Aftershock Page 10

Jeb and Mickey weren’t on his cellblock, or in his crew, so he owed them no loyalty. They’d been on the same work program, and that was it. Owen didn’t like rapists, and sure as hell didn’t want to spend his last days with two of them.

  Until now, he hadn’t had a choice.

  The first quake had busted up the transport vehicle and killed the guard instantly. There was a mad scramble to get free. They were chained together in pairs. Jeb took off with the keys in his hand. Then the aftershock hit, and Owen got knocked out. If he hadn’t been chained to Mickey, he’d probably be dead.

  Jeb had survived by being a selfish asshole. Mickey, through brute strength. Owen, by dumb luck.

  Owen wasn’t leaving because he didn’t like them. He’d been tolerating unlikable people his entire life, and he had a high threshold for stupidity. What he couldn’t tolerate was physical or sexual abuse. His first few weeks in prison had been torture. Owen refused to be beaten and cowed by anyone, ever again.

  He also thought he had a better chance with the other team.

  The fact that Jeb had a gun weighed the odds in the convicts’ favor, so Owen had been reluctant to abandon ship. But then he’d watched Garrett climb the wall this afternoon, and he’d been struck by inspiration.

  He’d figured out how to free them.

  Now he knew his best odds at survival lay with the other group. Sure, they had some weaknesses. Garrett was the only strong one. But he was also the only one smart enough to look for a way to escape, rather than the means to be rescued.

  Owen didn’t want to be rescued. He wanted to get the fuck out of here.

  There were a few obstacles. The tattoos that had helped keep him alive in prison worked against him now. That pregnant girl thought he was evil, and rightfully so. If Garrett’s group rejected him, he couldn’t go back to Jeb.

  He eased out of the bed of the pickup, taking a backpack with him. Earlier today, he’d stashed a bottle of water and some chips in it. Although he tried to step quietly, broken glass crackled beneath his feet. Jeb rolled over, throwing an arm across Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey made a snuffling sound, but didn’t awake.

  Owen crept away from them, his pulse thundering in his ears. He didn’t feel safe until he was on the other side of the structure, near the RV.

  He’d been spying on the other group all day, so he knew the score. Like Jeb and Mickey, Garrett had a boner for that blonde doctor. Owen understood why—she was hot—but he couldn’t stop staring at the other one.

  The pregnant one.

  He paused, listening for movement. Garrett and his lady were in the semi. The rest of them were in the RV.

  Hearing nothing, he moved on to an old Ford sedan. The car was empty, and it had a big backseat. He climbed inside and stretched out his long legs, shoving the backpack behind his head. Not bad. No death smell.

  He took a sip of water but saved the chips. Tomorrow, he’d approach the other group at first light.

  While he tried to rest, the dark-haired girl occupied his thoughts. She reminded him of someone. She made him feel something. Maybe it was her condition he was responding to. He liked women. He missed his mother.

  That wasn’t it, though. He didn’t think about his mother when he looked at her.

  Owen rolled onto his side, contemplating his embarrassing physical reaction. He’d been in prison for years. The only women he’d seen lately were in photographs or porno mags. Her pregnancy should have turned him off, but it didn’t. He wanted to feel her skin against his fingertips, to smell her dark hair.

  The girl both attracted and repelled him. No—she just attracted him. Her beautiful face, her jarring vulnerability.

  He repelled himself.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FOR THE SECOND night in a row, Lauren was awoken by a man’s rough handling.

  Garrett hooked his arm around her neck and dragged her off the bed. She landed in a belly flop, the breath rushing from her lungs. “We have to take cover,” he yelled in her ear. “We’ve got small arms fire coming from all sides.”

  Lauren didn’t know what he was talking about. Her brain, still half-asleep, registered no sounds except his voice. It was pitch-black inside the semi, dead quiet outside. She listened for gunshots, her heart thumping hard in her chest.

  “There’s an insurgent hideout in the building on the northeast corner. If we stay here we’ll get ambushed.”

  It dawned on her that he was dreaming, or having some kind of...episode. He thought they were in Iraq.

  “Are you hit anywhere?”

  “No,” she said, moistening her lips.

  He ducked, as if a missile had just flown over their heads. “Oh, shit. IED! Stay down, Morales.” Covering her body with his, he protected her from whatever monsters his nightmare had generated.

  She trembled beneath him, unsure how to react. What if he decided she was an insurgent? He could snap her neck like a twig.

  “Are you hit?” he repeated.

  “No,” she said. “Garrett, wake up. It’s Lauren.”

  He rolled off her and turned her over, checking for injuries. “Oh God,” he moaned, searching for the pulse in her neck. Although it hammered against his fingertips, he made a sound of anguish. “Morales, no!”

  She grabbed his hand. “I’m Lauren. Lauren Boyer.”

  He didn’t seem to register her words. In his mind, she must have been dead or dying, because he ran his fingertips down her breastbone and placed the heel of his hand at the center of her chest.

  “No,” she yelled, hitting his forearms. He could crack her ribs performing CPR, especially if he did so in an overzealous panic.

  “Hang on, Morales,” he said, oblivious to her blows.

  Lauren had to take drastic action. She drew back her hand and slapped him across the face with all her might. He flinched, so she knew he felt it. Terrified that one slap wasn’t enough, she struck him again as hard as she could.

  He didn’t give her a chance to go for three. With a furious snarl, he grasped her wrists and shoved her arms over her head.

  “Garrett,” she sobbed, desperate to get through to him. “Please, stop!”

  He stared at her for a moment, his eyes gleaming in the dark. Then he raised his head and looked around the quiet sleeper cab. The shape of the bed and the outline of the front seats were barely discernible.

  “Lauren,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  He released her wrists and climbed off her carefully, sitting at the edge of the bed. She stood to switch on the overhead lamp. His hand rose to cover his eyes from the light, but not before she saw the shame on his face.

  He couldn’t look at her.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, taking a seat beside him. When she touched his shoulder, he jerked away. “Garrett—”

  “What was I doing to you?”

  She moistened her lips, hesitating. Her palm print stood out in stark relief on his cheek. “You were...confused.”

  “I was attacking you.”

  “No.”

  His tortured gaze met hers. “Then why were you defending yourself?”

  “You scared me,” she admitted. “I think you were having a combat flashback. You kept calling me Morales.”

  Understanding flickered in his eyes. “Morales?”

  She nodded. “You tried to do CPR on me.”

  “Hell,” he said, dragging a hand down his jaw.

  “I’m sorry
I hit you, but I thought you were going to break my ribs. I had to do something to wake you up.”

  He scanned her form. “I did chest compressions?”

  “No. You just scared me. I’m fine.”

  “Your wrists are red.”

  “So’s your face,” she pointed out.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a formal tone. “I shouldn’t have restrained you.”

  Her heart broke for him. She didn’t know what to say to put his mind at ease. Even in the throes of the nightmare, his actions had been protective. But what if he’d mistaken her for the enemy, rather than a friend?

  She took a few sips of water and gave the bottle to him. He drank sparingly.

  “Tell me about Morales,” she said, slipping her arm through his. This time, he didn’t shy away from her touch. “Did you save him?”

  He buried his head in his hands. “No.”

  “What was he like?”

  “She,” he choked.

  “She?”

  “Jessica Morales was a she.”

  Lauren’s chest tightened with dismay. A female soldier had died in his arms? No wonder he was traumatized. “Tell me about her.”

  After a long moment, he lifted his head. “She was good with a rifle. More accurate than most of the men.”

  “I didn’t know women were allowed in combat.”

  “It’s kind of a gray area. We brought them along as support soldiers. Their official duties were to search the female Iraqis and keep them calm, but they were often called upon to use weapons. Combat came to us.”

  She waited for him to continue, squeezing his arm.

  “We shielded the women as much as possible. There was a huge stigma attached to losing female team members, and they weren’t even supposed to be on the front lines. But Morales...Jessica...she wanted experience, not protection. She said that the women were just as likely to get separated or ambushed, but they weren’t as prepared. She demanded equal duties and better training.”

  “So...you treated her like one of the guys?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But I was getting there. She’d distinguished herself in a number of battle situations.”

  “What happened to her?”

  He took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling. “We were on a late mission in an area known for insurgent activity. After an extended gunfight, we got the hell out of there. As we climbed into the truck, a bomb went off. Morales sustained a critical shrapnel injury. She bled out in less than five minutes. There was nothing I could do.”

  “Oh, Garrett,” Lauren said, putting her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I haven’t had nightmares like that in years.”

  “This has happened before?”

  “A few times. I’ve woken up yelling orders, army-crawling across the floor.”

  “Is that why you wanted to sleep outside?”

  His muscles tensed. “No.”

  “No?”

  When she gave him a curious look, he amended his statement. “It’s one of the reasons. The other is more complicated.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” he said, a flush creeping up his neck. He took another sip of her water. “I’ll go back outside now and let you rest.”

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “Yeah? Do you still feel safe with me?”

  She frowned at his self-derisive tone. “Safer than being alone.”

  “Well, you’re not. Obviously, I can’t control myself while I’m asleep. It’s difficult enough while I’m awake.”

  Lauren felt as though the conversation was slipping away from her. She was still reeling from the story about Morales, shaken by his actions during the fugue state. This was going somewhere...interesting.

  A cautious voice warned her not to pursue this subject. But another part of her, one that was seeking any distraction from the chaos, any sensation besides fear, spoke up instead: “What do you mean?”

  “Being near you drives me crazy,” he said, his jaw clenched. “Even when I’m not looking at you, or talking to you, I’m aware of you. I can smell you.”

  “You can smell me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do I smell bad?”

  He laughed harshly, shaking his head. “You smell like a woman.”

  “Not a freshly showered one.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Even if you stunk, I’d still want you.”

  “You...what?”

  His gaze dropped to her hand, where it was curled around his biceps. “I want you,” he said through gritted teeth. “And not in any soft, romantic way. I’m no better than Mickey or Jeb. I was excited by the sight of you with your shirt torn. I’ve fantasized about tearing the rest of your clothes off. Repeatedly.”

  Her lips parted with surprise. That wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. She’d sensed the attraction between them, but she’d never felt threatened by him. He’d gone out of his way to protect her. “Do you enjoy forcing women?”

  His eyes darkened. “No.”

  “Then you’re not like them.”

  “I’m exactly like them.”

  “You wouldn’t have to force me, Garrett.”

  He groaned, glancing away. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I know you’re a good man.”

  “No,” he said shortly. “I’m not.”

  After the story he’d told, she understood why he carried so much guilt and self-loathing. Many war veterans battled those demons. It was also clear that his confession about wanting to rip her clothes off was meant as a warning.

  But she wasn’t afraid; she was aroused.

  Her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat, and her skin tingled with anticipation. She longed to feel his hard body against hers.

  She moved her hand from the crook of his arm to the nape of his neck. “I thought we went over this already,” she said, lifting her lips to his. They touched briefly and pulled apart. “I’m right about everything. To infinity.”

  He stared at her mouth for a few seconds, struggling with himself. She imagined that his control was hanging by a thread.

  She wanted it to break.

  When she moistened her lips, tasting him on them, he snapped. With a strangled growl, he pressed her back against the inside of the truck and covered her mouth with his. Thrusting his hands into her hair, he devoured her. He kissed suggestively, driving his tongue deep, making her open wide. There was no question about which act they were mimicking. She moaned, twining her arms around his neck.

  His kiss was smoking hot and dirty. She could feel the grit on his skin and smell the faint hint of gasoline on his shirt. It thrilled her.

  He broke the contact, his eyes trailing down her chest. Her breasts were heavy and full, her nipples tight. She arched her spine, biting down on her lower lip. Groaning, he took her mouth from another angle, letting her breasts settle against his chest.

  She splayed her hands across his back, exploring the muscles beneath her fingertips. He was so built. Flicking her tongue across his lips, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and lifted, seeking bare skin.

  She might rip his clothes off.

  He raised himself up a little, but not to remove his shirt. His gaze dropped from her swollen mouth to her jutting nipples, mesmerized. She indulged his unspoken request by stripping her top off and tossing it aside. The lacy cups of her bra felt too constrictive
, and he clearly wanted to see more. Reaching behind her back, she unhooked it.

  When her breasts tumbled free, he looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. “Jesus,” he whispered, cupping her soft flesh.

  His hands made an erotic contrast to her bare skin. They were dark, ravaged, bandaged. So large that her breasts appeared almost delicate in comparison. His thumbs swept over the sensitive pink tips, wrenching a cry from her lips.

  He glanced up at her face, gauging her reaction to his touch. She trembled in his arms, ready to beg.

  Thankfully, he didn’t make her. He stretched out on top of her and kissed her again, moving his thigh between her legs. Sliding his tongue in and out of her mouth. Stroking her taut nipples, again and again.

  It was too much and not enough. She kissed him back hungrily, writhing beneath him and threading her fingers through his hair. Her hips rotated in needy circles. Panting, she rubbed herself against his hard thigh.

  He shoved his hand between them, palming her hot sex. She gasped at the sensation, wound as tight as a wire.

  Making a frustrated sound, he tore his mouth from hers. “I can’t touch you there.”

  “Why not?”

  “My hands are dirty.”

  She stared up at him, blinking.

  He lifted himself off her, moving slowly, as if in pain. Her eyes swept down his body, widening at the enormous erection straining at the front of his jeans.

  Wow.

  She thought about offering to skip the foreplay, but maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. “I have foam cleanser.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. He kept his eyes averted, his shoulders slightly hunched. “No. I can’t.”

  It was obvious that he wanted to continue, but wouldn’t let himself. His soiled hands weren’t the issue; his guilty conscience was. “You son of a bitch,” she said, her breasts quivering with indignation. She picked up her T-shirt and clutched it to her chest. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

  He dragged a hand down his jaw, looking haggard. “I’m not married. I’m just...not available.”

  The statement did nothing to assuage her anger and confusion. She didn’t understand what was stopping him. If he had a girlfriend, why hadn’t he mentioned her?