Hard Way (7 page)

“There is no ‘kind’.”

Jesus, he was so damned reasonable. Gentle. Why did it sound like she was mentally cussing him out for that? She needed reasonable. But rather than grabbing on to Jake’s version of her future, she’d given Dash an open invitation to assault her any time he liked.

Definitely not the same thing as abuse. Underneath it all, Liam loved her. No, that wasn’t truthful. It wasn’t abuse, because she had loved every moment—every wild, fighting and reckless second. She wanted more.
Craved
more.

That had been the source of the haze following her throughout the morning. She’d been unconsciously reliving every moment and breath and movement, and the way Liam had possessed her.

The way she’d seen through to the heart of him for what felt like the first time.

Explaining that to Jake wouldn’t be possible. Maybe she could manage someday—and she’d need to before they stepped into the next phase of their relationship—but not now. She didn’t want to.

So she slipped her wrists free of his grip.

She did it nicely, although she knew five different techniques for breaking forearms. His button-down shirt was starched beneath her palms as she patted his chest. “I swear. He didn’t do anything wrong last night.”

Weird that she was finding so many layers and shades to things that should have been black and white.

“I want to be here for you. To support you.”

“I know you do.” That was half the reason she wouldn’t tell him how she and Dash had fought like a pair of wild animals. Jake wouldn’t understand that sort of rawness.

She barely understood it herself, and she was the one who’d agreed to more. She’d agreed to let her husband snatch her and fuck her and…
violate
her. Any time he liked.

And she couldn’t fucking wait.

Chapter Seven

Dash left before dawn because he had to hit a seven o’clock briefing, and because he didn’t want to be in the house when Sunny woke up.

Yes, they’d talked about…what was going on. That didn’t mean they were back to talking as husband and wife. Hell, the only reason he hadn’t hurt her—
truly
hurt her—was that he loved her more than he would ever be able to explain. She was his wife.

Only for a while longer, if she had her way.

No. Divorce wasn’t going to happen. End of discussion.

He had to figure out where magnetic, explosive, frankly
wrong
sex fit into that picture. They’d opened a door of sorts, but he was no closer to understanding what she needed than he had been when she’d dropped a bomb in their living room, or even back when she’d accepted the job in Washington. They’d celebrated. They’d cheered her success. Only after her initial two-month stint—longer than most, as she’d settled into a small apartment—had he truly realized that his deployments must’ve put her through hell.

And there he was, back on base, with his Evo idling in the parking lot outside the Aggressors’ flight hangar. He almost resented the intrusion work was making into his life. Whatever he and Sunny were doing, and whatever she felt was missing, wasn’t going to go away. Every second he spent away from her felt like a missed chance to win her back, even if that chance meant acting on her permission to use her, tie her up, take advantage of her.

Something was completely off the rails if that’s all they had to hang on to.

And rah, rah, the gang was all here. Captain Jon “Tin Tin” Carlisle rolled up in the only vehicle in the parking lot Dash would ever envy, a sweet-as-hell Aston Martin DBS. The kid must be slacking, though, because the car’s finish was dusty. Heather had the arrogant hotshot well and truly whipped if she could keep him that distracted.

So there it was. Dash’s attention wasn’t pulled toward Tin Tin’s car. That was only window-shopping. No, he was envious,
seriously
envious, of the younger man’s happiness.

Hell, he was jealous of his best friend Captain Mike Templeton and his girlfriend, the newly promoted Major Leah “Princess” Girardi.

Did everyone have to be so damn chipper and happy for a regular fucking Tuesday briefing? He could see it on their faces as they walked toward the assembly room. Dash didn’t want to get out of his Evo. Sitting there in his idling car, he admitted to himself for the first time that he didn’t even want to fly.

Temporarily. Of course. He’d be back in the air with bells on after working this out with Sunny. For the next four weeks, his brain would be on his marriage, not where it needed to be when he flew.

Yet the realization hit more forcefully than the blast of Las Vegas heat as he unfurled from the driver’s seat. Wouldn’t that be a great thing to tell his father when he visited? Sure. What a conversation.
Hey, Dad. I mean, Colonel Christiansen, sir. I know you flew Desert Storm and wanted me to make you proud at the Academy—and, yeah, wow, I’m really good at it—but I don’t feel like flying today.

Shit. He was falling to pieces, and that wasn’t good at all. Nothing had been
good
for a long time.

“Hey, hangdog,” called Mike. “Where the hell is the smartass we know and love?”

Dash hooked a finger toward Tin Tin. “You got eyes, Strap Happy,” he said, using Mike’s call sign. “He’s here ready to give us all a ration of dog poop.”

Tin Tin, with his dark hair buzzed as if he were some Marine grunt, smiled. He was so goddamn young on a morning where Dash, only three years his senior, felt like he belonged in a nursing home.

Except when he remembered fucking Sunny.
Taking
her. More than that, he’d left her wanting. She would never beg, but her body had.
Release. Give me release.
He’d walked away—probably the cruelest thing he’d ever done to his wife. Holy fuck, that thought turned his stomach and roused his dick at the same time.

“Dog poop?” Tin Tin asked. “What are you, in third grade?”

Mike laughed. “Nah, that’s you, Dimples.”

“Heather made sure I was at least out of high school. You’re a perv for thinking a third grader would do what we get up to.” He cupped a hand to his mouth and mock whispered, “But, dude, seriously? We are supposed to be
badasses
.”

Princess unfastened her neon pink motorcycle helmet, did some girly flip thing to her hair, and set about pulling it into a regulation bun. “Yeah, didn’t Fang give you the memo? He’s usually so good about those things.”

Dash played the game, acting the grinning idiot of the group. He had to because, that morning, it was all he had left. “The use of the word poop emphasizes our superiority over the other squadrons. We are confident because nothing, not even a word worthy of elementary-school snickers, can diminish our badass status.”

“All well and good,” Tin Tin said with a chuckle. “But I’m giving you a ration of
shit
today, especially when we hit the air.”

The last to arrive, as always, was Captain Eric “Kisser” Donaghue. The muscular man grabbed his flight jacket out of the backseat of his cherry restored Camaro and looked like he always did, as if he’d banged two chicks until four a.m., when he got bored of them and kicked them out. In other words, he looked smug as hell.

Tin Tin turned toward the offices. Leah followed, the two chattering about whatever old friends do. Jon Carlisle and Eric Donaghue got along piss poorly.

“I feel so loved,” Eric said. “You limp dicks hanging out in melt weather, waiting on me.”

Dash shook his head. “And a fine good morning to you, my late friend.”

Eric held up his middle finger. “Swivel. What’d I miss?”

“We were discussing language appropriate for use by bandits.”

Eric shrugged. “Fuck. Shit. Asshole. Get the hell outta my way. What’s the problem?”

“Sounds about right,” Mike said.

“No, I mean it. Outta my way, asshole. Or I’ll get hemmed up by
both
Major Haverty and Major Girardi.”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “You’d like it better from Fang. Leah can get mean.”

“A piece of ass is a piece of ass. Don’t care about the rank.”

“Wow, Kisser.” Dash forced his grin, like a jester on a bad day who knew the king would have his head if he didn’t juggle and dance. “I dare you the pinks on both our cars to say that to her face. I’m surprised you still have one, considering her pretty boy Doberman is standing right here.”

“Any time, any place, boys,” Eric said, arms crossed.

Dash watched the man swagger away and hunched his shoulders. He couldn’t help his sigh—truncated because, damn, he still had balls.

Mike walked with him toward the assembly room, where everyone scheduled to fly that day would discuss mission parameters and tactical assignments. Dash’s head was not in the game. He wondered if he was so far gone he should ask for leave time. The military was generous when it came to helping keep families together. Good for PR.

“Sunny’s home, yeah?”

Of course Mike would pick up on whatever Dash was wrestling with.

Wrestling.
Stripping. Fucking. He wished his lizard brain would shut up for one goddamn second.

“Yeah, got home Sunday afternoon.”

“So why do you look even worse than if she was out east?”

Dash shrugged. “You can’t guess? Worn out, man.”

“Then you shouldn’t be working so hard to force the jokes.”

“Because you know so much about humor. Suuuure. Be honest, Mike. Leah likes you for your looks. Definitely the only way a fuckup like you could snag her. Do you use a tooth whitener? Cuz my sunglasses are totally the only way I’m not blinded right now.”

Mike clapped him on the back. “Fine. We’ll play it your way. It’s as good a day as any for lying.”

“You mean flying.”

“Nope, not today. You know where I am, man. In case.”

“We done with the Oprah shit?”

“Yup.”

Dash
was
a liar. Mike was his best friend. They’d flown two tours together over Afghanistan, including Dash’s first. They’d survived the worst fears and celebrated getting out of some damn close scrapes.

Sunday afternoon, on the receiving end of Sunny’s declaration, had been Dash’s biggest fear and closest scrape. But he couldn’t share any of that with Mike. Unless she was particularly bold with some friend or other, she’d be hiding this too. They were trapped together in this…
thing
he couldn’t even begin to understand. That was probably a recipe for completely losing his mind.

His lizard brain though—hell yes, it was still there and being very creative. He had the makings of a hard-on by the time he took his seat in the briefing room. He was shifting in his chair like a horny kid after one single thought: he’d need to head to maintenance after his flight and grab a few more zip ties.

Maybe more than a few.

Surprisingly, Major Haverty, call sign Fang, wasn’t in. That meant Princess Leah delivered the morning briefing. Dash and Eric liked to give Mike shit about how hot she was, which sure wouldn’t change once she replaced Haverty as head of the squadron. Rumor had it that the All-American never-get-it-wrong major was on to bigger and better things. Lieutenant colonel would sit well on the man.

The squad was going to struggle through some growing pains as it adjusted to new leadership. A woman major. A beautiful woman major. A woman major who was in a serious relationship with one of her pilots.

No wonder Dash was reluctant to fly. Lots of changes. And what awaited the Aggressors ranked well below the hell waiting for him when he got home.

End of the world. End of the world. End of the world.

Now wasn’t that a fabulous mantra?

What the hell would he be without her? A lesser man. Wrecked. Lost. The thoughts spilled down out of his head and into his bloodstream and his muscles and his guts. Everything churned to the point of actual pain.

“First things first,” Princess said, reading off a printout. “You all know Colonel Bandry’s party is later this month. Everyone will be there.
Everyone
.”

A groan worked through the room, but Dash put plenty of heart into his. The retirement party for Colonel Laura Bandry was the reason for his father’s upcoming visit. He expected a dinner or two with Dash and Sunny while he was in town. Not that he’d asked. He’d
informed
, in that autocratic way of his. That was exactly what Dash did not need—Colonel Gene and his antagonism, right up in the middle of the trouble he was having with Sunny. It seemed unavoidable.

Unless she got tired of Dash before then and headed back to DC early.

Well, well. That thought was shit on top of shit.

After Leah finished reading off the rest of the announcements and reminders, she flipped the paper on her clipboard. “Here are your assignments, bandits. Kisser and Tin Tin on the southern perimeter. You boys play nice or I’ll have your goddamn dicks.”

That was certainly a change of style from Fang. Dash had never heard the man cuss. When his pilots were at risk, he could lose his temper like a bull charging a red cape, but he was a controlled character. Leah would be…interesting.

Thing was, she didn’t sound like she was play-acting her leadership role. She was stepping up. Dash had accused Mike of being a fuckup, but it wasn’t too long ago that the Princess was the squad’s A-number-one wild girl. Being in command looked good on her.