I set Sierra away from me, focused on the list of things I need to get done before I leave her alone for two days. “Come with me and bring your purse.” I don’t wait for a reply. I start walking with purpose, across the living room and up the stairs, and I don’t stop until I’m back in the weapons room, behind the table. I don’t sit.
She enters the room, the look on her beautiful, stubborn face as determined as I feel. She crosses to stand in front of me. “Set your bag down,” I order.
She does it, clearly aware that right now, I’m all business. “Now,” I say. “I want you to put your revolver in your purse, but before you reach for it, tell me everything you’ve learned.”
“Never point it at anyone that I don’t want to shoot. Align my index finger for accuracy.” She repeats everything I’ve taught her methodically, to finally add, “Shoot to kill. Anyone I injure could be pissed off enough to kill me instead.”
“Grab your new purse and put the revolver inside, positioned to grab and point.”
She nods and follows that instruction, appearing focused on what I’m teaching her. “Put the strap across your chest, purse at your hip.”
While she does that, I round the table and step behind her, my big body encasing her smaller one, and I push past the fact that I’m rock hard. “That’s a loaded weapon,” I say, my hands on her shoulders. “Zip the purse and practice unzipping it and pulling the weapon.” She struggles and makes a frustrated noise.
“Do you have to stand behind me like that?”
“Is that making you feel performance pressure?”
“Yes,” she says. “Among other things.”
“Good. Because if you have to pull that gun, you’ll be scared shitless.” I turn her to face me, hands on her hips. “The idea that carrying a gun is as simple as point and shoot, is false. You need to practice when I’m gone.” I release her and grab the semi-automatic, expelling the cartridge.
“Where are the bullets?” I ask.
“Inside the cartridge.”
I remove them. “Put them in again.”
“Asher can we just—”
“Do it, Sierra.” I’m pushing her. I know I am, but one thing sitting with Luke and talking about Devin Marks did for me was remind me that Marks really will kill Sierra if he gets the chance. “This is me helping you protect you.”
“Yes. You’re right.”
She loads the blanks I have her using and then pops the cartridge into place.
“Cock it,” I say, and that’s where she, and most people, slow down.
She has to focus to get her hand right and get the job done. “Hand it to me,” I say, and she manages to point it at me.
“Damn it,” she says.
“That’s why you practice without real ammunition, but I’m going to see if Jacob can take you to the shooting range. He’s a sharpshooter with a calm, cool disposition. He’s also stoic as hell, which means intimidating. Those are all skills you need to have when handling any firearm.”
“I’d ask to wait on you, but I get it. I need to learn now.”
“Yes. You do.” I walk around the table and open a closet, removing a case for the pistol and returning. I show Sierra how it fits in place. “We’ll take it with us in the morning. That way if he has time, he can just swing by and get you at Walker Security. Put it in that big, black bag-thing we bought.”
“A tote,” she says, her full pink lips quirking, her pale skin flushed. “But big black thing works, too.”
God, she’s beautiful and selfless enough to try to stop me from helping her, when of course, she’s human. She wants the help. She even knows she needs it, which is exactly why I’m staying focused on preparing for my trip. “This way,” I say, heading out of the gun room, down the hallway and into the bedroom, this time continuing on through the bathroom to the closet and safe. Sierra joins me and I motion her forward. “Open it.”
She does as I say, and I’m under no misconception that this means she’s going to make a habit of taking orders. She gets it. She’s in danger. I’m preparing her for the worst. She unlocks the safe and removes her money belt, unzips it and hands me the key. “It’s at a storage facility a few blocks from the DFW airport. It’s the only thing in the unit and the building locks.” She gives me the address and I text it to Luke and Blake.
“I need to call one of my SEAL brothers in Dallas and yes, I trust him. How about ordering us some food? Anything. Pizza is probably easiest.”
“What do you like?”
“Anything and everything.” I cup her face and kiss her. “I’ll be in my office. It’s just past the gun room. Hang your clothes in the closet.”
“I hung up some of it.”
Her words from our fight back at Luke’s place, reply in my mind: I’m married to another man and punch me in the damn chest. “Some is not good enough right now. Fuck, Sierra. Convince me you’re staying.” I let her go and walk out of the closet, hating the idea of leaving her here, but knowing damn well that she gave me that key because she trusts me.
I head down the hallway and walk into my office and cross to the wooden writer’s desk with cross legs that I wouldn’t have if Kyle’s wife, Myla, hadn’t decided to use her design skills to decorate every male home in the Walker clan. She’d called the desk a “statement piece” or some shit like that. It’s supposed to complement the brick and wood finish of the walls. I told her whatever. Decorating is not my thing, but hell, I’m glad she did it now that Sierra is here.
I bypass the desk and walk up the three steps that lead to a sitting area behind a wooden railing, where two leather chairs and a table sit in front of an arched window. My thinking spot. And for a few minutes, that’s all I do. Think. I start to process the people in my mind that can help me end Devin Marks beyond my SEAL team, and there are only a few I trust completely.
I dial Luke. “Are we on the same page?”
“Yes,” he says. “The only reason I haven’t done it is that I was waiting to talk to you.”
“I’ll do it.”
I disconnect, open the drawer in the table next to me, and pull out a disposable phone. I dial the number that only a small group of ten SEALs know, some active and some not. Once the line connects, I type in a ten-digit code that identifies me and sends a message: Be ready for war. Over the course of the next twenty-four hours, everyone who is able will check in with a location.
I stick the phone back in the drawer and return to my regular line and call one of those SEALs direct. He answers on the first ring. “No, I don’t want a job.”
“Well I got one for you anyway,” I say. “It’s personal. I need you.”
“When and where?”
“I’m coming to you and I’m bringing Luke. We’ll be on the ground by ten tomorrow.”
He pauses and there is movement before he says, “I just got the notification. I’ll be waiting when you get here.”
We disconnect, and I push to my feet, walking down the hallway and into the bedroom to find Sierra nowhere in sight. I walk through the bathroom and step into the doorway of the closet to find her hanging her things next to my Navy fatigues. Seeing her clothes there, next to mine, should freak me the fuck out considering commitment isn’t my thing, but that’s not what bothers me. It’s how little she has.
I reach into my wallet and remove a credit card. I’ve just stuck my wallet back into my pocket when she turns around, and lifts her hands to her things. “Does that prove I’m fucking staying?” she challenges.
“It’s a start,” I say, closing the space between us and offering her the card. “Go shopping online or if Kara can take you, with her. And I mean shop. Shoes. Clothes. Dresses. Whatever you need. The things you need to start over here.”
“I’m not taking that card or buying more clothes.”
“You have nothing, Sierra,” I say, and driving her to a certain response I want her to give me, I add, “If you don’t do it, I will. I’ll order a shit-ton of stuff and you will have to weed through what you want.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Prove to me you’re fucking staying,” I say again.
“I’ll cash my check and shop.”
My lips curve. “Good. Claim the job. That works.”
She scowls. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“We’re getting there, but take the credit card anyway.”
“No. I’m not taking it.”
“If you have to run, use this card. Leave me a trail. I’ll use it to track you.”
Realization washes over her face and she reaches for it. “Thank you.” She sticks it in her purse that’s sitting on the bench beside us.
“And it has twenty thousand dollars on it, if you need it for anything.”
“I don’t need your money, Asher.” Her hand comes down on my chest. “But I do need you. So quickly. I don’t know how I already need you this much. And I don’t want you to be okay with me calling him my husband. I was just trying to protect you. I really need you to be safe. I need—”
I kiss her, tongue licking into her mouth, and when she reaches under my shirt, her palms soft and cool against my hot skin, I’m about ten seconds from snapping. “You cannot leave. You stay here.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“When I’m gone, Sierra, do not go to the bar. Do not go to the grocery store. Do not go anywhere alone. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Say it. You will not—”
“I won’t. I promise.”
I kiss her again, and lift her, carrying her to the bed. We both go down on the mattress, and when we should be undressed and fucking that’s not what happens, compliments of the doorbell. “The pizza,” she says.
“The pizza,” I repeat, but neither of us move.
Her hand settles on my cheek. “Asher.”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“I’m really starving.”
I laugh and kiss her hand. “Me too.” I roll her over and rest on my elbows above her. “You can be dessert.”
“You can be dessert,” she says, and when I roll off of her, I’m smiling.
I head down the stairs, the scent of her perfume clinging to my skin, and that damn sweet floral scent gets to me. It makes me want to lick every part of her body. And I will. Over and over and over again because she’s already my fucking woman. I’ve never called any woman my woman but she is. That’s just how it is. She came. She became. She is. On some level, she already knows it.
On every level, Devin Marks is about to find that out, too.