Page 93 of Tactical Lies

2:44 A.M.

“You need the what?” Cade demanded, almost choking himself.

Becca felt her cheeks heat. Right. She hadn't thought how that would sound saying it out loud to a bunch of men who weren't aware—at least she didn't think they were—of her and Connor’s little collection of penis stuffies.

Connor threw back his head and laughed. “She means my penis.”

“Your what?” In the dim light of the torches, Cooper’s eyes about bugged out of his head.

“You're incorrigible,” she told Connor, swatting at his shoulder with her good hand. “He doesn’t meanhispenis.” At least not yet, although she would for sure need it later when the adrenaline wore off and the fear settled in. “I meant the plushie that he brought me. It’s upstairs in the bedroom, and I … wouldn't mind holding onto it while you put my shoulder back in.” It was a poor comparison to having the real thing in her mouth, but that wasn't appropriate when his brothers were in the room with them so she’d settle for the toy.

“I’ll go get it,” Cole offered, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Thank you,” she whispered, a little mortified that she’d just blurted that out in front of men she considered brothers. Becca decided she’d blame it on the exhaustion that weighed heavily against her body, the throbbing pain that pounded through her, and the fact that she and Connor had almost died in this room.

Never would she forget the feel of the cold metal pressed to her temple.

It wasn't the first time she’d been close enough to death to feel it curl its fingers around her life, squeezing just enough for her to realize the strength of its power.

But it was the first time that Connor had been right there.

When Dylan Sanders had assaulted her, she’d been alone. When she’d been in the cabin earlier and threatened with rape and death she’d been alone, even when she’d gone over the edge of the cliff, she’d been alone even though Connor had been close by. But this, he would have gotten a front seat to every horrific second of torture and she couldn’t seem to get over that.

Maybe because she knew how much she couldn’t have coped with watching him be killed and she knew just what she’d been asking of him to not cave and give the men what they wanted no matter what they did to her.

“Here you go, Bec,” Cole said as he pushed the penis plushie into her hand.

Immediately, she felt some of her tension recede. This really wasn't as good as having Connor’s in her mouth, but it was better than nothing. Enough at least to get her through the next few unpleasant moments.

“Won't take long, moonlight,” Connor assured her, and she managed a nod for him because the last thing she wanted to do was worry him when she knew he must be feeling as exhausted and emotionally strung out as she was.

Lifting the plushie to her face, she brushed it across her cheek and closed her eyes, doing her best to imagine the silly toy was really Connor. Trying to ignore it as Connor and Cole positioned themselves by her dislocated shoulder, it hurt, but somehow it was the fear of how badly it was going to hurt when it was put back into place that was worse.

It was over quicker than she would have thought.

A muted grunt of pain as they manipulated the joint and suddenly it was back in and the pressure in her shoulder was gone. It still hurt, but it wasn't the pulsing pain that had been there when it was popped out.

“You did amazing, baby girl,” Connor whispered, nuzzling her cheek alongside the plushie while Cole slipped a sling around her neck and tucked her arm into it.

That helped ease the pressure in her shoulder even more and now wave after wave of exhaustion was buffeting against her. All she wanted was to change into dry clothes, crawl into a warm bed, feel Connor’s body wrapped around her, and sleep for a week.

Soon, but not yet.

Fighting against the weariness weighing her down, Becca blinked open heavy eyes. “Connor got shot,” she told his brothers.

“What?” Cole asked sharply.

“It’s fine. Flesh wound. Becca was more important,” Connor said like it was obvious.

“I’m all taken care of now,” she told the man she loved. There were other wounds she was sure she had, bruises, scratches, she hurt all over, so it was hard to narrow anything down to any particular location. But she was okay. She wasn't going to die from any of those injuries and she was worried that Connor’s gunshot wound was worse than he’d been letting on.

Just because he’d pulled her up the side of the cliff and carried her back to the cabin didn't mean that his wound wasn’t serious. She knew there was nothing he wouldn't do for her, including downplaying an injury so she didn't worry.

“Can you check him out please?” she asked Cole.

“I'm fine,” Connor insisted.

When she looked up at his face, dirt-streaked, hair still wet and sticking up at weird angles, lines of exhaustion bracketing his mouth, Becca found tears flooding her eyes. She could have lost him tonight. They’d been so close. If his brothers hadn't shown up when they did, she had no doubts she’d be dead by now. She’d pushed too hard, and the men were itching to take her out.

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