Safe in His Arms (Love's Command)

by Billi Jean

  “A killer, you mean.”

  His soft murmur stole her breath for only a moment before she turned on him, anger simmering through her body. “Oh, a killer, huh? I bet you think I should feel bad about you killing those men,” she whispered, “or about me, killing that monster? I threw up, you know, I had to clean that up too. I guess it was reaction—” She stopped and paused, feeling sick gain just thinking about the way she’d cut into the man’s vest. “But you know what? I don’t. I won’t. You did what you had to. I did what I had to do. And unless we go to jail for it”—she turned a curious look at him, but he shook his head and snorted—“then there’s nothing to do but go on.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, clearly thinking something she couldn’t guess at. She’d been honest. She didn’t feel badly that he had killed men who were trying to kill her. She didn’t. Maybe she should, but she didn’t. In her eyes, Mac was a hero. Just like her brother. She felt sick at what she’d had to do, but if that same thing happened again, if a man like that tried to rape her? She’d do it again.

  “Mandy, you killed a man. We need to talk about that—”

  “No, no, we don’t. He would have raped me—” She paused when he tried to interrupt her. “Don’t, just don’t. You were right to go—”

  “I wasn’t right not to check that all the damn men were dead, Mandy. I wasn’t right to leave you—”

  She covered her ears and shook her head. “Shut up! Mac, there isn’t a way to change the past. I’ve tried. Don’t you think I’ve wished that repeatedly? You can’t.”

  She exhaled heavily and they stared at each other, both of them stubbornly sticking to their idea of what was right. Finally, Mac grimaced and rubbed his face with both hands, sighing deeply. When he dropped them, he simply nodded.

  “Yeah, baby, I know that.”

  The acceptance did it. She could take Mac telling her what to do and stand up to him. She could take him stubbornly trying to force her, but his acceptance did it. He needed this, she realised. Maybe she did too. The nightmares would be bad, she knew.

  “It was my fault, really.” She took Mac’s hand and held it to keep him quiet. He watched her closely, but stayed silent. “I went out to get some food, you know? I mean, it seemed so easy. I’d gone through the cabinets and I realised there was nothing there. So, I went out.” She swallowed and grimaced. “Without the gun. I left it. You never would have.” He tried to say something but she shook her head and, for once, he listened to her. “He was already inside. I tried to get him to leave. I warned him, but he moved so fast, I didn’t reach the gun in time. I did shoot him, Mac. I swear the shot simply went off and he stumbled backwards—” She paused and the image of it all happening all over again shivered through her.

  “Shh, baby, you don’t have—”

  “Yes, I think I do, Mac.”

  He nodded silently and tightened his hand on hers.

  “I shot him, but it didn’t stop him. I guess—” She stopped and swallowed past the fear she’d felt comprehending that she’d not hurt him enough to stop him.

  “Some gunshots won’t, baby.”

  She nodded and went on. “He knocked the gun from my hands. He was so angry, Mac.” She paused but quickly went on. “He said some nasty things, then pulled my hair and tried to get me to blow him.” She shrugged and said, “So I punched him in his junk. He dropped the machete, and went for the gun.” She had to pause again to fight back the tightness in her throat and Mac squeezed her hand harder. He looked like he was nearing a breakdown. He must have thought that the guy had raped her. “It happened so fast after that. He didn’t rape me,” she reassured him and Mac frowned harder.

  “Fuck, I know that, Mandy. I just—”

  “Let me finish, okay?”

  Mac squeezed her hand and nodded.

  “Suddenly he had my gun, pointed at me, and you know, I just, I didn’t think—” She tried to work it out. “The gun was mine, he had it and I told him to drop it, but he aimed it right at me. Suddenly I realised I had the machete and I just hit him with it. I didn’t mean to hurt him, just kinda knock the gun aside, or him aside and run, like you said, but it, well…didn’t work out that way. It hit him in the neck, I think. He bled so much, so very, very much. The thing sliced along his vest too before it fell to the floor.”

  Mac cussed softly and closed his eyes. “I wish you’d never had to do that.”

  She took a deep breath and thought about all her fears, how Mac could have been there and been hurt, how she could have been raped, or killed, or, worse, hurt and Mac would have come back to find her that way. Inside she felt sick at what she’d done—even not meaning to—but she also felt right—that she’d do it again if someone tried to hurt her. She didn’t want to, didn’t want to be in that situation ever again, but now she knew, she’d not just curl up and cry like she had before. She’d fight, at least. Did that make her bad, though? Was there something wrong with her for doing such a thing?

  “Am I a worse person to you now? Am I horrible now?”

  He snapped his eyebrows down. “Hell, no. Mandy, you know—”

  She shook her head. He didn’t get it. Mac couldn’t select who were the monsters in this world. He was a hero. She wasn’t a hero, but she wasn’t a monster. “Then if I’m not a monster, how come you get to be?”

  Mac shook his head and rubbed his face again. She sighed. At least she was getting through to him. She mock punched his good shoulder and ducked her head to catch his eyes. “I want to be the Hulk if we get to choose monsters, you know? You should be Doctor Death.”

  He shot her a look like she’d farted in church. “What? Mandy, this isn’t funny.”

  “No?”

  He stared at her silently, no doubt working something out she couldn’t guess at. Macho stuff. Man stuff.

  “Mac, I know I’ll have nightmares about that for a long time, but I survived. I lived, didn’t I? And I don’t blame you. You can’t always protect people. Not all the time. What if I go to the store and get hit by a truck? What then? Is that your fault?”

  “Mandy, it’s not the same. It’s not the same.”

  “No,” she agreed, “it’s not, but it’s all I have right now.” She leaned over and kissed him. “And you. I have you.”

  He tightened his hand on hers and held her in place for a long, intense moment. “You always have me, sugar.”

  “And you have me. You’re a hero, Mac. Plain and simple. I just accidently killed a person with his own knife by mistake.”

  He groaned and fell back on the bed, covering his face with both hands. She thought he swore a little but she gave him some time. She’d freaked herself out, so no doubt he was seriously mixed up.

  Instead of bothering him, she stood and checked on the clothes Mac had washed and hung over the windowsill. She touched her cargos first and found them to be still slightly damp, but not bad. Suddenly she wanted to be dressed. She dropped her towel and pulled her panties on.

  “Mandy, we need to talk and you parading your gorgeous ass around here—”

  “Gee.” She turned and pulled her bra on, clipping it closed before looking up at him. He’d stood and was towering over her. She rolled her eyes and pulled her pants on, using his big naked chest to steady herself. “I didn’t realise getting dressed meant parading my ass around.”

  “Gorgeous ass. Yeah, and any time you’re naked, it’s a parade.”

  “Funny.”

  “Why did you get that tattoo, Mandy?”

  She froze with her shirt in her hands. Mac was good. She’d bet her last Zinger he was into interrogation with the SEALS. But to use that shit on her? She bought some time by pulling her shirt on over her head. When she turned, he had his pants on. Damn it, if anyone wanted to watch a naked parade, it was her. Mac naked did wonderful things to her. She downright felt like she owned that big, impressive body and she definitely felt ownership over his thick cock. She wanted to snuggle up and play with it, suck it, stroke it, watch him stro
ke it, feel it grow and get hard in her hands. Sighing, she turned her back on him before he saw any of that.

  She tried for nonchalance, and said, “I got it because I like M & Ms.”

  “Liar,” he breathed against her neck. When had he come up behind her? She hadn’t heard him, but then she never did. He was trained to be sneaky. He was trained to kill. Could he be happy away from the missions? She suddenly saw a future with him, but without him. He’d be gone, away on missions saving the world.

  She swallowed and hugged herself. Life never matched the childhood dreams people spun. Hers were no different. She might get Mac, have him as hers, but she’d never have him completely. Uncle Sam would own him, and she would be given a small slice of him. Suddenly she realised it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  “I got it because it was always supposed to be you and me. Mac and Mandy, M & M.” Her voice broke on revealing her childhood dreams. She felt the tears clog her throat at how much she’d wanted him, how many nights she’d cried for him and how lost she’d felt seeing him with another, more beautiful woman. And now it wasn’t all those other women, it was much more complicated. Or real simple. She could have him, share him with his missions, and learn to be satisfied with half a life.

  Behind her, she felt him draw closer.

  “It will be, Mandy. From now on, only you for me, only me for you,” he murmured. “I thought I made that clear, sugar.”

  She felt him reach up, to do what, she didn’t know because something sharp and painful hit her arm. In a daze, she looked down, confused to see a red-feathered dart protruding from her upper arm.

  Behind her Mac made a deep grunt.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered and turned her. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion. His handsome face blurred, the hard angles wavering in front of her with only his eyes catching and holding her attention.

  “Stay alive, Mandy. Don’t you fucking forget it’s you and me. Only you and me,” he groaned the last for some reason and slowly toppled to his side.

  The ground chose that moment to reach up like some monster and crash into her, bringing a curtain of black down on her confusion.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mac tested the bonds tying him to the straight-backed chair and knew his life had just taken a nosedive into shit. Hopefully not literally, but he recognised a fuck-up when he saw it.

  He’d taken a hit from a tranquiliser gun. Mandy had too. He would never forget that dart in her creamy flesh. The damn thing had looked so dangerous, he’d frozen, and in the second he’d looked down at it, he’d been marked as well. She wasn’t with him. He’d realised that ten seconds after waking. He blocked the fear shoving at him from all sides. The panic made it hard to breathe let alone think. She needed him, she needed him now. If these sick fuckers had touched her—he cursed and fought the bonds until the urge to harm slowly ebbed. She would survive. She had to. If they tied him up, then she was still alive. They’d use her as leverage and her damaged wouldn’t get him to talk.

  And someone wanted to talk.

  He’d play. There wasn’t another reason to haul him to—he glanced around the dim, dripping room he was in and narrowed his eyes on a slit next to the pipe-lined ceiling—this ship, unless they wanted to talk.

  He pressed against the ropes wrapped across his chest and the other knots around his wrists. They’d tied his legs down separately, each to the chair leg. Stupid bastards. He could break those in a few minutes, but first—

  The door swung open and two men filled the frame and entered. Both were Mexicans, and both wore dark suits and matching frowns. Behind them, an older, grey-bearded man walked in, dressed in a white suit and with an open-throat shirt. His craggy face caught Mac’s attention and time seemed to slow down. He looked like Ruben Gonzales, but Mac knew that sick bastard was dead. So was Juan. This must be the eldest brother, Manuel. The silent, deadlier some said, brother.

  “So, you are the Americano who has caused such trouble for my familia?”

  Mac didn’t say a word. He sized the man up and found him as hard as he’d heard. It was there, behind his eyes, the strength of will to get things done.

  He stopped six feet from Mac. Gonzales pulled a cigar from his suit jacket, snipped the end off as if he had all the time in the world before lighting it with a silver lighter. Taking a deep drag, he slowly met Mac’s eyes through a puff of Cuban tobacco.

  “Ah, I see you will not speak. I don’t blame you, hombre. This is a very bad situation you are in. I did want to come and thank you for one thing before you suffer. Bringing me my brother’s child.”

  Mac must not have hidden his confusion well enough because the man laughed a long, low sound that held a hint of steel.

  “You did not know? This woman with you? She is the daughter of my dear brother Ruben. His only offspring and now she will be back within our safety. She looks like him, did you know? Her mother, too, the bella, but his eyes, those light eyes,” he mused. “Those are my brother Ruben’s eyes.”

  Mandy? He was talking about Mandy. What had she said? She hadn’t used a fake ID, she’d used her own name, Gonzales. Millions of people could claim that particular last name. This bastard thought Mandy was his niece. The implications weren’t lost on Mac. He felt like he could breathe for the first time since he’d woken, alone, down here in this hell-hole. If Manuel thought Mandy a part of his familia, she was safe as a tiger cub with its mother.

  Still, it wouldn’t do for him to accept that claim on his woman. He shook his head and sneered, “You’re wrong, old man. She’s not one of you, she’s mine.”

  The beefier Mexican lashed out at him, knocking him on his back with the punch to his jaw. Mac tasted blood. The guy hauled him back up, hit him again, this time in his temple, and followed through with three more punches to his arm where he’d taken a bullet.

  “Enough.” The one word ended the beating—at least for the moment.

  “We will see, hombre. My men have some questions for you. I will send them to talk to you soon. Until then, think wisely on what you will say.”

  Manuel waited, for what Mac didn’t know because he wasn’t giving him shit. Finally, the old man nodded, turned, and walked out of the door followed by dumb shits one and two.

  Alone again, Mac sweated. If Mandy was on this ship, alone with these people, how the hell was he going to get her out of here alive?

  He tested the bonds and laughed. Nothing was holding him back. Mandy was his. He just needed to reach her, get them off this boat and if they had to, they’d swim to shore again.

  * * * *

  Mandy woke up slowly. Her arm was numb, but her whole body felt the same. Sluggish, oddly more awake inside than out, Mandy gasped as a rush of memories broke through into startling clarity. The fog clouding her brain disappeared. She sat bolt upright, scared, then terrified as a shadow disengaged from the wall, and walked over to her.

  She took stock of her situation and each detail fired her fear even more. Ropes tied her hands at the wrist to a metal chair. More ropes bound her feet together under the table. There was no one else in the room. Only her and the silent man slowly walking towards her.

  Trigger.

  Recognition hit hard.

  “So, you came back.”

  She felt like she was strangling on anger. Trigger had been Rob’s friend. Mac had brought him over several times. They’d all eaten together. He’d sat at her table on the patio with Lacey just two days ago. He’d been inches from her.

  But he’d not spoken.

  Now he stood a few feet away dressed in a mint green polo shirt and black jeans. An expensive watch shone on his wrist. He flashed a gleaming white smile that didn’t reach his eyes and took the chair opposite her. She shoved as far back as the chair would allow her. Her breathing sped up but she refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she concentrated on looking down at his hands. He had long-fingered, tanned hands. Trim nails. Smaller than Mac’s, not as damaged by a lifetime of fighting
like Mac’s either. This man was a SEAL yet he looked like some pampered millionaire rich boy.

  “You should have stayed gone.”

  She got that. Really, she did. Where was Mac, though? Did Trigger have him too? Why? Was this about her, or about the Gonzales family? The fight on the airfield had to be more than just her.

  “Nothing to say? I see the questions in your eyes. Are you wondering where Wolf is?”

  She swallowed and fought the trembles climbing up her legs. Whoever said knees don’t knock in fear had clearly never been frightened.

  “He was always too good for you.”

  “Yeah, I heard that line before.” She tried to be brave, strong, but her voice sounded reedy, weak to her own ears.

  Trigger grinned lazily and sat back in his metal chair. She wanted to smack him. Scream at him, fight, but she was alone, tied down and he could probably kill her before she even raised her hand. A bead of sweat dripped down her back.

  “But you didn’t listen, did you? Not that he could forget you, but now? When he finds you dead, he’ll forget you. And when he does, there will be others.”

  She blinked over at him. His black eyes had been gradually brightening to a fervid glow.

  “It will work,” he muttered, “Might do more than work, yeah, it might—” He broke off suddenly. His eyes darkened again. “As long as you are dead.”

  Mandy fought to breathe past the fear and horror of what she was putting together. This man was her attacker but the one thing she’d never asked herself was why her? Why had he attacked her? It wasn’t for rape, he’d barely tried and he’d not even touched her breasts. He’d not forced his mouth on hers and when he had tried to rape her he’d tried anal. His erection had waned, though, until he’d started spewing angry words about how unfit she was. How unfit she was for Mac, not him, for Mac.

  He wanted Mac.

  His phone buzzed and his dangerous gaze slid from hers as he pulled his cell out of his pocket and stood, taking the call on the far side of the room from her.