Angels & Assassins: BWWM Romance

by K. Alex Walker

  “Better?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I’ll see after a few more nights.”

  -6-

  “Have you heard back from Julien yet?” Gage asked, pulling a wooden work bench out onto the sand behind the house. It had been more difficult than he was willing to admit to leave Tayler sleeping alone in bed, but if she was still dozing past five o’clock in the morning, it would only be cruel to wake her.

  “Only on one of the guys so far,” Mo answered. “The foreman. He’s clean. His bank accounts don’t show any action to suggest that he’s been paid off for anything major. Guy goes to church twice a week and has five kids all under the age of fourteen. He’s got an active role in all of their activities, which doesn’t really leave much room for stalking.”

  Just as he’d suspected. None of the men working on the house made him uneasy. They all spoke to Tayler in the same manner, none of them tried to close the gap between a business relationship and a personal one, and none of them stood out as being more concerned with her whereabouts than the task at hand.

  “Keep me updated—”

  “Before you hang up,” she quickly interjected. “Tell me more about Tayler. Does she have any ex-boyfriends, girlfriends, a crazy uncle…anything like that?”

  He set a can on top of the work bench. “Why do I feel like you’ve already checked?”

  “Well, I was curious about her as well. Not in the guilty sense but just to see if there were any uncovered stones in her life’s path, so to speak.”

  He glanced up at the bedroom window when he noticed movement. “What did you find?”

  “Barely any ex-boyfriends. Your lady friend seems to be a real do-gooder. She’s done a stint in the Peace Corps, has done some work with Doctors Without Borders, and is a registered disaster volunteer. Her father, Juan Diaz, moved back to Cuba some years ago. Her mother’s name was Ama.”

  He stopped midway in reaching for another can. “Was? Her mother died?”

  “Yeah, she didn’t tell you? You know that massive earthquake they had in Chile about five years ago now? Well, her parents were in the country at the time. They got caught in the rubble and her mother was killed. Her father’s now a paraplegic because of it.”

  He looked up just as the blinds drew and the window opened. Tayler smiled and waved down at him.

  “No, she never mentioned it,” he said.

  “Oh. Must be something she doesn’t like talking about.”

  “What are you doing now?” Tayler yelled, leaning against the window sill.

  “Breakfast is in the kitchen,” he replied. “Come outside when you’re done.”

  She shook her head, closed the window and walked away.

  “Breakfast? You’re making breakfast now?” Mo asked. “Is there more to Tayler that you’re not mentioning?”

  “I’ve made breakfast for you.”

  “Yes, but I’m family…your inept and domestically-handicapped play cousin.”

  Tayler appeared in the doorway with a mug of coffee in her hand and wearing another one of those long dresses that he noticed she loved. This one had a flat band that came up under her breasts and narrowed her waist. The orange fabric glowed against her skin and the winds whipped her locs across her face.

  “You’re going to need a sweater,” he called out.

  The spastic weather changes had come to an end, and it was beginning to feel like a spring morning in North Carolina once again. The air was cool, however with the water so close nearby, it felt ten degrees cooler than the rest of the town.

  She stepped out of view for a few seconds and returned wearing a knitted pullover. Then, she held up her hands as if to ask if that was better, and he sent her a slight nod.

  “I have to go, Mo,” he said. “Call me when Julien gets back to you with more information.”

  He slipped the phone into his pocket and watched Tayler as she approached. There was something mesmerizing about the way she walked, especially with the strong winds billowing the dress against her body and outlining the curves of her physique. She’d nestled into him so easily the night before that it was like they’d known each other much longer than a few weeks. It made him realize that she trusted him. He’d had comrades trust him with their lives, but there was something different about having her put faith in his ability to keep her safe that made him feel compelled to never let it waver.

  “Good morning, you,” she greeted, smiling.

  “Good mood?” he asked.

  “Very good mood.” She took a sip from the mug. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I wish that I could write a prescription for sleeping next to you just so I could bill my insurance company. I never thought I could find a hard body so comforting. I may never let you leave my bed.”

  “What about my sofa?”

  “Man, fuck that sofa.”

  When he didn’t smile, she tossed her head back. “You’re killing me here, Gage. Give me something.”

  He kissed the top of her head, something he intended to do until she told him to stop. “Is that good?”

  She slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him in for a tight hug. When she released him, she looked up. “I guess I’ll take that.”

  He leaned down and ran his tongue over her lips. She sighed and her lips parted, giving him access to where his mind had been unable to pull itself from ever since the day before. The remnants of the coffee came across like bittersweet bits, her lips softer than he remembered. She flicked her tongue, reigniting the tugging in that space just beneath his sternum.

  When she moaned, he pulled away. She’d let him feel, taste, and hear her desire, but if he followed through with what was on his mind, their morning shooting session wouldn’t happen until he let her out of his grasp…in a few days.

  “Are we going to be doing that regularly from now on?” she asked, licking her lips.

  “That a problem?”

  “God, no. I’d just like to know if that’s going to keep happening.”

  “Why?”

  “Because kissing you is amazing, Gage.”

  Everything inside of him stopped moving. He was certain that even his blood had ceased flowing through his veins and arteries. She was staring at him, but he desperately needed her to change the subject. She was good at that, talking about nothing. If not, he was taking her upstairs. His mouth and his cock would take turns exploring the depths of her body. He would marathon fuck her in every corner of the room until her muscles ached. Then, he would rub them and fuck her again.

  She had five seconds.

  “So, what’s all this?” she asked, gesturing to the setup.

  The distraction was both welcomed and despised.

  “You need to learn how to shoot.”

  He took a step back, brandished a handgun from behind his back, and put three leaden holes into the cans in front of them. Squeezing a trigger again after so long felt good. It also gave him somewhere to channel the energy that built whenever Tayler was around.

  “What the hell?” She peered around his body. “Where did you get that gun from?”

  He shrugged. “My duffel bag.”

  “Did you have it this entire time? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I assumed you knew.”

  “You assumed I knew? How would I know?”

  “The duffel bag.”

  She squeezed her forehead. “Gage, normal people do not carry guns around in duffel bags. Clothes, socks…maybe a toothbrush or some cologne, but not nine millimeter handguns.”

  “What about shotguns?”

  “Dear Lord…”

  He reloaded the handgun and handed it to her. “Here. Hold this.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to set up more cans.”

  She gingerly slipped the metal from his hand, and he moved down to the bench to set up another round. He’d used the small cans from Ares’ meals but had found some larger, old paint cans that would be easier for her to hit. He’d also commanded Ares to remain in t
he house, just in case.

  When he looked up, the nozzle of the gun was pointing at him.

  “Point it down, Tayler.” He walked back to where she was standing. “Only point guns at your target. Have you ever used one before?”

  Her hand fell to her side. “I need them all the time in my medical practice.”

  He slipped the mug from her hand and rested it on the ground. Sand was sure to filter inside, but she’d seemed to have lost interest in it anyhow. If not, he would just make her more.

  “Did you only have coffee for breakfast?” he asked.

  “For now. I saw your pancakes and plan to have a large, fluffy stack in a bit. Thank you again, by the way. For breakfast, I mean.”

  He stepped behind her and raised her arms. “Keep your finger off the trigger unless you’re intending to shoot. On your own, you’ll need to check to make sure the safety’s off. And, you’re welcome.”

  She smiled.

  He pressed his body into hers and mentally redirected his blood flow to the parts of his body that actually needed it. “It won’t be easy at first because you’ll have to deal with the kickback and the noise, but it will—”

  Tayler squeezed the trigger and the first can fell off the bench. Her body then pivoted and with quick pulls, the next two were taken down. She tilted the gun, checked the cartridge, and reinserted it. Then she dropped the firearm to her side.

  “Bullshit.” He stepped around to face her. “Do that again.”

  “Go stack them.”

  He stacked more cans, smaller ones this time, and she popped them off one by one with expert-level precision, never wasting a bullet. She’d controlled the kickback to the point where it looked like there was none, and her eyes barely flickered.

  He couldn’t help himself. He smiled. A real smile. One that he was certain didn’t look like an alpha wolf getting its pack ready to converge on their prey. At least, not in a terrifying way. Somewhat.

  She clapped her hands together. “Was that a smile? Did I finally do the impossible?”

  “Where did you learn?” he asked.

  She set the safety on the gun. “My father taught me.”

  “What else did he teach you?”

  “Close combat self-defense, hot-wiring a car, how to make a shiv out of wood or soap…”

  “Did your father spend time in prison?”

  She laughed. “If you ask him, he just says that he enjoyed his youth a bit too much.”

  “Do you still remember the self-defense?”

  “A bit.”

  “Show me.”

  She glanced down at her outfit and then back up at him. “But, I’m in a dress.”

  “You wear dresses more than fifty percent of the time, so technically your odds of getting attacked in a dress are greater than any other type of clothing.”

  He removed his shirt. Her eyes automatically fell to his chest and stomach, much like it had done the night before. The side of his mouth tugged. Her kisses were anything but chaste, which made him wonder if she desired him with the same urgent, primal need that he had for her. His only means of containing it had been to see it as a weakness, and telling himself that acting on it would be an exploitation of her current state of vulnerability.

  “I’m going to come at you,” he said.

  She shrugged out of the pullover and tossed it on a grassy section of the yard, shivering as the winds brushed over her skin. Already, he liked her zeal.

  He stepped forward and jabbed his hand toward her stomach as though he was trying to plunge a knife into her midsection. She blocked him, grabbed the arm, and raised her knee to his stomach before stepping aside and twisting the arm behind his back. Then she made a motion as though shoving him to the floor.

  She released and he looked at her feet. “Good, but you’re thinking about your moves which is slowing you down. I could see them coming a mile off.”

  “You’re not exactly a normal opponent, Gage,” she quipped.

  “Doesn’t matter. Take off your shoes.”

  She pulled her feet out of her bedroom slippers. He knew that both the sand and grass were also cold, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she rested both hands on her hips and watched him, waiting for his next move. Heaven help him…he really liked this woman.

  “Now,” he picked up a piece of plastic PVC piping that one of the workers had left lying around, “I want you to take the weapon from me this time. Remember, don’t think about it. Just act.”

  He moved forward again like last time. This time, as she blocked and stepped around him, she trapped the piping in the crook of her elbow, pulled it away, and then motioned a shot to his intercostal muscles.

  “Better?” she asked.

  “Much better.”

  He started forward this time without warning and she met his strikes blow for blow. When he charged forward, she sidestepped. He went for a direct attack around her neck and she angled her head and struck the heel of her palm toward the bridge of his nose. Even when he pretended to hold a gun to her head, she was able to deflect, disarm, and then give her assailant a knee to the groin that would give her enough time to run off. She’d remembered more than she’d given herself credit for, but there was one thing that her father hadn’t taught her.

  “How long have we been at this?” she asked, bent over and panting with her hands on top of her knees. “I’m getting hungry.”

  “About an hour. We can call it quits after this last one.”

  She nodded and straightened her spine.

  He started forward as though going for a direct attack, but then stepped around her at the last moment, exploiting her blind spot. She became momentarily lost, and he grabbed her from behind, pinned her hands to her lower back, and shoved her to her knees.

  He knelt behind her, his legs on both sides of hers and his mouth close to her ear. “Good job.”

  She twisted her neck to look at him. “Good job? You just completely bested me.”

  “Did you know that your blind spot was your weakness?”

  “No.”

  “But you do now. You’ll be more aware of it next time.” He stood and helped her up in the process. “Come on. I’m starting to get hungry myself.”

  She ran upstairs to change out of her sweaty clothes and ended up in another dress. This one was a grey form-fitting sweater dress under which she’d thrown on dark sweater tights. The bulky fabric didn’t faze him, however. It was still snug enough to give rise to his fantasies.

  He heaped a couple of stacks onto two plates and walked them to the breakfast nook. She started another pot of coffee, grabbed the maple syrup, and joined him.

  “What else can you tell me about your father?” he asked the minute she was seated. She buried her pancakes in syrup, which didn’t surprise him given her affinity for all things sugar.

  “Why? Are you thinking that because he’s Cuban, a drug Lord from his past has tracked down his family and now wants to off them?”

  His forehead wrinkled. “No. I’m making conversation.”

  “A skill I believe I taught you, no doubt.” She cut her stack into neat, triangular sections. “But my father went through cycles in his life. In his youth, he was a troublemaker. Then he moved to the States and met my mother in a coffee shop near the university she attended. He’d actually been scoping out the shop to return later that night to rob it, but he ended up talking to her so long that he forgot all about his plans.”

  He devoured half of his stack in the time it took her to bite into one of her syrup-laden pieces.

  “What else?” he asked.

  “You seem very interested in my life this morning.”

  “You’re a very interesting woman, Tayler.”

  Her eyes lowered and a blush further emphasized the reddish tint to her brown skin. It was the first time he’d ever found a woman’s embarrassment to be a turn on.

  “Well, they got married and had me,” she finished. “The end.”

  “Are both your parents sti
ll alive?”

  She stuffed her mouth with folds of pancake, and he waited patiently for her to swallow so that she could continue. Mo had already given him the details, but he wanted her to tell him. To trust him in more than one way.

  “No. My mother died in an earthquake,” she replied.

  “And your father? He wasn’t there?”

  “He was there. The quake nearly registered a nine on the Richter scale. They were inside a building in Concepción, Chile when it hit. Part of the building’s ceiling completely caved in and he tried to push my mother out of the way so that the debris would land on him, but he didn’t get to her in time. It came down on his spine, severing parts of his spinal cord. He’s been confined to a wheelchair ever since.”

  He didn’t quite know how to say that he was sorry for her loss even though he knew exactly how she felt. The only exception was that he couldn’t blame the loss of his family on a natural disaster. He’d gotten entangled with a man that lacked scruples. His mission had been to end the life of one of the members of the man’s family, which he successfully carried out. Unfortunately, his identity was discovered. The last words that he’d heard through the telephone was the man’s gravelly foreign accent spewing “An eye for an eye,” before his mother, father, and two brothers were murdered.

  His revenge had been swift, bloody and complete, but it had done nothing to fill the void in his chest.

  He reached out, lifted her from her chair, and brought her down onto his lap. It was the only way he knew how to show her that he was sorry—his closeness. He then waited for an argument that never came. Instead, she slid her plate over to his seat and continued to eat.

  “Thank you,” she said after a pause.

  “For what?”

  She gestured to her place in his lap. “Your kind words.”

  She smiled, but he didn’t like this one. It didn’t reflect any semblance of happiness. It felt contrived and expressed in place of pain hidden somewhere. Pain that he couldn’t take away.

  He flipped her wrist to check on the progress of her healing. Slowly, the skin was returning to its normal state. After witnessing men lose entire limbs to rattlers, it made him feel good to know that Tayler had been more fortunate.