When I wake up, I hold myself still for a few seconds, tuning into my surroundings. It’s a habit I got into when I was serving. Stopped me rolling over and groaning awake when we were in the middle of a stealth mission.
I’m lying in an unfamiliar room, under a heavy pile of quilts. My muscles are tight and sore, my throat is burning, and my head hurts like a bitch. As I try to piece all of this information together, memories from last night wash over me.
Briar lying on the cabin floor, covered in blood, her cheek and side slashed open. Briar standing over X’s body, clutching a blood-covered knife. Briar lying under me, scrabbling to get away. The images are so vivid, they almost seem real. For a moment, I just lie there, shaking.
Then I stand up.
The lounge is empty. The nest-bed Kenta and Glen made on the couch is just a rumpled pile of quilts and pillows. I look around the room, peering into the kitchenette, then through the window onto the balcony, but there’s no sign of life.
“Briar!” I call. My voice is rough and hoarse from inhaling all the goddamn smoke last night. I clear my throat, trying again. “Briar!” There’s no response. The hotel suite is completely still. Outside, a bird lands on the terrace railing, twittering.
I push out of the living room and towards her bedroom, but when I let myself inside, everything is untouched. There are still hair products and bits of makeup scattered around on the dresser from when she was getting ready last night. My chest tightens. I head into the ensuite. It’s empty. Her toothbrush is wet, and the sweet scent of her body wash hangs in the air. Where the Hell is she?
There’s no way anyone could’ve got in here without us noticing, right? X is in custody. And I doubt he’ll be able to walk anytime soon, let alone sneak into a guarded hotel room.
Still. This is freaking me out.
I slam out of her bedroom and stride down the suite to the guys’ shared room, yanking open the door. Again, it’s empty. I feel panic rise up in me. She’s gone. She’s disappeared. Something’s happened to her. I’m about to run and raise the alarm when I hear running water coming from the ensuite bathroom.
“Briar!” I cross the room and slam my fist against the door. “Briar. Are you in there?”
The door opens, and Glen steps out in a t-shirt and jeans, a towel around his neck.
“Hey, man.” He runs his eyes over me. “You good?”
“Where is she?” I rasp. “Where the Hell is she?”
“Kenta took her to meet Julie. They needed to decide how much they were going to tell the media.”
Fear slams into me. “Alone? He took her out alone?!”
Glen sighs, swiping the towel through his hair as he pushes past me into the bedroom. “The threat is gone, Matt. He took her to a private spot, she’s only going to need one guard.”
“You don’t know that!” I grab a pair of jeans out of my open suitcase and yank them on. “Tell me where they are.”
“I don’t know,” Glen says slowly, lowering the towel to watch me. “Matt—”
“Well, I’ll just ask him.” I cast around for my phone. It’s on the bedside table, charging. I lunge for it.
Glen steps in front of me. “Matt.” I try to push past him, but he grabs my neck in both hands, forcing me to look at him. “Matt, listen.” His voice is steady. “You need to calm down. She’s been through Hell. You’ll just scare her again, if she comes back to you freaking out like this. She’s okay.”
I don’t say anything. My fists clench by my sides. I’m breathing too hard.
Glen claps a hand on my back. “C’mon. It’s okay. Sit down.”
He shoves me into the lounge and pushes me toward the sofa. I sit down, running my hands through my hair. “She’s okay?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“She’s okay.”
I close my eyes, shaking my head. I can’t breathe right. “She’s not okay.” I know she’s in danger. I can feel it. My hands are shaking violently. “She’s not okay.”
“She is okay. You need to call her?”
“No.” Sweat drips down my back. I fist my hands in my hair. I don’t want her to see me like this.
I think this is the worst part of the PTSD. It’s not the flashbacks or the night terrors. It’s the slow, seeping fear that permeates everything.
During my time serving, I saw people get blown up. Stabbed. Shot. I saw entire villages get bombed. I saw kids step in landmines, and innocent civilians caught in crossfire. Five years ago, I made a split-second decision that plunged three of the people I loved most into a waking nightmare for months.
And then, out of nowhere, I got pulled out of it all, patched up, and sent home. People suddenly expected me to get a nine-to-five job, working in an office and saving up for a mortgage. I was surrounded by people who cared about getting promotions, and going on diets, and seeing the new Marvel movie.
To function in society, you need to believe that you’re safe. We all know it’s a lie, but it’s a lie you need to believe to survive. Realistically, everybody knows that they’ll die one day. Everybody knows that, every second, around the world, people are getting killed, and assaulted, and robbed, and hurt. At this very moment, people are losing their kids, being run over, getting diagnosed with terminal illnesses. We’re living in a motherfucking horror movie, but most people can convince themselves that they’re safe. And they go about their lives, thinking about money, and their annoying neighbours, and celebrity gossip, like any of that fucking matters.
My brain won’t let me do that, anymore. It won’t let me pretend that I’m safe. Or that Kenta and Glen are safe. Or that Briar’s safe. No one is safe. No one is going to be okay. Sooner or later, terrible things are going to happen to everyone I love. The veil has been pulled back, and now I’ll only ever see the world as one giant war zone.
The truth is, I am scared. All the fucking time. Every waking second. When I’m taking a piss, or eating cereal, or walking down the street, I’m terrified. Some part of me has never left the room where I watched my best friends get tortured. Some part of me is still watching it on repeat. And I’m so fucking scared. That’s why I didn’t tell Briar about X’s threats. It wasn’t the nightmares or the flashbacks; it was the deep, gnawing fear that lives inside me. I can’t get rid of it.
That’s the worst part of PTSD. The disconnect. I live in the same physical world as everyone else, but I don’t see it the same. I just see danger. And blood. And death.
“Fuck,” I gasp, rubbing my chest. My shirt is sticking to me with sweat. “Jesus. It never stops.”
Glen sits in front of me. “It’ll get better, man. When you see a therapist.”
I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. I’m choked up. “It won’t ever go away.” I can’t unsee what I’ve seen. It happened. It was real.
“No,” he agrees. “But it will get better.” He reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing.
Almost two hours pass before I hear the buzz of a keycard in the front door. I’ve spent the entire time pacing up and down the suite like a caged animal. I wheel on Briar as she pushes inside the suite, Kenta stepping in quietly behind her. The man is beaming.
“What the Hell,” I bite out. Briar looks up at me. She looks much better than yesterday; sparkly-eyed and pink-cheeked. She’s dressed in a little yellow sundress, and her loose hair is falling in waves around her face. The rose necklace we all picked out for her glitters around her neck. I have to fight the urge to just grab at her. “Where the Hell have you been? We’ve been worried sick.”
“Why?” She kicks off her shoes. “Kenta texted, didn’t he?”
I scowl. “Because the last time you disappeared, you got kidnapped.”
“Well, this time, I just got hash browns.”
“What happened to you?” Glen asks Kenta. “You win the damn lottery?”
Kenta shrugs, still smiling. “Pretty much.”
I ignore them both, striding towards Briar. She steps right into my open arms, letting me pull her close and burrow my face into her hair. My breathing is embarrassingly ragged as she reaches up and squeezes the back of my neck.
“That bad?” She says quietly.
I grunt, winding my hands in her soft hair. “Don’t leave me like that.”
She stiffens in surprise. I clear my throat. “I mean. Just. Please don’t leave the building without me.”
Glen snorts. Briar studies me for a moment, then goes up on her tiptoes. “I might leave the building without you,” she whispers, her lips brushing my cheek. “But I have no current plans of leaving you.” She presses a kiss to my mouth. “I love you. Please make me coffee.”
I straighten. My chest is aching worse than the time I punctured my lung in training. I give the rose charm on her necklace a little tug. “Diva.”
“So I’ve been told.” She tosses me a smile, and I head to the breakfast bar to get the coffee started, trying to ignore my heart battering in my chest.
Glen comes up behind her, gently touching her cheek to check out her stitches. “How are you feeling, lass? Sore? Still sick?”
She shakes her head, cuddling into his chest. “I feel much better.”
“We figured out how X was tracking her,” Kenta says, dropping onto the sofa. “It was Julie.” He gives us a quick rundown of everything that happened during their breakfast meeting.
When he finishes, I swear. “That greedy, money-hungry, self-serving little piece of shit. She almost got Briar killed, for what? A bigger paycheck?”
“Do you think Nin will want the job?” Briar asks, plopping down next to Kenta and picking up the TV remote. “I promise I won’t shout at her again.”
“I think she’d love it. She’s definitely qualified.”
“Great.” She starts flipping through TV channels. “Maybe I can have a positive impact on one person’s life. I got a lot of people hurt last night.”
Kenta frowns. “Briar, none of what happened was your fault. It was X who rigged the bombs. You didn’t even know what he was planning before it was too late.”
She sighs. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Doesn’t stop me feeling like shit.” She stops on a news channel playing a piece on the premiere bombing. I’m not surprised she found one so easily. It’s by far the biggest news story in LA. It’s probably being shown on repeat.
I carry over her coffee, sitting on the sofa next to her. “Are you sure you want to watch that?”
She turns up the volume. “I want to see what happened. I missed so much.”
I grimace, but stay quiet as the newsreader starts to speak.
‘Last night, at the premiere for the upcoming Unity Productions film ‘Players’, fifteen bombs were set off on the red carpet and in the crowd, causing chaos among celebrities and fans alike.’
Footage from one of the press cameras comes up on the screen. I watch, jaw clenched, as the elegant, luxurious red carpet scene erupts into screams and explosions. Kenta winces, and even Glen flinches. I glance across at Briar. She watches silently, worrying at her lip. A shot of a woman being lifted into an ambulance flashes across the screen, and she reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing.
‘Over thirty attendees were injured in the blast, but no fatalities have been reported.’
“Oh, thank God.” Briar sags against Kenta’s chest, and he wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Thank God.”
The reporter keeps droning on.
‘Whilst police have yet to make a statement on the night’s events, many believe that the bombing is linked to celebrity actress Briar Saint’s widely publicised stalking incident. The starlet has spoken openly about her recent struggles with an obsessive fan, who has previously sent her lewd images, broken into her house, and stalked her across the globe. Miss Saint was present at the premiere last night, and several eye-witnesses report seeing the actress being captured, gagged, and dragged from the event by a man in dark clothing.’
I rub my thumb over the back of Briar’s hand. The shot changes to one of her with Kenta this morning, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as they walk down a sunny LA street.
‘Briar Saint was seen, sporting several injuries, at a local café this morning. She made no comment addressing the kidnapping rumours, but seemed unfazed by the event.’
The camera zooms in on Briar and Kenta kissing deeply in the middle of the street. When they pull apart, they’re both pink-cheeked and beaming. She pops up and nuzzles his cheek.
Lucky bastard.
The news channel moves on to the next story, and Glen reaches for the remote to switch it off. Briar stares at the screen blankly, chewing on her bottom lip. “How come they didn’t mention X yet?”
I shrug. “The police must have decided to hold on to the information.”
Her face is pale. “Do… you know what happened to him?”
I turn to Glen. I’ve been too busy losing my shit for the last couple of hours to keep up to date on news.
“He still hasn’t woken up,” Glen says shortly.
She frowns. “I only smacked him with a chair leg. And poured chloroform on him.”
“The police shot him a couple times, while Matt was busy tackling you to the floor. He kept waving his gun at them, the idiot.”
“Do you think he’ll be a problem, if he recovers?”
Glen softens. “No, honey. Between the first-degree attempted murder and bombing a public place, I’d be very surprised if he doesn’t receive a life sentence.”
Kenta kisses her cheek. “He’s done for good, sweetheart. He can’t hurt you, now. He’s never getting anywhere near you again.”
She nods, looking down into her mug, and swallows hard. “I wanted to kill him,” she says. “For a second. When I was standing over him with the knife.”
“If you had, no one would have blamed you,” Kenta says. “It would have been self-defence. But I’m glad you didn’t.”
“And it’s okay?” She asks. “That I wanted to?” Her voice is unbearably quiet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Briar like this. Uncertain. Looking for assurance.
My throat feels thick. “Of course it’s okay, baby. However you feel is okay. You did perfect.”
She takes a deep breath, nodding to herself. “Okay. Okay.” She sets her coffee mug on the table. “Can we talk about something else, then? Like, anything non-X-related?”
“Sure,” Kenta says. “Want to watch a movie, or something?”
“I have the new Superspy film,” she offers.
“Really?” Glen looks up, his eyes widening, and I snort. He loves the big-budget action crap. “It’s not out for release for months.”
Briar smiles. “Perks. One of my old co-stars was in it, he sent me the final cut. If you tell anyone about the ending before it comes out, though, I think the Hollywood mafia will kill you.”
Glen nods seriously. “I’m willing to take that risk, lass.”
“Great.” She connects the TV to her laptop and loads up the movie, then drags one of last night’s blankets over our laps. The opening credits start to play.
I’m not really focussing on what’s in front of me. My head is back in the cabin last night. I can’t stop thinking about the moment I saw Briar, collapsed on the floor, covered in blood and sweat and dirt. I’d lunged at her like a rabid tiger, even when she froze up and tried to push me off.
I must have scared the ever-living shit out of her.
Next to me, Briar shuffles a bit on the couch cushions. I glance down at her, but she seems completely engrossed in the car chase unfolding on the screen. I run my hand gently down her spine, wanting her closer, and she snuggles into my side.
We’re quiet for a bit, watching the movie. I try to pay attention, but I can’t. Briar keeps fidgeting. At first, she’s just shifting around a little, but it just gets worse and worse, until after ten minutes, she’s full-on wriggling under the blanket. I clear my throat. Every time she moves, her soft body presses up against mine. It’s starting to become a problem.
“Okay?” I ask. She nods, letting out a soft, annoyed sound. I wince as the noise goes straight between my legs. “You sure, princess? Kind of looks like something is bothering you.”
“‘M fine,” she breathes. “Just fidgety, I guess. Stitches are itchy.”
I press a kiss to her head. “Sorry.”
She turns her face into my shoulder and breathes hotly against my neck. I grit my teeth as her lips brush my Adam’s apple, and the thudding ache in my balls flares. This is messed up. The poor girl is injured and uncomfortable, and I’m hard as a goddamn rod. I force myself to stare at the TV screen, but I don’t see anything at all.
Briar suddenly gasps, her whole body jerking against mine. I look down, alarmed. She’s flushed and feverish-looking, sweat sticking her blonde hair to her temples. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when Kenta starts laughing. I glance up—and see his hand moving subtly in Briar’s lap, hidden under the blanket.
“You piece of shit,” I mutter as Briar arches into me, biting the collar of my shirt. “I thought she was in pain.”
He just laughs harder.
Briar’s hand flies out, twisting in my shirt. “Oh,” she says, “Oh God I need to—” Her breath catches as she wriggles and squirms around Kenta’s fingers.
“Briar,” I breathe, sliding off the couch and coming to kneel in front of her. My hands are shaking as I push back her hair and put my mouth on her neck. She leans into me, shivering. “What do you want?” I mumble against her skin.
She curves her back, pressing her chest into my face. I reach up for the buttons on the front of her sundress. They’re tiny and ridiculously fiddly, but I slowly get each one undone, in a series of long, slow presses that have her arching up into me, biting her lip. Underneath, she’s wearing a bra—pretty, pale yellow with lace up the cups. I tug the straps down and push my face between her tits. She’s unbelievably soft. I can feel her heart hammering against my cheek as I press rough, open-mouth kisses down her cleavage.
“God. Matt,” she whispers.
“I’m here, baby.” I squeeze one of her pert pink nipples, then bend and suckle on it hard. She cries out, shuddering, digging her nails into my back.
“Oh, God.” She twists under me, fisting a hand in Kenta’s shirt. “Ken—”
He dips and starts kissing her neck as he fucks her with his fingers. I can’t see what he’s doing under the blanket, but she jerks forward with every movement, letting out a soft moan. I tilt my head up to catch her lips, and she gasps into my mouth, greedily inhaling my breaths. We keep this up for a few minutes, arousal slowly building, skin sliding over skin. Then Kenta twists his hand, changing his angle slightly, and Briar suddenly goes crazy, writhing under me.
“Kenta!” She pants. “Please!”
He blinks innocently. “What?”
She rocks her hips, her face flushing. “It’s not enough,” she whines. “For God’s sake. Touch me, dumbass.”
He just laughs, and she scowls at him, kicking off the blanket and grabbing my wrist, shoving it up her dress. I fight the urge to groan. Her thighs are hot and soft and slippery, and they rub over my palm as she crosses her legs, writhing to get the pressure she needs. I roll the pad of my thumb over her sweet spot, and her head tips back against the sofa, her red lips parting.
Kenta leans in next to me, still touching her deep inside, and she starts making noises, little gasps that get higher and higher. Her hips are jerking in little helpless circles as she grinds herself against our hands. “Shit,” she whispers, over and over. “Oh, shit, Matt. Kenta. Shit.”
She’s almost there. I can feel her fluttering urgently under my fingers, and I’m ninety percent sure my balls are about to explode. I’ve never been this turned on in my life. She leans forward suddenly, gripping at my shoulders, bracing herself to come.
Kenta and I move in at the same moment. He leans in to lock lips with her, and I dip to catch her earlobe in my mouth, biting down. Briar makes a squeaking sound and falls apart, gasping, her whole body trembling under me. We wring the orgasm right out of her, until she eventually flops down against the couch cushions, her body limp. Kenta and I both carefully retract our hands as she pants, her eyes lidded. For a few moments, the room is silent. I glance up and see Glen has paused the film and is watching us, a hand pressed over the bulge in his jeans. Briar curls up next to me, not saying anything.
“Are you okay?” I ask, pushing back her hair. “We didn’t hurt you, did we?”
“Are you guys clean?” She whispers.
I freeze.
“The company runs bloodwork on us before every new job,” Kenta explains, “to check we’re healthy enough to take it on.”
“Well. So am I.” She says.
Kenta nods. “We know.”
“What?”
“We have access to your health records.”
“That’s creepy.” She gives a little shrug. “Guess you know that I’m on birth control as well, then.”
There’s a pause. “Yes,” I say, my voice coming out ridiculously husky.
She rolls over in Kenta’s arms. “Can we? Please?”
He closes his eyes. “Are you sure you want that?” He asks carefully. “You don’t think it might freak you out?”
She shrugs. “I guess it might. There’s only one way to find out, right? I’m not letting X control my sex life forever.”
“You’re so much braver than me,” I say, completely seriously. A blush blooms on her cheeks.
She lifts her arms to me. “Carry me,” she orders. “I’m too horny to walk.”
I can’t hold back my snort as I stand, picking her up gently. “Diva.”
“You love it.”
