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“After seven years and little more than a few days off, I would say I more than have the time coming,” he stated flatly.
“Perhaps,” his boss speculated, “but you’ve never been interested in stepping away from work before. Why Hawaii? I would think it beneath a man with your tastes to stay stateside rather than travel the world.”
/> His temper was starting to flare. Forcing himself to stay calm, he returned the other man’s gaze. “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.”
Marx laughed, though it lacked any real mirth. The deep, thundering sound made Irene flinch. “I highly doubt that. Next I suppose you will tell me this little endeavor has nothing to do with that whore you keep.”
He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. The insults to Taylor and her character rubbed him raw. He had visions of cutting the man’s throat, of making him eat those words, but one look at Irene reminded him of what could happen if he reacted and helped keep his retaliation at bay. As did his lack of weapons. He cocked his head. Deep down, he supposed the time and effort it would take to snap the man’s neck would be somewhat gratifying. Not as much as making him suffer, but the outcome would certainly be worth the concession.
Marx nodded. The movement ripped him from his daydream.
“I thought as much. I’ll let you enjoy your getaway, Agent Baas, as long as one thing remains clear. This is not some honeymoon romp. I’ve let you play with your toy, but you’ve taken this game as far as it’s going to go.”
“Meaning?” he asked, folding his arms to keep his fists contained.
“Meaning you won’t be exchanging any rings. This train has hit its last station, and if you try to take it any farther, I promise you it and everything around you will derail. Is that clear?”
“With all due respect, what makes you think somebody’s marital status is your call?”
The commander moved a step closer. “What makes you think it isn’t?” The mammoth lines of his physique undulated against his uniform, making the fabric stretched across his chest ripple like oil. “I’ve had men take that path before and it’s never ended well. Your sister is a prime example of that. While you might not agree that I have the authority to make such decisions, I most certainly have the power and the means to back them up. That, alone, is enough to make it my call.”
Blackened silence hung between them. He’d never hated anyone as intensely as he hated this man. He’d never wanted to drench himself in someone else’s blood, or to physically rip their heart out and hold it in his fist as it stuttered through its last dying pumps. But he wanted that now. He wanted it so bad he could taste it.
His gaze flickered to Irene. She remained crouched on the floor, watching the exchange with fearful eyes. They met with his, and something inside those dismal depths pleaded, begging for mercy or death. It was a reprieve he couldn’t give. Sadly, some small part of him wished he could. She’d been through enough. Despite his hatred for her and the complications her actions had caused, nothing she’d done had warranted this level of prolonged suffering and cruelty.
He should have spared them both the torture and put a bullet in the twit’s brain the night she grabbed his dick. It would have been a much quicker and kinder release. Shaking his head, he tried to clear the troublesome thoughts and focus on the problem at hand.
“I see you are reluctant to offer a response,” Marx stated, his tone callous and crisp. “That is fine, but remember this,” he said gesturing to the woman cringing at his feet. “Marry that girl and your new bride will be taking Irene’s place. I would tread carefully if I were you. Given your disposition and performance lately, she is perilously close to occupying that position as it is.”
His head snapped up and his voice dropped to a menacing rasp. “What did you just say?”
Marx smirked and resumed stroking the top of Irene’s head. “You heard me. My pet would like a playmate to help her pass the time. Not to mention the pressure it would relieve. She’s had a rough go of things lately trying to liven up the ranks.”
Sebastian’s glare narrowed even more until his eyes became mere seething slits. The bastard was beyond sick. There wasn’t even a word capable of describing Marx’s level of depravity. The mere thought of him touching Taylor was enough to send him into a murderous tailspin. Clenching his teeth, he stepped forward until the two of them stood nose-to-nose.
“That will never happen,” he growled. “You will never touch her. I swear to God, Marx, I will kill you first.”
Marx took another step forward. Undaunted, Sebastian held his ground. Their eyes locked, green clashing with brown. Though unspoken, the war between them was fully declared.
The commander smirked. “God doesn’t listen to men like us. I’m starting to think that girl has a golden cunt. Keep defying me, Sebastian. Raise your arms against me one more time. I dare you. It would give me great pleasure to see what all the fuss is about.”
Hatred incinerated him from the inside out. It took every ounce of self-restraint he had to keep from lunging for the bastard’s throat or beating him to death with his fists. They locked at his sides. The short crescents of his nails gouged deep into the palms of his hands. If he moved, if he so much as breathed wrong, Marx would end this thing here and now. He might have the satisfaction of killing the prick, but the guards would see to it that he never left the room again. He would die here, tapped in this cell with Irene. His team was already fractured. Some of them might come to his aid, but God only knew what the rest of them would do to Monique or Taylor. He couldn’t take that risk.
His entire body shook as he attempted to leash his rage. Someday soon, his revenge would come. He would have an outlet for every ounce of anger, frustration, and pain this asshole had made him feel—and when that day came, Marx was going to pay in spades. He was going to suffer long and hard. He would beg for death. The bastard’s screams would be a song he would relish for years. He would see to that.
Still, he wasn’t going to take the threats lying down. They both knew where they stood, and he refused to let Marx gain more traction.
Easing back a mere inch, he let his trademark smile fall into play. “Say what you want, but if you touch my family again, if you so much as breathe their way, it will be the last fucking thing you do. That’s not a threat, Marx. It’s a promise.”
The commander took a step back as well and returned his cruel smile. “This is the very last warning you are ever going to get. As I said, the choice is yours. I made my move, Sebastian. Now it’s your turn to decide how we play.”
CHAPTER 12 ~
Taylor followed Sebastian through the darkened shadows of their home. He hadn’t said much since dinner, and his stoic expression lent little insight into his thoughts. She frowned, searching her mind for a way to relieve the tension and silence brewing between them. He’d shut down the moment he’d finished telling her about the shootings and his subsequent blowup with Josh. The divide between the four of them had never felt more painstakingly clear. Everything lately boiled down to him choosing and taking a side. His work, his personal life. Nothing was left untouched, untainted by the heavy pall Marx and SKALS cast over their lives. She knew shutting down and sealing himself off from his emotions was just Sebastian’s way of defending himself and protecting her, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.
Despite his efforts to hide it, she could tell something else was bothering him. Something dark and troubling that he was beyond reluctant to share. Keeping her head down, she prayed for a way to ease the heartache and troubles plaguing his mind.
He paused at the refrigerator long enough to grab a bottle of water, but he didn’t drink it. Instead, he laced his fingers through hers and led her silently up the stairs. Once inside their bedroom, he rested his head against the solid wooden doors for a moment before turning his attention to her. She hated the apprehension and uncertainty etched on his handsome face. Hated the way she knew without catching sight of her reflection that that taut and haunted reflection only mirrored her own.
“Seb…”
Sighing, he shook his head. “Don’t, Taylor. I know what you’re going to say, but there’s nothing you can do,” he said, working the buttons on his shirt free. His attention remained locked on the task at hand. “It’s Josh’s call. He’s only doing what he thinks is best for himself and his fami
ly. I don’t fault him for that, and it hurts to lose him, but I will do whatever it takes to keep you and our child safe.”
“I know, Sebby. I just can’t help wondering if things would be different if he knew the whole story.”
“I tried to tell him, Taylor. He didn’t want to listen.”
“You really don’t think you can trust him?”
“I trust him not to stick a knife in my back, but that’s as far as it goes. It doesn’t matter. Partner or not, I refuse to place your safety in someone else’s hands. I do enough of that as it is. I worry about you constantly. I have no idea if you are okay or what is happening when I’m at work. I hate to say this, but we need to distance ourselves from them anyway. I can’t risk Marx finding out about the baby. The thought of me getting married was enough to put him into a tailspin. I can’t imagine his reaction if he found out I was going to have a kid.”
“Do you really think Josh would tell him?”
Sebastian lowered his head with a sad shake as he tugged his holster strap free. “I don’t know.”
Crossing the room, she approached him. She trailed her hands over the outside of his arms, marveling at the hard knots and valleys stretched beneath. Leaning forward, she brushed a kiss across the back of his shoulders. His head fell forward in acceptance and a quiet groan of pleasure rose from his throat. Smiling against him, Taylor dug her thumbs into the taut muscles and worked the dense knots gathered under the surface until Sebastian whirled on her without warning. Menace and brooding desire swam in the sage pools of his eyes.
“Don’t start something you aren’t willing to finish, sweetheart. I’m in a mood and there’s no telling what I might do,” he murmured, tracing a finger over the delicate ridge of her collarbone.
“I was just trying to help you relax,” she argued, kissing the bandages wrapped around his hand. She hated that he was injured, hated that he’d almost died, and hated the turmoil wreaking havoc on their lives. Some of her angst faded seeing the slow smile easing across Sebastian’s face. Bit by bit, it showcased the deep dimples she had come to know and crave.
