Braving His Past: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “Three, two, one...” Ryker shoves his arm through the hole on the right while I fire three shots through the second hole aimed as high as I can. Can’t risk hitting Q.

  Bullets pepper the door. Ryker swears under his breath and jerks back, more blood coating his gloved hand, but the door pops open.

  “Say goodbye to your friends, Quint,” Alec says, his tone almost gleeful. But the angle, how his voice echoes off the walls, and even the pitch is different now. West and Ry exchange a glance, and before I can ask what’s up, Ryker double-times it back down the hall.

  Q cries out in pain, and West leaps forward. Catching the left railing with one hand, he swings his legs and vaults himself over the side. We have no idea what’s down there—or if Harrow’s even telling the truth about the stairs being wired to blow.

  A second later, West fires four shots, his signal, and Raelynn mutters, “Y’all are fucking insane,” before following the SEAL’s lead.

  She’s not wrong. This could be suicide. But the man I love is down there, and I’m not letting that asshole take his life away. As soon as I land on the right side of the stairs, I make a silent vow to never complain about our sadistic workout routines again.

  Peering across the stairs, I meet West’s gaze. He holds up three fingers as a countdown, and I center myself with a deep breath.

  We’re the best in the world. This has to work. If I lose Q, I don’t know how I’ll live with myself.

  Quinton

  The pain shooting down my back is all I can focus on. That and breathing. I don’t know what’s going on. It’s too loud. My head hurts, there’s a strange, acrid smell that burns my nose, and I’m so dizzy.

  How did I get here? I remember crying myself to sleep on the thin mattress. A loud noise woke me up. Then Alec cuffed my hands in front of me and dragged me from the room.

  My legs are mostly useless, and I can’t get any purchase on the smooth concrete floor. Alec’s arm bands around my torso. Struggling earns me a snarl and something hits my temple hard enough to make me see stars.

  Several loud bangs hurt my ears, and the terrible smell gets stronger.

  “This is all your fault, Quint,” Alec hisses. “And you’re going to pay for it when we get out of here.” We’re moving now, and he jerks me, trying to get a better grip, I think. Pure agony covers my back in a spiderweb of pain.

  “Please,” I whimper. “You’re hurting me.”

  Another hard whack to my temple, and I cry out. More noises I don’t understand, and someone shouts.

  “Q? Talk to me!”

  That voice. I know that voice. I dream about him. Blue eyes. Dark hair. Strong hands. My brain isn’t working right. I can’t see his face. Why can’t I remember?

  I have to stay here. Can’t let Alec take me anywhere else. Have to fight. With a hoarse scream, I ball up my fists and slam them into Alec’s shoulder. He’s too strong, but he stumbles, and I try again.

  A crash comes from behind us, and the next sound…it’s almost inhuman. Loud. Angry. My entire body jerks, my stomach pitches like I’m falling, and I hit something solid and warm.

  “Clear!” The word’s so crisp, so sharp. I smell blood. Oh, God. What’s going on? “Stay down and shut the fuck up.”

  “Q? You’re safe now. I promise.” A gloved hand cups my cheek, and gentle pressure skates under my swollen eye. “Fuck, baby. What did he do to you?”

  The voice from my dreams. Bay rum. It’s too bright. Too confusing. But I know him. “Graham?” All I can see is a hazy shadow. And blue eyes.

  “I’m here, Q. I’m sorry it took me so fucking long, but I’m here now.”

  Collapsing in his arms, I bury my face against his neck, breathing in his scent. Graham found me. He came for me, and everything will be okay now.

  Graham

  How Ryker ended up behind Alec, on his knees pulling a tactical knife out of Alec’s shoulder baffles me.

  His shout of “Clear!” had Raelynn, West, and me racing forward, and we skidded to a stop almost as one when we saw our leader with his arm around Q’s waist as he kicked Alec in the head.

  Q’s mostly out of it, and I think he might have passed out once I had him in my arms. If my adrenaline weren’t at an all-time high, I’d lose my shit and start crying, but I’m still so baffled how Ryker managed to get in.

  “Fucker had a back door out of here camouflaged as one of those damn garden hose storage boxes.” Ryker drags the unconscious asshole to the center of the room, and West pulls out a pair of bolt cutters to remove the handcuffs binding Q’s wrists. “Probie, out the way I came. He might not be lying about those stairs and what comes next? Not something you need to see.”

  “You tryin’ to tell me a woman shouldn’t watch a man die?” she asks, hands on her hips. “If I’m a part of this team, then treat me like I’m a part of this goddamned team.”

  Ryker rolls his eyes. “Fine. Stay then.” Turning to me, he angles his head at Q. “I can take him if you want to be the one—”

  “No.” In truth, I’d do anything to put a bullet in Alec’s head. Anything but let Q go. And he’s too fucking good to have the sight of me—or anyone—killing Alec haunting his dreams. So I cradle him to my chest and head for the back door.

  Inara meets me as soon as we emerge into the darkness and unclips several of the heavier pouches hanging off my belt and vest so I can carry Q. “I’ll double-time it back to the RV and pick you all up by what’s left of the junction box. You solid?”

  She knows. Just how close I am to losing my shit. I wasn’t with the team when they had to rescue Royce, but she’s told me a little. And I watched both Trevor and Dani fall apart after their ordeals. “I’ll hold it together. For him,” I say quietly.

  “Make sure you do.” She slaps my arm lightly, then takes off at a run.

  Q hasn’t stirred, and I press a kiss to the top of his head. His face is twisted in pain, and it’s obvious from the bruises that Alec beat him up. I’m desperate for West to take a look at him. The SEAL’s our field medic, and a damn good one. He’s damn good at everything, really.

  Three shots echo from the basement, almost simultaneously, and a minute later, Ry and Raelynn flank me. “Found Q’s laptop in the bag Harrow had with him,” Ry says. “Along with twenty-five grand in cash.”

  “Confirm the minute you’re past the fence line,” West says over comms.

  I raise a brow at Ryker, but he just snorts. “You expect us to leave evidence?” As soon as we pass through the gate, Ry taps his earbud. “We’re clear, Whiskey.”

  “Fire in the hole,” West says calmly. Three seconds later, he bursts out of the basement at a full sprint. He’s halfway across the property when the explosion rocks the ground, but he doesn’t even break stride.

  “Wh-what was that?” Q asks, his words slow as he tightens an arm around my neck.

  “Justice,” I whisper to him. “That’s what we do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Quinton

  A dull hum surrounds me—a sound I can’t identify—and panic paralyzes my muscles and tightens a band around my chest until I can’t breathe.

  “Hey. You’re safe.” Warm hands cover mine, and that voice…I’m dreaming. I have to be.

  Forcing one eye open, I steel myself to see Alec standing over me, but it’s mostly dark with only dim lights illuminating the floor at my feet.

  A plane? I fumble for the seatbelt, desperate to get away. A plane means flight attendants. A pilot. People who might believe me. Help me.

  “Q! Look at me, baby.”

  Gentle fingers cup my cheeks, and when I blink hard, the face that swims in and out of focus isn’t Alec’s. Dark hair. Rough stubble. There’s no heavy stench of Old Spice. Only sweat, coffee, gun oil…and bay rum.

  This has to be a dream. A hallucination brought on by the drugs, PTSD, and fear. But he leans closer to bring my hand to his lips, and though everything’s blurry, there’s no way I’d ever mistake Alec for Graham.


  My back spasms painfully as I lunge sideways into his arms, but I don’t care. “How?”

  “That’s a long story that you probably won’t remember if I tell you now.” The seatbelt snaps open, and Graham pulls me closer so I’m almost in his lap. “I took the patch off as soon as we got you out of there and West gave you IV fluids on the way to the airfield. But it’s going to be at least a day before you feel like yourself again.”

  “I know.” I don’t remember how we got here. It’s all shadows, loud noises, terror…

  “Pupils are dilated as fuck. Get some water into him.” Who’s talking? Why can’t I see anything? Where’s that light coming from?

  “If he’s stable enough, we need to get the fuck out of here,” a woman says from somewhere behind me. “The plane’s waiting, and that explosion wasn’t…small.”

  I suck in a sharp breath and struggle to sit up. “There were people. Who—?”

  “My team. My family.” Graham nods towards the front of the plane, and I blink several times, trying to make everything clearer. It’s hard to see, but one of the guys is massive. His head sticks up a good ten inches from the seat back. “They’re on our side. Every one of them would die for you.”

  I don’t understand. Why? I’m nothing to them. Alec had guns. Explosives. He told me how well protected the house was.

  “Stop looking at that door like you can find a way out,” Alec says when he comes to give me another dose of meds. “In another day, maybe two, your balance will be so fucked up, you’ll be back in that chair permanently. The stairs are wired with C4. If you set one foot on them…” He spreads his fingers out in a vague representation of a bomb going off. “Bye bye, Quint.”

  I’m so tired, all I want to do is sleep in Graham’s arms, but I have so many questions. How did they find me? Are—were—we really in Utah? Oh, God. My brother. Struggling to sit up, I grasp Graham’s vest. “Connor—”

  “Shhh, baby. Look at me, okay?” Graham’s words hold weight, and I focus on his eyes. Such a deep blue and full of understanding. “We found him. Well, some of Austin’s guys—Austin’s part of the family too—found him. He’s in the hospital. Broken arm, cracked ribs, ruptured spleen, some internal bleeding, severe dehydration. But he’ll be okay. As soon as he can travel, we’ll get him out to Seattle. Or…take you to Dallas. You could go back now…if you wanted.”

  It’s hard to concentrate. Only some of his words register, but Connor’s safe, and Graham…his voice is full of longing. I don’t want to go back. I want to go home. Where Graham lives. Where…fuck. “Clementine. How long, Graham? How long?”

  I’m practically shouting, but she hasn’t been alone since the day I rescued her, and she’s so tiny.

  “I’d never let anything happen to her, baby.” Graham pulls out his phone and swipes through the photos. “When we went to your place…well…look.”

  I’m still dizzy and my vision isn’t what it should be, but the man on screen is huge and dressed all in black. Clementine clings to his chest, her head tucked under his chin.

  “She was hiding when we breached, and as soon as she saw Ry, she climbed him like a Christmas tree and started purring away.” He chuckles, then swipes to the next photo. “She’s at the warehouse now.”

  “Is…is that a dog?” I hate trying to force my brain to make sense of even the simplest information.

  With a chuckle, Graham zooms in so I can see my kitten curled up on a big, fluffy blanket, a German Shepherd wrapped around her like a bodyguard. “That’s Ripper’s dog, Charlie. Those two bonded almost immediately. We’ll stop at Hidden Agenda and pick her up before I take you home.”

  He keeps saying that. Get me home. Take me home. Home is where Alec found me. Watched me. Where the other guy—I can’t even remember his name—stole my laptop.

  “Q? What’s wrong?” Graham cups my cheek, and I struggle not to hyperventilate. Home is the last place I want to go.

  He wraps his arms around me, settles me against his chest, and I relax. He came for me. I think he loves me. I know I love him. But I can’t tell him until my head’s clear. Until he knows I’m…me again.

  “Stay.” It’s the only word I can force past my lips. The only one that matters. “Want to stay. With you.”

  He shudders and brushes his lips to my ear. “I’m not going anywhere, Q. I promise.”

  There’s something in his tone. A seriousness. A weight. Whatever it is…it’s enough. For now, it’s enough.

  Snatches of reality break through the haze of exhaustion, pain, and the drugs still coursing through my veins. A bumpy landing. Graham’s voice—though I can’t understand his words. A car. A nice one. Big. Comfortable.

  Quiet murmurs from other men and women around us. They scare me, but only until Graham reminds me I’m safe. That I’m with him.

  And then, a loud purr vibrates against my chest and tiny paws knead my shoulder. I don’t think. Just reach up and cradle Clementine. She mrrps in my ear and her rough tongue scrapes my chin.

  Beyond the inside of the SUV, it’s dark, but in the distance, a large warehouse looms, spotlights illuminating the eaves. The breeze carries a hint of the sea. Seattle. Home.

  “Where are we?”

  I figure it out just as Graham answers, “Hidden Agenda. Had to stop and pick up this little one and all her stuff.”

  Outside the SUV, men, women, and one German Shephard stand shoulder to shoulder behind him. He follows my gaze, looks back at them, and smiles. “My team. My family. Well, most of them.”

  “Th-thank you,” I whisper. I don’t know if they can hear me. Hell, I don’t even know their names. But it’s all too much right now, and I just stare down at Clementine, tears in my eyes until Graham squeezes my shoulder.

  “Ry’s going to drive us back to your place, then take Rip home. So they’re coming with us, okay?”

  I nod, even though I don’t know who Ry and Rip are. It doesn’t matter, though, because Graham rounds the SUV and climbs in next to me. My head’s starting to clear, and as the SUV starts to roll, I bury my face in Clementine’s fur.

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  “What?” Graham touches my cheek, dipping his head so he can meet my gaze. “Q?”

  “He knows…where I live.” The sob escapes before I can stop it, and Clementine starts purring even louder and wedges her head directly under my chin.

  “He’s dead,” the bigger man—the one behind the wheel—says, his voice rough and completely devoid of emotion. “He’s never going to bother you again. And the two cops who put your brother in the hospital? No one’s going to find them. Ever.”

  I’m so confused. What does he mean? Before I can ask, Graham rests his hand on my knee. “If you want to go home, it’s perfectly safe. Ry found your laptop. I’ll need to hook up your security system again, but that won’t take me more than twenty minutes.”

  “Please...”

  “Graham?” The man in the passenger seat turns around. “We’re going to your apartment. It’s the best place for both of you tonight. Trust me.”

  Whatever this guy’s deal is, something passes between them. Even with the cobwebs dimming the corners of my mind, I can see it. It’s more than trust. It’s admiration. And gratitude.

  Graham slips his arm around my shoulder and nods without saying a word. I can relax now. Breathe. It’s really over.

  The street is too busy. Even this early in the morning—close to 5:00 a.m., I think—there’s traffic and people. But Graham keeps his arm around me as we head into a secured building.

  My legs feel like jelly, and more than once, my knees buckle, but he holds me close. The man with the dog comes with us, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a large plastic tote in his hands.

  Once we’re inside, Graham eases me down on the couch. “Relax, baby. I’ll get Clementine set up and then we can sleep a while.” Graham presses a kiss to the top my head, glances at the other guy, and nods.

  I’m so tired, I don’t care w
hat silent message they just shared, and I close my eyes until the older man clears his throat. “Jackson Richards,” he says as he holds out his hand. “But everyone calls me Rip or Ripper.”

  “You took care of Clementine…”

  “Well, Charlie did most of it.” Rip reaches down and scratches the dog’s one good ear. “I hope you’re sticking around, because otherwise, I’m going to have to get him a cat.”

  Charlie’s tail thumps on the carpet, his tongue lolling out of his mouth like he just won the lottery. Or found a twenty-ounce Porterhouse in his food bowl.

  “Y-yes. I’m staying.” Why would he think I’d leave?

  “Mind if I sit?” Rip gestures to the couch next to me, and I stare at the empty cushion until he sinks down next to me. Charlie sits on the guy’s feet and rests his muzzle on my thigh. “He always knows what people need,” Ripper says, love warming his tone as he rubs the dog’s head.

  “Clementine too…” I’m mumbling, my thoughts still too slow, too fragmented.

  Silence fills the air for a moment until Ripper lets out a long, slow breath. “I know what you went through, man.” He runs a hand through his hair, the movement jerky. “Wasn’t exactly the same, but...the drugs and the lies—the brainwashing? I lived it for six years.”

  “Shit…” Graham told me. I think. Ripper’s the guy they went to rescue.

  “You’ll never be...over it. Never not remember. But you’ll get to a point where it’s not your first thought every fucking day.”

  I can only sit there baffled at the raw honesty he’s offering me when I don’t know him at all.

  “The guys—the team...Inara was there too—pulled me out of a goddamned hole. Saved my life. I doubt I had more than a couple of hours left. But the first couple of days I was free? Graham got me through those. I’d never met him before, but that made it easier to talk to him. And…he gets it. He’s not going to judge you, and he’s definitely not going to stop loving you.”