19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

Clint seemed to know just what to do to get Brooke out of her head and into her body. To get her to forget her troubles and focus on what was good in her life. Which, right now, was him.

And his tongue.

And his fingers.

And his cock.

Under the harsh, unflattering fluorescent bulbs overhead, he emptied her brain of everything that was troubling her. She couldn't think of a single thing besides how good it felt to be bent over that table with his tongue on her clit and hands roughly gripping her hips.

If she tried to focus on anything else, her brain short-circuited and rerouted itself back to the pleasure. Back to Clint. Back to the moment.

She came hard.

A dam broke, and her body flooded as his tongue massaged and flicked. He wasted no time moving on to round two, which was exactly what she wanted. What she craved. Him. Inside of her. Consuming her.

He held onto her hips and pumped while she grappled for the far edge of the table to support herself and hang on for dear life.

He wasn't being gentle. And she was here for it.

He knew she didn't want gentle. He already read her body so well. Knew she liked the playful side of rough. Some hair pulling, light spanking, biting and all that.

She never did that kind of stuff unless she felt completely safe with a person.

And she felt completely safe with Clint. At home.

Her body was still on fire. The flames of her first release still flickered deep in her lower belly, and it would take nothing to get them raging again. Her clit throbbed with a heartbeat of its own, begging for friction. But as fucked up as it was, a part of her was also turned on by the deprivation. By only being penetrated and having her clit ignored. The frustration was part of the excitement.

The deprivation made the craving that much more intense.

When would her clit get attention again?

She had no idea.

And that was part of the trust. The excitement.

The unknown.

Putting her pleasure in someone else's hands.

Because she knew that when he finally touched her clit again, it would be like the button to launch an atomic bomb sending her body into a maelstrom.

She wasn't prepared for his next move, but she welcomed the surprise when he shoved his fingers into her hair. He gripped her scalp, pulling hard enough to create a sting, and she nearly came on the spot. Then he yanked her backward. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to make her move and bend her back and be grateful for all the yoga she did. He took her mouth with a harsh, bruising kiss.

She tasted herself on his tongue and lips. Salty and sweet.

His hold on her hair tightened, and his kiss deepened.

She whimpered against his lips, and her pussy spasmed around his cock as he continued to pump into her with measured thrusts.

"You going to come, Brooke?" he asked, breaking their kiss and growling the words right next to her ear. "You going to come hard for me? Soak my cock."

Oh, the dirty talk. Where did this come from?

She didn't really care.

She just wanted more of it.

He pulled a little harder on her hair. "Are you?"

"Yes," she breathed.

Oh God. He didn't even need to touch her clit at this point. His words, his roughness, the exquisite hair pulling, it was enough. She was going to detonate, and anything within a ten-mile radius was going to feel the impact.

He obviously didn't want her explosion to spread out ten miles, though. He wanted it to spread a hundred, because just when she thought she was going to come, he untangled his fingers from her hair and moved his hand below, finding her clit.

"Dear God." Her words were barely a whisper.

"That's right." His pumping rhythm remained unaffected. Her body hummed with the need to climax. Begged for it. "You like this?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're such a good girl, Brooke. Taking my cock so deep. I can't wait to one day bury it just as deep in your ass. Would you like that?"

"God, yes. Please," she mewled that last bit, her body desperate. Screaming.

Then he did something no man had ever done before—or at least she couldn't remember a man doing this before—he took her slippery clit between his thumb and two fingers and instead of pinching, it was almost like he was trying to snap his fingers.

It shouldn't have made her shatter the way it did, but at this point, he had more control of her body than she did.

The world paused on its axis. She became deaf, and nothing but the thunderous beating of her pulse in her ears registered. Wave after wave rocked through her, from her core to her toes, the top of her head and the tips of her fingers. She gripped the table edge until her knuckles turned white and ached. Her toes curled in her socks on the concrete floor, and her pussy clenched and quivered with each pump from Clint behind her.

She was still caught up in the throes of her release when he stilled, grunted, and the throbbing of his cock inside her brought on a second wave of pleasure. She squeezed him as he found his own orgasm. As he filled her up. As he claimed her.

Because even though it'd only been five days, she was his.

Heart and soul.

He'd rescued her in more ways than she could count.

They returned to earth at the same time and after a moment, he gently pulled out, retreating to a sink in the corner of the big space. A moment later, he returned with a warm, damp paper towel. "Here." Then he helped clean her up. "There's a bathroom in the corner there, if you'd prefer."

Nodding, she gathered up her pants and underwear, then walked to the bathroom where she peed and got re-dressed.

Rejoining him in the bright warehouse-style brewery was a little strange.

Yes, they'd had sex already, but nothing that ... wild. Nothing that ... passionate.

Even their first time together, which had been spontaneous and fevered, wasn't like this.

It was as if Clint was pouring out not only his feelings for her but also revealing his true self. That until now, he'd been playing it safe. But now, he was letting her see who he really was.

Which was a closet dominant who liked to talk dirty, spank and bite her ass. He was also an expert at hair pulling.

Was he also an expert at choking?

That thought took root in her brain before she could stop it, and a smile curled her lips just as he turned around. His brows hiked up in curiosity.

"What's got you smiling like that?" Looping an arm around her waist, he steered them to the door, flicking off the light before he locked up. "Hmm?" he probed again, shoving the keys into his pocket.

"Just thinking about how I like this new, passionate and dirty side of you. Wondering what other surprises you have for me. And also wondering about some of your other hidden skills."

He switched his arm from her waist to her shoulder and tugged her right under his arm, tight and protective as they carefully made their way past the cabins and toward the road that led to their houses on the hill. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You'll have to stick around and find out, I guess."

Her belly warmed at his words, but something niggled at the back of her brain at the same time. Two opposing forces. One happy and wrapped in positivity, possibility, and idealism. The other shrouded in reality, practicality and logistics

Unfortunately, it was the latter that was the loudest, and when she went to bed wrapped up in Clint's arms, she felt the cold brush of doubt wash across her skin. Nothing good ever lasted for Brooke. It never had and it never would. Maybe she just wasn't worthy of love and happiness.

Happily ever afters were for the heroines she played in the movies, but not for her.

That voice, the one that sounded an awful lot like her father, whispered and taunted in the back of her mind, trying to convince her that the only reason Clint wanted her was because she needed help. His white knight complex kicked into gear and he got something out of being the one to rescue her. To pick her lifeless body off the rocks and carry her to safety. To haul her around the house because she couldn't walk or crawl. He liked being her savior. He got off on it. So, what would happen when she no longer needed help? Would he no longer want her? Would he no longer have need for her?

Once the truth got out about her still being alive and she was no longer a damsel in distress for Clint to save, would he lose interest? She didn't want to believe it, but a big part of her believed he would.

After their evening on the beach and in the brewery, finding a blissful and comfortable routine with Brooke came easily. They woke up before the rest of the house, made love in the morning, showered together, and met Talia and Rocco downstairs in the kitchen for breakfast. Then Talia went to school—well, at least she did on Thursday and Friday—and Clint went to work, while Rocco and Brooke unproductively stewed over their father and the entire situation. Their routine only spanned three days so far, but he was ready for it to last the rest of his life.

Minus, of course, Brooke hiding in his house and stewing about her father and a free-roaming would-be assassin.

One Friday, after a full day of work, he returned home to find that Brooke and Rocco had made dinner, and Talia was in better spirits than she had been a couple of days ago. She didn't let Barnacle bother her anymore, and she planned to give her Mother's Day gift to Clint, as per Brooke's suggestion.

Now, it was Saturday, and Clint and his brothers were heading to Bonn Remmen's celebration of life in the field across from the grocery store.

The children still had another month of school, but the college kids were out for the summer, and in some of the southern states the kids got out of school in May. So the tourists were already flooding the island, making everything busier. The ferry had a three-sailing wait Friday night and all day Saturday.

It was going to be a very chaotic summer on the island.

Which was good for business—all the businesses—but it made relaxing where you lived a bit tougher for the locals.

Clint knew he and all of his brother's needed to go to this evening"s celebration, but he felt bad leaving all the kids with Brooke and Rocco. She wasn't a babysitter, and he certainly didn't want her feeling like he was treating her as one.

But she actually insisted that they leave all the kids with her and Rocco. She said she was excited to babysit and that she and the kids had some surprises planned that did not involve the dads.

Rocco was rolling out pizza dough for a make-your-own-pizza night, and they were going to watch as many of the Toy Story movies as they could before tiny people started falling asleep.

The kids begged for their fathers to let them stay with Brooke and Rocco, so who were they to say no when they had two free babysitters eager to wrangle their wildlings for a few hours?

Of course, people on the island would wonder who was watching the children if all six brothers were there, so they came up with the excuse that a couple of the new college-aged servers were babysitting. They'd keep details vague, but it was the easiest lie since newcomers to the island, particularly temporary transplants, didn"t fall across islander's radar as quickly. Nobody would question two random servers babysitting for extra cash. No names would be needed. It was a safe, benign lie.

"I don't want to stay too long," Bennett said, covering his mouth with a yawn as Clint drove them all in his truck toward the venue. "It's not that I don't trust Brooke and Rocco with the kids. It's that six kids is a lot for anybody."

"We'll stay long enough to make sure everybody who needs to see us there sees us. Mingle, shoot the shit, drink some booze—I hear Hardwood tried to donate spirits just like we tried to donate beer, but they were turned down—," Wyatt said from the back seat of Clint's truck. "Westhaven Winery and Twisted Witches Cidery tried, too."

"Bonn's estate covered all of it. No handouts, that"s what I heard," Clint said, turning onto the main road, which was already dressed on both shoulders by vehicles. It seemed everyone on the island was attending this thing. Everyone but their children, Brooke and Rocco.

They came to a stop so Kitty and Grimm Barrington could cross the road. They were local beekeepers and in their late seventies, so it took them a bit of time to get from point A to point B. Eventually, they made it across the road, but not before a small line of cars amassed behind Clint.

"You think they're safe there?" Dom asked from his spot in the middle back seat.

Clint met his eyes in the rearview mirror and started driving again when Kitty and Grimm disappeared between vehicles and headed into the field.

"I can't think of a safer place," Jagger offered. "I mean, we have security cameras everywhere. Nobody knows she's here. Nobody knows where Rocco is. Why wouldn't they be safe?"

Jagger was right. Their property was extremely safe. After all, four marines lived there with their children. Even though they had a bustling business on site and cabins, the property was a fortress. Nothing happened without one of the McEvoy brothers knowing about it.

Nevertheless, Dom's questions ate away at Clint, and unease itched at the back of his neck. He scratched it like a mosquito bite.

He never had to worry when he left Talia or Brooke on the property and went into town, or even Seattle, because his brothers were there. He trusted them implicitly.

But now, all of them were at the party.

Their fortress was unmanned. No sentries patrolled.

Indecision and worry gnawed at his gut until he tasted bile. He wanted to get back to the house. He needed to get back to the house. To his kid. To Brooke.

He also needed to be at this funeral, though. They needed more land to expand their business, and it wouldn't look right if only four of the five McEvoy brothers showed up.

He'd give it an hour, then head back. His brothers could find their own rides home.

He found a spot to parallel park and expertly backed his behemoth of a truck between a rusty old Westfalia and a trike with a sidecar. He knew who owned both.

They piled out of the truck and headed toward the lively music playing in the field. Whoever put on the event hung up strings of lights from scattered, but well-placed posts, illuminating the meadow.

Bonn Remmen really had taken care of everything.

Tables lined up one after the other, teamed with food of every imaginable ethnicity and variety. From steaming crab legs to tiramisu and vegan roasted squash and nut clusters.

There was another table loaded with kegs—not from their brewery, which sat oddly in Clint's craw—and other spirits. He was bolstered slightly when he took a quick glance and realized none of the local businesses were featured on the table. The winery was absent, the distillery and the cidery. Even the food was from somewhere else off the island.

At least Bonn wasn't playing favorites. It would appear he hated all of them.

That felt weirdly personal. What did Bonn have against the businesses? Against Clint and his brothers?

As he took in the guests milling around, chatting and enjoying the party, he hardly saw a face he didn't recognize. The entire island was out for this event.

Jerking his chin in friendly acknowledgment to a few people, he followed behind Wyatt, who led them all to the bar.

Dom scrunched his face as he took in the bottles and kegs. "None of these appeal to me."

"Me, either," Bennett said quietly.

"Beer is beer, at least when we're here," Jagger said, pouring five beers into red solo cups from a keg. "Just carry it around with you so it looks like you're drinking. You can dump it in the bush later."

They each grabbed a cup and took careful sips.

Oh fuck, it was like horse piss. Cold horse piss, but horse piss nonetheless.

Each of them hid their disgusted faces behind the cups as they painfully swallowed the sorry excuse for beer.

"It's all crap, right?" came a deep, rumbly voice behind them. All five brothers turned to see Owen Farmer, one of the four owners of Hardwood Distillery come casually sauntering over.

He was a tall, built black man with short hair, bright white teeth and a laugh that turned heads.

"I'll say," Jagger said, holding out his free hand to shake Owen's.

They all shook hands with him.

"What's in your cup?" Bennett asked, pretending to peer into Owen's red solo cup.

A wide smile curled the man's mouth. "None of this shit, I'll tell you that. Went to my car and splashed some of our rye into some tonic I grabbed from the table."

"We should have done that," Dom said, shaking his head then making a face as he glanced back down at the swill that filled his cup. "This is disgusting. Pretty sure it's just fermented swamp water."

"From what I understand, Bonn didn't want anyone to think he played favorites. He knew his land would be a hot commodity, and by using any of the local businesses, he feared it could show preference." Owen took a sip from his cup. "I'm fine with that, but did they have to buy such garbage drinks? There are decent distilleries and breweries in Seattle."

"Maybe Bonn didn't specify, he just said, don't use local businesses. Then whoever handled the party bought the cheapest and most garbage booze they could find." Wyatt made another face of disgust, then took two steps over to some bushes and subsequently dumped out his cup. "I'd rather wander around with an empty cup than accidentally drink that again."

"There's ginger ale," Owen said with a deep chuckle that made a few people turn and look. He pointed to the non-booze table.

Wyatt nodded and headed over to grab a can of soda. Jagger and Dom followed, leaving Bennett and Clint standing with Owen.

"So, Trace told us you guys are interested in Bonn's land," Clint said, resisting the instinctive impulse to take another sip. When there was a glass in his hand, he felt compelled to drink from it. Not tonight. Not until he found something drinkable to quench his thirst.

Owen's head bobbed, his brown eyes gleaming under the overhead strings of lights. "Yeah, just like everyone else on this island, business is booming and we need more space. We want to set up a tasting room. Right now, all we have is a production house, but people want to come and sit and try out our stuff in signature cocktails. We don't want to leave the island, but we need to expand."

Clint and Bennett simply nodded.

Owen was happy to keep talking. "I hear Westhaven is looking to expand their vineyard and interested in his land, same with those women who opened up the cidery last year. The island is only so big."

"They have a whole orchard," Bennett said, possibly a little too loudly. A few heads spun in their direction again. He brought his voice down. "What could they possibly need that land for?"

Owen shrugged one broad shoulder beneath his off-white linen shirt that had the top three buttons undone. "No idea." His attention was pulled away from someone across the field, and he lifted his head in acknowledgment before turning back to Clint and Bennett. "I'm being summoned, but we need to get the girls together. Maude and Lottie have been asking for playdates with Talia, Emme and Aya. So we'll have to make that happen."

"For sure," Clint said, accepting Owen's handshake again. Owen gave Bennett a friendly slap on the shoulder, then took off toward the buffet.

"We knew about Westhaven and Hardwood, but Twisted Witches Cidery, too?" Bennett exhaled and shook his head. "We've got steep competition."

"Yeah, but besides Hardwood—which has the least amount of land already—the other two and us have the most."

"You think that's going to work against us?"

"Why would they give us more land? The winery has a whole fucking vineyard right on the cliff, and the cidery has an orchard. Acres and acres of fucking trees. Hardwood has that dinky little warehouse. They need a bigger space. It could be said that the rest of us just want the space." Clint glared down into his solo cup, then taking a page from Wyatt's book, he wandered over to the bush and dumped the beer—if you could even call it that.

Yes, he was a beer snob. An alcohol snob, really, and he wasn't ashamed of that. He wasn't twenty-one anymore and able to consume any swill that was on sale at Fred Meyer. Now, with a mature palate and some refined taste, he had some fucking standards.

He also didn't have the metabolism he once did, so if he was going to consume calories from beer, it was going to taste fucking good. He didn't drink to just get drunk anymore. He drank to enjoy what he was drinking and relax. And no way in hell could that horse piss help him relax.

Scanning the vicinity, he made a note of where his brothers each were. Wyatt and Dom were chatting up two of the island elders, while Jagger seemed to be in what looked like a heated argument with Raina Aaronson, one owner of the winery.

"Shit," Bennett murmured, taking in Jagger and Raina at the same time as Clint. "I don't know what's going on, but our normally cool as a cucumber baby brother looks about ready to blow a fucking gasket."

They both booked it across the field, almost stepping in time with the beat from the folk band on stage.

Clint snagged eyes with Wyatt and Dom, who excused themselves from the elders they were speaking with, and soon all four of them were approaching Jagger and Raina.

Gabrielle, Danica and Naomi—the other three owners of the winery—arrived at the quarrel at the same time.

"What would you call it, then?" Jagger asked, staring down at the pretty redhead. "Because I call it bribery."

Raina scoffed. She already had her hands on her shapely hips, but her fingernails curled harder into her sides. She glanced away, shaking her head. "Or maybe, it's called paying my respects in private? Maybe it's called being a good neighbor. A good friend. I knew Bonn."

"We all knew Bonn. If you didn't know Bonn, you were living under a fucking rock," Jagger snapped back. "And furthermore, if you didn't know Bonn, you shouldn't fucking be here."

"What's going on?" Clint asked, coming to stand beside but also slightly between the two of them. Gabrielle stood opposite him, her amber gaze bouncing between Jagger and her cousin.

"Yesterday, I caught Raina here, leaving Keturah Katz's house," Jagger said with venom.

"So?" Clint asked.

"The day before, she'd been at Abe's and Hattie's houses. The day before that at Vern and Jolene Dandy's."

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed. So did Clint's. But they remained silent, waiting for more of an explanation.

"Then tonight, I hear her chatting up Sunflower Patrick, offering to come and help her weed her garden, clean her gutters and who knows what else? She's cozying up to all the elders one by one to sway the vote."

"Or, I'm paying my respects and being a good neighbor," Raina countered, glaring at Jagger. "It's not against the law to help out neighbors or go offer condolences. I enjoy hearing stories from my elders. Sitting and drinking tea with them and hearing all about life on the island from decades ago."

"Not against the law, but pretty fucking convenient timing. Did you do this shit before Bonn died?"

Raina looked like she'd just bitten into a lemon.

Jagger's face turned smug.

The redhead with attitude hinged forward a little, even though she still had to look way up to glare at Jagger. "How do you know where I've been? Are you following me? Are you stalking me?"

Now Jagger looked like he'd bit into the same lemon. "You? Fuck no."

"Then how do you know where I've been and who I'm talking to? Obsessed with me much?"

"Oh, my fucking God. Get over yourself, princess. I was driving past and saw your stupid blue bike with the dumb basket parked in their driveways."

"It's turquoise, not blue."

Jagger rolled his eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Clint had never seen his brother this riled up before. It was ... weird, to say the least. Not to mention disconcerting and certainly drawing attention. Unfortunately, it was the wrong kind of attention. The last thing they needed was for the elders to catch a whiff of what was going on and take Clint and his brothers out of the running for that land altogether.

"All right, I think tensions are just extra high right now," Clint said, keeping his voice calm as he placed a hand on Jagger's muscular shoulder and encouraged him to take a step back. "We're all grieving Bonn, interested in the land, and doing whatever we can to get a leg up. It's understandable."

"Fuck that," Jagger spat out, shaking Clint's hand off his shoulder. "What she's doing shouldn't be allowed. It's padding the voter box is what it's doing."

"It is not," Raina shot back. "Our proposal is going to win of its own accord." She turned to Gabrielle. "Right?"

Gabrielle gave her younger cousin a stern look before facing Clint and his brothers again. "At this moment, we can not confirm whether we're submitting a proposal for the land or not. And frankly, it's nobody's business but ours and the island elders."

Raina had the smarts to blush and look a little sheepish. Apparently, they'd been keeping their interest in Bonn's land a secret—at least Gabrielle had—and now Raina went and let the cat out of the bag.

"However," Gabrielle started, "my cousin is free to visit and help out whomever she pleases on this island and without repercussions or accusations. We are a community-minded business and committed to upholding our aunt's legacy. Aunt Dolores was very active in the community, on the island, and had strong friendships with the elders."

"Rumor has it she had more than just a friendship with Abe Jeffries," Naomi said, not quite under her breath.

"And Theron Oliver," added Danica.

"Don't forget Sunflower." Raina whispered with a scrunch to her lips. "They had a torrid affair back in the seventies."

Several of them all snickered.

It was no secret the elders and many of the other long-time island inhabitants took part in free love, orgies and other variations of polyamory.

"Be that as it may," Gabrielle said, steering the conversation back to the tension that percolated between her cousin and Clint's brother, "accusing Raina—or any of us—of foul play or trying to pad the voter box will not be taken lightly. We are just being community-minded and upholding Dolores's wishes and involvement as best we can."

Oh yeah, Gabrielle had been a lawyer before she gave it all up to run the winery with her cousins.

Clint splashed on a smile and nodded. "Noted." Then he caught Jagger's eye. "We'll refrain from following and accusing anyone from now on, right?"

Jagger glared at him, then grunted, gave one final death-stare to Raina, who didn't cower at all, before turning around and stomping over to the buffet table.

Clint and his brothers hightailed it after him.

"What the actual fuck?" Bennett demanded, catching up and falling in line with Jagger, who grabbed a plate from one end of the buffet and started loading it with food. "Word is definitely going to get back to the elders about your little temper tantrum."

Jagger merely grunted.

"Are you fucking following her?" Bennett asked.

"No," Jagger said, though his tone wasn't exactly convincing.

"So what if she is visiting the elders?" Clint asked. "We could visit them, too. Maybe we should?"

"It's not the fact that she's visiting them and paying her respects," Jagger said, scooping some pasta salad onto his paper plate. "It's her fucking attitude. She's infuriating. She's got such a big ego."

Everyone's eyebrows nearly shot clear off their foreheads.

"Sorry, she has a big ego?" Wyatt asked.

Jagger grunted again and placed two satay skewers on his plate. "Know-it-all."

"And how would you know this? Do the two of you interact with each other a lot?" Dom asked.

"We're in the same book club."

Clint's head threatened to erupt like a fucking volcano. And it appeared so were his other brothers. They all exchanged shocked and perplexed looks.

"You're in a book club?" Wyatt asked. "Since when?"

Jagger's left shoulder lifted slightly. He grabbed cutlery and wandered off to find an empty seat at a table. Like puppies eager for a scrap of food—or, in this case, information—Clint and his brothers followed. "I've been in the book club for a couple of years now. We meet once a month at the library. She joined last year. But she's just ..." He pulled a piece of barbecued chicken off the satay skewer with his teeth and chewed, "annoying."

"Still doesn't excuse you for making a scene like that," Dom murmured.

"No, it doesn't," Clint agreed. "That certainly didn't help our case."

Jagger rolled his eyes and chewed. "She's so fake. All ‘Oh, Sunflower, I love your dress. Did you make it?' Blah, blah, blah." He made sure to make his impression of her as whiny and nasally as possible. It didn't sound at all like Raina, who actually had a very nice voice.

Clint, Bennett, Wyatt and Dom all did more talking with their eyes.

"That doesn't sound fake," Wyatt said. "That sounds like she's making conversation and being kind."

Jagger pulled off another piece of chicken from the skewer. "You needed to hear her tone. So fake."

"Anyway," Clint said, "no more of that shit. Don't follow her. Don't engage. Pretend she doesn't exist. We can't have anymore of your quarreling. And definitely not in public. Let her make friends with the elders and clean their gutters or whatever."

"You don't think that's a euphemism, do you?" Wyatt muttered to Dom.

"For what?" Dom asked. "Sex?"

Wyatt shrugged.

"No, she legit cleaned Abe's gutters for him," Jagger said with an eye roll behind his glasses.

"Well, let her clean every elder's gutters on the fucking island," Clint said. "Mind your own business. No more fighting. Got it?" He made sure to do his best stern dad voice. The voice he used with Talia when she was being overly cheeky and pushing buttons and boundaries. Not that she did it very often, but she was still a kid and kids tried to get away with shit.

Jagger heaved a sigh. "Yeah, okay."

The crack of what initially sounded like gunfire echoed beyond the party out in the dark field, and everyone under the hanging lights paused.

The four marines did more than that.

Clint, Bennett, Wyatt, and Dom all dropped to their bellies.

"What the fuck is that?" Wyatt asked, panic in his eyes.

More cracks.

Then it dawned on them. Someone was lighting off firecrackers.

Well, that wasn't fucking safe. Not in a popcorn-dry field. They were going to torch the entire place.

"Jesus Christ, people are idiots," Dom said, jumping back to his feet.

Jagger offered Clint a hand and helped him up. More than a few of the guests had eyes on them and heat crawled up Clint's neck and into his cheeks. Dom had a heavy red stain on his cheeks, too. Bennett cleared his throat and tried to shake it off, while Wyatt abruptly reached for a stray skewer off Jagger's plate and ripped off a piece of chicken like a caveman.

Clint's nerves were officially fucking shot.

He hated crowds, and now that there were morons in the field with flames, he was done.

And his brothers knew it.

They all had their triggers and various PTSD. Being in Iraq, having kids, and losing their wives certainly made them look at the world differently. It made them see everything as a potential threat.

And right now, there were threats everywhere. Most of them they couldn't see.

He also didn't like that if something happened to them there, six kids would be orphaned. Because they stupidly had each other as next of kin and default guardians for the children if something should happen. What were the chances of all of them dying together the way their wives did?

Pretty fucking slim.

But then again, the chances of all their wives dying together had been pretty fucking slim, too.

And now there were some fuckwads in the field lighting firecrackers so ...

"I'm out," Clint said.

Jagger opened his mouth to protest, but Clint gave him another stern look and his youngest brother shut his trap. The other three got it. Jagger didn't have kids, and he hadn't been to war. He also hadn't lost a spouse. He understood, but he didn't really get it. And that wasn't his fault. However, he also knew better than to challenge Clint on this shit.

"We'll find our own way back. You've been seen by enough people. They know you came to show your respects. But nobody will blame you for heading home to the kids," Dom said, resting a big hand on Clint's shoulder and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

Clint nodded at his brothers and took his leave, traversing his way through the crowd beneath the strings of lights and back toward the road. He waved and said hello to more than a dozen islanders, but he didn't stop to chat. He made sure his face said "on a mission" and kept that expression until he reached his truck.

Only once he was behind the steering wheel and on his way back home did he finally exhale enough that his chest no longer hurt.

He needed to get home to Talia. To Brooke. He needed to get home to his family.