Unknown (Unknown Series Book 1) (7 page)

It was seven in the morning, and I really needed to pee, but I didn’t want to move. Warm breath bathed my hip from Ry’s lips through my pajama shorts. His arm on my back moved a little, fingers nuzzling the back of my neck. I wanted to run my hand over his short strands of light hair. I wanted to stay like this forever. But Tater came into the room, giving an obnoxious groaning stretch and yawn. He began to scratch his crotch until he caught my look of revulsion. My brother’s brown hair was a big curly mess.

Rylen lifted his head, revealing creases on his cheek from my shorts. He looked at me, bleary-eyed, no embarrassment or shame as he mumbled, “Mornin’.” We’d woken up like this together so many times that it was nothing to him. He had no clue how much it meant to me.

“Morning,” I whispered. Rylen planted a hand on my hip and the other on the side of my thigh to push himself up lightly, his arms flexing. The heat of his hands sent a strange quiver in my most sensitive areas. I pulled my knees up and yanked the blanket over my legs. Tater gave me a funny look.

“What?” I snapped.

“Nothing, freak.” He ruffled his hair and walked out. Rylen looked down at me quizzically and I stood up, brushing past him to my room where I could brush my hair and get dressed away from inquiring eyes.

Abuela made egg and chorizo breakfast burritos, but as we watched the morning’s aftermath news, none of us had much of an appetite. It felt wrong to be doing something as normal as eating breakfast when there were so many people traumatized in the country. All of last night’s emotions came rushing back. A sense of mournfulness filled our home. And as I watched Tater and Rylen staring at the screen with fervent expressions and crossed arms, I knew with sinking certainty that they would not be changing their minds.

O
n that hot July day after we took them to the recruiting office to be picked up by the Army and Air Force buses, we came home to find Roscoe sitting on our porch. My parents silently passed him, but I sat and let him move next to me. He watched me imploringly through his droopy eyes.

“He’s not here, boy,” I whispered, scratching behind his ear. “He’s gone.”

Roscoe let out a huffing breath and lay at my side, pressing close despite the heat. Together, we stared out at the Fite land until the darkening sky matched how I felt inside.

I thought about the month before, when the boys graduated and Rylen got his pilot license. We’d all gone to the airfield to watch him take his first official flight as a pilot. One of the instructors had taken a liking to him and allowed him to borrow his plane. My heart had soared with him, even from the ground, as I’d stared up at the sunny sky, blocking the glare with my hand. Rylen was going places. Without me.

I patted his hound on the rump and said, “Go on home, boy.” I never saw Roscoe again.

Though Rylen wasn’t in college, he stayed true to his word about writing me. We wrote a lot. At first it was emails, and more recently he told me he had to go offline, and to expect snail mail. I regretted that we only got to see him briefly, once a year, but each letter felt like a gift, like they were lit with Rylen’s warm sunshine.

The summer before my senior year was the first time we saw both Tater and Rylen together in two years. Neither could seem to get leave at the same time. They’d spent their first year in the military doing training for their specific jobs. Tater wanted to go Airborne, of course, and he ended up being stationed at Ft. Benning, Georgia. Rylen’s off-the-charts math scores, CAP experience, and high school ROTC time allowed him to climb ranks quicker than usual, and to gain top-secret clearance. He’d done jobs like Combat Control Team and Pararescue, and learned how to work on jets. More recently he wasn’t able to tell us as much about his job specifics, which meant he was involved in dangerous situations, securing drop zones in war areas. But of course he would be. I was kind of glad not to know all of the specifics. My own imagination was bad enough.

Years had passed and no organization had taken responsibility for what was now being called Fatal Friday, a day America and the entertainment industry would forever mourn. In the past, someone always claimed blame for attacks, quickly and boastfully. A mysterious attacker, after all these years, was simply terrifying. And the fact that they hadn’t attacked since then kept everyone on edge. Every continent had faced similar simultaneous attacks since Fatal Friday, all by an unknown enemy who killed by the thousands and never attacked the same place twice.

I always hoped for even the vaguest of news or insight from Ry’s letters, but though he filled the space with heartfelt words, he never told anything we couldn’t find out from world news. He never gave details of what he’d seen or been through.

Rylen’s station changed a lot. Andrew’s Air Force Base, then some undisclosed location in the Middle East for a whole year. Six months in Korea. Now he was back in the U.S., but he couldn’t tell us where exactly he was stationed.

Rylen didn’t have any social media pages, but Tater did. Six months ago, when Tater and Rylen crossed paths in the Middle East, my brother posted a picture of the two of them in full BDU gear, Battle Dress Uniform: camo in desert shades from top to bottom, belts filled with ammo, black boots laced up their calves. Tater had a wicked looking gun propped up on his shoulder with a cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes slightly squinting against the smoke. Rylen’s arms were crossed and his face wore a hardcore expression. They both looked huge, like they’d been working out nonstop, and their faces were lean, all sharp angles. They were men now.

I refuse to admit the total amount of time I spent staring at that picture. Or how I’d cover Tater and just examine every speck of Rylen’s body. His stance. His badass expression. Looking at him, wondering how cut he was under those BDUs, turned me on more than anything I’d ever experienced. He’s what I thought about when I explored myself in the dark of night. His deep voice murmuring that I was beautiful and all he wanted was me.

Imagine how hard I blushed when Ry walked in with Tater that summer day when I was seventeen and he was twenty. He looked at me from the doorway, a half-grin on his face, and then his gaze seemed to unwillingly dive down my body and swoop back up. For the first time ever, I truly felt shy with him, like maybe he was a different person, like he could see into my mind and know all the thoughts I’d had about him. Tater hugged me tight, tossing me side-to-side like a ragdoll, even though I was a solid 5’5 and muscular from school athletics.

“Looking good, Pep,” Rylen said from behind him, reaching out to yank a lock of my hair while I was being held by Tater. I wiggled away and smacked his arm. He laughed and pulled me close, holding me tightly. Oh, holy crap . . . that familiar scent of him. The feel of him, all hard muscles in his back, his flat, hard stomach pressed against mine, strong, heavy arms draped over my shoulders. My hips instinctively wanted to mesh upward against his. I abruptly pulled away, afraid I might rub against him like a cat in front of my family.

Mom bumped me out of the way to hug him next. As the living room filled with family, all smiling and talking animatedly, I just watched Rylen. I wanted to soak in every detail, not knowing when I’d see him again. His hair was shorn close to his scalp, with the front part slightly longer than how Dad kept his. He wore a T-shirt that fit his arms and chest so spectacularly, it looked like it was tailored for him. Cargo shorts hung from his hips to his knees, showing off his sculpted calves. And then he was wearing ugly slip-on Adidas sandals, which almost made me laugh. His feet were long, always had been, but for some reason even his long feet made me feel hot right now. I blinked and looked away. Having dirty thoughts while surrounded by your chattering family was just wrong.

Mom and Abuela went to the kitchen to start cooking—we’d feast tonight on carne asada and then play cards and dance for hours—and Grandpa Tate and Dad took Tater out back to show them Grandpa’s new rifle. Rylen hung back, making me immediately nervous and excited by the way he sized me up. I crossed my arms over my tank top, just as I had when I was fourteen. Stupid Nevada heat.

“Thanks for writing me,” he said softly. “Means a lot.”

“Yeah . . . you too.” My heart swelled thinking of all the letters I’d received from him, his messy scrawl laced with loneliness, always asking me to please write back and tell him every mundane detail of my life. Which I always did.

I eyed the bottom of his T-shirt sleeve. I thought I’d seen something when he lifted his arm.

“Did you get a tattoo?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah.” He started to pull up his sleeve, but it was too tight, so to my absolute wonder he pulled his shirt lazily over his head and turned to the side. A shiver of pure arousal went through me at the sexy sight of his glorious skin and the markings he’d chosen—from the rounded tops of his shoulders, down the backs of his arms to his elbows were black, tribal designs swirling thickly and ending in intricate spikes. They were the sexiest things I’d ever seen.

“Ry . . . those are amazing.”

“Thanks,” he said softly. He started to put his shirt back on, but hesitated, his back still to me. “And I got one more . . . but it wasn’t as thought out. Don’t be mad.”

Okay, now he was making me nervous.

He slowly turned and I saw a two-inch red chili pepper on his left pectoral, above his heart. I rocked back on my heels.

OH. MY. GOD.

He quickly tugged his shirt back down and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I drank a little too much sake in Japan. That was my first tat.”

OH. MY. GOD.

All I could do was stare stupidly as he peered at me, waiting.

“What made you get that?” I whispered.

His head drooped like he was embarrassed, and I hurried to say, “I mean, it’s totally cute—”

Now he threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, cute. That’s what the guys say too.” He shook his head. “I guess I just needed a reminder of home.”

My blood was buzzing. My nickname had been needled into Rylen’s chest. Over his heart. Forever.
I
was his reminder of home.

OH. MY. GOD.

“You got any?” he asked.

“Huh?” I forced myself to focus. “Oh, tattoos? No.”

He nodded his chin down to my shoulder. “What’s that?”

“What?”

He reached out and touched the bottom of my neck. The warm graze of his finger over my skin made me shiver. I brought my hand up to cover the spot, suddenly remembering. Heat flooded upward into my face. Oh, shit. Four days ago the boy I was seeing gave me a hickey. I’d been so mad. But now it was barely visible, just a yellowish spot. Why did Rylen have to be so observant?

“Nothing,” I said with a shrug, but I kept my hand over it.

“You lettin’ some boy mark you?” His voice was half-joking, underscored by half-deadly.

Burning face. Truffle-shuffle. I peered up into his eyes. Those serious cloudy-day eyes. Then I let my hand drop, feeling challenged and needing him to know I wasn’t the young girl he’d left behind almost three years ago.

“I’m old enough.”

He didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Just held me in his stare.

“Don’t give any part of yourself to some boy who doesn’t deserve you. The right man’ll be worth waiting for.”

My heart accelerated so quickly I could hardly breathe. Was Rylen giving me big-brotherly advice, or was he telling me to wait for him? He had no idea how long I’d wait—how long I’d already waited, and how much longer I’d hold out if I knew he wanted me.

“We’re not serious,” I said lamely. I didn’t want him to think I was in love or something.

He studied me, then gave that half-grin again. “All right. Have your fun. But be careful. Let me and Tater know if anyone bothers you.”

Have your fun.
Was Rylen out having his fun with women all over the world? Those lucky bitches. My stomach turned over, pushing up sour bile.

He gave me a nod and went to go join the guys, when I practically shouted at his back.

“I’m very patient, Ry.” He turned his head, giving me a funny look until I elaborated. “When it comes to waiting.”

My heart. Once again I was handing it to him, praying he would see my offering for what it was, to see in my eyes that it was
him
I waited for.