THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle

by Kristina Weaver

  “She was not happy with me when I dropped her back at work.”

  “Coming on a little strong, huh?” she says and giggles.

  “And then some, I guess you could say. She went in and I parked around the corner.”

  “Stalkeroo, you have got it bad, my man.”

  I snort and start rubbing at Cleo’s soft foot, willing myself to relax and slowly sip the whiskey Lenny handed me.

  “You’re not wrong, little girl. I do have it bad, bad enough that I followed her home, intending to somehow get her to come back home with me when I hear shots. My truck wasn’t even stopped before I bailed and, thank you Jesus, I was fast enough because that last bullet before I tackled her would have been to the face.”

  Lenny whistles low and seems to pale before taking a deep breath and cursing as she lets it out.

  “This does not make a lick of sense, Evans. Cleo is not a target for anyone as far as I can tell. She’s always kind to everyone, even when they’re mad and she helps those old bastards up at the church even when she looks dead on her feet after running around after that idiot father of hers and holding down her job eight hours a day. She’s…”

  “I know. Which is why when I find the man responsible, I will beat him to death with his own limbs,” I snarl.

  Cleo starts coming around then, and I force myself not to hover as she pulls herself up and bats the hair from her face, wincing when she hits her cheek, which has started turning an evil shade of purple.

  “Lenny?”

  “Hey, babe. You feeling okay?”

  It’s then that I see the way Cleo seems to gather herself and physically force what she’s feeling deep inside before stiffening her spine and adopting a blank expression.

  Her eyes though, those deep brown pools tell the story, and I see her fear and the tears she won’t let herself shed.

  “I’m fine, thanks. Thank you for…” She waves at her cheek and swallows when she moves her knee.

  I will kill the bitch who caused her this pain. Gladly. Slowly.

  “No, you aren’t. Stop putting on the mask for us, honey. We don’t need it. Now, uh-uh, no trying to argue. Drink the whiskey Doctor Lenny prescribed and try not to freak out when I tell you that I am pretty sure you almost died tonight.”

  She huffs and grimaces when the whiskey hits her tongue, her lips twisting.

  “Tell me something I don’t already know, Doc. If not for Jericho here, I’d be grinning bullets and toe tagging in the morgue.”

  Humor?

  This I do not appreciate at all, and I let her know by growling and scowling her way.

  “Not funny.”

  “Really? I’m really trying here, Evans, really trying not to either retreat and annoy you more, or freak out, which just coincidentally, I am dying to do seeing as I just got shot at!”

  Hello, temper. I am ever so glad and grateful to meet ya.

  This is better than that blank look any day of the week, and I feel my mouth curve as she drains her glass with a shudder and falls back onto the cushions.

  “My father is going to have a fit when he hears about this.”

  “No, he won’t. Know why, Peaches? Because he can’t get to you if I have you locked up nice and tight in my apartment.”

  “Jericho.”

  “Don’t. Do not try arguing with me in that soft voice filled with patience. If you want to argue, scream, yell, hit me, do something. Still won’t make a lick of difference though, since your ass is still going to end up in my bed, in my home, where I can kill any motherfucker that comes at you.”

  That gets her huffing, and I hear Lenny giggle when she rolls her eyes and mutters.

  “Language, Jericho, really. You don’t need to curse to make your point.”

  I grin because I don’t take it to heart, instead choosing to grab onto the fact that she hasn’t argued or denied that she’s coming home with me.

  Storm and King show up an hour later, their faces thunderous and letting me know we need to talk before smiling at Cleo and Lenny, who share a look as if to say “really, they think we’re that stupid?”

  “You look a whole lot better,” King says gruffly, his gray eyes narrowing as he takes in Cleo before a grin splits his harsh features. “You got her shitfaced?”

  I look at her then, really look, without my anger or determination clouding me, and I start laughing when Cleo heaves a little and grins back at us comically.

  “Thanksh, I feel mush beeter,” she slurs, her face soft and without that prim expression.

  Hell. I think I may have just found a way to win every argument with the woman from here on out.

  Great, Evans. That’s smooth. Get her shitfaced every time she says something you don’t like hearing.

  Don’t mind if I do.

  We end up leaving an hour later…after Lenny keeps her occupied with female chatter, and I get to talk to the guys, their own anger and confusion clear.

  Lenny kept trying to make us stay, but I just can’t be okay with that. I want Cleo in our bed, with me, where we can be alone and finally put this argument to bed.

  ***

  Cleo

  Lordy Lord, I feel like my head weighs about a ton and the rest of me is either floating or just plain gone as I bob and weave over the passenger seat, swallowing every now and then when the acidy burn of the whiskey repeats on me.

  I know I’m drunk as a skunk, not as wasted as with Ginger, granted, but so gone that I can’t bring myself to yell at Jericho when he keeps on driving for his home instead of Daddy’s like I told him to when we left the Storms’ place.

  Truth be told, I think the crazy part of me is happy that he won’t listen to me while the other part, the one drowning in whiskey, keeps screaming at me to wake up and smell the coffee!

  I can’t do this. Near-death experience and shock forgotten, I know, logically, that when Daddy hears about this and gossip starts spreading about Jericho and me, he is going to flip his lid.

  Just the thought of his displeasure and the disappointment he never bothers to hide is enough to have my gut churning with the need to run from this and make him forgive me my foolishness.

  On some level, I know how bad that sounds and that I am being a baby about this all. I am a grown woman with a life I should be living for me and not for some daddy complex and need for approval, but I can’t help it.

  When Mama died, he was all I had until Lydia and Garth came along when I was six years old. Lydia was no maternal miracle, not with her proper ways and the coldness that hung around her at all times. Don’t get me wrong, she was a great lady and I loved her, and I know she loved me. She was just always so aware of boundaries and appearances that we never got as close as I had hoped we could.

  When she died, and I was once again without a female role model, Daddy was there. Sure and fine, he never hugged me or acknowledged the grief I felt when yet another mother of mine left me, but he was there. I wasn’t completely alone.

  I’ve always been aware of the fact that—without him—I am all alone. I have Garth, my gay stepbrother, but all we really are is gay day buddies. Once every year we both make up a conference or pressing engagement in the city and join the gay pride parade, my one and only rebellion in all my years on this earth.

  On that one day, I get to laugh and talk to people who look at me as if I’m a person and not a puppet. Garth, for all his prim ways, is a wild one on those days, too.

  But the fact still remains, I am doing something I know is wrong, something that will have my daddy hating me, and I just cannot do this!

  By this time, we’re stopped and Jericho is pulling me into his arms and shouldering his way into the back of the bar, his strength dwarfing my shaking limbs as he carries me upstairs and into his apartment.

  “Jericho, I need to go home,” I start, wiggling till he lets me down, his arm steadying me as I avoid putting weight on my knee.

  “Not happening, Peaches.”

  “Darn it to…to heck! I can’t do t
his with you! Why can’t you understand this? My daddy is likely already pacing the halls waiting on me, and he is not going to be happy to hear I didn’t bother to call or go to him because I ran off with the local watering hole owner.”

  His eyes narrow, and he leans in so close I expect him to kiss me, oh please, kiss me. Instead, he plants on fingertip on my shoulder and gives me a nudge.

  I fall to the sofa with a huff and feel smoke leave my ears when he just turns on his heel and stalks to the kitchen. Being drunk makes holding my emotions together hard, and I find myself clenching my fists to keep from exploding.

  “Go ahead and scream, little peach. I won’t bite…much.” He laughs, coming back with a glass of water and two tablets that I eye suspiciously.

  “Pain pills for that knee so that you can get some rest, little peach. Nothing more. And don’t go worrying about me laying my hands on you. I told you before, I want you sober and aware for every moment when I do decide to take that ripe ass of yours. Bottoms up.”

  “No, stop it! I can’t stay here!” I yell, pounding a fist into the sofa cushions.

  “Can’t. Won’t. Will. They’re all the same to me, baby. The result will always be the same. You’re mine now, and I take care of what’s mine. If you think I’m going to let you get yourself killed because daddy won’t like me, think again.”

  “You stubborn, stubborn….”

  “Go on ahead and say it, sweet thing. Ain’t no one here to hear you drop that fake-ass sweet persona.”

  I feel my eye twitch and glare as he chuckles.

  My gasp of outrage gets me a mouthful of pills and half a face of water as he tips the glass. Sputtering and choking as the pills slip down my throat, I slap at his hand and shriek my disgust.

  “You ass!”

  “Come on now, Peaches, you can do better than that. Call me a prick. A fucker. A mother—”

  “Shut up! Why are you so foulmouthed?”

  His shrug makes me slump in defeat, and I take exception to his smile when he falls down beside me and pulls me forcibly onto his chest.

  “I was in the Army for a long time. Cursing to us is like asking how your mama is. It just is. Now stop getting yourself all worked up and relax. You have to know that I am your best shot at being okay right now, darlin’, and if that’s the only reason I can get you to stay, I’ll take it. Someone shot at you, in fucking Mayberry—the sleepiest town on earth, where the sheriff sleeps half the day and rescues cats and tickets jaywalkers the rest. That tells me that this was not a random act and that you are in danger.”

  His soft, no nonsense, no-holds-barred words give me pause, and I slump into him, deflated.

  “I don’t get any of this, Jericho.”

  “You and me both. Unless you’re secretly an assassin hiding behind them pencil skirts and hot as hell glasses, I don’t see anyone coming after you. You steal from the church collection lately?”

  “Oh you,” I huff, slapping at his chest.

  Jericho laughs at that and kisses my head softly, arranging me across his lap so that the strain in my knee is lessened and I’m looking up at him blearily.

  “It’s not that I don’t like you or think you worthy, you know. I just can’t ever find the will to disappoint him is all.”

  I’m already fading as whatever he gave me knocks me on my behind with a swift punch.

  His hand stroking into my hair feels good and calming, and I close my eyes just as he sighs and starts humming.

  “I know, Peaches. You leave him to me.”

  Chapter Six

  Cleo

  Pounding on the door makes me fly up, something I regret the moment my knee starts pounding and I feel the throb in my head that tells me I am definitely not doing too well after the fact.

  Sunshine is streaming into the window to my left and the warm weight of Jericho is snuggled beside me, one of his big arms slung over my hips where a t-shirt rides up to expose my thighs.

  The pounding starts again, and I feel him tense before blinking open bleary blue eyes with a curse.

  “Ignore it and come on back here, Peaches.”

  “Cleopatra Athena Ducaine! You open this door right now before I call the sheriff.”

  “Oh no!”

  I go to jump up and obey that order immediately when Jericho pushes me down and sits up with a curse and a dark frown that does not at all bode well for Daddy and his highhandedness.

  “Stay here.”

  “Oh no, Jericho, I need to—”

  “Stay here and let me deal with the old bastard, Peaches. That is an order, and I will tan your sweet ass if you put pressure on that knee to run to him like a trained dog!” he barks, tucking me in before rising and scrubbing at his head.

  Those girlie parts that so long for a repeat of the other night start clamoring when I catch a glimpse of his taut butt before he pulls on jeans and stalks out of the room, snarling when the pounding starts again, this time with Daddy yelling.

  I’ve never heard him yell. Well, okay…once, but that was the day I applied to college and told him I was living on campus. Nothing came of it after he start yelling at me and then used my own guilt to get me to heel, but I remember well seeing his temper and feeling like the worst person in the world for causing him to lose his cool exterior.

  “What the fuck do you want at seven in the morning?”

  “Don’t you cuss at me, you backwoods thug. I want my daughter out here right now!”

  Oh boy, there goes the relief I was trying not to acknowledge, and in sets the tension that is my ever-present friend.

  I’m about to disobey orders and jump out of bed. In fact, I do come to standing with my knee in the air, as Jericho laughs. Laughs! At my intimidating father.

  “Look here, old man. I could care less who you are or what you want. My woman was shot at and injured last night, and she needs to rest, not explain herself to you.”

  Oh Lord, have a heart. I can’t decide whether to do a fist pump for the stuff coming out of his irreverent mouth, or cringe as I hear my father huff in annoyance and start yelling again.

  “Cleopatra, get out here now! You have no business embarrassing me this way by philandering with this…this scum.”

  Strangely, I do not take an ounce of exception to him castigating me or implying that I’m an embarrassment. What gets me mad enough to break loose and kick the puppy that is my instinctive obedience is the way he just insulted a man who not only saved me but also was willing to take a bullet doing so.

  That right there, right now is a defining moment for me, and I realize it when I feel my eyes start blazing and don’t even try to stifle my rage.

  All my sweet Jericho does is tell him to shut up before I wake up, and I feel my heart melt. So sweet.

  “Get gone from my doorstep. Josh! You let this asshole up here?”

  “Sorry!”

  I’m out of the room just as I hear Josh’s shamefaced apology, and I ignore Jericho’s growl when he sees me hopping their way. Daddy, of course, doesn’t give a fig for the fact that I’m hurt, made obvious when he starts glaring at me for wasting his time. It’s Jericho who rushes forward to steady me, and I am grateful as I come to a stop in front of Daddy and let my head full of steam erupt.

  “You will apologize to Jericho right this instant for your appalling manners, Jeremiah Ducaine, and don’t you dare try to glower at me and ignore the fact that you just insulted the man who saved me last night.”

  They both go deadly still, and I can just imagine the shock on Jericho’s face because I see it on Daddy’s before he blusters and starts his huffing.

  “You little ingrate! Is this the thanks I get for raising you after your sweet mama passed on? I will not stand for this behavior when you are all but engaged to Marshall. Stop this foolishness and come along now, Cleopatra, before I call the sheriff and have this man arrested for kidnapping.”

  Okay, now see, I do not like that at all. I may not cuss and yell and make a spectacle of myself, but I sure
do know those words, and for the first time in my life, I don’t curb them when they hit my tongue.

  Do I enjoy having my father witness this side of me? No. I’ve strived hard for years to always be exactly what he wants me to be and never overstep my bounds. I am always respectful and quiet and do as he says.

  No more.

  “You call that no-good, lazy-ass, flea-ridden bastard, and I will sue you both for wrongful arrest! You hear me, old man? I refuse, REFUSE to let you stand here and say those nasty things to the man I-I…I am sleeping with. I am not engaged to Marshall. He’s overweight, bald, and nasty as all hell, and he makes me pay for his extra salad dressing every time we go out together. If you find that acceptable, you marry his fat ass! Now you either leave and let me and my-my boyfriend get some much-needed sleep, or I swear to one living God, Daddy, I will push your ass down these fucking stairs myself and not give a rat’s ass what happens to you!”

  Holy moley, I just dropped the F bomb!

  I feel so conflicted. I don’t do a thing after my outburst but stand there as Daddy gapes at me, flaps his lips a few times, and then grunts before turning away and storming down the stairs.

  It’s then I feel Jericho’s shoulders shaking and look back and up, over my shoulder into his twinkling eyes.

  “Don’t laugh. This isn’t funny at all.”

  My voice is a horrified gasp as I let it all in. I just cussed. At my Daddy. Repeatedly. And then I threatened him with bodily harm. My knee goes decidedly weak, and I let Jericho slam the door shut and hustle me over to the sofa, as I bite at my lips to keep from laugh-crying.

  Sweet Jesus. What have I done?

  “That was awesome, Peaches, just fucking awesome! Did you see the look on his face?”

  “Awesome? I just cussed out the man who brought me into this world, and then threatened him. Me! The woman who does what she’s told. Oh God, why didn’t you stop me?” I wail, covering my face and slumping forward.

  The oaf leans back into the corner and grins while shaking his head.

  “You did something that was long overdue, Cleo, so don’t sit there and regret it one bit. Is it what I wanted, for you to yell at your father? No, truthfully, I like that you are so sweet and kind and loving. I just don’t like the extremes you take it to, and I loathe the way people latch onto that and take advantage of that sweet nature. He was being an ass, and what’s more he was treating you like a dim-witted child. If he cared, baby, really cared, he’d have been in here to see that you were alright and checked out your injuries, not spouted off about impropriety and his image.”