Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(67)
Two boys, about six years and four years, followed the women.
As the advocate moved toward the center of the courtyard, the youngest boy stopped and sat down with his back against the wall.
Beth frowned. The mother—if that’s what she was—never looked around to check on her sons. The advocate was fairly new, so might be forgiven, but someone should watch the children. How could a mother not notice her littlest wasn’t right there?
The older boy saw his brother and abandoned the tour as well.
Poor babies. Beth shook her head. At least she hadn’t suffered abuse until she was an adult. How horrible to discover violence so, so young.
On the same wavelength, Anne started to rise.
“I’ll take care of them.” Beth grinned at her. “I’ve learned to carry bribes.” Using Nolan’s knee as leverage, she pushed to her feet. Slowly, she walked toward the children.
They were so little. Faded shorts and ripped shirts revealed toothpick-thin arms and legs. Their hair was dirty and tangled. And bruises marked cheeks and jaws, arms and legs.
With Beth’s approach, they hunched as if trying to disappear into the wall like mini-turtles.
“Hey.” Stopping at a non-threatening distance, Beth sat on the grass. Cross-legged. See, I can’t quickly chase after you if you need to escape. “I’m Beth. You guys look thirsty. Want some apple juice?”
Without waiting for an answer, she pulled two small bottles out of her bag. After tugging off the insulated sleeves, she opened the tops. The containers were still nice and cold, although the ice was gone. She offered one bottle.
After a long hesitation, the oldest took it. Watching her warily, he took a sip…and his face lit up.
“It’s good,” he whispered to his brother who carefully, like a terrified puppy, accepted the other bottle. They both drank thirstily. Every few seconds, their big brown eyes would turn to check on their mother.
“Should I try to guess your names?” Beth asked, smiling slightly. “Maybe John? Or Adam?”
“Uh-uh,” the youngest said.
“Oh dear. Um, Greg? Horace? David? William?” Each name got shakes of the head—and less tensed muscles.
“I’m bad at guessing names,” she admitted, scrunching her face up. “Peter Pan? Clark Kent? Ironman?”
Giggling, the littlest couldn’t hold back any longer. “He’s Grant. I’m Connor.”
“Oooh, those are nice names.” The boys were adorable. An ache tugged at her heart. Thanks to the damage she’d suffered during her marriage, she’d never carry a baby…and, oh God, she really wanted children. “Grant and Connor, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Sugar.” Nolan’s Texas-accented voice came from behind her—although she’d known he was approaching from the way the children had molded themselves to the wall. “We need to get going.”
She glanced at her watch and winced. “Right.” As the boys watched Nolan with ill-concealed terror, she leaned forward and whispered, “He’s my Ironman. He saved me from the bad guy, and now he keeps me safe, and he won’t let anyone hurt me. That’s what heroes do, you know?”
Their eyes got wider. Some—not all—of their fear disappeared to be replaced with awe.
“I’ll see you guys next time I’m here,” Beth promised and let Nolan lift her to her feet. “Nolan, this is Grant and Connor.”
Nolan nodded gravely. “Men. Good to meet you.”
As Beth walked through the door, she heard Grant whisper in wonder, “He called us men.”
Chapter Sixteen
Carrying a small basket, Ben opened the front door. As Bronx led the way into the house, Ben grinned, his spirits soaring. Anne’s Escape was parked in the low carport, so she was home. The past couple of weeks—since their relationship had upgraded to .44 magnum level—had been a revelation. He’d never known that a woman could fill a man’s life so completely.
Make him so happy.
They were good together. He knew it. Cooking, lifting weights, sparring and wrestling, jogging on the beach, watching the news—even if he was relegated to the floor sometimes—reading quietly. Everything was more fun with her beside him.
Even the slavery shit was mostly cool. Anne was slowly teaching him what she required from him and he was improving—although she rather disapproved that his massages inevitably led to a hearty round of f*cking. He’d tried to explain that when she went all Mistress on his ass, he got turned the hell on. Not his fault she was so damned sexy, right?
And not having to scramble for condoms meant they could f*ck anywhere. And did.
As Ben followed Bronx through the kitchen, he glanced at the spotless counters. Having been through basic, he didn’t have any problem with cleaning. He preferred things tidy himself, although she did have a penchant to over clean.
And he was getting pretty good at the personal care stuff now that she’d abandoned having him do her toenails or whatever the hell that procedure was called. Painting walls was a piece of cake, but with his big hands, trying to paint a toenail the size of a pea had turned into a complete clusterf*ck.
He’d found out Anne could giggle like a little girl.
He grinned at the memory. Damn, she was cute sometimes.
In her Mistress role, she was taking things slow. Taking care with him. Like the way they weren’t scening in the Shadowlands, although they’d both worked last weekend.