Wet Page 7

  Think of something else.

  He’d be fine in a second, as long as she didn’t start tapping one of those adorable feet with the turquoise toe polish adorned with little white flowers. The toe-tapping was always Luna’s thing. If the goddess started it, too, he really wouldn’t be responsible for his headspace anymore.

  “I wouldn’t let him because clearly you needed some sleep.” No toe taps. Thank fuck. But hell, the way she shifted from one foot to the other, ending with a confident hip pop, might have been just as unbalancing. “And I’m the boss of the house.”

  Kellan flashed a glance that teetered on an eye roll. “Yep. She’s the boss.”

  “Hey.” She made the word a reprimand while jamming her toe into Kell’s thigh, toppling him over. Tait watched in wordless wonder while his friend snickered up at her. He turned his stare back at Hokulani.

  Who are you and what have you done with the tight-ass I call a partner? He looks a lot like this bozo here…?

  “So I crashed on your couch all night?” he asked instead.

  “Wasn’t like it was an inconvenience,” she murmured with a small smile. “Especially after the way you threw yourself at Gunter’s gang for me.”

  A confused frown hunkered his brows. In weird chunks, the rest of last night’s events flashed back to him. The Escalades. The pretty pouts. The shitloads of hair product. All Benson and his goons had been missing was their fashion ramp. It had been a funny joke at the time—until he’d goaded them all on.

  “Damn,” he muttered. It all returned to him now. The pretty boy’s name had been Casey. He’d goaded the kid into punching him first, and had made sure Casey would go home by way of the ER, before the rest of the pack descended on him. He didn’t remember too much more after that, likely a good thing. “Guess that’ll teach me to pull the Rambo act.”

  Hokulani laughed and took his hand. “Rambo’s a guy in a movie with five stunt doubles, Sergeant. What you did was real-life bravery, and I’m grateful.”

  Before he could think of how to react, the strange flicker of an expression on Kell’s face distracted him—but it disappeared quickly as it came. His friend stood again. “You hungry, man? Lani made this killer scramble shit with eggs, Spam, bacon, and pineapple. Good stuff. There’s still a lot left.”

  Lani?

  “Yeah.” He scowled again, feeling like he’d been thrust into the middle of an ongoing op without proper intel. His senses, trained to gather every speck of data they could, started firing on all cylinders again, but his mind didn’t have any grid to process anything on. “Yeah, uhhh, that sounds good. Thanks.”

  “Cool.” Lani beamed like she’d just been asked to serve her Spam eggs to the president. “I’ll be right back.”

  Kellan smiled at her. “I can help, sweets.”

  Sweets?

  Kell barely tolerated foreplay. What the hell was he doing, tossing around a word like sweets?

  Despite how the room spun again, making the rocks in his head tumble into new piles of pain, he swung his legs out and then stood. He barely suppressed a groan while fighting the urge to sink back to the couch. But he’d learned a thousand new forms of fortitude in the last six months, and those lessons came in handy now. He had to keep an eye on Kell. He loved the man as equally as he loved his biological brother, but he also knew Kell as well as Shay—in a few ways, perhaps better. What was the guy’s game here, and why was he running it on a jewel like Hokulani Kail? She wasn’t his type. Correction: she was out of his league.

  He moved across the living and dining rooms as quietly as he could, drawn closer to the kitchen door by the cadence of a warm conversation. Kellan’s distinct timbre was balanced by the velvet of Hokulani’s tone, sprinkled with the soft rasps of her laughter. He stopped for a second, just listening to the sound. Damn. A laugh like that could keep a man going in a shitty gun battle, inspire him to survive torture, keep his ass moving under horrendous mission conditions. It was a sound made for pillow talk and private jokes—

  And for prefacing the kind of kiss that Kellan placed on her neck now.

  Tait pushed open the kitchen door to observe them in profile, with Kell pressing himself against Lani’s back as she scooped eggs from a skillet. He pressed both hands against the fronts of her thighs, using the grip to fit both gorgeous globes of her ass against his crotch. His head dipped against her neck, and he’d apparently gone in for teeth action on the nuzzle, since she gave a protesting squeal before giggling again. Kellan mumbled something to her, though Tait didn’t hear it past the sudden, raging thunder in his ears.

  He shoved on the door. It slammed against the wall with a whap. The pair at the stove snapped their heads up like a pair of new boot camp nuggets caught sleeping in, eyes wide and mouths open.

  “T-Bomb. You okay?”

  Was the man expecting an honest answer to that? When all Tait wanted to do was haul his skanky ass from the woman and send him flying across the breakfast bar?

  “You fucked her.”

  Hokulani set the plate down with a clatter. “Excuse me?”

  Kellan stroked her back gently. The action spoke volumes. Significant ones. The fury thickened at the corners of Tait’s vision. In so many ways, he realized this didn’t make sense. In so many more, it made all the sense in the world.

  “I’m going to echo that,” Kell stated. “Tait, what’re you so—”

  “You fucked her.” He bellowed it this time. “On the first goddamn night you met her, you fucked her. Yes or no, Slash the magical man slut?”

  Kell’s jaw turned to steel. His eyes darkened to the same color. “That was uncalled for, man. I’m being nothing short of brutally honest here, with Lani and myself. Even so, I don’t see what happened last night, while you were in an alcoholic stupor, has to do with—”

  “It has to do with everything, you moron. With a woman like her”—he forced his gaze to lock on Kellan, certain he’d be searching for Hokulani’s Bowie knife again if he even glimpsed her right now—“you don’t get to be ‘brutally honest.’ You don’t get to compartmentalize!” Shit. He was pissed enough to get physical. The hard teak of the nearest cabinet door sent a nice slice of pain through the fist he pounded into it. “You don’t put her in a box like the rest of your crotch bunnies!”

  “Crotch bunnies?” Hokulani huffed hard. “Okay, hold on—”

  “Can’t you fucking see that?” He wheeled back toward Kell with locked teeth. “Can’t you see that she—”

  “Is standing right here?” The shout came with her brutal shove into the middle of his chest. “And she can think and speak for herself?” She kept on going, flattening him against the cabinet he’d just punched.

  Kellan didn’t miss the chance to level a gratified grunt from across the kitchen, making Tait pitch forward again. “You disgusting pussy player! You’ll run any game to make sure your sausage gets extra juice, huh?”

  Hokulani dug her palm harder into his sternum. “Back off, Sergeant. Now!”

  That order apparently didn’t apply to Kellan. The guy John Wayne’d it across the room, shoulders back and hands splayed. “You know, T, I want to laugh at that. I have nothing to hide from anyone here about the sincerity of my motives, but are you going to even listen?” He tossed a head-to-toe stare over Tait. “Consider who the fuck is talking here—just who the fuck is throwing down about the cock leading the walk.”

  “Shut your hole. You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

  “Except that I was the guy who almost shot a soldier on our side, because you freaked about saving a woman who only looked like Luna.” Finally halted by Hokulani’s other hand, Kell released something that was half gloating chuckle, half derisive grunt. “You lost your grip in Indonesia, Bommer. It’s the whole goddamn reason we’re here.”

  “Hmm.” Hokulani’s interjection came with a purposeful stare swung toward Kellan, her brows arched in sensual intent. “Then maybe I need to be thanking him for the breakdown.”

  “I
’m not broken,” Tait snarled. He tore from beneath her hold. “And he’s not someone you want to be gushing over like that.”

  Kellan bristled. “In case you weren’t listening, the woman can think for herself.”

  “Fuck you, Slash-aroni.”

  “Damn it.” Kell restarted the cowboy swagger. “That’s it!”

  “Stop!” The woman between them—literally and figuratively—rammed the guy back against the refrigerator. Tait backpedaled into the dining room, and Hokulani’s stance straddled the doorway between the two rooms. “Okay, look. Your concern is appreciated, Sergeant Bommer. But the last time I checked, I was a grown woman with a mind of my own. And you weren’t my father or my brother.”

  Kell snorted. “Want that ass served in a cup or cone, man?”

  “Shut up,” she countered. “You’re not off the hook, mister.”

  “But—”

  “Shut. Up.”

  It was too damn easy for Tait to cut loose a snide snort too. “What was that, dude? About ‘ass’? You are, after all, the king of nailing it in every city we hit.”

  The woman in front of him pulled up on her posture. Just like that, she was every inch the imposing goddess who’d first had him gaping in awe last night on the beach. “Your welcome in my home has expired, Sergeant Bommer.” She raised her gaze, sucking him straight in with the amazing blue silver of her irises—the same eyes that openly condemned him now. “While I’m grateful for what you did for me last night, I won’t be labeled a piece of ass beneath my own roof.”

  Heat detonated across his face. “Shit. I didn’t mean— It had nothing to do with you!”

  “So if you’d come in and not found Kellan and me together, you’d still be singing his praises as the magical man slut?”

  The image she brought up, of her and Kell pulling the goo-goo-mushy at the stove, brought a fresh mix of inexplicable rage. “Goddamnit, Hokulani. You deserve better than what he—”

  Kell’s roar cut him off. “Bommer, for fuck’s sake, let it go!”

  He ripped out a fresh glower at the man. “Are you capable of staying out of this conversation for two seconds?”

  “Stop.” It was a tight utterance from Hokulani, which Kell easily ignored.

  “Are you capable of keeping your head straight and seeing her without your fantasies wound in?”

  “Fantasies?” He pushed forward again. “I buried Luna, you asshat. My ‘fantasies’ got dissolved when I watched the waves swallow her ashes. I don’t get the luxury of fantasies anymore!”

  “All right,” Lani charged again, “stop.”

  “Is that so?” Kell cocked his head. “So what do I have to blame for the shitty shot you called in Indonesia, huh? Simple dumbass-ery? Did you watch the waves swallow your brain, too?”

  “Damn it!” Her voice now broke the air on a scream. “I said stop!”

  Tait was one move ahead of her. He turned and let his head drop, unconcerned if his “buddy” witnessed the defeat in the move. Like Kell would care. The guy had a caustic streak; Tait had always known that, though never imagined he’d be on the receiving end of it. But Rebel Stafford, the team’s resident southern boy philosopher, had a favorite expression. If the chair’s too comfy, wait five minutes.

  Who knew it applied to friendships, too?

  He should be grateful for what life had given him with Kell. Tait had joined the army to justify his existence, to find the purpose Dad always said he never had. Getting one of the closest buddies of his life had been an added bonus of the journey, one he’d never expected to keep this long. He wasn’t the kind of person people stuck around for. Dad had been tenacious about that lesson too.

  Behind him, Hokulani’s hisses peppered the air. Since he’d stomped his way back to the living room, he couldn’t discern what she said. Kell’s comeback was a clear crack, though.

  “What? He started it, damn it.”

  Tait clamped down the urge to bellow a retort. He turned the indignation inward instead—and muttered the words during his march toward the front door.

  “Fine, asshole. I started it. And you can deal with me ending it too.”

  * * *

  After he slammed out of the house, it’d been painfully apparent that he had no fucking clue about his bearings. He didn’t want to calm down long enough to think much about it, either. Flashbacks from last night gave up images of a bamboo walkway and some rosebushes, neither of which were visible from the front of the house. That left him with a choice between a long paved driveway to the main road or a packed dirt truck trail that bordered a huge paddock containing several dozen horses lazing their way through the July day.

  In his state of mind, animal therapy felt like the right way to go. Besides, the trail was drenched in shade as the sun rapidly neared its high point. The decision was a good one; the pastoral peace buffed out the edges of his rage within a few minutes. A few times, the horses daring to meet his gaze were rewarded with a small smile.

  It didn’t take him long to start understanding Hokulani’s fierce devotion to this place. With the small mountain that cushioned one side and the thick forest along the other, the property was a self-contained paradise where the grass grew thick, the flowers scented the air, and the wind blew warm. What had she called it? Hale Anelas. Again accessing distant knowledge from language training, he knew that meant the home of something. His money was on something like fairies, gods, or angels—creatures that turned this land into something truly magical and serene.

  Though whoever gashed the air with their angry bellow might have an argument about that.

  Tait heard the shout as he cleared the corner of the pasture and planned on returning to the beach through the grove of banana, mango, and breadfruit trees ahead. Instead, his attention was tugged to the right, where he caught sight of more fencing, this time the border of a small riding corral. The sound of rapid hoof beats preceded the spirited swish of a dark-tan horse’s tail, which brushed the fence once before disappearing.

  More cantering. A heavy thud, like something hitting the ground hard. Another violent yell was followed by a youth’s voice spewing the F-word. Then again.

  The situation suddenly earned itself a little recon.

  Tait walked along the edge of the barn until he could see the whole corral. When he did, his curious frown grew to a full scowl.

  He would have attached a laugh to the look if not for his concern about the agitated Palomino filly skittering around the enclosure. Following the filly—correction, chasing the animal—with a lead rope and training pole was a lanky teenager who shared Hokulani’s striking eyes and full mouth. The boy also had thick black hair in a spiky short cut that showed off his strong neck and jaw.

  Tait sheltered no doubt that the kid was related in some way to the goddess back at the house. It was just a shame that he didn’t share Hokulani’s smarts.

  “Fuck!” the kid spat again. “Damn it, I’m trying to help your ass here!”

  “Do you kiss your mama with that mouth, boy?”

  The kid lurched to his feet and flung a dagger of a glare. “My mother’s dead, asshole, so back off.”

  Since they were skipping down the path of childhood traumas, Tait let his own act as advisor for a reaction. He envisioned Uncle Jonah appearing and scratching his cheek with that aw-shucks smile before issuing advice along the lines of getting a pissy ’coon to come around faster with a muffin than a stick. Damn what he wouldn’t give for just one day with the man again.

  “My mom’s gone, too,” he said softly. And I’d give a row of teeth to find her again. “So I get it.”

  The kid straightened the pole and rope, preparing to make another try for the horse’s obedience. “You don’t get shit, Sergeant Bommer, so don’t try your army Jedi mind tricks on me. I’m not some dumbshit foreign hostile.”

  He held back another laugh—barely. “Could’ve fooled me,” he mumbled through a smirk.

  “What the hell’d you say?” the kid accused.


  A verbal muffin was in order. “How do you know who I am?” The casual simulation came easy, since he and Kell had used it on Benson’s boys last night.

  The kid rolled his eyes. “You think I came home to find one guy krunked-up in my living room and the other napping on the office couch with my sister and not find out who the fuckers are?”

  That brought a confused pause. Kellan likely had a wallet in tow last night, but the only things he’d carried from Franz’s place were his shirt, shorts, and the flock of geese on his vodka bottle. “By reading my ‘krunked-up’ mind?” he finally challenged.

  “By using my sober one.” The kid didn’t take his eyes off the filly. Thank God he got that part of the process right. “Rush’s ID gave me a clue about both of you. For you, I snapped a shot on my phone and texted it to Franz for a positive check. He was very helpful with the positive scope…and a few backup details too.”

  Tait’s gut clenched by the way the boy emphasized the last of that. “Wonderful,” he mumbled, just as the kid took advantage of a break in the horse’s attention to try to slip the lead rope around her neck again. Not a chance. The filly bucked at him, causing him to take another textbook ass plant. Tait couldn’t hold back his chuckle any longer. “Franz may have given you some dirt on me, kid, but in the filth department, I’d say we’re even.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Strike that. You officially take the scum crown now.” He cocked a brutally placid stare back through the corral slats. “It’s Leo, right? Aren’t you supposed to be going to some fancy academy? They let you spew filthy language like that at your special school, Leo?”

  “They let you turn into a pussy like that in Spec Ops, Sergeant? Aren’t you used to much worse than this?”

  Considering the morning he’d already endured, the kid’s Prince Snotty act should’ve made him leave and let the idiot earn a hoof—or four—in the face. The sooner he left this place behind, with all memories of the blood-heating, soul-stirring woman back at the house, the better. But because of her, he turned toward the barn instead. He remembered Benson taunting Lani by invoking the legacy of both her parents, so Leo was the only family she had. If he left the kid to tame the filly and Leo wound up with a serious brain injury because of his stupidity, Tait would never excuse himself. And the list of unforgivable shit in his life was too damn long already.