by Angel Payne
The warmth in his blood and the fuzz in his head did their duty as liquid courage. He sprang to his feet with a surge of surprising grace, if the toppled bucket of papayas didn’t count.
After dodging the rolling fruit, he ran to catch up with Kell, who’d trailed the goddess up to the house’s lanai. They followed her to the front end of the porch and shouldered against each other as truck doors made foreboding thunks against what had been peaceful air.
He blinked hard and focused. Though the hooch dulled his senses, old instincts and hardcore training beat through his blood like a favorite song, impossible to forget. “Three Escalades, six henchmen,” he murmured to Kell without moving his lips. “But only the two flanking Mr. Big are carrying heat. They’re the only ones in jackets.”
Kellan answered by softly clearing his throat. Though the sound confirmed he’d heard every word of the assessment, the guy’s lips flattened, also disclosing that he smelled the fresh shot on Tait’s breath. Whatever, tight ass. I’m the only choice you’ve got for backup, so deal with it.
But the cavalier viewpoint fled as he joined his friend in glancing to the woman who’d prevented them from tearing each other up on the beach—who clutched at his gut as she hoisted her quivering chin. With her hand still clenched on the Bowie and her shoulders thrown back, she was desperate to convey whatever shred of strength she could to these invaders of her world.
Invaders? After fast assessment of the men, Tait decided it wasn’t a stretch. Shit. These pretty boys belonged in this rustic setting as much as kittens on a battlefield. Every one of them looked like they’d stepped off the pages of some fancy men’s magazine after a three-hour burn in the gym. He bet they’d all had manicures today, too. Gag.
Whatever irritation he’d logged for the lot was eclipsed by the disdain on the goddess’s face as the main pretty boy strolled forward. In white shorts and a light blue polo with a precision cut to his salon-streaked blond hair, the guy was one Botox treatment away from having his testosterone card revoked for good. But Tait had to hand it to the man for sincerity points. The dude was good, damn good. He owned that sheep’s fleece over his wolf’s pelt with the commitment of a religious zealot minus the Jesus sandals.
“Miss Hokulani Kail. My, my, my, you are stunning this evening.” He tilted his head, giving her a onceover that turned Tait’s nerves to barbed wire. Kellan’s growl betrayed his friend’s agreement. The only good thing about the exchange so far was that they finally learned her name. Hokulani. He imagined some rock band writing a song about it, the kind requiring everyone in the stadium to wave glow sticks in time to its ethereal chant.
She stepped forward, chin still level. “I’d invite you in for some wine and arsenic, Gunter, but hadn’t planned on all the boy toys being along.” She glanced back at Tait and Kellan. “You didn’t tell me the whole gang was coming. You planning a slumber party for later? Going to sit around and swap tips on cuticle care and after-the-bender eye bags?”
Benson chuckled. “We’re all about the aloha spirit at Benstock, Lani. You know that.”
“Aloha is about giving, Gunter, not getting. It has nothing to do with your brand of greed.”
Pretty Boy’s face went tight. “Damn, I’m troubled to hear you say that.”
Tait took his turn to stifle a snort. If Benson was really “troubled,” he and Kell were Princes William and Harry.
Hokulani was a little more delicate about expressing her disgust, letting out a delicate sniff. “My opinions trouble you less than your sock odor, Benson. So cut the bullshit and tell me why you bothered to drive all the way out here with your backup dancers.”
The man’s face relaxed again. Another laugh played at his mouth. “Or what? You’re going to ‘cut us’ with that nasty blade of yours, darling?”
She stomped forward again. “What the hell are you here for, Gunter?”
The two closest goons to Benson stomped up, reaching for the pistols Tait had detected. Their boss restrained them with a raised hand. “No need for wasted tempers, people.” He directed a slick smile up the steps. “We’re just here for a simple property walk-through, Lani. You can even stay in the house if you want. All I need is a stroll on the beach and the orchard, and a quick peek at that beautiful lookout point.”
She bypassed the sniff in favor of a full snort. “The beach, huh? Well, that does explain the watch dogs.”
Benson frowned. “Excuse me?”
Tait joined Kellan in moving up a little. Giving up the jig was past due, and they’d already missed the first opportunity, so—
“Bah,” Lani bit out. “Innocence, especially feigned, just makes you a bad drag queen, Gunter. Take one more step, and I’ll add trespasser to that.”
The man spread his arms. “Darling, as I’ve clearly stated, we’re just here for a friendly visit.”
“And in what universe will I let you do that without a shred of justifiable paperwork? You’re a fine piece of work, thinking I’ll let you tromp all over my land, scheming how you’re going to ruin it in the name of time shares and condominiums just because you threw the word aloha into the mix.”
He lowered his arms on a heavy sigh. “I thought we’d been through this. We want to enrich the beauty of Hale Anelas, not strip it. We are maintaining a natural preserve, remember?”
“Three acres is barely a park, let alone a reserve.”
“What about the land we’re setting aside for the horses?”
“You mean the corral for the fifteen heads you plan to keep out of the fifty-four I have now? The ones you’ll save to tote fat tourists up and down the beach?”
After a moment of steady silence, Benson slipped his hands into his pockets. He took a couple of steps, the movements measured and fluid, another indication of the pure oil flowing in his veins.
“If you want to keep doing this the hard way, Hokulani, that’s fine by me.” He made an attempt at elegance with his emphasizing nod but evoked a drunk lizard, instead. “But you need to accept how this is going to play out. The money you’re making from selling the fruits and desserts is barely paying for your groceries, utilities, and private academy for Leo. You’re six months overdue on the property mortgage itself.”
“Because Benstock has blocked every application I’ve submitted to reopen the B and B.” Tears tinged her retaliation, gashing Tait’s chest open as if she’d turned on him with the knife. “You’re a maggot, Benson. You kill things in order to feed off of them, and you love it!”
Pretty Boy shook his head as if dealing with a small child. “Red tape troubles shouldn’t be an excuse to call people names. What would Leo say if he were here?”
“How do you know he’s not? Or was it you who ‘conveniently’ had the fencing team practice moved to tonight, as well?”
Benson let the lizard nod have an encore. “I’m not the monster you keep assuming, Hokulani.”
She swallowed so hard that Tait heard it this time. “No? There are three other properties for sale in this area, Gunter, but you’ve targeted Hale Anelas for your new resort. My family home. My only livelihood. The only thing I have left of my parents.”
“And don’t you think that your parents would want you to be happy? To not have to worry about this place all the time? To provide for Leo, and have a simpler life for yourself?” With every question, the man shifted closer to the bottom of the lanai steps, though kept his stare fixed on Lani’s position at the top. He gave a small nod to his two henchmen, who motioned the others forward, too. “Just let us look around, darling.”
“I’m not your damn darling.”
“Hoaloha makamae—”
“She’s not that either, asshole.” Whatever it was. Tait didn’t need a translation app to comprehend the general tone of the endearment, one the guy took as seriously as the stinking feet Lani had mentioned. He’d had enough of Benson trying to turn his silver tongue into a dagger through her heart, which was clearly tied into the land onto which this fuck wazzle wanted. Vitalized by a
mix of fury and hooch, he stepped past Lani to brace one foot on the landing next to her, the other on the top stair. “And she’s made her point for tonight. So it’s time for you to leave, GQ-la-roo.”
“What the hell?” Lani flashed a spectacular you’ve-grown-another-head stare. “What—what’s going on?”
Benson’s plucked brows cinched together. “Shockingly, Miss Kail and I agree on something. What is going on?”
Lani swung her frown at the man. “They don’t work for you?” Her answer came before she was done. Benson’s shrug said it all. “Then who the hell—”
“Do you need assistance throwing them out?” Pretty Boy didn’t waste time jumping on that golden opportunity. More accurately, motioning his minions to do so.
“No.” Lani’s protest sliced the air, desperate and harsh. “No, damn it. You’re not getting onto the property in any way, Gunter. Wave your dogs off or I’m calling the police!”
Benson’s boys reacted like that was the best punch line of the week. With matching chortles, they barely broke their strides toward the stairs. Tait didn’t waste energy on an answering laugh, but indulged himself inwardly.
Bring it on, fashion plates.
As soon as the first henchman dared a boot on the bottom stair, he stepped down. “The woman’s made herself clear, dude. Back off.” He kept his tone conversational. No need to let these tarts think they were worth anything more.
Kellan moved down to flank Tait on the step. All Gunter’s minions tensed. After taking half a second to fully size Kell up, the henchman in front of him made the first move. Though the guy wasn’t packing a gun, his chest was as wide as a C-130, his neck big as the plane’s loading bay. Kell was smart enough to recognize a lucky break. As soon as the guy cleared two steps, Kell shoved his heel of his palm into that broad target of an Adam’s apple.
The C-130 crumpled so quietly that Kell had time to roll his eyes at Tait before the blow was noticed—and Benson ordered the rest of his posse forward with a snarl.
Tait grinned. The boy on his side of the stairs now raced up higher, enraged by watching his friend get toppled by Kellan. “Come and get some candy, sweet thing.”
The boy turned up the speed. Tait smiled wider. The faster the velocity, the better the punch. Sure enough, the guy ran into his fist hard enough to cause an audible crack of flesh to bone—until the guy’s wail drowned it. He stumbled back, clutching his bloody nose.
“What the hell?” Benson screeched it like they’d taken out his whole pack of Twinkies instead of the two. “Who do you two meatheads think you are?”
Tait snickered. It had to be the vodka at play, but he couldn’t help himself. “Meatheads. That’s a new one. I kind of like it.”
“Says the flank steak,” Kellan drawled while centering himself on the steps with a wide stance, now directly guarding Lani. Tait had to hand it to the guy. Looking that daunting in nothing but khakis and an open beach shirt required significant balls. “Sergeant Kellan Rush at your service, Mr. Benson,” he stated. “This is my brother at arms, Sergeant Tait Bommer. We’re honored to be assisting Miss Kail tonight on behalf of the US Army.”
“Oh my God.” Lani whispered. “Are you a couple of Franz’s guys?”
“Would that be a bad thing?” Tait murmured.
She didn’t take her stare off Benson. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Nice to meet you, Sergeant.” The new information didn’t shake Benson. The man folded his arms and advanced by another smug step. “Under different circumstances, I’d offer to take you boys out for a beer to thank you for your service. But as they say, this situation is what it is—and I’m sure that my friends at PACOM would be interested to learn how a couple of their boys pulled my men into this dust-up without provocation or—”
This time Kellan joined Tait in his laugh, sharp enough to cut off the bastard. “First, I don’t see a spec of ‘dust,’ man—though that can be arranged if you’re disappointed. Secondly, go right ahead and call your fancy mucks in Honolulu. I’m sure they’ll also be eager to know how the local ‘businessmen’ of their islands are showing up at private residences where they’re not wanted and demanding entrance, anyway.”
Benson was still unfazed. Tait snorted and shook his head. Some idiots didn’t get the message. Times like these were when it came in handy to let the vodka fairies fly away with a guy’s inhibitions.
“Hey, Slash? You’re being nice, aren’t you?” He stepped down to the same level as Kellan and backhanded his partner’s chest. “This is strange. He’s not usually the nice one. But that means we can’t have fun, because I don’t feel like being so pleasant right now. Not when a beautiful new friend of mine has been barged in on like this, slapped with threats thinner than rubbers from a truck stop bathroom, then told she might as well not fight the asswads who made them, because it’s ‘for her own good’.” As he lowered his hand, he cracked his knuckles. “Shit like that makes my blood hot, especially when I’ve been drinking. And fuuuck, have I been drinking.”
Kellan emitted a tight groan. “Goddamnit, T-Bomb. You that determined to live up to the call-sign tonight?”
Near the bottom of the steps, there was a man giggle. Tait glanced over to watch the jeer spilling from one of Benson’s goon boys. The dude had a lanky build, eyes like a rat, and a layer of stubble of which he was clearly proud, complete with styling product worked into the scruff.
C’mon, Benson. Let this pup off his leash. Let them all off. The itch to rumble with these posers was a fire in Tait’s blood. Okay, so it was displaced fire. He wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t recognize that truth. What his body really craved was friction of a different kind, learning every incredible curve of his beach goddess’s body. Yyeeaahh, that was happening sometime…never. The woman already protected her land like a wrathful divinity, which made her person a no-fly zone. And studying her bikini—for pure recon purposes of course—made him note a snug custom fit along with snap-lock closures instead of string ties. The garment was made for utility, not intimacy. Not that he couldn’t get her out of it in less than a minute, with the proper invitation…
Goddamnit, he needed to pummel something.
“Casey.” Benson’s clipped command didn’t bode well for that cause. “Don’t waste your time on the nice soldiers. They’re likely getting ready for a trip to Lihue, hoping they’ll be able to buy some ‘entertainment’ for the night. It’s sad, but some people need to do that.”
“And some just name theirs ‘Casey’ and keep it on a pretty leash.”
All really wasn’t lost. The crack did the trick. Casey’s lips curled before he pounded up the steps toward Tait. Adrenaline rushed Tait’s blood, mixing with the alcohol, sending him into a weird kind of high. Yeah, this was good. The euphoria he’d been seeking for six months. The nirvana of not giving a fuck whether he lived or died. Finally.
When the kid reached him, Tait stayed open long enough to let the boy land a solid fist to his gut. To any outsider, the blow became Tait’s justification for retaliation. He took the punch with pleasure, curling his arm under and thrusting up with a satisfied grunt. The pup had washboard abs, but they were conditioned by weight machines, not battle drills. Damn. That meant the kid would only last one or two more whacks before slinking off in tears like his friend. Where were some serious warriors when a guy needed to taste blood?
Luckily, Casey’s buddies surged up, eager to help answer that question. Tait eyed them with a feral grin. “Let’s have some fun, boys. I love playing with puppies.”
“Holy fuck.” Kellan’s mutter was lined with anger.
“Oh, my God!” Lani’s gasp was filled with fear.
His reaction to both was a smile he felt from ear to ear—just before he was tackled, rolled over, and pinned to the steps with his arms spread wide. Casey’s victory scream filled his ears, piercing his I-don’t-give-a-shit bliss, before he looked up—into the kid’s fist.
Make it good, Fido.
He vaguely remem
bered the words actually tumbling past his lips before the blow descended. Pain exploded through his head. Then at last, a bottomless blackness sucked him into its thick perfection.
Chapter Four
“Hupos o na hupos.” Lani spat it for the hundredth time in the last half hour. For the sake of emphasizing how high her fury soared, she repeated it for Sergeant Rush in words he could understand. “Morons. All of you damn men. You’re half-brained morons.”
She pushed harder on the ice pack against Bommer’s face. The man groaned from where he lay on the chaise upon which Rush had dumped him. A second later, he flung out a drunken arm. “Garrhh! Unnnggh! Stop!” His arm went lax as his fingers found her thigh. “Mmmm. Ahhh. Don’t stop.”
“Shit.” She shoved his hand away. Well, tried to. “Yep. Morons.”
From his position under the door frame, Rush rolled his shoulders a little. In a less formidable man, the motion probably resembled a squirm. “I think you’ve got the win on this one, sweetheart.”
The man needed another glare hurled his direction for the slip on the endearment, but damn it, the words soothed her nerves in at least ten ways. Still she seethed, “What the hell possessed him to goad Gunter’s pack like that? What would he have done if you weren’t there to peel them away, and convince pansy-man to call them back? Does your friend have a damn death wish?”
“It’s beginning to look that way.”
The dismal certainty of his statement caused her to stare back to Bommer. She tried to ease up on the pack, but the unconscious man reached up, clutching her wrist like his torch in an abyss. “Don’t go. Please don’t let go of me, Luna.”
Her breath clutched. The plea wasn’t like his other ramblings. Every syllable of it was clear, pronounced—and desperate. She stretched a finger out from the edge of the ice pack, trailed it across his forehead. With every inch she covered, his tension ebbed a little more. Was he relieved? Grateful? Lost to a dream? If so, of who? Or what? She suddenly burned for the answers as if she’d been awaiting them for months instead of minutes—and from the looks of things, she’d be waiting longer. Bommer began pulling in longer breaths, forcing her to call on an old friend called patience.
