Nauti Dreams (Nauti #3)

The door had crashed open, Dawg and Rowdy rolling into the apartment like pure vengeance itself as Natches stared back at them in unholy fury.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” He barely had time to pull his finger back from the trigger as the men rose from the floor, their own weapons lowering.

Sometimes some information just took a minute to process. His head was still filled with the sweet scent and the heated feel of Chaya’s mouth.

And rather than searching for her own weapon, what the hell was she doing? Laughing. He glanced at her in disbelief. She lay on the carpet behind him, their bodies sheltered by the couch, which faced the door, and she laughed.

Her lips were red, her face flushed, and she was laughing with such damned amusement it made his back teeth clench.

And pure fury was burning in his brain, demanding he take action now. That he kick them out of his apartment with his foot up their asses for daring, even daring, to interrupt his pleasure.

The bastards were shadowing him.

There was no other explanation for their presence or the lock that had been torn free of the door. He only barely remembered hearing and ignoring their knock. He hadn’t cared enough to answer the damned door because his head had been ready to explode with ecstasy.

He slowly fixed his pants and tightened his belt. He laid the gun on the counter cautiously, watching as Chaya stared at him in something akin to wary surprise as she climbed to her feet, her eyes still bright with her laughter. He was glad someone was amused.

“Natches.” She laid her hand on his arm, her voice shaking as she obviously fought back more of those feminine, joyous giggles. “It’s just Dawg and Rowdy.”

She was staring at him now in rather the same way he would eye a rabid animal. And she had good cause to watch him just that carefully.

He turned back to his cousins, her hand still on him, and he was loath to break that contact. It was the only reason he wasn’t charging them now. The only reason any of them were still standing rather than busting the walls of his apartment with their heads.

“You broke my door,” he said carefully, staring at the two men as they watched him just as carefully.

Dawg sniffed, blushed to the roots of his black hair, cleared his throat, then glanced at the door and the lock that had ripped from the wall. “Yeah. Well. We were just coming up for a beer. Thought you could use some company and thought we heard fighting. Right, Rowdy?” He nudged Rowdy.

Dawg was obviously lying through his teeth, and Natches knew it. He turned to Rowdy then, forcing his fingers not to curl into fists as Chaya kept her hold on his arm.

Her grip had actually tightened in response to the flexing of the muscles beneath her hand.

“Right, Rowdy?” Dawg hissed again. Under other circumstances it might have been comical. Dawg was bigger, heavier, and his fist was a damned sight harder than Natches’s. Sometimes. But it was obvious he didn’t want to return to his wife bruised.

Natches turned to Rowdy.

And Rowdy grinned, because he knew. Natches saw in his eyes the knowledge that Chaya held him back, that Chaya could always hold him back.

“Nah, we were freezing our butts off outside because we thought Agent Dane might have a little more up her sleeve than a few questions.” Rowdy’s grin was cocky, which only pissed Natches off further.

Dawg winced. “Dumb ass,” he muttered to Rowdy.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys,” Chaya laughed, and Natches felt her move.

“If you try leaving this apartment, then I’m kicking their asses the minute you walk out the door,” he warned her.

She paused, and when he glanced at her, he could see the caution in her eyes again. “There are two of them, Natches.”

“And I have pure mad on my side. Want to take bets who will win?” He made damned sure she saw nothing but determination in his gaze.

“Looks like you’re going to have to head to the Dreams tonight anyway.” Dawg cleared his throat, and it might have placated Natches, seeing a hint of nerves in his cousin, if the amusement hadn’t been so bright in his green eyes. Dawg was clearly enjoying the fact that he had interrupted something here.

“I need to get back to my hotel.” Chaya stepped back, and Natches let her.

He was careful to keep his expression bland as he glanced at her. She might try to run, but she wasn’t going far. Hell, she was going to finish what she started before the damned interruption, and he was going to make sure of it.

“We’ll, umm, fix the door.” Dawg smiled, clearly enjoying the fact that, for the moment, Natches was leashed. “You go ahead and take Miss Dane back to her hotel, Natch. We’ll have that beer at the boat.”

“If I see you on my boat tonight, I’m going to shoot you, Dawg,” Natches warned him, and he was afraid he just might be serious. “You can try the beer tomorrow afternoon, not a moment before.”

Natches moved too fast for Chaya to avoid him this time, his fingers curling around her upper arm before pulling her with him to the door. “And make sure you nail the door tight. Some bastard walks in and steals my beer, and I’ll kill you for sure.”

“Natches, I’m not going to that damned boat,” Chaya protested as they neared the door. “I have a job to do. You’re taking me back to my hotel. Period.”

“Sure I am,” he agreed.

She almost paused, would have if he hadn’t tugged her after him. “You are?”

Had he agreed too easily? He almost smirked.

“Sure I am. Sometime. I’m sure you’ll need more clothes in a few days.” He hardened his voice, firmed his grip, and ignored her curse.

She could bitch until hell froze over, but they weren’t finished. Talking, fucking, he’d take either one he could get, or both, but tonight, he wasn’t letting her go.

Dawg rubbed at the back of his neck as he heard Natches’s jeep drive off, and he turned to Rowdy slowly. His cousin had a thoughtful expression on his face.

Rowdy was a thinker. He always had been. He rarely jumped into anything impulsively, unlike his two cousins. He always weighed the evidence, the pros and the cons, and sometimes he could be damned scary in his predictions.

“You could have backed me there, cuz,” he finally sighed when Rowdy stayed silent.

When his cousin turned to him, it was with a smirk that almost had Dawg bursting out in laughter.

“Why bother?” Rowdy grinned. “She has a chain around his neck thicker than a junkyard dog’s. He wasn’t about to jump into a fight. That boy doesn’t want a bruised body right now either, Dawg. We both know that one well.”

Damned if they didn’t.

Dawg remembered a time when a good fight and a good drunk was almost as good as sex. Now, since Crista, a fight, with the bruises, busted ribs, and/or swollen lips, was something he avoided at all costs. He liked the feel of Crista’s hands on his body, demanding and wild as she moved against him. The thought of losing so much as an ounce of that pleasure to pain was intolerable.

Evidently, Natches was already considering that fact. Dawg chuckled at that thought as he moved to help Rowdy with the door.

“She’s still not pretty,” he told his cousin. “But at least I didn’t smell the smoke.”

Rowdy grunted. “Smoke wouldn’t have mattered to Natches, Dawg,” he pointed out.

And that was the damned truth. Even last year, when she was lighting up every time Natches came around her, their cousin hadn’t been able to stay away.

“She’s still not pretty,” he said again.

“What’s your problem with her looks?” Rowdy paused as they propped the door up and Dawg went in search of a hammer and nails. “He won’t have to use a bag for her head. Hell, Dawg, I don’t care what she looks like. Natches isn’t ice anymore. He was scaring the shit out of me with that cold attitude of his. We’re not far from losing him forever, if you haven’t noticed.”

And Dawg had noticed. Natches had been drawing further and further away over the years. He pulled the hammer and nails from the kitchen drawer and moved back to the door.

Her looks shouldn’t bother him, and Dawg knew it. Crista had just torn into his butt the night before over a similar comment.

“It’s not just her looks,” he finally admitted.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s her eyes. Look at her eyes, man. They’re dead inside. That woman isn’t even alive, and you can see it in her face. Her expression and her eyes. She’ll destroy Natches.”

Rowdy was quiet for long moments then. The sounds of the hammer striking wood and the four-inch nails sinking into the frame were the only comment Dawg received.

Finally, the door was secure, and Rowdy was just staring at it.

“She’s not dead inside,” he finally said, his voice soft.

“Same as.” Dawg shrugged. “You didn’t work with her last year. She’s cold inside, man. She can get nervous as hell, she can get scared, and she did a fine laugh tonight, but there ain’t no love in her for anyone.”

Rowdy shook his head at that. “There’s too much emotion.” He looked at Dawg then. “Just like Natches. And she’s determined to hide it. You can’t see past that need we both have to keep protecting our little cousin, Dawg. Sometimes I think we forget he’s all grown-up now.”

“And just as alone as he ever was,” Dawg growled.

Rowdy shook his head. “Not anymore.”

SIX

He didn’t take her back to the hotel, just as he’d told Chaya he wouldn’t. She didn’t remember Natches being this damned stubborn. Not that he couldn’t give the proverbial mule a run for its money. But practically kidnapping her wasn’t something he had done before.

“Why bring me here, Natches?” she asked him as they stepped into the comfortable living area of the boat, and she stared around in interest.

“Because we’re not finished.” He closed the door, locked it, and reset the security system.

She felt her heart race at the sound of the muted little beep from the security console. Somehow the boat seemed much more intimate than the apartment had. It wasn’t just that the space was less open and smaller; it was as though a part of Natches himself was infused within the interior.

Dark browns and desert tones made up the color scheme of the furniture. The carpet was a creamy white. Small dark maroon pillows rested at the arms of the couch, and a rug of the same color was laid at the door. Heavy desert brown shades covered the windows, and the splash of golden light that fell from the table lamps softened the room.

The kitchen was separated by a combination table and bar. Laminate flooring stretched to the curved metal staircase at the far end of the kitchen and beyond, to what Chaya assumed were the bedrooms.

She turned back to Natches when he didn’t explain further, and watched him warily. He reminded her of a caged beast straining against his restraints. It was there in the wild glitter of his dark green eyes, in the taut planes and angles of his face.

“Why the hell did Cranston have to send you here?” he finally asked, the guttural tone of his voice causing her to flinch.

“That was my question as well.” She shrugged, watching him carefully as he strode past her to the refrigerator in the kitchen. “His answer was that I was his best bet. He didn’t tell me what the bet was though.”

“Driving me bat-shit crazy?” he asked as he twisted the cap off a beer and tipped it to his lips.

Watching him drink from the longneck bottle was sexier than it should have been.

“Probably.” She finally admitted there was a chance that that was exactly why Timothy had sent her rather than another agent. “He wasn’t pleased with you or Dawg last year. And he does enjoy his petty little revenge games.”

Actually, he normally had a solid reason for those games, they were just irritating as hell.