Nauti Intentions (Nauti #4)

Nauti Intentions (Nauti #4) Page 34

Mark had a heavy bag in his hand. No sooner had the door closed behind them than Rowdy was pulling quickly out of the parking lot and Mark was pouring something over Alex’s shoulder.

“You son of a bitch!” Alex went taut, every muscle screaming in pain as the antiseptic ran over his shoulder.

A light flicked on.

“I’m putting a clotting powder on it until we’re at the house.” The sound of a package ripping had sweat popping out on Alex’s head. “We know how much you like this, Major.”

Bullshit.

He jerked his arm away from Janey, clenched the back of the driver’s seat and the back passenger seat.

“Hurry!” he barked.

He kept his head down as agony lit every nerve ending he possessed. A growl tore from his throat and he heard Janey choke back a sob as the cat hissed.

The clotting powder was hell. He nearly cracked his teeth holding back a furious yell as the pain lit a red haze in his mind.

“Fucker!” he bit out. “Your turn is coming.”

“Like hell.” Mark grunted. “Tyrell and I got out of this shit for a reason. Remember?”

He remembered. Hated it. But he remembered it.

Breathing in roughly, he lifted his head and stared back at Janey. She was paper white, her eyes dilated, but damn was she holding up. Her robe was belted tight around her; she was shivering, but watching him with sharp, assessing eyes.

Her hair was mussed around her face, tears streaked her face, but by God, she was alive. She was living and breathing, one hand on the bunched biceps curled against the seat behind her, the other pressed against his chest as her lips trembled.

“Don’t die on me,” she whispered, and another tear slipped past her eyes. “Please, Alex.”

He forced his lips to kick up in a grin. “Can’t get rid of me that easily, can she, Mark?”

“Hell no, Major,” Mark answered. “You’re like fucking Superman. Made of steel.” Mark’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“Ignore him. He’s jealous. He just wishes he had all my scars.”

Mark snorted beside him.

“Come here, love.” He wrapped his good arm around her, pulling her close. “Right here.” He kissed the top of her head, tucked her close, and stared out at the night as the pickup erased the short distance between the restaurant and his house. “I have you, Janey. I’m not letting you go, baby. I have you right here.”

EIGHTEEN

Natches and Dawg had the house secured when Rowdy pulled into the drive and brought the truck to a stop at the back door.

Mark jumped from the passenger-side door, while Alex eased back, pulling Janey with him as that damned cat cried out pitifully.

“Here, Mark.” With his good hand, he lifted the surprisingly docile feline to the other man. “There’s cat supplies in the cupboard in the kitchen. Never did get rid of the shit after Crista’s cat ran off.”

So long ago. Hell, he could feel every damned year of his life weighing on his shoulders right now.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered Janey, lifting one of her arms around his neck as he gripped her waist with his good arm. His left arm was practically useless at this point. He suspected a nail was lodged inside it, though Mark hadn’t said anything either way. Alex could feel the shrapnel that was going to have to be dug out.

Bastard. It could have been Janey’s tender flesh riddled with the sharp projectiles. If he hadn’t been there, that first homemade bomb would have landed in her bed, taking her out immediately.

He had to fight back the fury at the thought of what they would have found. There would have been nothing left of the woman he held in his arms now.

“You can’t carry me, Alex.” Janey tried to pull back, tried to keep him from exerting the hard muscles of his back and shoulders as he lifted her.

He did it anyway. His arm tightened around her hips, holding her to him as he nodded to Mark. Rowdy moved in front of them; Mark, carrying the cat, took up the rear as another man moved from the vehicle following them.

The back door opened quickly and Alex rushed her inside. He ignored Natches and Dawg’s expectant looks. “Mark, I need you and Tyrell with us in the bedroom. Now.”

“Fuck that.” Natches moved behind them. “You’re not keeping me out, Alex.”

Alex kept going. He didn’t give a damn if Natches was there for now. Janey needed something, someone to hold on to, but God help Natches if he suggested taking her out of the house.

“Do you need your team, Major?” Tyrell asked, his voice chilly as they filed into the bedroom.

Alex shook his head as he set Janey on her feet and glanced at the other man. “They’re on assignment.”

He’d let the team go when he’d taken that last hit to his leg in Iraq. The missions were getting longer, the danger becoming less adrenaline- and more ennui-infused. He was losing the drive and he knew it. As he looked at Janey, thought of the baby she could be carrying, he knew he wasn’t going back.

“Sit!” Mark Lessing, medic’s bag in hand, pushed Alex to the heavy kitchen chair Tyrell had dragged in.

“Janey, fix us some coffee,” Alex ordered her as he straddled the chair, knowing what was coming.

“Come on, sis.” Natches wasn’t mocking or his normally overbearing self. His arm went around her shoulders.

She shrugged it off and glared back at all of them.

“Natches can make the coffee.”

Alex closed his eyes as he propped his good arm on the back of the chair and watched her. “You don’t want to be here for this,” he told her, knowing what was coming, knowing that when Mark began detailing exactly what was buried in his shoulder she wasn’t going to be strong enough to handle it.

She was a woman. Tender. Sweet. She had no business here. He looked at Natches. “Get her out of here.”

“Try it and find out just how well those self-defense classes I took work,” she warned her brother.

She wasn’t going anywhere. Janey moved slowly to her lover, staring at him, aching, hurting. She could feel the pain and the fear for him cutting through her like a dull, jagged knife.

“Don’t make me leave,” she whispered as she stood in front of him. “I should be here.”

His gaze was flat. His soldier gaze. Hard. His jaw like granite. His gaze sliced to Natches.

“I’ll stay,” Natches said quietly behind her. “If she wants to leave, then I’ll get her out of here.”

Silence filled the bedroom as Mark moved behind Alex. “Here’s what we have.” The medic sighed.

“You got whiskey, Major? You’re going to need it.”

“Kitchen cabinet.” He nodded to Natches.

The other man moved quickly back to the other room.

“We have two six-inch nails buried in, almost to the bone, I’m guessing. They have to come out. Looks like a metal shard protruding from the fleshy part of your shoulder, deep, but thin. We have puncture wounds, no slicing. We have some shredding flesh, a few burns. We have to get the projectiles out first and we’ll go from there.”

Alex stared up at Janey. A tear slipped from her eye. A single tear as she touched his face with trembling fingers and Natches moved back into the room, the fifth of whiskey in hand.

Alex grabbed it, tipped it to his lips, and took as much as possible in one gulp. Damn, he needed to be drunk. He pushed the boundary with the liquor, consuming quite a bit of the liquid before handing it back to Mark.

“You should have gone to the hospital, Major,” Tyrell snapped.

“Too many reports,” Alex replied. “We can’t let the attacker know I’m weak. Get to it, Mark. Let’s get it over with.”

“Alex.” Janey whispered his name as Natches pushed a chair to her.

She sat down in front of Alex, leaned her head against his good arm, and touched him, held on to him.

God, he should push her away. He needed her out of here.

Agony streaked through him as Mark doused the area with the liquor and went to work. He was quick, efficient. The nails and shrapnel were pulled out within minutes. The longest fucking minutes of his life.

He kept his head on his arm, snarled in fury at the pain, cursed the bastard responsible, and swore he was going to fry him and feed him to the dogs at the local humane shelter.

“All out,” Mark announced. “Shouldn’t need stitches. We have straight punctures. I’m going to clean them, bandage your shoulder up, and inject an antibiotic. You’re going to have to sleep soon, Major.

You’re going to fall on your ass if you don’t.”

“Soon.” Alex knew sleep wouldn’t hold off much longer. The wound as well as the adrenaline crash would get him. Before it did, he’d make certain everything was secure to protect Janey and himself while they slept.

Janey held back more tears as he rose to his feet as though nothing was wrong, no pain, no wounds. As

though he hadn’t shielded her body with his, as though it didn’t matter.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen if someone wants to make it.”

Janey turned to Natches, meeting his brooding gaze, the worry she saw there.

“Let me get Janey some clothes and we’ll be right out,” Alex announced. “Close the door behind you.”

Natches stared back at her for long seconds before he moved out of the room, followed by Mark and Tyrell.

“Here.”

She caught the T-shirt he tossed her as she turned around. “Crista left some sweats in here, too.” He moved to a dresser, rummaging through it until he came up with a pair. “Get those on and we’ll figure this out.”

He moved to the closet and pulled out a shirt. As Janey dressed, she watched him ease into the shirt, button it, then sit down in the chair to tie leather athletic shoes on his feet.

“When we walk back out there, you’re going to play real nice,” he finally announced as he rose to his feet.

“What do you mean?” Janey watched him warily now.

“There were cameras in your bedroom. That’s how Natches knew to call. I’m guessing he got some real pretty snapshots of us earlier.” Anger filled his tone as Janey stared back at him in shock.

“Of us? You mean . . .” Her face flamed in shock. “Earlier.”

“No doubt,” he bit out, his expression tightening in anger. “He’s going to drag you out of here. And I’m telling you, Janey, you try to leave with him, and there will be hell to pay.”

She shook her head before glaring at him. “You think I’d take this danger to Chaya or Crista and their babies?” she asked him incredulously. “You think Natches is that insane, Alex? Or that I am?”

“I think Natches is terrified for you.” He ran his hand around the back of his neck in frustration. “And I think you’re starting that whole internal argument where you can’t let someone be hurt because of you.

I’m letting you know right now, Janey. Leave this house and when I find you, I’ll paddle your ass.”

Her eyes widened. “What is this, another of those male things?” she argued. “You’re in pain, therefore you can start ordering me around like one of your soldiers?”

“Pretty much.” He grimaced as he moved to her, jerking her against him, holding her to him as he stared down at her.

And he was hard. Janey noticed that fact first. The second was that his eyes glittered now with almost fevered intensity.

“You’re mine, Janey.”

Before she could argue, his lips were on hers, his kiss hard, heavy, his tongue filling her mouth, pumping inside it as her fingernails rasped against the heavy cotton fabric of his shirt where it covered his rippling abs.

“Now, don’t argue with me in there,” he breathed out roughly. “Where you’re concerned, I’m not nearly as in control as I act, and I’m sure as hell not rational.”