by Charlie Hart
Grudgingly slow, each man moves out of the room.
“Go with them,” Banks says to Fallon. “They’ll need someone to keep their heads together. I’ll...” His jaw twitches. “I’ll do what I can.”
When the others are gone, Banks is quick to take action, and I follow his instructions, but it’s clear from the start that she’s hemorrhaging and no matter how fast Banks works, he isn’t fast enough.
“She should have been taken to the hospital right away,” Banks mutters.
I hold the woman’s hand and smooth back her hair from her cool forehead.
“Lucy, right?” I ask when she opens her eyes and they lock on me. “I’m Tia.”
“I... I couldn’t do it...” she says softly, so much fear in her gaze. “I don’t want to die.”
I catch the look Banks gives me, and know that she might still.
I’m grateful that he doesn’t speak harsh words to her, even though I see the condemnation in his eyes.
Or maybe it’s something else.
Remorse.
Fear.
Despair.
“We’re going to help you,” I say to the woman.
I start an IV and keep talking to her as I insert a dose of pain meds into the tube.
“Are you from Alaska?” I ask, trying to keep her conscious.
“No. I came from Alberta.” Her words are barely audible now. “My sister and I...”
“Your sister is here?” I sit on the edge of the bed and take her hand.
“She... died. Last year. Giving birth to a little girl.” Her eyes close, and I can’t tell if she’s still breathing, her chest doesn't rise and fall.
“Lucy?” I touch her neck, feel the faint heartbeat.
Thank God.
When I glance at Banks who is still working desperately, trying to stop the bleeding, he gives a grim look, then shakes his head.
“She needs surgery,” he says.
I start to stand. “I’ll tell Fallon to call an ambulance.”
When I start towards the door, Banks grabs my hand and says quietly, “She won’t make it.”
My stomach churns.
“We have to do something.”
His eyes squeeze shut momentarily, but when they open again his mask is back, and he’s all professional. “Go tell her husbands to come in. They should be with her during her final moments.”
I choke on his name, “Banks-”
“Don’t let emotion get involved. This isn’t your loss. If you need to break down, you wait until you’re alone. Understand?”
I nod.
“Then go,” he commands, opening the door for me.
Numbly, I walk downstairs and glance at Fallon whose face falls when he sees me, but I can’t worry about him.
These men, they’re about to lose everything.
I swallow and say to the men, “You should go to her.”
Jeremy, the man who met us at the door is the first to stand. “Is she all right?”
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say.
His face goes white, but my words have him racing back up the stairs, along with the other husbands.
“Tia,” Fallon says, approaching and placing a hand on my shoulder.
Comfort.
Strength.
And I could easily give into it, to collapse in his arms, but I remember Banks’ words. I need to be strong.
I straighten my shoulders. “There are still things that need to be done.”
“I can take you home.”
“No.” I shake my head, knowing I can’t leave.
It’s not long before Banks comes downstairs, eyes hard. I follow him into the kitchen where he begins scrubbing the blood off his hands and forearms.
I place my palm on his back and he flinches.
“You should go home now,” he says, drying his hands as he turns. “I’ve called the coroner's office. There will be a full investigation, and I don’t want you here when they arrive.”
“What about you?”
“I won’t be implicated in any way.”
Every part of my body, brain, heart wants to pull him into my arms. But his walls are fortified, and I know he’d only reject any show of comfort.
Maybe it would only be for me anyways.
My heart is broken for the woman who lost her life tonight. The two children who would never take their first breath. For the husbands left behind. And for the millions of other women who face the same, often fatal choice.
And for myself.
Because if everything works out, and the hormones Banks gave me work, it’ll be me facing this same reality.
Life or death.
“Tia,” Banks says when I start to leave as if reading my mind, knowing my insecurities. “I won’t let this happen to you. I promise you that.”
I glance back at him, and I know it’s not a promise he can keep. But I take it anyways because I know it’s his way of telling me he cares. Or at least that’s what I choose to believe.
“I don’t want to go without you,” I say.
I look over at Fallon, he’s at the door, ready to leave. “I’ll be in the car, okay?” he tells us.
Banks runs a hand over his smooth jaw, and I know this night has wrecked him in ways he won’t admit.
Two babies died. A mother’s blood is on his hands. My shoulders shake as the weight covers me.
Banks sees that I need him, and while I know he wants to keep me at arm's length, in this early morning hour, the rules are different. Too much has happened to pretend everything is the same between us. I feel weak, and right now, it’s only Banks’ strength I want.
“The investigation can wait, I can answer questions tomorrow,” he says, his voice low and gravely. He’s shaken up.
Maybe he feels weak right now too.
And even though it’s Banks, a man who has shut me out time and time again, tonight has changed things between us and I don’t want to leave this compound without him.
I slip my hand into his, knowing I want so much more than that, but right now, this can be enough. Threading my fingers with his grounds me. And when I look up at him, I see shades of sorrow in his eyes, I know I’m steadying him too.
He risked himself in order to save this woman. He may say he doesn’t care about anyone or anything - but it’s a false front.
And if he’s hiding behind that, what else doesn’t he want me to know?
Chapter 9
Banks
When Tia, Fallon and I finally return home, all I want to do is sleep. I can’t think of a time I’ve missed work, and it’s especially uncharacteristic considering the error Tia found last night. But I can hardly keep my eyes open. I’ve been up all night, watched a woman die. Now all I want is to fall into a deep oblivion where I’m not responsible for countless lives.
“You guys look like you’ve been through hell,” Huxley says, as we come into the kitchen.
Salinger and Hux are eating breakfast, dressed for work. Giles is drinking coffee but sets down his mug, worry on his face. I know Fallon texted them to let them know where we were, and I can see the sympathy in their eyes.
Can’t deal with emotions right now. Especially not sympathy.
Emerson is at the stove frying bacon, and he gives a small smile at Tia before asking, “Are you hungry?”
Tia shakes her head. “No, I need to rest. I’m exhausted.”
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Giles asks.
But Tia closes her eyes. “Not right now. I just need to…” She pinches the bridge of her nose as if trying not to cry. “I just need to lie down.”
Emerson moves to her, massaging her shoulders. He kisses the side of her face. “Go rest, baby.”
I tense at his tenderness toward her. After she leaves the room, the other men look to Fallon and me for an explanation.
Once we lay it all out there, the kitchen goes stone cold. It’s the kind of story everyone has heard about, but to have had a first- or second-han
d encounter with it, makes it real in a way no one wants to think about.
Especially not considering the choice we made yesterday, to purposely get our wife pregnant.
Of course, it’s more real to me than anyone else here, as far as I know. And not just because of today. I’ve watched this play out many times. More than I want to remember.
How many women have I been unable to save because they’d taken it into their own hands to terminate a pregnancy? I understand the reasons behind the law, especially now that the population is dwindling quickly, but it only puts women at more risk.
So many damn lives lost.
Hell, it’s suddenly hot in here. Too hot. I run a finger around the collar of my button down, then cough to stifle my fucking emotion.
I can’t get all weak now. I swear I was gonna lose my shit back at Jeremy’s house. When Tia slipped her hand into mine, said she needed me, I almost broke right then and there.
“If anyone phones the house about the incident, can you let them know I’ll call them later? I’ve gotta get some sleep.”
The guys understand and everyone returns to what they were doing before we came home. Fallon though stops me in the hall. “Hey, uh, that was intense back there and I just wanted to say it was pretty courageous how you handled it. I know it wasn’t the outcome we wanted, but I appreciate you stepping up and helping, even though...” Emotion chokes him.
“You trying to give me some fucking medal of honor, Fal?” I ask, an eyebrow raised.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I just wanted to tell you that I respect you.”
“And you didn’t before?”
“Your words, not mine.” He juts out his chin, and I know that is his way of letting me know I’m no longer on his shit list.
I climb the stairs, my heart so fucking tight, my stomach in knots. In the bathroom, I turn on the shower, but I feel ill. It was all too much, being at that house today.
I get sick in the toilet, retching up memories so fucking painful. Memories of brides flash before my eyes. A few years of happiness and then...
Pregnancy.
Death.
Repeat.
Another wife.
Then another.
Until there were too many to count. Dad’s money was inexhaustible and these fertile brides lined up to marry the rich Donald Montgomery.
In the lower forty-eight, most of the time being fertile is worse than the alternative. Sure, it ensures you marry a rich man instead of working at a factory or a school or brothel, but it also means, for most women, that your lifespan is greatly shortened.
Money can buy women in this economy, but it can’t buy happiness, that’s for fucking sure.
I brush my teeth, trying to rid myself of the thoughts streaming through my mind. But no matter how hard I try, the image of Liesel keeps returning.
Last night Tia asked why I care so much about this research.
The answer? It’s all so fucking close to home.
“Banks?” Tia’s voice calls from the other side of my bathroom door. “Can I come in?”
I stare at myself in the mirror, it’s a steamy and clouded image that looks back at me. Probably better that way. The man in the mirror is probably not someone I’d even recognize.
Pulling open the door, I meet my wife.
She looks so small, fragile even. “Can I... can I come in?” she asks.
I swing the door open wider and let her walk through it, before closing it, I lock it for good measure. The last thing I want is anyone in this house weighing in on my time with my wife.
“You look awful, “ I tell her. She’s trembling, still wearing the same clothes, eyes rimmed in red.
“I feel awful.”
“I do too.” The admission is small, but it’s something she clings to, I see it in her expression.
“You do?” She looks up at me with those wide, hazel eyes, so damn self-sacrificing, and I know she’d give me the last ounce of her strength if I let her. But I’m supposed to be her strength, not the other way around.
Exhaling through my nose, I press a hand firmly to the base of her neck, pulling her close. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, giving her the strength that I know she needs. The strength that I vowed to give her the day we married. I never want Tia to see my weakness, no matter how much this whole situation is consuming me.
“No one wants to watch that.”
“You seemed so calm when we were there. Like...like you’d been through it before.”
Swallowing hard, I choose my words with care. “A few times. It’s not the first time I’ve been called in the middle of the night. And I doubt it’ll be the last.”
“Oh, God, Banks.” She presses her face against my chest. “I’ve never seen death like that. So close.”
“The man in the woods?” I ask, looking down at her. My wife may have never seen anything like what we went through this morning, but she’d killed a man.
“That was different,” she whispers, looking up at me and licking her lips. “He was trying to kill me. This woman though...” She gives a small shake of her head. “She was desperate to live.”
We stand there holding one another, and it may sound strange, but it’s the most intimate moment of my life. Holding on to my wife, as if holding on for dear life. And maybe, in this world where there are no guarantees, maybe this is the only thing we do have.
One another.
I stifle a sob that comes out of nowhere. I don’t fucking cry.
Tia doesn’t seem to care. Right now, she is as scared as I am. This world is a fucking shitshow and there are no women survivors.
At least that’s how it feels right now.
Something has to give. The code has got to crack.
Life has to become more than just survival.
Tia looks up at me with a longing that I’m not ready to give into. I don’t have much left in this world that is mine, except my dignity. And for my entire adult life that has looked like control.
Absolute control.
Fuck the emotions wrecking my body, the fear masked as mastery. I am my own man, and no matter what I’ve seen or been through, I won’t become weak now.
Not when Tia needs me to be stronger than ever.
And the only strength I understand was taught in the form of control.
So I lift her chin and kiss her hard. Crash my lips against her own and push down her pants, her panties. I press my cold hand to her warm pussy, touching what is mine.
She gasps, the shock of my fluid movements forcing her eyes to close, her breath to stop short.
She’s scared. But not of me. Of this entire fucking world. We both know it. We just wear our fear in different ways.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” I tell her, peering deep into her tear-filled eyes.
“Yes,” she whispers, and my cock rages at the word.
I drag her into the steaming shower, my clothes soaked through, water running down her face. She unbuttons my shirt, her fingers fumbling and desperate.
“Oh God, I need you,” she moans as I push up her shirt, pull it over her head, tug down the cups of her lacy bra and fill my mouth with her round, perfect tits.
Her fingers press hard against my abs, then they push down my pants. We are soaked and we are spent and yet we are more ready than ever before.
“Fuck me,” she begs.
I could run my hands over her body all day and night. She’s soft and smooth, and when she wraps her delicate hand around my cock it pulses with anticipation.
I drop to my knees, needing her pussy against my mouth. Watching Emerson, of all men, lick her slit up and down last night made me jealous beyond reason. I can share my wife, but until I have tasted her sweet pussy I can’t do it willingly.
She runs her hands through my hair as I lift one of her legs over my shoulder, as my mouth dips to her entrance. My tongue belongs right here, tasting her nectar and sucking her sweet, sweet juice. I own this pussy, it’s mine no matter ho
w much she shares it with her other husbands. Right now, it’s only mine and I’m taking it.
“Oh, Banks,” she moans, leaning against the tiled shower wall.
I pull my mouth from her, looking up, those nipples, hard little pebbles of perfection. Her breasts blocking my view of her face.
“You mean Sir?” I know she thinks it’s a game, but it’s more than that, it’s a way to make it impersonal.
That’s what I need.
Sex.
Fucking.
Not love.
Not emotions.
She pushes my head back to her pussy. “Yes, Sir. My Sir. My… my… ohhh.” She’s going wild as I suck her tiny little nub of pleasure. I suck so damn hard on her clit until her release fills my mouth. It’s as sweet as I’d imagined. I press my tongue deeper against her, licking her raw until she is screaming nice and loud.
Good.
Then I spin her around, licking her ass nice and good too. My fingers begin fucking her pussy. She is still so tight and I know she loves her ass fucked. I saw her yesterday. Lifting myself from the floor of the shower, I spread those round cheeks of hers and ease my cock inside.
Her hands smack against the tile and I take hold of them both in my own. Holding them above her head I grind against her ass, filling her backside until she is weak in the knees. My cock is so damn hard and ready, and when I come inside her, I drop her wrists and press my hands to her perfect tits.
“Shit,” I mutter against her neck, my cock still hard, pulsing.
“More,” she cries out. “I need more.”
I ram against her the way she wants. She keeps calling me Sir, begging for it harder, deeper, and I will give my wife exactly what she wants. I’ll give her as much as I want to take--which is all of it. All of her. Every single piece of her.
We’ve both come once, but I’m not through. My needs can’t be satiated with one fuck, not like we had in the lab. I need a hell of a lot more than that to be satisfied.
Turning the shower off, I pull her to my bedroom, ripping my tie from where it hangs as we walk naked and wet to my bed.
“On the bed, wife.” My command must send a thrill over her because she scrambles onto the bed, her creamy ass once again the perfect view.
