Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(42)

     



 



He smirks at the ‘servants' line; "Well, there's a bit more to it than  that." I raise an eyebrow and his eyes sparkle as he winks at me; "It's  not just the money."



Oh really.



"Well, what then." I'm getting tired of feeling like he's playing with  me, especially since in my head he's playing with me in a very different  way and it's distracting me to the point of anxious.



"You're pissing a lot of people off with your platform." He says the words carefully, as if choosing them as he utters them.



"I'm making a lot of people happy with my platform, which is why I'm way  ahead in the polls, actually." Now it's my turn to be smug as I sit  back and sip on my wine.



He turns to face me fully, his face the most serious I've seen from him  yet; "Let's just say that there are things out there that you don't see  that I do," His eyes drop to the front of my gown and he grins for just a  hair of a second; just long enough to tell me he can see how erect my  nipples are before he drags his eyes back up to mine



I roll my eyes; "You know, those of us who don't make a buck selling  guns to third-world war-zones have a slightly more positive outlook on  the world." Ok I'll admit I need my father's company's money, but I  don't need Hudson's negativity packaged along with it.



He wraps his soft lips around his straw and sucks gently, his eyes never  leaving mine as he sips on his Shirley Temple, and it's probably the  sexiest thing I've ever seen involving grenadine. I feel an aching pull  deep inside that brings a fresh flush to my cheeks, and I can feel my  nipples hardening beneath my gown even more despite the warmth of the  room. God damn you, Hudson Banks.



"Well, those of us who have been around those third-world war zones  don't have the luxury of that fantasy, which is why I'll be sticking  around to make sure you're ok."



I frown; "Excuse me?"



"Me; around. I'm going to be watching you during the campaign." He  grins, and the motion pulls the skin of his neck just enough that I  catch another glimpse of the dark ink there just under his collar, and  I'm instantly fascinated with knowing what else is under that shirt  before I shake the thought from my head. "Maybe you should think of it  as less someone watching you and more just Archer Holdings looking after  its investment," He arches his brow as he sips at his Shirley Temple;  "Which is you, in this scenario."



I can feel my blood begin to boil as I struggle to keep my temper in  check; "You can't be serious," I mutter to him through gritted teeth; "I  don't need a bodyguard."



Hudson shrugs nonchalantly, that smug look never leaving his face; "Well, agree to disagree then."



I can feel the heat rising in my face to match the growing volume of my  voice; "I'm serious, Hudson, I'm not doing this. I'll call Dona-"



"Donald agrees with me, actually."



Dammit; this is a setup. Donald's not worried about something happening  to me, he's worried about me going off his by-the-book script and doing  something to shake up the campaign in a way he can't control. Hudson  might think he needs to "protect me" or whatever, but I know the real  reason for all this is so Donald can have someone babysit me.



Fuck that.



I'm out of my seat and storming across the room before Hudson can put  down his stupid kids drink. At the front door, I feel his strong hand  grab my arm, pulling me around. "Relax, Reag-"



"Do not tell me to ‘relax'!" I hate when people say that to me."



"Fine, don't relax then;" His voice is stoney, even though he's still  got that stupid smug look on his chiseled jaw. "Look, where are you  going?"



God, the nannying starts already.



"Home, Hudson. I'm going home." I yank my arm out of his grasp and turn back towards the door.



"I'll drive yo-"



"I'm taking the train or a cab like a normal person." I spit at him.



"Fine, I'll meet you there then I guess."



I freeze; "What do you mean?"



He frowns; "Didn't Donald tell- Oh. Fuck." He chuckles and looks at the  floor, a lock of his dark hair falling over his face. He runs a hand up  through it and pushed it back as he raises his eye to look at me with  that smug grin I'd just started to forget about; "Well, if you were mad  before, you're gonna be fuckin pissed now."



I shake my head; "Hudson what the fuck are you-"



"I'm moving in, Reagan."



My jaw drops.



"I mean my place would be better, and safer, but Donald and I both  thought there was a snowball's chance in you agreeing to that one, so  your place it is."



That smug prick is grinning at me like this is hilarious; like HIM of  all fucking people moving into the guest room of MY apartment is the  funniest Goddamn joke in the world.



I don't even respond, I just turn on my heel and march out of the restaurant; guess I'm just fresh out of punchlines.





P A S T



I'm back in the broiling heat, the shrieking chaos and the pure,  undiluted hell on Earth of war - back in Helman Province; back in  Afghanistan. My back's to the wall, my pulse racing in my ears like a  goddamn jet engine as I count to three before whipping around the corner  and firing. The gun jolts in staccato, hammering pulses through my  shoulder as I focus on the shelled-out office building where they've  taken defensive positions. I barely even hear the mortar warning through  my com before the Humvee forty feet to my left just fucking erupts in  fire and light, and I can fucking feel the hot flash of death cross my  face.



I'm screaming as I run, ignoring everything in my earpiece and barely  registering the singing sounds of bullets flying around me as I pound  the turf as fast as I can towards the raging, burning hull of the truck.  I'm ten feet from it, the heat almost unbearable when I can hear  Logan's voice barking in my ear; ‘NOT Bryce's Humvee.'



Yeah but who's-



Later, I'll swear to everything in this world and the next that I could  hear the fucking bullet the second before it tore through my shoulder.  I'm down, face-down in the dust and ash as more metal screams over my  head, and all I know in that moment is that despite every thought I have  on freedom, and my country, and about good triumphing over evil, if I  die there, in that fucking desert, I'm going to have words to say to  whatever God is waiting for me on the other side.



P R E S E N T



I grunt and blink the sweat out of my eyes as I swing again, feeling the  rivulets of moisture drip down my face and neck to dribble down over  the ink and scars of my bare chest. The air burns in my lungs and my  arms are one fire, but I just keep swinging; always swinging. The glove  connects with the bag, every muscle in my arm screaming in pain and  triumph at the perfect hit and the aching, numbing soreness I know will  follow. Some guys when they got back, they drank or fucked it away; like  I used to. Other guys like Bryce took it worse and turned to self  medication, and the whole dark, broken dream that comes along for the  ride with that. The fucked up part is, the pain never actually goes  away. You can numb it a million different ways with drugs and sex and  whatever else you can think of to distract you from the fact that part  of your soul is missing, but it's always there, right below the surface.



I swing again, swallowing the burning in my throat as I pant, pushing  myself harder, longer; don't stop, never stop. My breaths coming short  and hard, my head swimming as I connect with the bag again, and again,  and again - I connect with the bag one more time before the pain is so  real I can't actually lift my arm again, and I collapse onto the living  room floor. I can barely breath, or see through the sweat, but I laugh  as I glance at my stopwatch and realize I've been punching this damn bag  for an hour straight.



I'm getting too old for this shit.



I also realize I was supposed to call Logan when I got home and let him know how things went.



Oh, yeah, you know, fantastic. Hey buddy, thanks for sending me into the fucking LION'S DEN back there with Reagan Archer.



I know he and Bryce have no idea what happened with Reagan and I that  one time - the time I got so close to everything before I let it all  blow away - because if they did they'd have probably killed me by now.  Well, Bryce maybe, but Logan for sure. But, I also know neither of them  are blind. I mean, I'd like to think I play things close to the chest,  but you don't go through what we went through without being able to read  the other guys like an open book.





*****



"Have you lost your fucking mind?!"



I wince as I hold the phone away from my ear. Ok, I made two mistakes  tonight. The first was taking Reagan Archer out to what was basically a  thinly veiled date; the second - and maybe the dumber of the two - is  telling Logan about it.



I'm supposed to be at Reagan's, but after the way she stormed out like  that, I knew pushing it by going over anyways was not going to lead to  good things. So I'm back at my penthouse, with two of my guys keeping a  low-profile guard on her building.