by Sylvia Ryan
“Two nights in a row?” His father answered the call with a raspy voice. “This new assignment got you in a twist?”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Bullshit, or you wouldn’t be calling me in the middle of the fucking night.”
Rock chuckled.
“Have you spent time with her yet?”
“Yeah. Her name’s Laila Lewis. She grew up Amber.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She’s…” Rock fell silent until he found the right words. “She’s intelligent, fun, Amber through and through. She’s been soaking up the touch time since she found out I’m from Amber too.”
“Pretty?”
“Very.”
“Sounds like you like her. You going to take her on in a personal capacity?” Rock could tell his father smiled as he asked the question.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Rock’s chest clenched and guilt sat heavy in the pit of his stomach.
His father sighed. “You’re alive, Rock. You didn’t die on that floor. You have to start living again.”
“I know. I just feel guilty. Like I’m betraying her by even having this conversation.”
“All I’m saying is, it’s okay to let go.”
“How do I do that?” he asked, louder than he’d intended. He reined in his knee-jerk reaction. “Because I don’t know how. Not without making what we had seem less somehow. Less mind-blowing.” The sob stuffing his throat made it difficult to speak. “Less gut wrenching. Nothing about what we had was less, Dad.”
“I know, son. I loved her, too. But I love you more, and if you have even a slight chance to build something again with someone else, you have to take it. It won’t cheapen what you and Emily had. And, Rock, she would have wanted you to be happy.”
Silence between them lengthened. Rock tried to lighten the mood. “Well, in any case, it’s a good thing I don’t have to spend the next couple of months with a troll.”
His father laughed. Then, after a few more beats of silence, he continued. “I called Xander. He invited me to dinner tomorrow night. Said he’d invite Journey, too.”
“Good. Is he taking good care of her?”
“She’s coming out of her shell.”
“Give her a hug. Tell her I love her.”
“I’ll do that. Call me tomorrow, at a decent hour, if that’s at all possible.”
By then, his father would have the letters he’d left the last time he was at the Resistance drop house. “Will do. Go back to sleep.” Rock ended the call and glanced at the clock. Time to get the trainee up. He had a big day planned.
After a half hour of watching Laila drag ass, he sent her across the street to get dressed for their first day of real training. He waited impatiently for her to return, intermittently glancing out the window to see if she was on her way back. When he finally caught sight of Laila crossing the street, she was not the flowing skirt, sandaled, bohemian-looking woman he’d gotten glimpses of before their training started. She was decked out in the standard issue recovery team uniform—black, from the zippered cargo pants and military style boots to the black T-shirt and Kevlar body armor.
He met her at the door and chuckled. “You can ditch the body armor. You won’t need it today.” He pulled the tabs free and lifted the vest over her head.
“Good. That thing is hot.”
He led her to the kitchen, and placed a heaping plate of biscuits and gravy in front of her. “I recommend you eat it all. You’re going to need the energy.” He packed them a lunch then leaned against the counter, watching her.
She’d put a good dent in the pile then pushed the plate away.
“Ready?”
“I hope so.”
During the ride to OZ, she stared out the window. Her silhouette against the morning sun revealed the graceful slope of her neck and the red highlights in her long brown ponytail.
She hadn’t smiled once since she’d gotten out of bed that morning. His benefriend rejection might have hurt her feelings. The last thing he wanted to do was add to the strain she was under, but it looked as though he had anyway. He knew what she needed, and would give it to her. But his proclivity for extreme sex and compulsion for the enmeshed relationship he thrived on would only stress her more. By the end of the day, she’d have nothing left, and wouldn’t have the energy to worry about anything.
During National Guard shift change, like now, the small Emerald Zone looked like it was under military occupation, with hundreds of guardsmen clogging the roads and walkways. When the guardsmen dispersed, the streets would be empty. There were no pedestrians, like in Sapphire and Amber. The VIPs here drove, or were chauffeured. When they arrived at OZ, he proceeded through the checkpoint gates and parked.
“Why is there’s so much security at this compound?” Laila asked.
“There are weapons here. Lots of them.” OZ was a huge lot surrounded with chain-link fence topped with razor wire. A handful of one and two-story buildings contained the armory, training and meeting rooms, and the shooting range.
“Oh. Makes sense.” They got out, and she glanced at him across the truck bed as he pocketed the keys and motioned in the direction they were headed.
“We’re going to the motor pool.”
They turned a corner where a row of heavy-duty vehicles were lined up, except for theirs. The armored vehicle they’d be using for the mission was already pulled out of its spot and waiting for them.
“This is our truck.” He stopped next to it, helped her into the passenger seat of the armored monster and walked around the front. After climbing into the driver’s seat, he leaned toward her, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her across the seat so she sat as close to him as possible, her thigh pressing against his.
“What are we doing?” She looked up at him. Still no smile.
“This is your first driving lesson.”
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“It’s a very good idea. I’m going to give you as many skills as I can between now and our go date. If the shit hits the fan, you’ll need to know how to drive so you can get yourself back to New Atlanta.” He took her chin between his finger and thumb. “Now, don’t question your training. I know what you need.”
She frowned. “Okay.”
They spent an hour sitting thigh to thigh in the hot cab of the armored truck. He taught her all the knobs and buttons, how to adjust her mirrors. Outside, he ran down the vehicle’s capabilities as well as simple maintenance like changing a tire and adding radiator fluid. Then he quizzed her until she was easily able to toss the information back at him. He smiled at her self-satisfied expression.
“Okay, good. Now I want you to remove a tire and put it back on.”
She stood next to the front passenger side tire, hands on her hips, while he sat on the passenger seat, legs hanging out the open door. She gaped at him, ready to protest, so he leveled a serious stare at her. “I’m waiting.”
Several beats passed before she finally rolled her eyes, dropped her hands from her hips and proceeded to crack and remove the lug nuts one by one. It took significant effort on Rock’s part not to help her as she wrestled the huge tire from its perch. She lost her grip and tumbled onto her ass then pointed at him and glared. “Don’t you dare!”
The effort to keep a straight face was no doubt worth it because she didn’t look daggers at him very long. She successfully removed the tire the second time around, brushed dirt off her hands and rear end then looked to him. “I’m going to need some help lifting the tire back on.”
“Yes. You are,” he said straight-faced, but stayed put.
She raised her eyebrows. “Well? Are you going to help me?”
He shook his head. “If you’re changing a tire by yourself, it’s a given I’m dead. You need to be able to figure out how to do it yourself.”
/> Her eyes bugged and jaw unhinged. The possibility he could die, leaving her out there to fend for herself, had never occurred to her.
“You also need to learn how to keep that expression in check. You wear all your feelings on your face. Shielding your thoughts and feelings from others is absolutely necessary, if you find yourself in trouble.”
“Okay.”
Laila looked around the fenced-in lot that held the recovery vehicles and found a cement block and a board behind one of the sheds.
She trudged toward him, dragging the board. Laughter fought to burst from his lips as she blew a stray curl of hair out of her face and glared a hole right through him. He was going to burst a blood vessel with the strain of holding it in.
She set her jaw and got to work, ignoring him. She was feisty and proud. Not the type of woman who’d quit until the job was complete.
By the time she’d maneuvered the tire back on the vehicle, Laila was sweaty and covered with the rust-colored dust that seemed to permeate everything because of the hot, dry summer. She was a sight to see, eyes alight, face red and splotchy. Standing there, with her hands on her hips, she was raging innocence clashing with pure stubbornness. Made him hard all over again.
“Nicely done,” he said, jumping down from his seat. He caught her by the wrist, pulled her to him and rewarded her with a smacking kiss on the lips, then set off toward his vehicle.
“What was that for?”
“You did well. You get a kiss.” She scrambled to catch up to him. “Let’s get some lunch. You’re going to need some fuel for this afternoon.”
“But—”
“Don’t question your training,” he said.
Her fists balled at her sides and her lush pink lips pressed tightly against one another.
He slapped her on the ass. “Good girl.”
She growled at him and he nearly lost it again. “What are we doing this afternoon?”
“Lunch first. Then, this afternoon and every afternoon until our go date will be spent on self-defense.”
“You’re going to fight me?”
“No, you’re going to learn to defend yourself in all situations. You’ll be carrying a side arm and a small knife while we’re out of the city. I want you to be passable in the use of both in addition to being able to take a man down with neither.”
They sat in the shade of a metal storage shed, eating the sandwiches and fruit he’d packed before they left the house. Sweat-soaked and wilting in the midday heat, Laila looked like she wanted to go home. “Ready to get started?” he asked her.
“Ready is not the word I’d use to describe how I feel right now.”
His hard heart melted a little as he pulled her to her feet. Yet, he refused to go easy. He kept her hand in his and walked with her to the path of worn grass running around the perimeter of the compound. Without letting go, he began to jog.
“Ugh. No. Please.” She tried to pull her hand out of his.
“I’ll let you go if you promise to keep up.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You can, and you will.” He kept a tight grip on her until she agreed. “It’s only a mile today.”
“Only? Today? It’s eighty-five degrees out here, and I’m exhausted from this morning.”
Rock swatted her ass. “Quit complaining.”
She put some space between them, but also finished the mile without comment. He loved her stubbornness and strength of character. The challenge teased him.
When they were done, her black T-shirt was gone and the tank top she’d worn underneath was wet and sticking to her back. Her cheeks were beet red, and damp tendrils of hair encircled her face. She was beautiful in misery. Rock experienced a flash of compassion, knowing the brutal pace he’d set. But the training had to progress in order for her to be prepared for the trip.
He brought water to her where she lay flat on her back in the little piece of shade she’d found. “You have fifteen minutes.”
“Until what?”
“Until we finish our conditioning.”
“What does that mean?”
“Crunches, pushups and squats.”
Her eyes snapped open.
He smiled. “The glare again. Cute.” He turned and walked toward the main structure, housing the break room. After he’d gotten almost out of earshot, she said something unintelligible. With a wide grin, he entered the building. “Yeah. Feisty and cute.”
The fifteen-minute break passed in the blink of an eye, and after giving Laila a new bottle of water, he pulled her up from the ground. She groaned.
“You sore?”
“Dying maybe, maimed perhaps, but sore definitely doesn’t cover it.”
“The more you move, the better you’ll feel.” Rock grasped her hand again and slowly led her into the armory and shooting range, where he delivered his first lesson on the assembly, disassembly and safety features of her side arm.
“Can I shoot?” She’d perked up. The hope in her upturned face gnawed at his resolve. He loved that she wasn’t afraid. “Please,” she whined.
“In a couple of days.”
She drooped in disappointment. She was a mess, standing stiffly in her dirty clothes. It was okay, though. Nothing wrong with a little pain and emotion to remind a person they were alive.
Today, he’d lived.
So had she.
Chapter 9
Laila was nearly asleep by the time Rock pulled into his driveway. He walked around the front of the truck, opened the passenger door, and caught her before she tumbled out. He offered his hand.
“Ahh! Stop!” she cried, squeezing his hand hard. “My muscles have stiffened up.” She gingerly slid the rest of the way out of the truck, until her feet found the pavement. “Holy shit, you’ve broken me.” She stood there hunchbacked and grasping his hand so hard she felt his knuckles roll against each other. “I can’t move.”
“Okay, up you go.” Rock hauled her into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and supporting her rear with his hands, just as he’d done the night before.
Laila experienced a twinge of pain at the mere thought of clinging to him, so she tucked her arms between them and snuggled into his chest instead.
He carried her upstairs, as if she weighed nothing. In the bathroom, he sat her on the edge of the tub. She just sat there, not wanting to make the motions required to take off her clothes. Her limbs were heavy and about as useful as boulders.
Rock turned on the faucet and adjusted the knobs. His T-shirt pulled tight across his magnificent back and his sculpted ass looked delicious in the black mission pants he wore. She smiled for the first time that day. Rock’s rejection to her offer of sex the night before had maimed her dignity. For the most part, he’d followed her lead, staying businesslike during training, but when he turned to her, he’d changed, too. Pure sex rolled off him, kicking up her heart rate.
He pulled her up, and stepping back, he assessed her. His blazing eyes moved slowly, from her head to toes while she stood there, hobbled. She was depleted, had absolutely nothing left, and wondered if she looked the way she felt.
With an apologetic look in his eyes, he tenderly helped her sit back down. She slumped, resting her forearms on her knees. “Poor baby,” he whispered as he knelt in front of her.
“Please don’t make fun of me.”
He gently pulled off one of her boots and then the other. “I’m not. Promise.” He peeled a sock off and massaged her foot with strong, probing fingers.
“Oh, that feels good.” He took his time, kneading with both hands, digging into her arches.
“You knew you were going on this mission. Why didn’t you train ahead of time?” Rock’s voice was soft, his tone concerned, with no reproach.
“I did. I trained my mind. I learned, planned, and then contingency planned how to get these pieces back in one piece.” She groaned again as he let go of one foot and started on the other. “I
shouldn’t need to train my body too. Protecting me is your job.”
He chuckled softly. “Still cute.”
She ground her molars together, barely able to contain her ire. She wanted to bite his head off, tell him to go fuck himself, something.
“Up,” he ordered with a nudge to her arms. She ignored his direction until he met her gaze and raised an eyebrow.
She lifted her arms slowly.
He peeled her top off and tossed it on the floor. “Up.” He nudged her rear end and she stood. He unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, hooked his thumbs at the waistbands of her pants and panties and slid them down until they landed on the floor. A moment later, her bra was unhooked, and sliding off her shoulders to the ground.
He took her hand and helped her into the tub of tepid water. She sat awkwardly, sloshing the water around as her rear landed clumsily on the smooth porcelain of the tub.
Rock grabbed the hand-held showerhead and pressed the button, diverting the spill of water filling the tub to the hand sprayer. “Learning to defend yourself is a huge part of your training,” he said softly. “You need to be able to fend for yourself if the worst case scenario happens.” He soaked her hair and upper body before returning the water flow back to the faucet.
“What exactly is the worst case scenario?”
“I’m not there to protect you, and Garret and Sydney are trying to kill you.” He lifted from his knees and leaned over to grab the bottle of shampoo before sitting on the edge of the tub. He unscrewed the cap and held the bottle under her nose. “Smell.”
It smelled like him. She opened her eyes, smiling.
He sniffed the bottle before he poured some in his hand. “Look up at the ceiling. I’ll wash your hair.”
For a split second, she was going to tell him she could do it herself, but she thought better of it. He treated her like a queen, literally, and she wouldn’t turn away a second of this china doll treatment. Head tilted up and eyes closed, she savored his strong fingers scrubbing her scalp. A mass of bubbles slid down her back as he washed different areas, working down toward the ends of her hair. When he grabbed the hand sprayer to rinse, the absence of his touch made her greedy for more.
