The most important thing was that they were together. Safe. Grace and Dare had put Powell’s money in a separate account, kept it offshore. Even though it was blood money, they planned on doing some good with it. So money wasn’t the issue. They could all disappear if need be.
But none of them really wanted to. Not now. New Orleans held a special spot in their hearts.
“She’s awake!” Grace called to them, and she and Gunner went down to the bunk where Drea had been recovering.
They crowded into the room and Drea blinked at all of them, like someone waking up from a long nap. She looked disoriented. A little pale still, but she appeared to have all her faculties.
Jem had been talking to Drea nonstop, murmuring softly, telling her she was fine, safe, that he would make sure nothing bad happened to her. That it was okay to wake up.
He told her jokes and stories. He played her music. He slept next to her, when he did allow himself to sleep. Most of the time, he was too busy watching her and monitoring comms to do so.
When she’d blinked normally the first few times, he’d pretty much held his breath. The monitor showed her heart rate returning to normal, and he took the nasal cannula of oxygen from her and watched her levels.
Fine. She was fine. She swallowed. Coughed. He handed her water, and her arm went up. She uncapped the bottle and brought it to her mouth and drank. She was a little shaky but overall, coordinated. There was no apparent damage, apart from what she’d been through.
He called for Grace softly, and she poked her head in. Must’ve called for Gunner and Avery, because they were there in a few moments.
“Drea, honey, welcome back.”
She tried to get up but couldn’t. When he moved closer, she put her hands out. “Who the hell are you?”
His heart squeezed. “My name’s Jem. You were hurt. I’m helping you.”
She nodded, still looking suspicious. She glanced around at everyone. “Who are they?”
“These are my friends. They helped you too,” Jem told her.
She stared at him, her head tilted. “You’ve been here talking to me.”
“Yeah, the whole time. I never left you.”
“I don’t . . . Where are we?” She looked around the small cabin.
“We’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean,” he told her. Everyone else was quietly watching her, the expectation level high. “The mission’s over.”
“The mission?” she asked.
“Maybe too soon,” Gunner said, and Jem nodded.
“Doesn’t matter, Drea. You’re safe, okay?”
“Okay. But I don’t . . .” She shook her head a little, stared around the room. “I’m okay.”
She seemed to be saying that to reassure herself more than them. She took more water, smiled a little.
And then she ripped the rug out from under him by asking, “Did Danny send you? Is he here? He must be worried if something happened to me.”
Danny. Her Outlaw Angel ex.
He recalled his psych days, watching the doctors dealing with amnesia patients, had known it could happen to Drea. Had prayed it wouldn’t.
“Sometimes the mind takes us back to a place in time when we last felt safe,” one of the doctors told him when he’d asked about the causes of amnesia.
Had Drea never felt safe with him at all? Or had it just not been a long enough time yet to compete with the memory of Danny taking her out of her house and away from all the abuse she suffered at the hands of her parents?
“Just go with the Danny thing for now,” Gunner murmured. “Don’t freak her out any more.”
Grace moved over to Drea, said, “Honey, let’s get you to the bathroom, okay? And then we can talk about Danny.”
“Yes, that’ll be good,” Drea agreed, and Jem let her go. Turned to Gunner and Avery, not knowing what the fuck to say.
“She wants to go back to Danny. To the OA,” Avery said, her voice low but urgent. “We can’t let that happen.”
“What do we do—kidnap her again?” Jem asked.
“It’s for her own good,” Gunner said, and Jem sagged against the wall.
“Returning her to Danny would get the feds off her case,” Jem said. “Danny would rescind his testimony.”
“You can’t be serious about letting her go back to him,” Avery said.
“Keeping her away from him might fuck her up more,” Jem said. “Trust me, Avery—I know about this shit. Seen it firsthand.”
He stared at the closed bathroom door and wished to hell he knew how to fix this.
Chapter Thirty-three
Two months later
Avery lay down on the table in Gunner’s shop. It had been damaged from the bomb, with the shop taking the brunt of the damage. But Jem had hired men to renovate—and fast—and the shop had been redone to look the way he’d left it for the most part, save for some other updates. She’d researched the latest in equipment, gotten him leather tables and chairs, all of which added to the look he’d already created.
He’d loved it. She’d watched him just walk around the shop for a while, touching the guns and the chairs and the pictures, as though he was making sure it was all real.
And then he’d finally done the same to her. It was only the two of them in here tonight—he’d booked a private session, he’d told her. But instead of drawing and getting stencils ready, he was sliding a hand under her tank top, kissing her neck, picking her up and placing her on the table so he was standing between her legs.
“I thought you were tattooing me?” she asked, but she was far from complaining.
“Got to prepare. Relax. Make sure every inch of your skin’s ready for me,” Gunner murmured. He licked at her collarbone, nipped at her skin and she carded her hands through his dark hair.
They’d both gone through what seemed like complete transformation the past months. Somehow she’d never felt more like herself. She was complete, and she was done running.
Gunner was on the same page. If he hadn’t told her—which he had—she’d know it by his kisses, each one a promise. He was tugging down her sweats, pulling off her tank top.
“Because you have to take it off for the session anyway,” he said seriously.
“And my pants?”
“All for your comfort,” he assured her as he dropped them to the floor and dragged a finger gently along her wet sex. She gasped at the jolt of pleasure. “See? Better already?”
“Yes,” she agreed, because stopping now might kill her. Between the danger and her wounds, just being with him like this hadn’t happened frequently enough. Since the first time she’d let him see her scars, before Landon was caught, the sex had been during stolen, frantic moments.
His finger slid inside her as his thumb played along her clit. She pulled his head to her, kissed him, tongue sliding along his.
A second finger slid into her, and her hips rose to meet the touch. He always made her feel like this—aching with need and so completely wanted.
She moaned into his mouth as they kissed for a while. Then he kissed his way down to her breasts, laved her nipples until they were swollen and tender with arousal, until she was so wet and needful, she clawed at him for more.
She helped yank his pants down impatiently. Stroked his cock as he groaned. Guided him inside her, then pushed against him so he was forced to enter her quickly. She was on her back and he was standing over her, holding her thighs up, watching her face as he thrust.
“Fuck yeah, Avery. So tight and wet.”
“Yes.”
“For me.”
“Only. All for you.” Pleasure strummed every inch of her body as her climax built, started with the intense tightening in her belly and spread until her orgasm took away any coherent thoughts. Gunner rocked into her as she contracted around him until he came too, with a shout that sounded like her name. And then he half collapsed onto her as they recovered. And then he began to draw. While he was still on top of her.