Going In Blind_Brotherhood Protectors World

by Kris Norris

  The air swirled next to her, and she knew he’d returned. He’d gone to grab another shirt after he’d placed her in the chair—told her not to move until Russel had fixed her. She hadn’t realized he’d had to come in bare chested. Show off the scars he’d been hiding because he’d used his shirt to stem the bleeding. And she’d secretly wondered if maybe, as a result, he’d changed his mind—decided having to guard someone who was an obvious liability was too much. That she hadn’t lived up to the fantasies inside his head.

  If he’d really had them.

  She had. And he’d surpassed everything she’d imagined. The way he tasted, how well he kissed. The gravelly tones of his voice that could make her cream her shorts from nothing more than her name. A random word. And his body—the man could be on the cover of a magazine he was so ripped. Why he’d want to tie himself to someone like her—someone incapable of truly having his back. Being a teammate—still mystified her.

  A sigh, then Kent curled in close, his body touching hers. “Must be losing my touch if you’re having this many doubts after only five minutes apart, sweetheart.”

  She concentrated on where his face would be—those luscious lips of his that were likely pursed together. Begging to be kissed. “You’re not losing your touch. Trust me. And it’s not crazy of me to question why you’re still hanging around. Why you’re all still hanging around instead of handing this off to the police. Or the Feds. Someone. Especially, when I’m not exactly up to your qualifications. Besides, how did you even know?”

  “Facial expressions. It was written across your forehead. The fine lines around your mouth and eyes. And you already know why I’m here. What you do to me—mean to me. That I have no intentions of leaving. Which makes you family to everyone else in the room, so…” He dropped a kiss on her mouth. “Get used to having a team. That’s not going to change anytime soon.”

  Addison stilled, certain her face betrayed her shock. Kent had just outed himself—outed them—to his friends. Announced that they were together. Kissed her. Right there. In front of Russel and whoever else was in the room. She’d been too preoccupied by Kent’s obvious distress when he’d carried her in—by the play of his muscles, the feel of his skin beneath her palms—to properly sense how many other people were in the room. On the phone, Russel had said Sam and Hank were there, but… It was impossible to tell. Not with how silent they all were.

  Not that she minded being outed. Now that she’d jumped—had decided she couldn’t go back to simply existing. To a future that was darker than the one she faced still blind—she didn’t want to hide their relationship. What woman would, with Kent on her arm? And she’d already assumed his friends had clued in to her feelings for him. The way her skin heated whenever he was close was sure to show on her face. But hearing him say the words—give everyone a visual display—blew her away.

  Russel tapped her on the arm, drawing her attention. “Okay, honey. You’re all set. The laceration wasn’t that bad. You should be fine in a few days. I’m sure Rigs will stay on top of you…it.”

  Kent grunted. “Must you always be such an ass?”

  Russel gave her hand a squeeze, his breath on her cheek alerting her that he’d moved in close. “Curious how he thought it was funny when it was me and Harlequin.”

  “I’ve never thought you were funny, Ice.”

  “Right. Anyway, Cannon should be here any minute. In the meantime, I’ll grab you something to drink. You lost a fair amount of blood. You should keep yourself hydrated.”

  Kent grumbled beside her at Russel’s words, staying close when she felt Russel stand—sensed him leave.

  She turned, homing in on Kent’s face. “Again, this wasn’t your fault.”

  “Thinking we’ll have to agree to disagree on this one. You’re under my protection. That means every bruise, every scratch is on me.”

  She arched a brow. “I’m going to get hurt sometimes. It’s called life.”

  “Not on my watch.”

  “You’re a born protector. As long as you’re alive and breathing and hanging around, you’re going to insist it’s your watch.”

  He chuckled, then kissed her cheek. “Touché. And yeah, it is. I just…”

  She reached for him—drew him closer with a finger on his chin. “How about we go for staying alive on your watch?”

  “Already a given. Anyone gunning for you will have to kill me, first. That’s just the way it is. Today. Tomorrow. Whether you’re a cop, again, or not. Only way I know how to function. How to get it straight in my head.”

  “This ties into that ‘letting you protect me’ thing, doesn’t it?” She smiled when she heard him inhale. Felt his muscles tense beneath hers.

  Did he think she’d deny him that? He’d saved her life three times. Had put himself in the line of fire. Had been willing to get shot, killed, just to keep her safe. And he was worried she’d balk at allowing him to have a say over her safety? When she knew it stemmed from his injuries—from the demons he’d faced in war. The ones she suspected he hadn’t quite vanquished.

  Kent blew out a breath—somehow got closer. “I know you’re not helpless. I do, but—”

  “But it’s in your blood. The same way Blade must have pegged you as an ordinance soldier. Which means I’ll just have to let you do what you need to do. Just don’t get mad when my vision comes back, and my captain tries to recruit you.”

  “Or maybe Hank will recruit you? You’d be one hell of an addition.”

  “Are you always going to have a comeback?”

  “If it involves your safety? You bet. Besides, you already have far more power over me than I’d care to admit. This might be the only avenue where I actually win an argument.”

  “Ah, don’t give up too easily. I’m betting the makeup sex would be phenomenal.”

  He grunted. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Reminded me how damn desperate I am to touch you, again.”

  “Maybe after—”

  A knock, followed by a swirl of air. She turned toward the doorway, then froze. Breath held. One hand fisted against Kent’s thigh, the other at her side. While she hadn’t put much stock in the whole sixth sense thing blind people seemed to develop. Hadn’t really believed she’d done more than focus her hearing better, increase her ability to feel the air. She was willing to believe it all, now. Because despite being locked in the dark. Unable to see whoever had just entered the room—hadn’t Russel called him Cannon—she knew, without a doubt, that the man was dangerous.

  And not in the way Kent and his buddies were. Men who’d face any threat without blinking an eye. Worrying about the odds. Men who had honor shoved up their asses. Who bled red, white, and blue.

  This guy was the threat. The personification of the bogey man. He didn’t just eliminate his enemies. He decimated them. Escorted their souls straight to hell. And he was good at it.

  She wasn’t sure how she knew. But there was something in the air—an energy that made every inch of her exposed skin bead. Made it feel as if the room had suddenly dropped ten degrees. And there was a scent. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it kicked her heart rate into triple digits. Made her pulse throb inside her head, and for a moment, she thought she might pass out.

  Or run.

  That seemed like the best scenario. Grab Kent’s hand and leave. Get as far away from the other man as possible. Hide until the overwhelming sense of doom left her system. Until she could breathe.

  Hushed voices. A few soft footsteps, then he was there. In front of her. She knew it. Felt it. Breathed it in through every pore. She was in the presence of a true predator. The kind that never lost.

  “Addison? Shit. Ice!”

  Hands on her arms, tugging her toward the chair, again. But she wouldn’t budge. Couldn’t. Not until she was somewhere else. Anywhere else.

  “Breathe for me, Addison.” Russel’s voice. Close, but somehow distant.

  A hushed curse in front of her, then audible steps back. “It’s okay. Ice. Just
…give her some space.”

  The movement stopped. Russel and Kent’s hands grazing down her arms then off. Everything stilled. Went silent.

  “It’s Addison, right?” God, his voice was so deep—was there something below basso profondo? And so far above her. Far higher than Kent’s or Hank’s. Even Russel seemed small compared to how the air moved around this guy. He must be massive.

  “You’ve been blind for a while, haven’t you? Long enough to hone your senses. To get a read on people the moment they walk in the room. But… What you’re sensing…”

  He moved toward her, and she hated that she unconsciously stood then matched his step sideways. Bumped into Kent before he wrapped his arm around her waist. Tugged her against his chest.

  She reached for his arms, covering his hands with hers. He couldn’t let go. Not without her fearing she’d fly apart. Completely unravel.

  A sigh. “Sorry, guys. I didn’t realize…”

  “Realize what?” Kent’s voice. Close. Soothing. “Addison. Sweetheart. This is Cannon—Master Sergeant Rick Sloan. The guy we called to help us out. He’s a fellow soldier. One of the good guys.”

  She shook her head.

  “Sweetheart. I promise. He’d never hurt you. He—”

  “It’s okay, Rigs. The girl has excellent instincts. Knows danger when it’s staring her in the face.” The guy—Cannon—sighed, again. “Look, Addison. I have a feeling I know what you’re sensing. But… It’s not me. Not really. I—”

  “Death.” She barely whispered the word, but it cut the guy off. Spread silence through the room. “That’s what I smell. Death. On you.”

  Another sigh. “Yeah. Killed a room full of insurgents less than seventy-two hours, ago. It wasn’t pretty. Probably one of the messiest takedowns I’ve ever been involved in. The whole op went sideways. It’s part of the reason I’m back—on mandated leave. I won’t lie. I’m still feeling the adrenaline dump. But…”

  She frowned. There was something in his voice. Regret. Or maybe sadness. But it loosened the tight feeling in her chest. Took the edge of fear off. She tilted her head to the side. “You’ve been undercover, haven’t you? And not for just a week or two. You’ve been living like them for months. Maybe a year.”

  That’s what else she was sensing. The restlessness that came from being pulled out. Having to reintegrate into his old life. She’d watched colleagues go through it countless times. Had even done a short stint, herself, just before the raid. It left a mark—one that didn’t wash off with a hot shower and some soap.

  He chuckled. “We should have you screen possible informants. You’re better than any profiler I’ve ever met. And yeah. Almost two years.”

  Christ, six months felt like forever. How had he done two years and not lost his sanity? Gotten in so deep there wasn’t any coming back? No way to separate the two lives? Resurrect the part of him he’d neglected in order to maintain his ruse?

  She nodded. “Russel said you’re Delta Force. What squadron?”

  “Got recruited to Alpha Squadron ten years ago. I was an Army Ranger before that. I’ve worked several missions with Midnight. Had Ice haul my ass out of a few places I’m still trying to forget. Teamed up with Hank and Rigs in Afghanistan. But I haven’t had much contact since I went under.”

  “And you’re here to…help?” She cringed when her voice rose, sounding like more of a hiccup.

  “Russel mentioned Rigs found some C4 at your place. That you just escaped from a crew armed with sniper rifles. Advanced weaponry. Sounds organized. Not to mention military. So, yeah. I’d like to help… If you’re comfortable with that?”

  She swallowed, managed not to choke, then nodded, again. Not that his energy had changed. More that it had eased. Lightened a bit.

  “All right. Why don’t you all grab a drink and have a seat? If it’s okay, Ice, I’ll have a quick shower. Try to wash more of the death stench off me.” Cannon snorted. “Forth damn shower I’ve had in the past two days. But it obviously isn’t enough, yet.”

  Russel muttered something, then they were gone. The heavy feeling lifted off her chest, and she relaxed against Kent.

  He sat, handing her a drink after pulling her into his lap. He waited until she’d had a few sips of the tea Russel must have given him, then gave her a squeeze. “Better?”

  “I’m sorry I overreacted. But—”

  “No apologies. Not when it comes to your safety. If your spider sense told you Cannon was a threat, then you go with it.”

  “He’s dangerous. That’s what I sensed. But not in the way you and your buddies are.” She sighed. “I don’t know how to explain it. Wouldn’t have believed I could feel something like that, until now.”

  “He is dangerous. But not to you. Regardless, I’m not letting anyone hurt you. Period. Not even a fellow soldier.”

  A chuckle, then the energy was back. Weaker than before. More of a push against her than the suffocating weight she’d experienced. “Easy, Rigs. I just got back. Would rather not have to throw down with you. Not when I know you’d wire my shit so it blew up the next time I sneezed. That’s if I made it out of here alive.” Footsteps closer. “Any better, Addison?”

  “Less like death. More like a mercenary, now.”

  He laughed louder. “I can live with that. Okay, let’s talk about these men who are after you.”

  She snorted. “I’ll have better luck explaining what just happened than who’s after me.”

  “That’s why we’re here. Let’s move over to the living room. Get you more comfortable. Then, we’ll start.”

  Kent rose with her still in his arms then started walking. She clung to his neck, wondering what everyone must think, until he lowered onto a chair, sliding her to his left. It was tight, but they fit. If having half her ass on his thigh counted as fitting.

  She waited for his friends to tease them. For Russel to make some comment, but other than the soft press of fabric against cushions, the room remained silent. She reached for Kent’s hand, relaxing when his fingers wove through hers.

  While she wasn’t sure how the conversation would progress, she suspected it would involve talking about the raid. The one topic that sent her into a tailspin. Hadn’t they been discussing that when she’d passed out here before? When she’d been unable to give them any concrete intel to go on?

  Kent squeezed her fingers. “Breathe, Addy.”

  She turned to tell him she was breathing—when she realized her lungs were burning. Her throat closed tight. Apparently, just thinking about the raid affected her, now.

  He sighed then lifted his arm—wrapped it around her shoulders. Practically pulled her back onto his lap. It seemed childish, but it soothed the raw feeling in her chest. The jumpy sensation making her stomach roil as if she was sitting on a roller coaster.

  Addison drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment then blew it out. She’d spent twelve years facing armed men. Surely, she could talk about one raid and not pass out. Let her team down.

  “Okay, let’s walk through what we know.” Cannon, again. “I understand you were a narcotics detective. That you were involved in a raid to gather evidence against a man named Alexander Stevens. You were targeting a gang called the Raptors. But the raid went sideways. Your task force was hit hard, resulting in a few deaths. And you were gravely injured. Is that accurate?”

  A twinge of pain. A few flickering images, but she managed to hold it together. “That’s what I’ve been told. I don’t remember anything from a few hours before the raid until I woke up in the hospital.”

  Silence, then air by her left side. Russel’s hand on her thigh. “But you’re having flashbacks. About that night. The raid. What happened to your partner.”

  Don’t die on me… Kill her, too.

  She winced at the harsh voices. The pulse of pain through her temples.

  “Easy, Addison. I know it’s hard, but… Anything you can tell us…”

  Kent huffed. Drew her closer. “I’m right here, sweetheart.
Nothing can hurt you. But if this is too much—”

  “No.” She breathed through the throbbing in her head. “I can’t keep hiding. I need to remember. Will died, and I haven’t even caught the bastard who shot him. He never would have let me down like that if our positions had been reversed.”

  A press of boots on the floor then another hand on hers. “Addison? It’s Sam. I had Bridgette check the reports. They all say Detective O’Toole died from injuries sustained when the meth lab blew—knocked a wall down on him.”

  Echoed gunshots sounded around her, and she whipped her head to the side, hoping to hone in on them before she realized they weren’t real. She focused on Sam. “What did you say?”

  A moment of silence, then he squeezed her hand. “I said, the police and DEA reports say your partner died due to crushing injuries sustained when the meth lab in the next room blew. A wall fell on him.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand. He was right there. Above me, then…”

  More shots, followed by the ghosted image of a figure silhouetted by a bright light. She tried to see the person’s face, when the room appeared around her. No flash of light, this time, just a quick fade into colors. Into brick walls and hardwood floors. The men gathered around her. Kent’s tanned hands against her shirt. There was a hint of vanilla in the air from the tea Russel had made her. A stronger scent of coffee from the pot still steaming on the counter.

  Addison pushed to her feet, stumbling against Kent when he rose beside her. She turned to look at him—get another glimpse of the blue in his eyes. The handsome lines of his face. No doubt she’d be back into the darkness in a matter of seconds. She couldn’t pass up this opportunity to drink in every detail. Put all the dips and curves into memory.

  Kent’s eyes widened, then he was leaning in—cupping her cheek with one hand. “You’re having a flash, aren’t you? Right now.”

  She lifted one hand—traced the line of his jaw. She didn’t care about the scars. All she wanted was to feel his skin. See his reaction when she touched him. See her need mirrored in his eyes.