Guts & Glory: Brick (In the Shadows Security Book 6) Read online

  But she had gotten so much more.

  They’d never know he was much more than just a one-night stand, because he didn’t give it freely.

  When this job was done, she would miss this. This intimacy with a man who had never shared it with anyone else before. She wondered if he only did with her because they were stuck living together. Or, if outside of this assignment, they would have ever connected otherwise.

  She’d never know.

  “You’re so pretty,” she teased softly. “You should’ve been a model.”

  His eyes popped open and he glowered at her. “Pretty? You don’t call a fucking man pretty. You tell him he has a big cock. A skilled tongue. A way with words. But not that he’s pretty. Holy fuck.”

  She fought her grin at his fake outrage. “Okay, you have a big, pretty cock. Your tongue isn’t half-bad, either. And what you did in the hallway at their house earlier...” Londyn blew out a long, soft whistle.

  “You liked that, huh?”

  She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You couldn’t tell?”

  He grinned.

  The hallway episode made her realize... “You didn’t wash that hand before you shook Kramer’s.”

  “Must’ve forgotten.”

  Bullshit. His eyes said it all. He had been marking his territory like a dog.

  “Did you forget that we’re not really married?”

  Something flashed behind his eyes, and she heard his growled words again in her head, “That’s mine.”

  That. Not you’re.

  “Or that you don’t own me?”

  “He needs to believe I do.”

  “Does he? Or do you?”

  “Londyn... This is a job and we’re playing our parts.”

  “In this bed, too? This wasn’t part of the assignment.”

  “This is real.”

  “What’s real? Certainly not Seamus and Gertrude.”

  “What happens in this bed. Your orgasms. All real.”

  “So, what happens between Brick and Londyn is real.” She wondered if he realized what he just said. It didn’t matter. He was right, they were on assignment, playing parts. “What you’re saying is, Seamus owns Gertie.”

  “Right. He owns her ass.”

  “That also means you don’t ‘own’ my ass.”

  His eyes narrowed and his expression went blank. “Right.”

  Right.

  Bullshit.

  “Have you ever been possessive of any woman before?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Why are we discussing this?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “No, but then I don’t keep them around long enough for that to even be a risk.”

  A risk.

  “Was there ever any woman you thought about inviting back, maybe inviting her to spend a little time in your life?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not what I’m looking for.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Londyn...”

  “What are you looking for?” she prodded.

  “Why do you fucking care?”

  She shouldn’t, but she did. “Do you even know?”

  He flipped to his back, avoiding her searching gaze. “I’m not looking for anything. Now let’s fucking drop this shit and get some sleep.”

  “If I could sleep, we wouldn’t be having a conversation.”

  “I fucked you twice, that should’ve made you tired enough to sleep.”

  “You fucked me twice. Did you ever notice how you word things? You fucked me. Not we fucked each other. That’s mine. A claim.”

  “Are you seriously pulling some feminist bullshit right now? You told me earlier that the caveman shit got you wet. Were you lying?”

  Damn, that was true. “No.” None of this mattered anyway. For the thousandth time, she reminded herself that they were in that house for a reason and once that reason was over, they would go their separate ways. Brick back to “swiping right” and banging everything with two breasts, and she’d go...

  Wherever.

  She still had no idea where. Just not back to New York.

  There was no point in riding him about something that soon wouldn’t matter, so she needed to drop it. She needed to just concentrate on why they were there in that house in the first place.

  “It’s a shame.”

  Brick’s body went solid next to her. Probably expecting her to bust his balls some more.

  She put him out of his misery. “I kind of like her.”

  He relaxed. “Barb may be an accessory to murder.”

  “I could see us being friends if it wasn’t for this whole situation.” She had rolled to her back when he did, now she turned to study his profile in the dark. “You were a sniper. Snipers don’t plink at cans. And I’m sleeping with you.”

  “I never killed anyone simply for profit.”

  “War isn’t for profit?”

  He sighed. “None of that shit went into my pocket. We were just the suckers who did the dirty work to put the money in someone else’s.”

  “And bore the scars.”

  “And bore the scars,” Brick repeated under his breath. “What I did during my service wasn’t considered murder.”

  “Only on paper. But you still took lives.”

  “It was my job.”

  “Not an easy one, I’m sure. What about now?”

  Once again, he went solid next to her. “Now?”

  She waved a hand around in the air. “These paid assignments. You never kill anyone?”

  “Londyn...”

  “What? You think I can’t figure out what you all do? Tell me, have you ever killed someone who didn’t deserve to die?”

  “It’s fucking midnight. If you’re feeling chatty, go downstairs and call your sister.”

  She ignored his griping because she needed to discuss her concerns. “I’m really not sure she’s an accessory, Brick. I just can’t see it. And these migraines of hers have me suspicious. She said they didn’t start until Kramer and her began to live together. She never had them before in her life. It could be coincidence, but what if it’s not?”

  “A lot of people get migraines.”

  “It’s a gut feeling.”

  He groaned. “I hate to say it, but your gut feeling may be right. Not only did I find the policies Kramer had on his late wife, but I found two on Barb in a locked file cabinet.”

  Londyn sucked in a breath. “For how much?”

  “Do you need to ask?”

  “Damn. My feeling is right.”

  “Possibly. And if you’re right, I can’t imagine Kramer would off Barb the same way he did his wife. It would have to be a different type of accident or some sort of sickness. Otherwise, it would throw a red flag.”

  “Wouldn’t two women you’re involved with, dying within a few years of each other, be enough of a red flag?”

  “Or it could be chocked up to him being an unlucky bastard.” He rolled onto her and pinned her to the mattress with his crushing weight. “Now, since you won’t let me sleep and your mouth keeps running, I have something better you can do with it.”

  “What’s that?” she teased.

  Instead of answering, he jackknifed up and moved until he was straddling her waist. After grabbing a couple pillows, he shoved them under her head. As he did this, she watched his cock grow. He moved forward until it was bobbing inches from her lips.

  “Should I take a guess?” she asked.

  “You get one.”

  “Karaoke?”

  “Close enough.” His thumb tugged her bottom lip down, opening her mouth. “Tongue out.” He gathered the precum from the tip of his cock onto the pad of his thumb and wiped it down her tongue. “Close your mouth and tell me what that tastes like.”

  “You.”

  “Do you want more?”

  “I want all of it.”

  And he gave it to her, too.

  Chapter Thirteen

/>   A bead of sweat slid down his forehead and stuck in his eyebrow for a second before rolling into his eye, causing a sting.

  Then another.

  And another.

  He blinked to clear his vision, but other than that, he did not move.

  He did not look away.

  He kept focus.

  On the dark doorway of the mud house.

  Until the shadows seemed to shift.

  But he could be mistaken. He could be imagining it.

  It turned out he wasn’t.

  From the shadows appeared a boy.

  Five.

  If that.

  A five-year-old who should be sent outside to play with Matchbox cars, not explosives. A five-year-old who should be hugged by his father, not by a suicide vest.

  What father—Brick hoped to fuck he was wrong—could sacrifice his child like that? For what?

  The father kissed the boy’s forehead, then ruffled his hair. The explosive vest had to weigh almost as much as the kid.

  A fucking child. A tool in the ugly face of war.

  A child. Soon a memory.

  Possibly a memory to a family who used their child as a pawn. But definitely an unshakable memory to Brick.

  His spotter urged, “You've got a clear shot. Send it!”

  And again. “Briggs, you need to take the shot. Now.”

  And again. “You’ll never be able to live with yourself if you don’t.”

  I’ll never be able to live with myself if I do.

  Brick exhaled every last molecule of air from his lungs. He had a clear shot. A clean one. But not for his soul.

  Sacrifice one to save many.

  Sacrifice one to save many.

  Sacrifice one to save many.

  But a child shouldn’t be that one.

  A child who was no longer a baby, an innocent but a killer. Not by his own choice, but by the adults the child loved and trusted.

  He emptied his lungs again as another drop of sweat rolled down his temple. His finger lightly caressed the trigger.

  It was now or never.

  He had no choice.

  Sacrifice one to save many.

  He smoothly squeezed the trigger. Then squeezed his eyes shut.

  He didn't have to look to know if he hit his target. He knew. The explosion told him so. The suicide bomber had activated the detonator when he fell to the ground. The only difference in the outcome was where the blast occurred. Brick took out the bomber before he could take out a bunch of his fellow troops.

  He saved a few lives that day. But he destroyed one he’d never forget. That memory would sear his soul forever.

  Not because he took out a threat. But because that threat was an innocent boy.

  After ignoring the chatter in his ear and what felt like a lifetime later, he finally opened his eyes.

  The father, the son, the home. All gone. Bits of nothing left.

  Almost as if they never existed at all.

  He couldn’t break free of the grip on his uniform. He was being pushed somewhere he didn’t want to go.

  Which was underwater.

  In full gear, he was heavily weighted and already struggling to keep his head above it. Every time he fought to the surface, he was pushed back down.

  Saltwater filled his nose and lungs, stung his eyes.

  He couldn’t see. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t breathe.

  He was drowning.

  He needed to fight. To break free.

  So, he fought, he struggled.

  He could see the surface, it was right there. A few more kicks with his heavy, water-logged boots and he’d be able to suck in fresh air.

  Just a few more kicks.

  And he’d be able to breathe.

  Brick gasped for breath as his eyes popped open. It was dark. And a noise next to him had him jackknifing straight up into a sitting position. It took him a few seconds to realize where the fuck he was and once he did, he switched on the lamp beside the bed.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  He lunged to Londyn’s side of the bed where she sat up, her hand to her cheek, her face wrinkled in pain.

  “What the fuck happened?” he bellowed, grabbing her hand and pulling it away.

  “You elbowed me hard in the face.”

  Jesus fuck.

  He squeezed her hand gently and searched her face for blood. None. But she did have a large red mark on her left cheek. An impact hard enough it would eventually turn into a bruise.

  “You were talking in your sleep.”

  “What was I saying?”

  He should’ve known this could be an issue. He knew he had nightmares; he just didn’t realize what damage they’d cause.

  “You were yelling, ‘I don't want to fucking do this! I can’t do this!’”

  Jesus fuck.

  “And as soon as I touched you to wake you up, you freaked out.”

  “I’m so fucking sorry. I’d never fucking hurt you. You know that, right?”

  “You didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “I shouldn’t have fucking done it at all!” he yelled, getting out of bed. He dropped his head, took a breath, then lifted it to look at her, appearing small in that big bed. The red area was already turning darker.

  Fucking motherfucker.

  “I’m getting you ice.”

  He didn’t even pause to pull on shorts. He ran down the stairs, grabbed a bag of frozen corn he found in the freezer and took the steps two at a time to get back to her.

  When he returned, she was leaning back against the headboard, wincing as she touched the injury.

  “Don’t touch it, it’ll just make it worse.”

  He climbed back into bed, settled against the headboard and pulled her into his lap. She took the bag from him and pressed it to her cheek with a hiss.

  “It hurt?”

  “It’s cold.”

  “It’s supposed to be cold, baby. It’s frozen.” Pulling her against his chest, he stroked her hair as they sat there for a while with the frozen corn against her face. “Maybe we shouldn’t sleep together.”

  “At all?”

  “I meant the actual sleeping part. I didn’t realize I talked in my sleep until you.” Because he never slept with anyone. Sex, yes. Sleeping, no.

  “Because you don’t let anyone in.”

  Brick stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you let people see you at surface value. You don’t let anyone get deeper than that. That’s why you like hookups. No one gets a chance to see anyone but who you allow them to see.”

  “Are you psychoanalyzing me?”

  She pressed her hand against his chest. “No. I’m just telling you what I’ve observed since I met you and I’m piecing that together with what you yourself have told me.”

  Christ. The answer wasn’t “no,” it was obviously “yes.”

  “You figure if you don’t let anyone close, no one will see what you’re hiding.”

  Fuck him, analyzing or not, she was right. No one would ever expect what haunted him because he hid it so well. Hidden or not, ghosts like his were hard to kill.

  They lingered like a bad odor.

  “I’ve got ears, I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

  He played dumb. “About what?”

  “Whatever you have nightmares about.”

  “Why would I want to talk about it?” He wouldn’t.

  “Maybe it’ll help?”

  “I never talk about this. And the reason is, talking about it brings the ghosts closer to the surface. Then they’re harder for me to fight.” He shouldn’t have even said that much.

  “Maybe if you bring them to the surface, you can break free of them.”

  A shiver shot up his spine. What she just said was eerily similar to the part of his nightmare right before he woke up. The part where he was no longer in the desert but was drowning instead.

  He pressed a kiss to her temple, careful of the injury. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” />
  “But you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But I don’t want to talk about it.” I can’t. If I do, you may never look at me the same again. And that will fucking slay me.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He didn’t even need to answer, because no matter how he did, she would ask the question anyway.

  That was just Londyn.

  “Does taking a human life eat at you?”

  Fuuuuck, he wasn’t expecting that one. It made his chest tighten and his stomach churn. “It’s just a target. Nothing more.”

  “Never?”

  “It can’t be anything else.”

  And that was the biggest lie he’d ever told.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He made no noise as he approached but she could feel his presence. It was a little unnerving how quietly he could move when he wanted to.

  For some reason this afternoon, he wanted to sneak up on her.

  But whenever he got close, her blood began to hum, so, for the most part, he’d never be able to surprise her. That didn’t mean she couldn’t play along.

  She gave the brownie batter one last stir and waited. As she did, a tingle ran down her spine which made goosebumps break out along her skin. Of course, her nipples became two big goosebumps that began to ache for his mouth.

  Unfortunately, that would have to wait. She had brownies to make. And they had a job to do and they weren’t going to get that job done by staying in bed all day.

  Not that she’d complain if they did.

  Last night, after the frozen corn had turned to mush, he had moved into the spare bedroom for the rest of the night and Londyn hated every second of it. Everything about it felt wrong.

  It was wrong.

  She wouldn’t allow that again tonight. She’d promise not to wake him again during a nightmare. Hopefully, that would be enough, so he’d agree to come back to the master bedroom.

  The only good thing about him moving out was he hadn’t woken her up when he got up at the butt crack of dawn to go running. But that meant it wasn’t long past the butt crack when he returned all sweaty and climbed into bed with her.