Stricken Resolve (9 page)

First page I skim. My eyes resting to one
particular sentence.

‘
Numerical security codes mentally
obtained coincide with alphabetical counterpart instilled in
separate safe link.
’

You’ve got to be kidding me. Apparently
Pen—whatever her name is, is my alphabetical counterpart. Why on
god’s green earth did they not inform me of that when this was all
mentally engrained?

Next page.

Key point-
‘Nuclear armament and
disarmament codes, to be extracted at integral intervals over an
extensive time period. Suggested timeframe; not exceeding fifteen
months.’

Next page.

‘
Codes to be extracted at intervals to
protect from possible detonation, including but not limited to
terrorist acts of war.’

I finish the rest of the document, sitting in
moving silence as only the tires on the pavement sound. I can hear
both of them breathing but they’ve done the correct thing and kept
their mouths locked tight. With the tension building in my body, I
feel like a dang rubber band. I might snap at any moment. This
isn’t like me at all. But what can I expect when you take me from
the only person who means everything to me. To inevitably shack up
with another, thanks to government protocol and no contact can be
made until my duty has been fulfilled. It’s stated clearly in this
document. Yet, the only thing they don’t seem to outline is the
why
.

“
Why
… are they bringing me in?” I
clear my throat. “Excuse me,
us
in.” I try to sound
reasonably calm. I don’t think I’m succeeding. I can feel the
muscles in my neck bulging and my jaw is clenched so tightly I
might chip a tooth. My fingers are gripping the papers firmly as I
attempt to control my breathing. I can feel my inherent
self-control fading fast.

“The government. Actually, the president
himself is in need of the proper codes to test some of the world’s
most dangerous nuclear warheads and other important matters. Things
of which, even someone with such high clearances as yourself, is
not ranked high enough to warrant such information,” Brewer answers
forwardly, without an ounce of insolence.

“In layman’s terms, it’s above my pay grade,”
I tack on snidely.

“Precisely. All I can tell you is we are
going to the Pentagon tomorrow to start your initial paperwork for
induction fully into the program. At that time, you two will be
given a place to house, an assignment to complete alongside your
safe link extraction duties. You will be given a new cell phone, a
new identity for the time you serve with us, as well as all the
provisions and comforts needed to live as a stable married couple
for the duration of this job. After the completion, you will be
allowed to return to your former lives or take up another
assignment with us. The choice will be up to you both,” he
explains, speaking to us both. Sergeant Gonzales just keeps staring
at me out of the corner of her eye. I don’t think she’s looked
anywhere else since I’ve entered this car. Am I that intimidating?
Emily’s always said I scare… how does she put it? The
bejesus
out of everyone. Something about my dark clothing,
the way I carry myself and my guns. Although she swore it was one
of the sexiest qualities about me. Sexy? Ha—I never thought I’d
hear my name and that word used in the same sentence. Quiet,
reserved, strong, brooding, self-controlled...yes, those are some
words that resonate with me. But sexy or handsome and especially
perfect would never come into context when I think about who I am.
But apparently my woman views me differently. One of the reasons
why I am so deeply in love with her.

I ride in silence and lean my head back,
closing my eyes as my two fellow ride-alongs causally carry on a
conversation which I ignore.

I allow my mind to drift into the past,
trying to kick this constant aching in my chest. I knew leaving her
would do this to me; I just never thought it would affect me this
intensely. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I’m on the verge
of a serious cardiac episode.

The first time I spotted Emily was at the
Vegas concert for Stricken. Stacy, her best friend and road
manager. Well, let’s face it— he’s what keeps the band afloat. I’ve
always done the babysitting and he corrals the rest. Anyhow, he
informed me he was bringing Emily on part-time as the co-manager.
Something about his mom being ill and he needed the help. I wasn’t
going to argue. Although I did have my own internal reservations
considering the poor Indiana born and bred woman would have to
endure countless hours of potent male testosterone. Which is
inevitably increased when they consume generous amounts of liquor
and beer.

Standing next to the stage, Stacy flirted
with women as he always did and when I went to tap him on the
shoulder to grab his attention. I had to discuss something. I can’t
even remember what is was, now.

“Hey,” he said, turning to face me.

We discussed whatever it is I had to say and
then he turned the conversation into what has turned out to be the
most important moment in my entire life.

“See there, the woman in the front row.” He
pointed to this petite redhead with such a business infused,
uptight, uncomfortable persona I almost felt sorry for her. From
afar she was still radiantly beautiful. Although at the time, I was
accustomed to being surrounded by hot women. Not that I’ve ever
partook in any of the group sex or parties. I have, however, been
approached many times by women, inebriated and seeking a little
bodyguard attention. The only attention I gave was compassion and
sadness for them. Many times I’d sit with them as they cried in a
drunken stupor. I’ve held more women’s hair as they vomited than I
can count. It’s never been an essential part of the job
description. It’s just who I am. The softer side of me surfacing
when I see—for lack of a better term—a damsel in distress.

I kept my eye on the pretty little redhead
the entire night. Even after I left the stage and took a spot at
the bottom, behind the metal barricade. Wearing my signature black
on black, I watched her, as she watched and danced a little as the
show progressed. Sweat gleamed like tiny diamonds off of her
delicate features and that was the first time I’d ever gotten a
hard-on just observing a woman. Years of watching threesomes and
countless ruthless blowjobs administered to Johnathan. Not even
once did it ever pique my sexual desires. Emily did, from the very
first moment. Something about her has always generated heart
palpitations. The need to protect her and love her. Even if I
didn’t realize it was love at first, it didn’t take long to figure
out. Even if I did spend weeks trying to convince myself otherwise.
Being the proverbial hermit and then meeting a woman like her, is
like smelling salts abrasively assaulting the senses. A total mind
fuck. Pardon my French.

“We’re almost there” my ol’ buddy Brewer
informs me. I lean up, opening my eyes and peering out the window.
The ocean is within view from this highway, traveling south toward
Oceanside, to enter Camp Pendleton. One of many southern California
military bases. I’ve visited them all at one time or another.

“I just love California weather,” Sergeant
Gonzales adds, running her long fingers through her even longer
hair.

“Where are you from?” Brewer asks her.

“Washington, sir,” she answers with a light
smile. Flashing just the faintest amount of her pearly whites,
clashing brightly against her tanned skin.

If I have to live with this woman, it doesn’t
mean I have to like her or be friendly. I just have to do my job
and pray that Emily won’t be married to Johnathan by the time I’m
finished. Which, if I’m honest with myself, I can see happening.
Johnathan is sneaky and charming. Emily typically sees through most
of his bull but the sweetness in her makes her susceptible to his
covert manipulations. He’s rather tactile in the way he plays
women. I never cared much before. I never liked it. But it wasn’t
my job to interfere. Now it’s my sole duty to protect and prevent
his volatile emotional warfare. All if it is to fill the void that
resides within him. I realize he’s been screwed over basically his
entire life. I know all of it. Including the dirty and dingy parts.
Parts that you would feel completely tainted even talking about.
And somewhere in his swirling vortex of baggage, he has decided to
claim Emily as the prize. The light at the end of his proverbial
tunnel, regardless of how it affects or destroys her. All he cares
for is to win at all costs. I just pray I’m back in time to keep
anything from setting in stone. Even if in the end she doesn’t
choose me, being with him is not in her best interest. Emotionally
or physically. If she only knew some of the kinky and degrading
stuff he puts women through. None of which Emily, even on her best
and happiest day, would agree to.

We pull into the gate, the driver is greeted
by an MP and we are shooed on. Making our way to my unfortunate
departure. The weight of my impending position is starting to sink
heavily into my spirit. Chipping away my happiness and filling the
hollowness with darkness. The only way I know the light will ever
shine brightly back in my world is when it’s returned to the woman
who holds the key to my heart. Only then will I ever be whole
again.

Chapter Eight

~Johnathan~

“How’s she doing?” I ask the nurse on duty,
my elbows resting on the cheaply veneered raised nurses’ station.
We are officially thirty hours W.J (without James.)

“Hasn’t uttered a word since he left,” the
nurse with pretty, deep chocolate eyes informs me, as she clicks
around on her computer. Not even looking up but a moment to
acknowledge me. Which is out of character for most women. Usually
women throw themselves at me or at least blush and flirt. Not this
woman.

“Has she at least touched our twins?” My
voice flitters with frustration. I saw Emily yesterday shortly
after James took off. And even then she didn’t seem interested in
anything.

With eyebrows fiercely drawn, lips pulled
into a sneering disgust, the nurse abruptly stands, sending her
rolling chair back a significant distance, clinking into the
opposite side of the little nurses’ station.

“Mr. Striker, not only has Emily been
devastated by losing the… What I’d call the love of her life.”

I recoil at her pungent words. Standing
straight up I tuck my hands into my gray shorts pockets.

“I…”

Snapping her intense eyes directly at me, I
close my mouth.

“As I was saying,” she huffs, tossing her
arms across her small perky chest. “She’s lost her anchor. Has been
sheltered from the outside world. Sequestered to a bed for months,
under strict medical care. And she’s had to endure countless pain,
both emotionally and physically. Not to mention, she just had the
twins on Tuesday. To put it mildly, she’s been through
a
lot
,
”
she emphasizes and takes in a sharp breath.

“But…to answer your
important
question,” she continues, obviously mocking me.

“The strong, amazing woman has yet to miss a
feeding or diaper change. And, she refuses to allow Stacy to help.
He’s been sitting in her room, holding Eric and Jenna and taking
Emily’s nonverbal cues. She refuses to eat, so we’ve started an IV
and she’s slept very little. Doctor Stephanie Pierson has attempted
to talk with her, offering her support. But she’s still mute. Which
is to be expected.”

“Expected?” My voice booms.

Is there an expectation on how screwed up
everything is or going to be? How it’s
supposed
to be. That
sounds ridiculous.

“Yes…expected. It’s not uncommon for new
mothers to demonstrate different levels of postpartum depression.
Plus, her added stress will probably amplify her symptoms,” she
answers in a flamboyantly snooty way.

If she wasn’t caring for Short Stack, I’d be
sure to put this nasty mouthed bitch in her place. However, I’ll do
the right thing and refrain. Even though this is going to kill
me!

“Ahh...” I sigh, allowing the air that blows
from my mouth to carry my increasingly volatile attitude out with
it. Providing me with a little more self-control.

“Here.” She produces a booklet, shoving it
against my chest.

Easy there, bitchy nurse.

I take it and rifle through the pages,
already bored.

“It’s about postpartum depression,” she
explains, eyeing the booklet in my grasp.

“Ok, I’ll read it.”

Maybe I really should. I attempted to read
‘What to expect when you’re expecting.’ Cammy bought it for me and
two chapters in I was snoozing at every other word. Now it sits
indefinitely on my bookshelf in the beach house’s office. Along
with Emily’s extensive collection of novels.

“Now when can I take her home?” I point with
the booklet, towards Emily’s room, just down the hall.

“That will be up to Dr.Golds. I don’t see it
being until at least Monday or Tuesday with the condition she’s in.
If she doesn’t eat, we can’t release her. The babies are ready to
go whenever. But we won’t discharge them into anyone’s custody
except hers or James’s.”

I stare hateful daggers at her, my blood
beginning to boil. James. Motherfucking James. I am their father.
End of story!

“You do know those are
my
kids,
nurse...” I check her name tag. “Shelly,” I curtly enunciate,
surprised she hasn’t noticed the steam billowing from my ears.

Screw her and the horse the bitch rode in on.
I’m going to be a fanfuckingtastic father.

“Yes, that I
do
realize, Mr. Striker.
But I don’t know you and to be honest, I’m not so sure you’re
equipped or trained to care for the twins properly.”