Chapter 55

In another inexpensive inn, Mary and Tyler spent their night planning and calling a lot of people in the small but decent room. She knew her husband was planning something big, but her only main concern was her brother, Dave. What if the kidnappers had killed him already and it was too late to rescue him? Not that she didn't trust Tyler and his resources, but she wanted to make the rescue as soon as possible, and sleeping wide awake the whole night made her think about looking for her brother herself. But how? Tyler was her best option, as he knew some people who knew people, and above all, he knew where the shelters of Javier's mob were. However, were they even sure it was Javier’s men?

Those nagging questions kept taunting her. She knew Javier. He wouldn't make a sudden plan or a move that was unsure and irrelevant, and how did he even know that she was here in Scotland anyway?

Her reverie was halted by an unexpected noise outside their room. The sound wasn’t loud, but it didn’t take much to rouse Tyler from his sleep as he watched Mary combing her hair at the small vanity.

“Wife, did you hear it too?" He asked. Mary’s eyes darted towards him, and she frowned immediately.

"Yeah, I think that wasn't a normal sound, right?" She replied with a frown, stopping her hairbrush in mid-air. Now fully dressed with jeans, a shirt, a winter coat, and boots they bought earlier from the gas station, she felt a lot fresher and better. Tyler told her to get rid of their belongings and park the SUV somewhere ten miles from the inn to avoid any secret or hidden tracking device planted by their enemy. They traded their SUV for a decent new Honda Civic, hoping not to attract any unwanted attention. To say that the owner of the Honda was beyond surprised is an understatement.

However, Mary knew that the noise outside their room wasn't just a normal noise from the innkeepers. “I don't think it's normal noise.” Ever since her time in the abduction and her training, she's been a light sleeper. It was times like this that she was glad for that involuntary habit.

She went to the window as Tyler rolled over to the edge of the bed, slid open the nightstand drawer, and removed his 40-calibre pistol. “I think so.”

The polymer and metal fit perfectly into his palm, his fingers wrapping around it like a glove, and it had been a companion in times of need for a long time now. He’d been a fan of Ruger weapons for a good portion of his life, but once he tried the Springfield, he’d become a convert. Tyler sighed. "What do you think it is?" He asked while Mary unhurriedly slipped the curtain from the window. It was right there and then that Tyler noticed that she had a gun in her right hand, the one they purchased earlier from the nearby pub as an additional weapon, but he never thought that Mary even knew how to use it. “Do you even know how to use that?” he pointed at her gun.

She rolled her eyes. “Really? You’re asking me that now?”

“Just curious if you even know how to pull the trigger.” He didn’t make the mistake of asking her because he just made her frown. If she’d known about how he likes teasing her, he wouldn't have any idea. Of course she hadn’t. Instead, he focused on how to deal with the now-engorged cock.

“Tyler Johnson, I didn't survive from that fire or from that cell to just stay pretty and do makeup, okay?”

“Huh! Even without makeup, you're still pretty, for your information,” he winked.

“Now is not the time to flirt, Johnson.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he resisted the urge to pull her into him and bury his face in her hair.

“I fucking love you,” Tyler blurted, and he nearly choked on the air inside his lungs.

Not that she didn’t know by now, but still.

She raised her brow and grinned.

“Huh! I think I’m beginning to believe you.”

“Let the record show that I gave up my business meeting a few days ago just so you could see your handsome, rich husband,” he told her before his throat closed. “And being away from you would feel like living without limbs. And I very much enjoy my limbs.”

"Yeah, yeah!" she smiled. The look on her face was priceless. It was every fantastic fucking gift a second after you unwrapped it. He was about to dive down and go for the kiss, sealing this sh*t for good. “Well, fancy some quickie, wife?”

She rolled her eyes and looked outside again.

With hands in the air, he smiled. "Okay, okay!” he said, then looked at her gun. He frowned. By the way she held it like a pro, he knew she could have expertly used it without a doubt. Regardless, watching her move like a cat, he knew she wasn't the same Mary as before. She moved and acted like a well-trained assassin. Beautiful and deadly. Scary and hot at the same time.

He immediately wanted to say he wasn’t interested in knowing if she knew how to use the gun; he wanted her now, but he knew better than to screw it all up. She was talking to him, after all. He needed to play nice if he wanted a nice wife.

Tyler had been through a rough time over the last twelve months. After events in France, he’d had a bitter revelation, one that had shaken him to his core. He loved her so much that he wanted to burn the world when he thought she died.

In that year of darkness and working his ass off, managing a business had become his forte, and with his many rivals and enemies in the open, Eddie, his personal butler, had become one of his trusted men who gathered some expert, retired military personnel and became his private security team that guarded him 24/7. Scotland, nevertheless, was a different place, and it would take time for them to come here and rescue him. But he already called Eddie earlier, and the man told him that assistance was on the way and told them to stay here in the inn until help arrived.

Tyler had taken his life in self-defence. Unlike many poor souls, he wasn’t plagued by the faces of those he killed. No, his conscience was clear. But he realised that he had never enjoyed the killing, and that realisation had rocked him, and now his only goal was to keep Mary away from the mess. The key must be found, and if only his grandfather had managed to tell him where he had hidden it, his family wouldn't be fighting over massive wealth. He tried telling them that the key was not in his possession, but they didn't believe him. Of course, he wouldn't believe him either. After all, he was the favourite grandson of Sir Anthony Johnson, and it was no secret that his relatives hated the old man, and even his first-degree relatives couldn't deny it. They all wanted the key, and now Tyler was at a loss because the old man didn't leave a clue or something like a map to start with.

But keeping himself and Mary alive was his only objective. Was he a bad person? Was he evil? He certainly felt that way. Since her supposed death, he had become someone else too and had even gone to therapy, been debriefed in a few instances, and been consoled by his friends more than a couple of times in the last twelve months. While some of it helped, much of it did nothing to alleviate the guilt that riddled his heart.

Was he a psychopath? A sociopath? Some other kind of "path" he’d never heard of?

Maybe.

His therapist insisted he was none of those things, but in her eyes, he’d seen a lack of conviction. He felt lost. His guilt was eating him alive, and now that Mary was with him again, he promised to keep it that way.

The only thing that got him by was reminding himself that those he’d killed were evil. Those who attempted his life deserved it; truly horrible people intent on hurting the innocent just to get the key. It was no longer a secret, and now he knew it wasn't just his family after it. Even the Russian government and France were after that key, and some of the zealots he knew would use it for their own horrible cause. Tyler constantly told himself he was merely a tool, a precision instrument used to root out the bad in the world.

But was he?

He thought he’d gotten away from that—the killing, the hunting, the running, and the hiding—since his grandfather's death. He was constantly aware of his back, of his enemies, of those traitors, of those who betrayed him, and he was always alert, though it should have resulted in far less death and, at the very least, less intrigue. Now it was starting to feel like the opposite was taking place.

He swung his legs over the bed’s edge and planted his feet on the cold floor. The action didn’t make so much of a whoosh or thud. Years of practice had turned moving silently, even in the supposed safety of his room, into second nature.

Tyler reached into the drawer again and removed a different weapon. He stuffed the Springfield into the belt of his pants for a moment as he inspected the new weapon. The sleek black pistol had no hammer and none of the usual trimmings that most weapons display.

"Just some tourists, a gang of bikers," Mary grumbled. "But they act weird."

"How weird?" he asked and stood beside her, kissing her in the neck. He twisted the collar of her shirt into a ball and jerked her to him in a kiss, not giving a fuck that someone from the outside was watching. Or that they were standing up. Not caring about anything but her. Their lips touched, and his cock was a second away from shouting Hallelujah. Her mouth was soft and warm, and mine and her body melted against his in a way that could only mean one thing. It was back on. And this time, he wasn’t going to let go.

"Tyler, stop that—it's not the time."

"Um—you smell rather nice, sweetheart," he answered, giving her a quick peck in the cheeks, then inspecting his gun. Instead, a blue LED on the side indicated that the magazine was full and completely charged. Tyler sighed and gripped the weapon with resentful fingers. "A biker in the winter?" he asked as he looked outside.

"I know, it's weird enough that they are here on the outskirts of Scotland."

"Let me call someone. I'll take a picture and let Chase review it; we will know soon enough."

"Good idea. For now, let me order something for breakfast. Though I’m not a breakfast person,” she said. “And yes, I know it’s the most important meal of the day.”

His eyes slid down her midriff and stopped where the jeans covered her. He smiled. “No, it isn’t.”

“You’re awful.” She hid her smile behind her coffee mug. Her cheeks were doing this hamster thing, where she stifled a laugh and looked too cute doing so.

"How about... um, let me eat you instead?" he winked. Tyler nearly laughed, though there was nothing funny about his situation.

"Seriously, Tyler? We are in the middle of some stupid crises here, and that is all you could ever think about?"

"Why not? You like it. I want my morning meal as well. Your moan and you..."

"Tyler! Stop." Damn if she wasn't blushing.

"Come on, sweetheart, you'll be screaming my name soon." He smirked as he kissed her on the forehead and then on her lips.

Mary rolled her eyes, but she didn’t kick him out, even though a small, vindictive part of her wanted to. Life was too short to deprive yourself of spending time with those you love—something I’d learned the hard way. She thought to herself.

His body seemed to mould into her massive mattress. Somehow, he fit. If there was one thing she’d realised this year, it was that sometimes they belong in the last place they thought they’d ever be.

"Tyler, we need to stop. Um, you already had your fill last night," she reddened.