Page 52 of Tabitha

It’s no longer just about the mission anymore.

No, it’s about Tabitha.

She’s the queen in this fucked-up game of chess.

And no matter what happens, we will protect our queen with our lives.

* * *

TABITHA

After dropping off the car, I head back to the house. Rocky attaches himself to my hip the instant I open the door, the puppy still grumbling at me even ten minutes later, like he’s tattling on the others, clearly not pleased at being left behind.

After some ear scratches to appease the beastie, I wander down to the hidden bunker with Rocky on my heels, the puppy happy to no longer be trapped in the house alone. Without the guy’s constant racket, the house feels empty, and I almost miss tripping over them every time I turn around. Though I never thought I’d admit it, I miss their incessant chatter.

If I didn’t know better, I would almost say that I miss the soldiers.

Which is stupid.

I’m not even sure that I even like them all that much.

Yet I can admit that I miss the rumbling sound of their voices, their laughter. The way their eyes watch me or the way they each reach out and touch me any chance they get. Even Gage, though his gaze is still full of suspicion and mistrust. My skin actually aches, the sensation so odd that it takes me a bit to figure out I actually miss their touch.

I wait for disgust to overcome me or panic to creep over me at the thought of a man touching me, and I’m floored when it never comes.

These men are different from others of their species. They act like a team. Even Pierce, the ex-cop, falls seamlessly into step with them, like he’s always been part of the group. They’re always alert and ready for danger. They’re brothers. They would never betray one another, never leave one of their own behind in battle. They would go to hell and back for each other, even kill anyone who tries to harm them.

I respect their commitment to each other.

And deep down, my lonely soul desperately craves that connection.

To be wanted.

Loved.

Some of the Belladonnas have that sisterhood, but I don’t feel like I’m one of them most of the time.

I’m different.

Broken.

I keep my distance, refuse to let them get close, terrified that if they discover the truth, they’ll cut me from their lives.

I can’t allow that to happen.

They’re the only thing keeping what’s left of my sanity in check.

Not wanting to deal with the emotions thinking about the men evoke or the way my body actually hurts without one of them near, I press my finger against the scanner, waiting for the door to beep before letting myself inside.

I scratch Rocky behind the ear, letting him roam while I turn on the monitors. I watch the cameras, convincing myself that I’m doing surveillance, pretending that I’m not actually watching for the guys to return. Annoyed with myself, I scowl and purposely turn away to study the different cabins and sheds marked on the maps. I mentally chart the area in my head, working out the best routes to investigate the locations without anyone taking notice.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that, when the monitor behind me chimes, I nearly jump out of my skin. Rocky gives a sharp bark, as if unnerved by my loss of control, and I grimace at him in apology. I spare a glance at the monitors, then unconsciously breathe a sigh of relief when I see the guys have returned.

By my estimation, they should’ve been back close to an hour ago.

I refuse to admit that I might have been worried.

They’re full-grown ass men.

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