Promise to Protect: Military Second Chance Romance Read online

  "Are you ever ashamed of the fact that you can talk about your future plans to scam people with zero shame?"

  "No. Actually, that's not true. I was ashamed once because I was telling this bartender my future plan to scam this politician when I realized there was a huge hole in my plan and I felt extremely ashamed I hadn't noticed it before. But I'm over that now. Do you want to hear about my next scam?"

  "No, I want to know why you're wearing all black. Did you join a goth band?"

  "It's one of my other scams. I try to make myself look as much as possible like a bouncer. Then, I stand outside bars and demand the cover charge for the band playing inside. Most of these young kids are too desperate to get inside to question it too much."

  "How have you not been murdered yet?"

  "What obsession do men..."

  "I swear to God if you tell me another quote Brian, I will drive to the center of the woods, beat you with a tire iron and abandon you there. I'm not one of your conquests. I don't assume that just because you have a good memory means that you're smart."

  "Whatever happened to no man left behind?" Brian sulks.

  "It disappeared when David went into the ground."

  Brian sinks into his seat, his arms tucking around his body. David is a forbidden topic for him because David is equally sacred and sacrilegious in his mind.

  "Emma is looking good," he says, staring out the window. "What's going on between you two?"

  "Nothing," I say. "She got kicked out of her dormitory. I'm just helping her out until next semester. She just needs a place to stay and every apartment around here is full until next semester."

  "We should get her in on the fighting scam. We don't have enough women. People will get suspicious if we keep reusing the same ones."

  "She's not getting involved. She's not like your honey trap girls."

  "Nobody is like my honey trap girls, but Ashley and Jenna have dated two fighters each and all four of those fighters lost their fights. People will get suspicious if we don't bring new meat into the scam."

  “Emma is not meat."

  "She's a beautiful woman and beautiful women can trick these men into gaining weight, to fucking all night before a fight, and taking drugs that will fuck them up. She'd be good at it."

  "She's not going to get involved."

  "Because you're in love with her?"

  "Because she's David's little sister."

  "David's gone, Shane. You should be looking out for yourself, and we've made good money on betting on these weaker fighters. You can't go soft because you're sentimental."

  I jerk the truck to the right, driving off the road. Brian's head slams against the window. I park the truck and whip my seatbelt off. Brian rubs the side of his head.

  "If you want to talk shit, let's talk shit," I hiss. "You're a coward. You hide behind these scams and these quotes because you can't stand the idea of someone seeing that there's nothing inside you. You emptied yourself out, so you just fill yourself up with bullshit and pray that people buy it. That's your biggest scam of all."

  Brian looks over at me, his expression cold. "You're absolutely right. And you help me with these scams, so how empty does that make you? At least I'm honest about who I am. I don't get on my high horse, only to roll in the dirt with the pigs once people's backs are turned."

  I turn away from him, leaning into my seat. "Once I have enough money for the foundation, I'm done with the scams."

  "Good," Brian says. I flex my hands, ignoring the impulse to strangle him. David had to break up our physical fights most of the time. His presence stretched around our lives, and it was difficult to move on when every step was compromised by his memory. This foundation will allow me to attach his memory to something better than his depression or the way he spent his life being a better man than either of us. I need it to set me free.

  Emma arrives eight minutes early to class. She sits down at the desk beside me. She's dressed in a red camisole, which seems inappropriate in January. She's also wearing some kind of thin pants— yoga pants or leggings, I don't know the difference. Also inappropriate for winter, no matter how well it hugged her body.

  She leans toward my desk, her cinnamon hair acting like a curtain between us and the rest of the world. "We need to work on this project."

  "We have all semester."

  "It's going to take all semester because you pissed off the professor."

  I rub my jaw. I can smell the white musk that seems to mix with her natural scent, and It makes me think of a flower bud opening up. It makes me think of her legs opening up, spreading wide enough that her thighs resemble petals. Emma and I had made plans to sleep together, but she found out about David joining the Marines before anything could happen. I wanted to be her first, so she could avoid her first experience being with a selfish asshole that would satisfy himself in two minutes and act like she was less desirable since he got what he wanted. My teeth grind together at the image of her body grinding up against some piece of shit that wouldn't recognize a clit in an anatomy diagram.

  When I don't respond, she takes out her notebook and starts jotting down notes. It's good to know she's still a driven woman. It's one of those things I don't understand about some of these students. How do you stop yourself from drowning in your own thoughts if you don't keep your body occupied with work or your mind focused on a singular goal? Complacency is a disease that eats the brain until the disease feels natural.

  By the time the classroom is nearly full, she's filled up the page. She's underlined phrases like 'lovers,' 'enemies' and 'control group.' Her writing has left an indent in the page.

  "Good afternoon, class."

  The person who walks in isn't Dr. Shepherd. It isn't even a man.

  "I am Professor Maroni. I am here to replace Professor Shepherd for the rest of the semester."

  "Why?" one of the students asks.

  "Because." She clasps her hands together. She's an older woman, but with the elegance of a queen or a renowned actress. "Professor Shepherd has been the victim of a terrible circumstance that I like to refer to as retributive justice, considering the fact that he's a pig and he thinks it's perfectly fine to use his position of power to feed his ego. I don't believe it's respectable for me to talk extensively about it, but I wouldn't waste too much of your prayers on him because nothing is going to save him from getting what he deserves."

  Her words clash in my mind. There goes my blackmail. I turn to Emma, needing to calm my nerves. She's itching her arm, her face scrunched up in concentration as her other hand searches through her book bag. Her hand keeps burrowing in the bag, though there's barely anything inside it. She must feel my gaze on her, but she keeps her eyes in her bag.

  I've seen this behavior before when her brother was hiding his plans to end his life. It's guilt wrapped around a secret. She knew this announcement was coming.

  "What did you do?" I hiss.

  "What?" she asks.

  I lean closer to her, our arms almost touching. "How did you find out I was blackmailing him? Did he say something to you?"

  "What? No. He didn't say anything to me." She closes her book bag. "I found… some photos right before I found your binder for your veteran foundation."

  "You stole my blackmail photos."

  "It was wrong to keep them in the first place. I had no idea why you had them, but I knew I had to tell the department head. Like Dr. Maroni just said, he was using his position of power to feed his ego. He could have gotten those girls to do anything for him."

  "He also had hefty bank accounts. He could have paid for a lot of the things I need to start up the foundation. Some professor fucking some students would be okay for a while if it helps some veterans out. He would have been caught eventually."

  "I can't believe you'd say that."

  "If it had saved your brother, would you be that worried about these girls?" I stand up. The whole class looks back at me. I grab my backpack. Pressure is building up inside my chest and I know
if anyone says a single word to me, I might hurt them.

  When I leave the class, it feels like I'm leaving everything— a future, a present, and a past— but it doesn't feel like freedom like it usually does. It's time being ripped away from me, just like David's time with me was ripped away. It's everything that matters getting consumed by a desperate need for none of it to matter.

  Emma's disapproving eyes infiltrate my thoughts. If only she knew how much more rotten I've been. If only she knew that a soldier was only as good as their commander, and I'm trying to lead myself. It can only lead to bad results, but I don't know how to quit. Giving up would be worse than falling apart.

  Chapter Nine

  Emma

  I shouldn't be upset when I open Shane's front door and see my boxes piled near the entrance. I should fully expect it. I should be happy that my possessions aren't strewn all over the yard. But I gave up accepting things as they are, or how everyone expects them to be, after David died.

  I follow a scraping noise. Shane is in the kitchen, pushing a refrigerator into place. The muscles in his arms almost seem to ripple as he shoves it back. He's shirtless again. For me, handling the cold is a test to prove that I'm capable of handling life's adversities. For him, it's like coldness is a concept he just doesn't believe in. I lean against the door frame. He adjusts the refrigerator for a few seconds before turning toward me.

  "I left your things at the door," he says, indicating toward the other room.

  "I know," I say. "But you haven't let me talk."

  "I understand your reasoning for what you did," he says. "But you could have done it without going behind my back."

  "You wouldn't have let me turn him in."

  "You, Emma Chisom, have never needed permission for anything ever in your life."

  "And you've clearly gotten into the habit of intervening in my life when you think it's in my best interest." I fold my arms over my chest. "There are women who will lose their minds over a man they consider to be more sophisticated and wiser than them."

  "You know this from experience?"

  "Yes," I state, staring straight at him. "In a way, you were a better teacher than any professor will ever be."

  He scowls. "You're comparing me to Dr. Shepherd?"

  "You're acting like you suddenly believe he's an awful person."

  "He is an awful person. If he wasn't an awful person, he wouldn't be a psychology professor. And he was going to pay me an awful person tax, which could have helped thousands of veterans. That seemed like a good trade-off to me. It also would have made him think twice about pulling out his dick, and that would be a benefit for everyone."

  "You can't excuse bad behavior."

  "Like going behind my back?"

  "I was… I was still mad at you then. I didn't even know you were using it for blackmail. All I knew was that there was photographic proof that a student I knew was sleeping with a professor and the head of the psychology department had a right to know."

  "Do you think any of those students are happy with your decision?"

  "It doesn't matter if they're happy with it or not. They were ruining their lives."

  He laughs, the sound reminding me of ripping paper. "You're one to talk about people ruining their own life."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "You've been sabotaging your own life since your brother died. Jumping into freezing water, the drugs, hanging out with these men that would tear you apart the first chance they get, setting things on fire..."

  "That was an accident."

  "I was obligated to watch over you because it's what your brother wanted, but, honestly, if you want to destroy your own life, you go right ahead. Just don't destroy my goals because you can't see past your own pain."

  "I don't have any pain. I accepted David's death. I'm moving on, which is impossible to do when you keep bringing him up, when you keep appearing in my life, when you're..."

  "Then get out of my house."

  "No. You owe me this, Shane. You can't just..."

  "I don't owe you jackshit. I know you blame me for your brother joining the Marines and I know it affected him worse than Brian and me, but that was your brother's choice."

  "Say his name."

  "What?"

  "You keep referring to him as my brother. When we were dating, you used to avoid referring to him as my brother, but now you won't even say his name."

  "David," he states, stepping closer to me. It's a reminder that he's nearly half a foot taller than me. "Now, you admit that you haven't grieved yet and you're burning down your life."

  "No," I say. "Because that's a lie. I've grieved. I'm the one who actually went to the funeral."

  He grabs me by both arms. He holds onto me so tightly, it sends a rush under my skin. There is danger in being around him in the same way as diving into freezing waters, but it's like there's a safety net cradled underneath us. There's a flicker of the unknown and the sparks might cause minor burns, but this is a man who conquers and then delivers his Helen of Troy to a throne.

  This is a man whose pressure and friction could turn me into a diamond, or something more glorious.

  When I kiss him, I feel him twitch away in surprise, but a second later, his lips answer mine and we're silently expressing a holy language as old as Adam and Eve. He keeps a tight grip on me, his kisses hitting me like explosives, sending tremors under my skin.

  "I have protection," he says. His words send a wave of confusion through me since he's always felt like my protection, but I find myself nodding. I'd agree to anything he wants right now.

  He moves away from me, toward the kitchen. My body feels like a hearth, ready to set this whole house on fire. Maybe I am a pyromaniac, but only with him.

  I close my eyes, trying to slow my heartbeat. This sensation makes me think the acid was barely affecting me. In comparison, the acid trips were just a sugar rush. This is like my skin has shattered open and is feeling for the first time in my life.

  I feel him behind me right before he wraps his arms around my waist. He kisses my cheek as his arms tighten around me. I feel his arousal against my ass and it takes all of my self-control not to turn around, raise my thigh up, and rub against him like someone who is so different from me that they've never felt shame for a second in their life.

  "I..." I start saying, but stop. I don't want to scare him away. I don't want him to think less of me.

  "What?" he asks. "Tell me."

  His command wraps around me, settling under my skin. There's no way that I can't tell him. He'll inevitably realize that I have a minimal idea of what I'm doing.

  "I haven't done this before," I say. I expect to have to explain further, but when his hands are on my shoulders and he spins me around, there's no confusion on his face.

  "I'll be careful," he says. I reach forward, touching the scar on his face, my fingertip brushing under his lip.

  "I don't want you to be," I breathe. He grips my waist, lifting me up to a perfect kiss. I wrap my legs around him, feeling the power of a goddess and the powerlessness of a servant.

  My arms drape over his shoulders as he carries me up the stairs. He buries his face in the curve of my neck. His fingers flex near my ass. Some part of my mind that resembles David is telling me to walk away, but those thoughts dissipate as they're taken over by the sensation of a pulsing sun between my legs. Hot with its rays spreading to other parts of my body.

  He lies me down on his mattress. He must read the uncertainty as my fingertips brush against his ribs because he gives me the same smile that I used to fantasize about as a teenager.

  "Do you want to feel good?" he asks.

  "Yes," I exhale.

  "Then take off your clothes."

  I pull off my camisole, my hands trembling. He watches me, his eyes full of hunger, but he doesn't make any move to push me forward. I set the camisole down between the two of us. I peel off my yoga pants— rather less sexily than I wish I'd done, but his expression doesn't
change. I unhook my bra and his body sways forward. As it drops down and I set it on top of my other clothes, his hands clench in between us. As I slide down my underwear, I remember that it was cold in this house when I first walked in, but now it feels as hot as summer.

  After I add my underwear to the pile, I settle on my knees and look up at him. He's a perfect temple, decorated in jeans, a white t-shirt, and muscles that remind me of ocean waves, ripple after ripple embellishing his body.

  He takes both of my hands and places them over my eyes. I hold them there after he removes his hands. I hear the faint creaking of the floor as he moves. Anyone else— kneeling naked in front of them while not being able to see— I'd be suspicious. And maybe I am a little bit, but I'm more intrigued than wary.

  "Keep your eyes covered," he says, his voice sounding a bit strained. "Lie on your stomach."

  It's not an easy order to obey, but I'm eager to do it. I roll over, getting onto my elbows to keep my eyes covered. I lie on my stomach, the pressure of the mattress near my clit enough to send another surge of neediness through me.

  His bare chest against my back is like a shot of courage into my veins. It turns me into more of a woman than I've ever been— a woman that desperately needs a man.

  I try to turn over, but he lies over me, his weight feeling like a consequence of all my good and bad behavior. The hair on his legs brushing against my smooth legs, his hand moving under me to my breast, his erection against my ass— it all feels like it's illuminating each part of my body.

  We haven't even begun, and this is the best I've ever felt in my life. It makes our whole prior relationship feel like a fraud— like we were two scam artists, trying to con each other. This is real. This has its own pulse and it's beating against the mattress.

  He kisses the back of my neck. The base of my neck. Between my shoulder blades. His body rises slowly, his hand gliding down my body as he kisses me. As he kisses the small of my back, his hand settles on my ass. He squeezes it slowly before his thumb caresses it. I instinctively raise my ass, wanting to feel his rough, calloused hands massaging my whole body as he fucks me. Just like he's renovated this house, I can already feel him remaking me.