Promise to Protect: Military Second Chance Romance Read online

  "You two seem to get along like fire and oil," he says. "Old friends?"

  "No," Emma says.

  "Almost complete strangers," I say.

  "Interesting," he says. "Because I decided what social experiment you two would do. Mr. Baier, you said you were a survival instructor, correct? Do you test your students on their ability to survive?"

  "Of course," I say. "And if they die, we put them in little wooden boxes and drop them into the ground. We have a 23% success rate, so we're running out of graveyard space. Did you want to join?"

  "No, no. You and Miss Chisom— two almost complete strangers— are going to work together. I'd be interested to see if two people who love each other or hate each other work better together in order to survive. The obvious hypothesis would be that two people who love each other would work better together, they're more willing to sacrifice their own safety to protect each other, and they are more likely to let their emotions get in the way. It could lead to situations where one partner babies the other, which could lead to burnout and exhaustion for the initial partner. If two people hate each other— such as you two— it could lead to too much arguing and attempts to sabotage each other, but you could also challenge each other. For this experiment, you'll also need a control group— a few teams of actual strangers— so you'll need to gather quite a few people together. By the end of the semester, we'll figure out if there's any statistical significance between these groups. It's half your grade, so I'd start tracking down participants now."

  He gives the two of us a quick smile before leaving the room. Emma folds her arms over her chest.

  "You know he gave us a difficult experiment to do because you insulted him," she says. "This is what you do. You act like a huge asshole and then people retaliate. And you know who gets punished with you? Me."

  "I'd feel sorry for you, but I can't because I'm a huge asshole." I shrug. "I have to go talk to Dr. Shepherd. If you want to stalk me again, that's where I'll be."

  I keep my stride long enough that I can move away from her quickly, but slow enough that she won't be suspicious. Dr. Shepherd is at the end of the hall.

  "Dr. Shepherd?"

  He turns toward me. His smile is more forced than before.

  "Mr. Baier. Did you have some questions about the syllabus?"

  "No, no, I had some questions about your extracurriculars." I swing my backpack off my shoulder and pull out a folder. He watches me, his face blank. I hand him an envelope with several photos in it. "Isn't this girl one of your students?"

  He grabs the envelope from me, barely looking at two of the photos before shoving the envelope down in his jacket pocket.

  "It's a consensual relationship," he says.

  "I don't think your head of department is going to think that. I have copies of those photos, so you can keep those. It doesn't matter to me."

  "What do you want? To not have to come to class?"

  "I don't care about the class. That was one of my truths. But I put dollar amounts on the back of each one of those photos. You pay for each one and I'll make the evidence disappear. You won't lose your chance at tenure. It seems like a good deal to me."

  He runs his tongue over his teeth. "I need time to think about this."

  "I'll give you a week to pay, but that's only because I expect you might have to sell some things to get the money. You're drinking some very expensive wine with that student in one of those photos, so I'm sure a lot your money is poured down the throats of nineteen-year-old girls."

  He looks around us, his eyes searching for any more enemies, but there's just me.

  "Fine," he says. "But if this is a trick and you try to blackmail me even more..."

  "Let's not call it blackmail. It's a business transaction between two consenting adults."

  "If you try to ask for any more money after this, I won't do it," he says. "You think you have me under your thumb, but this is your one chance to get what you want. Otherwise, I'll confess to the head of psychology myself, and I'll find another place to work. Is Miss Chisom part of this? Is that why you two were arguing?"

  "No," I state, feeling my upper lip curl up in a snarl. "And I'd appreciate if you didn't try to fuck her over just because of me."

  His hand clings to his jacket pocket, crushing the photos with his thumb. "Fine. We'll talk later when I have the money."

  I watch him scurry off. David would have hated this, but David is gone. All he left behind were bittersweet memories, a bittersweet sister, and me, a huge asshole.

  Chapter Three

  Emma

  In Camden Falls, about fifty years ago, everyone worked at the Marttrik factory, where they fabricated hammocks and patio furniture. The Marttrik company filed for bankruptcy twenty years ago after a national retail corporation undersold them on every product they offered. The factory was shut down and abandoned.

  A couple of months ago, rumors started spreading about underground fighting in the basement of the factory. As I stand in the middle of a crowd of at least a hundred people while two men circle each other like lions, I realize that rumors spread faster than information on campus.

  "Hey, baby girl." A short man with greasy blonde hair bounces on the balls of his feet as he stops in front of me. "I got a doggy bag for you."

  He holds up a paper bag, the top tightly rolled up.

  "Just some leftovers that I have," he says. "And it will only cost you ten dollars and a kiss."

  "How about a twenty?" I ask.

  "And a kiss?"

  "No kiss."

  He shrugs. "I guess I'll suffer with that."

  I give him the money and take the bag from him. He slithers away, on the hunt for more familiar faces. I unroll the bag. There's a baggie tucked in the bottom, filled with four different pills and two LSD tabs. I take one of the tabs and place it under my tongue. David wouldn't approve, but I didn't approve of him killing himself, so we're both disappointed now.

  The LSD works slowly. At some point, I swallow the tab. I don't notice it taking effect right away. I notice how soft my skin is. I notice the music taking on a surreal quality and the bodies bumping against me as the music plays makes me feel united with everybody in the building. I notice the walls seem to sway with everybody's movements. I notice that I can hear the groans and the sound of flesh hitting flesh of two men fighting, but it doesn't seem violent. It looks like two people, pushing each other to new limits and testing their bodies for weakness.

  My skin feels like silk. The noise of everyone screaming and talking seems to become the color red, orange, and green, hovering above the crowd like steam. Clothes seem to glow around people's bodies. The abandoned factory becomes a rainbow version of Heaven. It's personified love.

  Shane.

  He's easy to spot in the crowd because he's incredibly hot. I mean, tall. And broad-chested. And ravishing in the way that when I see him, all I can imagine is his body grinding against me and I wouldn't even mind if he broke me into a million pieces.

  A muscle jumps in my forehead. I'm supposed to be angry at him. I can't let the acid deter me from that.

  I push through the crowd, trying to reach him. It's harder as colors blur in front of me and sometimes I think I'm about to touch someone's arm or back, but they're not quite where my sight says they are.

  I stop where I thought I saw him. He's gone.

  I brush my hand against my bottom lip, entranced at the different sensations of the skin on my finger and the softness of my lips. I'd heard once that the lips are the most sensitive part of the human body. I can imagine one part of me that's more sensitive.

  I continue to move through the crowd, searching for Shane like he's a craving I can't shake. He has to be here still. Nobody leaves this Marttrik factory until the fights are done.

  When I spot him again, my whole body is tingling with need. I'd get naked with him right now in this place, and I know everybody would melt together with us. We'd all merge in our pleasure and forget everything bad that had eve
r happened.

  The music is my heartbeat and all these people are my nerve endings, desperate to touch Shane.

  My vision focuses. He's talking to Eric Fisher, a senior at Camden University. I'd flirted with him a few times in our statistics class. I move closer to them. Neither seems to notice as Shane looks down at Eric while Eric's voice takes on a pleading tone.

  "I need to get in on that fight," Eric says. "I know I lost to him, but I can win this time. I had knee pain last time we fought. I trained too hard and too quickly last time. I know what I did wrong and I'll correct what I did. Just let me do another fight."

  "No."

  "It'll draw a huge crowd! I promise. Everyone loves me here. They'll want to see me knock him out. I just need this one chance… hey, Emma."

  Eric's eyes locked on to me. Shane turns, noticing me for the first time. He frowns, but all I can see are his lips. I want them pressed against the crease between my hip and my thigh. I want him to treat me like I'm unbreakable because I feel like I am. I reach forward, stroking Shane’s arm.

  "It's okay," I tell him, though I'm not sure why I'm reassuring him. He leans forward, looking straight into my eyes. He has such nice irises. The center is a light brown, but it changes into a moss green.

  "Are you high?" he asks me. I hold up my paper bag, shaking it in front of him like he'd know what it means.

  "You two know each other?" Eric asks.

  "Vaguely," Shane says.

  "Have you two fucked?" Eric asks. "I've thought about it, but sometimes she acts like a virgin and I'm not into that."

  Shane grabs onto the curve of Eric's neck, thrusting him back so fiercely that two people are shoved out of the way before Eric's back slams against a metal pole.

  "Don't," Shane snarls, a fiery red bursting up his neck and streaking his cheeks. "Don't ever talk about her that way again."

  "I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be… I thought we were cool. It's just talk. I didn't mean anything by it."

  I sidle close to the two of them, struggling not to get distracted by the swaying pole, the quivering walls, and the fact that both make me think of Shane inside of me.

  "Shane, let him go," I say. "He's a friend. He wasn't being malicious."

  I reach up and pat his shoulder. There's a bead of sweat on his collarbones and it abruptly makes me realize I'm sweating too. I touch my own sweat, mystified by bodily reactions.

  Shane turns back to Eric, shoving him against the pole once more before letting him go and walking away. For such a massive man, he can move quickly. He's a jaguar, powerful and fast.

  "Thanks," Eric says, rubbing his shoulder blades. "Is that your ex-boyfriend or something?"

  "He was a Marine," I say. "Don't upset him."

  "All I did was ask about if you two had fucked each other..."

  "Don't ask about my sex life either."

  Now that Shane's gone, some of the joy is crumbling into annoyance.

  I shake my head. "I don't need this right now."

  I turn to leave, but Eric grabs my arm. His nails scrape against my skin.

  "Don't walk away from me," he says, his voice getting more shrill with every word. It makes me feel cold, and everything in my periphery seems to go still. "Do I need to be a Marine to get you to open your legs? Or just built like a quarterback? God, you women act like men are pigs, but you're so vain. All you care about is yourselves."

  His hand moves so quickly, I don't have time to react before he grabs me by the hair and yanks my head back. A burning pain scalds my head for two seconds, but then I hear an explosion of air bursting between Eric's lips. The pain sharpens on my scalp, then disappears as my hair is torn out. There's a loud thud behind me as I spin around.

  Eric is sprawled on the floor. For a second, the LSD seems to be blurring colors again, causing the redness of his face to focus under his nose. It glows so brightly that it reminds me of a traffic light. After the crimson starts to pool over his lips and slide down his cheeks, I realize it's blood.

  Shane stands over him, a dark shadow discrepancy to all of the other colors flitting in my head. I reach forward, my fingertips brushing against his shoulder blade. He doesn't seem real. He's a myth, somehow landing right in front of me in an abandoned factory.

  Shane turns toward me, his eyes striking through me like lightning. Eric groans. Shane takes a step backward, his arm stabbing out in front of me like a shield and a blade. Protecting me.

  Eric stumbles onto his feet, his hands clasped on the center of his face, blood still seeping between his fingers. His body sways. As he sways forward to the point of tipping over, I duck under Shane's arm, flashes of David's limp body flickering in my mind. This is somebody I can save. Their pain can be soothed.

  As I reach toward him, Eric charges forward. Shane's hand grips around my shoulder shoving me aside. As I fall to the floor, Eric's body slams into Shane's body making a sound like a falling boulder. As I turn toward them, I see Shane's head slam against the cement floor. The rest of the noise in the factory seems to become much duller in comparison to that sound.

  I barely have time to inhale before Shane's arms are locked around Eric's neck— a rear naked choke, I think. Eric's fingers claw at Shane's arm, as his nose continues to bleed, pouring down on Shane's shoulder.

  "Shane," I say. "Shane, stop."

  Eric's movements become lethargic, haplessly slapping at Shane's arms. The movement becomes more and more sluggish until his hands fall to his side and his whole body slumps against Shane.

  "Shane..."

  "He's fine," Shane says, dropping his arms. He rolls Eric off him. Shane stands up, wiping the blood off his arm, but it just spreads it around. "And you don't need to worry about me stalking you or being an asshole. I'm leaving."

  He walks around Eric, the back of his boot's heel barely brushing against Eric's forehead. I follow him, feeling everyone's eyes on us like we're a car crash. Maybe we are.

  I shake my head, trying to release the hostile thoughts caged in my head. The drugs are supposed to lull me into a better state of mind. This is why I can't be around Shane, but he's like a fishing hook in my mouth and I can't stop myself from wanting to be reeled in.

  I only catch up to him as he pushes open the factory door. The door is heavy, so it slams back into my shoulder. I keep going, the pain barely registering.

  "Shane, you could have a concussion."

  "I'll be fine."

  "You should go to the hospital."

  "You should go home. You didn't want to be around me. So, go away."

  "I can't go away," I say, speeding up my pace to keep up with him. He moves past the parking lot, so he must have walked here. "You could die from a concussion, and I'm not going to be responsible for another death."

  He turns so suddenly that my face collides into his chest. He straightens me while I rub my cheek. Nobody's chest should be that solid.

  "You're not responsible for anybody's death," he says. "Especially not your brother's."

  I barely suppress a snort. "I misspoke. But I mean it about the concussion. You need somebody around to make sure you don't fall asleep. The hospitals around here are great. I know a nurse there."

  "I've been hit a lot worse and a lot more times. I'm already halfway to my house. I'll be fine. You're the one on drugs. If you want to go to the hospital, that would be the first smart thing you've done in a long time.

  While the rest of the world seems to shiver and melt in my vision, he's the most vivid thing I've ever seen. I know my vision isn't 20/20, but, like an idiot, I follow him.

  Chapter Four

  Shane

  The Marines have the lowest percentage of women serving in the U.S. military branches at 7.6%. During the day, I was too focused on our goals to think of the soft skin of a woman or how their fingertips seemed capable of magic— summoning me, leaving an invisible mark, and creating pleasure out of thin air— but at night, my need for a woman hit me like a migraine, pulsing in my brain and bl
urring my vision. And every time I imagined a woman crawling onto my cot, Emma was the one I thought of. In an environment that encouraged compartmentalization, she was the one thing that leaked into every part of my life. Even across the ocean, she was the one thing that was real in my life.

  As she steps into my house, she takes in a sharp breath.

  "Holy hell, did somebody steal all your stuff?" She stops as I close the door behind us, taking in a breath. I had only finished painting about three hours ago, and the scent lingers. Heat rises to her face as she realizes her mistake.

  "I'm renovating," I say. "I'd apologize for the mess, but I didn't invite you to come in."

  "Sorry. I guess the acid is messing with my head. And I didn't think you were the kind of person to… build a house."

  "I didn't build it. It used to be a fraternity house. I'm renovating." There are two fold-out chairs in the center of the room. I sit down on the left one. The house is massive, but I wanted to finish everything before moving any furniture in, so it's barren like no man's land. As Emma takes a couple of more steps into the house, I try to focus on the floor instead of the way her body moves— her hips exhibiting the slightest sway and each step demonstrating a confidence that could put models to shame.

  "The floor is nice," she says, tapping her toe against the wood.

  "I had to scrape carpet adhesive off, but I'm glad I didn't take the lazy route and put new carpet over it. The one I threw out had three different vomit stains."

  She nods, her eyes lingering on my arms. She takes another step, looking up the stairway in the northwest corner. As she gets on her toes to try to catch a glimpse of whatever she thinks is up there, I watch her leg muscles tense while her ass continues to be the main attraction.

  She turns, catching my downward gaze. I smile. Her eyes narrow, but she still walks toward me with those electric blue eyes, reflecting my lust and gluttony for what I see in front of me. But, like twins, I can also see her pain and my pain, twisting around each other, desperate for some relief.