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9
Aiden
Nadia pushed feelings to the surface I’d never felt. Thinking about those nude thighs from that day made my cock hard as a rock. I stood in the cold shower to gain control. She definitely knew how to push my buttons. But also knew how to calm me. Her soft hand landed against my cheek. Fuck, I wanted to slide deep into her warmth until I filled her womb at least three times.
She admitted I was the man she wanted. Even after learning about my dangerous life. Nadia thought she wanted a life with me. She was confused.
One year of living with a man who’d barely be in our home, she’d leave.
Nadia plopped on the couch at my side bringing me back from my thoughts.
“I’m ready.”
Her cold distant eyes stared at the laptop screen.
I tapped the button, and the video played.
A man stood in Nadia’s ransacked living room holding a cell in his hand.
Sir, she’s not here.
Where the fuck is, she? The man’s voice roared through the speaker.
I didn’t want to alarm Nadia, but I recognized the voice.
LT. Commander Kraton Thompson.
He hated me and I hated him more. His animosity ran deep because I continued to out perform him in BUD’s training.
The man glanced over his shoulder at the other two men and shrugged.
She’s disappeared sir. Someone must’ve helped her.
Fucking, find her. Get traffic cam footage. She can’t be far.
He disconnected the call.
“You heard him. Rosco, talk to your buddy in intelligence and get eyes on the streets.”
They never walked next door to my house. They gathered the men I pulverized and left the premises.
Nadia gasped and tears streamed down her beautiful cheeks. I embraced her.
“I’ll keep you safe. Don’t you worry.”
Knowing Thompson, he was working with a large crew. I didn’t want to call on my brother, but I might need too.
“Aiden, go take a nap. I’ll guard the window.” She pulled back.
“Ok. There aren’t any camera’s for miles other than the super store we were at yesterday. If they’re any good and could track us, it would take a couple of days.”
She nodded, grabbed the AK forty-seven and strolled toward the window.
“If you see a tree branch move wake me up, ok.”
“All right.”
I glanced at my blaring watch. It was sixteen hundred hours. I shot up in the middle of the bed, clutching my head. Strolling into the bathroom, I stared into the mirror. My PTSD hit me hard. I clutched the counter, closed my eyes, and counted to ten.
