Deep

by Skye Warren

  There was a particular place that two people might go—the back rooms, perfect for privacy. I didn’t relish peeking inside, but I couldn’t leave without checking.

  A hand caught my wrist. “Claire?”

  I glanced back. My body went cold. His name was Donny, a dealer I’d known back in the day. And a major asshole. He’d tried to trade sexual favors for drugs more than once. I moved to shake him off, but his grip just tightened.

  “No,” I said, panic clawing at my chest. I hated being restrained. “I’m Ella.”

  And I was Ella. I’d been christened with that name not by my birth mother or my adoptive mother, but by the first woman who had truly loved me unconditionally—by Shelly. I had been reborn.

  When I’d returned home, I’d made the change legal. It hadn’t endeared me to my adoptive parents, but then nothing did—and I had realized that the partying and rebellion had only been hurting myself.

  “No, it’s you,” he insisted. “I wondered where the fuck you went.”

  The years hadn’t been kind to him. He had loose weight around his neck and belly, his eyes glassy and red from repeated highs.

  “I’m sorry,” I said firmly. “I’m not who you’re looking for.” I moved away, but he tugged me back. I pulled harder. He didn’t let go.

  Raw fear clutched my chest.

  Oh no. Not now. Not again.

  I couldn’t breathe. Air wheezed through the tight knot of my throat, but not enough. The people seemed to close in on me. My vision dimmed.

  And still he held on to my wrist.

  I batted him away, helpless in this state.

  Then suddenly the pressure was gone. There was a wall supporting my back and a clear space in front of me. My breathing resumed—still wheezing, but I could think again. The desperate clawing for survival eased. And my vision cleared.

  There was Philip, holding the other guy up against the opposite wall by his neck.

  “Did he hurt you?” Philip asked between clenched teeth.

  It took me a few seconds to answer. My wrist still felt sore, my lungs tight. But I knew saying yes would mean that someone died tonight. “I’m fine.”

  “Apologize.” This to the man in front of him.

  “I-I’m sorry,” Donny stuttered. “I didn’t know she was with you.”

  Philip’s voice dropped to lethal softness, somehow completely audible over the pounding of the bass. “Apologize to her.”

  “I’m sorry. Claire. Or—or—”

  “Ella,” Philip supplied.

  “I’m sorry, Ella!” A desperate shout, tinged with pain. Philip must have applied pressure.

  “You’ll tell everyone that she’s not to be touched.”

  “Yes, yes.” He was babbling now, making promises and incoherent sounds.

  “And if I find out that you put your hands on her again, I’ll cut them off.”

  The quiet authority of the threat chilled me to my core.

  “If I find out you spoke to her again, I’ll cut your tongue out of your mouth.” Philip looked him over and must have come to the same conclusion I had. “While you’re sober.”

  Donny flinched.

  Philip released him, and he sank to the floor. An acrid scent filled the small hallway.

  Piss. He had pissed himself. That was how scared he was of Philip.

  The man who could inspire such fear took my arm—gently—and led me out a back entrance. There was a guard just inside the door, but he didn’t object to us leaving. He nodded at Philip—not with the kind of familiarity that male friends have, but with respect.

  Philip waited until we were in the alley before turning on me. “What the fuck?”

  “I thought I saw Tyler.” After all that, I was doubting myself. “He was with a guy, slightly older. He looked…like you, kind of. Black hair.” Lean, without the broad chest and muscles that made Philip so intimidating even if you didn’t know his reputation.

  Philip gave me an odd look. On anyone else it would have been uncertainty. “You were mistaken.”

  “How do you know?” And why was he so invested in me being wrong about this? But I leaned back against the brick, already resigned to it. It felt like a dream now. “Shit.”

  “It happens,” Philip said gruffly. “You want something badly enough, you start seeing it.”

  “A mirage?” It had felt so real. “And it’s happened to you.”

  His gaze lowered to my mouth. “Yes.”

  My throat went dry. “What did you want?”

  What did he want so badly that he imagined it?

  He bent his head and kissed me.

  His lips touching mine—soft, almost tender—was somehow more intimate than standing in front of him naked. The brush of his fingertips as he cupped my jaw were more sensual than my fingers on my clit. With just a stroke of his tongue against the seam of my lips, my body roared back to life—the banked heat from earlier already boiling over.

  “My fault,” he murmured.

  I felt dazed, too strung tight with need to figure out what he meant. “Your fault?”

  “I shouldn’t have left you like that, on the edge. Not before something dangerous like this. The adrenaline spike would have made anyone reckless.”

  “I wasn’t reckless.” Or was I? Maybe I had a death wish. That would explain my attraction to Philip.

  He kissed my forehead. “We’ll take care of that right now.”

  “We…we will?”

  “I said I would protect you, kitten.” Large hands grasped my hips. That was my only warning before he lifted my body higher, the brick wall scraping the skin of my shoulders, tugging at my hair. “This is protection,” he murmured.

  His thigh pressed between my legs.

  I gasped at the heavy pressure, the pleasurable ache that throbbed at his body heat. My jeans were still on, his slacks too. The fabric between us might as well have been air, I felt him so sharply.

  I was gasping into his mouth, shattering. “I need… I need…”

  “I know, kitten. And you’re going to get it. You’re going to make yourself come. But not with your fingers. With me.” He slapped my hip. “Ride.”

  “What?” But even as I asked, my body was already obeying, rocking my hips toward him, the blunt pressure of his broad thigh like bliss against my clit. He was taller than me, larger than me. It was really like riding him, even though I was backed against the wall. My legs were spread wide by only the width of one thigh while his other leg supported us. Because God, I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I could only rock against him, mindless, overwhelmed by him—his scent, spice and clean sweat. By the feel of him, hot and hard and surrounding me. By the heat of him, pressing against my clit with every forward motion.

  “That’s right,” he said, his voice thick and low. “Make yourself feel good. Take what you need from me. I’m so hard for you. So hot for you. I’d do any fucking thing for you like this.”

  And I understood for the first time why Shelly had felt so confident back then, the power that came from making a man weak with desire. Except my body was frantic, my mind white with need. It wasn’t only him brought low through desire—it was me too. I had to surrender first.

  I fought it, a familiar fear rising up. The same fear that kept me holding back with Sloan, with every man I’d ever met. A fear born on a night long ago, but not so dissimilar to this. When cruel men had tried to take me by force. When Philip had rejected me just as cruelly. I was too much and yet not enough. I was wanted, but only against my will—only fighting it. This was the only way I could take it.

  “No,” I whispered.

  He didn’t slow down, didn’t stop. “Yes,” he said, pulling my hips in a steady sexual motion. “You’re going to come so hard you’ll gush all over your panties. It’s already happening. You can’t stop this, kitten. You can’t stop me.”

  My lips parted on a sharp cry, and then his mouth closed over mine—holding me in while I came apart. Lights gathered in my vision and then
exploded, scattering across the dark, parting to reveal his face, his eyes, the triumph in his expression.

  My sex pulsed in wild pleasure, leaving my panties wet and my body wrung dry.

  Something hitched in my chest. My first orgasm with a man had been in my dorm room, with Philip bleeding and half-conscious. And now my second, in a dirty alleyway behind the Meat Market. Were we always destined for these strange and broken moments of pleasure? Was the wholesome and sweet simply out of our reach?

  My breath caught again, and then I couldn’t hold them back anymore. Tears wrenched my chest, and I fell against him. He caught me in his embrace, murmuring to me, “I know. I know it was hard for you, kitten. You were so beautiful, so brave.”

  He held me until the sobs turned to quiet sniffles, until the sniffles faded to a silent numbness. And all the while he stroked my hair, my arms, my back. All the while he cradled me in his arms as if I were something precious, something rare.

  *

  AFTER THE BACK alley orgasm, he took me with him to his initial destination.

  A pawn shop.

  And it was closed. At least that was what the sign said. Philip rapped once, glanced up at the ancient-looking security camera, and waited on the cracked city sidewalk. A minute later a mechanical buzz unlocked the door.

  It looked like a standard pawn shop, with shiny garland and Mardi Gras beads lining glass casing. I could see watches, jewelry, cameras. The man who emerged from the back—and the smell of pot—were pretty typical too. So what was Philip doing here?

  He was the only thing out of place, austere and aloof.

  The man smiled when he saw us, exposing yellowed teeth. He nodded to Philip, a greeting of two men who have met before. Then he looked me over from head to toe—his gaze, clearly accustomed to calculating things of great worth. His expression was speculative when he turned to Philip again.

  “What do you have for Raine tonight?”

  Without speaking, Philip pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket and set it on the glass case.

  The man pounced on it with almost childlike eagerness, tipping the contents onto a black velvet mat. There was only one thing inside—a single, brilliant diamond. My breath caught.

  The man sighed in obvious admiration. “Ah Murphy, you always bring the good stuff.”

  “I’m looking for a kid.”

  Raine glanced at me. “Looks like you already have one.”

  “A boy. Her brother.”

  Raine put a small cylinder to his eye—some kind of magnifying glass. He held the diamond with tweezers and examined it. The sound he made was almost sexual and a little disturbing. “Raine knows about this.”

  “You do.” The statement was low and dangerous.

  Raine might have sensed the danger, but he was a little busy having a visual orgasm with his new diamond. “I don’t know where they’re keeping him, mind, but I know why.”

  My heart pounded. Tyler. He knew about Tyler.

  “We already know why,” Philip said, just as low, just as dangerous as before. Maybe more.

  Raine looked up with a smile. “Not because of no gambling debt, Murphy.” His smile faded when he saw Philip’s face. “Because of you.”

  Philip took a step toward the counter. “You have exactly one minute to explain, or this shop loses my protection.”

  Bloodshot eyes widened. “I’m not involved in that shit—you know I wouldn’t—Fuck. I keep my ear to the ground, don’t I? That’s my business, isn’t it?”

  “Then tell me something that helps me find him. Where is he? Who has him?”

  “Someone wanted to hit you.” Raine glanced at the diamond. “Where it would hurt. It ain’t nothing to be ashamed about. Everybody got a weak spot.”

  Philip went completely still. I wasn’t even sure he was breathing. And I was struggling to understand what Raine meant. Tyler hadn’t been taken because of my dad’s gambling debt? Then why?

  He’d implied it was done because of Philip, but Philip didn’t care about my brother. He barely even cared about me. Except he’d been watching me. Protecting me.

  Everybody got a weak spot.

  If you would have asked me a week ago, I’d have said he didn’t have one.

  Raine looked around at the glass cases and cluttered shelves. “People come in here, they love their things. Rings. Guitars. They can’t live without them, they tell me. But then they leave and realize that they can live without them.” He paused, studying me. Then he turned to Philip. “Let this be something you live without.”

  “He’s not a thing,” I said. “Not a guitar or a piece of jewelry. He’s my brother.”

  Raine smiled, a sepia-toned Cheshire cat. “I wasn’t talking to you, precious.”

  I sucked in a breath. He meant me, that Philip shouldn’t help me. I was the weak spot.

  “Leave,” Philip said on a breath, so quiet I barely heard him. Raine heard him. He shoved the diamond into the pouch and disappeared into the back room in a rustle of hanging beads.

  “Who did you tell?” Philip asked without turning. Now it was his voice that sounded raw.

  All that anger, the force of his will, was directed at me. He wasn’t even looking at me, but I could feel it—dissecting me, ripping me apart. “What are you talking about?”

  “Who did you tell about me?”

  My hopeless crush on him. The unsigned postcards. “No one.”

  “Are you sure? Even a friend. Even someone you thought you could trust.”

  “No,” I said, louder, more sure. I wouldn’t have told them about Philip. No one at school would have understood what I went through—or about my strange fascination with a criminal. “I never told a soul.”

  “Someone did,” he said, finally turning to face me. The rage in his eyes hit me like a lash. The rest of him was deathly cold. “And we’re going to find out who.”

  He brushed past me to the door and held it open.

  Everybody got a weak spot.

  It sounded wild, like some kind of dark fairy tale. It couldn’t possibly be true. Except that Philip seemed to confirm it with every action—with watching me, with saving me. With keeping me. It was more than sex he wanted from me. It was everything. He wanted all of me, and a man like Philip always got what he wanted.

  Nothing about his posture invited me in. He didn’t offer his hand. He didn’t offer any comfort.

  He didn’t have anything to give, I realized. Not comfort. Not acceptance. And definitely not love.

  He had sharp, shiny diamonds in velvet bags. He had threats and money. He had desire, and that would have to be enough for me, because I had already made the deal with him—and this visit was the signed ink on the contract.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  WE HIT THE city limits before I realized what direction we were going in. Who did you tell about me? he’d asked, because that was the link. Whoever knew about us was a suspect now. He would burn down every house to find them. And we were heading toward a very specific house.

  “No,” I said. “No way.”

  There was no way that Shelly would have told anyone about Philip’s strange fascination with me or my childish crush on him. The only possible use for that information was to hurt us—and she would never do that. God, she’d risked her life to save me when I was a stranger.

  Philip didn’t answer. He just stared out the window, light from the streetlamps whipping over his sharp features. He was angry, I realized. No. He was furious.

  “Who else?” he asked, low. “Who else would know?”

  I had to admit the number of people who could have guessed that about us was slim. It wasn’t even a real relationship, the kind you can catch on camera or read in a diary. It was just wishful thinking, a cruel trick of fate that made two people interested in each other when they both knew a relationship could never work.

  Shelly had been there, though. She’d seen my fascination with him—and, apparently, his fascination with me. If anyone could intuit it from our
actions and words, it would be her.

  “I don’t believe that,” I said. “She would never put me in danger. And definitely not you.”

  A short laugh. “You remember she was once an informant for the cops. Who did you think she informed them about?”

  “That was different.” Different because the man she loved was a cop. She would have done anything for him. But he would never have put us in danger either, never have worked with the kind of men who would kidnap my brother just to strike at Philip.

  He wasn’t listening to me. Instead he was focused on the gun that had appeared in his hand. He was checking that it was loaded and ready to fire, his expression determined and deadly cold.

  This was how he must appear to his enemies.

  “Stop,” I whispered. “We shouldn’t even be focusing on this. We need to find my brother.”

  “Whoever is fucking with me took your brother. That’s how we find him.”

  “Shelly didn’t do this.”

  He ignored me and pulled out his cell phone. “Grab a couple guys and meet me someplace.” He rattled off Shelly’s new address by memory.

  “Stop,” I said, louder now. Stronger.

  He didn’t bother to look over. “If she didn’t do it, she has nothing to be worried about.”

  Something inside me snapped. “Doesn’t have anything to be worried about? An armed man is about to burst into her house! Along with other armed men! It’s a home invasion, Philip, so yeah, I think she has something to worry about.”

  “I’m not taking any chances.” With your safety, I heard in the silence that followed.

  Tears sprang to my eyes. “You’re just like them. All of them. Swinging around your guns, not caring who gets hurt.”

  Philip gave me a strange look, and I realized I was visibly shaking. I was shouting too, my words ringing in the silence.

  “All right,” he said softly, but it was too late.

  Hot bands of panic tightened around my chest. Oh no. Not now. Now here.

  Not where he can see me.

  I couldn’t control it. I never could. My lungs squeezed and shuddered, desperate for air. My mouth opened, and a horrible wheezing sound came out. Tears blurred my vision.