by Skyla Madi
He holds my stare, and every muscle in my body burns from being held so intensely.
“I’ll kill him.”
I nod, smoothing my hands over the large expanse of his chest. “I know you will. Just not tonight.”
Exhaling, his body relaxes. I take my chances and snatch the gun from his smooth grip. I’m surprised I don’t accidently squeeze the trigger and shoot myself in the foot. Behind me, someone clears their throat, sending my heart into my shoes. Without pause, I stuff the weapon into the front of my jeans and conceal it with my tank top. My pulse pounds holes in my throat and wrists. If I turn around, he’s going to see the gun.
I stare at Jai. He can probably see the panic on my face.
“Round two, Stone.” A worn, black boxing bag lands with a thud beside our feet. Dust scatters, covering the tops of my feet. “In two days.”
Jai doesn’t respond and eventually, the man disappears.
I slap my hand to my forehead. My skin is red hot under my palm. I’m certain the panic has given me a fever. I’ve never been so scared in my life.
“Holy shit. That was close.”
Jai holds out his large hand, exposing his wide palm. “Give me the gun.”
Yeah. That’s not going to happen. “No way, Rambo. I don’t want to die today.”
“I’m not going to do anything stupid. You’re right. We’re in too deep to ruin it now.”
I eye him curiously. “You’re not going to tear around the place guns blazing?”
I squeak as he hooks a strong index finger around a belt loop and yanks me close. “No.”
The back of his fingers warm my abdomen as he curls his hands around the handle of the gun and pulls it free. He towers over me. A beautiful giant.
“I don’t know why you bothered to learn to fight if you can operate a gun just fine.” I point out.
“A gun isn’t as much fun.”
A cold feeling tumbles through me. His words carry a lot of truth to them. After stashing the gun back in his bag, he locates my sock filled with toiletries, and tosses it to me.
I guess he wants me to brush my teeth. “Subtle much?”
He lowers himself onto his cot with a heavy exhale and throws his arm over his face. “Goodnight, Kitten.”
Huh. Just like that. If he went to sleep in the first place we could’ve avoided all of this, and Jai could’ve continued hating Skull for one less reason. I exit our nook with a strange, stupid smile on my face. I’ve never had someone truly care for me before. Growing up as an orphan, having someone care is a feeling you see, read, and hear about, but never experience for yourself. Well, I do believe I just experienced it and it’s...warming.
I like it.
Give Me Strength
Jai
I’m no stranger to murder.
I’ve killed...felt the sticky warmth of life on my skin.
I’m a killer...just like Skull, and I don’t deny that. The difference is; he kills for pleasure, for the sake of it. I kill for purpose, to rid New York City of scum, to make it a safer place.
I murdered four men in cold blood just to make it here; to prove I’m not on the straight and narrow, in hopes to win the trust of Skull and his thugs. The men I killed weren’t innocent by any means. They were convicted criminals of the worst kind and they got the justice they deserved. I made sure of that.
Skull knows what I am, and he doesn’t trust me because of it. I’m surprised he didn’t put a bullet through my head the second I descended into the tunnels. Either he assumed I’d have back up, or he’s curious to see if I’m as good a fighter as my brother.
You see, Skull is under investigation by every law enforcement agency this beautiful country has. Of course, it takes these government agencies ages before they actually get around to doing something about it—policies, laws, rights, and all that bullshit that protects the criminal more than it should. As soon as Skull’s case left our department and went to the ‘higher ups’ I lost it. I wanted to catch Skull. I wanted to be the officer to slap cuffs on him and make his life fucking hell.
But no.
They took that away from me because the FBI deemed Skull’s case too complex for the NYPD. Too. Fucking. Complex. They treat us like children. Incompetent children.
I don’t trust anyone with the case but me. Skull doesn’t have me in his wallet. I want something money can’t buy. I want revenge. I want blood. I want my brother back.
That’s right. I’m a cop—a rookie, really. I wasn’t in the line of duty for long. Once Skull’s case was lost to the FBI, I punched Detective Louis Balleun in the mouth, earning myself a nice suspension with no pay. It didn’t bother me. It gave me all the free time in the world to go after Skull myself. I knew my suspension could only help my cause when I decided to hunt Skull down. I tried to do it legally, but the justice system left me with no choice. Once he’s dead, no judge or jury will convict me.
I’m surprised Skull didn’t tell Kitten I was a cop. Instead, he used it to undo the seam of trust we’ve manage to stitch. She thinks I’m hiding something from her, I can see it in her eyes. I could tell her—it’s not something I’m ashamed of, but I can’t risk it. If anyone else catches wind that I’m a cop, I’m as good as dead. Seventy percent of the population down here are criminals—men and women my precinct has put away at one time or another. Skull, I can take on, but a hundred other hardened fighters? I’m as good as dead.
I wonder how Kitten would take it if she found out. Maybe she’d respect me a little more and stop seeing me as a monster...or maybe her moral self will hate me because I disgrace the very justice system I swore to uphold. It’s hard to tell with her.
“Can you hit that bag any harder? I don’t think you’ve woken up the entire left tunnel yet.”
I stop and turn around. Behind me, the bag I was pounding swings, the chains groaning and creaking. Emily sits up in her bed and stretches her arms above her head, arching her back.
“It’s noon” I tell her, unable to hide my clipped tone. “You’re the only one still asleep.”
“Ugh, really?” She runs a hand over her face and sighs. “Why does it feel like it’s still early?”
I cradle my wrist and clench my fist. I must’ve slept on it wrong. It’s been aching all morning.
“It’s your body clock,” I say, no emotion in my voice. “It’s all over the place.”
Her face falls a little, sending a pang of guilt through my chest. I don’t mean to be an asshole, but I can’t help it. I open my mouth and it comes out. I’ve never been good at pretending; at being fake. When I’m mad I’m mad, and it won’t go away until I do something about it. Granted, I almost took it too far last night, but I’m blaming that one on the shitty whiskey I flooded my body with. Never again. I’m going to start treating this like I would, if I was on the job. I need a clear head, especially now that my feelings are involved. I feel stupid just thinking that, but it’s true. I put Emily right under Skull’s nose. I can’t take it out on her if he takes advantage of that. And he will.
I try to unwrap my hands but the knot I’ve tied around my left wrist refuses to budge. Emily watches me as I tug at the fabric, cursing my thick useless fingers.
“Need help?”
I try for another minute before I give up and nod. Her cot creaks as she pushes herself out of it. Involuntarily, my stare falls to her bare midriff. She has beautiful soft, milky skin...I’ve touched it. I’ve dragged my lips across it, run my tongue along it. I crave the feel of it. I’ve craved her from the moment I saw the shadows obscuring her face, bar her lips, the night she followed me from the train. When she stepped into the light, she looked so tragic...so lost, but it was too late for me to save her. The spotlights were turned on us and there she was cowering beside me like a little abandoned kitten.
Fragile.
Innocent.
Terrified.
It didn’t occur to me until we got down here that maybe she didn’t need saving. Maybe she needed to be found.
Her old life was pathetic, and I’m surprised she’s lasted this long. I’ve seen a lot of statistics, and people like her, well, they don’t last long in this world. Or maybe she’s stronger than I give her credit for.
“I assume you remember last night?” She asks, keeping her eyes downcast as she pulls at the blue fabric wrapped tightly around my wrist.
Even in this light I see a blush seep across her cheeks. I remember telling her she smells good. I remember her telling me Skull forced his filthy mouth on hers. I swallow the anger that burns my throat, letting it simmer in my stomach.
“Yes.”
Her lean shoulders droop and it makes me feel like shit. “Look, I don’t want last night to make things weird between us. I’m doing everything you asked me to do. If it displeases you so much, why am I doing it?”
“It’s not you.” And I hate that I’m making her think it is.
She lifts her light brown eyes. “Skull is, in every way, the exact person you described him to be. He’s rude, depraved, murderous and absolutely terrifying. I can’t fight him and you know that.”
I open my mouth and she lifts a slim index finger, cutting me off.
“Not so long ago you told me how easy it is to become owned by someone and I said it doesn’t work like that.”
She swallows hard. It makes me nervous—sick. A nasty bolt of nausea pins me right in the stomach. I nod, slowly.
“I believe you now…”
She pauses, leaving me hanging in a painful suspense. What is she referring to? Who is she referring to? I watch her patiently, as she pulls my wrist toward her lips and snags the fabric of my wrap between her white teeth. Her small, gentle hands cup mine as she seamlessly pulls the knot free. As she unwraps my hand, the air sticks to my damp skin, the feeling cool and refreshing.
When she frees my second hand, I go back to massaging my wrist now that it’s easier to access the muscle without the cotton hindrance.
“Skull—”
I snap forward, raking ten angry fingers through her hair and crushing my mouth against hers. If I hear the rest of that sentence fall from her lips I will tear this place down slab by fucking slab, brick by fucking brick. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know how the sentence will end. ‘Skull owns me.’
Like fuck he does.
Skull has taken too many things from me—my sister, my parents, my brother—but he’s not going to take her. Not Kitten. It’s not some grand gesture of love, or even a declaration of any kind. I promised I would protect her. It’s what I do, I protect people—good people. Emily is good, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and I won’t let Skull snuff it out.
For the first time in years I have a moment of clarity. Skull isn’t going to let me into his crew. I’m an ex-fucking-cop. Why the fuck didn’t I come to terms with that before? What is wrong with me? Sharp pain and grief slash through me. It kills me even to think it, but I can find my brother from the outside. It won’t be easy; try impossible, but I can’t risk Emily’s life too. It’s not fair.
We gotta get out of here.
At the very least, I have to get her out of here.
She pulls back, her eyes meeting mine. Her lips are a light pink, matching her flustered cheeks. I glide my hands from her hair, down to the small of her back. She feels good in my hands. I’ve never experienced a woman like her before. Having her so close all the time makes me crazed. The fear, the passion, the pure fucking grittiness of this entire situation fuels me—fuels my emotions, my desires.
And I desire her.
She’s not a ‘fuck her out of your system’ kind of girl and I can’t get rid of her now even if I wanted to. So, for the moment, she can stay imbedded in my flesh, heating my blood and driving me crazy. My blood rushes through my veins as her scent drowns me. I want her and I don’t want to die without tasting her one more time.
For the first time since arriving here, she clings to me, her large eyes glistening with fear. Whatever Skull did, whatever he said, it terrified her.
“I don’t want to die.” She mutters, blinking back tears. “I need your help.”
“Shit, Kitten,” I pull her close, burying my nose into the nape of her neck. “Nothing is going to happen to you. Not while I’m here.”
I hold her until her body turns hot against mine. Until her breath grows strong against my skin. As I hold her, she shifts her head and presses her warm lips against the skull tattoo on my collarbone. I tense. It’s still healing and it’s itchy as hell.
“I trust you.” She sighs, planting another kiss. “I trust that you’ll look after me.”
Emily nuzzles my throat and inhales deeply, as if she craves the smell of me—sweat and all. It means a lot to hear her say that. Her soft hands glide up my stomach and onto my torso as her lips press against my neck, then trail along my jaw. A tight groan seeps from my lips and she shivers in my grasp.
Fucking.
Hell.
The last time she touched me so intimately we were drunk off our asses. I remember most of it. I remember how good she felt, how quick she made me come, but I don’t recall my skin erupting in goosebumps like it is now. Or how tightly my muscles coiled with every peck of her lips. Last time I wasn’t aware of our surroundings. Ten people could’ve walked by and I’d have no idea, but this time every drop of water echoes in my head. When she pulls back again, I glance over my shoulder and her palm catches my cheek. She guides me back until my nose almost touches hers.
“You said it’s noon. Everyone will be eating.”
She often skips on meals and I don’t blame her. I’m not exactly first in line for the stale bread and runny broth either, but I can afford to lose body mass. She can’t. Emily is a slim girl, but she still has curves—however slight. In recent days, I’ve noticed those curves straightening, the muscle and fat melting away. I want her. God fucking knows I do, but I’m not a savage solely motivated by my baser urges. I take care of what needs to be taken care of first.
“You should eat.”
She slides her arms around my neck, her eyes sparkling and heavy lidded “Food isn’t what I want.”
Emily is flush against me, her perky breasts against my chest, and her thighs against mine. The second it takes for her to press her lips to mine drags on, but when they finally connect, every fragment of self-control I have goes up in flames. She opens her mouth and I groan into it before licking her tongue with mine. Fuck, she tastes good, like fairy floss and mint. I’m not a fan of either of those flavors but mixed together, in her mouth, they’re my holy grail.
I still can’t wrap my head around this woman. A part of me wants to use her for my own personal gain and if she wants me to fuck her senseless in the process, fine, I can do that too. I have no issues with getting my dick wet.
But then there’s another part of me...the part that wants to protect her. That part would rather fill her needs emotionally before it’d even consider connecting with her physically. Right now, those two sides wage war inside of me. In my stomach, as I back her against a wall, those to sides blend together and my hands don’t know if they should pinch and squeeze or pet and caress. My tongue is caught up in my confusion, switching between languid and bruising.
Then I have another moment of fucking clarity and my self-control reins itself in. It’s unwanted, but that doesn’t stop it from slamming into the front of my skull, demanding I listen to it. It tells me to listen to my surroundings.
I do.
Every drop of water echoes through my ears and distant conversation is close enough to hear. This is not the time nor the place for this. I remember something my father said: ‘a woman is beautiful. A woman is special. Never treat her in a way you wouldn’t want a man treating your daughter.’ He spoke them to me when he caught me reading a porn magazine three days after my fifteenth birthday. Talk about fucking awkward. I’ve always blamed Joel for that. He was the one who gave me the magazine in the first place. Anyway, as badly as I want to bury myself deep inside Emily
’s pussy and pound her until she comes, I shouldn’t. She’s not that kind of girl to me. She mightn’t know her parents, but she’s still someone’s little girl.
I did it once. I fucked her against this very wall, until her legs could no longer bear her own weight. But I was drunk then…and it’s clear I don’t make the best decisions when I’m drunk. When this whole fiasco ends, whether it ends in Skull’s death or ours, I don’t want her to look back and see me as the guy who took her against a wall. I want her to hold me in high esteem, to see me as the guy who first ruined her life by dragging her down here and then saved it, making it even better than the old one. That’ll be enough to allow me to forgive myself. If she makes it out of here feeling empowered, not used and abused, I’ll be happy.
Her fingers dig into my back as I slow my kiss and eventually pull off, dragging my teeth along her bottom lip. She groans and lets her head fall back against the wall.
“Ugh. You can’t do that.”
Feigning innocence, I angle my head. “Do what?”
“Kiss me…” She closes her eyes and exhales. Her thumbs hook around the loose collar to my grey tee and she draws me close. “Kiss me like that and then stop. You can’t.”
Emily shifts her right leg and my thigh slips between hers. Her breath hitches as she squeezes me between her smooth, slender thighs. Shit, she’s hot. Her warmth radiates through her tiny, black shorts and heats my skin through my sweat pants. I can only imagine how wet she is. My shaft is hard, my balls ache and I’m certain the tip of my cock is leaking pre-cum, but my sexless resolve holds strong.
“Jai…please.”
Unable to help myself, I run the tip of my nose along her jaw until it brushes the lobe of her ear. Emily shivers as she rakes her hands down my arms and subtly grinds her pussy against my thigh.
“What do you want, Kitten?”
To not fuck her is one thing, to leave her horny and wanting is another thing entirely. In my experience, women spend a lot of time in their own head. You touch them too much they think you’re using them. Touch them too little and they don’t think you’re attracted to them. I’m attracted to Emily. Too fucking attracted.
