Ready For His Rule--A WILD Boys Novel (The WILD Boys of Special Forces Book 10)

by Angel Payne

  A halting breath entered her. Exited her on a wet, sparse sob. “Wh-what…d-do you…”

  “I’ll be waiting, Tracy.” He lifted his other hand, treasuring her face like a diamond in the setting of his palms. “You tell me you want me there, and I’ll be waiting the second you leave the White House. I’ll be waiting, ready to love you just as deeply and completely as I do right now.”

  Her mouth fell open again. Not a single sound spilled out, which was probably a damn good thing. Right now, as he dropped his hands and turned away, only the endless crashes of the waves and the empty whisper of the wind felt like fitting music for the resigned decision of his soul—and the fucking eternity of torture he’d just agreed to put it through.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

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  “Margarita for your thoughts?”

  The question, coming at her in alpha male stereo, startled Tracy enough to lurch up from the sand. Not that she missed the spot. She’d shed so many tears, the ground was becoming mud beneath her. As she shook more sand out of her dress, she nervously eyed the pair who’d come bearing a tumbler full of liquid gold comfort.

  Tait Bommer and Kellan Rush were both nearly as tall as Franz, with muscles on top of their muscles—okay, there was a trend here and she should’ve been used to it—but unlike the other guys she’d met from the battalion, this pair was different. They were like Kaua’i itself. Edging on untamed. Breathtakingly beautiful. Unapologetically sensual. No wonder Lani Kail decided she’d take them both instead of choosing.

  Lani wasn’t here now, having to leave the base to pick up her little brother from wrestling practice, but her timing two hours earlier had been tragically perfect. As John had returned to the cottage, she’d been stepping out—just in time to watch Tracy lose it for the first time. As the shock wore into confusion and the amazement became anguish, Lani’s shoulder became the safe haven for all her unhindered tears—and unending remorse.

  Why the hell had she let him walk away?

  Why the hell hadn’t she confessed her truth too?

  Told him how completely she’d fallen in love with him in return?

  Fresh tears welled along with the glaring answer to that.

  She was going to be taking over the Oval Office soon.

  As a single female.

  After coming back from the dead.

  After tossing the head of her Secret Service detail into prison.

  No way would the American public, let alone the supporters she was going to need on the Hill and in the stock markets, be able to deal with a surprise fiancé on top of all that. And no way in hell could he stand by her side as anything but a fiancé.

  No. That wasn’t it.

  She wanted him as her fiancé. Oh God, she did. With every desire in her heart and thread of her soul. How she craved his smile every morning and his kisses every night. How she yearned for his wisdom about leading men and his insight about taming her. How she longed for his strength on the air she breathed, and his passion in the breaths he stole…

  She was so screwed.

  So yeah, she’d take the damn margarita.

  Two seconds after accepting the tumbler, she chugged the drink like it was lemonade in July.

  Whoa. Not lemonade.

  After her vision cleared and her throat wasn’t on fire anymore, she narrowed a watery glare at the boys. “Damn. You might as well have brought the salt and lime to finish that one off.”

  “He mixed it.” They quipped it in unison, each pointing a finger at the other.

  Tracy smiled. A little. Gingerly took another sip. “Well, I’ll give you both the credit. And, in gratitude for the beginning of this buzz, a free tour of the White House.”

  “Score.” Kellan fist-bumped the air.

  Tait rocked back on his heels, sending her a sideways smirk. “Well, ma’am, you’re all right.”

  She eyed him over the rim of her glass. “You’re all right too. But call me ‘ma’am’ again, and I’ll take up the issue with body parts you don’t want me messing with.”

  Kellan lurched forward, almost spewing a mouthful of the water he’d just chugged. “Bam. And T-Bomb’s owned by the tigress.”

  Tait glowered. “Douche nozzle.”

  Kellan returned the jibe with a smirk and a middle finger, though hunched his shoulders with bashful guilt when realizing Tracy had caught every second of it. If her heart was more capable, she would’ve laughed again. Boys would be boys in so many ways. Some things never changed.

  And some things—so many things—changed too damn fast.

  She ran from that thought by taking another huge chug of her “margarita”. Grimaced from the alcohol burn, despite expecting it this time. The men traded discomfited glances. Looked like she wasn’t the only perceptive one around here. She just prayed their protective dragon modes didn’t run as deep as Franz’s, and they’d really just let the cocktail be their offering to the TLC gods for now.

  “So.” Kellan broadened his stance, burrowing both feet into the sand for extra support. “Speaking of douche nozzles…”

  Tait really spat water now. “Really, man? That’s your lead?”

  Kellan glowered. “What? When the boot fits, it fits.”

  “And there are times when boots aren’t necessary at all.”

  “So I’m supposed to pretend Franz wears glass slippers?”

  As Kellan punctuated it with a pssshh and a grunt, Tracy gave in to flinging a tighter glare at them both. “What the living hell are you two talking about?” Or was she that bad at handling her tequila now?

  Both soldiers froze. Blinked long and hard at her.

  “You mean who we’re talking about,” Tait stated.

  “Not that we’re talking about him, about him—like behind his back or shit,” Kellan added.

  “Aw, hell no.” Tait snorted. “I’d say all this right to the big jerk’s face, only he’s a little busy right now.”

  Tracy took a turn at the puzzled blinks. “Huh?”

  “Damn.” Kellan’s shoulders sagged. He pinched his nose. “We’re making scrambled eggs out of this, dude.”

  “And burning them,” Tait muttered.

  “Well, I can’t even taste them yet,” Tracy intervened. “What…are you two…”

  Before she could finish, Kellan heaved a huge sigh. Pushed his feet back together, raising his height by a couple of considerable inches again. “Look. We not be the most eloquent ambassadors on the planet…but the upshot here is…” He stopped, chomping on his lower lip. “Hell. What’s the upshot, T?”

  Tait rubbed both hands on his to-the-knee board shorts. “Fine. I’ll just say it. So, Franzen—”

  Tracy started. “What about him?”

  Tait whooshed out a long breath. “Well, the deal is…”

  “Oh, fuck it all,” Kellan muttered. “He can be a pain in the ass sometimes, okay?”

  Tait helped him finish it off with a definitive nod—but after that, they both looked supremely relieved to let no sound pass except a new night breeze.

  Only after the better part of a minute did Tracy sense they waited for her to say something. Shit, shit, shit.

  “I—” she finally got out. “I don’t know what to—Oh, God.” The backs of her eyes burned again, feeding on the kindling of her composure, now toasty-dry due to the booze. A headache throbbed, but she still fought them with every force of will she still had. “No,” she choked. “You—you don’t understand. You…don’t…”

  The only pain I crave is from him. To take for him. To please him…so that I can know him, and let him know me…

  Don’t you see? Don’t either of you see?

  It’s not him.

  It’s not him.

  It’s not him.

  “No.” Tait stepped a little closer. Hesitated for one more second, before enveloping her in a heartfelt hug. “We do understand. We do, okay?”

  Kellan shuffled closer, joining the comfort fest with awkward pats on her shoulder. She almost
shrieked out loud. They were taking the wrong side! Pushing their big, solacing shoulders at the wrong damn person! But even starting to envision their big dudes’ version of “Kleenex and Häagen-Dazs”, applied in force to her John, sent a high, hysterical giggle up her throat.

  “We know it’s hard to believe,” Tait went on, “but you need to believe us. Under the hard-ass dragon, there really is a great guy with a huge heart and an incredible spirit.”

  “What he said.” Kellan added a few more pats in emphasis. “Because I sure as hell can’t add anything to it.”

  “We’d have you here all night if we started on the stories.” Though Tait’s step back was steady, his statement ended on a tremor. His tawny eyes gleamed with a discernible sheen. “I’d be a Skid Row bum with a shriveled liver right now if not for him.” He visibly swallowed. “Still mourning a hell of a lot of ghosts. But Franzen—John—he gave me back my life.”

  “And because of that, gave me back my brother.” Kellan moved over, clapping his friend’s shoulder.

  Tait’s nostrils flared. The soldier was so far out of his wise-cracking, surfer god comfort zone, it was almost cute. “So we hope you can understand…” he finally murmured. “We’re not here to ram anything down your throat. We just hope to help you understand…”

  “He’s worth it,” Kellan filled in. “Really worth it. Trust us.”

  Well.

  That was that.

  The rest of her soul’s kindling, fed by a rush of remorse, went up in three seconds.

  I dreamed a dream in times gone by…

  There was no point in fighting it.

  When hope was high and life worth living…

  No point in pretending she wouldn’t live another day without wanting him. Without remembering him.

  He slept a summer by my side…

  Without needing him.

  He filled my days with endless wonder…

  Her shoulders shuddered. Her throat constricted. The agony set in. The sobs spilled out.

  But then…

  For one perfect, crashing moment…

  The impossible.

  She wasn’t just the vessel for the emotion anymore. She was it. Blinded, obliterated, consumed. The fire swelled and pushed and screamed and stretched and filled, until even her grief became the exact miracle she was seeking.

  She disappeared.

  “Shit. Mrs. Rhodes…errr, Madame Vice President…are you—”

  “Damn. I knew that margarita was too hefty.”

  “Maybe you should get Franz.”

  “No.” She thrust her brain back into her body. Even made it compel her arm up, a visual executive order. See John? I was listening.

  Brand-new heartache found fresh kindling. How it was possible, she had no idea, but managed to grit back the breakdown long enough to speak again.

  “C-can I just be alone now?”

  A long moment went by. She glanced up long enough to watch the guys swap unsure glances. Kellan was the first to capitulate, sending his friend an erudite nod with one arched, knowing brow—

  Making the margarita fall from her numb fingers.

  Tequila-soaked sand spattered her ankles, but she barely noticed past the fresh shrapnel in her chest. Dammit. Kell could’ve only learned that look from one source. The man belonging to the only face she could still see. The toffee skin and dazzling smile from which her heart screamed for release, as she wheeled and headed across the sand.

  Alone.

  Feeling, for the first time this week, truly afraid.

  But somehow, forcing one foot in front of the other. Trudging into the darkness, toward the vast, black sea beneath the dark amber moon…its liquid magic reminding her so much of his perfect, knowing eyes…

  Her soul seeking solace in his beautiful, incredible words…

  Instead of wallowing in the fear, you chose to turn and face it.

  Scared is a good thing, remember?

  I’m scared all the time, woman. We all are. What turns the experience into triumph is what a person does with their fear…

  “But I don’t know what to do with it now, Sir.” She whispered it to the wind and waves and stars, only to listen as if he’d actually use them to respond. “I don’t know how to make this a triumph…”

  I don’t know how to be strong anymore.

  Because if strength comes from our vulnerability…and you’re my greatest vulnerability…

  “Tracy?”

  The hail was so faint, she first imagined it as a trick of the wind. She slowed, listening, but didn’t hear it again. As her feet hit the flatter sand near to the water, she quickened her pace. Maybe just a few seconds of direct contact with the sea would reconnect her to the force she desperately needed. The will to push past the fear again.

  “Tracy.”

  Not imagined. Not this time.

  She spun—

  And instantly wished this was the tequila playing tricks.

  Just as immediately, the icy snakes in her bloodstream confirmed otherwise. And the scorpions clamped to every nerve ending. And the cockroaches of dread, taking over her lungs.

  Do not panic. Do not panic.

  Easier said than done, when the man she’d often called her dervish now paced the ground in front of her. The man who’d been a dervish for her. Who she’d trusted with her life…

  Who’d conspired to take her life.

  Somehow, the true horror of it only fully slammed her now. Maybe her head had comprehended it, but her heart had hesitated. No more wavering now—not with the awful truth gleaming at her from Sol’s frantic, furtive stare.

  She backed up. Sol matched her, step for step. Would be able to easily overtake her. He was built like a giraffe, all spindly legs.

  Shit. Double Shit.

  The buzz was completely gone. All her synapses fired at full throttle, ordering her past all the insects of fear. No wallowing. Turn and face it. What turns the experience into triumph…

  “Sol.” She dashed a hand up, as gawky as Luke. “Hey.”

  “Tracy.” For an awful second, he eyed her hand as if to grab it. Instead, his lean features dissolving, he sobbed, “Oh, Tracy.”

  “It’s all right.” Breathe, she ordered her lungs. Breathe, dammit. “It’s—going to be all right.” Listen to yourself. That’s for you as much as him. Breathe!

  He turned, pushing out a bitter laugh. Meshed both hands across the back of his head—lifting his sweat-soaked golf shirt high enough to expose the handgun in the waistband of his khaki shorts.

  Triple shit.

  “Wh-what are you—” While he wasn’t looking, she scooted back by a shaky step. “I mean, how did you get—”

  He laughed harder, spinning back around. “Please, Trace. Give me some credit. I figured Franzen would end up somewhere in the neighborhood—though I have to give him credit for finagling something here on the base and not going straight home. It’s been kind of amusing, watching his family crying their way through the days and nights. I really thought the mighty John Franzen would cave to that kind of pressure. The man has a will of iron.” He paused long enough to drop a heavy-lidded stare down the length of her body. “About some things.”

  Tracy barely disguised her shiver from the new bugs he brought, skittering from her scalp to her toes. It was time for another tactic. Now. Gee-buddy-nice-to-see-ya-again clearly wasn’t the black and white safety zone it once was between them.

  A lot of things weren’t the same between them.

  Especially that safety zone.

  Had it ever really been there at all?

  Nothing but a black hole opened in her heart as her answer—the dark space once occupied by her warm affection for this man. This friend who hadn’t been one at all. This person she hadn’t known at all.

  What the hell had she missed? And when? Or had Sol’s mask been that good, that polished? And for how long? When had his betrayal begun? And why?

  The queries bombarded. Fed the insects. Gave them wings. They
ate into her like locusts in a corn field, making her shake again.

  In fury.

  “I don’t think you’re in a position to make a quality call about anyone’s willpower, Mr. Wrightman.” She emphasized the last of it with gritted teeth, letting him know how close she’d been to substitute another name entirely.

  At once, his own locked teeth appeared from his sneering lips. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tracy.” The expression exploded into a caustic bark. “Are you kidding me? Willpower?” His hands clawed at his head again. “You want to know about willpower? My whole fucking life, for the last fifteen years, has been about nothing but willpower.”

  That thudded the air between them like a four-foot wide cannonball. Tracy shook her head. “That’s really all you’re going to give me?” she snapped back. “All you feel you owe me, Sol? I find out you’ve helped the monsters who murdered nearly every leader in the free world, and this is all—”

  “No.”

  She jogged her chin up. It wasn’t hard now. Anger sure felt a hell of a lot better than fear. “No what?”

  “No.” He diminished the space she’d gained with two hard stomps. “It wasn’t murder.”

  She almost laughed. Raw grief, spurred by the memories of Craig and Norene Nichols, turned it into a jagged choke. “Fine. You prefer assassination? Execution? Slaughter? Multiple homicide?”

  “Cleansing.” He growled the word with such virulence, she again wondered if she’d imagined it—until he jabbed a glare to join it, just inches from her face. She jerked back, breathing hard. Sol yanked her back, shackling her upper arm in his grip. “I prefer cleansing, because that was exactly what we did.”

  No more hard breaths. No more breathing, period. Her heart and lungs collided, racing toward each other in disbelieving horror.

  “S-Sol,” she stuttered. “You—you aren’t—you can’t be serious.”

  He rolled his eyes. The casual move was a bizarre contrast with his vicious snarl. “Fuck. Why does everyone always say that? You think I’m just kidding about this? That I’d joke about something like the future of our world…our entire goddamned planet?”