Cole: The Wounded Sons Page 9

  Cole was a living, breathing, sensual weapon, and I was helpless against his power and he knew it, but I could give him a run for his money … at least try to before I drop to my knees and succumb to his devilish charm. Popping my hip, I smiled wide when his eyes zeroed in on the strip of belly showing between my top and waistband, his dark as dark eyes narrowed and hungry.

  “How are your shovelling skills?” I asked, choking on my laughter when his eyes went from smouldering to confused.

  “Say again?”

  Giggling, I motion with a chin lift for him to follow me. “Shovel, spade … you know digging? How are you at that?” Looking over my shoulder, I catch Cole checking out my butt in my skin-tight, circulation-cutting off jeans. Adding an extra sway in my hips, I turn away from him, not missing the low growl coming from the man behind me.

  Since my recovery, which was going to be ongoing for a long time yet, my body and my brain have become better friends, giving me a chance to stress less and have fun and own my body and inner self.

  “I have dug a hole or two in my time. Why?” Cole replied cautiously.

  “Well, Cole, today we are going to be clearing this.” Pushing open the back gate with a flourish, I stood to the side and waited for Cole’s reaction to today’s project.

  I lived with my grandparents, but not in the main house. At the back of the property, my pa built a small two-bedroom bungalow. When my parents had their moments of not wanting to be responsible, I stayed in the main house in my dad’s old bedroom. Then when I turned twenty and was released from treatment for the last time, Pa and Nan surprised me with my own little private haven. To them, it was a present for making it out the other side of my disease. To me, it was a sign of trust. They believed me capable of living alone, of going to the toilet by myself and being responsible for my own meals and eating them. After so many years of being hovered over and writing down every morsel of food that went in my mouth, this kind of freedom and trust meant more to me than I can ever put into words.

  I eagerly threw myself into making the bungalow all mine. Decorating it in my own style and turning it into a healing and calming space. The only thing that needed to be done was the—

  “My godfather, you have your own fucking jungle back here,” Cole gasped, stumbling in shock at the sight in front of him. Not that I could blame him, the yard looked very much like a jungle. Tall weeds of every description grew healthy and happy, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we found a stray animal or small child in the overgrown vegetation.

  “Yep,” I agreed, clucking my tongue, trying the see the mess from his eyes, and damn, I had to admit I was a little ashamed I had not bothered with it for all these years. Pa and Nan’s house was a few hundred metres to the front of the block, and even though Nan and Pa were very active for their age, always travelling the world, always off on one adventure or another, that didn’t mean they couldn’t take a tumble on the uneven surface. So I was the one who braved the prickles and creepy crawlies to hang out the washing, or they used the dryer and clothes airer.

  Turning to look at me, Cole gaped twice before he found his voice.

  “This is going to take more than a shovel, Oaklee,” he informed me, using my name and not baby or Temptress. I did not like that and going by the smirk on his face; he was picking that up.

  “Lose the scowl, Temptress, forgive me, I’m in shock,” he placated, taking his phone out of his back pocket and slid open the screen.

  “Who you callin’?” I asked, craning my neck to see the screen.

  “The ghost busters,” he winked, then focused on talking to someone on the other end. I heard a whole lot of ‘brother’, ‘mate’, ‘need some shit delivered’, then rattled off my address.

  Not a big talker on the phone either, I decided absently, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips.

  “Taking over, I see?” I quipped, looking pointedly at his phone.

  “If you expect me to help, then we do it my way, baby. Now, go move that chick car of yours and open up both gates. The boys will be here with a bobcat and some muscle in fifteen minutes. We need to clear some room for them,” Cole ordered, and at the same time, he whipped off his tee-shirt, stuffing it into his back pocket.

  Oh heaven help me, the man is born to be shirtless. My insides quivered at the revelation and at the delicious bare skin and sculptured washboard abs Cole uncovered. My hands remembered them, my tongue ached to taste them again, but I didn’t get to see much of his body in the darkness of his room. The next morning he had been on his belly sleeping, the sheet covering him from the waist down only giving me a look at his muscular back before sneaking out quickly to grab a shower with every intention of getting right back so we could talk.

  Plans failed monumentally there, didn’t they?

  Shaking off that train of thought, now that he had explained somewhat about that night, I chose to take a more adult route.

  “The only reason I am letting you boss me is because you have heavy machinery coming, and you took your shirt off. Otherwise, I would give you hell for picking on my car,” I huffed, stomping off with his deep chuckle following me like a smooth caress.

  “Damn man thinks his incredible chest and lickable skin makes it alright to pick on my car. Chick car? Bugger that, it is a cool car,” I grumbled, ignoring the bellow of laughter from Cole, but a smile split my face hearing the sound of Cole at ease and relaxed.

  I liked it and want to be the reason he felt like that more often than not.

  “I have to admit; I am impressed, Rambo,” I told Cole around a mouthful of salad sandwich. Three hours ago, my backyard resembled a state forest; now it was weed-free, the ground was level, and the soil turned ready for lawn seed. A driveway from the gate to my front door was measured, dug out, and boarded for the concrete truck, ordered for Monday afternoon thanks to Cole and his uncle Deck.

  Not only did Cole’s team arrive with a load of machinery, so did five other men from the Club’s construction business, one of whom was Deck himself.

  My lord, that man rocked the silver fox look. His body a fine specimen of muscle and power, the small amount of hair on his head was salt and pepper sexiness, and of course, he had the required growl and grunt way of communicating like everyone else at the Wounded Souls. My job with Memphis required me to be at the compound a lot of the time, but I spent most of those hours with my boss in her suite of rooms. I really only prowled the main room when I heard that Cole was home, and those times I only had eyes for Cole.

  “I can’t believe the whole yard has been transformed, and the guys built a path for Nan and Pa. I wasn’t expecting them to do that.” Nodding to the still-setting concrete path leading to the washing line, I still couldn’t believe Deck insisted they do it. When he arrived with his crew, he went about asking me a hundred questions on my requirements. I made the mistake of telling him my grandparents rarely came out here because of the rocky path. The next thing I knew bags of cement were getting chucked into a cement mixer that seemed to materialise out of nowhere, and a smooth path took shape.

  “Not a problem, baby, Deck had enough cement for the path, but the driveway needs a hell of a lot more, so the best thing for that is a truck load of concrete. Deck has to come back and insert the reo bar before they can pour, though.”

  “Hmmm, he said early Monday morning; I will see if I can get the morning off work.”

  “No need, baby; Deck and his men have everything under control,” Cole assured me, reaching for another sandwich while he eyed the half in my hand. Yes, I was still on the same half I started ten minutes ago, but I was a slow eater. It was a technique I learned while in hospital.

  Take it slow and don’t let your mind register it is carbs. Distract yourself when you eat; talk, get up and get a glass of water. Keep your mind off what is going in and think instead how good it is that you can eat. My eating disorder counsellor’s advice replayed over in my mind. And that was what I did, I distracted my mind from what I was eating and focused on
the fact that I could. It also meant having a meal with me was not fun for the other person.

  Shrugging at Cole, I held up my half-eaten sandwich. “It’s a coping technique; I eat slowly, so I don’t feel full too quickly. Therefore I won’t feel guilty.”

  “For eating?” Cole worried, his eyes narrowed.

  “Eating disorders don’t make sense to someone who hasn’t had one, and I realise that, Cole. Sometimes it makes no sense to me, but it is what it is. I eat, just slowly.”

  “I’m not picking on you, baby,” Cole insisted, his hand wrapping gently around my upper arm, “I’m just trying to know as much about it as I can.”

  “Why?”

  “So I don’t stuff up and trigger you by saying something thoughtlessly. If I know what your coping techniques are, I won’t comment on them.”

  My breath hitched in my throat, the sandwich suddenly forgotten about as a warmth from Cole’s sensitivity washed over me.

  “Oh, Cole,” I whispered, too overwhelmed to say anything else.

  His hand crept from my arm to cradle the side of my neck. His hand was rough yet gentle and smooth at the same time, making me want more of his touch.

  “Oaklee, I care about you. It’s important that I know, I read up on it a bit last night before I went to bed, but I find it better to learn directly from the source. That’s what I do; recon work is more effective watching and learning. There is only so much you can get online and reading intel. You said recovery was an ongoing process, so I am gathering as much information as I can.”

  His explanation was simple and made sense, but to me, it meant the world.

  “Now eat, Temptress,” he bossed with a gentle tone, directing my hand holding the bread to my mouth, his smile encouraging and not at all like he wanted to run the other way from my problems.

  Biting into the sandwich, I chewed the way I always did. Thoroughly. While silently, I reassured myself that carbs weren’t the enemy anymore.

  CHAPTER NINE

  COLE

  The last of Deck’s crew was now gone, leaving Oaklee and me alone in her new weed-free backyard. Gabe and the boys had left an hour earlier to get home to their wives, Kodah taking off for a road trip to Deke’s hometown with the last of his personal items. I was worried about him; he had grown very quiet since we lost Deke. That wasn’t unusual in itself, we all were still reflecting on the loss of our teammate and friend, but Kodah’s behaviour was different. Almost like he was pulling back from the team, at least that’s how it felt to me, so much so, I mentioned it to Bastian last night at the compound when I got back from the Bar and Grill.

  “Something going on with Ziggerman?” I blurted out without preamble, walking up to Bastian. Sitting in the living area at the compound, Bastian was waiting for his turn at the pool table.

  “Was going to ask you the same thing. Gabe is just about ready to rip his head off and shit down his neck,” he growled out, using his own unique way of putting things. Ammo was not one to beat around the bush, he called it as he saw it, and it was always colourful.

  “He needs to talk about what happened to Deke because once we get deployed again, all of us need to be in the same headspace. What happened with Signal can never happen again.”

  “Agreed,” Bastian concurred, “but something tells me it ain’t so much about losing Deke as it is about where he wants to put his dick.” Glaring at me with his intense blue eyes, a signature of the Johnston kids thanks to their father, Bastian held my gaze until the penny dropped.

  “Fuck me! No way!”

  “Way,” Bastian clipped, nodding his head.

  “Monroe? What the fuck is he thinking!” I wasn’t asking, more worrying that Kodah was into something he might regret.

  “Doing a mate’s sister is one thing, but a dead mate’s sister is a whole other kettle of fish.”

  Bastian snorted, “Deke wouldn’t have worried about it, I don’t reckon, but the fact that Kodah is behaving like it’s wrong is what has me concerned. Sneaking around doesn’t do any good, just ask Squirt and your brother.”

  Bastian’s unintentional double meaning wasn’t lost on me, and automatically my mind drifted to Oaklee. Back at the Bar and Grill, I had already made up my mind to explore the connection between her and me. Unfortunately, that decision came with complications—they can be overcome, but not without doing exactly what Ammo was accusing Kodah of doing with Monroe. Keeping it from Monroe’s or his family was one thing; keeping it from the team was something else entirely.

  Pursuing a relationship of any kind with Oaklee was going to happen, but I have every intention of telling my captain and team. We don’t keep things from each other that could possibly affect our ability to perform our jobs.

  Deke did, and look how that turned out.

  “Got something on your mind, Ghost?” Bastian enquired quietly, his voice low and thoughtful. The bastard, somehow well aware that our conversation had a personal meaning to me.

  “Yeah, mate, but when Kodah gets back, only want to cop an inquisition once.” With that, I pounded a hand on Ammo’s back, receiving no response or effect from the block of muscle that was Bastian Johnston, and took off for my room, wanting to get a good sleep before my day with Oaklee tomorrow. Or at least try and sleep.

  The sound of fingers clicking in front of my face jolted me back to the moment where I should have stayed, instead of getting lost and thinking about shit I shouldn’t be.

  “Hey, you still with me, Rambo?” Oaklee asked worriedly, her pretty lips between her teeth getting a munching on.

  Stay focused, Stephens! I chastised myself, hating the look of concern on Oaklee’s sweet face. Pushing away my worry about pursuing Oaklee for a minute, I dug deep for a smile, which surprisingly wasn’t as hard as I thought. Just sitting next to Oaklee made me happy.

  “Have you even seen those movies?” I asked her. “You know Sly and I look nothin’ alike, right?”

  “Of course I have seen them. It’s got nothing to do with his looks compared to yours; for me, it’s all about the grunting and growling that is similar. I swear I never knew grunts, growls and chin lifts could be classed as communicating until I came to work for your mum,” Oaklee laughed, and I easily joined in with her.

  “I have heard that a time or two from some of the other women coming into the Club, Peyton and Addy took a while to get used to it. Mum said the Flock sometimes reminisced about their early days with our fathers, trying to figure out what each chin lift meant,” I chuckled, understanding how it would be confusing for an outsider; to me, it was just life as a part of the Wounded Souls.

  “Speaking about Mum, how are you liking your job? Mum said you are in charge of the bookstore now.” Easing back more comfortably into the couch, we’d moved from outside to Oaklee’s little bungalow not long ago once the crew left.

  “Oh my god, I am loving it!” Oaklee gushed full of excitement. “Books are so much easier to get along with than humans. Thayer likes to tease me that I need to remember romance novels are fiction, not real.”

  “Nothing wrong with escapin’ from life from time to time, at least that’s what Mum says.”

  “Your mum is an inspiration to so many people; it must have been an experience and a half growing up with her.”

  Laughing, I nodded. “You could say that. We kids learnt from a very early age the skills Mum has used since she went blind at seventeen. Having a mother who is blind had its challenges, but as we got older, it became easier to adjust, especially with Dad and the whole Club behind us helping. It didn’t take long before it was second nature to count steps, and one reason I was so good at reconnaissance and attention to detail.”

  “It’s the small things I have learned from being with Memphis that have been really beneficial in life, like putting my chair under the table properly, taking note of where I put things, and generally being aware. I had never come across a vision-impaired person until her.”

  “Blind, baby, Mum calls it simple old being blin
d. She isn’t concerned with using the more acceptable terms for her condition; to Mum, she lost her sight, and that’s that. Being politically correct at the compound is a stretch at times,” I admitted ruefully. Not that the Club members were rude or inconsiderate, and the men had nothing but respect for women; instantly, I wanted Oaklee to know that.

  “I don’t mean that in a derogatory way, the men respect women and the kids, actually every single one of them would put their lives on the line to protect their family and loved ones, I just meant—”

  “Cole, I get it, really,” Oaklee hushed me, her hand landing on my thigh and squeezed me through my jeans, “I have been there a year now, and trust me, I feel nothing but respect when I am there.”

  I heard her words, even understood them, but my mind was reeling at a memory caused by her hand on me. A vision of Oaklee sitting on my dick backwards suddenly raced through my head, her long hair like a waterfall down her slender back, resting on my thighs, her hands behind her holding her up as she gripped my thighs as hard as she was riding me.

  “Fuck.” The low and pained growl rumbled from my lips.

  “What?” Oaklee asked, looking down at her hand, confused, then back up at me. “You don’t want me to touch you?” She started to pull her hand away, but I quickly pressed my palm down on hers to stop her.

  “No! I do, it’s just that I remember something you did that night. You holding onto my leg like you are now just triggered a memory,” I explained hastily, hating that our first sexual encounter was still a haze from the grog I’d consumed. All these snippets coming back in dribs and drabs were annoying as fuck and fucking embarrassing. What kind of man could ever forget bedding this gorgeous creature? A fucking idiot.

  Oaklee stared back down at her hand, and then a wicked smile spread her lips.

  “Oh, you mean when I was sitting on your lap reverse cowgirl style?” she asked innocently though her intention was anything but saintly. She knew what she was doing and I hoped she knew the consequences of teasing me.