Found Wanting Pt. 02

Author's Note:

See Pt. 1 for blurb. Also, if you haven't already read Pt. 1, I strongly recommend doing so before proceeding.

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

***

Copyright © 2023 Jake Lazarus

All rights reserved.

This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a review).

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, business, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

***

Sixteen

Bruce

"I hate the suburbs," Bruce grumbled to himself as he made his way through the annoyingly underbrush-free rear portion of the trailer park. In the city, there were endless alcoves, vehicles and overpasses one could use for camouflage. In the jungle, things were even easier. He had never considered just how difficult the combination of low population density and diligent landscaping could make it for one such as himself to remain hidden.

He was finally nearing Reyna's apartment complex, after spending the last few hours carefully crossing several hundred meters of mostly open residential area. His slow progress was as much about getting the lay of the land, and internalizing the sounds of the night, as it was about stealth. Without using anything but his hearing, he knew that the Johnsons were struggling to put food on the table, thanks to a particularly extravagant night of online bingo on the part of Mrs. Johnson. He also knew that the Waters family was celebrating a promotion and the McElroys were considering extreme measures to convince Mrs. McElroys mother to return home. More importantly, he was as confident as he could be without a house-to-house search that no one was in the vicinity that did not belong.

He finally came within sight of Reyna's apartment building and stopped to look around. There was a pond behind the building, no doubt included for its visual attractiveness and not the fact that it was akin to a maternity ward for mosquitos, adjacent to a small playground and fenced-in dog exercise area. The building itself was relatively small, only a dozen units arranged over three floors. Reyna's was on the northwest corner, the lack of sunlight being the likely explanation for its availability.

As he watched, he spied movement within the unit. He knew right away it was Reyna because she had neglected to draw the curtains. She was carrying Alton on her back, much to the obvious delight of her passenger. The latter was wearing footie pajamas styled to look like a superhero and was brandishing the tube from a roll of paper towels like a sword. The scene tugged at a portion of Bruce's soul that he had thought long dead, and it brought him momentarily to a halt. The joy on the young boy's face was so complete, so pure, that he could not help but be moved.

Bruce was pulled from his reverie once they passed from view. He shook his head angrily and continued his trek. His destination was only another hundred meters. He had scoped it out after leaving the pre-school earlier that day. The spot gave him an unobstructed view of not only Reyna's apartment, but also all possible approaches. He knew he needed to be more careful than ever. The apartment building was surrounded by streetlights, and he would be visible to even the most unskilled observer if he failed to perfectly skirt the small amount of shadows between his present location and his destination. He was more diligent than ever, alternating between creeping along in an awkward squatting walk that minimized his silhouette while also retaining maximum mobility, and outright crawling whenever necessary.

He was wearing black utility pants and a dark grey Henley, having eschewed camouflage to prevent unwanted questions in case he found the need to intentionally interact with anyone. He was also wearing a low-profile satchel which was secured against his torso to prevent any jostling, not to mention making the bag's contents available in an instant. He hoped the aforementioned unplanned interaction did not take place as he had no desire to explain the satchel's contents to anyone.

He was nearly to his destination when he noticed movement in Reyna's apartment and glanced in that direction. He would later insist that he underwent what was akin to a religious experience. Above him, as though framed by some benevolent higher power, he saw Reyna enter a room and approach the window before stretching mightily. She then reached behind her back momentarily before slipping both hands into the sleeves of her top. Seconds later, both hands reemerged, the left hand taking her bra with it. The look of ecstasy on her face could only be described as near orgasmic. Putting her hands on her hips, she bent backwards to relieve the tension in her back. Her nurse's scrubs did little to hide the swell of her breasts, or the outline of her nipples, in this position. The sight was like nothing Bruce had ever seen. Her openness; her beauty; her devastating alluringness. Even in the multiple pasts he had quite effectively buried, he had never seen anyone who was even remotely as captivating as Reyna Lewiston. The angelic vision invaded his consciousness like a tidal wave, causing him to completely forget his mission, forget his training, and walk mindlessly in the direction of her window.

As he watched, her eyes met his. The spell he had been under was shattered instantly. He could hear the sound of her shouts through the window, even if he did not necessarily understand her words. She disappeared from view, the sound of her door slamming sounding throughout the complex seconds later. Bruce stood still beneath the light, not because he was still under her spell but because he knew the damage was done.

Before he saw her emerge from the building, he heard her voice call out, "I'm getting pretty sick of this shit, Bruce!" She stomped toward him, which produced the remarkable sight of her braless breasts bouncing beneath her top. His unrepentant stare was interrupted when she punched him in the chest and snapped, "Eyes up here, dumbass."

When he looked up, he saw the fire in her eyes and grinned despite the certain knowledge that it was a terrible idea. As expected, she noticed his expression and smacked him again, prompting him to murmur, "Stop that."

"Stop fucking stalking me!"

"I'm not stalking you," he continued calmly.

"Then why are you standing outside my apartment in the middle of the night staring at my boobs?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Which part?" she snapped. "The staring at my tits or the stalking me. Again!"

Bruce stood mute, belatedly glancing around to see if their presence had attracted any notice. When it became clear Reyna was waiting for a reply, he sighed and said, "You should really get back inside."

"Not until you answer my question."

Bruce's mind raced for a moment before he felt his training kick in again and calm was restored. He considered his situation dispassionately, asking himself what the most important objective was at this moment. He knew instantly that, more than anything else, he needed to get Reyna out of sight. To that end, he met her gaze and said, "If I promise to answer your questions, will you go back inside?"

"You're suggesting I invite you up? You presume too much, sir."

"I want you to get out of sight. You want answers. My proposal solves both problems." He gestured towards her apartment and added, "Shall we?"

"Fine," she huffed, before glaring at him and saying, "Don't let me catch you staring at my ass going up the stairs," before whirling to head back toward her apartment.

Bruce's eyes dropped to her backside as she stalked away from him before his brain could issue instructions to the contrary. He tore his gaze away immediately, but not before he noticed the magnificent way her nurse's scrubs highlighted her spectacularly shaped derriere. He shook his head and followed after her.

Upon reaching her apartment, she pointed at her couch and growled, "Sit."

He dutifully took a seat while she snatched a hoodie off the back of a chair in the dining room and pulled it on. She glanced down at her chest self-consciously before seeming to decide the garment provided sufficient insulation. She sat in a chair across from Bruce and stared at him expectantly.

At length, she said, "I'm waiting."

"I apologize for, as you said, staring at you," he said severely. "I have no excuse."

"You really think the thing I'm pissed about is you taking a peek?"

"You indicated that was the case."

"Drop the robot act," she huffed. "And answer the real question. Why are you still stalking me."

"Because you have attracted the attention of some very bad people. The kind of people who, once they've decided you need to die, won't stop at anything to make that happen. What the hell did you do to them?"

"You're suggesting it was my fault?"

"I don't know!" Bruce thundered.

"Keep it down!" Reyna snapped quietly. "Alton is sleeping. Or, at least, he was five minutes ago."

"Sorry," Bruce murmured with genuine contrition. He continued, "I don't know what happened. I just know you're in great danger and you won't let me do everything I can to protect you."

"Why are you so damned committed to protecting me?"

"I already told you."

"That was such bullshit. Tell me the truth, Bruce. Is this about getting in my pants?"

"Of course not."

"Are you sure? Because it kind of feels like you can't keep your eyes off me sometimes."

"I apologize..."

"You apologize?" Reyna cut him off sharply, "or you regret it?" He sank back into the couch in defeat. When it became clear he had no intention of elaborating further, she continued, "I propose an accord. The truth, one for one. No evasions, no distractions, no deception."

"That could be dangerous."

"Why? I have nothing to hide."

He dropped his eyes to the floor before murmuring, "You don't know what you're asking."

"Perhaps, but I'm tired of all the bullshit. You say you're sworn to protect me, even if it means creeping around outside my apartment like a serial killer. I want to know why. Tell you what, you can go first. Ask me whatever you want."

"Why did you flee Miami?"

"I didn't know he was in the mafia," Reyna said softly.

"Who?"

"He was a patient. I never knew his name. He came in late at night with a laceration to his lower abdomen and... another injury. It never even occurred to me that anything was out of the ordinary at first. Then his posse started showing up."

"This man? About my height and weight, with lots of expensive looking tats across his chest and neck and longish dark brown hair and a wispy beard?"

"Sounds about right. Most of his crew were your typical sycophant thugs: angry guys who take offense at everything and are always making trouble. There was one guy, however, who really sketched me out. Little guy, but with eyes that made you feel like someone just walked over your grave. He threw out everyone else right after he got there. Then he got the doctor removed from the case and brought in someone else I'd never seen before. For some reason, he didn't bother with getting me reassigned so I stayed throughout the patient's treatment."

"What was the other injury? I can't imagine them going to all this trouble just because you witnessed the fact that he isn't invulnerable."

"Ruptured testicle."

"Jesus," Bruce grunted as he shifted in his seat unconsciously.

"Trust me, it sounds better than it looks."

"That seems... improbable."

"I won't torture you with a Goolgol image search. In any case, from what I overheard, it would seem like he got a little too rape-y with a lady he was with. She grabbed him by the nuts and squeezed for all she was worth. Apparently, she only really got a hold of one of them."

"Sounds like he deserved it," Bruce observed darkly. "I assume the cut was also in return for his behavior from the same lady?" She nodded. He pondered this for a moment before adding, "What else?"

"That's it. Just the cut and the squished plum."

"That wasn't what I meant. What happened which convinced you that you had to get the hell away from south Florida?"

"I felt like the whole experience was unsettling, but otherwise unremarkable. I went home that night and forgot about it. When I went in for my next shift, I found out that the doctor, the one who got reassigned, had passed away. The scuttlebutt was that he had committed suicide but that didn't sit right with me. He had two young children, and he was crazy about his wife. I asked one of the cops who was on duty in the ED about it and she told me that it was a bunch of BS. The way she heard it, the doctor's body was found in his car in the middle of the road with his throat cut. There was a knife in his hand, but otherwise his hands were clean."

"Meaning he didn't do it," Bruce observed grimly. "You'd think those clumsy bastards would have come up with something better. Evidence aside, it's a rare person who has the mental fortitude to cut their own throat."

"I wouldn't know. I tried to shake it off, but then I spotted that little guy again. He was talking to one of the other nurses in the ED, but he didn't see me. Fortunately, ED's are built like mazes so I was able to get out without being spotted. I went by my sitter's and grabbed Alton before bolting. That was the day you pulled us from the car."

"So this is all about obscuring the fact that a mafia thug literally got his manhood challenged?"

"I guess. Like I said, it didn't occur to me that they'd do anything until my friend got killed."

"Don't forget the fact that they tried to kill you too. As I said, these are very bad people. They are the very definition of toxic masculinity. If he's decided that no one can live who knows about his injury, he's unlikely to change his mind. And clearly, he was high enough in their organization to be able to wield significant resources."

"So, what? I'm fucked?"

Bruce shook his head firmly and said, "I already told you, Reyna. I won't let them hurt you or Alton."

"But how can you stop them?" Reyna asked despondently.

Seventeen

Reyna

Bruce was quiet for so long that Reyna began to suspect that he had no intention of answering. As the silence stretched between them, she took a moment to truly look at him. He was at once remarkable and ordinary. He stood at about one-hundred-eighty centimeters tall and massed roughly eighty kilograms with short brown hair. All profoundly average. Where the average ended was with one look at his unfailingly serious face. A jagged scar ran from his right eye down over his cheek to his jaw. There was another scar along the left side of his head, just above his ear, which was partially obscured by his almost certainly self-groomed hair. Outside of the scarring, there were also the unfailingly hard grey eyes. Taken together, he presented an objectively unsettling visage.

Yet, despite his appearance, she felt no discomfort about not only being in his presence but being alone with him without even the benefit of a friend standing by to step in should something go wrong. It was this fact, more than anything else, which drove her to get the answers she sought. Because, as her subconscious kept reminding her, she had every reason in the world to not only feel uncomfortable around him, but to insist he be locked up immediately.

Bruce pulled her from her reverie by quietly saying, "I wasn't always a hermit living alone in central Florida."

"That's hardly surprising, considering you don't have either a Latino or a southern accent."

"Before I came to Accassihiapa, I spent a long time working odd jobs in central and south America."

"You mean, like, washing dishes?"

"More like working as a scout for special operations teams tasked with putting a stop to drug dealers."

"Oh," Reyna replied with raised eyebrows. "Do you get dental with that?"

"No," Bruce replied with a hint of a smile. "Unless you count having to pull your own tooth because you had a cavity during a particularly lengthy mission."

Reyna frowned and said, "Let me guess, you disinfected it by gargling gasoline."

"Tequila."

"That's barely an improvement. You're lucky it didn't get infected."

"Oh, it did. I ended up cauterizing it."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Bruce shrugged and said, "It was the best option available to me at the time. We were in the middle of the Bolivian jungle. The only possibility we had for extraction was achieving our objective, which was still over fifty kilometers away."

"You said you were a scout. Does that mean you were responsible for finding the bad guys so you could call in the troops?"

"Sometimes there was a larger team backing me up. Other times it was just me."

"My God. How does that come about? Were you in the special forces or the Navy SEALs?"

"No," Bruce said calmly. "I told you before, I was never in the armed forces. The work I did down south was entirely as a contractor."

"Contractor? Or mercenary?"

"Whichever label you're comfortable with."

"And just how in the hell did you wind up doing that?"

"I guess you could say I failed my way into the gig," Bruce replied with a wry smile. "After I found my way south, I got a job helping an anti-drug police task force identify dealers. As time went by, they asked me to do more. I got a lot of on-the-job training. Seven years later, I was the primary point person for nine different countries when it came to infiltration work."

"Did you..." Reyna began.

Bruce regarded her coldly and said, "Be careful, Reyna. I agreed to answer your questions. So make sure you really want that answer before you ask."

She sighed mightily before saying, "Did you ever have to... kill... anyone?"

"Yes," he answered simply. "But I never took any pleasure from it."

"Is that what convinces you that you can protect us?"

"I never said I was certain I could protect you, Reyna. Only that I will commit my life to doing so. The grim reaper comes for us all, or so I've been told. But, until he and I finally meet, no harm will come to you."

"I can't ask you to do that, Bruce. You don't even know me."

"I know enough," he answered simply. He then took a deep breath before adding, "I have answered your question. Will you answer another of mine?"

"Of course."

"If this hadn't happened, if you'd never met that ball-less cretin, what would you be doing tonight?"

"Studying for entrance exams." She smiled at Bruce's surprised expression before continuing, "I love being a nurse, but it isn't a great life. Alton spends nearly as much time with his babysitter as he does with me. And that doesn't even account for the stress of the work itself. I want to get my masters so I can move away from bedside and start working normal hours."

"That's understandable."

"You expected me to say out clubbing with Hannah?"

"She certainly did seem to have an active social life."

Reyna chuckled and said, "That girl gets more dick than a porn star. More power to her, I say. I used to be her primary wing-woman. Hitting the clubs four nights a week and living what we called our best life." She noticed Bruce's concerned expression and said, "You think I'm a slut, don't you?"

"That was not judgement," Bruce said carefully. "It was concern. My gender is not known for exemplary behavior, especially when one is considering the eighteen to thirty-four demo in a big city nightclub."

"There were certainly a few exciting moments, but our motto was no regrets. We didn't want to be in our fifties and left wondering what it would have been like to really live our lives. Or, even worse, find ourselves hating our husbands because we hadn't lived enough to know if our shitty sex lives were because our marriage had lost its spark or because neither they nor we were good at fucking."

"Sounds eminently sensible. I hope you never regretted that lifestyle."

Reyna shrugged and said, "As I said, the lifestyle was not without its risks. But, on the whole, I'd say it was a great time. And, it led, at least indirectly, to me getting Alton. Now," she added loudly as she stood up. "I think I'm going to get a drink. You want anything?"

"Water will be fine."

"Let me guess, you don't drink unless there's a dental emergency involved."

"I have been known to drink socially from time to time, but not tonight."

"Why not? Afraid I'll try to take advantage of you?"

"I need to have my wits about me."

"You really think we're in imminent danger, don't you."

He paused for a moment before replying, "I hope I'm wrong, but I don't think I am. That's why I wish you had agreed to my suggestion that you come with me."

"What makes your cabin that much safer than this place?" she asked as she poured herself a glass of wine.

"No one can get within a kilometer of there without my knowledge. But it was not my intention to take you there either. I think you should get out of the state altogether, if not the country."

"I just got a job," she said irritably. "How the hell am I going to afford anything if we pull up stakes and disappear again."

"You needn't worry about that."

"Like I didn't have to worry about the hotel room, or the groceries, or all the food that got delivered, or the cell phone? I'm grateful, Bruce, I really am, and you seem to be a decent enough guy; but I just can't quiet that voice in my head which says no one, especially no man who is at once both straight and single, would do so much and expect nothing in return."

"I understand your conundrum. You do not know me, and therefore have no reason to take me at my word. If our roles were reversed, I would not trust me either."

"I didn't say I didn't trust you, Bruce. I just wish I had a better understanding of why I was nominated to receive your protection."

"Because you need it. If someone else in town was being threatened by the Georgian mob, I'd be in their living room."

"No," Reyna said quickly. "I don't buy it. You swore to protect me before you had any idea what I was up against. This is about more than just someone being in trouble, and I need to know the whole story before I can even think about trusting you."

"I can't explain it, Reyna. There's just something about you which compels me to protect you and your family." He paused for a moment before muttering, "It would be easier to ask a moth to explain why its drawn to a flame."

"You're saying you're drawn to me, even if it destroys you?"

"Something like that."

"I thought you said this wasn't sexual," she huffed before downing the rest of her wine.

"It isn't," he growled. "The fact that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen is completely beside the point. That's not part of who I am anymore."

"What are you, a monk?"

"I don't adhere to any religion, but otherwise I'd say that's a reasonably accurate description. I seek nothing from you, Reyna, with the possible exception of a willingness to do as I ask in the furtherance of protecting your family. All I care about is your safety, and your happiness. The former is something I am committed to guaranteeing, no matter the cost. The latter I can only hope will be yours with the benefit of long life. It is certainly not something I would endanger by trying to forge some kind of relationship with you. That path is closed to me." He paused for a moment, as though lost in thought, before whispering. "Forever."

Reyna opened her mouth to reply, but no words would come. She had been prepared for this line of questioning to reveal that he was attracted to her, even in love with her (as preposterous as that seemed). After all, she had caught him looking several times, and he was certainly paying her more attention than anyone else in town. However, his emotionless assertion sidestepped those issues altogether by insisting that he would not allow himself to form a relationship ever again. She had started to challenge him, to call his claims farcical, but the words would not form because she knew in her heart that he meant them with complete sincerity. At best, he had built up whatever had befallen him in his mind until the only possible recourse was to run away. At worst, he was a truly lost soul.

With that realization, she felt a bolt of sadness permeate her soul. It was no longer relevant if he liked her, or if he was attracted to her, or even if he loved her. It did not matter because something so fundamentally profound had occurred in his past that he was, for all practical purposes, psychologically incapable of ever acting on such feelings. She had seen such cases before during nursing school, while working on a rotation focusing on mental health. Sometimes the brain performed what amounted to an emergency override; shutting down a portion of one's soul, in order to save the rest. Whatever trauma had befallen him had created a man who would desperately grasp at any opportunity to make amends, even if he likely thought himself incapable of redemption. He deserved her sympathy, not her suspicion.

She returned her eyes to his to find him still staring at her with the same combination of hardness and hollowness she had seen since their first meeting. She sighed wearily before murmuring, "I'm tired, Bruce."

"Then I should go."

She rose with him and said, "Go where? Home? Or back to the parking lot so you can keep watch?"

"I was only crossing the parking lot when I was... distracted. I apologize again for my behavior. In any case, that was hardly an optimal spot from which to observe all possible approaches to your building..."

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, "I wasn't expecting an apology, merely seeking clarity. If you're dead set on this course of action: remaining nearby for our protection..."

"I am," Bruce interjected calmly.

"Then you should just stay here," Reyna finished. "No sense in you lurking around in the cold."

Bruce nodded his assent before saying, "I accept."

She went to the hall closet and collected a pillow and blanket. Upon her return, she placed them on the end of the couch.

He looked at them with surprise before meeting her gaze and saying, "You needn't have bothered."

"It was no bother," she replied quietly. "Good night, Bruce."

He stood and walked to her window, peering out into the darkness beyond, before replying, "Good night, Reyna."

Eighteen

Bruce

Despite the unease Bruce felt increasing with every passing moment, he could not deny the fact that the area surrounding Reyna's apartment was unfailingly quiet. It had been three hours since she had gone to sleep, during which time he had had plenty of time to remark inwardly on just how little typically happened in this town. There was not even the distraction of a noisily passing train since the north-south arteries were all further to the east.

He had risen every fifteen minutes to patrol her admittedly small apartment, excepting only Reyna's bedroom. He was unsure how to feel about the feeling which washed over him whenever he peeked in on the peacefully sleeping Alton. He chalked it up to the same protectiveness he felt for Reyna, steadfastly ignoring the voice in the back of his head which insisted that the way he felt about her was unique in all his lives.

He felt the first hint of inattentiveness niggling at the end of his awareness, so he decided to take a lap around the property to heighten his senses. After pausing to 'borrow' Reyna's keys, he proceeded outside. He made his way slowly through the interior of the building, noting the nameplate on each unit and equating each with his memory of the town's residents.

He approached one of the unit's exterior doors carefully, after temporarily disabling the lighting in the hallway. From his vantage point, he could see a new vehicle in the parking lot. He regarded it for several moments as he worked through various scenarios. Ultimately, he decided the direct approach was preferrable over taking the newcomer by surprise.

He pushed open the panic bar of the exit to the building and strode purposefully toward the vehicle. When he arrived, he opened the passenger door and sat down as he said, "Evening, Sheriff."

"I think you mean morning," Sheriff Means replied gruffly. Bruce merely shrugged in reply, prompting the sheriff to add, "Why am I not surprised to find you here."

"I'm not sure. I told you who she's dealing with. I appreciate you taking me seriously."

"I figured I'd drop by and make sure everything was quiet. Better safe than sorry."

"I'm indebted to you."

Nathaniel paused for several moments before speaking again. "I need to ask you something, Bruce. I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but..."

"Ms. Lewiston is aware of my presence. In fact, she is likely currently under the impression that I am sleeping on her couch."

"I see," Nathaniel responded with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't care what you think about me, Sheriff. But I won't have you thinking less of Ms. Lewiston. There's nothing happening beyond my doing whatever it takes to keep her safe. She's a fine woman."

"I didn't suggest otherwise, although I am a bit curious about why you'd think that me implying something was happening between you two somehow impugns her character."

"Would you let your daughter date me, Sheriff?"

"Hell no. My daughter's sixteen years old. But Ms. Lewiston's a grown woman. You can play the cantankerous loner all you want, but I know better. You're a good man, Bruce. This town's lucky to have you. Ms. Lewiston could do a hell of a lot worse."

Bruce shook his head in irritation before saying, "I'll let you get back to your duties, Sheriff. I appreciate you stopping by. I'll let you know if I see anything suspicious."

"See that you do. I'd rather not have another uncomfortable conversation with the D. A. about a body."

"I'll do my best," Bruce muttered as he climbed from the vehicle.

He walked purposefully away from the building, heading toward the pond to the building's rear. Once he had left the light, he slowed his steps and picked up his awareness. He continued to slow until he reached a large tree against which he could lean. He waited until his eyes fully adjusted to the light before proceeding slowly around the perimeter of the property.

He spent several hours outside, ranging consistently further from the apartment building but never allowing it to leave his sight. On the whole, it was a thoroughly boring detail. Nothing changed, everyone was asleep. This set Bruce's nerves even further on edge. This town was the perfect situation for someone who viewed the laws and customs of their fellow man with derision. It would be child's play for them to get in and out without anyone knowing anything had happened until it was far too late. This knowledge kept him at optimum alertness for the remainder of the evening.

***

When Reyna emerged from her bedroom the following morning, she found Bruce standing in the middle of her living room. That spot being the only place from which he could see out of the windows facing both north and west. He glanced in her direction, his eyes noticing, but not lingering, on the way her leggings and tank-top formed to her body like a second skin.

Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing him and she stammered, "Oh, you're already up."

"Indeed," he replied, wincing internally at the deception via omission. "How did you sleep?"

"Quite well, thank you. How about you?"

"As well as could be expected."

"I can't imagine that couch was very comfortable, considering I got it at the second-hand store."

"Don't give it a second thought." He gave her outfit another glance and added, "Going somewhere?"

She pointed back at him and said, "That depends on you. Feel like watching out for Alton while I go for a run?"

"I have no objections to looking after him, but I very much wish you would consider staying here. Otherwise, I'd be forced to get him up and subject him to what would likely be either a very exciting, or very uncomfortable, piggy-back ride."

"Likely both. He wiggles," she replied with a smirk. She then sighed mightily and said, "I take it a completely quiet and uneventful night did nothing to convince you that I don't require around the clock babysitting." Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but then snapped it closed again when he reconsidered the words he had been about to speak. Reyna pointed at him sternly and said, "What was that? You were about to say something, then you went all Bruce on me."

"It was not a pleasant thought," he admitted after a moment's thought.

"I'm a big girl, Bruce. I've reached into a man's body and pumped his heart by hand in the OR went everything went tits up. I can take it."

"I fear every moment of peace only brings us closer to an inevitable confrontation."

"Well, that's a cheerful thought to wake up to."

"I warned you."

She exhaled wearily before saying, "I guess that leaves yoga. Want to join me?"

"I'd better keep an eye on things," he stammered after a momentary lapse of consciousness at the thought of her doing yoga in her form fitting outfit.

"Your loss. Do you mind if we switch places? That's the largest open area in the apartment."

"Of course," he conceded with a final glance out both windows. "Don't hesitate to shove me out of the way. I'm the one who's imposing, after all."

"I'd tell you to leave if I didn't want you here, Bruce."

"Oh," he said in astonishment. She appeared not to notice and went about laying out her mat and beginning a clearly well-rehearsed routine. Bruce knew nothing about yoga, tending toward the more menial methods for maintaining physical fitness: namely walking for several hours per day. He quickly gained an appreciation for Reyna's definition of exercise as she began working up a sweat, and not just because of the way her outfit accentuated her remarkable body. His training taught him the critical importance of such traits as gracefulness and breath control. Such things could mean the difference between life and death in a covert mission.

He managed to pry his eyes away from his beguiling companion, not wanting to endure another instance of her pointing out the undeniable fact that he was apparently incapable of keeping his leering gaze from her captivating curves. He decided instead to make himself useful above and beyond his commitment to guard their safety with his life. To that end, he began hunting around her kitchen in search of something which could, with the application of heat and time, be turned into breakfast.

Reyna's routine lasted forty-five minutes. By the time she was finished, Bruce had managed to whip up a reasonable approximation of a meal. She headed into the kitchen, toweling herself off as she went.

When she spotted the spread he had laid out, her eyes grew large and she exclaimed, "Holy schnikes!"

"Don't worry," Bruce said defensively. "I plan to replace everything once the store opens."

"I'm not worried about that, you dork. I just can't believe you did all this."

Bruce had prepared five types of vegetables and three types of cheeses for inclusion in omelettes and the bacon, muffins and fruit were ready to go. He handed her a cup of coffee and said, "Cream or sugar?"

"No, thank you. This is incredible, Bruce. Thank you."

"It was nothing," he deflected. "When does Alton typically wake up?"

"When I drag him out of bed. I was going to go shower, but now my stomach's growling. Let me go grab Mr. Sleepy-head."

Bruce watched her depart, busying himself with cleaning up while she was gone in an effort to distract himself from how the look of joy which had inhabited her face threatened to obliterate the walls he had constructed around his soul.

"Where's doggie," a tiny voice suddenly asked sleepily from next to his hip.

"Charlie's at home."

"Who's watching after him?" Reyna inquired with concern.

"He's pretty self-sufficient. He's got a dog-door he can use to go in or out and he's got gizmo's that have a week's worth of food and water."

"But I'm sure he gets lonely."

"I doubt it, unless his self-worth is somehow tied into human reactions to his devastating farts."

"Fart!" Alton enthused.

"Sorry," Bruce murmured to Reyna.

"It's fine. I screw up so often that I had to retire the swear jar for lack of funding."

"Fart," Alton repeated.

"That's right, little man," Bruce admitted begrudgingly. "And they're awful. Be thankful he's not here or we'd be eating on the patio."

Reyna guffawed and said, "You're not making a compelling argument for us to come visit you."

"Forget everything I said," Bruce interjected quickly. "Charlie's a perfect host and he'd love to have you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

A brief silence ensued as Reyna stared at Bruce expectantly, causing his higher brain functions to unanimously call in sick. He was, quite literally, struck dumb. It was not her alluring looks, or her friendly demeanor, or even her quick wit which robbed him of his cognitive abilities. It was, instead, her unfailing openness. He had no explanation for it, but it was as if she had deemed him worthy of not only her attention, but her true friendship. Without words, she made it clear that she trusted him, and expected his trust in return. He realized she had been acting this way for days, and it had taken him so long to realize it because it was a feeling which was wholly alien to him in all but the most distant of his lives.

She interrupted the awkward silence by saying, "How does this work? Is it chef's choice, or are you taking orders?"

"Oh... um, right. The latter." He looked to Alton and said, "How 'bout it, young man. What'll ya' have?"

"Fart!"

Bruce glanced sheepishly at Reyna, who said, "You've created a monster." She glanced at the veggies he had prepared and said, "You got anything there which is the same color as the eggs?"

"Not as such. But perhaps he could be convinced to give them a try anyway."

"I'll bet you anything you want that you're wrong. You don't even have to pick what it is first."

"Deal," Bruce replied after a moment's thought. He turned to Alton and said, "What's your favorite animal?"

"Dinosaur!"

"Right. Why don't you two take a seat?"

Bruce set about sauteing the vegetables for a few moments before he got down to the omelettes. He made Reyna's before starting on Alton's in the hope that the boy would be somewhat influenced by how readily his mother ate. The noises of appreciation she made as she ate certainly did not help Bruce's efforts, but he managed to keep the cooking going. He poured the eggs into the pan and then set about meticulously placing the veggies across the rapidly setting eggs. By the time he was done, Reyna had finished eating. He approached the table with the pan in one hand and a plate in the other.

"That was incredible, Bruce. Thank you so much." She looked to her son and said, "Please try it honey. It really is very, very good."

Bruce looked down at the boy and said, "You ready?" He got a nod in reply, so he positioned the plate upside down on the pan before placing his hand over it and flipping the entire assembly over. He then lifted the pan off the plate with flourish and whistled the tune from a movie about dinosaurs which had come out when he was roughly Alton's age.

He set the plate on the table, prompting Alton to shout, "Dinosaur!"

"Holy shit," Reyna whispered as she beheld the plate which had a reasonable approximation of the logo from the aforementioned movie integrated into the omelette and made entirely of vegetables.

Alton dug in without a word, prompting Reyna's mouth to drop open in shock.

"I can't believe it," she murmured. "That's brilliant."

"Old trick my dad taught me," he admitted.

"I'm still impressed," she said softly as she rose from her seat. She leaned into him and kissed his cheek briefly before saying softly, "Don't forget about our bet." She raised her voice and said, "I'm going to go take a shower, honey. Be good for Mr. Bruce," as she sauntered out of the room in a fashion which scrambled Bruce's thoughts more thoroughly than the eggs in the omelette the toddler at his side was busy devouring.

Nineteen

Reyna

"There's someone following us," Bruce said softly from behind the wheel of his truck.

"Do you think it's them?" Reyna asked worriedly as she turned to look through the back window.

"Don't look," Bruce hissed urgently. "That only tips them off. Just, act normal."

Reyna whipped her head back around to look out the front window, but not before she spotted a beat-up sedan a few hundred meters behind them. She said, "How long have they been there?"

"Since we passed the dollar store."

"That was only a few kilometers back," Reyna observed carefully. "And it's not like there have been an abundance of side streets."

"What are you saying?"

"Just that it could be a coincidence. Besides, wouldn't you expect El Guapo to drive a nicer car. That truck that nearly did us in must have cost a hundred grand."

She had jokingly called her faceless pursuers by the name from one of her favorite movies shortly after Bruce had taken up residence in their lives and the moniker had stuck. She had been particularly proud of managing to drop the trump card in the quote game several times using that name.

She tried catching sight of the sedan in the truck's side mirror, but the angle was wrong. She then resorted to flipping down the sunshade, only to find it did not include a vanity mirror.

"Settle down," Bruce grumbled. "I got this."

"And how exactly do you 'got this'? May I remind you that my son is in the car."

Bruce glanced down at where he had secured Alton's booster seat between them on the truck's bench seat before saying, "How could I forget."

"This was your idea, buster."

"I wasn't complaining."

"Fair enough," she replied more quietly. "What's the plan?"

"For now? Nothing. We don't want to tip them off that they've been spotted. If they're still behind us when we get to my place, we keep going. If they're still behind us in a half-hour, we call the Sheriff and lead them to the posse."

"What if they... um... do something?"

Bruce glanced in the review mirror again before answering. "Depends. Unless that car's been souped up, neither of us likely have the advantage in the speed department. They've likely got us beat in handling where we'll fare much better off the road. Hard to say until I know their intentions." He let his eyes meet hers for a moment before adding, "But, no matter what..."

"I know," she finished softly. "You won't let them hurt us. Even though I can't imagine what you'd do to stop them."

She tried to sit back and allow the tension in her body to dissipate, if only for Alton's benefit. As she did, she noticed that Bruce's right hand dropped from the steering wheel to caress the opening of his satchel, which he had inexplicably slung across his body where any sane person would place their safety belt. She wondered, not for the first time, just what he kept in the bag which had never been more than a meter from him in the six days since he had shown up unannounced at her apartment.

It had been, without any possibility of doubt, the strangest week of her life. The only time he had been out of her sight was when she used the restroom, or when she retired to her bedroom in the evening. He followed her to work and stood sentry in a corner of the hallway where he could maintain visual contact with both her and her son. He accompanied them to the store and blithely paid for everything by somehow having made arrangements with the establishment in advance. He even tagged along when she went out for drinks with Mariko and Janice, sitting unobtrusively in a booth where he could watch all the doors while he colored with Alton. He went to great lengths to be at once inconspicuous and accommodating. The only thing he refused her was her plea that he grant himself a respite from his constant vigilance.

The response of Reyna's friends to his sudden, and ubiquitous, presence in their lives was both predictable and uncomfortable. They insisted he, as they put it, fancied her. At least, she reminded herself with a wry smile, that was how Mariko put it. Janice was somewhat coarser in her insistence that he wanted to 'fuck her so hard his dick broke off'. The part of this that made her uncomfortable, if indeed that was the right word for it, was that she was: a) not entirely certain they were wrong and b) reasonably certain she hoped they were right.

She was pulled from her ruminations by the sound of Bruce muttering, "False alarm."

"Huh?"

"That sedan pulled off into the Clarkson's farm."

"Is it possible they spotted you and pulled off?"

He shrugged and said, "Anything's possible. But typically when you're tailing someone and want to avoid notice, you'd rotate out one tail for another."

Reyna glanced around to see that there was not another car in sight along the arrow-straight piece of two-lane tarmac. After several moments searching, she turned back to Bruce and said, "I guess they gave up in the face of your undeniable masculinity."

Bruce's neck grew a shade darker, which she had recently learned was the equivalent, for a typical male, of turning dark scarlet combined with profuse sweating and helpless stammering. The only other outward sign of his entertaining discomfort was a slight tightening of his fingers on the steering wheel.

He turned into his driveway and hopped out of the truck to open the gate before she could truly appreciate his discomfort. Charlie came bounding out to greet them, looking none the worse for wear for a week of solitude outside of daily check-ins from Skip. Bruce pulled behind the house into a barn and quickly closed the double doors to obscure the change in occupancy.

He led them inside, as he repeated, "Please excuse the mess," for what was at least the hundredth time since Reyna had finally agreed to dinner at his house.

In truth, she cared little for what his house looked like as long as there were no sex dolls or white nationalist paraphernalia laying about. She had agreed to dinner at his house, prepared by her, in the desperate hope that such a move would finally allow him to relax his guard, if only for a little while.

She had grown suspicious of his behavior on the second night when she found him standing sentry in the living room after waking just after three AM to use the restroom and deciding to check on Alton while she was up. She had insisted he sleep, but he had said he would rest shortly. Her new companion, it would seem, was a master of the language of imprecision and noncommitting. It was always 'later'; or 'shortly'; or 'when he finished making them a five-course meal'; or after he gave her a massage that turned her entire body into a semi-cohesive gelatinous mass.

Despite his unending warnings about the state of his domicile, she still gasped in surprise when she first glanced at the interior.

"I warned you," Bruce grumbled.

"Are you daft?" she exclaimed. "This place is incredible!"

She looked around in wonder at the walls which were, with the exception of the kitchen cabinets, completely covered in bookshelves which were sagging with literally thousands of books. The other noteworthy thing was an almost complete lack of anything which required electricity. Not only did he not have what were, at least for most of the developed world, basic necessities like a television or computer. There were also no appliances other than a small refrigerator and she could only spot a handful of lights. It was as if she had stepped one hundred years back in time upon crossing his threshold.

"As in, not credible? Are you suggesting I arranged to have all these books carted in over the last few days?"

"No," she replied giddily. "It just wasn't what... I... expected... um..."

Her words slowed until they failed her altogether. She crossed the room quickly to an armchair in the corner, heedless of Bruce's desperate attempts to distract her. The chair was placed so that it would allow the occupant to see far more than half of the surrounding countryside. On a table beside the chair was a stack of books topped by what was undeniably a romance novel with a bookmark in it.

She picked it up with a triumphant expression on her face and said, "What! Is! This!"

As she watched, his face lost the guarded openness she had seen for the last several days and shut down completely. He turned and stalked to the kitchen, lighting a crude propane stove and placing a kettle of water on the burner. She reached his side as he dumped some coffee into a French press and resumed staring vacantly out the window.

"I'm sorry, Bruce," she said softly as she rubbed his arm. She felt his wiry muscles tense beneath the Henley he wore, but he did not reply. "I swear, I wasn't making fun of you. I happen to love that book. And I think it's very evolved of you to read books because they're good, rather than because they align to what society says a 'real' man should like. Fuck society, and their preposterous portrayals of masculinity. Those morons could learn a lot from watching you."

"I don't read them because they're good," he whispered through clenched teeth.

"Why then?" she asked gently, her hand no more able to leave the comforting heat of his arm than it could transubstantiate into pure energy.

"To remember," he replied so softly she would have immediately doubted she heard anything at all if not for the stabbing pain in her soul which suddenly consumed her.

She knew he was alone, that he suffered in silence for something which she might never fully understand. But, until that moment, she had not felt the full measure of his emptiness. As it washed over her, she was brought to tears on his behalf and wrapped her arms around him tightly. He did not shy away from her touch, but she felt him tense at her actions.

"I'm here," she whispered, "if you ever want to talk... or even if you'll just let me keep you company. You don't have to keep doing this to yourself." Again, he made no reply, but she took some small measure of comfort from the fact that she felt his muscles relax, even if only slightly. She took a deep breath before adding, "Now, sit. Alton and I will make dinner."

"You don't need to do that," he replied, still with a noticeable amount of huskiness in his voice.

"Don't be silly. Get reacquainted with Charlie. We've got this."

She led him over to what was obviously 'his' chair and turned her back on him to strut into the kitchen. The shopping bags Bruce had carried inside were sitting on the small counter and she quickly got to work. Alton was tasked with drawing 'placemats', in truth nothing more than construction paper and crayons but Bruce had planted the idea earlier that morning and the toddler had accepted the job with gusto. She found the kitchen to be well-stocked, if cramped, and soon had things well under way.

She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced up to find Bruce nodding off in his easy chair. She smiled happily at the thought of him finally getting some rest, but her victory was short lived. As she watched, his head snapped up and he looked around frantically before angrily climbing to his feet. He drank down his cup of coffee, grimacing at the clearly still scalding liquid, before he looked up and met her eyes. Their gazes only locked for a moment before he looked away in obvious shame.

Before she could plead again for him to rest, he growled, "I'll be outside," and stalked to the door, exiting without a backward look.

Twenty

Bruce

"You stupid, lazy, worthless, hopeless, brainless, ignorant piece of rotten monkey shit," Bruce grumbled to himself as he stomped down the stairs from his porch. He proceeded straight to his well and drew a bucket of water. The act of pouring the chilled water over his head did little to improve his mood. Worse, it also did almost nothing to combat the exhaustion which was threatening to overwhelm him.

It had been nine days since he had last slept for more than an hour at a time, which was nearing a personal record. He had reached the truly dangerous stage of sleep deprivation. He had successfully fought through the faux drunkenness of several days without sleep, and the deliriousness that followed, to find himself in a state where he could, and frequently did, fall asleep with no warning. He had no memory of sitting in the chair in which he had moments earlier fallen asleep. One minute, he had been dealing with the crippling shame of Reyna having immediately discovered his one vice, his one connection with at least the illusion of human emotion; the next he had jerked himself awake, the knowledge of his weakness consuming him.

He walked around his house in a daze, trying in vain to ignore the voice in his head which insisted that his current course of action was unsustainable. He found a section of downspout in the barn that was starting to rust and decided that a quick project was just what he needed to wake himself back up. He ambled into the barn and began rummaging around for what he would need. Miraculously, he managed to collect the necessary supplies and get back outside before the inevitable occurred and he forgot why he needed the wire brush and rust-proof spray paint in the first place. He circled the barn several times in a haze of confusion before finally spotting the offending bit of metal.

He had just finished the task when Reyna stepped outside and called out, "Dinner's ready." His weary eyes swung in her direction and his mouth dropped open at the vision awaiting him. She was standing with a hand on one hip, accentuating the narrowness of her waist and the perfect shape of her breasts despite the flowing light blue sundress she wore. The light breeze blew some of her hair in front of her face, causing her to enticingly pull it back to tuck it behind her ear. This motion also served to lift her sundress slightly, showing off not a small amount of her perfectly toned thighs. He had never known anyone so effortlessly, incredibly, sexy. But what truly stole his breath more effortlessly than a twenty-klick run in full kit was the complete tenderness which was always present in her angelic face. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and it filled him with more terror than a squad of cartel goons.

"Hello?" Reyna added worriedly.

"I'm coming," he grumbled.

He quickly replaced his tools in the barn and made for the house, giving the surrounding emptiness a final glance before removing his boots and proceeding inside. A bouquet of delicious aromas assaulted his nostrils the second he opened the door.

"Wash up, honey," Reyna said loudly. Alton jumped up and trotted into the kitchen, but her eyes had been on Bruce when she spoke.

He proceeded into the kitchen and did as he was told, his mind filled with the undeniable happiness he felt at the domesticity of the moment. It was like something out of fiction: a beautiful woman making dinner for her beautiful son and her...

The happiness he had felt disappeared in an instant, his mind refusing to finish the sentence. He could never, would never, know such happiness. Love was something for the preposterous books he read, or for the comfortable teeming masses who would never know the despair he had felt, the horrors he had inflicted. His was a life of service, and of penance, not of redemption. There was no possibility of happily ever after for him, there was only pain until his unlucky streak ran out and he was granted the absolution of death.

He sat up straight in his chair, eating robotically only because he knew the calories the food contained better served his mission than would running from his feelings. Besides, he argued internally, he was used to quelling his emotions. That skill had been one of the first he had mastered when he had first entered Latin America. He tasted nothing. Just chew, swallow, repeat.

"Where'd you go?" Reyna asked softly. He mustered only an irritated grunt in reply, prompting her to continue, "You were almost smiling there for a moment, then something changed and you... went away."

"It was nothing," he muttered. "Thank you for the food. That was very thoughtful."

"You've cooked for us for, like, a week straight. This was literally the least I could do."

"Be that as it may, you have my thanks." He scooped up the last of his food, swallowing quickly before he stood. He announced, "I'm going to go check the perimeter," to no one in particular before hefting his satchel and departing.

Charlie followed belatedly, having apparently decided he slightly favored Bruce's company over Alton's fawning adoration. Bruce set a quick pace, not quite a jog but significantly faster than his usual stroll, in the direction of the furthest corner of his property. He went through the routine of walking the fence line, paying little heed to his surroundings as he focused the entirety of what remained of his mental reserves on not thinking about the look of worry on Reyna's face.

"Why the fuck does she care?" he grumbled to his panting companion. "I'm nothing, nobody. What the hell is wrong with her to make her give a shit about the likes of me?"

Charlie's answer was both unprintable, and smelly. But he nuzzled against Bruce's thigh companionably, so the scales were balanced.

The desire to stop and rest was almost irresistible. His fatigue was impacting all of his senses at this point; he was depending on Charlie more than his eyes to choose their path. The sun was nearing the western horizon. The moon, nearly full at this point, was not far behind it. The scene made Bruce realize with amazement that it had been exactly a month since Reyna's car had been forced off the road. He started to curse the upheaval she had brought into his life but could not make the words form. It was not her fault she had run afoul of a murderous gang of thugs. Nor was it her fault that she was the best person he had ever met. A person so good she could find herself caring about an undeserving hermit who invaded her privacy and could not stop having lecherous thoughts about her.

He finished his circuit of the property no wiser than he had started. Furthermore, he could not recall a single moment of the journey. Had Charlie been a more aspiring, or perhaps more cunning, companion, he could have easily led Bruce to the feed store a few kilometers away where his favorite treats were sold. Rather than prolonging the inevitable, he entered the house without pause.

Reyna glanced up at him with an unguarded smile from his favorite easy chair. In her lap, she held one of his forbidden books. Alton was sleeping on the couch beneath a light blanket.

"Sorry for the delay," he announced. Reyna's eyes widened and she glanced in her son's direction. Bruce winced and lowered his voice to add, "I can take you two back home now."

"No," Reyna replied simply.

Bruce felt his thoughts scramble, as they so often did in her presence. He barely managed a weak, "Huh?" in reply.

"No," she repeated. "You're far too tired to drive, and I can't drive a standard. We'll just have to stay here tonight."

"Fine," he grunted. He looked around helplessly before adding, "I'll keep watch from the porch," and stepping back outside.

Moments later, he heard the door open, and Reyna stepped out after him. She glanced around briefly, easily spotting the single rocking chair and dog bed, before sighing and taking a seat on the step.

"What are you doing?" Bruce grumbled.

"Keeping watch with you."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Are you suggesting I'm incapable of keeping watch? Is this an experience thing or is it simply the fact that I have tits instead of a dick that makes me unsuitable?"

Bruce flushed at the mention of her inarguably perfect breasts and snapped, "I didn't say you were unsuitable. I told you not to be ridiculous."

"You have had, at most, five hours of sleep in the last seven days. And before you feed me some bullshit about your training, remember that you're talking to a nurse. I've done forty-hour shifts when hurricanes hit. I've pulled three consecutive all-nighters before finals. This isn't about training, Bruce. It's about biology. Humans can't effectively go without sleep this long. It's unhealthy, unwise, and unsafe. You will sleep tonight."

"I can't," he began, but she quickly cut him off again.

"Fine. Then neither will I."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'll sleep when you do. If you want to stay awake until you literally collapse from exhaustion, then I'll be right there beside you."

"That's the most asinine thing I've ever heard. Besides, who will keep watch?"

"The first day you informed me about your intention to go all Secret Service on me, you suggested we come here. You said Charlie would know if anyone was on the property long before any human could detect them. Was that bullshit?"

"No," he admitted gruffly.

"Then your argument about standing guard has been rendered null and void. What else ya' got?"

He opened his mouth several times, only to close it rather than speaking the words which sprang to the forefront of his mind. Every argument rang hollow, sounding either hopelessly naïve or desperately morose. He finally settled on, "It doesn't matter in any case. There's only one bed. You might as well take it. I can just doze in the chair inside, as you've already seen."

"Not good enough. Poor sleep, which is what you'd get sitting up while you no doubt desperately try to stay awake, is hardly better than no sleep. Besides, there's plenty of room for two mature adults to share your bed. You're hardly a horny teenager who can't be trusted to keep his hands off the goods just because we happen to be under the same blanket."

"That's hardly the point."

"Then what is the point, oh wise one?" she retorted with feigned innocence, her mesmerizing brown eyes somehow twinkling in the fading light.

"It wouldn't be proper."

"Proper?" she exploded. "Who gives a fuck about proper? Are you trying to protect my reputation, or yours?"

"It's not about that," he replied wearily.

"Then what? Are you so repulsed by the idea of sharing a bed with me?"

"No," he snapped. She refused to bail him out, instead just staring at him expectantly as the awkwardness grew from uncomfortable, to painful, to 'someone needs to commit seppuku'. At length, he sighed and whispered, "You deserve better."

"Better than what?"

"Better than me. I can't allow you to defile yourself by laying with me."

"I'm not proposing we rip our clothes off and fuck like bunnies here, Bruce, although I suppose we could if you insist."

He smacked his hand on the support holding up the roof over the porch hard enough to shake the entire house and growled, "How the hell am I supposed to have a serious conversation with you when you're talking nonsense like that?"

"Who says I'm not being sincere? What's the matter, am I not pretty enough for you? You've got a weird way of showing it, what with all the leering."

"Forget it," Bruce muttered as he stalked off the porch without a destination in mind.

Before he made it to the bottom step, Reyna's effortlessly beautiful voice cut through the evening air like an arrow straight to Bruce's heart. "Don't go." His feet stopped almost of their own accord, as if they cared nothing for how his brain intended to react. She continued, "I was only trying to demonstrate how ridiculous you're acting."

"You can't..." he began before his voice failed him altogether and he had to begin anew. "To quote a book I'm quite fond of, 'Never tease an old dog; he might have one bite left'."

"Just because I said what I said in furtherance of making my point doesn't mean I was teasing you. Regardless, you're far too exhausted in any case." She sighed wearily. "Please just get some sleep, Bruce. I promise I'll be good. I just want you to get some rest." He stood from where he had been leaning heavily against the column and nearly fell when his equilibrium failed him for a moment. Reyna sprang to her feet and steadied him before glaring at him expectedly and whispering, "Please."

"As you wish," he mumbled, no longer able to stand without her assistance.

Twenty-One

Reyna

The sun rose reluctantly over the lonely plot of land nearly one hundred kilometers from any appreciable population center in the middle of southern Florida. Fog hung heavy over the land creating an eerie silence around the small cabin, which sat in the middle of an unfarmable plot of land just outside a town so small only the most zoomed in map would even admit its existence. Inside the tiny structure, barely large enough to contain a single bedroom, four souls slept peacefully. The couch held a young boy who, even in sleep, wore a cherubic smile which would make even the most ardently childless bachelor's heart grow a few sizes, and a large, loudly snoring, bloodhound. The structure's single bedroom held a bed barely large enough to be registered as a double in which two adults slumbered free from the cares which so often occupied their thoughts when awake.

The woman, who rested comfortably ensconced in the arms of the man, sighed contentedly as the first hint of consciousness interrupted her sleep. Her first thought was 'warmth', thanks to the powerful arms encircling her. After that, perplexingly, the next emotion she felt was horniness. Her initial confusion disappeared when she shifted slightly and felt an enticingly delightful prodding between her, as near as makes no difference, uncovered ass cheeks. Reyna had removed her dress in favor of a t-shirt of Bruce's before laying down the previous evening. The shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing her bottom which her thong did little to cover. She had managed to help her companion out of his outer layer before bed so all that separated her derriere from his erection was an unremarkable pair of briefs and the T-shirt he had refused to remove.

She decided to get up, rather than risk the inevitable stammering and apologizing Bruce would feel compelled to offer were he to awaken in this state. She gave herself ten more seconds to luxuriate in the feeling of not only his arousal, but also his strength, before reluctantly climbing from the bed. Bruce made her task even harder by groaning in disappointment at her absence. The desire to return to his embrace was almost overwhelming but she managed, albeit barely, to resist and quietly padded from the room without stopping to change back into her dress.

Much as Bruce had done on the first morning he had been at her house, Reyna set about preparing breakfast. His house was almost adorably rustic and completely off the grid. The running water was provided thanks to a cistern on the roof which was fed by a pump connected to the well. The range ran off propane, thanks to a tank the size of an SUV which sat just outside the house. The electricity, what little of it was required, was provided by solar panels with a propane power generator as a backup.

She started some sausage frying and set about making some biscuits. The scents quickly woke Charlie, who trotted over to beg for handouts. Reyna spent a few frantic minutes searching before finally locating his kibble and setting down a bowl of food for him. When the sausage finished browning, she removed it from the pan to drain and started the gravy. The sound of the wooden spoon scraping against the bottom of the cast iron skillet was almost hypnotic and allowed her to enter something akin to a fugue state.

"Where the hell did that come from?" she murmured softly to herself, still not quite certain what had motivated her words the previous evening.

Much of what she had said had sprung fully formed into spoken sentences without so much as a brief pause in her brain. That was not to say she had spoken falsely, only that the honest words she had uttered had not been true until she had said them out loud. She had, over the past few days, frequently allowed her eyes to linger on Bruce's striking silhouette more than once when he was busy scanning the surroundings for threats. He had an unusual body: wiry without being lean; strong without being built; attractive despite the heavy scarring and complete lack of attention given to his appearance. Adding to his increasingly appealing looks was his incomparable strength of character and his indefatigable commitment to, not only her safety, but also her happiness. Her first impression of him had not been one of desire, but with each subsequent meeting she found herself increasingly drawn to him.

Her words the previous evening, however, had not been driven by a secret desire to do the no-pants dance with him. Although, as she had truthfully told him, she was certainly not opposed to the idea. As she continued to stir the gravy, she was reminded of a thought that had first occurred to her the previous morning, just before she had finally agreed to Bruce's request that they have dinner at his house. The realization that Bruce was, without any possibility of doubt, at least tied for the title of best man she had ever met. She was also certain that the other person atop that list, her dearly departed father, would have whole-heartedly approved of Bruce's taciturn gentlemanliness.

Just as she was taking the biscuits from the oven, she heard the sounds of movement from the bedroom, the combination of the spicy, sweet smell of the sausage and the warm buttery aroma of the biscuits having apparently broken through Bruce's deep sleep. He emerged moments later, once again fully dressed, and proceeded to walk directly into a chair as his eyes dropped to her legs which were, as near as makes no difference, completely uncovered.

She snickered before saying, "You ok?"

"Fine," he grunted before uncomfortably taking a seat in an ultimately unsuccessful effort to hide the proof of his arousal.

"Sausage and gravy?" she enquired innocently, completely aware of his predicament and showing no intention of pretending otherwise.

"Please."

She plated up a healthy portion and delivered it to the table, along with a steaming cup of black coffee, before moving to the couch to wake her son. She knew quite well that the outfit she was wearing did absolutely nothing to cover her ass as she bent over to wake Alton, and she smiled to herself at the sound of a fork clanging loudly against Bruce's plate, causing it to skitter across the table. She returned to the table as Alton stumbled toward the restroom and took her seat calmly.

"You sure everything's ok?" she asked brightly.

"You're killin' me, Smalls," he muttered.

"Good one," she enthused. "But, seriously, how's the food?"

"It's wonderful," he huffed distractedly. He ate for several moments before finally speaking again. "Listen... Reyna... about last night..."

"Listen, it happens to lots of guys. It's not a big deal. We'll just keep at it..."

"Jesus Christ," he breathed.

"I'm just having a bit of fun. You wouldn't take that away from me, would you?"

"I think I've been very clear on just how much I would do for you."

"Indeed you have," she said seriously. "And that's hardly fair. After all, I've done nothing for you."

He gestured to his nearly empty plate and said, "You cooked for me. Twice."

"True. But you cooked every meal for us for nearly a week before that. You're still way ahead by that measure. How about if we start calling bedtime 'needy chick from Miami gets naked' time?"

"You've got to stop with that nonsense, honey," Bruce began.

However, before Reyna could either retort or respond to the term of endearment, Charlie leapt to his feet and started barking furiously. He ran over to Bruce's easy chair and looked out the window eagerly.

Bruce leapt up, grabbed his satchel, and snapped, "Stay inside until I come for you."

He glared at her intensely until she nodded solemnly, at which point he was out the door so quickly she wondered if he had even stopped to open it.

She collected Alton and hurried into the bedroom, stopping only to drop the plate she had used into the trash can so that nothing would scream 'guests' in case anyone peered through the window. She also grabbed a biscuit for Alton and led him to the closet of the bedroom.

The wait was interminable, especially since her phone was still somewhere in his bedroom. It was this fact as much as anything which led her to kiss Alton's forehead and insist he stay put before she crept back into the bedroom. She collected her phone, purse and dress, quickly exchanging the latter for the shirt she had been wearing. She made her way slowly out into the bedroom, remembering the conversation she had had with Bruce one evening about the primary element of stealth being preventing the opponent from seeing your movement.

Several long minutes later, she reached the base of the window and peered slowly outside. Bruce was easy to spot, down by where his property abutted the highway, despite being more than a kilometer away. It was also immediately apparent that he was not alone, there being two other men standing easily on the riverbank. Even from this distance, she could tell Bruce was agitated. Without hesitation, she dialed the police.

"9-1-1, wha'da'ya'want?" a sleepy female voice answered.

"Um... hello?"

"This had better be important," came the annoyed reply.

"I'm at... um... Bruce's house," she stammered, suddenly realizing that, incredibly, she did not have the foggiest idea as to his surname. "There are men here. Strangers. Uninvited. I think they're, um, bad."

"Wait a minute, did you say there are men at Bruce's house without his invitation? Is this Ms. Lewiston?"

"Um, yes," she managed, not without difficulty. "To both."

"Damn it. I'll send the sheriff. Tell him to keep his cool and to not kill anyone."

Reyna glanced back toward the highway to find that Bruce looked, if anything, even more agitated. She could discern little about the two men with him other than a general feeling of arrogance. At this realization, Reyna gained a new understanding for the person she had come to understand Bruce was in her mind, because she found herself hoping he was not forced to harm them rather than worrying for his safety.

Movement caught her attention and she quickly realized one of the men had made a move toward the house. One of Bruce's hands went to the man's arm while the other dipped into his ubiquitous satchel. Before either could make another move, the sound of a wailing siren pierced through the rapidly clearing morning mist. The two strangers looked worriedly at each other before hustling toward the fence next to the highway and hopping over.

Bruce stayed still as a statue as he watched them depart, only moving once the duo had apparently climbed into a vehicle and driven off. He then relaxed visibly before heading in the direction of his gate. The sheriff arrived during his journey and waited patiently for Bruce's arrival.

Bruce admitted the sheriff and led him back to the house. Reyna experienced a moment of indecision, wondering if Bruce would prefer to keep her presence here a secret. But she ultimately decided against hiding since Bruce had been unequivocal about his trust in the sheriff (not to mention the fact that the rude 9-1-1 dispatcher already knew she was here, so the whole town would likely know by sundown).

When the door opened, she called out, "Morning sheriff. Care for some breakfast?"

"Ms. Lewiston," Sheriff Means said by way of greeting. "No thank you. But I'll take some coffee if you have it."

"Cream and sugar?" Reyna asked as she hurried into the kitchen.

"No," the sheriff replied curtly. "Thank you." He then turned to Bruce and said, "Out with it."

Bruce dropped into a chair at the table and said, "Two men. Definitely part of the gang that's after Ms. Lewiston."

"Based on what?"

"Their accents. And questions they asked, which implied they had knowledge which has not been made public. I also spotted the corner of an affiliation tattoo on the larger one."

"Get any pictures?"

"No. But I'd recognize them if I saw them again. One was big, at least two meters and built like a linebacker. Short brown hair, brown eyes. He was quiet, don't think he said two words. Just stood there and tried to look menacing. The other was smaller, softer. And brash. The type clearly used to getting his way. Both were armed with handguns, but they weren't in evidence. They're driving a late-model German sedan. Black. Naturally aspirated."

Reyna found it fascinating that the sheriff did not ask how Bruce knew they were armed if he did not see their guns but managed to keep herself from interrupting.

"I can't put out an APB based on that, Bruce."

"I know, but you can tell your guys to be on the lookout for strangers with eastern European accents. Those are unusual enough around here."

"What do I do if we find them?"

"Give me a call. I'll take care of the rest."

"I told you already, no more Rambo shit."

"Fine," Bruce huffed. "Then lock them up on gun charges. My testimony will provide probable cause. That'll put them out of circulation for at least a few months."

"Ok. I think we can make that work. I'll track down my guys individually and give them the game plan. You two," the sheriff began before he glanced behind Reyna and amended, "Make that three. Good morning, young man."

"Morning," Alton said as he climbed into the last remaining chair.

"You three should head back to Ms. Lewiston's place. I won't pretend I'm being forward. It's hardly a secret you two are shacking up. Besides, we can respond quicker there than we can here. I can talk to the landlord if they're making a fuss about Charlie. Or the Missus and I can watch him. Lord knows he's low maintenance. Just let me know." He stood and said, "I'll get to it. You folks have a fine morning." He left without another word.

Reyna looked to Bruce, placing a gentle hand over his, and whispered, "Are you ok?"

"Fine," he grunted, although she could see the tension fleeing his body. He took a deep breath and said, "Everyone knows we're shacking up?"

"So much for my sterling reputation," Reyna sighed wistfully. "Kinda makes you wonder why we don't just give in to the inevitable."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked with a perplexed expression.

"Nothing," she replied as she rose, pausing to kiss his cheek lingeringly and exalting in the thrill contact with his skin consistently sent straight to her core. "You still hungry?"

Twenty-Two

Bruce

"This place is really nice," Reyna said softly as Bruce held her chair and she took a seat in the upscale eatery located on the Accassihiapa town square.

Bruce bit back the retort about whether small towns were allowed to have fine dining, preferring instead to just live in the unthinkable reality in which he had found himself. As little as a month ago, it would have been unthinkable for him to have been seen in this restaurant, let alone in the company of the most warm, beautiful and kind woman he had ever known. It had not even been an effort for her to get him to agree to such an outing. Janice had called her earlier in the day and offered to include Alton in a sleepover she was hosting for her nephews. The next thing he knew, Reyna had announced they were going to, 'at long last', go on their first date. It had not been a negotiation, a conversation, or even a request. She had simply said, 'We can finally go on a proper date' and delivered another of her sense-altering kisses to his cheek. At that point, he would have severed his own arm had she wished it.

He was wearing what she referred to as 'his uniform', well-worn jeans and a Henley, since that was all he owned. He would have felt like poorly prepared haggis next to her regardless, but she had raised the bar for their evening with a dress she had borrowed from Mariko. On any other woman, it would have been an unremarkable little-black dress. On Reyna Lewiston, however, it was more akin to a religious experience. It perfectly hugged her just-right curves without being too revealing. She had playfully teased him about his physiological reaction upon seeing the dress by offering to get him a platter behind which to hide his arousal.

They went through the ceremonies of studying menus, ordering and tasting wine, ordering food and sampling the offered basket of bread with few words to each other. Once their appetizers were delivered, she said, "Ask me something."

"Like what?" he replied, taken aback.

"I don't care. Anything you'd like to know. No limits. I swear I'll answer honestly."

"Why would you do that?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"What if I were to ask something... um... sensitive?"

"Then I'll answer," she replied simply. "I like you, Bruce, and I'm pretty sure you like me too. Why wouldn't we get to know each other better? Want to know how old I was when I lost my virginity?"

"That's hardly the most important thing about you. I'd much prefer to learn about what you'd do for fun. Or, more accurately, what you'd do for fun if you weren't saddled with the likes of me for a shadow."

"See... now I'm thinking about saddling you."

"We talked about that kind of talk."

"No. You told me to stop teasing you and I said it wasn't teasing. Tell me you aren't right now thinking about what it would feel like for my slick heat to sink onto your throbbing hardness."

"You're making fun of me again," he muttered sullenly.

"What is it going to take for me to convince you that I have not, am not, and will not lie to you. I love reading romance books, and I love that you read them. Just because I used that vernacular doesn't mean I'm not completely sincere about my words. To be clear, I would very much like to get naked with you, or fuck your brains out, or make love. Call it whatever you want, just stop pretending that because you had convinced yourself that this part of humanity was closed to you means that I'm trying to deceive you."

He sighed wearily before saying, "I didn't mean that, Reyna. And you're right, it is wrong of me to put this on you. You've been nothing but amazing, which is why it's so hard to fathom that you could be interested in me."

"I didn't mean to go so far. Not because I didn't mean it, but because I know it makes you uncomfortable. Back to your original question. I'm not sure what I'd like to do for fun. I kind of went from being a hardcore party girl, to two years in a hellish relationship, and then to being a single mom. It's honestly been a half-decade since the concept of 'fun' was really even possible. Now? I'm old and decrepit. At this point nothing sounds better than an evening on the couch with the right man reading a book, or watching dumb TV, or fooling around. Or maybe traveling. But not 'Borneo' traveling. More along the lines of 'let's visit every national park' traveling. How about you?"

"I'm really in the same boat. For me, the concept of fun doesn't really mean anything anymore. It's more about happiness, especially if that happiness resides in the right person."

"You're allowed to be happy, too," Reyna said softly. "Whatever happened, I know in my heart that you deserve to be happy because you're a good man."

Bruce tried to look away to hide his embarrassment, but she gripped his hand comfortingly and held his eyes with her own. His emotions warred within him. His shame over his past faced off against the conviction of the amazing woman across from him. His commitment to his penance battled against the desire he could no longer deny.

'Have I done enough?' he asked himself. 'Is it possible I could accept her... affection?' He could not bring himself to use a different word, despite the fact that there was no doubt in his mind that he loved Reyna Lewiston with every fiber of his being. He would stop at nothing to ensure her happiness. He also knew, however, the dismal truth that someone could never truly love someone if they did not also love themselves. It was this fact as much as anything which prevented him from allowing himself to accept her... attention.

"Tell me this," Reyna interrupted his thoughts. "If you could only touch your lover with one part of your body, what would it be?"

"Sounds like a trick question."

"Not necessarily. Does your quick reply mean you have an answer you think I might take the wrong way?"

"Perhaps. I suppose it would be cheating to say 'skin', even it if is technically an 'organ'."

"Of course, that's cheating. The goal here isn't to outthink the question, it's to tell me something about you."

"Mouth."

"Interesting. Why?"

"So I can give you, er her, as much pleasure as possible."

"You could do that with your fingers. Or your cock."

"Perhaps, but I've known women who could only get off on their own or from oral. Not their fault, just a combination of biology and psychology. Besides, those other body parts only give me one sense. Mine gives me three."

"I count two. Touch and taste."

"Sure. But I also get to take smell along for the ride."

"You like the, um, smell?"

"Of course. Any 'man' who complains about the smell is just giving the woman he's with a head's up that he's a self-absorbed narcissist. Not that many of them would even bother, um, offering to pleasure a woman orally, in the first place. Being with someone isn't about your own pleasure, it's about theirs. If they're not of the exact same mindset, then you're with the wrong person. I've been with women, the wrong women, and everything just felt off, for all my senses. It wasn't about hygiene, or grooming, or bathing habits. It was about how we, um, fit. Figuratively."

"Probably literally as well," Reyna offered.

"I suppose," Bruce finished lamely.

She smiled warmly and said, "I agree completely, by the way. I used to be all, 'I hate going down on guys' and 'I hate the taste'. Then I had a few relationships in college where I really clicked with the guy, and it was like a whole new world. Not amazing, mind you as I merely liked the guys in question, but still far better than those random hook ups. I've never made it all the way to truly making love. You?"

"A long time ago," he whispered almost distractedly.

"I see," Reyna replied softly. She glanced down at the table and said, "You done eating?"

He nodded absently. After a brief pause, he pulled out his money clip and dropped a few hundred-dollar-bills on the table before standing and offering her his hand. She stood with a smile of thanks, not relinquishing his hand as they made their way through the crowded restaurant. Upon reaching the parking lot, she lifted his hand over her head to rest on her shoulders and nestled into him.

"I like the way you smell," she murmured.

"Ditto," he said, unable to help himself from breathing in the enticing smell of her shampoo as he nestled against her hair.

As they reached his truck, she turned to face him and regarded him intently for several moments before taking his face in each of her hands. She smiled warmly before saying, "I want to kiss you."

"Why?" he whispered in return.

She shook her head, unwilling to be dissuaded. "You already know the answer to that. The real question is, do you want to kiss me?"

As Bruce gazed down at her, his mind did not go to the multitude of reasons for his penance. Nor did he consider how long it had been since a woman had last looked at him like Reyna was looking at him now. He only thought of how he had genuinely never wanted anything more than he wanted to kiss the incredible woman who was looking up at him adoringly. As if to further erode his resistance, her tongue delicately darted out to whet her lips.

He moved without conscious thought and when his lips met hers, it was as if the life that he had lived since returning to the country of his birth ended and a new one began. No longer could there be any possibility of life without knowing the way her lips felt against his. His entire consciousness was rewritten by her touch, her smell, her taste, the sound of her breath catching.

They were barely touching at first. But then she sighed softly, and it was as if a dam broke within him. He tightened his grip on her shoulders as he deepened their kiss. When her tongue slid along the seam of his lips, he opened his mouth to her eager intrusion. More devastating than the sensation of her tongue against his own was the undeniable sense that he could share her very thoughts. Gone were any doubts about her feelings for him, any question that he did not truly love her.

His hands split from where they had rested on the small of her back, one moving up to thread into her hair while the other drifted down to her hip. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him even closer. He was throbbing with need and subconsciously moved to pull his hips away from her, but she immediately proved she was far from offended by grinding her belly into him so she could feel his hardness.

"I want you," she gasped as their lips parted. She slid her hand over his belly to grip his crotch. "All of you."

Bruce answered by whipping the door to the truck open and handing her inside. He hustled around the vehicle and got behind the wheel. She sidled up next to him and kissed his shoulder tenderly as he started the engine and pulled eagerly out of the parking lot. She slid her hand up his thigh to grip his manhood and began working at his zipper.

"Don't," he gasped.

"Oh," she replied in a small voice as she started to pull away.

"Honey," he whispered tenderly. "I've never wanted anything more than I want you. But I won't have our first time be in my crappy pickup. You deserve better."

"Oh," she repeated, more cheerful this time.

Bruce drove right at the speed limit as they wove their way through town toward her apartment. The fact that she had stopped trying to open his zipper had not meant she removed her delicate hands from his crotch. Nothing had ever felt more intimate despite the multiple layers of fabric separating them.

"Is this bothering you?" Reyna whispered sultrily, giving his shaft a gentle squeeze to emphasize her point.

"Depends on your definition of bother," Bruce stammered. "On one hand, you're as likely as not to cause us to inadvertently Evel Knievel our way up the courthouse steps. On the other hand, I don't want you to stop. Ever."

"Deal," she replied coquettishly. "As long as you promise to lose these pesky jeans when we get home." She was silent for a moment before adding, "I'm on the pill, by the way. Not that I've had sex in... a long time. It's more about regulating my... you don't care."

"Of course I care, honey. Since we're on the subject of birth control, I've been snipped. Not that it's mattered in a long, long time. I'll still use a condom, of course."

"Why?"

"For your protection," he replied simply. "Why would you believe someone you hardly know about something so important?"

"I trust you, Bruce" she murmured solemnly. "With my life, with my son's life."

"I'm honored," he whispered huskily.

She kissed his shoulder tenderly and said, "Nothing will ever come between us when we make love."

They reached the aforementioned 'home' moments later. Reyna did not even wait for Bruce to open her door, choosing instead to slide out of the driver's side after him. The move caught him by surprise, and when he lifted his hands to grip her hips and help her down, he inadvertently slid his hands beneath her dress.

"I thought we were supposed to be waiting," she observed with a snicker.

He kissed her briefly, but thoroughly, and squeezed her deliciously full ass before removing his hands and said, "I regret nothing."

"Good."

They hurried up to her apartment. As soon as the door closed behind them, she flowed into his arms. He reached beneath her dress again, luxuriating in the feel of the bare skin of her ass in his hands. She hooked her arms around his neck and hopped up to wrap her legs around his waist. He walked her into the bedroom, stumbling slightly when his shins struck the edge of her bed.

She pulled the straps of her dress off her shoulders, but Bruce said, "Let me."

"Gladly," she whispered.

He slid the straps down her shoulder, his lips kissing each new centimeter of exposed flesh. When her prominent nipple sprang free of her dress, he trapped it between his lips and suckled it like his life depended on it.

"Yes," she whispered fiercely as she pulled him tighter to her chest.

Just as her dress fell to her waist, the warbling sound of her cell phone filled the apartment.

"Fuck!" she gasped. "It's on do not disturb. That could only be Janice at this hour."

"Go," he said firmly.

She hurried from the bedroom, returning moments later still delightfully topless.

"... no problem at all. We knew this might happen. He's never spent the night away from me before. We'll be over shortly. What? Don't be silly. You did us a huge favor. This definitely wasn't your fault. Ok. See you soon." She hung up before looking to Bruce and saying, "We've got to go pick Alton up."

"Of course."

"But don't think this is over, babe," she added as she crawled back into his lap. "Not by a long shot."

Her lips met his again, and all was once more right with Bruce's world.

Twenty-Three

Reyna

"Sorry Mommy," Alton repeated from his seat between Reyna and Bruce in the latter's truck.

"It's fine, sweetie," Reyna said cheerily. "You were such a big boy to have such a long playdate. Did you have fun playing with Ms. Janice's nephews?"

"Yes. They pwayed fun games. But it was scary when they went to sweep."

"Maybe next time they can have a sleepover at our place. Would that be fun?"

"Yes," he replied with a yawn.

The remainder of the trip passed in silence, giving Reyna plenty of time to think about what Janice's call had interrupted. Never had she felt so close to an orgasm just from attention to her nipples. But what delicious attention it had been. His lips were like Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's all in one panty-melting package. That thought led inexorably to considering just what it would feel like to feel his lips on her clit. She was convinced that she would instantaneously combust the moment his tongue teased her sensitive folds. It was killing her that Janice had not waited even ten more minutes. That certainly would have been enough time to feel his cheeks grazing the inside of her thighs, to feel him explode in her mouth.

Alton was sleeping peacefully by the time they arrived at the apartment. Bruce wordlessly indicated that he would carry the boy, but she quickly discovered that did not mean he had any intention of allowing her to open her own door. He pulled Alton from his booster seat after handing her to the ground and receiving her lingering kiss of thanks to his cheek. He carried Alton upstairs and placed him gently into his small bed. Despite the tenderness Bruce had shown, Alton woke slightly as Reyna was covering him up.

Bruce left Reyna to tuck her son in, a lengthier process than she was expecting. Alton seemed anxious to talk about 'Mr. Bruce', a topic which also happened to be one of Reyna's favorites. Alton had some amusing theories on Bruce's scars, most involving creatures who were either extinct or from the pages of fantasy. He finally settled down and fell back to sleep fifteen minutes later. Reyna gave a final parting kiss to his forehead before walking silently out of the room.

She found Bruce in his standard position, standing between the two windows in her living room. The only part of his body that moved was his head, slowly swinging back and forth as he scanned for threats. Reyna approached him and wrapped her arms around his midsection from behind. She felt him tense at her touch and quickly moved around to face him.

"What's wrong?" she said softly as she tried to peer into his achingly soulful eyes.

"Nothing. Just keeping watch. You should get some rest."

'Fuck!' she raged internally. 'I thought I'd finally gotten through to him.' She took his face in her hands and pulled it down until he met her eyes. She regarded him intently for several long moments before whispering, "What happened, babe?"

"Came to my senses."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" she hissed.

"Do you want to know what I did before I was an assassin for anyone who'd hire me?" he snapped.

"Yes," she replied simply, her heart breaking. Not because of his harsh words, but for the pain which was so obviously behind them.

"I had a wife... children..."

"What happened to them?"

"I tried to kill them," he spat viciously.

"I don't believe that," Reyna said softly, still clinging desperately to him despite his angry demeanor.

"How would you know? What do you know about me other than what I told you?"

"I know what my heart tells me."

"Then I have doubly failed you," he replied grimly. He pulled back from her embrace. "I have never lied to you, Reyna. And I never will. I did nearly kill my family. I think I should leave."

"No!" she almost shouted. "You will not drop a bomb like that and leave without explaining yourself."

"Haven't you heard anything I've said?"

"Every goddamned word. Now tell me the rest."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me. Why do you believe you almost killed them? What happened?"

"It's too much," he whispered.

She glanced around for a moment before nodding to the couch and saying, "Sit. Please?"

He made no movement at her first word, but immediately acquiesced upon hearing her plea. She knew it was manipulative of her to use the fact that he could not refuse her, but she had far bigger concerns at the moment. She sat next to him and took his hand in hers.

"You're my friend, Bruce," she began. But she quickly corrected herself, "No. You're more than that. I care for you a great deal. I would be proud to call you a... boyfriend? Partner? Lover? It's killing me to see you in so much pain. Whatever this secret is, I swear you can trust me with it. I know you, the real you. Nothing you will say will change how I feel about you."

He was silent for many long moments. Had she not known him so well, she would have been greatly concerned because the only movement he made was occasionally blinking. His gaze was steady on her the entire time, as though trying to discern the meaning behind her words.

At long last, he took a breath and said, "I met Ingrid in college. We had a fairly typical relationship, not unlike many of my fraternity brothers. Met sophomore year, dated on and off until graduation at which point I proposed right alongside two of my favorite drinking buddies. You can imagine how impressed she was," he added dryly. "In any case, we got hitched and she quickly got pregnant with twins. We were living the dream. I had a cushy job doing sales for my friend's dad's telecom company and we bought a quaint old house in a suburb of Seattle. I was making good money and Ingrid was raising our family.

"Ours' wasn't a great relationship, but it was pretty typical amongst my friend group. All of us played the 'ball and chain' card during our weekly golf outings, or when we got together for 'Hawks games. The more she complained about my lack of help around the house, the less I wanted to be home. The less I was home, the less I did around the house. I justified it with the age-old toxic masculine line of, 'as long as I pay for everything, why should I be expected to do anything else?'. Shitty, obviously. But that was who I was then."

"I once had sex with eight different guys and one woman in a single weekend," Reyna interjected. "Everyone's a moron in their mid-twenties, baby.

Bruce shook his head and said, "But that didn't hurt anyone." He sighed mightily before continuing, "Around the time of the twins' first birthday party, which I missed for a playoff game, she first mentioned that she thought we might have a mold issue in the basement. I told her I'd handle it, and then promptly forgot. For two years. Even though she kept bugging me about it. She even brought in an outside contractor to take a look at it. I accused her of wanting to fuck the guy they sent. That really sent her over the edge. She started sleeping in the guest room right after that. I booked a trip to Vegas for the beginning of the college basketball tournament.

"But I never made the trip. Around the holidays, I got sick. I mean, I'd been feeling pretty awful for a few months, but I just figured the kids had picked something up at pre-school and given it to me. But it just kept getting worse until, one day, Ingrid found me passed out in the bathroom. She called an ambulance, goodness knows why. I woke up three days later in the hospital with a breathing tube crammed down my throat. I ended up staying there for nearly a month."

"You blamed the mold, I assume?"

Bruce nodded and said, "Black mold. It had run rampant in the basement. Ingrid had those contractors come in once I was diagnosed. They were shocked that anyone could have lived there. I wound up in the hospital because the mold had depressed my immune system to the point where I got pneumonia. Ingrid and Ken managed to avoid the hospital, but Karen spend a week there."

"How awful for her."

"Exactly. A point which Ingrid made all too succinctly."

Reyna squeezed his hand and said, "I won't tell you that wasn't your fault, even though I feel like you've tilted the scales a bit against yourself. But even in your version of events, you did not act maliciously."

"She told me, Reyna. For two years, she told me. And I ignored her because I wanted to get together with my stupid goddamn drinking buddies. And my daughter nearly died as a result."

"Were there complications?"

"Yes. I never got the full details, but Ingrid made it very clear that she nearly died. Something about complications when they intubated her which likely did permanent damage to one of her lungs."

Reyna shook her head and said, "Medical shows always make it seem like intubating someone is as routine as taking their temperature, but it's a very dangerous procedure. That's why we only do it when the patient can't breathe on their own. Did you experience any lingering effects?"

"Nothing that I didn't deserve. In any case, Ingrid told me the score in no uncertain terms. I'd placed our entire family in danger and nearly killed my daughter. Not only that, but I'd done it so I could spend all my time out 'drinking and whoring' with my frat brothers, reliving the golden years. As far as she was concerned, we were through, and I'd never see my children again. What's more, she said if I fought her on it, she'd make certain everyone knew just how culpable I'd been in nearly killing them all."

"So you accepted the divorce rather than letting her ruin your reputation?"

"No. We never got divorced. By the time I was released from the hospital, she and the kids had moved in with her parents. I'm sure it was tough on all of them since they weren't exactly wealthy, and she wasn't in a position where she could easily enter the workforce. Her degree was in French poetry, and she had never gotten her teaching certificate. So anything she did would require starting basically on the ground floor. Not an enviable position for a single mom of two toddlers."

"What about child support?" Reyna asked carefully.

"That would have been, at best, a stopgap. I didn't make enough to support two households. So... I found another solution."

"What do you mean?" Reyna asked worriedly as she felt her blood grow cold.

"I went to Mexico under the guise of seeking an experimental treatment for the lingering effects of the pneumonia. A few weeks after arriving, I found the right collection of people and we reached an agreement.

"The first person was a teenager, likely only fifteen or sixteen. He procured a small device for me. It was made from circuit boards and a tank the size of a fire extinguisher and was the equivalent to a few pounds of TNT. The second was a bored middle-aged woman in the medical examiner's office. The third was an eager junior officer in the Mexican anti-drug task force who needed someone for a mission with a low probability of survival.

"The bomb was set to go off in my hotel room in the middle of the day to avoid collateral damage. The medical examiner had provided a John Doe, who she later identified as me. The lieutenant promised me a new passport after the mission was completed. Two days later, Michael Roberts died in a mysterious gas explosion in his hotel room and Ingrid collected on the million-dollar life insurance policy my company had thoughtfully provided."

"How did you convince her to go along with such a hairbrained scheme?" Reyna asked in bafflement. Then her eyes met his and a shiver went down her spine. Twice before in her life, she had felt something similar. The first had been the night she had lost her father. The second had been the day Alton was born. In each case, she had known with absolute certainty that her life was about to change irrevocably. Before Bruce even opened his mouth to speak, she knew this was another such moment and her life would henceforth never be the same. She gripped his hands tighter, focusing the entirety of her being on communicating the love she truly felt for him.

"I didn't," Bruce replied simply. "As far as she was concerned, her husband had been weighed on the scales and found wanting. I suspect she was quite relieved when he met the end he so richly deserved, fifteen years ago in a shitty Mexican hotel."

Twenty-Four

Bruce

'Well, I suppose that's that.' Bruce thought to himself as he watched Reyna's face morph from compassion, to confusion, to shock, to horror. As he gently pulled his hands from hers, he sighed disconsolately at the knowledge that he would likely never again feel the thrill of contact with her skin. 'This is how it has to be,' he insisted to himself. 'She deserves to be happy.' He stood and said, "I'll keep watch outside tonight. Sleep well," before hefting his satchel and heading toward the door.

Just as his hand reached for the doorknob, he felt a heavy weight strike him between the shoulder blades. He dropped to one knee as he pivoted, his hand sliding into his satchel and gripping its deadly payload. His eyes scanned the apartment for threats, but he only found Reyna. She was breathing heavily, her eyes filled with fire. He looked down to find her purse on the ground at his feet.

"Did you throw your purse at me?" he asked disbelievingly.

"My son is sleeping," she seethed. "Which means screaming bloody murder at you, which is what this situation abso-fucking-lutely calls for, can't happen. But. If. You. Think. You're walking out that goddamned door after dropping a bomb like that, you've got your head even further up your ass than I thought!"

"It wasn't my intention to upset you."

"Yes! It was! You got scared because it suddenly occurred to you that you had allowed yourself to develop feelings for me, so you decided to frighten me away rather than facing what's happening here."

"What the hell are you talking about? I'm a fucking monster, Reyna. I nearly killed my daughter. Hell, my whole family. You want your son around a man like that?"

"I don't know, because I don't know that man. But I do know you, and there's no one on this planet I'd rather trust Alton with than you."

He groaned and said, "What part of everything I just told you did you not understand? I ignored my responsibilities, my family. All so I could act like a goddamned child. And they nearly died as a result."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Have you truly spent so much time beneath this mountain of self-loathing you've heaped on top of yourself that you can't admit that maybe this wasn't entirely on you?"

"Again we return to this place where you're arguing against me despite the fact that literally every fact you have about this situation is something I've told you."

Reyna glared at him for a moment before saying, "There is what you've told me, and what I know to be true. But we'll set that aside for a moment. Let me ask you a question... did you ever fight with your wife?"

"I never raised my hand to her," Bruce replied severely.

"I know that," she retorted dismissively. "I'm talking about arguing, but not just a difference of opinion. The kind where people get angry, maybe voices are raised, maybe some stuff gets broken."

"I never yelled at her either. That was part of my problem. If she ever got upset, no matter how justified, I just shut her out. I foolishly convinced myself that I was doing more than my part by 'providing' for them. Never mind the fact that I never gave any of them what they truly needed."

"I see," Reyna said carefully. "But your wife... how did she behave during those arguments?"

"Crying. Yelling. Threats. Walking out with the kids and spending the week with her parents."

"Now we're getting somewhere. What did she threaten?"

"The usual stuff. That she'd take the kids; divorce me; turn all my friends against me."

"Was her strategy for that to tell them about how you weren't home as often as she'd like?"

"At first," Bruce allowed. "Then she got more... creative. She said she'd tell people I was cheating on her, which I never did. Then she graduated to how she'd convince everyone that I was abusing her and the kids."

"Christ," Reyna breathed.

"I already told you. It was no more than I deserved. I was a terrible husband, and an even worse father. And that's before I nearly killed my daughter."

"I'm not arguing that you didn't make mistakes. But I'd hope you can admit, with the benefit of hindsight, that it's pretty fucked up to respond to your behavior by threatening to publicly accuse you of being a child abuser. Kind of like treating poison ivy with a blowtorch."

"What was she supposed to do? She was desperate for a husband who'd pay attention to her needs, to care for his own fucking children for God's sake. She wasn't the villain here. I am."

"Was," Reyna interjected firmly.

"Huh?"

"Even if you were the villain, and I'm far from convinced that you were the only one who made mistakes, that's in the past."

"Except for the fact that I abandoned my children. Those kids deserved to grow up with a father."

"Then why did you leave? Allow them to believe that their father was dead? Is that really what you think they'd have wanted?"

"Of course not. But, by the time I realized my mistake, it was too late, and their father was well and truly dead."

"It's never too late to make amends, Bruce. Have you ever checked in on them?"

"Of course not."

"Then how do you know..."

"That they're still alive? I guess I don't. But the money I arranged for Ingrid to get doesn't bounce. She was told it was a separate policy which pays out as an annuity. Something I'd ostensibly arranged outside of the life insurance she knew about. I know she's still cashing the checks. I'm sure she doesn't mind the money at this point. Her kids are likely going to college in a year or two."

"Your kids."

Bruce shook his head and said, "Not anymore. I lost any right to call them mine when I nearly killed them."

"You've got to stop with that line of bullshit!" Reyna snapped. "Do you know how many people died as a direct result of black mold exposure in the US last year? Fewer than died from skiing accidents."

"That's not zero."

"True, but its low enough that no doctor would ever sign their name to a death certificate for an otherwise healthy person saying black mold was the COD. At worst, it aggravates other conditions. I have no doubt that you got very sick, likely because you picked up a cold while you were traveling and ignored it until it turned into pneumonia which the mold super-charged. Maybe the same thing happened to your daughter, but that would put whoever in her pre-school gave her the flu or some kind of coronavirus just as culpable as you were. I'd venture to guess this was part illness on your daughter's behalf, part opportunity for your wife who was fed up with your behavior. Again, not excusing the choices you made. But, as a licensed medical professional, I find it profoundly unlikely that your failure to remediate the black mold was the sole cause for your daughter's hospitalization. In any case, you only had your, admittedly angry and prone to exaggeration, wife's word on whether your daughter was ever even admitted to the hospital, much less how sick she was."

"You're suggesting Ingrid made it all up?"

Reyna shook her head and said, "I'm suggesting that the story you believe, the story your ex told you, strikes me as, at best, extremely unlikely. If I had a patient come in with the symptoms you described, I wouldn't even ask about black mold. Because, if you're sick enough to talk about intubation, that infection is all you care about until you get it under control. And, as I said, black mold doesn't make you that sick unless something else is already wrong."

"Maybe she got the same infection I had. Pneumonia is contagious, isn't it?"

"It can be. But do we as a society blame the first family member who got the flu if someone else in the family dies from that same flu?" She shook her head firmly and added, "No. We understand that sometimes infections spread amongst a group in close proximity. People might feel guilty over such a situation. But if such a thing had happened to you and your evidently very spiteful ex told your friends you had 'killed' your daughter because she got the same disease you'd had, they'd look at her like she was a psychopath."

"None of this matters anymore, Reyna. I made so many fucking mistakes. Too many."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, babe," she replied softly. "Except about the part where you think you're not allowed to ever move on."

"There's no forgiveness for what I've done."

"Certainly not until you can forgive yourself. Haven't you earned that at least? The good you've done in this town alone rates that many times over."

The roaring in Bruce's ears was unbearable. He leaned back against the door and gripped his skull in both hands as he suppressed an agonized groan. It felt as if the two sides of his consciousness, the man he had been and the man he was now, were at war. And, as was so common with war, the entire ecosystem was being destroyed in the process. He had so long lived with the understanding of his prior monstrosity by treating it as a given rather than ever examining it. Not since he had made the fateful decision to head south had he truly given the reality of his situation any thought.

He had spent another month in the hospital after his poignant final confrontation with Ingrid. During that time, his self-loathing had grown, as though it was feeding on his soul until the latter had been consumed and only the former remained. He had known his nurses noticed the change. Not a day went by without some form of counselor or cleric stopping by his room to plead with him to talk to them rather than harming himself. By the time he was released, his intent had been firm even if the method was still unclear. He crossed the border into Mexico without a clear destination in mind. It was only when the cartel had set off a bomb in a small town whose name he did not remember that his plan came together like a super-saturated solution coalescing instantly as it cooled. By that point, the evil of what would become his former life had been immutable fact in his mind.

"It's a lot to think about," Reyna's sweet voice interrupted his tortured memories.

"Yeah," he replied gruffly.

"Will you sit with me?"

He nodded absently and crossed the apartment to sit heavily on the couch. She immediately scooted over and took his hand in hers.

"I never..." he began before his voice failed him. He swallowed and took a deep breath before attempting to continue. "I never considered any other possibility."

"At this point all that matters is that you let yourself move on, babe. You're stuck in this... in between. You say that Michael Roberts died over a decade ago. I have no doubt everyone else who knew the man you were then mourned your passing. But you haven't, so you're left behaving as though you're some kind of fucked-up golem cursed to perform a penance so extreme that it would take you ten lifetimes to complete."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow at her and said, "Are you suggesting I have a magic ring hidden somewhere?"

"Golem! Not Gollum."

Bruce grinned and said, "You lost me."

Reyna smiled brightly and said, "There he is."

"Who?"

"The man I'm fall... er... I mean... getting to know."

Bruce heard the unspoken words and pulled her into a soul melding embrace. Moments which felt like hours passed without either of them making any move to separate. It was tender, rather than sensual, and it soothed him in a way he had assumed was no longer possible.

"Will you sleep with me tonight?" she asked softly.

"Honey..." he began.

She looked up at him and smiled warmly in response to his term of endearment. "I'm not asking for sex, babe. I'm certainly not opposed, but I suspect we both need sleep more than orgasms right now." She sighed before adding, "I just want to have your touch."

"What will Alton think?"

"It will certainly be less weird than you standing in the middle of the living room all night. He likes you, babe. And he trusts you. It wouldn't freak him out to see us in bed together, not that he ever gets up before me. You've been here long enough to know he's not a morning person." She paused, leaning in to kiss his shoulder lovingly. "Please? I just need to know you're with me. And, more importantly, for you to know I'll be there for you. You don't have to be alone anymore."

Bruce's breath fled his lungs as though the apartment had undergone explosive decompression. He felt like he was drowning, like no oxygen existed anywhere in the universe. Then Reyna pulled him down toward her upturned lips. The moment their lips met, his world started again, and he knew nothing would ever be the same.

Twenty-Five

Reyna

Reyna's fitful sleep was interrupted by a sense of unease. She awoke feeling as though she had had a nightmare, but she could remember nothing. She reached hesitantly to her side, wary of waking her companion, but her hand found nothing but rumpled sheets. She opened her eyes and looked around but found only an empty bedroom.

'What now?,' Reyna thought tiredly to herself.

She rose from the bed, a quick glance at her watch telling her it was just before four AM. She made her way sleepily to the living room, at which point she woke up fully. The enigmatic, tortured soul who shared her bed, at least some of the time, was not in his expected sentry position.

Just as her level of anxiety started to rise, she heard a gruff whisper from the darkness behind her, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You never do," she replied tiredly. "Everything ok?"

"I have no indication that our threat level has either improved or worsened."

"I meant with you, babe."

Bruce sighed and said, "I know, honey. I just couldn't sleep. No reason for us both to be up, though."

"Perhaps. But I'd rather we both went back to bed. You need sleep, just like the rest of us."

He nodded solemnly and said, "I'll try."

She took his hand and led him back to what she now thought of as their bed, despite the fact that even after nearly a week sharing it, they had yet to make love. The night of their interrupted date was still the closest they had come to being intimate. She knew that while Bruce was trying very hard to let go of his demons, it was easier said than done. She had yet to wake to find him sleeping other than the first morning they had spent together at his cabin. Waking to find herself in bed alone was not even the most soul crushing thing she could experience. As often as not, she would wake to find him laying flat on his back with seemingly every muscle in his body tensed. When it first happened, she had been convinced he was having a seizure, but he replied evenly when she worriedly gasped his name. Her new theory was that he was expending every ounce of his energy to hold back the tears which would cleanse his soul, but which his conscious mind would never allow to come.

She dropped heavily back into bed and immediately felt the siren's song of sleep calling to her. Bruce was somewhat more deliberate in laying down, carefully hanging his ever-present satchel on the headboard before laying down the way she had previously thought was only found in coffins. Reyna spent a moment waiting for him to spoon her and wrap one of his delightfully calloused hands around her exposed belly, perhaps even grazing the underside of one of her braless breasts. She would have even rejoiced had he simply rested a hand on her back. Instead, she could feel the tension seeping into his body. So many nights previously, she had given him space rather than risk pushing him away. But whether it was due to sleep deprivation or frustration, she realized she could no longer allow him to suffer alone.

She rolled over and rested her head on his shoulder. The tension made it seem as though she was using an overinflated American football for a pillow, but she remained steadfast. She stretched until she could reach his cheek to kiss him lingeringly as her leg hooked between his knees. It was not until her fingertips grazed along his exposed flesh between his ubiquitous T-shirt and his sleep-shorts that she felt him start to relax.

"Go to sleep, babe," she whispered softly. "I'm here."

"Thank you," he mumbled as he drifted off.

She glanced down to where his arousal tented his shorts, resisting the urge to reach for the turgid flesh she so deeply desired. Instead, she just murmured, "Soon," before she joined her companion in sleep.

***

"What should we make for dinner tonight?" Reyna asked Alton distractedly as they walked through the grocery store.

"Hot dogs," the toddler exclaimed jubilantly.

"No. Those are terrible for you. In more ways than one. How about brisket and cabbage?"

"Bleck."

"Grilled chicken with rice and cauliflower?"

"Yucky."

"Does he ever willingly eat anything healthy?" Bruce muttered from behind her.

"Shut it," she snapped with mock irritation. "You're missing the big picture."

"Do enlighten me."

"Standard negotiating tactics. Start with something you know you won't get, and don't want anyway, so you can eventually arrive at something you can live with." She turned to Alton and said, "How about spinach quesadillas?"

Alton looked suspicious, but did not immediately reject her proposal, so she considered it a win and dropped the spinach into her cart.

"Brilliant," Bruce offered.

"You should listen to me more often," Reyna observed. "I'm right about all sorts of things."

"I never suggested otherwise, honey," he glanced around for a moment before adding, "Will you two be all right for a moment? I've got to go check on something."

"Sure, babe."

"Just stay in the store. I'll only be a moment."

Bruce started to depart, but Reyna leveled a glare at him which made him visibly wither. He smiled sheepishly before pulling her to his side and kissing her briefly.

"Better," she murmured as she rubbed his chest.

He headed toward the front door and Reyna returned to her shopping. Moments later, however, she heard a hissed, "What was that?" from the area of the deli.

Reyna looked around to find Mariko staring at her with a stunned expression on her face and her mouth wide open.

Reyna shrugged teasingly and said, "What was what?"

"You just kissed him."

"Technically he kissed me."

"Details," Mariko snapped.

"Not much to it, he just kind of leaned down and touched his lips to mine and Bob's your uncle."

"I don't mean 'how does kissing work' you ninny. I meant why did he kiss you."

"Because I made it clear that I expected it. Really, Mariko. I'd have thought you'd have worked out all these details in high school."

Mariko lifted a baguette from a display, wielding it like a broadsword, and snapped, "I'm going to beat you to death with this if you don't stop dodging the question."

Reyna glanced around before gesturing her friend closer and whispering, "He's not who you think he is."

"What do you mean? Is he some kind of secret agent?"

"No. He's... amazing."

"Oh. My. God! You guys are sleeping together!" Mariko enthused.

"No," Reyna insisted before looking thoughtful and appending. "I mean... yes, we are."

"Holy shit!"

"Ix nay on the it shay."

"Sorry," Mariko replied more quietly.

"We sleep in the same bed, when he sleeps. But we're not sleeping together." Reyna clarified. She then grinned slyly and murmured, "Yet."

"Tell me everything! Is he a good kisser? Does he have any tattoos? What's his... um," she glanced down at Alton before finally finishing, "equipment like?"

"Christ, woman. I told you we aren't having sex yet."

"Well, I expect a full report when y'all finally seal the deal. Pictures would really be ideal."

"You want me to send you pictures of my boyfriend and I having sex? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Mariko grinned victoriously and said, "The better question would be, how long has he been your boyfriend?" She headed toward the front of the store, calling over her shoulder, "Let me know if you need help finding anything. Condoms are on aisle eighteen."

"Keep your voice down," Reyna muttered with a smile before resuming her search for vegetables her son would eat. It was a challenging task at the best of times, but it was made that much more difficult thanks to her concern about the man for whom she was unquestionably falling. His demeanor had improved considerably since that dark evening nearly a week prior when he had come face to face with his past, but he was still prone to lengthy periods of stoic depression. Part of her wanted to just rip her clothes off and stuff his cock in her mouth under the belief that orgasms made everything better. What stayed that impulse was the irrepressible belief that he agreed that the connection they felt was something profound, something durable. Grabbing hold of a guy's dick and saying, 'nice shoes, wanna fuck?' was all well and good for a random club hookup she would never see again, but it was hardly a story you would want to tell your children when they asked how you fell in love.

"Where the hell did that come from?" she muttered, stunned by how right the sentiment had felt in her mind.

She was snapped from her reverie by Alton saying, "Who's that man?"

Reyna's head turned in time to see a heavily tattooed man with long, unkempt hair and a triumphant expression on his face heading quickly in her direction. Before she could even think to react, he grabbed her by her blouse and yanked her close.

"Thought you could hide from us?" he growled in a thick accent, his breath reeking of marijuana and alcohol.

"What do you want?" she gasped as she struggled to get away.

The man made no answer beyond pulling a pistol from inside his jacket and gesturing toward the door.

Bile rose in her throat, her mind straining to keep the panic at bay. The man was pointing the gun at the ceiling, but she could sense his growing frustration at her lack of obedience. But she could have cared less about the gun. All that mattered was getting her son to safety. She took stock of her situation, attempting to game out how the man would react to what she was about to do. She knew the chances of success were not great, but neither the man in front of her nor his associates were renowned for their mercy. She knew she had to take a chance. She only hoped Alton would sense the import of the moment and follow her instructions.

She took a deep breath and shouted, "Alton! Run! Go outside as fast as you can!"

Reyna could only hope he obeyed, because the entirety of her attention was on the gun which she had grabbed as soon as she started speaking. The man wrestled her for control and in an instant she knew she could never overpower him. Agonizing seconds ticked by and the gun slowly swung in her direction until it thudded against her skull.

"Stupid cunt," the gunman spat before wrenching her hand painfully behind her and holding the gun against her temple. "Now go."

She exalted in the fact that Alton was nowhere to be seen. She tried to drag her feet on the way to the parking lot, her eyes scanning around helplessly for something she could use as a weapon. Just as they neared the check-out, she heard something that caused the gunman to falter.

"That's far enough," Bruce said firmly.

Reyna's eyes swung over to the section of the store where an antiquated payphone hung to find Bruce eying them menacingly. She felt the body of her captor tense as he regarded the new threat, and she was hardly surprised. Bruce was standing in a way which broadcast years of training, both legs bent slightly with his left foot a bit in front of his right. His arms were similarly bent, his hands held slightly apart and just in front of him. All this paled in comparison, however, to his eyes. Gone was the coldness she had seen upon first meeting him, and the warmth she so frequently saw more recently in his startling grey eyes. What they held now was so astonishingly different that she had difficulty believing he was the same man. His eyes were not menacing, and certainly not worried. They were hungry, almost feral. As if he rejoiced in the reckoning which was imminent.

"Release her," Bruce's voice commanded coldly.

"No."

"Hey Reyna," Mariko's voice called out from deeper in the store. "I found some water-soluble lube on sale."

As Mariko emerged from the canned goods aisle, Reyna felt her captor turn slightly. She was held in place, however: sandwiched between the gun and the way he had pinned her arm behind her back. She felt the pressure of the gun on her temple ease slightly as the gunman turned. A flash registered from just off to her left and her hearing mysteriously stopped working. She looked toward the flash to see Bruce rushing in her direction with an enormous pistol in his hand. Her eyes widened in terror, but before she could even properly react, Bruce was pushing her to the side. She turned to object and found that her erstwhile captor was now writhing in pain on the floor, a pool of blood expanding from beneath his shoulder as Bruce kneeled on his neck and slid his hand cannon back into his satchel. Bruce was not even looking at her, he was speaking to Mariko.

As Reyna's hearing slowly came back, she heard him say, "... choice but to call the Sheriff. Just make sure he doesn't send one of the idiot kids."

Twenty-Six

Bruce

Mere moments after Bruce instructed Mariko to call the police, he heard sirens approaching the store. Bruce glanced around for the helpful bystander who must have called but spotted nothing. Looking around, he realized just how many places of business were close at hand. Even using sub-sonic rounds and a suppressor, the shot which had destroyed the gunman's shoulder had likely been heard as much as several blocks away.

'Too bad pistol rounds aren't as quiet as in the movies,' he thought to himself.

He kept himself busy with the gunman, wanting him to stay conscious without allowing him even a glimmer of hope for escape. He was also doing anything he could to keep from looking in Reyna's direction. He just could not handle the thought of the horror with which she surely viewed him after the morning's events. Not only had he shot a man. He had, as near as makes no difference, fired directly at her. This was all on top of the fact that he had fundamentally, completely, failed to protect her from danger in the first place. Furthermore, he had followed that up by nearly crushing the man's windpipe as the adrenaline of the situation wore off and the reality of what Reyna had been threatened with took its place.

'I nearly killed him in front of her, for fuck's sake,' he chided himself.

Movement at the corner of his vision caught his attention. When he turned in that direction, he saw Reyna running out the front door. Just as he was about to glumly remark on how he would likely never see her again, he heard her scream Alton's name.

His eyes snapped toward Mariko. He said, "Go! Help her look for Alton. I'll keep an eye on this piece of shit."

Mariko nodded dumbly and ran out after Reyna.

Moments later, he heard the screech of tires and the slamming of a car door. He made sure his hands were in sight and looked to the storefront. Deputy Maynard came bursting through the door with his gun drawn and his finger inside the trigger guard. He shoulder-rolled behind one of the registers before coming noisily to a stop.

"You're under arrest!"

"Thank God," Bruce muttered loud enough to be heard. "The police."

"Bruce?"

"Can't get anything past you, deputy. Why don't you put that gun away before you hurt someone. And, while you're at it, give your boss a call. I'm sure he'll want to take charge of the crime scene."

Troy rose from behind the register, still holding his gun before him like it was a nest of angry hornets. He frowned at Bruce and said, "I'm in charge here. And I'll put my gun away when I'm damned good and ready."

"Put the gun away, son," Sheriff Means said as he ambled through the front door. Maynard huffed in frustration but complied. The sheriff turned to Bruce and said, "Reyna found Alton, by the way. He ran to the used bookstore and managed to tell them enough that they called the police. Smart boy." He walked cautiously over to where Bruce was still restraining the gunman and looked around with a trained eye. After several moments, he looked at Bruce and said, "Short version?"

"He must have come in through the back. I was up here making a call. He found Ms. Lewiston and her son near the produce aisle. She managed to distract him enough and yelled for the boy to run. I intercepted them as he tried to lead her out."

"Which, I'm guessing, is when you shot him?"

"He had a gun to her head, Nathaniel."

"Don't suppose I could convince you to surrender the weapon?"

"His gun is right over there. No one has touched it but him. As for mine, I'll surrender it if you insist."

"Meaning you have at least one other. 'Fraid I'll have to. Insist, that is.'

"It's in my satchel. Can you make sure Twitchy over there doesn't do something dumb when I take it out?"

"Why don't you go take a statement from the George's at the bookstore, Troy? I've got things in hand in here."

"But, sheriff!"

"Don't worry, son. This will still go in the books as your crime scene." The deputy left in a huff, prompting Means to turn to Bruce and add, "He can't get promoted until he's presided over a certain number of crime scenes. He's been complaining recently that he'd retire before enough crime was committed around here for him to qualify."

"I see," Bruce replied evenly before slowly extracting his pistol from the satchel. He unloaded it and removed the round from the chamber before handing it over to the sheriff.

"Glad I told Troy to leave," the sheriff said softly after several moments of examining Bruce's weapon. "You know those are illegal."

"It's a stupid law. Besides, it's not really a silencer. Technically, it's a suppressor. And its two-millimeters shorter than that poorly written law says is illegal."

"Why bother?"

"Reduces muzzle flash. And, combined with subsonic rounds, it does make it a bit quieter."

"Let me guess, quiet enough that anyone further than a few dozen meters away would question whether or not they'd heard a shot?"

"Precisely."

"Hence why no one called 9-1-1 after you shot a guy in broad daylight on Main Street."

Bruce regarded the sheriff for a long moment before saying, "You know what this means."

"That they know she's here, and that more will come."

"We could try to muddy the waters a bit."

"How so?"

"I'll take our friend here on a little drive. When they find him in south Georgia, maybe they'll think he struck out here and kept heading north until he found something."

"I'm guessing you're suggesting he would be in no condition to tell them one way or another when they find him?"

Bruce's eyes hardened and he said, "He was going to kill her, Nathaniel. Her and the boy."

"I can't be a party to this, regardless of how I feel about it."

"Then what do you suggest? If you put him in a room in the hospital, even if he's under arrest, he'll disappear before the sun goes down. Then you'll have an army to deal with."

"Fuck!" Nathaniel breathed. "Why didn't you just go for the head shot before?"

"That's cold, my friend," Bruce replied with a wry smile. "And the answer, as I'm sure you know, is information."

"I don't suppose you've got any bright ideas on how to get him out of here without the mayor insisting that I put out an APB on you for kidnapping."

"He escaped, and I followed him. You've got eyewitnesses to the shooting, so no one should make any noise about how I should be under arrest for winging him. And, as we already discussed, my weapon is legal."

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in showing me what else is in your little goodie bag."

"That wouldn't be my first choice, no."

The sheriff sighed wearily before finally saying, "I can give you ninety seconds. God help us all."

***

"What will you do with me?" the gunman finally asked with a tremor in his voice.

Bruce made no direct reply, merely continued to stare dispassionately at the man across from him as he tried to suppress another surge of emotions he felt as he thought again of the image of Reyna with a gun to her head. His patience was being stretched to its limits in the effort to outwait his opponent. He needed information this man had, but the fact he was depending on someone else for Reyna's safety was driving him insane nearly as fast as the silence was breaking the mind of his opponent.

The man had been full of bluster when Bruce had first opened the trunk of his luxury British sedan, despite the lack of treatment to his shoulder wound and what was an unquestionably uncomfortable eleven-hour drive. However, as the hours since their arrival had crawled by, the threats had eventually been replaced by demands that he be set free before ultimately arriving at exhausted pleas for absolution.

Bruce gave him another hour to stew, never moving a muscle outside of what was required for breathing and the occasional blink, until at long last he heard the sound of victory.

"I will do whatever you want. Please just let me go."

"I will ask you five questions," Bruce replied in a voice that came straight from the depths of hell. "You will answer them without reservation."

"Anything."

"Who?"

"What do you mean?"

Without a word, Bruce pulled the twin to the pistol he had surrendered to the sheriff from his satchel and shot the man before him. The bullet entered two centimeters closer to his heart than the wound he had sustained twenty-one hours prior. The man's scream almost drowned out the unending sound of railcars being sorted in the yard outside the warehouse.

The gunman's eyes eventually found Bruce's, and the former paled at what he saw. He stammered, "My name is Ilya Olegovich Serayaradost." Bruce glared at him menacingly until he added, "I work for Vincent Zlodey."

"Why?" Bruce growled as he slid his pistol back into his satchel.

"I swear I do not know," the man yelped. "I was just given contract by Mr. Zlodey's... there is no word in English. His... man."

"How did you find her?"

"Was searching area near crash site. Saw her exiting truck with you and boy. I followed to store."

Bruce considered what he had been told carefully. If he was being told the truth, that meant it was unlikely anyone else in the mysterious Mr. Zlodey's organization knew of Reyna's whereabouts. He knew, however, just how tenuous information gathered under torture could be. He had far more experience with the loathsome business, from both sides, than he cared to recall. That was why he had been so agonizingly patient, utilizing nothing more sinister than boredom, with a dusting of sleep deprivation, to make his subject pliable and only resorting to violence when absolutely necessary. He also knew he needed to avoid the obvious question, lest his foe give the answer he thought Bruce wanted rather than the truth.

"When are you expected to report in?"

"When I have woman. It has been three weeks since was given contract. Mr. Zlodey does not want progress report, he only wants woman."

Bruce bit back the denial which he desperately wanted to shout at the man. It was the exact answer a man like this would expect Bruce to be thirsting to hear. He reached back into his satchel and extracted an unmarked plastic cylinder and began slowly unscrewing it.

"What is that?" the man asked with a terrified tremor in his voice.

Bruce made no answer beyond standing to cross the meter which separated them and pouring a few centiliters of salt into the man's wound.

When the man's screaming subsided, Bruce said, "You drive a car which costs three hundred thousand dollars and that preposterous chain around your neck would feed an entire village in the Congo for a month, yet you dress in cheap clothing and your watch is a knock-off. You say you're an independent contractor? Maybe that's true, but don't expect me to believe you can go three weeks without any revenue and still maintain the lifestyle you've built for yourself."

"I never said I had no other businesses."

Bruce looked closer at the man's eyes, and then his nostrils, before nodding in understanding. He cursed himself for not seeing the signs earlier, especially considering how frequently he had encountered men like this in his time south of the border. He took a step back and conversationally asked, "What is the passcode for your phone?"

The man blinked in surprise, clearly having expected another question about either Reyna or his employers. Bruce responded to his delay in answering by sighing and dipping his hand back into his satchel.

The man's eyes widened and he blurted out, "Nine-Eight-Five-Six."

Bruce pulled the phone in question from his satchel, prompting a relieved sigh from his captor. He entered the code and spent several minutes scanning through the call and text logs. The latter were almost entirely in an unfamiliar Cyrillic-based language which he would study later. For the moment, he merely checked the timestamps. Thinking back on the previous day's events, he realized the man had not called or texted anyone in the two hours leading up to the confrontation at the store. He turned on airplane mode and powered the phone down before returning it to his satchel.

The man's weary voice interrupted his thoughts. "I answered questions. Now you let go."

Bruce's hand dipped back into his satchel as he calmly replied, "You were dead the moment you touched her."

Twenty-Seven

Reyna

Reyna glared hatefully at the alarm clock sitting on the bedside beside the unfamiliar bed. She reached out and slapped the offending piece of technology to silence it before it woke Alton. Climbing to a sitting position, she wearily pulled her hair into a messy ponytail before glancing over at the bed's other occupant.

He grinned up at her happily and said, "Mornin' Mommy."

"Good morning, sweetheart. How did you sleep."

"Great!"

"That's wonderful. How 'bout some breakfast?"

"Ok," Alton replied with a level of enthusiasm only a toddler could show less than a minute after waking. He climbed to his feet and trotted across the bed before dropping unceremoniously onto his rump at the edge of the bed and bouncing onto the floor.

"I told you not to do that," Reyna huffed.

"Why not? It's fun."

"Because one of these days you're going to miss and break your bottom."

"I can't break my bottom, Mommy. It's already broken."

Reyna looked at him queerly and said, "What do you mean?"

Without missing a beat, Alton turned and dropped his pajama bottoms. He pointed at his butt crack and said, "See? Broken."

She guffawed unselfconsciously and said, "I suppose that's one way of thinking about it. Now, you, Mr. Philosopher, go wash your hands before you come to breakfast."

"Ok, Mommy," he replied agreeably.

Reyna proceeded him into the Means's kitchen, wincing upon finding the Sheriff's wife Yancey was seated there having coffee as she perused the paper.

"Good morning," the always serene woman of fifty-two years greeted her comfortingly.

"Morning," Reyna replied with noticeably less enthusiasm.

"I take it you did not sleep well."

"I assure you it wasn't your hospitality. You guys have been so generous."

"You miss him."

"Yeah. Although I'm not sure it isn't because I want to hit him with a shovel."

"This may sound trite, but I truly understand. My Nathaniel did fifteen years in the Army before I finally convinced him to retire so we could stop uprooting our lives every two years. Four months after we settled down here, 9/11 happened. The next day, he told me he'd volunteered to be recalled. He was gone within the week and didn't come back home for nearly a year. He felt it was his duty to defend our country, however misguided our national reaction to that tragedy was. Especially in hindsight. Maybe he was right. It was certainly something he felt he had to do. But that doesn't mean I didn't fantasize every day about what I'd do when, because I never allowed myself to use 'if', he finally came home."

Reyna settled into a chair across from her and said, "It must have been amazing."

"Oh, it was. He surprised me at the grocery store in front of what felt like half the town. I hugged him so tight I thought my arms were going to come out of their sockets and I whispered in his ear that I'd cut his balls off if he ever left me again."

"That must have been quite a sight."

"I assure you no one was the wiser. My Nathaniel knew he had some groveling to do. And he did it happily."

"I'll bet."

"So," Yancey asked with a playful twinkle in her eye. "What do you have in mind for Bruce's groveling."

"I don't know. In fact, I don't know anything. Whether we're actually in a relationship; where he went; if he's ever coming back."

"Of course he's coming back. That man loves you."

"How could you possibly know that? He's the proverbial riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. No one in town knows anything about him. He could be a serial killer for all you know."

Yancey regarded her suspiciously and said, "You don't believe that. Besides, most folks around here might regard Bruce with suspicion, but not my Nathaniel. Why else would he have let him take off like that?"

"The sheriff told everyone the man who pulled a gun on me escaped and Bruce chased after him."

"Do you really think anyone, much less someone who'd just suffered a gunshot wound, could have gotten away from my Nathaniel and your Bruce?"

"I honestly have no idea," Reyna answered wistfully, not entirely certain what to think of what happened in her belly in response to Bruce being referred to matter-of-factly as 'hers'. "Every time I feel like I'm getting closer to him, he pulls back or just straight up disappears."

Yancy regarded her nearly empty coffee mug for several moments before she spoke again. "Most men go their whole lives without knowing a moment of hardship. The majority of the rest go to pieces at the first sign of trouble. The few who remain bear the burden of the things they had to do, out beyond the streetlights. But they will never fail those whom they love."

"What makes you think he loves me?" Reyna asked worriedly.

Yancey patted Reyna's hand and said, "Faith? Women's intuition? The fact that he's walking across the back yard right now?"

Reyna was up and out of her seat as though she had been scalded. She ripped the back door open with such force that she thought it likely she would have some repair bills coming her way. But none of that mattered to her in that moment because seeing Bruce walking purposefully toward her allowed her to breathe for the first time since the gunman had approached her nearly forty hours earlier.

"Are you ok?" he asked anxiously at the same time as she exclaimed, "What's wrong with you?"

He was looking at her with an intensity that would have unnerved her were it not for the fact that she was looking at him just as intently. She scanned his body for any sign of injury, anything to explain his lengthy absence, but he was the same grumpy, scarred, standoffish, worried, caring, ruggedly handsome, perfect man for whom she had hopelessly fallen.

"Are you ok?" he repeated softly.

"We're fine. Now tell me why you left. Again. And don't feed me some bullshit about chasing after that man."

"I had to find out what he knew. And I had to try to convince those who seek to harm you that you were anywhere other than here."

"Did you kill him?" she asked with a tremor in her voice.

He regarded her intently for several moments before nodding firmly and saying, "We could never have trusted him to keep the knowledge of your whereabouts to himself."

"Why the pause?" she asked quickly to cover the terror she felt at his answer. In truth, she had known the answer before the question left her mouth. She had seen it in his eyes in the store. What terrified her was her complete lack of reaction to his admission. She was a nurse, after all. Her reason for existing, her oath, was to save lives. How, she wondered, could she square that with the fact that the man she loved had just admitted to killing a man?

She had always feared that endless shifts in the ED would leave her desensitized to death. After all, most people only dealt with witnessing the death of another person, or encountering a dead body, a few times in their lives. She had seen it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Perhaps all that violence and death had finally burned out the part of her brain that cherished all life, or maybe it had just allowed her to see the situation from Bruce's perspective. She had known since the first evening he had appeared outside her apartment window like an avenging angel that only his death would prevent him from protecting her and her son. He had been very clear on that point. She had known the moment the sheriff had announced that the perpetrator had escaped and Bruce was in pursuit that only one of them would survive the encounter.

These thoughts passed through her head in an instant before she met his eyes and repeated, "Why the pause?"

"I was being selfish."

A perplexed look crossed her features and she asked, "How so?"

"I wanted to take one more moment to look at you before you send me away."

She stepped forward and took his face in her hands tenderly. He flinched at her touch before leaning into her.

"Why would I send you away?" she whispered.

"Because I'm a monster."

"A monster kills for pleasure, not to protect those he cares about. You're no monster, babe. You're something far better."

"I don't know who I am anymore," he rasped, the effort he was making to hold back the wave of emotions assaulting him visible on his face. "All I know is I can't live another minute without kissing you."

Reyna answered by pulling him down to meet her lips. He sighed into her as they met, his arms encircling her lovingly. There was an undeniable hunger to their kiss that neither could deny. They were both little different from a sailor adrift at sea for untold days and almost delirious with thirst. She gripped his shirt like a life buoy, her body craving more, far more, contact with him. His hands threaded into her hair and tilted her head just as she opened her mouth hungrily for him. Their tongues twined fervently, heedless of the audience they no doubt had from the kitchen window only a few meters away. She shamelessly thrust her belly into his throbbing hardness, cursing the layers of clothing which separated them.

They broke the kiss breathlessly, their foreheads coming together tenderly as she whispered, "Well, all I know is that I can't live another minute without you inside me."

As if in answer to an unspoken prayer, Yancey's voice rang out from behind them, "Alton said he wants to see what a real-life police station looks like, so he and I are going to walk over there. Don't worry, Bruce. It's only..."

"I know," he replied hoarsely without taking his eyes from Reyna's. "It's on the next block. Be careful, and please text Reyna when you get there."

"We will," came the mirthful reply. "You two have fun."

"Do you think she knows?" Bruce murmured before dipping in for another brief, but passionate, kiss.

"Of course, she knows. Why else would she have left? The only question which remains is whether her efforts were in vain. Now... I believe we were discussing something about you being inside me..."

In response, Bruce bent quickly and scooped her up into his arms. Her legs wrapped around him enthusiastically as her lips latched onto his earlobe. He stumbled slightly at the contact, banging his shoulder into the doorway as they passed into the house.

"Everything ok?" she giggled.

"Not yet," he growled in response to his fingers gripping her ass tightly, making her glad she had not bothered with more than panties and a T-shirt of his for pajamas.

"Second door on the right," she murmured as he entered the hall of the Means's house where the bedrooms were located.

He kicked the door closed behind them en route to her bed. Somehow, he managed to crawl onto the bed despite her being wrapped around him like a baby sling. He laid her down, and she sighed in contentment as she felt his weight settle onto her. Her hands tugged at his shirt desperately but stilled at the sensation of his lips surrounding one of her nipples. She had no clear memory of what had happened to her shirt, only the gratitude that nothing separated her sensitive flesh from his glorious lips.

"Yes," she hissed.

She had a dim awareness of him moving around but her entire world was focused on the pleasure he was giving her: licking, blowing, sucking, biting. Every move was blissful perfection, and she began to pant wantonly as her orgasm built within her.

"Not yet," he whispered.

Reyna whimpered at the loss of his lips, but that sorrow turned to triumph at the feeling of the swollen head of his manhood sliding along her folds before teasing her clit.

Bruce paused his movement, prompting her to look up at him in concern. He gazed down at her with more love than she had previously thought possible for his battle-scarred face. He whispered, "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life. I want you, Bruce. All of you."

Her eyes rolled back in her head as his manhood breached her femininity with agonizing slowness. A wordless moan escaped her lips at the exquisite mixture of pain and pleasure as her body stretched to accommodate his girth. His eyes widened in response to the expression on her face, but the words would not form to describe how right he felt. She nodded firmly before pulling him down to claim his lips, expressing in the unspoken bond solidifying between them everything she was feeling.

"Don't you stop," she managed to whisper as their lips parted. "You feel incredible."

"You're so fucking perfect," he sighed into her ear as their centers met.

He began to move within her, and the sensation was like nothing she could have ever imagined. Every move he made, no matter how slight, set off a firestorm of excitement within her, as though she had never truly known the meaning of pleasure until this moment. She wrapped her legs around him again, pulling him even deeper into her core.

"I won't last if you keep that up," he grunted.

"Me neither," she murmured. "We can go slow later. Let go, babe. I'm with you."

"Reyna," he gasped desperately, his muscles locking as his warm release filled her core.

"Oh, fuck!" she exclaimed as her pleasure consumed her.

A deep shudder ran through her body as a scream of pleasure escaped her lips. Waves of bliss ravaged her body with each eruption of his seed into her womb. It was as if she departed her body, the shell of flesh and bone being insufficient to contain the ecstasy she was feeling physically, emotionally and spiritually.

She sank limply onto the bed, soaked in sweat and completely spent. She whimpered pitifully as she felt his softening perfection of a penis slide from within her, but he returned moments later with a warmed cloth to clean her up. She reached for him desperately, her senses still not quite up to the level of hand-eye coordination required for the task. She managed to grab hold of him and pull him down for a soul-melding kiss, content in the knowledge that all was at long last right in the world.

Twenty-Eight

Bruce

For the first time in decades, Bruce was at once conscious and at peace. He had truly forgotten such a feeling was even possible. Yet he found himself completely untroubled by the fact that he was laying in a strange bed in an unfamiliar house with unknown evils aligned against him. He looked over at the source of his contentment to find her looking adoringly right back at him. Without effort, his lips opened to declare his love for her, his mind only kicking in at the last second to silence him. He argued to himself that it was too fast; that you could not tell someone you loved them in a haze of post orgasmic bliss, at least not for the first time.

At a loss for something to say, he murmured, "Thank you."

Reyna quirked an eyebrow at him and said, "You don't have to thank me for sex, babe. Besides, you did most of the work."

"I wasn't thanking you for sex, honey."

She looked at him coquettishly and replied, "Then what were you thanking me for?"

"For making an old soldier remember what it feels like to be happy."

"Aw... babe..." she gushed before rolling on top of him and kissing him eagerly. "You make me happy, too."

"Then I have succeeded in one of my goals in life. As to the other point, I would contend that 'sex' is the wrong word for what we just... experienced."

"It was amazing," she breathed. "Like nothing that's ever happened to me. I think I'm officially addicted to your penis."

"That might get awkward if we're in public and you decide you need a fix."

"We'll just have to always make sure we know where the restrooms are. That way, if the need gets too great, we can always duck in and I'll suck you off real quick."

"That's hardly a solution to your theoretical problem."

"You don't think it would give me pleasure to worship your magnificent cock until you explode in my mouth? Don't think I've forgotten what you said about going down on some random woman when we were at dinner a million years ago."

"It was less than two weeks ago. And I wasn't talking about some random woman. There's only you, honey."

"Does that mean we're in a relationship now?"

"I pledged my life to you without reservation. We are in as much, or as little, of a relationship as you desire."

"That's a deflection, not an answer. What if I had responded that boyfriend wasn't good enough and only husband would do?"

"I don't scare easily, honey. I would be honored by any level of affiliation with you, no matter how formal. However, if you would like a more specific declaration, then you shall have it. Reyna Lewiston, you would honor me if you would agree to consider me your... boyfriend sounds too small. Partner?"

"I accept," she replied with a quick kiss. "Obviously, I'm also yours. No half measures."

They kissed languidly to seal the deal, the urgency of their earlier joining having faded to leave behind a comfortable, sensual, longing.

"Can I ask you something?" Reyna murmured as their lips parted.

"You don't need my permission to ask a question, my dear. The only things you don't know about me are just because they haven't come up yet. Nothing is off limits."

"What's your last name?" He chuckled heartily in response. She gave him a wounded look and said, "I'm serious."

"I know you are. It's just... you know the name I was born with. Bruce is just a pseudonym. As is whatever last name I happen to be using at the time."

"Regardless, I'll have to know what to call you. For instance, and I'm not trying to suggest anything but you did bring it up first, what would my last name be if we got married?"

"Lewiston."

"You're impossible," she replied with a swat at his chest.

"I'm serious. If anyone were to change their name in the event of such a union, would it not make more sense for it to be me? However, in the interest of transparency, the passport and driver's license I'm currently using say my last name is Lazarus."

"Is that what happened to you? You were raised from the dead by the holy spirit?"

"See?" he exclaimed. "That's a much better description than the pedestrian, monosyllabic term of 'sex'."

"I never knew a playful Bruce existed. I think I like him nearly as much as his sterner, grouchier, alter ego."

"All of my personalities like you quite a bit."

"Good," she whispered before claiming his lips hungrily. Several moments later Reyna glanced between them and added, "Again?"

"As many times as you'll have me."

She tugged at his shirt and said, "Off."

He felt his anxiety rise within him momentarily, but quickly realized that this would not be the first uncomfortable revelation between them. He pulled the shirt off, exposing his chest to her for the first time. She did not immediately notice as she was busy removing her own top and her panties which still clung to one ankle. He saw her eyes widen immediately, however, as they traced down his chest, which was scarred in more ways than one.

"Oh, baby," she breathed, her hand reaching out for the tattoo emblazon over his heart. "I'm so sorry."

"That was my past," he explained quietly. "Long ago, a good friend of mine... took his own life. He was having a tough time navigating high school and fell in with the wrong crowd."

"Drugs?"

"Religion. He was unlucky enough to come across a young pastor who was both a zealot and a moron. My friend was looking for comfort and this ass-clown gleefully told him that we weren't meant to be happy on earth and that his only chance to ever improve his situation was in the afterlife. His message found a sympathetic audience and my friend blew his brains out because he couldn't wait to get to heaven."

"How awful."

"Indeed. In any case, I made two vows the day he died: I would never trust organized religion and I would never take my own life, no matter how bad things got."

"But that didn't mean you had to make any effort to stay alive," Reyna finished, tracing the twenty-centimeter-tall letters on his chest reading 'D N R'.

"Indeed. It wasn't like I had anyone down there I could trust, so I put my advanced directive where it couldn't be missed. An absurd move, as it turns out. Doctor friend of mine in Peru said it would have been ignored if I ever showed up unconscious in a reputable ED."

"Why didn't you ever cover it?"

"Never seemed worth the effort, not to mention the discomfort."

"I see," Reyna said slowly.

Bruce paused for a long moment before saying, "I can put a shirt back on..."

"No," she said firmly. "It doesn't make me uncomfortable, babe. It just crushed me that you were in so much pain. Same as your other scars."

He pulled her close and said, "I'm much better, honey. Now."

She pushed him over on his back and climbed astride him, bending over to lick along the length of the 'R' on his chest with the flat of her tongue. As she finished, she murmured, "I'm claiming this letter."

"It's yours, along with the rest of me."

"Good," she replied as she sank onto his throbbing hardness. "God damn! You feel amazing. Why didn't you tell me you had such an amazing cock?"

"The same reason you didn't tell me you have the world's most perfect body. Aphrodite herself would look upon you with envy."

"Oh yeah," she asked breathlessly, her pace riding him increasing to the point where her perfectly sized breasts were bouncing jubilantly. "What's your favorite part?"

"Your eyes."

"Good answer. But let's go a little more salacious. You can't offend me, babe. Not with your magnificent cock this deep in me."

"I haven't really had a chance yet to perform an in-depth analysis, so my answer might change, but I am quite fond of your ass. God's, you feel good," he gasped in response to her tightening her molten channel around his cock.

"You feel better," she groaned as she leaned back, placing her hands between his knees to brace herself. He trailed his hands down her body, savoring her delicious breasts and her taunt belly on his way to her delightfully trimmed curls. "You like," she whispered as his fingers traced the delicate inverted triangle.

"Very much," he sighed as his fingers moved lower.

"Yes," she hissed as he found her clit. "Right there."

Her litany repeated in time with the increasing tempo of her thrusting hips, and it was all Bruce could do to hold back his own pleasure. The sight of her body quivering on his throbbing cock only heightened his excitement. But the feeling of her velvety channel wrapped around him and the sight of her skin glistening with excitement paled in comparison to the look of affection in her eyes.

"How are you this perfect?" he panted.

"Oh, God. Babe! I'm cumming!" she gasped.

Her inner walls tightened around his cock as wetness surged from her core. He kept up his stimulation of her clit, causing her to buck her hips as her pleasure reached new heights. Her entire body had been seized by the ecstasy coursing through her. It was all he could do to hold off joining her in bliss.

He sat up, taking her in his arms and gently lowering her to the bed. A low moan escaped her lips in response as her eyes fluttered closed. He kissed her forehead tenderly before laying down beside her.

"... you," she murmured.

"Hmm?"

"What about you?"

"I have never been happier."

"But you didn't cum."

"Sure I did."

"That was earlier," she replied firmly, obviously regaining her energy.

"No matter."

"We'll see about that," she muttered before shifting around on the bed.

"Holy shit," he gasped as she took his still almost painfully erect penis into her mouth.

She looked up at him mischievously as she slid her lips lower along his length until the head of his cock met the entrance to her throat. Her look grew positively naughty when she took him ever deeper, not stopping until her nose nestled in his curls. She pulled back with teasing patience until releasing the head of his cock with a pop.

"Surprise," she whispered coquettishly.

"That was incredible... but doesn't it hurt?"

"Nope. It feels amazing. I can feel your pulse speed up as I take you deeper. It wouldn't surprise me if one day I cum just from the sensation of you exploding down my throat."

"Jesus," he breathed.

She dipped her head to lick tantalizingly across his balls, taking each briefly between her lips in the process. "I'm no shy virgin, babe. Our love life can be whatever you like, whether that be in bed with the lights off or letting our freak flag fly. I'm totally on board with whatever excites you. I know you like my ass. Just imagine the sight of your cock sliding into my tight little hole, of exploding deep inside me. I'm not saying this to ensnare you, I'm saying it because I've been waiting my whole life for you."

"I feel the same way, honey. But we don't need to cross off every page of the Kama Sutra. I just need you."

"I know, babe. Because I feel the same way. That's why I'm so excited to try every page of the Kama Sutra with you. It was just as you said, I want to give you all of me and take all of you in return."

"You've made me a very happy man," he sighed.

"Ditto," she repeated with a lascivious wink. "Now, speaking of taking all of you."

She engulfed his cock even slower than before, lathing the underside with her tongue as she went. As the head of his manhood reached the entrance of her throat, she flicked her tongue out to tease his balls.

He groaned in pleasure and hissed, "I won't last if you keep that up."

She made no response other than another wink. The look on her face told him clearly just how much joy she felt pleasuring him. She sought his seed, not out of some misguided obligation, but because nothing would make her happier than making him feel good. She hummed around his cock, her eyes twinkling in anticipation.

"Oh, Reyna," he gasped as he gripped the sheets in both fists and allowed the ecstasy of his release to wash over him.

Her eyes widened in joy as he filled her mouth. She held his hips tightly as she massaged his manhood with her tongue. With each swallow, a spasm of pleasure shot through his body like lightning. His hips jerked of their own accord, but the look in her eyes told him this delighted, rather than repulsing, his lover.

When his pleasure subsided, she pulled back with reluctance. She gave the head of his cock a final parting kiss before sliding up his body. He pulled her close and kissed her deeply before they settled into a calming sleep wrapped in a lover's embrace.

Twenty-Nine

Reyna

"Mermaids!" Alton exclaimed as he pointed frantically and tugged Reyna forward.

"My goodness," Reyna gasped. "Isn't it wonderful, honey?"

They took their seats in the back of the auditorium to watch a dramatic retelling of Hans Cristian Andersen's fairy tale, performed by a group of costumed performers submerged in the chilled waters of the natural spring with only a collection of air hoses from which to breathe. Alton was completely mesmerized by the scene before him, although whether because he thought they were real mermaids, or because he was amazed that humans could perform in such difficult circumstances, was not immediately clear.

Reyna snuck a glance at Bruce, sitting on the other side of Alton, and her heart did an unapologetic somersault. He was helpfully pointing out parts of the show while simultaneously scanning the crowd for potential threats. These behaviors were not uncommon, especially since their relationship had turned suddenly, and blissfully, intimate a week prior. What was a new development was the expression on his face. He was smiling, and, outside of the same expression on her son, Reyna could imagine nothing more beautiful.

The show ended and the trio filed out with the rest of the patrons into the oppressive mugginess of central Florida. Reyna was glad for the heat, however, as it would make the relatively frigid seventeen-degree water refreshing, rather than torturous. They proceeded to an area designed for children, with a shallow pool and plenty of lounge chairs for their exhausted keepers.

"I'll take Alton to the head," Bruce offered.

"Thanks," she replied without hesitation.

As they departed, she was struck by how profoundly unremarkable the moment had been. After Alton's birth, she had lived in a constant state of anxiety. Her reality as a single mother necessitated that she occasionally leave him in someone else's care, but she almost never did so without a sense of dread. The only babysitter she had ever actually trusted with him had been the most recent one she had used, and that trust only came after more than a year of Alton being in her care.

Yet none of that unease reared its ugly head when Alton was with Bruce. Even in this public place surrounded by hordes of strangers, she was at peace knowing her son was with her, as he had dubbed it, partner. And it was more than the fact that she trusted him, even loved him. He was also everything she could have hoped for in a father figure for her son. A patient teacher, an admirable role-model, a vigilant protector.

Moreover, Alton clearly adored Bruce. She had come upon them the previous day, seated together on the floor reading a book together. When they finished the book, Bruce took the time to discuss the book's meaning and what the protagonist could have done differently. During the entire conversation, Alton had regarded her lover with a mixture of adoration and wonder. Hardly surprising considering most caregivers were hard-pressed to attend to the safety of their charges and rarely found time to contribute to the task of raising them.

Her men returned presently, with Alton straining toward the group of children splashing in the pool. Reyna intercepted him and pulled toward the chairs she had claimed to apply sunblock and fit his floaties.

"I don't want my floaties!" Alton insisted petulantly. "I'm a big boy!"

Bruce knelt and pointed across the splash pool. "See that little boy over there? The one a little younger than you? He's not wearing floaties, but don't you think he's a little young to know how to swim?"

"Maybe," Alton admitted.

"What if he gets in trouble out there and you're the closest kid to him? We both know you're a big boy, but you're still getting the hang of the whole swimming thing. If you didn't have your floaties, you might not be able to help him. Wouldn't you want to be able to save him if he needed you? Or any of the other children?"

"Save him like you saved Mommy?"

"Just like that. Part of helping people is also being prepared. Don't you want to be prepared?"

"Yes," he declared. "Mommy, I need my floaties."

"Here you go, sweetie," Reyna murmured. She watched him wade into the half-meter deep water with a joy only found in children as they settled into side-by-side chairs. She turned to Bruce and said, "Tell me... in all your, shall we say, adventures... did you ever learn first aid?"

"A bit. Why, is something wrong?"

"It's just that my ovaries exploded a moment ago because a wonderful man had a perfect moment with my son."

"I see," he whispered as he leaned over and kissed her briefly. "Well... there's no known cure for such a malady."

"I can think of one," she replied sultrily.

"Indeed," he replied before delivering another kiss that lingered until they heard someone pointedly clear their throat.

She dropped back into her own chair, a warmth spreading through her core which far surpassed the sub-tropical heat. She glanced over at Bruce with a pronounced pout and said, "I'm guessing asking you to put sunscreen on me would get us kicked out."

"If you're not careful, the state of my shorts will take care of that task all on their own."

She glanced longingly at the not unnoticeable activity in the aforementioned shorts with a wistful sigh and said, "Fine. I'll be good. How'd you hear about this place."

"Deputy Doofus, if you can believe it. Not surprising, considering how much he loves to hear himself speak. He was in the library once blabbing to one of his cronies about the mermaid show."

"Let me guess... he was watching closely, desperately hoping for a wardrobe malfunction."

"Worse. They were talking about the moronic controversy surrounding the live action version of that story."

"That's such bullshit. Don't those fools realize that the arguments they're making against a black girl in that movie are all arguments in favor of evolution?"

"You make an excellent point. Unfortunately, that eliminates you from consideration in any right-wing think tank."

"I take it that you're not a right-winger?" Reyna asked cautiously.

"I'm not really anything. Can't say that I've ever voted. Before I... went south... I couldn't be bothered. Then I saw what people, men really, do when they're given power. It's like it breaks something inside them and their humanity is slowly consumed. Couldn't justify being involved with giving anyone power after that."

"Someone gets the power either way. Wouldn't it make more sense to help ensure the best person gets it?"

"Perhaps. I won't argue that frequently one of the two yahoos appears far less suited to the job. One of my favorite authors heartily advocated the exercise of the right to vote. He said if there was ever a question, you should just ask a well-meaning fool what they thought and vote the opposite. Hard to argue with that strategy."

Reyna chuckled and said, "There's certainly no shortage of well-meaning fools about these days. You said the other day that you'd given up religion."

"I said I'd forsaken organized religion," Bruce interjected.

"Does that mean you're still religious?"

"Not particularly. But I have little doubt of the existence of a higher power. The only thing I can't figure out is if it's benevolent or not. Or perhaps the Christians are right and there are opposing super-natural forces at play. All I know is that I've seen things in my life far too beautiful, or horrific, to have occurred by random chance. Take yourself as an example of the former."

"I could be both: a succubus sent to collect your soul."

"In that case, mission accomplished."

She reached out to take his hand, entwining her fingers with his rather than risk opening her mouth and announcing her love for this magnificent man to everyone within the sound of her voice.

***

"Birdy!" Alton's exclamation shattered the relative calm of the river surrounded by densely packed foliage.

"Quiet, sweetie. You don't want to scare the birds."

"Sorry, Mommy," he whispered. "Did you see the pink birdie, Mr. Bruce?"

"Yup. Those are flamingos."

"Do they bite?"

"Only if you get too close. But they won't come out on the water, not with all the sharks."

"Bruce!" Reyna huffed.

"There's no sharks," Alton announced confidently. "I can see through all the water. There's only tiny fishees."

"Are you sure," Bruce asked suspiciously.

"Yes. Only fishees. And momma T's, but they aren't here right now."

"That's manatees, kiddo. You did a great job listening to the ranger."

"I'm a good listening-er."

"You sure are," Bruce agreed with a chuckle.

Alton continued to point out the wildlife he spotted, both above and below the water's surface. Bruce however, seemed to grow more taciturn the further they travelled along the river. Soon, Reyna noticed that he had stopped paddling at all when the canoe began drifting toward the shore. She glanced over her shoulder to find Alton still happily looking around, but Bruce just sat stoically with a dazed expression on his face.

Without a word, she paddled them over to the shore. As soon as she felt the bow meet the sandy resistance of the bottom, she hopped out and tied the bow line around the closest sturdy looking tree.

"Why are we stopping, Mommy?"

"We're just taking a quick break, sweetheart. Stay in the boat and let me know if you see any of those manatees."

"Ok," he replied agreeably.

Reyna made her way to the rear of the canoe, heedless of the numbingly cold water which came nearly to her waist by the time she reached Bruce.

"Babe?" she asked worriedly, taking his hand in both of hers. He jolted at her touch and stared at her with wild eyes. "I'm with you, Bruce," she whispered, moving her hands to cradle his face. "We're safe."

Some of the wildness faded from his eyes, quickly replaced by confusion. "Reyna?"

"I'm here, my love."

"Where are we?"

"We're at a state park in Florida. Everything is fine."

"Mommy, is Mr. Bruce ok?"

Bruce's eyes snapped to Alton, widening in recognition. He stammered, "I'm fine, buddy. Just got confused there for a second. Did you see any sharks?"

"No! Sharks!" Alton retorted angrily. "Only momma T's."

"My mistake," Bruce replied weakly. His eyes returned to Reyna, and he whispered, "Sorry about that."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, babe. Where were you?"

"Peru... along one of the rivers that feeds the Amazon. We had to paddle fifty klicks upstream to infiltrate a... it doesn't matter."

"It all matters to me. You needn't hide your past from me, Bruce. I'm not afraid of it. I know you've done things, things which may haunt you. But that's as much a part of you as anything else. I can't pick and choose parts of you like we're at a buffet, nor would I want to. I've got all of you, and I couldn't be happier about it."

He pulled her close, nearly swamping the canoe in the process and causing Alton to yelp in surprise. He whispered, "You're really something special, Ms. Lewiston. You know that?"

"No," she murmured into his ear. "But I am ecstatic that you think so."

"I know so." He paused for a moment before adding worriedly, "You're shivering."

"The water is a little chilly," she admitted.

"Then get back in the boat, honey." He nimbly leapt from the boat into the water on the opposite side from where Reyna stood. He popped back up next to her, seemingly immune to the frigid water, and took her hand. She let him lead her to shore before he fetched a towel from their bag behind Alton. He dried her with a frantic urgency.

She smiled up at him and said, "I'm not complaining about the pampering, but I really am ok, babe."

He looked down at her lovingly and whispered, "Good. Can't have you risking yourself on my account."

"You know that I would," she murmured. "We're partners... remember?"

He appeared about to speak, and she wondered if he was remembering her inadvertent term of endearment when she was trying to bring him back from whatever dark period in his memories this place had triggered. She knew that calling someone 'My love' was not, strictly speaking, the same as saying 'I love you'. But she also knew that the distance from one to another was measured in heartbeats.

His reply at once cleared up that ambiguity, and made her heart rejoice. "We're more than partners... my love."