* * *
In the parking lot, Saxon held his phone to his ear, waiting as his vet tech pulled up a post-surgery poodle’s weight and current vitals.
At a distance, the other Masters had circled Holt’s bike and were teasing the firefighter about riding a donorcycle.
Holt’s new Harley was a classy bike, but Saxon wasn’t interested. For a brief period in his younger years, he’d joined a motorcycle club. His delusions of being a rebel had died a quick death. Hell, he hadn’t made it past prospect status.
His tech came on the phone and a minute later, Saxon was able to stuff his cell phone in his pocket and rejoin the group.
“A problem at your vet clinic?” Ghost asked.
“Yeah, I did surgery on a poodle hit by a car. He’s on IV pain meds, but the rate needed to be increased.”
“You have a good tech to have seen the dog was hurting,” Holt said.
“He has a gift with animals. Jake and I want him to go to vet school.” They’d fund his tuition. It would be a shame for the teen to be deterred for lack of money.
Marcus glanced at the door of the bar. “Do you suppose it’s safe to return?”
“Doubtful,” Holt said. “I tell you, labor and delivery stories can get gory.”
“Jesus, that first one sounded worse than combat,” Ghost muttered.
Raoul tilted his head. “Do you hear them cheering?”
Saxon grinned. “Probably the latest prank Sally pulled on her Feds.” The feisty brunette was endlessly creative.
“Ahhh, maybe not a prank.” Galen glanced at Vance.
“Our Sally is probably sharing our news.” Vance’s face lit. “We’re having a baby in around six months.”
“All right!” Pleased for the two, Saxon slapped Vance’s shoulder and shook Galen’s hand.
The rest followed.
Cullen cleared his throat. “Andrea and me—same thing. About the same time.”
“Well, the Deity of Reproduction is sure putting in the overtime.” Saxon gave Cullen a one-armed hug.
As the uproar died down again, Raoul eyed the fathers-to-be. “Did you get Z’s order for babies sooner than tonight?”
The fathers-to-be laughed and denied it.
“Or,” Saxon held up a hand, “did he maybe lock you in the second-floor private rooms until you’d accomplished the deed?”
“Hell, don’t give Z ideas,” Holt said. “Some of us aren’t ready for babies. Not yet anyway.”
“My thought, as well.” Marcus nodded at Holt. “We’d best avoid the second floor. If his Sophia is requesting playmates, Z will ensure she gets them.”
True enough. Saxon tapped the seat of the motorcycle as he considered. Because, in all reality, if tiny Sophia demanded something, he, too, would do his best to get it for her. She was the cutest imp he’d ever seen.
“A warning, men.” The Colonel crossed his arms over his chest. “If Z orders me to lock you in, you won’t be released until, as Saxon says, the deed is done.”
Grinning, Saxon joined in teasing the non-fathers-to-be and tried to ignore the nagging ache in his chest.
No one was giving him grief since he had no one to be locked in with. That was his choice, of course. He didn’t want to be hitched to anyone.
But, dammit, he loved babies.
* * *
“So, you and Ghost are pretty much living together now, hmm?” Gabi lifted her eyebrows at Valerie as they left the restroom and walked down the narrow hallway toward the bar.
Valerie had to laugh. Gabi was as curious as the rest of the group. “Pretty much, yes. I still have my apartment, though. It’s kind of like my security blanket, I guess.”
Gabi nodded. “Sounds like you found a good compromise. You’ll let it go when you’re ready.”
Valerie stepped out of the hall into the main barroom. Their group across the bar still lacked any men. Wimpy guys.
In the center of the room, the lone bartender was mopping up a puddle where the older couple had been sitting. They must have spilled a drink.
“Let’s avoid the wet spot,” she said and won a sputter of laughter from Gabi.
As they made their way around the side of the room, Valerie glanced through the wide opening into the room that held two pool tables and several people.
Valerie smiled at Gabi. “It’s been years since I played pool. I wonder if I could talk Ghost into a game.”
“Marcus likes—” Gabi’s brows drew together. “Is that girl old enough to be with those guys—let alone in here?”
Seated in a chair, the young woman was rocking back and forth, trying to stand. Once on her feet, she staggered sideways.
One of the pool players caught her around the waist and ran his hand over her breasts.
“Uh-uhhh. Don’t,” the girl slurred.
And…a girl, she was. Not twenty-one. Probably not even eighteen.
With a sinking sense of déjà vu, Valerie recognized Scott. Her mouth tightened. Time to call the—
Gabi yelled out, “How old is that girl, Wrecker? She sure isn’t of age.”
Scowling, Scott stepped away from the pool table. He spotted Valerie, and fury darkened his face. “You fucking bitch. Cheating on my friend with asshole Ghost, and what kind of a pansy-ass name is that?”
The other three men turned. One was Piers, the big Dom who’d tried to punch Ghost—and who Ghost had tossed out of the club.
Beside him was lanky Dogget. The pointed ends of his mustache dangled past his jawline.
Brown-haired, over-muscled Knuckles slapped his pool stick down on the table.
None of them appeared remotely sober.
From the bar room came the scraping sounds of chairs. The other women had heard Gabi’s shout.
“We gotta get out of here,” Dogget told Scott. “Get her out of here.”
“Shit.” Scott grabbed the girl with an arm around her waist.
“Uhhh.” The girl batted at his arm. Whether drugged or drunk, she was only half awake.
“We can’t let them take her away.” Gabi took a step forward.
“Gods.” Valerie tried to think. This was a train wreck about to happen. She turned and saw the other women gathered in the wide opening to the pool room. “Sally, call the police.”
“On it.”
A glance into the main room showed the skinny bartender had fled behind his bar and was making his own phone call. There’d be no backup from him.
“Gentlemen,” Valerie looked at the four effing men. “The young woman is incapacitated. We’ll take care of her—and you can leave.”
“Yeah, we can, can we?” Knuckles sneered and grabbed the girl’s arm hard enough to make her cry out.
Arm still around her waist, Scott half-dragged the girl, making straight for the only exit to the room—the opening where Valerie and the women stood.
“Get the bitches,” Dogget said. “Piers, enjoy yourself, yeah?”
This was getting out of control. Valerie felt her heart thumping like a pile driver. “Scott, Dogget. A bar fight won’t be good for your professional reputations.”
Scott’s lips lifted in a snarl. “Like I care. My wife’s getting a fucking divorce.”
Oh, spit. His wife owned the realty where he worked—she wouldn’t keep him on. Probably not Dogget either.
Scott’s eyes were bloodshot, and he stank of a long drinking spree. “You cunts fed Grayson your bullshit and got me fired.”
“Hey, there’s the cleaning spic.” Knuckles pointed at Andrea, who’d joined Gabi.
“Fuck, all of ’em belong to those high-and-mighty asshole Masters?” Pier lunged forward, grabbing Sally—pregnant Sally—who pulled back instinctually.
Valerie met her gaze and snapped, “Go get the men,” and kicked Piers in the balls.
Folding in half, he shouted in pain.
And Sally was free.
“Go,” Valerie shouted. As Sally fled, Knuckles lunged for her—and Josie booted his knee out from under him,
giving Sally time to dart outside.
Recovering, Piers charged Valerie.
She braced, punched, and was shocked when her fist hit her target—his neck.
He staggered back.
Valerie glanced over.
Andrea had an arm around the young girl, while Gabi and Kim blocked Scott and Dogget from them.
A sound made Valerie dodge sideways into the main room. She barely avoided Piers’ fist. Again. Gods, she really wasn’t hitting hard enough.
He swung at her.
She ducked, kicked his knee, and barely slowed him down.
He punched, and she blocked with her forearms, but the power of his blow knocked her sideways. Fear filled her. He was way too strong for her.
A cry came from her right. Josie was on the floor. Knuckles lifted his foot to stomp her.
Valerie kicked a chair at him that hit his leg. As he reeled sideways, a fist slammed into Valerie’s shoulder.
Agony swept through her, and she let out a yell.
Piers roared in triumph.
Off balance, she lurched a step, hitting a table with her hip.
Sucking in a breath, she pushed upright and lifted her fists to defend herself. Pain stabbed through the arm Piers had punched. Gods, was it broken?
Not. Giving. Up.
Her mouth tightened, and she set her feet.
The bar door slammed open. The Masters charged across the room and attacked the effing bastards.
Cries of pain and shouts filled the room.
When Piers turned away to defend himself, Valerie let out a breath of relief.
“Try me, asshole,” Vance barked, facing off against Piers.
A step behind him, Ghost snapped out, “No. He belongs to Valerie.”
What?
Without waiting for Vance’s reply, Ghost rammed a fist into Piers’ jaw, sending him back a couple of steps. The man swayed, half-dazed.
“There.” In Arabic, Ghost snapped, “Now, lass, hit and knee him like you mean it.”
She wanted to protest, to whine, “I’m done, I’m hurt, I don’t want to.
But she’d flubbed everything earlier and knew it.
She stepped forward. Gritting her teeth, she swung from her toes, twisting her hips, and punched Piers in the belly with all her might.
With a horrible grunt, he folded in half. As his head went low, she rammed her knee into his face.
He went down like a toppled tree.
And owww, her knee felt as if it had hit a brick wall.
“Nicely done.” Ghost gave her a nod of approval. “Now you understand what I mean about not pulling your punches.”
“Hell, now that’s a Green Beret for you.” Saxon stood over Knuckles, who was out cold. “Never waste a teaching moment.”
Ghost winked at Saxon and stepped over Piers as if the man wasn’t there. “Now, my Professor, let me see the damage.”
His voice was calm, but his expression was cold, his eyes furious.
“Ghost…”
“Shh, it’s all over.” His gaze swept over her. Fingers gentle on her chin, he turned her face from side-to-side, then grasped her shoulders to—
She flinched.
“Your shoulder?”
The area was one big throbbing mass of pain. “The left.”
He unbuttoned her shirt far enough to pull it down. The shoulder joint was red and starting to swell. After running his fingers over her skin, he pressed in painfully. “Bruised to the bone, I’d guess, but it’s not broken. We’ll ice it down.”
When he drew her against his hard body, she sighed and started to shake. His hold tightened. “I’ve got you, lass. I’ll always have you.”
It was exactly what she’d needed to hear. To feel. His deep voice, his strength. Her refuge.
He rubbed his chin on the top of her head. “I must say, you did very well.”
With a half snort, she rested her cheek on his shoulder. She really had done okay. And he’d helped her to do even better.
The Colonel would never hold her back from being the best she could be—or fail to be her support, like now.
Holding her tightly, he stroked her hair.
“I love you so much,” she whispered.
“Mmmph.” The acknowledgment was a rumbling sound deep in his chest. “I love you too.”
She lifted her head long enough to check the others. Every submissive was getting similar treatment.
From where she was sandwiched between her two Doms, Sally gazed at Valerie. “Thank you.”
“Josie helped. But I think you totally owe me.” Valerie smiled. “And in a few months, I’ll demand my reward—cuddle time with a baby.”
Galen’s grateful, dark eyes met hers.
Vance lifted his head. “All the cuddle time you want, Aunt Valerie.”
Sirens sounded from outside, and a few seconds later, two uniformed police officers burst through the door.
All the bad guys were already down.
Valerie called out, “Those four men had this young lady with them. I doubt the girl’s of age—she’s was trying to tell them no but is either intoxicated or drugged. He”—she pointed to Scott—“tried to drag her out of the bar against her will.”
The uniformed officer scowled at Scott, then nudged the other cop. “Isn’t he the asshole we’re on the lookout for around the schools?”
Valerie saw Ghost’s lips twitch before he bent and murmured, “Dan and Max put out a warning. In case he went for younger ones.”
Andrea, who still had an arm around the girl, gave her a shake. “Chica, how old are you?”
The girl blinked, obviously dazed. “Sixteen. I’m sixteen now.”
The officers’ expressions hardened.
As Ghost guided Valerie back away from the mess, she eyed Scott.
Lost his job, divorced. Now this. There were times when karma moved slower than a snail…but not this time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
What a shitty life, Barry thought as he walked into his house. His crew had bitched all fucking day about having to work on the weekend. Like it was Barry’s fault they were so far behind on the kitchen remodel?
Total bullshit. The counters had been late. Not much a contractor could do about that. Yeah, so maybe when Valerie did the scheduling with her fancy project software, there hadn’t been so many foul-ups. So maybe he should’ve ordered the countertops sooner. And had the plumber timed better.
Paperwork and organizing crap weren’t his thing. He worked with his hands, for fuck’s sake.
He reached the middle of the living room and realized no one had greeted him at the door. Used to be Kahlua and Alisha would be naked and waiting for him to walk in.
When had they stopped?
The house was silent enough to hear the crunch as he walked over spilled potato chips. Jesus, the place was a mess.
Kahlua was probably out partying with her friends. He’d told her not to, that slaves stayed home, but she didn’t always obey.
Alisha, though, didn’t like going out. She’d even refused to join the Shadowlands when he and Kahlua had. She’d rather stay home.
No supper made. Fuck. He opened the fridge. Empty, aside from his beer. Fucking great.
Without Valerie, the fridge was empty a lot—and now, he’d have to listen to his slaves battle over who would go shopping. He popped the top on a beer and took it with him to the bedroom.
Opening the closet door, he tossed his shirt in the laundry hamper, then spotted a gap in the clothing hung on the rod. His stuff was there. So was Kahlua’s.
Nothing of Alisha’s remained.
He crossed the room.
Alisha’s designated drawers were empty. He turned in a circle in the room before the realization sank in.
The fucking bitch had left him. Without even talking.
Yesterday, he’d told her she needed to increase her hours as a janitor. After all, she was only working twelve hours a week and then keeping the money for herself. That was bul
lshit.
When he said Valerie’s paychecks had gone into the shared bank account, she mouthed off and said Valerie wasn’t here.
He probably shouldn’t have hit her. But, hell, she’d gone and rubbed his face in it that his wife had left him.
Stewing, he drank his beer, feeling his guts twist with resentment. With anger.
Twenty fucking years he and Valerie had been married. And she’d just walked out.
Leaving him in the lurch. Leaving him this shitty mess.
He finished the beer and threw the can at the wall.
It was all her fault. And she needed to get back here to fix it.
He was gonna make that happen; damned if he wouldn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
On Sunday evening, the timer rang in Valerie’s kitchen. Leaving off mashing up avocados, she pulled out the baking sheet from the oven.
The aroma of butter and sugar filled the room, making her mouth water.
Even better, the strips of Scottish shortbread were a light golden-brown and simply perfect.
Her man was going to get a treat tomorrow. He deserved one.
She’d never forget the way he’d had her punch and kick Piers as a teaching exercise to improve her fighting skills. He could easily have taken Piers out himself and been the big hero. Instead, he’d been thinking of her.
And later at home, he’d iced her arm, made her tea, and cuddled with her.
Being on the receiving end of caregiving still left her feeling odd. As if she was slacking off. But when she’d protested, he bluntly stated he loved taking care of her, so she’d better learn to accept as well as give. Because good relationships had a give and take.
Maybe because she’d been missing him all yesterday and today, she’d been thinking about that. About what they had together—and how they both put time and energy into the relationship.
He bought her sexy undies and fetishwear because she enjoyed wearing them…and he enjoyed removing them. She helped him with the Shadowlands paperwork because shared work lightened the load.
He picked her flowers from the gardens; she made him the sweet cookies he loved.
In the evenings, after he took off his prosthesis, she served as the go-fer when needed. In the mornings, he cooked breakfast and tidied the kitchen, because she didn’t deal well with life before coffee.
The Effing List Page 33
