68

  Qwillia Rain

  Vance nodded and pressed another soft kiss to Ben"s lips. Pulling him closer, Ben felt Vance"s grip tighten around his waist, flexing against his lower back as he seemed to absorb the heat of his semiaroused body before stepping back. Pausing to open the refrigerator, Vance selected a beer from inside, twisted the cap off, and nudged the door shut with his hip. Ben didn"t try to stifle his laughter as Vance flipped the cap into the trash with a snap of his fingers as he passed the bin.

  The sound of water in the sink and the rattle of dishes filtered through the open kitchen window. The screen door kept the bugs from getting in the house, while the special candles Ben had lit earlier reduced the number on the porch to a handful.

  Exhaustion pulled at his muscles and weighted his eyes, but Vance fought sleep. Earlier that morning, yesterday"s nightmare had replayed in his mind and driven him from Ben"s arms. Worried about what would happen once he told Ben everything, Vance had left his lover"s bed before the sun rose and went into the neighborhood for a hard workout. Though painful and a bit awkward, his healing hip and leg ached only slightly after his five-mile run.

  While Ben had been working his shift at the hospital, Vance had driven the thoughts away through steady work around the house. He"d found room in Ben"s home for the few things he"d collected from his apartment. But all the while, Aimee waited.

  She hovered, never pushing for his attention, always on the periphery of his mind, just waiting for him to finish the promise he"d given her.

  Setting his beer on the painted planks, Vance eased the .38 from its holster at his ankle and released the cylinder. Six brass casings winked in the glow of the porch light and candles. Snapping it closed, his thumb caressed the safety lever.

  Snick. Off. Snick. On.

  Over and over, he repeated the deliberate move, all the while hearing the tearful words Aimee had whispered to him as he fought the anger at their tormentors, the humiliation of his helplessness, and the betraying hunger snaking through his body as Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control

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  he rocked in and out of her tight sheath. It shouldn"t have happened to her that way. He should have had more control, but he hadn"t.

  And the look in her eyes…

  The gurgle of water down a drain, and the creak of the floor registered, but Vance didn"t turn his attention from the weapon in his hand. At one point in time, he"d thought the gun would be his salvation. Now he recognized it as a symbol of his weakness.

  The lights from the city glowed through the treetops, spreading shadows over the lawn and stretching toward the covered porch. Vance knew Ben stood in the doorway, probably wondering at the thoughts going through his mind as he leaned forward in his chair. More than likely, his lover was curious at the solemn expression on his face, but Vance sensed the moment Ben spotted the gun in his hand.

  Moving carefully, Ben drew a chair next to him and glanced down at the .38. “Tell me you did not have that at the Club,” he teased, only the thinnest thread of amusement in his voice.

  Vance only nodded, directing his gaze to the expanse of lawn blending into the hillside behind the house. He couldn"t meet Ben"s eyes. Not yet.

  “You know Halsey woulda kicked your ass for bringing that into his club.”

  Vance only gave a brief nod, acknowledging the breach of Club rules.

  Ben waited.

  “She won"t let me use it,” Vance said finally.

  Ben stayed quiet.

  “I can"t make myself use it,” he admitted.

  Again, Ben simply waited.

  Vance wasn"t surprised. His lover was a keen observer of human nature. That was what had made him one of the best lookouts on the team, besides being the medic.

  70

  Qwillia Rain

  Vance didn"t bother turning his head. Once he revealed the bastard he"d become, there would be little to keep Ben beside him.

  “The first day I woke up in the hospital, I wanted to die,” Vance began.

  “Your leg?”

  “No. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but I could handle that. It was facing what I"d done, what I"d become, that made me sick.” Vance shook his head and smoothed his fingers along the barrel of the gun. “Every night I thought „why the hell should I keep breathing?" and every morning I came up with the same three reasons not to just go ahead and pull the trigger.”

  “Three?”

  “Yeah. First, I could never hurt you by killing myself.”

  “And the other two?”

  “Aimee deserved better. She deserved to have me keep my promise to her. And marines never quit.”

  “And you"re—”

  “A fuckin" marine.”

  Vance actually smiled as they said the words together. “It took me a while to remember it, but every morning I"d wake up and those three reasons were there.”

  In addition to those three reasons, Vance had to admit that every time the cold steel muzzle had touched his temple, memories surfaced, as if trying to overrule his reasons not to pull the trigger. In those brief moments he would feel the clutch of Aimee"s fingers against his shoulders, the burn of the whip against his back, heard the coarse laughter of their captors, the curses of the photojournalist, and her sobs.

  Always her sobs echoing in his ears. Then she"d make him give his promise, and the tension in his fingers would ease.

  “Remember Aimeelya Kirk?” he asked.

  “From Beirut?”

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  Vance nodded.

  “Didn"t I stitch—”

  “Up her leg when she got tangled in some razor wire chasing after a damned cat.”

  “That was what, six years ago?”

  “Eight. My first assignment outside the US. The year I transferred into your unit.”

  Lost in thought, Vance shook his head. “She was so damned tiny.”

  “And that wild red hair.” Ben laughed.

  “I should have recognized her the second she came scrambling over the rubble babbling about an ambush.”

  Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, Vance tried to force away the thoughts, the images, that bombarded him. “God, Ben, the things they did—what I did! It won"t go away, and she keeps saying it was okay.”

  Ben eased the gun out of his grip.

  Vance let him. It was useless anyway. He dropped his hands. His snort was sardonic and lacked amusement as he watched Ben open the cylinder and empty the shells into his hand. Ben set the gun on the porch and shoved the bullets into the pocket of his slacks. Trust Ben to ensure there could be no accidents later.

  “Tell me what this all has to do with Aimeelya.”

  “For a nineteen-year-old raised by missionaries, Aimee was pretty damn streetwise.”

  “Was?”

  “Yeah, was. She"s dead.” Needing to face this first hurdle in losing the man he loved, Vance raised his gaze to Ben"s and added, “I killed her.”

  There was no hesitation in Ben"s response. “Bullshit.”

  The knot twisting Vance"s insides loosened. Maybe. He took a deep breath. Maybe this wouldn"t be as final as he"d thought. Maybe it was possible he could have more than just these last two nights with Ben. Then again, he hadn"t finished confessing yet.

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  Qwillia Rain

  He would have to reserve judgment until he"d laid bare all his secrets and Ben responded. Losing him now after having had him in his arms wouldn"t just hurt—it would devastate him. But he"d learn to deal with it. No matter what happened, though, taking his own life would never be an option. Not anymore. Hell, he"d find a way to win Ben back if he had to.

  “Spit it out, soldier,” Ben ordered, his tone crisp and no-nonsense, just as it had been when he"d commanded Vance"s unit.

  “The last mission I was on had my unit searching for a missing photojournalist.

  Intel had him pinpointed in an insurgents" camp. I took point to meet with an informant. I had radio contact, but the rest of the unit was lying low until we confirmed.”

  Ben leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees, his gaze focused on Vance.

  “When Mike Halsey returned to San Diablo a few months back, he told me about Simon and your involvement in getting him back. You said something about Aimee and an ambush?”

  Vance nodded, rising from his chair to lean against the post that supported the roof over the porch. His fist tapped the weathered wood in a slow, measured rhythm.

  “I"d just made contact when this kid comes scrambling over a pile of stones and shattered wall. At first I figured it was a distraction. Then I realized she"s babbling in a jumble of Farsi and English about an ambush.” The tapping stopped as Vance crossed his arms and faced Ben. “Next thing I know, all hell is breakin" loose, the informant is grabbing the girl by her hair and pulling a gun, while six other bastards pop up around me.”

  “How do you know it was Aimee? What about your men?” Vance could see Ben"s need to understand, but he wasn"t sure he could satisfy him.

  “I fucked up.” Vance shook his head. “The second I saw her eyes, I knew it was Aimee. When she was screaming for me to run, I hesitated, and that was it. I went down.”

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  “Where were your men? Who had your six?”

  “Closest man was too far off to make a difference. They had Aimee and me bundled into a truck and two clicks down the road before my men could reach us.”

  “Tracking?”

  Vance nodded, tapping a ragged scar along the back of his left forearm. “It was working and led the team to us, but not in time.” He smiled as he remembered the irony of the kidnapping. “The bastards who grabbed us took us right to the journalist, stupid fucks.”

  “So, you got him out too?”

  “Yeah. He wasn"t in the best of shape by the time my guys showed up, but he was able to hobble out of what was left of the building on his own two feet.”

  “Okay.” Ben leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped and dangling between his knees. “So you and Aimee get grabbed. Tangos take you to where they"re holding the hostage you were sent for”—he canted his head to the side—“and?”

  “FUBAR.”

  “Fucked up beyond all recognition?” Ben translated and then wondered out loud,

  “Did they find the transmitter?”

  Vance shook his head, his thumb rubbing the ragged scar on his arm. “Nah. A piece of wood from the building did the majority of the cutting on my arm. Tore it up enough that my grip and dexterity are impaired.”

  “Well, I sure as shit know one of them took a whip to you.”

  He shrugged. “Not that it did much good,” Vance admitted. His lips compressed as he recalled the amusement his captors had gotten at seeing his erection grow the longer they used the whip on him. “Just made matters worse,” he muttered.

  “How?”

  “Aimee was there.” Vance hoped that would be explanation enough.

  “You told me that already.”

  74

  Qwillia Rain

  “No, Ben.” He looked at his friend and repeated, “She was in the room with me.”

  Ben didn"t comment, merely waited for him to elaborate.

  Swallowing, Vance forced himself to tell. “They stripped me down and started using the whip on me. And I laughed at them.” Shaking his head, he snarled, “I fucking egged "em on.”

  “Damn, man, the damage…”

  “If they"d just kept to the whip, I could"ve handled it.” He waited for Ben to comment, but the older man stayed silent, waiting. “The more they hit, the harder I got, and the more I taunted them. Until…” Vance glared down at his fisted hands, the knuckles white against his skin from the strength of his grip. He hated remembering this part. With the shrink in the hospital, it had been easier to say it, but this was Ben—

  the man he loved and respected. The man he knew respected him.

  At least until he heard Vance"s secret.

  “Until?” Ben prompted.

  “They forced Aimee to her knees and made her suck me off.”

  A string of curses spilled from Ben"s lips.

  Curses Vance remembered hurling at his captors in every one of the nine languages he knew. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Those were a few of my comments. They didn"t find my words particularly enlightening. So they decided to try something else.”

  “Quit dancing around the subject, Vance,” Ben demanded.

  Holding his lover"s gaze, Vance drew a deep breath. “I raped her.”

  “Aimee?” Ben"s expression was a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

  Vance nodded.

  “Bullshit.”

  “I did. I ra-raped her.” The pain in his chest swelled as his mind replayed the image of her pinned beneath him, eyes wide as his body breached hers, the barrier of her virginity shredded by his assault.

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  “You"re fucking lying, Vance,” Ben growled, lunging out of his chair and crossing the porch to stand toe-to-toe with him. “You couldn"t—you wouldn"t do something—”

  The tether on his anger snapped, and Vance shoved at the older man. “Don"t fucking tell me what I did. I know what I did, Ben!” Humiliation and pain and self-loathing twisted through him, ripping at his composure and wetting his cheeks with tears he wasn"t even aware he"d shed. “I held that little girl down and raped her with those bastards watching me. And laughing. They laughed, Ben, as I took her virginity and treated her worse than some two-dollar whore.”

  Choking on the memories, Vance pushed past Ben and stumbled down the steps onto the back lawn. If he could get away, if he could find a way to turn back the clock and make the right decisions instead of the wrong…

  But it wasn"t going to happen. He"d been running since they released him from Bethesda. And every time he closed his eyes, there was Aimee, eyes wide, gazing up at him. Trusting him. Counting on him.

  And he"d fucking failed.

  No, not just failed—he"d betrayed her. Brutalized her and let those bastards drag her away for similar treatment at their hands. An uneven patch of grass tripped him, causing him to drop to his knees. “I hurt her, Ben. I hurt her so bad, and those sick fucks laughed.”

  “I"m sure she knows…” Ben settled into the grass beside him. The warmth of his arms enfolded him as Vance gave vent to the sobs racking his body.

  “She watched me the whole time. Her blue eyes just looking at me. Telling me she was sorry. That she was glad it was me and not the tangos.” Vance clutched at Ben and buried his face in his lover"s side, wetting the cotton shirt with the tears he couldn"t stop. “She was so goddamned tiny, Ben. I knew it had to be hurting her, but she kept smiling at me, and the more she smiled and told me it was okay, the angrier those fuckers got.”

  “You weren"t at fault, Vance,” Ben assured him.

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  Qwillia Rain

  Vance didn"t want to hear it. The memories of what he"d done replayed through his mind and the beast that was his desire still stirred at the thought of having Aimee again. “I was, Ben.”

  “No.” Ben cupped his cheeks and raised his face. Warm gray eyes held his. “Your body may have gotten hard at the use of the whip, but you didn"t decide to rape Aimee.

  You didn"t consciously choose to force sex on her.”

  Vance shook his head.

  Ben ignored him and continued. “I know you, V. You would never willingly choose to use force for sex.”

  Before he could shake his head in denial, Ben continued, “What did they threaten to do to her?”

  Vance drew a shuddering breath, drawing up the memories he"d tried so hard to forget. “It doesn"t mat—”

  Ben"s lips pressed against his, stopping Vance"s words before Ben pulled back and shook his head. “It does matter, V. Now tell me. What did they threaten to do to her?”

  Vance forced himself to remember. “The whip. They stripped off her sirwal and used the whip.”

  “On her legs?”

  Vance nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. “She didn"t scream, but I couldn"t let them hurt her, Ben.”

  “I know, baby.” Ben"s hands smoothed through his hair. “I know.”

  “They took pictures.”

  Ben didn"t say anything, but his body tensed beneath Vance"s hands. Vance eased away, settling onto the warm grass. In front of him, Ben sat back on his heels with his hands resting on his thighs, waiting.

  “You need to tell me, V. You"ve let it fester inside, and it"s killing you.”

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  “They spit on her.” His voice was quiet in the darkness. “Said she was unclean and had no right to dress as a proper Muslim woman.” The grass scratched his fingers.

  “They said she was only suitable to be an American"s whore. Before they used the whip, they…they took the knife to her privates.”

  Ben"s hands fisted on his knees. “Did they—”

  Vance shook his head, not wanting Ben to voice the fear he"d had when he"d seen those bastards press the knife between Aimee"s thighs. “No, they didn"t cut her. They scraped away her pubic hair. And slapped her…there. And she didn"t make a sound, Ben.” He couldn"t stifle the smile of pride that he felt lifting his lips.

  The fingers on his knees loosened. Ben shifted onto his backside with his knees up and arms draped over them. He nodded. “Sounds like our Aimee.”

  “She watched me, Ben.” Vance scooted closer, needing Ben"s body heat to dispel the chill that was trying to gain a foothold in his chest. “Every time they used the whip on me, she screamed at them. Begging them to stop hurting me, but when they turned on her, she didn"t say a word.”

  Ben stayed quiet, waiting.

  “When they told me to take her, I refused. They used the whip, and I still wouldn"t do it.” Vance shook his head. “And Aimee cried. They used the knife on her, they hit her, and they used the whip, but she didn"t make a sound. Even when one of the men began to take off his pants, she said nothing.” He raised his eyes, wanting, needing Ben to understand. “But I couldn"t let them hurt her.”