LITMIR.BIZ

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he grunted. Tatum had always understood the reasons why he couldn’t share details of his job with her. She’d never pushed or complained. But he supposed, all things considered, some bitterness was to be expected.

      “To preserve the illusion that none of us on the team knew each other, we came into the organization at different times and through different avenues. I was pulled in off the streets as a low-level drug dealer who was looking to climb the ranks and be useful. Two more guys received an introduction from our informant. Another used the sister of a mid-level enforcer and a fifth came in as a ‘cousin’ of one of their mules. I was the first one in and more than a week ahead of the others.

      “The only time I encountered our informant was while I was under so he had no way of knowing I was part of the team. That’s the only thing that saved my life that night.”

      As much as he fought against the memories, just the mention of the events caused ugly images to swirl inside his brain. Evan started to combat them with the alcohol in his hand, but realized what he was doing with it halfway to his mouth and reversed direction, slamming the glass to the table instead.

      His skin crawled, not with bitterness and anger, but with frustration and restlessness. It was a familiar sensation, one he’d fought for three long, interminable years. How many nights had he lain in his crappy, filthy bed and fantasized about simply putting a bullet in several heads?

      It would have been so easy. No way in hell he’d have made it out of the compound alive, but at least he would have gotten vengeance for his brothers. But he wasn’t that man. Wouldn’t let himself become that man.

      Just as he hadn’t drowned out the nasty memories with alcohol...or the abundance of drugs that had been at his fingertips. It would have been a quick release and relief. But he hadn’t—although there were times when that resolve had been touch and go, the darkness yawning with the welcome invitation of reprieve.

      He just needed to finish it. Explain to Tatum what had happened and that he’d never wanted to leave her—to let her think he was dead—and then figure out how to rebuild the life they’d once had.

      Before he could get the words out, the ring of her doorbell cut him off. Tatum jumped, a tiny sound of surprise falling from her open lips. That moment of vulnerability didn’t last long, though. Her jaw snapped shut.

      An unhappy sigh blasted through her rigid lips, fluttering the fringe of her bangs. They were new. He liked them. They made her look a little more innocent than he knew she really was.

      Setting her untouched glass onto a table, Tatum cut him a look before heading to the front door. He had no idea what that look was supposed to convey. Was she angry at him for the interruption?

      Before she’d gotten the door open more than an inch, it was snatched out of her hands and forced inward. Obviously, neither of them had expected that reaction. Tatum jumped backward with a yelp. Evan reached to the small of his back for a firearm that wasn’t where it should be and cursed. He was already halfway across the room, ready to yank her behind the protective wall of his body when the high-pitched sound of several female voices hit his ears.

      “Ohmygod, Tatum, are you okay? Willow told us what happened outside the church. We texted to see if you needed anything.”

      “We were going to wait until morning to come by, but when you didn’t respond...”

      “We got worried...”

      The women ran over each other, one sentence blending seamlessly into the next as if they were one person instead of three speaking.

      “Why the hell didn’t you tell us you were married? I wouldn’t have tried so hard to set you up with my cousin Matt.”

      “Because that’s why you should have kept Matt away from her, not because he’s a pretentious jerk.”

      The three women rushed inside Tatum’s house. They were all clad in the same dress she’d been wearing not an hour ago. A blonde with amazing curves reached for Tatum, setting hands on her shoulders and peering intently into her eyes. “Seriously, are you okay?”

      The tall, thin brunette she’d been with earlier reached around them both, running a hand softly down Tatum’s arm to grasp her hand. “What do you need?”

      The other woman pressed in tight, forming a protective knot of femininity with Tatum in the center. Evan fought the urge to wade through them all and pull her out. He didn’t know any of these people and didn’t like having them stand between him and his wife.

      Behind the commotion, two men in dark suits hovered. They moved slower, quietly closed the door and stood to the side, observing in a way that told him they were used to these kinds of female displays of excitement and solidarity. He saw acceptance tinged with exasperation and a little bafflement.

      None of the women had noticed him yet, but the men sized him up as soon as they walked in.

      With silent agreement, they scooted around the cluster of women to present a wall of male power that had his hands preemptively tightening into fists. Instinct drove him to counter with his own display, but something told him Tatum wouldn’t appreciate a testosterone-fueled show.

      Frustration kicked through his stomach, but he clamped down hard on it. Lots of practice at that.

      “I’m assuming you’re her husband,” the darker of the two men said softly. There was something about him that Evan recognized, appreciated. A dangerous edge that told him he could take care of his own if needed.

      The other guy was a bit bigger, but not by much. He seemed...softer wasn’t the right word because neither of them were teddy bears. He didn’t have quite the same edge as the other man, although Evan wouldn’t want to meet either of them in a dark alley alone.

      Not that he couldn’t take them—together if necessary.

      “Evan Huntley,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand.

      Neither of them took it. They simply stared at him.

      The female chatter behind them screeched to a halt. Several pairs of eyes peered around the wall of masculinity, including Tatum’s wide, unhappy green eyes.

      “Oh shit,” one of the women breathed.

      “You’ve got that right,” another agreed.

      “Tatum never mentioned she had a husband,” the bigger guy said, his wide mouth pulled down into a deep frown.

      Evan realized what the man was fishing for was an explanation, but considering he hadn’t even given the whole thing to Tatum yet he wasn’t about to spill to a stranger—several strangers.

      “Willow said you were dead. Supposed to be dead.”

      An unhappy smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “Which would explain why Tatum never mentioned me.”

      The curvy blonde poked her head around the tall guy, laying a hand on his arm in a comfortable, possessive gesture that immediately told him they were together. “Not really.”

      He pinned his wife with a sharp gaze. “I’m sure she had her reasons for not telling you about her past.” All eyes swung around to her. Any other woman might have squirmed beneath the weight of that scrutiny, but not Tatum. She kept her expression bland and stared back, mouth shut and spine straight.

      Apparently realizing they weren’t getting anywhere with her, the focus quickly returned to him.

      He’d faced down terrorists, murderers, drug dealers and rapists—singly and in groups larger than this one. But for some reason, his palms began to sweat and a cold trickle of unease whispered down his spine.

      Not because he honestly thought they’d do him any harm, but because he was afraid their opinion could sway Tatum, and without knowing anything about them, he couldn’t begin to guess their response to the messy affair.

      Shaking her head, Tatum pushed between the two guys. “While I appreciate the chivalry act,

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