Point Blank (Love Undercover Book 6)

by LK Shaw

  The floor creaked outside my door. I raised my head and through the crack under it a shadow paused for a second before continuing by. I relaxed a fraction, and my breath came a little easier. Oliver was only a short distance away if I needed him.

  I rolled onto my side facing closest to the door, fluffed the pillow, and closed my eyes. Pretty sure I wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep, but hopefully my brain was so tired after everything that happened tonight and luck would be on my side.

  My feet and back were killing me. I was too young to be in this much pain. I’d just finished a ten-hour shift. Sitting on the uncomfortable metal bench waiting for the bus wasn’t helping. A quick glance at my watch confirmed the bus was late. Again. Of course it was.

  All I wanted was to crawl into my bed and sleep for ten hours. I rose from my seat, stepped out to the curb, and stood on tiptoes with my neck craned trying to see if it was even coming down the street. Nothing. Not a single headlight. I could have been halfway to the shelter by now. Fuck this. I was tired of waiting.

  Hitching my bag higher on my shoulder, I started down the quiet street. It was late, close to one in the morning, and the neighborhood was mostly asleep. A few homeless people laid in doorways. The weather was still nice enough to be able to stay outside at night, but soon it would turn and they’d seek shelter elsewhere. I stepped around a pair of legs sticking out onto the sidewalk.

  Several street lights were burnt out, which didn’t surprise me. Not a lot of light shone in this area of town, even during the daylight hours. It was as though the clouds provided continual coverage, blocking out the sun, giving the streets a constant eery, shadowed presence as if to tell people to stay away.

  The mrowr of a stray tom echoed down the street I’d just passed, and the crash of something metal followed. No doubt he was chasing a mouse for a late night snack. Or maybe a sewer rat was doing the chasing. I snickered at the mental image of that. Poor kitty. Another crash followed, this one louder. Then there were footsteps.

  It wasn’t entirely unusual for someone to be around this time of night. I’d walked home from the diner many times, but the hairs stood on the back of my neck. I didn’t look over my shoulder. Instead, I kept my head high and confident, but my pace quickened the tiniest bit. The footsteps grew louder and closer.

  Air whistled by my ear. A hand slammed over my mouth. At the same time, an arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against a hard body. My assailant lifted me off the ground, and I screamed against the makeshift gag, scrambling with fingers to pull it away from my face. I kicked and flailed wildly as I tried to escape the powerful hold.

  I made contact, and the man groaned in pain. More footsteps came, and another man stepped into view. He ripped a gun from his waistband and jammed the muzzle against my temple.

  “Cállate la pinche boca, puta,” he hissed.

  My screams dried up at this threat, and I slammed my eyes shut waiting for the bullet to end me. It didn’t. Instead, my captor dragged me down an alley with the gun holder following alongside us, a constant threat that I couldn’t ignore. A beat-up, four-door jalopy sat idling at the end of the narrow passageway. My attacker shoved me inside the vehicle and climbed in while the guy holding the gun slid into the passenger seat, weapon still trained on me.

  For a moment I considered taking my chances and lunging for the door handle to try and throw myself out of the car, but then it was too late. We took off, and the man beside me reached out and ripped my white work shirt open sending buttons flying through the air. He pinned me between the door and his body, mauling my breasts. I cried out in pain, and he slapped me across the face.

  With a fierce jerk, he moved backwards and pulled my hips out from under me so I landed on my back, slamming my head against the arm rest. He tore at the buttons of my pants. My screams filled the entire vehicle, echoed by evil laughter.

  I bolted upright, more screams erupting from my throat. Strong arms wrapped tightly around me. I fought against the hold, my breath ragged, my cries hurting my ears.

  “Charity, it’s me, Oliver. Shhh, it’s me.” My body rocked back and forth and the voice began to filter through. “You’re safe here. It’s all right. Shhh.”

  “Oliver?” My voice cracked, and my struggles slowed.

  “I’m here.”

  The floodgates opened, and sobs poured out of me. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face against his chest, whispers of the nightmare still lingering. My whole body shuddered. I fucking hated that they’d reduced me to this. It had been a couple weeks since that particular nightmare had plagued me.

  I could still feel the weight of that bastard on top of me. The pain. The laughter. For a brief moment I thought I could still feel that heavy collar wrapped around my throat. I tried taking a deep breath through the tears, willing them to stop. Slowly, I got them under control, only a few hiccuping whimpers continuing. I let out a shaky breath. With it came awareness of the muscled, and bare, skin beneath my cheek.

  Embarrassment flooded me. It was bad enough that Oliver witnessed my panic attack earlier tonight, but to add on this nightmare was like salt being poured over a wound. He always managed to see me at my worst.

  Victim Charity.

  Angry Charity.

  Crazy Charity.

  Finding the strength, I slowly pushed myself away from him, keeping my gaze averted as I wiped my eyes and nose. Oh, god, I probably smeared his entire chest with slobber and snot. I couldn’t make myself look. I was already mortified.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I murmured, scooting a little further away and instantly missing Oliver’s warmth.

  His finger appeared in my line of vision and then it was under my chin, gently tipping my head up so I had to look at him. He’d turned the overhead light on so I couldn’t even hide in a darkened room. I met his bright green eyes, and he stared intently back at me.

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” he said fiercely. “After everything that’s happened I would have been surprised if you didn’t have nightmares.”

  “Still—”

  He covered my lips with his finger, stopping the flow of words. “No apologies.” He lowered his finger, and I nodded.

  “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  I frantically shook my head.

  “I understand. I called Yvonne earlier. She wants you to call her tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it,” Oliver said. “Are you all right to go back to sleep?”

  I doubted I’d be able to fall asleep again, not after that nightmare, but I wouldn’t tell him that. “I’ll be fine.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” I lied. I didn’t want him to leave, but I also didn’t want him to stay. I needed to handle this on my own.

  Oliver rose from the bed and looked down at me. My eyes stayed on his face.

  “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  I nodded, clutching the bunched covers around my waist. Finally he turned and left, shutting the light off behind him, and closing my bedroom door. With a sigh, I collapsed back against the pillows and covered my face with my forearm. I laid there forever, trying not to replay the nightmare or the memories of my week spent in hell, but every time I closed my eyes, their faces would flash behind my eyelids.

  Before I could stop them, tears leaked out the corner of my eyes and down my temples, disappearing into my hair. I couldn’t shake off that fucking dream no matter how long I laid there. I slammed my fists into the mattress at my hips with a curse. Knowing I was going to regret this tomorrow, I tossed back the covers, rose from the bed, and paced. The only time I’d ever been able to manage the anxiety and fear had been in Oliver’s arms.

  The strong, stubborn side of me resisted the thought of running to him, but the fragile part of me just wanted to feel safe, even if only for a little bit. Tonight only. I’ll be strong tomorrow.

  I crept down the hallway toward his room. Taking a
breath for courage, I knocked softly on his door, slowly pushing it open and sticking my head inside.

  “Oliver,” I whispered.

  His room remained quiet.

  “Oliver.” That one was a little louder.

  Sheets rustled, and I could just make out his form sitting up. “Charity? You okay?” His voice was sleep-roughened.

  I pushed the door fully open and haltingly walked across the floor toward his bed, stopping when I stood next to it. Reaching up, I tugged my hair over my shoulder, twisting it.

  “I don’t mean to bother you, but”—I took in a shaky breath—“could I sleep in here with you tonight?”

  There was a heavy pause between us until Oliver swung back the covers and scooted over. “Come on.”

  I couldn’t read his tone, but I wasn’t going to question it. Instead, I scrambled onto the bed, sliding between the warm sheets that smelled just like him. There was no way to describe it except clean and crisp. I turned onto my side, my back to him, pulled the covers up to my chin, inhaling the fragrance, and snuggled into the mattress trying to find a comfortable position.

  “Charity,” Oliver warned when I couldn’t stop shifting.

  “Sorry.”

  I stayed still, eyes closed, but it wasn’t enough. Ever so slowly, I wiggled, inch by inch, until my butt bumped his side. He stiffened, but didn’t say anything, so I kept going until my whole backside from shoulders to hips were pressed up against him. He sighed in defeat.

  “Good night, Charity,” Oliver said, his voice low.

  “Good night.”

  Chapter 23

  A lush breast filled my palm. I pulled the soft body closer, burying my nose in sweet-smelling hair. My cock was hard as a rock. Warning bells went off inside my head, signaling that something wasn’t right, but she pushed back against me with a soft moan, grinding her ass against my erection. Nothing had felt more perfect, and my body overruled my brain.

  Cursing the clothing covering up the flesh I wanted to touch, my fingers bunched up the shirt she wore until soft skin was exposed to my touch. I plucked at the pert nipple, squeezing and rolling it between my thumb and forefinger. Breathy sounds escaped the woman curled into me. She squirmed and writhed, and I wanted to lift her leg and slide into her from behind, but first I wanted to explore.

  I slid my hand down across her flat tummy, dipping the tip of my finger in her bellybutton. I traced along the edge of her underwear, teasing her, until finally I took mercy on us both. Wetness greeted me once I moved under the barrier, and she sucked in a breath before releasing it on a moan. I reveled in the sound, but I wanted her panting and crying out with need. My questing digits flicked across her clit, drawing it out from its hiding place.

  With practiced ease, I rubbed the small bit of flesh—hard and soft, fast and slow—finding the perfect rhythm that drove her wild until her body tightened. I twirled my finger a couple more times with the right amount of friction. Her back arched and she dug her nails into my arm, crying out. A sense of satisfaction filled me that I could bring her to peak. Her entire body shuddered as she sagged back against me.

  I pulled my hand out from beneath her soaking wet panties, intending to ease my cock slowly inside her, but that warning bell bonged louder and louder, refusing to be ignored. My eyes opened. Wild reddish-brown hair spilled all over the pillows. Slowly my brain starting firing. Ah, fuck.

  Praying Charity was still asleep, I pulled away. Somehow, in the middle of the night, we’d met in the center of the bed, with my body curved around hers like it was meant to. This newly discovered part of me wanted to remain where I was, but the small part that wasn’t sure it was ready to find a woman sleeping in my bed needed to get the fuck away. I’d never had a woman spend the night, and I’d never spent the night with a woman. Ever. I didn’t do sleepovers.

  Sleepovers reeked of intimacy. It was too close to something couples did. Boyfriends. Girlfriends. Committed partners. Everything I’d always avoided. And here I was, not only waking up next to a woman—next to Charity—but I fucking liked it.

  “I’m not going to freak out, you know.” The words were spoken softly.

  I turned my head. Charity stared at me over her shoulder.

  “There’s no reason to look so horrified,” she continued. “We’ll just forget it ever happened.”

  She slipped out of the bed. My eyes followed her as she disappeared out my bedroom, tugging the hem of her shirt down—fuck, she was wearing my shirt again—until it reached her knees. Down the hallway, the bedroom door shut. I continued lying there, struck completely dumb and trying to process what the hell had just happened.

  The sweet scent of her shampoo continued to taunt me, so I jumped out of bed and headed into the bathroom to shower. To my dismay, my cock was still hard. My mind replayed the way Charity had felt beneath my fingers. The way she’d responded. I could picture her pussy clenching down on me with each thrust as she tried pulling me in deeper.

  With a groan, I slid my hand down my stomach, my muscles twitching. I gripped the base tightly and then dragged my closed fist up to the tip, the soapy water helping to provide some lubrication. I imagined her hard little nipples. Were they a pale pink, nearly translucent, or a bright pink like the petals of a rose?

  My fingers tightened on my cock as my strokes grew faster. I wanted to suck on those pert nubs, pulling them deep in my mouth, flicking my tongue across them, tasting their flavor. Her cries sounded inside my head. I answered with my own groan. My release built, and my balls tightened. Pre-come leaked from the tip, and I jerked myself harder, fisting my cock, until at last I erupted, come exploding out of me and washing down the drain with the water.

  I rested my forehead against the shower wall trying to catch my breath. Once I finished cleaning up, I threw on some clothes and headed downstairs to make us breakfast. Hopefully Charity would come down before long. I figured it best to give her some time to herself, even though I was desperate to know what was going through her mind.

  For a second, I almost stopped at her closed bedroom door, but I shook my head and kept moving. I wasn’t much of a breakfast person, but Charity had hardly eaten anything last night so she would most likely be hungry. Luckily, I always kept eggs in the fridge. It was about the only thing I could cook.

  I’d just finished scrambling a half dozen of them when she stepped into kitchen. She’d managed to comb her hair and change clothes. A wave of possessiveness hit me. I wanted to see her in my shirt, and I was almost irritated that she’d put something else on.

  “Right on time. Eggs are pretty much done. Do you mind getting some plates and silverware?” I asked.

  She pulled the dishes out of the cupboard and had to step around the other side of me to reach the drawer that held the utensils. Her hand brushed my hip, but she quickly jerked it back, so I assumed it had been an accident. She snatched up a couple forks and dashed over to the table, setting everything down with a clang. I bit back a smile at her nervousness.

  I brought the skillet and a potholder over to the table and plated our food. “Sorry, but I only have water or beer to drink.”

  “Water is fine,” she said, rising as though to grab it herself.

  “Sit and eat.” I waved her down. “I’ll get it.”

  Charity lowered herself back into her chair and picked up her fork. I filled a couple glasses with filtered water from the freezer door and set hers down in front of her.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  While she ate, I figured it was a good time to talk to her about Sam’s offer. Like she said, we’d just ignore what happened in my bed until she was ready to discuss it. Or until I was.

  “I think I found someplace safe for you to stay,” I said.

  Her fork stopped mid-way to her mouth and she set it down, her gaze finally meeting mine. I couldn’t read the expression behind them.

  “Where?”

  “Do you know the storage room Sam has at the gym?”

  Charity nodded. “
I assume it’s the one in the back filled with all the equipment that’s collecting dust.”

  “He thinks that if we move things around and clean it up a bit back there, that it would be a big enough place for you to lay low for a while. We’ll get a bed set up in there for you, and you’ll have access to the fridge and microwave for your meals. I told him I’d present the offer and let you decide.”

  She took a sip of her water while she thought about it. “I guess it’s not a terrible idea. At least I’d be close to work.” Her lips tipped up in a small smile.

  “True. And the only people who would know where you were staying would be me, Sam, and my boss, which makes it pretty secure. You couldn’t tell Shoshana. Just to be on the safe side.”

  Charity sighed. “I don’t really have a lot of options, do I?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s nothing new.” She shrugged.

  I frowned at her words and almost easy acceptance of not having choices.

  “We can figure something else out if that doesn’t work for you,” I told her, although the only alternative would be a safe house where she would be stuck alone, aside from a single guard, for twenty-four hours a day.

  “No, Sam’s is good.”

  “Why don’t you finish eating. When you’re done, you can grab a shower, if you want, and your things. In the meantime, I’ll give him a call and let him know we’ll meet him there,” I said.

  We continued eating in silence and when Charity tried to clean up, I shooed her upstairs.

  “I got this.”

  She glared at me with hands on hips. “You cooked. It’s only fair that I clean up.”

  Finally, a spark of fire. It was about time. I glared right back at her. “Don’t argue with me, woman. Just go upstairs and get ready.”

  “Wom…wom…woman,” she sputtered.

  Charity spun around and stomped out of the kitchen, growling and mumbling under her breath the entire way, and it was only when she finally made it upstairs did I let out the chuckle I’d been holding in.