Read Dying Commitment (Lucky Thirteen) for Free Online Page B

I rubbed my sternum lightly, trying to wipe away the memory.
    I heard Dylan moving around in the bathroom, so I stepped away from his bag and slipped on my shoulder holster. If Jack knew what I was up to, then he’d be ready for me. Dylan didn’t understand what he was getting into, so the sooner I could leave him behind the better. I’d decided against the transatlantic plane—even though it would save time—because Jack would expect that of me, expect me to rush to Valonia to find him. Hopefully, by taking a cruise liner, under an assumed name, he’d not see me coming easily.
    I had everything in place. My contact in Valonia would have my weapons and money ready. My contact in Portugal when we docked would have my new identification papers and enough cash to get me to Valonia over land.
    The only thing I had left to take care of was Dylan. He’d be pissed for sure, but this wasn’t his fight, and if I could protect him from Jack Allen, then I would do whatever it took. Dylan was the closest thing I had to a partner these days, and I wasn’t about to lose him.
    ~*~*~
    Dylan
    Cady had been quiet at dinner. Hell, she’d been quiet the last couple of days since we’d gotten on board the cruise-liner. We’d spent a lot of time in our suite, except for meals and the daily trip to the fitness center. And somehow, I’d managed to sleep in the same room with her and not die of blue balls.
    I standing out on the balcony connected to our suite, watching as the sun set over the ocean. In two hours, our brief vacation would come to an end and we’d be presented with reality yet again. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that yet. I loved being a SEAL but sometimes it was nice to pretend like I was a normal person.
    Cadence seemed to feel the same way, or at least that was how she presented herself. She stood at the desk, with the bottle of wine we’d brought back to the room from the dining area. She poured two glasses and brought one over to me. She leaned over the edge, balancing on her elbows. “It’s nice out here.”
    “Remind you of your dad?”
    She shrugged. “Nah. His boats were stinkier. And had fish guts on the deck.” She took a sip of the wine, and straightened. “This has been nice, hasn’t it?”
    “What? Being here?”
    “On this ship.” She said, turning around and going back inside. I followed her in. “I mean, we got to pretend that the world isn’t one big shithole for a few days.”
    “It’s really not. We just see the worst.” I did believe that. At its core, humanity wasn’t the most horrible group of beings. It was just a sad few that ruined it for others. And unfortunately, those few stood on the backs of good people to gain their power and money. People like them—like the Giroux family—were a disease that needed to be smited.
    She grabbed her backpack and took out a tube of her lipstick, followed by another tube she applied over the first. I followed her movements, slowly sipping on my wine as she applied her lipstick. She set the tubes back in her backpack and came toward me.
    The way she sauntered her way toward me, the gentle sway of her hips, created a longing in me. I wanted her. In that moment, I didn’t care if we had agreed on a friendship. I needed to feel her tight insides wrapped around my cock. And by the fire burning in her eyes, I knew she felt the same.
    “I’m tired of seeing bad things. I’m tired of bad things happening,” she said, her voice just below normal volume. Her eyes met mine, full of vulnerability and exhaustion. The tough exterior she presented every day wasn’t always a lie, but we’d come to the point where I could tell when she just wanted to be held.
    That was where the line had always blurred for us. As physical as our relationship was, we still needed each other sometimes, just to hold the other. We didn’t talk about it, didn’t even admit that we did it, but it happened. Somehow, sex buddies had become friends with benefits without us