Griff: A Scifi Alien Invasion Romance (Hell Squad Book 17) Read online

  Griff had learned to be mean, vicious, and brutal. He shifted in his seat and felt the old scar on his back twinge. Yeah, yeah. I won’t forget you anytime soon.

  The Hawk’s door opened, and he spotted Indy’s dark head and Doc Emerson’s blonde one.

  Shit. He grimaced, dreams of his beer and shower evaporating. He was going to have to tangle with Indy and the doc first.

  Emerson’s white coat fell around her curvy body and the thickening waistline of her pregnant belly.

  “Howdy.” The doc shot him a wide smile. “Indy tells me you’re coming to visit me in the infirmary.”

  Griff grunted. “It’s a scratch.” But as he pushed out of his seat, he almost fell.

  Dom grabbed his arm. “Easy there.” His friend helped him out of the Hawk.

  Indy jammed her shoulder up under his arm. “Idiot.”

  Emerson grinned and waved over two of her nurses. The pair pushed a floating iono-stretcher between them.

  Aw, crap. He hated stretchers.

  “You and your scratch are all mine, Griff,” Emerson said cheerfully.

  He dropped onto the stretcher, but he sure as hell wasn’t lying down. He heard Hemi and Levi laughing under their breaths. Pricks.

  The nurses maneuvered the stretcher into the corridor, and Indy fell into step with the doc.

  He watched Indy’s ponytail swinging behind her. Of course, that made him look down at her ass, cupped lovingly by her jeans.

  Before he knew it, they were entering the infirmary.

  “That leg looks bad.” The doc snapped on some gloves, then loosened the straps on his armor. She pulled the carbon fiber off.

  Griff looked at the bloody mess of his thigh and shrugged. He’d had worse. Hell, it had been far worse when a fellow inmate had torn up his back with a homemade shiv.

  Indy made a sound, and when he looked up, he saw she’d gone pale.

  “Indy?”

  “That’s…a lot of blood.”

  Hell, was she afraid of blood? His hand moved automatically, his fingers wrapping around hers. She gripped on tight.

  Emerson moved, giving him a shot, before she started cutting open his pants. Dammit. He didn’t have too many pairs of cargo pants left.

  “You tore yourself up nicely, didn’t you?” the doc said.

  She didn’t have to sound so happy about it.

  Next, Doc Emerson moved a scanner over his leg. “You still have a fragment of the spike in there.”

  “Great,” he muttered.

  Emerson smiled. She pulled out a syringe and he saw it was filled with silver nanomeds.

  The doc shot him full of the small medical machines, and he gritted his teeth through the rush of pain. Then, he watched her pick up a set of giant tweezers.

  “Oh, God,” Indy moaned.

  When the doc started prodding his leg, Griff hissed. “Fuck.” It was agony.

  Indy’s fingers gripped harder onto his. She moved closer and he smelled coconut. Another dig of the tweezers and he groaned.

  “Look at me,” Indy said.

  He did. Her face was pale, but her big, gorgeous eyes were locked on him. He felt a bit lightheaded, but he kept staring at her.

  “That’s it,” she murmured. “You’re okay.”

  “You’re pretty easy to look at.” He raised his hand, running his thumb across her lips.

  Something flashed in her eyes.

  “You afraid of blood?” he asked.

  Her lips flattened. “You tell anyone, I’ll punch you.”

  “You’re covered in tattoos…”

  “I don’t mind needles, but seeing skin torn open…” She shuddered.

  They stared at each other, and Griff felt another kind of tension creep into his body. Nothing to do with injuries, and everything to do with this woman.

  “All done,” Emerson said.

  The doc’s words broke the spell. Indy cleared her throat and stepped back.

  Emerson took her gloves off. “We just need to let the nanomeds finish healing you up.”

  “So, he’ll live?” Indy asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Right.” She let go of his hand.

  Without her touch, Griff felt strangely bereft.

  Indy hated seeing Griff in an infirmary bed. She hated feeling worried. She knew the nanomeds would heal him up just fine, but her stomach still felt like it was filled with a thousand butterflies.

  This was why she needed to stay away from him.

  He shifted on the pillows, looking every inch like a caged, wild animal who wanted out.

  Indy waged an internal battle, then dragged a chair over and sat down next to his bed.

  “You don’t have to stay,” he said.

  She crossed her arms. “Yes, I do. We both know you’ll make a run for it if I don’t stay.”

  He looked disgruntled.

  “Rest. Get some sleep. You look like you need it.” He did look tired.

  He swallowed and shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t sleep that well.”

  Indy tilted her head, studying him. “I guess since the invasion, a lot of people don’t sleep well.”

  He shrugged. “It was from before that.”

  Those butterflies went haywire. “From prison?”

  He was quiet for a long moment, then he let out a harsh breath. “For a cop behind bars…it’s impossible to let your guard down. One time, I fell into a deep sleep, and a couple of inmates jumped me.”

  Anger surged through her. “Where the hell were the guards?”

  “They can’t be everywhere.”

  She knew Griff had been a good cop. It was all that he’d ever wanted to be. “Were you hurt?”

  He shrugged his shoulders again.

  So, yes. She sucked in a breath. She hated imagining Griff lying awake at night, tired and on alert for an attack. “Fuckers.”

  His lips quirked. “Indy—”

  “You should never have been in there in the first place.”

  His face closed down. “I was convicted.”

  “I know those drugs weren’t yours. I know you were framed, and I know you didn’t kill that man, or have anything to do with the drugs they found.”

  He was silent, and she saw a muscle in his jaw tick.

  “Why are you so sure?” The words shot out of him. “No one else believed me.”

  She leaned forward. “I know you, Griffin Callan. I watched you grow up. You’re one of the good guys.”

  His jaw hardened. “Sometimes, you never really know people, Indy. Even those closest to you.”

  She blinked. “Are you saying you did it?”

  His face twisted. “No!” He sucked in an angry breath. “I was framed. By another cop.”

  God, what a nightmare for him. “I know you didn’t do it. Gareth refused to talk about it with me. But you and Gareth, you were both cops to the bone.”

  Griff jerked, his gaze moving to the wall behind her. His jaw was so tight she thought that it was going to crack. She watched his face close down.

  Emerson appeared, holding a small portable comp in her hands. “Looks like you’re doing fine, Griff. The nanomeds are healing you up nicely. Please avoid any alien spikes in the future.”

  Griff looked at the Doc. “I’ll do my best.”

  “How are those babies doing in there?” Indy asked.

  The woman patted her belly. “Cooking nicely and making my waistbands tight already. Gabe kindly told me that he and his brother were both nine pounds when they were born.” The doc grimaced.

  Indy shuddered. Hell Squad soldier Gabe was huge and broad-shouldered. Poor woman. “Ah, well, good luck.”

  Emerson patted Griff’s good leg, and then walked back to her office.

  Indy studied his face again. She could still see the echo of their conversation in his expression. He was still holding so much pain and anger in. What had been done to him had understandably scarred him deep. He needed to let it out. And not just in the field, when he was beating up aliens
.

  “Griff—”

  Suddenly, one of the male nurses appeared. “Hey there.”

  When Griff didn’t answer the man, Indy glanced over at the nurse. He was smiling at her, not at Griff.

  She gave him a small nod. “Hey, Dale.”

  They’d dated for a little while when she’d first come to the Enclave, but after spending some time together, she’d realized he wasn’t for her.

  “How have you been doing, Indy?” He touched her shoulder.

  “Busy.” She felt unhappiness waft off Griff. “Um, do you need to check Griff?”

  The nurse gave a passing glance at Griff and the screen beside his bed. “Looks like the nanomeds are working fine. You’ll be all healed before you know it, dude.”

  Griff just grunted, glaring at the man.

  “Thanks.” Indy smiled, hoping Dale would take the hint.

  Instead, he reached out, running a finger down her arm. “What if you and I catch up? Reconnect.”

  “I’m really busy.”

  “I know you like a good time.” He winked. “Just give me a buzz.”

  She kept her smile in place. “Really, really busy.”

  Her message finally penetrated and his flirtatious look faded. His shoulders sagged. “Right. See you later.”

  He walked away, and Indy turned back to Griff. He looked like his face had been carved from granite.

  She cleared her throat. “Griff, I want you to know that you can talk to me—”

  “No.”

  He was so stubborn. She gave a huff. “You need to talk about what happened to you. Let it out. Get rid of all the poison before it damages you.”

  His face turned bleak and her chest locked. Then the shutters came down again, and his face went blank.

  “I don’t want to fucking talk about it. I don’t want to rehash my life imploding, my fiancée leaving me, and me being painted a criminal. I certainly don’t want to talk about what it’s like for a cop to be behind bars.” His breathing was harsh, his tone hard. “Even if I did want to talk, I wouldn’t want to talk about it with you.”

  Piercing hurt filled her chest.

  “You just keep smiling and flitting through life like nothing matters, Indy. You keep dating guys like him.” He jerked his head the way Dale had gone. “Leave my secrets alone.”

  “You kissed me, Griff.”

  “A mistake.” He looked away.

  The hurt made it hard to talk. She tried to stay calm, but his harsh words had lit a fuse. “I’m only trying to help you.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “Don’t be an asshole.”

  “I am an asshole.”

  “You want to be alone and stew about the past…well, you got it.” She leaped to her feet. With one last glare, she turned, shot him the finger and strode out. She made sure the infirmary door slammed after her.

  But every step hurt. Once again, Griff had torn her up inside.

  Every time she got close to him, he proved that it was a fucking bad idea. Talk about not learning her lesson.

  You need to stay the hell away from him, Indy. From the man she was beginning to realize was her own personal kryptonite.

  Chapter Five

  Griff pulled in a breath, then released it slowly. He tossed the knife.

  It slammed into the target, dead center, but he felt no satisfaction.

  Dom strode forward and pulled the knife out. He turned and eyed Griff. “Your leg still giving you problems?”

  “No.” Griff turned. At the other end of the firing range, he spotted Manu Rahia’s big form. The former berserker was shooting with a tall woman in uniform—Kate, his woman and head of Enclave security.

  Griff did not need a happy, loved-up couple rubbed in his face right now. He snatched up three knives, turned, and threw them in quick succession.

  Two slammed into the target, the third glanced off the board, rebounded, and skittered onto the floor.

  Shit.

  “You want to talk about it, amico mio?”

  “Hell, no.”

  Dom walked over, leaned down, and scooped up the fallen knife. “This is about Indy.”

  Griff’s head shot up, but he remained silent.

  Dom smiled. “I see the way you look at her.”

  Griff’s hands curled into fists. He’d hurt her. She’d been pushing and he’d lashed out. He blew out a breath. Maybe he’d just gotten too used to no one giving a fuck about him. To stewing in his own damn misery. Of course, Indy had defended herself with her sharp tongue, but he’d seen the hurt.

  “I’ve known her all my life.” He heaved out a breath. “I’ve wanted her all my life. But at first, we were too young, we had our lives ahead of us, and she was my best friend’s little sister.”

  Dom nodded. “And the forbidden is always hard to resist.”

  But it hadn’t just been that. It had been Indy—bright, bold, smiling Indy. “She came to visit me in prison. I refused to see her.” Lost in the old memories, he felt his anger rising. Like a damn beast waking up. “There are things I can’t tell her, things that would hurt her.”

  “She’s survived an alien invasion,” Dom said quietly. “She’s a fine comms officer, fearless and unafraid. She’s not a little girl for you to protect.”

  Griff forced his hands to uncurl. “She’ll always be mine to protect.”

  Dom set the knife down on the nearby bench. “You’ve been doing that behind the scenes since we were at Blue Mountain Base. Beating up men who disrespect her, ensuring her supply of coffee without her knowing.”

  Clearing his throat, Griff mentally cursed his observant friend. Any time he’d found coffee beans out in the field—especially the Arabica she loved—he’d brought them back and given them to the scavenger team to give to her.

  “You need to trust her,” Dom continued. “Open up to her.”

  “You sure you used to work for the Mafia? I’m starting to think you were a damn shrink.”

  Dom’s face didn’t even change, completely unfazed by Griff’s outburst.

  Dammit. Griff stuck his hands on his hips. The thought of opening up his fucked-up, battered self for anyone, let alone Indy, made him feel sick.

  “Indy won’t accept you holding back,” Dom added.

  “Next, you’re going to suggest we hold hands, sing a few songs, maybe hug.”

  Dom lifted a knife and pointed it at Griff. “I could slit your throat before you’d even have a chance to react.”

  Griff managed a laugh and shook his head. “You’re so wise in the ways of women, Santora. How many relationships have you had exactly?”

  “None.” The man smiled, but he had a dark look in his eyes. “But I’m observant. It’s easy to watch from the shadows when no one knows you’re there.”

  Griff stared at his friend’s face. Griff’s demons were close to the surface, but Dom kept his buried deep. Not for the first time, he wondered what Dom had endured in his pre-invasion life.

  “You want to talk?” Griff asked.

  Dom shot him a killer look.

  “Right.” Griff’s thoughts turned to Indy again.

  Dom clasped his shoulder. “Talk to her.”

  “She’s pissed at me.”

  “Not the first time, and knowing Indy, it won’t be the last.”

  That got a reluctant smile from Griff.

  “Woo her,” Dom suggested.

  “What?”

  “Spoil her. Show her what she means to you, and that you’re sorry for pissing her off.” Dom tilted his head. “I don’t think Indy gets enough of that.”

  Hmm. “You know what. That’s not a bad idea, Santora.”

  Okay, so she’d had three cups of coffee, binged on a donut from the kitchen, and raided her stash of chocolate, but she was still simmering. She hated when her comfort foods didn’t work.

  Indy pulled in a calming breath and tipped her face up to the sun. Nearby, she could hear some birds chirping in the trees.

  She
and Arden were up in the Garden. The grassy area was hidden in a bowl of carved rock at the top of an escarpment. The Enclave residents accessed it through a tunnel. Part of the space was cordoned off for the vegetable gardens, while the rest was interspersed with trees and flowers. It was dotted with picnic tables and was a favorite playground for the Enclave’s children. Overhead, the retractable doors were open, letting in the sunshine. A high-tech illusion system kept it hidden from the Gizzida.

  Indy and Arden had spread a blanket on the grass, were getting their dose of vitamin D, and doodling in their sketchbooks.

  With a huff, Indy moved her pencil and it tore through the paper. Sighing, she forced her muscles to relax. Damn Griff had her all churned up.

  “Indy.”

  She looked up. “Yeah?”

  Arden was sitting with her legs tucked beneath her, using charcoal in her book. The woman’s fingers were stained black and a strand of her hair had escaped her messy bun. Indy arched her neck, looking at Arden’s picture.

  Damn, the woman was good. She’d done a black-and-white sketch of Squad Nine. Roth and Theron were tall, shadowed presences at the back of the picture. The four female soldiers were lined up in front, looking badass. Warriors readying for war.

  It was striking, and Indy felt the power in the image.

  Arden had started taking art classes with Niko, the civilian leader of the Enclave, a few months back. She clearly had a natural talent.

  “Let me see your work,” Arden said.

  Indy tilted her sketch book.

  Her picture was a bleeding heart surrounded by thorns. But the thorns were just starting to show budding roses forming.

  “Filled with meaning,” Arden said.

  “It’s for Ahmad. You know, he’s the husband of Trevor from the maintenance team. He requested it.”

  Indy sketched tattoos for survivors who’d been left scarred by the Gizzida. So many had been trapped in labs, cut open, experimented on. For the scars that couldn’t be healed by nanomeds, Indy did her part to help cover them over and transform them into something else. There was a small team of tattoo artists at the Enclave who inked the designs. Shaw from Hell Squad did the occasional one and was damn good.

  Arden nodded. “It’s great.”