It ran soul deep. He’d trained, fought, bled, and damn near died for his country. For the sake of the mission. He’d learned to make hard decisions based on facts. Emotions didn’t win wars, and they sure as hell didn’t factor into strategy. It didn’t matter if he hurt someone’s feelings. Winning—living was the endgame. And he was all about the endgame.

  At least, the old Rigs was. The new one—the one that was willing to brave cafés and restaurants. That would gladly sit for days in the same chair just to hold Addison in his arms… That Rigs—Kent… He heard the desperate plea in her voice. Saw the raw emotions cross her face. Felt her fear of rejection. And damn if it didn’t mess with his head. Make him see the situation from a different point of view. Namely, hers.

  He opened his mouth to say, no. Not going to happen. Cold day in hell before he’d willingly put her in the line of fire, ex-cop or not. He’d vowed to keep her safe, even if he’d only thought it inside his head. So, until she told him to fuck off, he’d hold true to that promise. Put himself between her and danger without hesitation.

  But damned if the words wouldn’t form on his tongue. Wouldn’t make it past the hard thump of his heart as he watched her worry her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “I don’t need your word, Addison. You’ve already proven how tough you are. Besides, it’s hard to argue with you when you’re right.” He moved closer, stopping just shy of touching her, knowing she could sense him. Feel his body heat. “Okay. Keep one hand by my shoulder, the other on my waist. I’ll tap your knuckles once for left, twice for right. And stay low.”

  “Got it.”

  She rose gracefully, any hint of sleep gone, then placed her hands as he’d instructed. He turned toward the door, making his way across the room. Addison followed. No hesitation. No missed steps. And the way she matched his movements… It was as if they’d trained together for years. Knew exactly how the other would react.

  She stopped when he reached the door, waiting for him to continue. He counted down in a low voice, silently opening the door when he reached one. Rain fell in steady sheets, reducing the visibility to only a few feet. A light fog curled across the ground, obscuring the grass and pavement.

  Rigs waited until she was clear then quietly closed the door, wedging a small scrap of paper near the bottom. He scanned the area before shifting left and following the house around to the front window. He stopped at the corner, indicating his intentions with a quick tap to her hand at his waist. She moved seamlessly with him when he stepped out, keeping in the shadows lining the wall. He searched the ground, but he couldn’t see any footprints in the grass, not with the fog rolling in and the rain washing any kind of evidence away.

  Addison pressed against him, her lips grazing his ear. “I just heard the gate creak. It’s off to the left around the side.”

  She’d heard the gate creak? Christ, he hadn’t heard anything, and he’d been vigilant. Which meant the chance it had been the wind rattling the doorknob was pretty fucking low. Shit. He should have said no. Locked her in the damn bathroom with his Beretta. Told her to shoot at anything that came through the door. He had a Sig in his truck. Chances were, he could have gotten to it before anyone had landed a fatal shot on him—that’s what it would take to stop him. Prevent him from staying at her side. Him dead—and she would have been safe. Mostly.

  Damn, there wasn’t a concrete solution. She’d been right. His focus would have been divided, like now. Only, it would have been worse. Worrying someone would get the jump on her. That she wouldn’t have a way to pinpoint where to shoot. That she’d miss. It had been hard enough at the foundation. Knowing he didn’t have a choice. Here. Now… At least with him, he could put his body between her and a bullet if necessary.

  He clenched his jaw. “Glue yourself to my ass and don’t fucking sway from it.”

  Chapter 8

  What the hell had she been thinking? She should have stayed in the damn house. Had him lock her up and give her a weapon. She still had her Beretta in a lockbox, hidden in her closet. It would have taken two minutes to retrieve it and crouch behind the bed or her dresser—let Kent patrol the perimeter on his own. What if she screwed up? Put him at risk? God…got him killed? And all because the thought of him being alone…facing someone, again, without backup…scared her. Made her stomach clench and her chest tighten.

  Addison gave her head a shake. He hadn’t been alone, before. He’d had his buddies to back him up. Other Special Forces soldiers. And having to babysit a blind ex-cop wasn’t really the kind of help Kent needed. Addison knew by the flex of his muscles beneath her palms, the edgy tone to his voice, he was nervous. But not about the possible target. It was her. He didn’t want her to get hurt.

  She’d just have to see to it she didn’t screw up or put him at further risk. That she used the few advantages she had, like hearing the gate creak when she suspected he hadn’t. She kept insisting she wasn’t helpless. About damn time she believed it and acted accordingly.

  Addison shuffled closer as Kent moved forward. Like at the foundation, he didn’t make a sound. No whisper of breath, no footsteps. It was as if he’d vanished. Except for the two places she touched him—and the familiar energy she’d come to recognize as his.

  He murmured for her to stay put for a second then truly vanished. It was eerie the way he disappeared. There one second then gone. If someone had told her he’d been abducted by aliens, she would have believed it because she’d never met anyone who just vanished like he did. Hadn’t met anyone that skilled before. Sure, she’d been good at being stealthy. Had executed a lot of sting operations without ever blowing her cover. But Kent took it to a whole other level. And she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d left the Marine Corps. Especially, when he still seemed so capable.

  Questions for later—after they’d secured her home. After she’d proven that it hadn’t been a mistake to let her shadow him. She’d sensed his reservations. Though, she wasn’t sure if it was because she was blind or if it was just his nature. If he’d have had the same hesitations if she could see. He definitely radiated old-fashioned chivalry, and she’d bet her ass that he saw himself as a protector. That the moment she’d agreed to let him drive her home, he’d made some kind of pact with himself to keep her safe. And Marines never backed down once they’d accepted a mission.

  Kent stopped. “The gate’s ajar. I suppose there’s a chance it’s all been the wind, but…”

  But those kinds of coincidences rarely happened. Required biblical intervention.

  “It’s always latched, on the off-chance Blade gets spooked and bolts.”

  He grunted a reply, tapping her hand then heading down the narrow path. She pictured it all in her mind—the fencing. The stone pavers. How the yard continued on past the end of the house. She had no idea how it looked, now. Originally, she’d kept it neat and tidy. A few flowers and bushes but nothing too ornate. For all she knew, the company she’d hired to tend to the grounds only pretended to do it.

  Kent stopped, again, and she suspected they’d reached the rear corner of the small house. His lips suddenly caressed her ear as he tugged her flush against him. “We’ll do a full circuit of the perimeter, unless there’s obvious evidence someone went inside. If it’s all good, we’ll go clear the house, room by room.”

  She nodded, and he gave her a squeeze then eased away, picking his way toward the back door. She foll
owed, shivering at the drench of cold rain against her skin. So much for her dress not mixing well with showers. She should have changed the moment she’d gotten home, instead of falling asleep in Kent’s arms.

  Another shiver that had nothing to do with the weather.

  Kent continued along the rear of the house, pausing occasionally whenever thunder rattled overhead. She kept pace, straining to hear any noise above the storm, when something scuffed behind her. She cocked her head, trying to hone in on the sound when light flashed across her vision—illuminating the yard as it blinked into view. The white glow of the fog as it curled along the ground. The overgrown bushes near the fence. The silhouette of a man emerging around the corner—dark-colored hood obscuring his head, the big black barrel of his gun outlined in harsh relief.

  Time slowed—freezing into another snapshot. The gun half raised. A hint of white where the guy’s mouth would be.

  “Shooter! Six o’clock.”

  It all happened at once. Kent’s arm wrapped around her waist as he plastered his body against hers then spun, shoving her behind him and somehow pressing her to the ground. She caught a glimpse of brown hair and stubbled skin in the next flash—what looked like long scars slashing up his cheek toward his hairline before the world went black, nothing but his ghosted image lingering in the darkness.

  She braced herself for the inevitable report of a gun—she assumed Kent was armed. God, she hoped he was armed. Why hadn’t she told him about her personal weapon? Offered for him to use it if necessary? Surely he didn’t go anywhere without a weapon tucked somewhere, did he? And why the hell hadn’t she asked?

  The next roll of thunder made her jump—had her reaching out for him. She hadn’t heard anything. No shots. No grunts or scuffs. Nothing but her own blood pounding through her ears, her breath rasping through her chest. The patter of rain on the small paved deck. Had he left? Was he bleeding to death, right now, just a few feet away? Just enough she couldn’t sense him? Help him?