JACE (Lane Brothers Book 3) (8 page)

“He stashed, Melissa. That’s what I’m thinking,” Miah suddenly snarls, making us all jump at the fury in his voice.

“Okay. Why?” Trace asks, focusing on Miah as he paces.

“He’s in love with the girl and it never sat right with him using her this way. He said once that if he ever needed to get out of a bad situation, he’d make sure his family was safe first and then see to himself.”

“He stashed her and went all in? But—”

Suddenly, Tracy is laughing so hard I have to hold her up to keep her from tumbling to the ground. “He’s the Goddamned shooter! Don’t you see? One bullet to the shoulder. You were just unlucky it hit an artery, but still, a bullet to the shoulder and a few more fired haphazardly. No trained sniper makes that many mistakes, guys.”

She’s right. She has to be.

“That means he’s in.”

“No, that means we need to find that fucking group as soon as possible before he gets too deep to get out alive,” Miah barks.

I agree and I feel as urgently desperate about getting Roman back home as any of them do at this moment. Right now, though, I also feel a wave of euphoria that Trace came back to me, coupled with a very large wave of exhaustion.

“Come on then, let’s get home. Miah, you need to cam the hell down and come at this thing with fresh eyes after a good night’s sleep. Wyatt, your kid is waiting for you. And you, super soldier, let’s get your weak ass home to bed.”

I should argue with Jared right now. I hate leaving a man behind. In fact, I never have, not even in the hairiest of situations, but I’m done right now and couldn’t save a kitten if I had to.

“Come on, Trace. Let’s go home.”

Trace

It wasn’t until I disconnected the call with Jace and actually gave the situation some real thought that I came to a realization. Life is not guaranteed, and love is a gift we should cherish, not throw away without a care.

I looked at the desperation evident in this perfectly staged scene and tried to imagine what Roman Lane must have felt while setting it up in his need to protect the woman he loves.

All I could see and feel while trying to understand was Jace, his face white and lifeless as his blood covered my hands and clothes and seeped to the ground below us.

All I remembered was the anguish that gripped me in that one moment when my rational mind fled and I thought he was dead.

I saw myself then as a coward.

Now as I walk beside him to Jared’s SUV, I feel lighter than I ever have. This is in no way a declaration of happily ever after. I’m still obligated to work this case no matter what, and Jace is still a SEAL and working missions that trump everything else, but for now, for this moment, I am totally okay with just letting things fall as they may.

“You okay, Trace?”

I nod and snuggle into him in the back seat as Jared pulls out and starts driving us all home.

“What the hell are we going to tell Ma and Pop?” Wyatt asks, rubbing at his face in frustration.

“Beats the hell out of me, man. I just know I’m going to bed with my girl so I can sleep and come at this from a fresh angle.”

A fresh angle? How can this stuff be any freaking fresher? The problem isn’t about old or new or really anything rational. It’s that we have no way to gather intel, and with Roman off the grid and in the belly of the beast, we have absolutely no way of getting to him unless he makes a plan to get intel out to us without being compromised.

The whole shooting Jace thing would have been his initiation, the one act of loyalty the Patriots required before letting him into one of the inner circles.

All I know is that not only are we all in a lot of danger now that Roman is in with the Patriots, but Roman is currently treading a very thin stretch of ice that could crack beneath him at any moment.

I wish I knew where he’s stashed Melissa Dobson. I need to interrogate her and check out her responses, because for whatever reason, I have a bad feeling about that girl.

Perhaps it isn’t that she’s a traitor and playing Roman. It could be that I feel something bad coming for her…

Whatever the real reason, I know that something bad is going to happen, and I just pray that it’s not coming this way anytime soon. Jace is injured, the other brothers are juggling families and still trying to protect themselves from Ronny and her pack of hyenas.

“Come on, babe.”

I open my eyes when Jace slides out of the car and attempts to lift me out.

“No! I can walk,” I grumble, not wanting him to hurt himself even more.

I’m four years older and not as pedantic about my diet as I used to be, thanks to Jace introducing me to cookie dough, and I really do not need to feel like shit about him having to carry my butt upstairs.

Wyatt, of course, has been elected to talk to the parents while the rest of us go to bed.

“Go shower, babe. I’ll leave a T-shirt on the toilet seat for you,” Jace says, yawning broadly enough to crack his jaw.

“No. You get into bed and I’ll find my own T-shirt and get settled.”

He may grumble, but I notice that he drops onto the bed and is out almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

I leave him with a smile and groan when the hot water hits my skin, washing away blood and sweat and the worry I’ve survived on for hours. This time alone is much needed, because I need it to think and start putting some of the puzzle pieces together.

These pieces are important and a lot of them do not fit, so instead of coming at it from the angle I always choose—my dad and Timothy—I stop and just forget about them for a minute, looking at all the players in this game objectively.

Something is missing, though, I just know it, and I think it’s about time I sat down with the Lane brothers and we pooled info.

After enjoying a long, hot shower and moisturizing with cream I hope is supposed to be mine and not some other broad’s leftovers, I slip into one of his T-shirts and slide into bed beside him, feeling giddy when he curls around me in sleep and says my name on a sigh.

This is a really nice way to fall asleep, and now instead of thinking about how to avoid the intimacy, I’m thinking about ways to ensure that I get to keep this intimacy for the rest of my life.

***

“Good morning, sleepy head.”

I wake with a smile and a moan when I feel lips gliding over my face before settling against mine for a slow, easy kiss that makes my toes curl with need.

“Hey. Stop that. You’re injured,” I mumble against his lips when his hand pushes beneath the shirt and settles just below my breast.

“Nuh-uh. This is the first time I get you in my bed and you want me to stop?”

My eyes crack open and I look up at him with a smile that he returns.

“We still have time, Jace. There’s no rush,” I whisper, leaning up to kiss him sweetly before pulling away.

His face is downcast, though, and I get to see the first blush he’s ever given me when he looks away and winces.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, babe, and not…it’s hard to sleep beside you all night after wanting you for so long only to be…”

He flops down with a grunt and throws an arm over his face in defeat.

“I want you so bad, I mean.” He waves down at his crotch and I feel my lips tip in a smirk. “But I feel so weak and I just…”

You know what I’ve learned recently? Fear and reticence is a waste of good life. I could probably take the whole fear thing and run with it till doomsday, including my fear of hurting him more than he already is.

I don’t, though. I decide to return the favor and see if I still have some skill left in this department after years of no practice.

“Wha—fuck, Trace, babe, you don’t have to…”

Oh, but I really do.

***

Jace

I love her. I totally love her as she pushes my hands away and continues to swallow my length with a skill and knowledge acquired only through familiarity with your partner.

Trace was always shy and afraid of doing something wrong when giving me head, even after I showed her what to do and how I like to be sucked.

Apparently my little flower has bloomed, because she is definitely not shy anymore as she wraps a hand around my dick and starts stroking my length while sucking at my head with enough pressure to rev me up but keep me teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Oh, Trace, yeah, babe, just like that,” I groan, digging my fingers into the sheets with a moan and the urge to start thrusting just to get my first load off before I die of pleasure.

Tracy has other ideas, though, and I almost disgrace myself when she pulls back and uses her tongue to lick around the head and dips into the slit for a taste of my pre-cum.

“Mmmm.”

The vibrations caused by her moans is another added sensation that travels straight from my balls all the way to that place in my spine that signals my oncoming release.

“Trace, babe, pull back,” I grunt, losing the fight with my body as my hips start pumping up instinctively.

“Mmmm.”

“Trace.”

Oh sweet Jesus, I can feel the tremors caused by her constant moans travelling the length of my shaft as her mouth slips up and down in a wet slide that’s in perfect sync with the stroking of her tightly fisted little hand.

I’m so close I start to tense and shake at the same time. I feel the tingling in my spine turn into full-blown shocks.

“Trace. Babe, pull off, I’m going to come,” I gasp, trying and failing to still my wildly thrusting hips and the need to curl my fingers in her hair and just push into her mouth in search of the ultimate pleasure that I’ve only ever really felt with her.

“Trace.”

It’s too late even as I grunt her name and try to pull away, because the minute I do, she starts sucking so hard my eyes cross and my cum shoots free without warning.

The pleasure is absolute and so encompassing that by the time I’m drained and boneless with pleasure it’s been several minutes of nothing but silence and the steady beating of my heart.

“Jace.”

I don’t want to open my eyes and meet her gaze. I’m too shamed, too horrified that I just allowed my Trace to pleasure me without the benefit of returning a single ounce of what she just gave me.

“Jace.”

When I finally gather the strength and courage to open my eyes and look up at her where she’s sitting beside me, I almost die with pure love. She’s not pissed off or horrified  because of my selfishness.

She’s smiling and looking so pleased with herself that I can’t help but grin right back at her and lick my lips. Maybe I can—

“Oh no you don’t, Lane. You’re still weak from blood loss and trauma. You need to rest.”

Rest? Who the hell needs to rest when I feel like I could climb a Goddamned mountain right now.

“You’re a goddess. You’re—”

“Hungry, tired, and in need of a shower. In that order. Now shut up and just lie there while I get dressed and go dig up some breakfast for you, my poor injured baby.”

One good thing about being shot and having surgery, even though I’m sure a good field dressing and some scotch would have fixed me right up, is that I can definitely get used to having Trace dote on me afterward.

If this is her idea of doting and making me relax…I’m definitely not complaining. Really, who doesn’t like having a blow—

“Yoo-hoo! Are you decent in there, kids? I brought breakfast!”

I hear Trace groan and dive beneath the sheet a second before my nosy-ass mother comes waltzing through the door to deliver me a breakfast fit for a king.

Thank God, because as much as I adore my girl, she cannot cook a frozen dinner without burning it to a crisp.

Ma, of course, is cooing and loving this as Trace peeks from beneath the sheet and spots her just standing there grinning.

“Good morning, Tracy dear. Did you sleep well?”

“Er, yeah. Hi.”

“Oh, good, good. Here, dear, Mama made you some eggs, bacon, and hash browns to fuel up nicely for the long day ahead. And for you, my dearest son, I made a nice bowl of hearty oatmeal. Don’t rush to get up. The rest of us understand that you need this time together to rest and recover from yesterday’s ordeal.”

She’s almost running out of the room and I know why. Ma is never one to overlook a happy, momentous occasion like me and Trace getting back together, so she’ll try her best to be happy and peppy, but with Roman gone and what Wyatt probably told them last night, I can just think what poor Ma must be feeling.

Wait. Did Ma really make me oatmeal?

The giggle I get when Trace places the oatmeal in front of me and I grimace makes it worth it when the nasty, gloopy mess hits my tongue and starts congealing immediately.

“Don’t like oatmeal?”

“No. I told you that the first time you made it for breakfast and tried to feed me half a pot of the stuff.”

“But I thought that was just because I was so bad at making it.”

The need to laugh is strong because my Trace is truly the world’s worst cook. Her oatmeal was solid enough to tar the driveway, and just getting a spoonful to dissolve in my mouth took at least two minutes of actual chewing. But she always makes everything with so much enthusiasm and love that I couldn’t bring myself to criticize her.

She found out the next day that I hate the gloopy mess and stopped making it, though to be honest, at least I could eat that in an hour. Her eggs and bacon were like eating ass from a campfire.

“Babe, your oatmeal sucked, I ain’t going to lie to you, but I really do not like the stuff,” I admit, staring the stuff down as if it will disappear with a look.

“Here. Eat mine. I actually do like oatmeal.” She giggles, taking my bowl and swapping it out for her eggs and bacon feast.

“You’re the perfect woman, you know that?” I ask, groaning when the taste hits my tongue.

Now my ma, that woman knows her way around a kitchen, and I’m not afraid to admit it to Trace. Some women just have different talents, and Trace is better at…other things.

We eat in silence, sitting side by side. For a few minutes I can almost pretend that we’re an old married couple just enjoying one of many breakfasts we’ve already shared.

I like this. I really like this, and for the first time in a long time I can see myself being this guy who wakes up beside his woman, enjoying the start of another glorious day.

But I can’t do this if I’m still serving. I know it because odds are that I’ll be home for a week at a time, if I’m lucky, and then it’ll be a short stay before shipping out to another distant locale and doing the same things all over again.

There won’t be easy, lazy mornings relaxing in bed and just enjoying the silence. After weeks away and knowing I’ll be gone soon, I’ll spend all my time on and in her and she deserves more than that.