Then she’d become trapped in that hospital. She’d screamed for her momma. . . .
Tipping the glass to her lips she finished the drink, slapped the glass to the table, and rose quickly from the chair. She didn’t allow herself to think about that, not anymore. It wasn’t productive and it only led to heartache.
Stepping to the couch she stretched out on the surprisingly comfortable cushions and stared up at the ceiling for long moments. Her eyes were just drifting closed when she heard the door to the suite open, the momentary murmur of conversation, then silence once again as Duke entered.
He paused at the side of the couch, muttered something she didn’t catch, then continued on to the bathroom as she let herself slip into sleep. He was there; she could let down her guard enough to rest, knowing he’d be awake for a few more hours at least. By then, she’d be awake. She always was. She rarely slept more than four hours without dreaming, so she’d learned to awaken herself before that point.
• • •
Duke sat in the recliner in the sitting room and dozed. He wasn’t about to sleep in that big-assed bed while Angel slept on the couch. Somehow, the thought of it just seemed wrong.
He’d been certain she’d be awake when he came into the suite, and he’d had every intention of convincing her to share the bed with him, despite Natches’s orders to the contrary. He had made certain he’d locked the door when he entered, though. The last thing he wanted was Natches walking in on something that might get Duke killed.
He palmed the heavy erection beneath the light cotton pants he wore whenever he wasn’t actually in the bed.
He’d been so damned hard since that kiss yesterday that the jeans he wore had become torturous. Didn’t matter what Angel did, all he had to do was look at her and his dick throbbed harder, became more demanding.
He could have blamed the sexual hunger on simply being a Mackay—they were highly sexed and sometimes far too dominant in that sexuality. Combined with it was the fact that when they found that woman who managed to steal their sanity, they were incredibly faithful to them.
For all the merciless evil that filled his parents, they had loved each other. They had loved their sons.
Duke remembered his father’s firm guidance, the way he taught Duke and Ethan to work on a car or a tractor, to plant, and to nurture. Their mother had laughed and spoiled them. She soothed them when they were sick and helped them with homework. Their parents had attended their ballgames, had raised them without once abusing them.
And all the while they’d been hiding a monster inside them. A monster had lurked in his father that was capable of coding in the command that sent a drone’s missile slamming into a hotel, knowing it would kill two children. Two tiny, defenseless little girls. They probably hadn’t cared. Craig had become a liability when he contacted Dayle Mackay at the time and threatened to tell everything he knew if someone didn’t help him escape.
The fact that Angel had survived amazed Duke. The fact that she’d escaped without an all-out manhunt ordered by the Freedom League confused him. Why would Trent Mackay have allowed one of those little girls to roam around alive? He would have had to have known there were two children with Chaya’s ex-husband, not just one.
Or had Craig hidden Jenny from his traitorous friends just as her mother had hidden the child from her sister?
Those were the questions that were thrown out during the hours he’d spent in the crowded kitchen with Natches and the rest of the family. All but Dawg’s sisters were agents or members of law enforcement and all of them had their own opinions, their own questions as they hashed out what little evidence they had managed to pull in.
Not that there was much. The fact that Angel’s picture had been found with a notation that she’d have to be taken care of first bothered him, though. If they didn’t know she was Bliss’s sister, then why would she matter? Just because she knew the family wasn’t enough reason. The fact that she was part of a highly trained extraction/rescue team wasn’t enough because Tracker and Chance weren’t with her. And only her picture had been found.
Rubbing his hands over his face Duke blew out a hard, deep breath.
He was going to have to discuss it with her and he hated the thought of it. If she knew she’d brought danger to Bliss, it would kill her. Telling her meant risking her leaving. She’d call Tracker and Chance in a New York minute to protect Bliss and she’d be gone.
Hell, he was surprised she hadn’t already called them.
As he watched her, she shifted in her sleep, kicked the blanket from her legs restlessly, and he nearly groaned in torment. Those damned boy shorts and tank tops. They shouldn’t be called sexy by any stretch of the imagination. But on Angel, they were fucking damned erotic.
One arm lifted to curve behind her head, raising those perfect breasts and causing sweat to pop out on his forehead.
Maybe sitting here watching her wasn’t such a great idea. He had the hard-on from hell demanding they ride, and there Angel was—sleeping.
Amusement curled at his lips and he leaned his head back, forcing himself to stare up at the ceiling rather than at the woman. The view wasn’t as good, but it was damned sure safer. . . .
The moan that whispered from her lips had his gaze jerking back to her. That wasn’t a sound that denoted a pleasant dream.
The sound came again, and he knew what was coming if he didn’t wake her. The question was, where the hell had she hidden that knife she always slept with?
He wasn’t a foolish man and he’d already had that damned blade at his throat once before when he tried to wake her.
“No . . .” she whispered, shaking her head. “Please . . .”
Hell no.
He moved quickly from the chair and before she could reach for that damned knife he had her wrists between his fingers, pulling them to her as her eyes flared open and she tried to ram her head into his.