Nixon

 

I WAITED UNTIL everyone was in the living room, arguing over everything — from when to eat dessert to who should go down to the wine cellar. The voices grew louder. I rolled my eyes and slowly crept into the dark bedroom.

The faint smell of baby powder swirled around my nostrils, I sucked in a breath when a little sigh escaped between my baby girl’s lips.

Trace always gave me shit for picking up my girl when she was already sleeping, but I just wanted to make sure.

Of everything.

Of her breathing.

Of her heartbeat.

Of her life.

I pressed my palm to her tiny chest and exhaled in relief, then gripped the crib with my fingers until they ached. How did people survive this? I’d laughed in the face of death, the face of fear, countless times.

But now I had two girls to protect.

Two girls who were counting on me.

And in this business… the heart was the most dangerous weapon you had against your enemies, and the most dangerous one they had against you.

“Hell.” I muttered as she yawned and reached for me.

I felt that reach all the way down to my toes.

“Okay,” I whispered, “But don’t tell your mama.”

Big blue eyes blinked up at me with awe as I leaned over and pulled her into my arms, only to have her yawn again and snuggle against my chest.

Brought to my knees by an infant.

If the guys could see me now, the tears filling my eyes, the feeling of helplessness that washed over me whenever I held her close.

I’d never had a relationship with my father — it was only violence and blood.

“I promise,” I held her little finger. “That I will always protect you with my life, until there’s no more breath in my body — and even then. I’ll lay down my life for you — I swear you’ll only know peace, even if I have to kill every single person that stands in my way — the blood will be on my hands, not yours. You will have a life of peace—even if it means I live one full of death.” I kissed her head and started to sing.

“Oh, Nixon.” Trace’s voice washed over me. I sighed and met her concerned gaze. “Making big promises again?”

“At least I can keep these ones.” I answered honestly. So many Christmas’s I’d wondered about Trace, thinking her dead, thinking it my fault, just wishing for a way to re-do what had been done between our families, and swearing on my life to make it right, having no idea that she was alive, that she was right next to me, until it was too late.

She took our girl and put her in her cradle then held her hand out to me. “What’s that look for?”

“Losing you,” I whispered gruffly. “I could never go through that again.”

“What makes you think you’re going to lose me?”

“Extreme paranoia.” I finally answered, “I hate this feeling. Hate it.”

“What feeling?” She wrapped her arms around my neck, then kissed my mouth softly.

“Not being in control.” I shuddered. “I hate it.”

Trace smirked, “Really, Nixon?”

“What?”

“You’re never fully in control — you’ve only thought you were, the feeling you’re talking about is the realization that you can’t control. Big difference.”

I pressed an open mouth kiss to her neck, then slid my hand down her shoulder. “Did you just correct me?”

“Get used to it.”

“You’d think I would be.” I grinned. “And yet, I still want to chase you through the house and turn you over my knee.”

“Last time you at least gave me a head start.”

I gripped her hand and held her still. “Yeah well I’m not feeling very generous right now.”

“No?”

“No.” I confirmed, backing her up against the wall until she was pinned by my body. “How quiet can you be?”

She tilted her head. “I guess you’ll find out.”

I groaned when she parted her lips, her tongue sliding into my mouth before I lifted her into the air and deepened the kiss, pressing her ass against the wall before her hands found my hair and held on.

It could have been seconds.

Minutes.

Hours.

Kissing Trace was always my favorite hobby — and next to that, tasting her, pleasing her, making sure she damn well knew who owned her — making sure she knew I’d lost her once and refused to do it again, regardless of circumstances.

“In this life and the next.” She whispered, reading my thoughts, before I slid my jeans down with one hand. “Swear it?”

I discarded her clothes and locked eyes with her while I entered with one smooth thrust. “I swear.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“This life,” I whispered hoarsely, “And the next. And the in between,” my mouth found hers. “And every other second…” I broke away and huffed out a breath. “You’re mine.”

“Yours.” She echoed.