“Ohhh, you completely did. And aww—now you’re being all prom-night coy about it. That either means you really liked that dance, or you can’t wait to flip the punch table and get out of the gym.”
He drew in a breath, ready to order the guy to go fuck himself again. But Z was already on a take-charge roll.
“Because that’s all fixable, just in case you’ve forgotten. One call to Colton, and he’ll have one of his corporate jets on the Sancti tarmac faster than you can say—”
“No.” Regret slammed as soon as the rebuttal spewed. “No calling Dan. No involving him or any of the other guys in this.”
“Whoa. Chill out,” Z reprimanded. “And why the hell not?”
“Because the guy isn’t a spook anymore, and this mess isn’t some random secret op gone to shit. Eventually, that bird would have to put me down somewhere—meaning Colton Industries and its good name would instantly be dragged through the mud. It’d be no different once the media identified any of you guys—and now it’s about way more than just you, as well. Hawk, you, Tait, Kell, and Shay are all fathers now. And how long until they link any or all of us to Franz? He’s engaged to the fucking president.”
“You really think he’d let that make a difference?” Zeke snorted. “You think any of us would? Wait, let me ask this differently. If it were any of us at the center of this insanity, would it make a difference to you?”
“Goddammit. It’s not the same.”
“The hell it isn’t. Ohhh, snap.” The roll hit a bump, but not the kind Brick had hoped for. This was a bigger, bolder snag. “Unless it really is. Unless all of this really is different for you…”
“Okay, at ease with that shit too. I only mean this has the potential to royally blow up in my face, pardon the crappy pun. If I let you guys just jump in without making sure you’ve thought about the ramifications, it’d be—”
“Exactly what you did, helping me slip out of town when every member of Seattle’s PD was ready to chomp on my ass.”
“Almost five damn years ago,” Brick volleyed. “In one city, in one country. This is crazier and you know it. It’s involving a lot of Europe and beyond. You can’t risk it. Not anymore. Your life isn’t about just you anymore, man.”
At last, thank God, there was a resigned sigh over the line. “Fine,” Zeke conceded. “Roger that, loud and clear.”
As he spoke it, the words blended in with a dark techno beat. The guy must’ve walked into Bastille’s main bar and adjoining playroom station area. Zeke quickly switched off the music, but Brick wished he’d kept it on. More than that, he yearned to be right next to his buddy, hashing this out together between the spanking horse and the submissive stockade.
But if he was, they wouldn’t be throwing down about this at all. Because it would also mean he’d never have met Jayd. She’d be nearly seven thousand miles away. She’d also be a complete stranger.
Though right now, wasn’t it the same difference?
And wasn’t that exactly what he wanted?
Yes.
Yes, damn it.
Things were better this way. The way they were supposed to be from the start between a globally loved princess and a mentally wrecked soldier. Their night of crazy coincidences was electrified by a crackling physical attraction, underlined by dangerous circumstances and raging adrenaline. No wonder they’d caved so quickly to temptation. And then again.
Hormones and happenstance.
Impulses and opportunities.
Not a life-changing bond.
Damn it, he wasn’t the long-term choice for anyone. Not for his parents, who decided a vanishing act from society was better than watching him grow up. Not for any of the kids in school, who figured his thrift store clothes and classroom focus were things to be afraid of. Especially not for anyone he met in the black ops world, thanks to a little thing called plausible deniability. Nobody got chummy when assuming they’d be going home in a body bag.
It’d likely been the reason he gravitated toward kink and the Dominant/submissive world. Dungeon playtime could be a magical hour or two of intense meaning, without any of the messy aftermath. Everything with Jayd, back in Paris, was supposed to be the same thing. Lots of meaning, plenty of passion, zero extra strings.
But here they were now. Trapped in one hell of a huge yarn ball.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
What was he going to do about it?
“So what are you going to do now, man?”
And there was the fifty-billion-dollar question.
Brick dragged his hand over his skull again. If he actually had all that, he’d offer every penny to Twylah and her friends for a fast face change—which would at least help with getting him off the island and back home in one piece.
But was that what he still wanted?
To break out of here as soon as he could?
Changing outwardly, even the terrain he crossed and the vistas he looked at, wouldn’t alter a damn thing inside. Some of that he could live with. Had already been living with. The nightmares and the panic attacks would never be completely in his rearview.
But what about the new shit? The stuff he could no longer ignore, now packed to the rafters at the deep grooves along the edges of his psyches. Nooks he’d assumed were filled a long time ago, soldered by the crucible of therapy or permanently thrown out because of cold, hard self-discipline. But here they all were again, torn open by the tenacity and sensuality of one little pixie princess.
The woman who knew none of this.
The princess who, right now, was probably feeling like his tossed doxy—important enough to be his submissive in Paris but barely worth his civility now, back in her fucking kingdom.
“Christ on French toast,” he mumbled. With a dagger in the butter, to boot. A dagger that felt plunged between his ribs and twisted through his heart.
“Whoa. What gives?” his friend demanded. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about the club, because you know we’ll handle the basics until you get back.”
“Right.” He hauled his head out of his ass long enough to refocus. “Thanks, man. I mean it, Z.”
Zeke chuffed. “You mean it…because you’re sticking around them-there Arcadian parts for a mite longer, eh?”
Brick closed his eyes and jiggled his head. It was no use. His thoughts were all still in the same place—namely the ones still doggy paddling in astonishment because of hearing it spoken aloud. But Z was right. As in, on the damn money. He was electing to stay, at least until the Cimarron boys booted him off this pretty rock.
“I know it makes no sense, man—”
“Why?” Zeke countered.
“I’m getting to that. You want to let me fin—”
“No,” the guy persisted. “I mean, why does it not make sense?” He gave that one a long rumble of punctuation. “Buddy, the way I see it, you’re finally making all the sense in the world.”
Brick released a low roll of thunder from his chest. “Finally?”
“Eh. For as long as I’ve known you, at least.”
“Which means what?”
Was that now a full chuckle from his friend? “That it’s really damn nice to hear you getting bewildered for once. Not having your next nine moves in your back pocket. Hell, maybe not even the next one. But better than that, knowing you’re that lost and flustered because of a girl—excuse me, a woman—who’s gotten all the way under that armor of yours and managed to find your one ticklish spot.”