I return my attention to Eric, even though it's a chore dragging my eyes away. “And?”
“And I've been around Farewell long enough to know how this shit works and why it works. Don't get me wrong, I respect the hell out of Mercury, but the women here are dangerous in ways they aren't out there.” He points out over the crowd. “Here, we see them for who they are. We aren't lusting after them from the other side of a screen. We see them before the makeup, before the big hair and flattering clothes and all that other superficial shit. Keepers are there for all the most vulnerable moments, when Blacklighters aren't Blacklighters at all, but women. The rest of the world gets the fighter, the showmanship, the fucking facade. What do we get?” He slams a hand to his chest, eyes burning with indignity. “We get the raw. And without all the other shit acting as a buffer, it's so, so much fucking easier to get attached. Isn't it?”
“Just because you're in love with your Blacklighter doesn't mean I'll make the same mistake.” It's a low blow, I know that, but at this point, with my attention straining between this conversation and the fight at hand, I'm strung so tight I just want one of them to be over.
“Dude, open your fucking eyes to what I'm trying to tell you!” Eric screams. “You're already halfway there! It's written all over your punk ass face!”
I shove Eric away. Hard. So hard his back collides with Jordan's side and everyone in our small group gives the two of us concerned glances, but I don't give a single shit. All my focus is on the man who brought me here, the man I've known most of my life and yet somehow don't know at all.
He rights himself carefully, brushing off Layla's concerned hands, and approaches me again. Because, clearly, dude doesn't know when to back up.
“I get it, Kessler, believe me, but I'm not the one you need to be angry with.” He smooths a hand down the front of his shirt and takes a deep, steadying breath. “Look, I've said my piece and I'm done, but I need you to think about what I said—really think about it—because I'm scared one day you'll wake up and realize you're chained to a woman whose only true love is that fucking cage.”
I'm not sure what to say to that, to any of it, so I say nothing. I just stare him down until he shakes his head and slowly backs away. “Enjoy the celebration, Kess.”
Eric takes his place at Layla's side, a good six-feet away, and now that he's finally gone, I return one-hundred percent of my attention back to Mercury. She's winning. In fact, she's on top, beating the daylights out of an unconscious Barbra. Her opponent isn't moving, but that doesn't deter Mercury. She keeps swinging, digging bare knuckles into the side of Barbra's face. There's so much blood I'm not sure how much of it is Mercury's and how much is Barbra's. The only thing that registers is the winner.
She won.
She did it.
Mercury is a real Blacklighter, and I am her Keeper.
I'm just now starting to realize how deep this connection goes and how real it is. How consuming it could be if I let it because, as much as I hate to admit it, Eric's right. Here, without all the other shit that happens out in the real life—jobs, family, bills, media, laws—things work quite differently. Farewell is so secluded it has its own social structure. Much like prison.
I care about Mercury. Against all odds, I care. I care so damn much, in fact, that it's going to be my undoing. Because throughout the fight, every thought I had centered around her well-being, around the body and mind I've somehow become attached to. And not once—not even for a split-fucking-second—did I think about Blair and the fact that she just killed my arrangement with Griffin.
Not once did I think about the fact that I am thoroughly fucked.
Prison bars flash to mind as Ice enters the cage and lifts Mercury's hand in victory, but that's as long as it lasts. The second Mercury's blue eyes meet mine, all that other shit—and yes, I am classifying the very real possibility of being incarcerated once again as shit—doesn't seem to matter. All that matters is this one woman. This beaten, bloodied, and beautiful woman.
Mercury exits the cage, and although I know she has to be in immense pain, her posture is just as rigid and proper as it was the day we met. Unlike they did with the other girls, the Farewell crowd doesn't swarm my Blacklighter, but nor do they give her a wide berth. They are right up there next to her, offering sincere congratulations, cheering her name, clapping, and Mercury is having none of it. There may as well be a wall on either side of her face, separating her from the throng of people begging for a scrap of attention. They get nothing.
I, on the other hand, get fucking everything.
Mercury doesn't stop until she gets to me. She walks right into my waiting arms, wrapping herself around me, and silence descends. I'm not sure if the quiet is all in my head or if the crowd is too stunned to speak, but either way, as Mercury clings to my waist, her sweaty, blood-smeared forehead pressed against my chest, head bowed as if she's in prayer, a bubble of serenity envelops us, and I hear nothing.
Her shoulder is surprisingly cold when I lean down to kiss it. “That was amazing,” I whisper, dragging my lips up the slim column of her throat. “You were amazing.”
She clings to me harder, fisting the back of my shirt in two hands, nuzzling her nose against my chest. It's the perfect moment.
Until it isn't.
“Eh, you! Baby Blacklighter!” A drunken voice slices right down the middle of our moment, effectively causing Mercury's shoulders to tense, which pisses me right the fuck off. “How much, baby? What's the price?”
Mercury doesn't move, but I do. I lift my head just enough to lay eyes on the preppy frat boy and his pristine white polo shirt. “Excuse me?”
Preppy crudely grabs his junk, cupping it in one hand. “To get her on her knees, what's the price? I wanna see her gag. Fifty bucks? Seventy-five?”
“She's not for sale, asshole,” I growl.
This doesn't deter him one damn bit. His eyes rake over Mercury's ass with undisguised lust that makes me wonder what it'd feel like to rip a man's jaw from his head. “Two hundred bucks, sweetheart,” he offers with a wink. “Three if you swallow.”
The next thing I know, my knuckles are on fire, Eric has my arms wrenched behind my back, and Preppy is lying flat on his ass staring up at the ceiling.
“What the fuck are you doing, Kess?” Eric growls, fighting to keep me restrained. I'm not making it easy on him. I'm ready to have another go at the walking jock strap. “That guy's a fuckin' badge.”
I don't care if he's the pope. I want to string his intestines across the room like party lights. But then, Eric does the one thing that can bring me down at a time like this. He lowers his voice to a whisper and shocks the hell out of me.
“Griffin won't bail you out of this, Kess. I don't care what kind of deal you made, he'll let you hang and you fuckin' know it.”
My arms go limp. I stop fighting altogether, but Eric doesn't release me, so I force my eyes back to where I left Mercury standing alone. Only she's not alone. Layla is next to her, half her body positioned in front of Mercury, keeping her from advancing. And Mercury...is smiling proudly.
How? How the fuck did this get so damn complicated so fucking fast?
Preppy's buddies help him up off the floor. I expect him to say something else, especially now that I know he's a cop, but it seems my hit took him down a few notches. He spits blood onto the floor, a few speckles landing on his white polo, before peeking up at Mercury and shaking his head.
“Know what?” He frowns. “She's not even worth it.”
When they disappear from my line of sight, Eric finally lets me go, and I immediately turn on him. “You knew?”
“Pfft! Of course I knew, jackass. How stupid do you think I am?” He doesn't even try to disguise his hurt. “You think the brother of a New Liberty police officer showing up here begging for a job didn't raise some serious red flags?”
“Who else knows?” I ask, heart beating wildly in my chest. The one person I don't want to learn about my little coup is standing
six feet away, straining to hear our muted voices.
Eric shrugs. “Me and Blair. That's it.”
My brain goes into hyper-drive, trying to fill in all the cracks, turning the situation this way and that, attempting to see things from Eric's perspective. “You had our room searched. You knew I was packing.”
He nods. “I did.”
Fucker.
“So if you thought I was a threat, why bother? Why bring me in if you're just gonna fuck me every time I turn a corner?”
Eric lifts a finger, and without looking, I know exactly who he's pointing to. “For her.”
I don't get the chance to question him further, because Layla and Mercury finally interrupt. “Everything okay here?” the redhead asks, flicking her eyes between the two of us. “If you're done pissing all over each others' shoes, it's time.”
“Time for what?”
The buzzing of a tattoo gun answers my question. We look to the bar where Ice has set up a makeshift tattoo parlor. His dead eyes promise torture as he waves us over, and I've never been more conflicted in all my life. Yes, I'm already branded, but to be inked because of Mercury's accomplishment makes me feel like a fraud, especially now that I know Eric is in on the secret.
I still haven't said a word to Mercury, much less glanced her way, so when she lays a hand on my tensed arm, I jerk under her soft touch. She notices, obviously, but doesn't comment as she slides her hand down, eventually weaving our fingers together in such a tender way I feel my breath catch. When I finally do give her my eyes, she's smiling. It looks so out of place on her battered face, but it's breathtaking nonetheless.
“C'mon, Lancelot.”
That's all it takes for me to soften. Two little words. Because as much as I'd like to be the Sir Lancelot to her Lady Guinevere, neither of us are that noble, and we know it. I doubt Lancelot would lose his cool over the mere mention of a blow job, and I know for certain Guinevere never bludgeoned someone's face into a bloody pulp. The only similarity between our stories is the kingdom at stake. Farewell's no Camelot, that's for damn sure, but everyone here would fight for it if push came to shove. And right now, the only opposition to its prosperity and the success of its heir...is me.
I came to ruin this township and all the people who call this place home, but now that I'm standing in the middle of it with a sun burned into my neck, looking down into a pair of midnight blue eyes, heart hammering away at the idea of getting Mercury alone...I can't seem to remember why.
I squeeze Mercury's hand.
“Let's do this, Guinevere.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mercury
Pushing a man twice my size out of an elevator would be an impossible task if I were any other woman, but I'm me, so I get it done. Kessler, for some godforsaken reason, takes short leisurely steps like he's the most patient man in the world, and even though I'm close to mounting him right here where we stand, I have to smile.
“It's like...moving...a fucking...boulder...” I grunt between stifled laughter.
Kessler casts a look over his shoulder and grins. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in a hurry.”
Outside the cage, I'm never in a hurry. There's never been anywhere I need to be so bad that I rush. But now, after winning my fight and getting tattooed at the bar with my Keeper, I don't care about my stiff muscles or aching face or bloodstained clothes, I just want him. But he thinks this is the time for jokes, so...
“Fine.” I stop pushing and Kessler stumbles before catching himself on the wall. Lifting a hand overhead, middle finger extended, I stride right past him toward our door. “I'll do it without you.”
Three seconds. That's all it takes for Kessler to catch up, grab hold of my waist, and lower his mouth to my ear. “Not a chance in hell, woman.”
The two of us grapple for the doorknob at the same time, fumbling our way inside, but once we're alone in the dark, Kessler completely transforms. We both do. The jokes are gone. His reluctance vanishes.
Before our eyes have a chance to adjust to the darkness, I'm on him, clinging to his warm shoulders, pulling myself up, bound and determined to climb him like a tree. His hands are rough and greedy as he grabs hold of my ass and pins me to him. I've been handled roughly before, but nothing like this. These aggressive touches serve a purpose, one I am fully on board with. Forget that I was almost pounded into the ground tonight, or the fact that my clothes are torn and I'm covered in blood. I want this. Right now. Tonight. With my Keeper.
Our kisses are frantic and sloppy as we stumble toward the bed, each touch bruising in the most unforgiving of ways, exactly how I need it to be. I'm flying; high on adrenaline and lust and the single shot of vodka I downed before the tattoo gun touched my skin. The not-so-gentle way I explore Kessler's mouth, and the way he tears at my clothes to get at what's underneath tells me that we both want the same thing.
Kessler lays me down on the bed and I let go long enough for him to grab the material between his shoulder blades and slide his t-shirt off. His hair is wild, his smile predatory. The street light outside casts shadows over his naked torso, and something short-wires in my brain as I take him in, trying to keep my eyes focused as I wriggle out of my own clothes.
His jeans hit the floor, my torn garments follow, and Kessler prowls on top of me, spreading his warm, naked body over me like an erotic blanket, nuzzling his hips between my spread legs. Hands clawing through his hair, I pull him down to fuse our lips together, wondering how I'll ever come to satiate this need building within me like poisonous steam seeking an outlet.
We're still strangers, but here in the dark, with his weight pressing me into the mattress, his dick slowly sliding against my clit with every shift of his hips, that doesn't matter. I drag a finger over his fresh ink.
“You're mine,” I whisper against his mouth.
He licks along my bottom lip, then the top, before pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. A hand comes up, smoothing hair out of my face, and for a brief moment, we pause. We are no longer frenzied animals seeking release. I can see the tender compassion in Kessler's eyes as he gazes down at me, and it makes me wonder if he's going to switch tracks and be gentle with me. I'm not sure what that would be like, but I know I don't want gentle. I have no use for it. Gentle is a foreign concept to me.
My fingernails are the opposite of gentle as they dig into his scalp and pull him down, all the way, until my mouth meets the salty resistance of his flesh and I sink my teeth into the valley where neck meets shoulder. A trickle of blood touches my tongue when Kessler growls; the sound half pained, half pleasured, but he gets the message.
Turning his hands into rough, unforgiving shackles, he slams my wrists into the pillow above my head, holding me hostage. Eyes burning a trail up and down my prone body, Kessler leans into his hold, making certain I'm well and truly contained, before shifting his hips and—
“Fuck!”
I gasp at the sudden onslaught of pain. Stars dance behind my closed eyelids as Kessler fills a million empty spaces I didn't know I had. Every muscle in my body goes rigid, as does the man above me. Disoriented, I squeeze my thighs around him as his heavy breath fans across my cheek, but he doesn't move a muscle.
I'm not sure where to direct my focus. Having the empty ache inside of me stuffed full of Kessler is so incredibly dizzying, but at the same time, holy fuck it hurts.
And I want to hurt some more.
I need to hurt.
Fluttering my eyes open, I lock onto where Kessler is staring down at me, his face a mask of concern.
“More,” I whisper, bracing both feet on the bed.
I hoist my hips forward, closer to Kessler, forcing him in deeper. I can feel the thick ridge around the head of his dick buried inside me, and my body reacts to the invasion, clenching around where we're joined. Kessler's shoulders jerk, his hands tighten around my wrists, and even though I'm pressed between mattress and man, I'm somehow still in control.
“Slow,” he whispe
rs, pressing a kiss to my forehead, pulling out a fraction of an inch.
“I don't want slow,” I say, shaking my head. Slow is too close to gentle.
Looming above me, Kessler is beautiful. I'm not sure if that's a word used to describe a man, but he really is. Especially when he releases a breathy laugh and drops his head to my shoulder. “I know, Merc,” he rumbles next to my ear, “but I may have overestimated my ability to see this through.”
I blink fast, narrowing my eyes to see him better when he turns to look at me, and all I see is conflict written so clearly in his pinched expression. “What's wrong?”
He kisses me again, this time on the chin. “I don't want to hurt you.”
“You're not.”
“And if I fuck you how I want to right now, I won't last more than a few seconds.”
My tongue slides out to lick the corner of his mouth. He tastes salty and smokey and still somehow clean. “Fuck me the right way and maybe a few seconds will be enough.”
“You know, for a virgin, you're sure a cocky know-it-all.” He laughs, causing me to shiver, and when my inner muscles quake, he groans.
“Not a virgin anymore, am I?” I pull against where he has me restrained and manage to kiss the hollow of his throat. “Show me,” I whisper. “Just for a few seconds. Show me how you want it.”
He nuzzles his nose against my cheek, sending a flutter of warmth through me—although mere warmth isn't cutting it. I need the fire. “This isn't about me,” he says.
“No, it's about me. Show me what I'm getting, Kessler.” I lift my hips again, torturing us both. “Show me what my Keeper is made of.”
“You're already hurt.”
I can't help but smile. That's just an excuse and we both know it. “All I feel right now is you.”
Just to prove my point, I pull my feet off the mattress and wrap both legs around his waist, locking them at the ankle. It pulls him in painfully deep, at a different angle, but I'm giving over a portion of the control, praying he'll take it.
The Monster of Farewell (Blacklighters Book 1) Page 20
