BEAST: A Bad Boy Marine Romance (14 page)

I
told
Grady I loved him. And he hadn’t said it back.

But I wasn’t freaking out yet. He asked me to be his girlfriend—he opened up to me about his depression.

Though honestly, knowing that he had been suicidal filled my heart with more fear than love.

Grady gave me a wicked smile the next day, and told me he had the perfect plan for us. I reluctantly agreed—even though I hated surprises.

Grady and I sat in his truck in silence as we drove on the freeway. This entire setup felt so surreal. I wanted a crystal ball so I could read our future. I wanted assurance that we could make some type of relationship work. I had never navigated an adult relationship and I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. The tension hung thick in the air, and even the view of the beautiful mountains did little to ease my nerves.

We pulled off a dirt road, and I saw a sign: “Shooting & Safety.”

“Are you taking me to a gun range?”

“Yup. Since you’re an expert and all at disarming weapons.”

I shuddered. “You’re kidding me. I hate guns. I told you my mom shot herself. Not to mention you confessed to me that you tried to shoot yourself. Nope, not going to happen.”

He placed his hand on my thigh and looked at me. “You don’t have to shoot, and if you want to, we’ll leave. But you’re the one always talking about therapy. One of the methods I was taught was to desensitize yourself from the experience. This is a safe place. I want you to take back the power.”

“And this from the guy who claims that therapy doesn’t work.”

“I was blown up by a grenade. I can’t really do that again to desensitize myself. But I’m working on other ways to deal with it. Talking to you helps. So does fucking you.”

“Funny.” I exhaled, happy he could admit that keeping his feelings bottled up was futile.

At the shooting range, my fingers tingled and it wasn’t from the cold. I’d been raised shooting with my dad. After my mom killed herself with my father’s gun, I’d never had a desire to be anywhere near a weapon, though I had made an exception when I stole Grady’s bullet.

“Wait here.” Grady walked around the truck and opened my door. Swoon. He hoisted me out of the car.

Once inside the building, he introduced himself to the range owner.

The older gentleman shook his hand. “Sergeant Williams, I assure you that you do not need an introduction. It’s an honor to meet you. Thank you for your service.”

Grady posed for a few pictures, and I realized that in this environment he was a celebrity. This man was in awe of Grady.

The man placed his arm around me, in a fatherly hug. “Well, ma’am, you’re a lucky young lady to have a man like Grady Williams by your side.”

The fear pulsed through my veins as the owner pulled me aside to ask if I’d ever shot before.

“Yes, sir, I have but it was years ago. I’ll be honest, I’m pretty scared.”

“Well, you couldn’t have a better teacher. Grady is a legend.”

We were led into the shooting area that kind of resembled a really secure bowling alley, long lanes separated by partitions.

Grady fitted me with goggles and ear protectors. His face turned serious. “Okay, Isa. We have some safety rules. First rule, treat every weapon as if it were loaded. Second, never point a weapon at anything you do not intend to shoot. Third, keep your weapon on safety until you’re ready to fire. I will walk you through each step. Carefully pick up the pistol.”

I hesitated to grab the gun, my heart beating rapidly. Grady had brought his own pistol, which he informed me was a matte camouflaged-colored Colt M45.

What had my mom felt before she retrieved my father’s gun from the safe? Why had he given her the code? Did she think of me before she blew her brains out?

I choked back tears.

Grady leaned into me. “You okay, baby? You don’t have to do this.”

I swallowed hard. “No, I’m fine. I want to.”

Picking up the gun with my right hand, the cold metal imprinted on my palm. It felt heavy, its deadly steel haunting in my hands. I shivered, I didn’t know if I could go through with this. I made sure to keep pointing the gun down range.

“Good, baby. Now load the magazine.”

With my left hand, I loaded the magazine, careful to not pinch my fingers.

“Great job. Your stance is good, keep your legs parallel, arm extended. You will feel recoil when you shoot. Let it happen. Don’t tense up, and keep your weapon pointed in a safe direction.”

He wrapped his arms around me, his hands steady, his hard body pressed into mine. He took the weapon and placed my hands around it, his hands around my own, as if he was protecting me from the gun.

“You got this, babe. Now just aim and fire. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

The target was one of those paper bodies with a red heart. My hand slowly pulled back the trigger, and I fired and let out a yelp. The recoil surprised me, but Grady held me firmly in his grasp. A huge wave of relief swept over me.

“Good job, baby. Keep going.”

I pressed the trigger again, this time more confident.
Bam, bam, bam, bam
. Electricity pulsed through my veins; my heart beat fiercely. I felt alive, in control, strong, and powerful.

I placed the weapon down.

Grady picked up the gun. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

I took a step back, and Grady fired that weapon. With precision.

Bam, bam, bam.

Every shot dead center. His face was calm, centered, focused. No hesitation.

My mouth dropped. I was so turned on despite myself. How hot was this guy? I’d never had a military fetish, never been attracted to a man who shot guns. But being around this man, this superhero, for once in my life, I felt completely safe.

He unloaded the magazine and we walked out of the range.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and kissed me sweetly. Kisses have different purposes in life—some are for lust, some are for pity, some are for love. This one was for comfort. It was tender, dare I say loving. It was an amazing kiss. I had so much to say to him, desperately wanting to tell him more about my mother, but once again I was at a loss for words. Grady always rendered me speechless.

B
eing back
on the range today rattled me. I loved shooting—I’d been a rifle coach, had dreamed of being a sniper. The power, the rush, the thrill. It was completely addicting.

But these days, the sound of gunfire brought me back to Iraq. When I’d been over there, it wasn’t about the politics, it wasn’t about the war, it was about protecting my brothers. One goal, getting them out of there alive.

I focused on why I loved shooting: the precision, the power, the skill. I refused to allow myself to think of the men I’d killed in combat, refused to picture their faces, and the way their bodies slumped when they hit the ground.

There were some things I’d done that I would never tell Isa.

It was bad enough that I looked like a monster, she would never love me if she knew I was also a killer.

When we returned to the cabin, we relaxed for a bit. After an hour Isa came over to the sofa and sat on my lap. “I’m going to just teach you some fundamentals of dancing. Nothing too intense today.”

I grimaced, but I refused to go back on my word. My dance knowledge consisted of doing joke moves to make my Marines laugh—lawn mower, the fishing pole, the hammer. But once I committed to something, I put in one hundred and ten percent. “Sounds good.”

“Okay, I’m going to run upstairs and change really quickly. Luckily, you bought me dancing shoes.”

Yeah, what a stroke of luck. I’d just wanted to see her dance, not to have to dance myself.

I made a fresh pot of coffee and waited for her.

Five minutes later, she walked down the stairs and I almost dropped the coffee pot. She wore a loose purple shirt that had a strappy sports bra sewn in and multicolored yoga pants that seemed painted on her curvy ass. Instead of tennis shoes, her feet were strapped in the sexy little dance heels.

We cleared the living room so we could use it as a dance floor, and she turned on Sam Smith from her iPhone. The song was soothing and melodic, definitely not like my usual listening choice of heavy metal.

“So, we’re going to start with the basics—rumba walks. They’re also used in cha-cha and bolero. Keep your toes on the floor, chest up, straight back, and push off of your standing leg.”

Her hand adjusted my hip and all I could think about was having her hand drop lower to my cock.

“Good. Okay, that’s a good start. Keep your legs straight, when you bring your right leg to your left, settle your hip, and then stick your right leg forward and transfer your weight.”

Fuck, this was hard, though she made it look easy. Her hips seemed to be flowing back and forth, as if they were making love to the floor. I was used to drill—precise steps with my feet, syncopated with my fellow Marines.

She taught me a basic rumba, a dance of unrequited love, and a bit of the foxtrot, a dance of happily-ever-afters. Isa had drilled me with the steps, feet on the floor, shoulders down, chest and chin up.

After an hour of me following her around the floor like a lovesick puppy, I’d had enough, but I wasn’t about to quit. I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of my fellow Marines who would no doubt be egging me on.

“So, I think you have the moves down. But you’re still missing something.”

“What?”

“We’re going to work on our connection in the dance. Our dancing depends on our ability to get our audience to feel our spark.”

I thought I had it down, but she was right. There was still something I was missing.

Emotion.

Intimacy.

I had to feel something, something toward Isa, something toward the dance. She’d told me she loved me. Did I love her? I craved her, I was addicted to her, I wanted her to be mine. But I was comfortably numb. I had been disconnected for so long, I didn’t have a clue how to bond.

She moved her body into my space. “We’re going to start with a game. In dance, the man is always in control.”

I liked this more and more. “Keep talking.”

“I need you to lead me, take charge, own me.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. “Fuck, baby, if I knew dancing was this hot, I would’ve started years ago.”

She gave me a playful glance, untied her hair, which was wrapped up in one of those weird scarfs, and handed the silky fabric to me. “Here, blindfold me.”

What the fuck? “Don’t have to ask me twice, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing, but I’d be happy to tie you up and lick your pussy until you can’t stop coming.”

Her mouth widened into a cautious smile and a nervous laugh escaped her lips. “Maybe later, Hulk. But for now I need you to blindfold me and lead me around the room. When we’re dancing, we can’t speak. We can only communicate through movement. And we need to build trust. Though I may be your teacher, on the floor you are always in charge. Make me submit to you.”

Heat rose through my body. I couldn’t tell if she was fucking with me, but if she was, I didn’t care. I didn’t hesitate but pulled her to me and secured the scarf around her eyes. Without saying a word, she swiveled her hips into mine and laid her head on my chest.

“Dance with me. Don’t think, just connect,” she whispered, breathy, sexy.

I wrapped my arms around this beautiful woman and just moved to the music. When I stepped, she followed, mirroring my every movement, even though she couldn’t see. Her fingers brushed my neck, her chest heaved with mine, our legs moved in sync. Our bodies became one unit. I’d always seen dancing as pointless, but I’d never been this physically close to a woman without having sex. It was hot as hell.

Then she looked up and smiled at me. A genuine smile, accepting loving. Her face didn’t wince in horror at my face; instead she looked at me the way I prayed that someone would one day look at me like that again. She loved me.

And I knew one truth in that moment.

“Isa.” I cupped her face and looked into her beautiful green eyes. “I love you.”

T
he next morning
, we both sat on the sofa, catching up on our phones.

Then I saw it.

A text from Beau containing a web link.

Beau: Bro, did u c this?

I clicked on the link which led to a gossip article.

“Bella Applebaum’s Deal with the Devil Dog: Why the desperate former reality star agreed to pretend to be the girlfriend of maimed Medal of Honor recipient Grady Williams.”

What the fuck?

Rage swept through me as I skimmed the article. “According to a source, Bella told her friend that she was repulsed by Grady but agreed to attend the Marine Corps Ball with him as long as her father would write Grady’s war memoir.”

I’d never been under any delusion that my face was anything but grotesque. But reading this article, knowing that she told her someone I disgusted her singed my already scorched skin with humiliation.

I could show her the article, listen to her false apologies, her protests that she never said it, but there was no point. I wanted her gone—out of my life.

Forever.

In all honesty I should never have allowed myself to get close to her—from the second I saw her, I knew she was out of my league. She was too beautiful, too sexy. Who could ever love a beast?

I stood up from the sofa and looked toward the ground. I refused to give her the satisfaction of staring at me again.

“I’ve made a mistake. This, whatever this was, isn’t going to work out. I’ll pay for you to change your ticket so you can go home early.”

“What? Are you serious? After telling me last night that you love me you want me to go?”

“Yup.”

My back was turned to her but I could hear her stand up. She placed her hand on my shoulder, I pushed it off.

“Don’t make this harder than it is. It would never work out between us. And I’ve decided that I don’t want to write a book. Meeting Pasha made me realize that once I start up with celebrity shit, I’ll become a fucking puppet.”

“No.” She wasn’t giving up. “I don’t care about the book, I’ll find another way to pay for my tuition, even if I have to take a year off. I can get a loan. I can get a few jobs. Don’t do this, Grady. I’m in love with you! Just because you’re scared—”

“Scared? Scared of what? You? Love? You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You don’t know the meaning of the word scared. Get the fuck out of my face. If you want to talk about our relationship, I’m sure your friend would love to hear more stories about how repulsive I am.”

Her mouth flew open. “What are you talking about? I never said that.”

“Whatever, Isa. Just get your shit and go.”

She stormed off to her room. I threw my cell phone at the wall, hoping it would shatter. That way, I’d be unreachable. Any minute now my phone would be blowing up with sympathetic texts about that article.

She emerged a few minutes later, clutching her suitcase. “Grady, I read the article. I didn’t say that I swear. I told Mirasol that—”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear your excuses. Just stop.”

“No, you’re going to listen to me. I didn’t say that. I said your scars are horrific and clearly you’ve suffered so much, but you’re sexy anyway. Please believe me.” Her voice was choked with emotion.

“Whatever. It’s more than that. This will never work. I just want to be alone.”

I grabbed her luggage. As we walked toward the door, I could sense her mood changing. A scowl graced her face.

But she wasn’t my problem.

We walked outside and I loaded her luggage in the car.

She clutched my arm. “Grady, I didn’t say that. If you aren’t aware already of how the media skews everything, you need a crash course ASAP. You’re in the public eye, whether you want to be or not.”

“That story is on national news. You still told someone about our agreement for the book deal, something you told me to keep quiet.”

“Yeah, I did. I told my best friend. That’s what friends do—they share. And I texted Marisol—she swore to me she didn’t talk to the press, and I believe her. I trust her. Someone overheard us and then sold a false story to the tabloids. This happens every day. I can give a statement and it will go away.”

I believed her. But it was too late now. The entire world now saw me as a joke.

She caressed my waist and I wanted to feel her hands on me this one last night.

“You’re an amazing guy. You’re heroic, strong, sexy, and surprisingly sweet. But you have PTSD. You need help. I can’t walk out of here today and regret not telling you how I feel. I think we could really have something beautiful here. We could have an amazing life together. I love you, but I can’t be with you if you don’t love yourself. And you don’t even want to try. You risk your life to save your friends, but you won’t even attempt to save yourself. You’re worth it, I’m worth it. If you go get some help, I’ll be here when you’re finished. If not, I’m not going to the ball with you. Promise or no promise.”

I clenched my fist, using every bit of self-control I had to not plunge it into the car door.

“So it’s all my fault this won’t work? I’m not the only one fucked up here, Isa. You’re a mess too. Always trying to save everyone—me, your dad. What makes you happy? What are you running from? Your mom killed herself and you found her—well, that’s pretty fucked up. Have you dealt with that? What are you doing to take care of yourself? At least I admit freely that I’m a wreck. That I’ll never be able to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do my entire life—be a sniper. You want to be a clinical psychologist to help people, I get that. But I’ve seen you dance. Not just here with me, but I used to watch you every week on television with my grandma. And once I discovered who you were, I watched old clips. You loved dancing, you glowed. I’ve never seen that glow on your face, that light in your life. You claim you want to live your life free and not hide from anyone, but you are hiding from yourself.”

Her face reddened and her nostrils flared. I expected a smartass retort, but her silence infuriated me more. She had to know I was right. Instead of trying to help everyone around her, Isa needed to help herself.

Her face softened. “You’re right. I’m damaged too, and I miss dancing. But I’m going to do something about it. I hope you will too. And no matter what happens with our relationship, I hope we can remain friends.”

Friends? Fuck that, I could never be a friend to a woman I’d fucked. The thought of another man touching Isa, fucking her, killed me.

I gritted my teeth. “Not going to happen. I never want to see you again.”

A grimace lingered on her face and her chin trembled. “You don’t mean that.”

She kissed my scarred cheek, and I resisted the urge to grab her, kidnap her, throw her over my back like a caveman staking his property. Before I knew what had happened, her car disappeared behind the pines.