by Jewel, Bella
“I can’t. I’ve tried. When it comes to you, I don’t have any control. I just want you, Sarah. That’s all I know anymore.”
I suck in a breath and glance to Decker, expecting a smirk or a grin at the very least. I get neither. His lips are tight, his brow furrowed. He’s uncomfortable.
Well, goddamnit, so am I.
“I played you.” Hunter moves toward me, stopping within reach. “And I get that you don’t trust me. But I trust you.”
He reaches out, and I stiffen as he grabs me by my jeans pocket and retrieves my knife. I watch in disbelief as he flicks it open and holds out the hilt for me to take.
“Do what you like,” he offers. “Carve your name across my chest. Retaliate however you want.”
“Jesus Christ,” Decker mutters.
“I mean it.” Hunter places the knife in my palm and wraps his hand around mine, raising the blade so the tip almost touches the skin across his ribs. “Do what you need to. Make this right.”
My eyes are wide, my lips parted. He clutches my hand tight around the grip, and for the moment, I don’t want to let go. I want to hurt him. I need to make him suffer.
I take a menacing step forward, and the tip of the blade pierces his skin.
I watch intently as his eyes flare, his jaw tenses, his chin lifts. I derive the slightest taste of justice from his pain, but the remorse hits me tenfold.
“Go on,” he implores, his determination unwavering. “Do it.”
I clench my fingers tighter, my throat closing. I increase the pressure, hoping for satisfaction to hit me by the bucket-load. But those hazel eyes… God, those eyes. They do things to me that the most malicious actions can’t achieve. They strip my defenses. They strum my soul.
He sucks in a breath, and his grip loosens on my hand.
I glance down to find blood trailing over his stomach in a tiny rivulet to sink into the material of his black jeans.
“Get away from me.” I scoot back out of his reach, and the knife falls from my fingers to clatter to the tiled floor.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Forgiveness doesn’t come that easily. You have too much bullshit to make up for. No stab wound can amount to that.”
“Then tell me how to fix this,” he growls.
“How should I know?” I snap. “Haven’t you heard the saying? You don’t break a plate and expect an apology to make it better. You can glue it back together, but it’s still not the same. The damage is already done.”
“That’s some philosophical genius, right there,” Decker mumbles.
I ignore him, but Hunter’s eyes flare with fury. “Fine. I’ll give you space for now.”
He turns to the kitchen and walks away, leaving me cold with the receding attention. Maybe I should’ve stabbed him after all.
Decker raises a brow as his gaze drops to Hunter’s stomach. “You two are motherfucking crazy. I feel like I’ve just witnessed a satanic mating ritual.”
“Nobody asked you to be here.” Hunter rounds the island counter, grabs the scotch, and drinks from the bottle.
Blood seeps from the small cut against his ribs. He’s never been more vicious with his harsh glare and flaring nostrils. He’s never been more masculine. More fascinating. Alluring.
I march toward him, his eyes narrowing on me as I approach, and snatch the bottle from his hand. If I can’t escape this torment, then I sure as hell won’t let him do it via the reprieve of intoxication.
The asshole can suffer.
“Thanks.” I turn away and storm to my new bedroom.
The last thing I hear as I close myself inside is Decker’s laughter and his snickered, “You’ve got your hands full with that one.”
21
Him
I’ve been standing at the kitchen counter for hours, the sun now rising as I wait for Sarah to come out of her room.
She needs space, which I’m happy to give, since the window in her room can't be opened without a key. She can't run from me. At least not without me knowing.
“When do you plan on calling Torian?” Decker asks from his leaned position against the other side of the kitchen island.
“Not until she's ready.”
“He’s not going to be happy.”
No shit. “I’ll deal with it.”
The soft click of an opening door sounds from down the hall, and Decker raises a brow. “How drunk do you think she is?”
Drunk enough to cause trouble would be my guess, especially since she isn’t a drinker. Then again, she doesn’t need to be drunk to cause problems.
Her padded footsteps approach, and I keep my focus straight ahead, on Decker, determined not to let my gaze rush after her like an eager little puppy.
“Want me to leave you two alone?” he asks.
“Really?” I glare. “Now you ask that?”
The asshole could’ve left us alone earlier, but oh no, he had to bear witness to my idiocy. He’ll never let me live it down.
He smirks. “Better late than never.”
I sigh as her slim figure nudges the edge of my sight from the start of the hall. She isn’t dressed in the jeans she had on before. It’s something less than that. Something I can’t quite determine from my peripheral vision. I clench the kitchen counter behind me and grind my molars, determined not to take a proper look.
“I’m ready to hear what you know about Jacob.” She continues forward, increasing the temptation.
“When was the last time you ate?” I finally succumb to the need to visually consume her.
Fuck.
She’s wearing the shirt I had on last night. The one I left on the floor in her bedroom. Now it’s covered in cuts and slices as if she’s spent the last hours performing a voodoo ritual on me through the large material that dwarfs her body.
She stops at the far corner of the U-shaped kitchen, her arms crossing over her chest. “Right before I stole a car,” she mutters, “to save a friend you pretended to murder in an effort to get me back in your bed.”
Decker clears his throat to disguise a laugh.
Great. I walked straight into that one.
“Well, I’m starving.” And after another night without sleep, I need caffeine. I shove from the counter and finally meet her gaze. She’s tired, the dark smudges beneath her eyes making this tough woman appear fragile. “Get changed. We’re going out for breakfast.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says softly with the undertone of her iron-clad determination.
I drag my focus away and scowl at Decker, because if I scowl at her, we are only going to fight again. “You need to focus before we talk. I’m not going to waste my time if you’re drunk.”
“As much as I would’ve loved the escapism, I didn’t drink your damn scotch,” she growls. “I only took it because I wanted to make sure you didn’t either.”
“How about I go out and get food while you two have some time alone?” Decker walks to the sofa and grabs his jacket. “You can settle your unresolved satanic rituals and be ready to eat once I get back.”
I’m not going to bite. I’m not even going to increase my glare. I’ve learned it only spurs him on. “Don’t forget the coffee.”
He jerks his head in acknowledgement and leaves via the porch.
The click of the latching door is deafening, closing me in with her anger-filled silence. I don’t know what she wants me to say to make this right. There probably isn’t anything in the English language capable of reaching the level of apology she needs.
“I’m going to take a shower.” I stalk from the kitchen, toward the hall in the opposite direction to Sarah.
“You’re angry at me now?” she accuses.
“No.” I’m tired. I’m frustrated.
“Good, because you have no right to be angry.”
I pause and bite my tongue like a motherfucker. “Go get dressed, Sarah. Decker doesn’t need to keep seeing you like that.” The exposed thighs. Those nipples beading behind the th
in material.
“Decker can kiss my ass.”
I give a caustic laugh. “Be careful what you wish for. He’s more than likely to give you what you want if you keep strutting around the house wearing next to nothing.”
I continue down the hall and enter my room, not waiting for her to snap. I need a shower to clear my head. To wake me up. To wash her scent from my skin.
I undo my jeans button and lower the zipper when the door creaks wider. She’s there again, stalking in my peripheral vision like a temptress. “Do you plan on joining me?”
“No,” she whispers.
I shove my jeans down my legs, giving her an uncensored view of my hardening dick. “Then I suggest you get out of my room.”
Her hungry gaze takes me in, her interest straying over my crotch, then quickly diverting to my stomach. “Do you need stitches?”
“Don’t worry, princess. You barely scratched the surface.”
She raises a brow. “Then maybe you should give me another try.”
I heave out a tired breath. “You want to cut me again?”
I’ll let her, if that’s what it takes. I’ll let her take whatever revenge she needs, because I deserve it. But my willingness to admit my mistakes won’t last forever. My stubborn pride will see to that.
“No.” She continues staring, not meeting my eyes as long moments pass. “I want you to prove this isn’t another one of your games. I need you to convince me.”
“How?” I approach her and she holds up a hand, instructing me to stop. “Look, Sarah, I don’t do this shit. I don’t want to do this shit. But I fought to get you back, and I apologized for my less-than-stellar tactics—”
“Less than stellar?” She balks. “Whispering behind someone’s back is less than stellar. Conspiring against someone is less than stellar. But pretending to murder someone in an effort to get laid is a little beyond that, don’t you think?”
I clamp my mouth shut, stifling a harsh response. I already told her this isn’t about sex. If it was, I would’ve fucked her in every cheap-ass hotel in Portland. I wouldn’t have merely watched her sleep. I would’ve woken her with my face between her thighs, my fingers in her cunt.
And I sure as hell wouldn’t have let Decker see exactly how much of a vulnerability she is to me.
“Do you think I’d let you get away with stealing my car if this was only about sex?” I growl.
“Maybe this is retaliation for leaving the key fob in the console when I left the car unlocked in front of my building.”
“You left the key?”
She beams an exaggerated smile.
Fuck this woman and my crazy infatuation that only seems to grow the longer she holds that expression. Even now, I want to laugh.
Laugh? She stole my goddamn car.
But none of that matters now. The only aim is convincing her this isn’t all bullshit.
“How is exposing my home and my real name a retaliation? I’ve entrusted you with more information than I’ve ever entrusted with anyone. And you still don’t get it. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Then don’t tell me. Show me.”
I frown. Is this some weird female fuckery? How the hell do I show her without words or the sex she claims this is about? Decker was right. I’m the dumbest asshole when it comes to women.
“If you care about me, you’ll help me find Jacob—”
“I already promised I would,” I growl.
She inclines her head. “Then you’ll let me walk away.”
I stiffen, my pulse spiking violently. “I can’t do that.”
I can’t lose her. I don’t know why; I just can’t. Even the thought of it makes my chest tight. I already lost her once. I can’t willingly do it again.
The determined gleam in her eyes transforms to a solemn stare of disappointment, and I hate it. I hate that she doesn’t understand this shit is driving me to insanity. Isn’t my inability to let her go enough? Doesn’t that prove how much she means to me?
A woman has never come between me and my job before.
A woman has never stolen my focus and created havoc in my mind.
A woman has never controlled me. Not even a little bit. And certainly not with her level of effortless efficiency.
“Then this isn’t about you caring for me. It’s about you lusting after me.” She pads from the room, her retreating steps fading down the hall as I stand in frustrated silence.
I wipe a rough hand over my face. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is lust. But even if it is, I still have no plan to let her go.
She wants revenge against a man who works for Torian. That won’t come without consequences unless done strategically. Methodically. So, she needs me, no matter how much she refuses to admit it.
I mutter a string of curse words under my breath as I shove into my private bathroom, then lock myself inside and take a long shower. I take pleasure in the bite of pain as hot water breeches my cut. I take even more when I add soap to the mix. At least the distraction gives me a reprieve from thoughts of Sarah for a few short minutes.
I don’t get out until the blood is washed from my skin and her scent no longer haunts me.
I should stay in my room until Decker returns. There needs to be a buffer between me and her. But as soon as I leave the bathroom, I pull on a clean pair of cargos and another black T-shirt, then stride right back down to the kitchen.
She’s standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at my front yard. She’s pulled her hair back into a high ponytail and is wearing tight leggings and the gray woolen sweater I fucked her in last night. The memory is a bitch—a haunting, conniving, sinister mistress that controls me like I’m a willing slave.
Problem is, she doesn’t want me to be mastered. She doesn’t want anything from me at all…apart from my dick.
I scowl, not appreciating the realization.
She doesn’t hold the same fascination toward this thing between us that I do. For her, it’s lust. Pure and simple.
I come up behind her, meeting her gaze in the reflection of the glass. She blinks back at me, no longer shooting spiteful daggers with her stare.
“Do you really want to walk after all this is said and done?”
She sucks in a deep breath and lowers her gaze.
She doesn’t want to goddamn walk. She wants to continue this thing between us as much as I do—unwillingly and undeniably in equal measure.
“No,” she whispers. “It’s not what I want.”
The admission makes a direct hit to my relief.
“It’s what I need,” she clarifies, stabbing the disappointment directly into my chest. “Because once I finish with Jacob, I’m going to need to find myself again. I’ll have to start over and determine what I want from life.”
“You want me.”
She lets out a whisper of a laugh. “I do.” She nods. “But that in itself isn’t healthy. I doubt it ever can be. Not after everything that’s happened.”
An invisible weight rests heavily on my chest, growing more intense under her serene conviction. “Then I’ll think about it.”
“Really?” She turns, meeting my gaze with questioning eyes. “That means no following. No spying. No games. You need to let me move on with my life.”
No checking in on her safety. No getting a fix from the distance between us by watching her sleep. No connection whatsoever.
I don’t get it. I don’t fucking understand why I want her so much. But even now, knowing she itches to run away from me, I can’t stop wishing I had the words to make her stay.
“I said, I’ll think about it.” I step into her and wrap an arm around her waist. She doesn’t flinch; she lets me hold her. “If that’s what it takes to show you this isn’t just about sex.”
She licks her lower lip and then drags her teeth over the moistened temptation. There’s no doubt she wants me. There’s no doubt I could have her. Right here. Right now. On my living room floor.
“You don’t g
et it. My concerns don’t simply revolve around sex. They’re more complicated than that.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Her shoulders slump as she releases a heavy breath. “The first boyfriend I ever had killed my entire family. He took everything from me, and I refused to let anyone into my life after that… Until you.”
Until me, a replacement who was probably only a smidge better than her fucking psychotic ex.
“You’ve lied to me constantly,” she continues. “You hacked my video surveillance. You followed me to another city and stole secrets I never would’ve shared. Then you pretended my only friend—”
“I get it.” I don’t need the reminder of my rap sheet.
I’ve maimed. I’ve tortured. I’ve killed. But never before have I felt the remorse I do right now.
She needs to learn to trust me. Me. A man who barely trusts himself.
She rests her forehead against my chest. “You have to give me space, Luke.”
Not only does it sound like she wants space, it’s fucking clear she might never want to see me again. She has the determination to move on, regardless of this connection. This dependence. This addiction.
I hold her tighter, both arms around her back.
I don’t think I’m that strong. Not yet, anyway. Maybe I will be after she pisses me off a few more times. Maybe… Then again, it’s highly doubtful when it hurts to fucking breathe unless she’s in my arms.
I press my lips to her hair and close my eyes. “I’m not making any promises, but like I said, I’ll think about it.”
22
Her
The sound of a car approaches in the front yard. I close my eyes, not wanting to leave the warmth of Hunter’s arms.
“Decker is here,” he whispers into my hair.
I nod.
Once I step back, I know I have to focus. There will be no time for fluttering hearts and craving attention. I have to take control. But I loathe to move from his arms when I know this could be one of the last times I’ll be here.
“I think you’ll change your mind about us once this is all over,” he whispers.
