CHAPTER 17
RHIANNON
“Babe, do you know how gorgeous you are?”
Amid the fog of lust and desire clouding my thoughts, it takes a few seconds for Hawk’s words to register. Which is why the first response I manage to cobble together is a dazed, “What?”
As Hawk tilts his head back to look at me, his lips curve into a satisfied smirk. “You with me, babe?”
Just as I say, “Yes,” his thick fingers plunge inside me again, curving so they hit that magical spot. Waves of pleasure pulse in my core and belly, and my hips thrust instinctively towards his touch. A needy moan escapes and my head falls back as a flood of sensations takes over.
He lowers his mouth to the junction of my thighs again, using his tongue to caress and flick at my exposed bundle of nerves. My legs turn to jelly, and if Hawk wasn’t supporting me, I’m pretty sure I’d be on the floor.
The hand cupping my ass pulls me closer to Hawk’s greedy mouth, holding me steady when my legs wobble.
His lips clamp around my sensitive bud and suck hard, just as his fingers retreat and sink deep again.
Pleasure keeps building, intensifying; kindling to an inevitable explosion.
My eyes want to fall shut, to allow my brain to focus on the electricity sizzling through me. The desperate clenching of my womb. The quivering of my inner walls. The fire licking across my skin, sizzling with electricity wherever Hawk touches me.
I’m so close .
It wouldn’t take much. A few more moments, an abdication of control, and Hawk would take me right over the edge.
And it would be wonderful. Glorious. Perfect as it always is.
But with Hawk, sex is about more than just pleasure.
It’s a joining of two hearts. Two souls. Two people who waited too long to be together.
That’s why I need to see him.
And that’s why I want to feel him inside me when I finish. I need to feel his hard thickness within me, fitting me like no one else has.
Of the few partners I’ve had in my life, none have even come close.
Only with Hawk. The only man I’ve ever truly loved.
And I need to feel him finish inside me; both of us leaping off the precipice together.
So I drag my eyes open and look down at this incredible man. At first, all I can see is the top of his head, his hair dark and slick from the water streaming down over us. As he works his magic at my center, I touch his shoulder and say roughly, “I love this. But I want you inside me. Now.”
His mouth stills, and a beat later, he lifts his head and meets my gaze. His eyes are more gold than green in the warm light of the bathroom, his lips quirking as he asks, “But what about the three times I promised you?”
His fingers keep moving, rubbing and stroking just the way I like. Pleasure coils in my belly, an insistent ache demanding to be sated.
“Three times is wonderful. But—” I gasp as his lips dip between my legs again. “I’m so close. And I like”—another quick gasp—“it when you’re inside me. When I can feel you finish along with me.”
“You like it better than when I make you come like this?” Hawk asks.
“Yes. This is amazing. More than amazing, really. But…”
“What?” Confusion pinches his forehead. “Should I be doing something differently?”
I snort with laughter, accidentally inhaling some water in the process. Between coughs to clear my throat, I say, “No. Not at all.”
Hawk stands, his hands coming to my hips. “What, then?”
Sobering, I hold his gaze as I reply, “I love all of this. Trust me. But there’s nothing like…” Pausing, I try to come up with the right words to explain how I feel. “I feel empty without you. I miss you. Maybe that sounds silly. But I waited so long to have you, and now?—”
“Rhi.” Emotion washes over his face. His eyes soften. “Nothing in the world feels better than being inside you.” A beat, and then he amends, “Actually. That’s not true. The best feeling is finally knowing you love me.”
Oh .
“Hawk.” Framing his face with my hands, I stretch up to kiss him.
It’s a hungry kiss, hard and passionate.
I tease his mouth open and plunge inside, tangling my tongue with his and setting the rhythm. As we make love with our mouths, the water from the shower pours down on us, slicking our bodies.
When we finally break apart, Hawk’s face is flushed and his cheekbones are drawn tight. The golden green of his eyes is almost engulfed by the black of his dilated pupils. Water sluices down his body, across the hard planes and lines of his muscles. His skin is a gleaming gold and shimmering droplets cling to the dusting of hair on his chest and abs.
Then, lower still, is the evidence of his desire for me—thick and long and slick with excitement. As Hawk moves closer to me, his arousal nudges at my core, and I feel myself growing even wetter than I was already.
After making love dozens of times, I’d think I would be used to seeing Hawk’s body. But every time, there’s still a moment of disbelief. A moment when I still can’t believe this man is mine.
And from the look in his eyes, an expression deeper than affection, I think he feels the same way about me.
I wrap my arms around Hawk as I kiss him again, loving the contradiction of hard muscle and velvety soft skin. He’s my perfect incongruity—hard at first look, but sensitive and squishy when you get to know him.
Or maybe he’s just that way for me.
“Rhi,” Hawk breathes. He holds my gaze, his eyes showing everything he’s feeling. “I love you. So damn much.”
My heart nearly explodes with joy. “I love you, too.”
Lifting me up, he notches himself between my thighs. Then he presses me against the wall of the shower. The cool marble is a welcome chill against the heat surrounding us.
But inside me, desire simmers, close to boiling.
His lips come to my neck, and he murmurs, “To infinity, Rhi. Beyond this universe and to the next. I love you even more than that.”
Oh.
No one else can bring me close to tears with only their words.
“To infinity,” I agree softly. “I always have. And I always will.”
As Hawk holds my gaze, he lifts me even higher into his arms. Then he lowers me onto him, plunging deep and filling me.
Just like always, he’s a perfect fit.
We’re a perfect fit.
With a strength so sexy I can barely stand it, he moves me up and down effortlessly. The muscles in his arms flex, showing off gorgeous biceps and forearms and veins I never thought were attractive until I met Hawk.
As we move together, he controls the pace, and I’m happy to let him do it.
That’s something I’ve discovered with Hawk. I don’t need to be in control all the time. And I trust him enough to give it to him.
The flames between us fan to a blazing inferno. Every plunge is deeper. Harder. More desperate.
Time loses all meaning in this frenzy of need. It’s just us. Coming together. Two puzzle pieces that finally found their match.
I can feel Hawk growing even thicker inside me. When I look at his face, his eyes are closed and his jaw is tight. The tendons in his neck are standing out, and I can tell he’s on the brink, holding himself back until I finish.
But he doesn’t need to wait. I’m a breath away from it.
Then.
He reaches between us and flicks my sensitive bud.
Changes the angle of our joining.
And that’s the final spark that lights the fire.
I explode. White lights flash across my vision. All my muscles go rigid from my toes to my fingers. My lungs forget to breathe. My pulse rockets to triple speed.
A moment later, Hawk goes impossibly hard and pulses hot inside me as he lets out a primal cry of satisfaction.
Even amid the aftershocks rippling through us, he never lets me down. He just hugs me tightly and peppers kisses all over my face as he murmurs, “I love you, Rhi. So much.”
“Hawk.” My voice throbs with emotion. “I love you, too.”
* * *
I never really understood the saying, a spring in your step , until now.
But now I think I finally get it.
As I cross the parking lot on the way to my car, there’s a definite lightness to my stride. Usually, I walk with purpose—my steps quick and decisive as I hurry to my destination. I scan my surroundings as a measure of self-protection, but rarely take the time to really appreciate them.
Today, though, I’m allowing myself the luxury of absorbing everything.
With the sun shining amid a brilliant blue sky and a fresh breeze cooling the normally humid air, it almost feels like nature is celebrating with me.
What am I celebrating?
So many things.
A return to normalcy after weeks of confinement.
The delicious soreness reminding me of what Hawk and I did just hours before.
The weight of guilt lessening by the day; thanks to long talks with Hawk and Niall and Xavier, and meandering jogs with trusty Rambo running alongside me.
Relief that Martin is gradually returning to the living—according to the latest information Matt got from the hospital, Martin’s woken from his coma and the prognosis looks good for a full recovery. I know it seems crazy that I’d be so worried about a man who tried to kill me, but I can’t help it. Unstable or not, he’s still Thunder’s dad.
And the biggest reason. Joy.
It fizzes up inside me, like a soda bottle shaken to the verge of exploding. I never realized I could feel this happy. This complete. This hopeful.
In the aftermath of Martin’s arrest, it was hard to find my way through the suffocating guilt and sorrow. I kept asking myself what if ? What if I’d done something different and saved Thunder? What if I’d gone to visit his parents instead of sending flowers and a donation? What if I’d kept in touch with them?
And then the what-ifs that landed closer to home.
What if the added stress hurt Lucy and Xavier’s baby? What if, thanks to the packages sent to Blade and Arrow, the women who live there don’t feel safe anymore? What if my teammates resent me for bringing trouble to our doorstep?
Rationally, I know none of those things are true.
Over the last week, Hawk’s reassured me over and over, just as patient now as he was the first time. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. No one blames you.
At first, it was hard to accept it.
But then I came to a realization.
I trust Hawk. I trust my team. I trust Lucy and Jade and Isla and Sarah. If they all think I’m not to blame, why wouldn’t I believe them?
Is the guilt gone completely? No. Not yet. Just like I still have moments when I struggle with everything that happened when I left the Army, this is something I’ll have to work on. And it may never go away completely.
But that’s okay, because I have incredible people supporting me. And something I’ve learned recently is that I don’t have to be strong Rhiannon all the time. It’s okay to ask for help. To admit when I’m hurting.
It’s like Hawk said the other night while we were laying in bed. As he stroked my hair, he said, “You’re the strongest person I know, Rhi. But that doesn’t mean you always have to be. We’re all here for you. Me, the team, the other women, your parents… And trust me when I say this—we want to help. Because we all love you so much.”
So that’s pretty awesome, too.
As the sun kisses my cheeks, I tilt my head up to the sky and close my eyes for a moment. I take in a deep breath, smelling freshly cut grass and the faint aroma of french fries cooking at the fast food restaurant a quarter mile down the road. My stomach growls, reminding me that it’s well past lunchtime.
Maybe I should pick up burgers and fries on my way home. I don’t typically eat fast food—it’s not the best idea when my job requires me to be in shape—but on a hopeful day like today, it feels like the time to splurge. And I bet Hawk will be hungry by the time he gets back from San Antonio. Knowing him, he won’t take the time to stop for food on the way, too worried about getting home to make sure I’m okay.
I am. Of course. But I know he worries. And if the positions were reversed, I’m sure I’d feel the same way.
A quick glance at my watch tells me it’s half-past one, which means Hawk should be done with his interview by now. He’s trying to get a job with the state park police, and I’m really, really hoping he gets it.
It would be perfect. Hawk could work outside, just like he wants. And with the main office in San Antonio, his job would be right nearby.
He could live right in Seguin, so we could see each other every day.
Or he could move in with me. We’ve been together practically twenty-four-seven, anyway, with more and more of Hawk’s clothes shifting from the client apartment to mine by the day. I haven’t had a roommate since my early twenties, haven’t wanted one, really. But with Hawk? I never want him to leave.
Almost as if I summoned him by thought, my watch buzzes with an incoming text.
Just finished the interview. Heading home now. Do you want me to pick anything up on the way?
It’s too difficult to respond on my watch, so I shift my shopping bags to one arm, being careful not to smash the carton of eggs in one bag against the jug of sweet tea in the other. Then I pull my phone from my pocket—never in my handbag, that’s one of the rules I tell my clients, always keep your phone close and ready—and send a reply.
How was it?? I’m sure you were amazing!
Then I follow that with another message.
I’m just leaving the grocery store now, so I think I’m good. Got stuff for our date night tonight. But I was thinking about grabbing some burgers on the way home. Interested?
Less than ten seconds later, his response blinks onto my screen.
The interview went great. The guy I interviewed with said he can’t tell me anything official yet, but he’s confident I’ll get the job.
Then another text appears.
Burgers sound perfect, if you don’t mind stopping. I should be back home in about half an hour.
One word sticks with me.
Home.
Hawk called my apartment home.
Or maybe, sometime soon, it’ll be our apartment.
I like it.
A lot.
Distractedly, I realize my cheeks hurt from smiling. Fortunately, the parking lot is nearly empty, so hopefully there’s no one nearby to see me grinning like a loon.
Although, do I really care when I’m feeling this happy?
I’m just about to send a reply when a woman’s voice reaches me. “Miss? Can you… can you help me?”
I guess the parking lot isn’t as empty as I thought.
Pocketing my phone, I turn around to see a thin woman rushing towards me. She’s dressed in jeans and a turtleneck, which is not what people typically wear in June, especially in Texas.
Immediately, my inner alarm bells start ringing.
As she draws closer to me, it becomes obvious that something’s really wrong.
Her gray hair is in tangles, half fallen out of her ponytail. Her eyes are pink and swollen. One hand clutches the strap of her bag so tightly the knuckles are white, while her other arm is wrapped around her stomach.
And her face . I swallow back a growl when I see the bruise rising on her cheekbone, a deep bluish-purple that tells me it’s at least a couple days old.
I quickly scan the parking lot, searching for her attacker. But there’s no one. Just a few customers wheeling their carts to their cars and an employee sweeping up trash by the entrance. There are a handful of cars nearby, all of them off and empty.
So who is she trying to get away from?
“Miss?” Her voice wobbles. There’s a hoarseness to her tone, like she’s been crying.
Moving towards her, I reply gently, “Of course I can help. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
She comes to a stop several feet from me. Before she replies, her gaze skitters around the parking lot like she’s looking for someone.
I silently curse myself for leaving my gun in the car. But I didn’t think I’d need it. Not with Martin in custody and the evidence pointing conclusively to him as the only suspect.
I didn’t consider that someone else might be in trouble. Stupid, really, considering my job. I should know better than to assume anyplace is completely safe.
“I…” The woman stops. Hesitates. Looks around the parking lot again. Then her voice dips to a whisper as she adds, “He won’t stop hurting me. This is the first time… I’ve had a chance to get away.”
My posture stiffens. “Where is he?”
Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. “In the store. He… he took my phone so I couldn’t call for help.”
“Did you tell anyone in the store?” I ask. “An employee?”
“I couldn’t. Not with him… He never leaves me alone. But we ran into his boss. And I said I wasn’t feeling well. That I needed to use the bathroom. He couldn’t say no. But—” Her voice cracks. “He’s going to realize I’m gone. I need to get out of here. Now. Can you help me? Please ?”
“Okay,” I soothe. “Of course I can. Let’s get to my car and I’ll call 911. I can make sure he doesn’t hurt you. Alright?”
The woman stares at me, her chin quivering as she tries to hold back her tears. “Okay.” She takes a tentative step towards me. “You’ll help me?”
“Yes. It’s my job, really. To protect people. So I?—”
A powerful jolt cuts off my words.
Dagger teeth dig into my chest.
Pain explodes, radiating through my body.
My muscles stop working.
With a jarring thud, I crash to the ground, my head bouncing off the unforgiving asphalt.
Everything grays out for a second.
The woman leans over me, her expression transforming. No longer fearful, but triumphant.
No .
I can’t speak, but the word echoes in my head.
No!
How could I have let this happen?
How did I miss this?
As I lie on the ground, boneless, my muscles still twitching, the woman tucks her taser into her purse. Then she calls out, “Nick. Quickly. We don’t have much time.”
Nick?
Who’s Nick?
And why can’t I make myself move?
But I know why. Because I let my guard down and this woman—who is clearly not in trouble, like I thought she was—tased me.
A man appears above me. He’s young, maybe mid-twenties, with dark hair and an oddly familiar face. But I’m certain I’ve never met him before.
His lips pull back in a rictus of a grin. “Finally.”
And then, to my absolute horror, he reaches down and grabs me, slinging me over his shoulder. I will my muscles to move, to use any of the self-defense techniques I’ve spent years training to do, but they won’t respond.
I’m helpless.
The man—Nick—starts jogging. He makes a beeline for a gray van parked the row over from my car.
The woman breaks into a run, reaching the van door before him. She pulls the door open and says, “Quick! No one is watching right now. Get her in there before anyone sees!”
“I know ,” he snaps. Then he flings me inside the van, jumping in after me.
The woman slams the door shut and races around to the front. Seconds later, she hops into the driver’s seat and starts the ignition.
I still don’t have control over my body, but small tingles tell me it’s only a matter of minutes. But as I glance around the interior of the van, I fear I don’t have that long.
The seats are gone, and the carpet has been peeled back to reveal the metal beneath. At the rear of the van, a thick rope is coiled beside a rusty crowbar, and a wad of dark fabric is piled alongside them. The windows are grayed out, blocking anyone outside from seeing in.
If I were to describe a kidnapper’s vehicle, this would be it.
My pulse races. Fear tries to worm its way in.
I’ve trained for everything. But this is one thing I missed.
“It’s about fucking time,” Nick snarls. Then he drops to his knees and shoves me roughly onto my side. Yanking my arms back, he starts wrapping the rope around my wrists.
No!
I can’t let this happen.
While I fight to regain control of my body, I croak out, “Stop it. Let me go.”
He lets out a harsh cackle. “I don’t think so, Rhiannon .”
The rope around my wrists tightens, sending a flare of pain into my hands and arms.
“Stop!” Gathering my strength, I say it louder this time. “You’re going to regret this. Let me go now!”
“Shut up!”
And before I can turn my head, his fist slams into my face.
Hot blood fills my mouth. Flashes of white light fill my vision.
But I force the pain aside and grit out, “Let me go!”
Should I be quiet? Maybe.
Will I? Not until he makes me.
If I can yell, get the attention of a passerby, they’ll call 911, and?—
“Shut her up!” The woman barks from the front. She puts the van into gear and it starts to move. “Stick something in her mouth. Or knock her out.”
“Fine!” Nick snaps, sounding more like a petulant child than an adult. “If you think you can do better, why don’t you do this? And I can drive.”
But he follows her instructions anyway, shoving a wad of scratchy fabric in my mouth. “There,” he adds. “Happy now?”
The terror I’ve been battling tries to force its way out.
But. My legs. They’re beginning to work again. If I can just get into the right position, I can knock him down. Kick him. Possibly put him in a choke hold. I just?—
“I know what you’re thinking.” A fist slams into my gut, driving the air from my lungs.
Oh, crap.
It hurts.
Still. I kick at him, using all the strength I have, even though my muscles still aren’t fully working.
It’s not enough.
And this time, he stomps on my hand.
Something cracks.
It’s not just pain. It’s agony.
Nick—who is he? Why does he look so familiar?—grabs my feet and forces them together, wrapping another rope around them. As I kick at him, he punches my thigh and gives me the worst Charley horse I’ve ever had.
Tears threaten, not from fear, but impotent frustration.
How can I fight back?
I feel helpless .
“I bet you’re wondering who I am.” He puts his face close to mine; close enough to smell the stale coffee on his breath. Close enough to see the acne scars across his cheeks and the healing pimple on his chin. “Or have you figured it out?”
But I ignore him; concentrating on a plan of escape instead.
It’s hard to focus with the ringing in my ears and the incessant throb in my head. It’s hard to think when my hand feels like it’s on fire. When my lungs still don’t want to work.
Figuring out who this man is can come second. First is letting Hawk—letting my team—know I’m in trouble as quickly as possible.
I can’t call for help.
But.
My ring. The one with a tracker in it. The same one my teammates have. I can trigger the tiny button on the side with my thumb, and it’ll send an SOS alert to let them know I need help.
And this time, I’m not hesitating to ask.
As I search for the little indentation in the sleek metal, I keep my expression neutral. I don’t want Nick to get a hint that there’s anything he missed. And I definitely don’t want him to take off my ring.
“Do you?” Nick snarls. His eyes flash with fury. “Do you know who I am? Why you’re here?”
I just stare at him.
“Answer me!” he shouts.
“She can’t,” The woman replies. She sighs heavily. “You gagged her, remember?”
“I know, Mom .” Nick flicks an exasperated look in her direction.
But I’m not sure he did.
“Well.” He turns back to me and grins. “Since you can’t answer, I’ll tell you.” Pausing for emphasis, he waits a few seconds before adding, “You know my dad. Very well, I think.”
His dad?
For a moment, it doesn’t make sense.
Then.
It all comes together.
Nick’s nose. His eyebrows. That malicious look in his eyes.
Oh, shit.
“Ah, so you do know.” He strokes my cheek, the touch sending ripples of revulsion through me. “You should. Considering it’s your fault my dad’s career was ruined.”
No.
How did we miss this?
Allen’s son.
But he looked clean when Matt checked him.
“Yes,” he continues. “That’s right. I’m Nick Allen. Colonel Walter Allen’s son .” His smile slides into a terrifying sneer. “And we’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
“Years,” adds the woman—no, Nick’s mother. Her voice is hard. Bitter. “Ever since you decided to lie about my husband, you little whore.”
What?
“You fucked it all up,” interjects Nick. “All of it. My career in the Army. My dad’s. We lost our nice house because of you. The new car I was supposed to get. And it’s all your fault!”
Even though I know it’s pointless, I shake my head in denial.
“It is !” Nick shrieks. “You’re a liar! A slut! A stupid equal opportunity bitch who insisted on taking a job that should have gone to a man.”
His mother glances into the back and tsks at him. “Nick. Calm down. You’re going to attract attention.”
“It’s her fault,” he whines. “This stupid bitch. It’s her fault. Not mine.”
Then he refocuses his attention on me, and his features harden. “I wanted to be the one to punish you all along. But Dad insisted on trying to do it without”—he makes little quotes with his fingers—“getting his hands dirty. So he pushed that idiot Martin into doing it instead.”
What?
“But that moron fucked it up,” he continues. “Three damn times. So Dad finally agreed to let me try it my way.”
He pauses. Shoves his face inches from mine. “And trust me, Rhiannon . I’m going to enjoy killing you.”