No Damaged Goods

by Snow, Nicole

  I try like the devil to bring him off first, but it’s too intense with his gaze, his taste, his soft grunts and echoing fucks like thunder in my ears.

  I’m—

  Coming!

  Oh, do I ever.

  And it’s somewhere in the middle of my first twisting, shaking tremor that Blake goes off, his cock swelling in my mouth, pulling my lips down on his shaft. It only takes a second before I’m overflowing with him, his heat pouring all over me, more than I could ever hope to swallow.

  My body hitches again and again, even as I try to keep my lips pulsing up and down his cock.

  Muscles I didn’t even know I had are freaking trembling when it’s over, and there’s nothing but the sound of our heavy breathing in the night.

  Except, over isn’t even the half of it.

  Blake barely rests for five minutes while I take a breather in his arms. Then his rough, calloused hand circles my ass. And those caresses turn into greedy handfuls while the warm, loving look in his eye goes pure caveman.

  Maybe our little talk about birth control the other day was an invitation to forget the condoms. Or maybe he’s just that into it—and so am I.

  If he was a savage before, he’s an absolute beast-man now, pushing into me raw, his forehead on mine as he spreads my legs and claims my wet heat.

  There’s no holding back.

  Everything we’ve done tonight was just a warm-up for a therapy far deeper than anything I could ever do with words or my hands.

  He grabs my wrists and pins me down, a sharpness I adore, a contrast with the sweetness of his kiss and the scratch of his beard on my bare, trembling skin.

  Our mouths try to match what’s happening lower, Blake pistoning into me, each stroke gliding me a little higher. It’s pure friction. Delicious agony.

  The angry, pent-up desperado—my gunslinger—throwing himself into me with a passion and a heat that takes me places I never dared imagine.

  “Blake!”

  I can’t stop gasping out his name.

  He can’t stop his heat, his furious strokes, the sweeping slash of his tongue as we crash together like two cymbals. It’s reckless and wild, a frantic race to the end.

  There’s nothing on earth like the way he growls out my name, drilling deeper, when he goes off the edge.

  Of course, I’m a goner, too.

  His hips pound so, so deep.

  The friction of his pubic bone melts me from the inside out.

  And next thing I know, every inch of him swells, his whole body tenses, and he’s shoving fiery words through his teeth.

  “Fuck, Peace!”

  I think it’s hearing my name on his lips in so much rapture that does me in. My body seizes. There’s barely a second to tangle my limbs around him as his final strokes lift me completely off the bed, before slamming us both into the mattress again.

  We dive right into the electric heat of our release together. So intense I feel like I’ve been ripped right out of my body.

  But Blake Silverton stays imprinted on every sweet convulsion and breathless sigh.

  18

  Camera Blues (Blake)

  It takes me a long time to fall asleep.

  Partly because it’s so damn cold in that little cabin, though the small space makes it easier to warm up fast, especially with Peace tucked against me, sharing our body heat underneath the blankets.

  Partly because I can’t stop thinking about Holt.

  About that bootprint.

  See, the town council can’t afford a workers’ comp lawsuit for construction injuries, or any other kind of injuries on the job for town contracting work.

  So they issue their own safety equipment when they hire people.

  Cops, firemen...construction workers.

  And Holt went clomping around the house in those boots, ripping my home to shreds while I panicked over my kid running away.

  Bastard scum. I bet he called just so I’d go running home to see what he did.

  It’s a growing certainty in my mind, and I hate it.

  Hate that it ruins any chance that the last scraps of my tattered kin might be able to hold together.

  Guess it’s just me and Andrea, after all.

  Me, Andrea, and Peace.

  That last thought finally lets me find refuge in sleep, deep into the night.

  I’m not expecting to be woken up by the sound of my phone ringing.

  And I’m sure as hell not expecting it to be Sheriff Wentworth Langley.

  “Blake?” Langley says. He sounds tired—but he always sounds tired lately, and I think that man needs a damn Xanax. “You’re gonna want to come in. We picked up Holt and...it ain’t looking good.”

  Shit!

  I bolt upright, making Peace squirm sleepily, burrowing harder against me.

  “Give me twenty minutes,” I bite off. “I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  I won’t let Peace come with me to the police station, not even when she looks at me with her big green eyes so wide and soft with worry.

  She’s dealt with enough of my ugliness.

  I won’t let Holt make it worse.

  When I get to the station, he’s pacing in the drunk tank—and favoring a bloody hand that’s been slashed up like he, oh, fucking kicked my door in, punched my windows out, smashed my TV.

  And he’s still wearing his construction coveralls, rolled down around his waist over a dirty, blood-smeared shirt.

  He’s still wearing those boots.

  The moment he sees me, he flings himself at the bars, ignoring Langley’s wince as they rattle. He grasps at the iron, staring at me desperately.

  “You never called, asshole!” he accuses. “Andrea. Is she okay?”

  For a second, I blink, dumbfounded.

  I have to hand it to him.

  That’s one hell of an act.

  He’s good.

  Too good.

  I stare at him coldly. “Stop it. You weren’t worried about Andrea. You just wanted to show off what you’d done.”

  “Done?” Holt recoils, staring at me. “I haven’t done a damned thing, and why the hell did you send Langley after me?”

  I work my jaw, staring at his bloodied hand. “How’d that happen?”

  Tell me the truth, goddammit.

  Tell me the truth, and tell me you aren’t a total loss.

  Holt pulls his bloody, scabbed hand back from the bars, staring down at it. “I was helping out with the reconstruction. One of the old cinder blocks we were tearing out came loose, fell on me,” he said. “I dodged, but it ripped down my hand pretty bad.”

  “How convenient,” I growl, fighting to control the black, ugly rage rising inside me. “Considering I’ve got your fucking footprints all around my house after you broke in and ripped my living room to shit.”

  He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Wha—what are you talking about, Blake? Broke into your house? Why?”

  “You tell me. Why the fuck did you break into my house?”

  “I didn’t!” he roars, his voice deepening to a frustrated snarl. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  I lose it.

  I’m slamming myself against the bars, and so fucking help me if not for those rods of iron between us I’d be wringing his chickenshit neck.

  “Were you looking for the evidence? Sorry, bub, I already turned it over. And once they find your prints on it—”

  “Prints on what?” he demands, only to go still, staring at me, eyes widening, his tanned face going pale beneath his dark five o’clock shadow. “The hell...what the hell? You think it was me. You think it’s been me all this time, with the fires.”

  “Tell me it hasn’t been,” I snap. “You’re the only man with motive. And you showed up in town right when it started. Real big goddamn coinkydink if it ain’t you.”

  “I told you. I want to help rebuild this town,” he throws back, lips peeling away from clenc
hed teeth.

  “But only after you burn it down first, right?” I retort, taking a step back. “You almost fooled me, Holt. Almost made me think maybe you’d changed. But I never trusted you before, and I’m not about to now.”

  I turn and walk away then.

  I can’t stand to look at him.

  Can’t stand to think that the man who’d endanger Heart’s Edge is my own blood.

  And I ignore him, even as he calls after me, “You idiot, be careful! It’s not me—it’s not me, Blake! He’s still out there...and he’s going to really hurt someone.”

  You already hurt someone, I think bitterly as the door to the station slams shut and I step out into the harsh, unforgiving February wind. You hurt me and obliterated any chance at all for a relationship with any of us.

  * * *

  I almost wish we could cancel this stupid variety show.

  There’s no real reason for it anymore.

  We’ve got our perp and evidence to back it up.

  Everything points to Holt, even if I don’t want it to.

  Now, I just gotta coax Clark into coming out of the woodwork to confess Holt’s the one who took his equipment, and that’ll cinch it. I’m sure Andrea’s wrong about Clark thinking it ain’t him. The boy just didn’t want to tell her and rip his girlfriend’s heart out.

  Too bad we’re on the hook with the Heart’s Edge council.

  We told them we’d stand up here and entertain them like the big damn heroes they want us to be and let them ask their questions.

  So that’s what we’re doing. A town hall question and answer of sorts.

  It’s surprisingly warm inside the ice palace. No small feat, really, considering it was put together by a bunch of townies with basic engineering and art.

  It kind of looks like the Ice Palace in Frozen, complete with spiraling ice stairs leading up to the stage. Thank fuck they’re textured so we don’t go slipping down like fools as me, Warren, Doc, and Leo stand up here with our mics and big fake superhero smiles.

  Mario’s here with us, recording everything and transmitting it to the station. They’re doing a live broadcast for the folks in the surrounding counties.

  Nothing’s happening except people asking me lewd questions and teasing everyone else about being henpecked and settled down with kids.

  Figures. The folks in this town would much rather talk romance than rehash drug kingpins and evil corporations trying to biohazard us to death.

  The men are too quiet. Most of the teasing comes from their own wives and kids in the audience, making the entire town laugh with warm affection.

  I mean, it’s not bad.

  I don’t much like being the town darlings, but these people make no secret of the fact that they care about us the same way we care about them.

  Still, I can’t shake being uneasy.

  Doesn’t help with Holt behind bars.

  This ugly sixth sense prickles on the back of my neck.

  I can’t help repeatedly peeking backstage, where Peace is quietly warming up on her guitar, and Andrea and Justin have their heads together, working out how to do the safety presentation without Clark’s help.

  Peace catches my eye from behind the curtain, lifting her head and smiling.

  You’re doing great, she mouths. I shrug, turning my gaze back to the crowd.

  It’s calm. Peaceful. Happy.

  And I don’t trust it one bit.

  I hate that I still feel this irrational doubt.

  Like some small part of me wonders if Holt’s telling the truth.

  But if our man isn’t him, then who?

  Gritting my teeth, I tell myself to knock it off and get through this.

  Because it means something to Peace, to Andrea, to Justin.

  Because it means everything to this beat-up little town, and this town means something special to me.

  After an hour of making an ass of myself, I finally escape with the others, exiting the stage so the ice crew can re-texture the melted areas to give traction for the next act.

  It was supposed to be Clark, but of course he’s nowhere to be found.

  I don’t want to interrupt Peace’s music practice before she plays for the crowd later, so I reconvene with the boys behind the ice palace.

  Leo says it before anybody. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

  I grunt. “Something ain’t right, yeah. Everything’s pointing to Holt.” I glance at Langley and one of his guys, making the rounds along the big wooden windbreaker fence. “I mean, I don’t like that they left him alone, but hell. He’s locked up. He’s not a prison breaker like you or Fuchsia, Leo. So we shouldn’t have to worry.”

  “Snow’s coming in. I can smell it,” Warren says. “There’s something in the air.”

  “I’ll do the rounds,” Leo says. “See if anything looks suspicious.”

  I nod. “The rest of us should take up positions, inside and out. The goal is to keep as many people covered as possible so if anything happens, we can coordinate an evacuation.”

  All three of them nod tightly.

  We split up then, breaking off in different directions. We’ve all known each other so long and been through so many baptisms by fire we don’t even need to ask questions to coordinate.

  We know each other’s strengths, the way we all think.

  And we work together like a well-oiled machine.

  As I’m heading back inside the ice palace, though, Andrea comes tumbling outside, searching left and right only to land on me. Her eyes are too wide, her messy, half-shaved hair spiked up from running her fingers through it.

  “Dad?” she asks. “I can’t find Justin anywhere. We’re supposed to go on in forty-five minutes, and I...I can’t do this by myself!”

  Shit, here we go. Another problem.

  Another fire to put out, and I can’t ignore my daughter when she’s actually into this, and I don’t want to disappoint her.

  “Give me a second,” I say, fishing out my phone. “I’ll give him a call. If we can’t dig him up in time, I’ll do the demonstration with you. No worries.”

  “…fiiine.” She wrinkles her nose at me but slumps against the carved, spiraling archway that acts as the entrance to the ice palace, folding her arms over her chest.

  Not really a surprise reaction.

  I just flash her a smile, waiting for Justin to pick up.

  He doesn’t.

  The call goes to voicemail, and again when I try a second time.

  On the second call, I leave a quick message. “Yo, Justin, you’re up soon, and Andrea’s looking all over the place for you. Let me know where you’re at.”

  When I hang up, she lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Of course he bailed on me. Of course. Everyone always does.”

  Fuck.

  That one cuts deep.

  Yeah, I guess everyone’s been disappointing her lately. Her mom checked out for good. Uncle Holt’s a fire-setting prick. Her boyfriend’s hiding out somewhere. Her old man’s just the kind of dick dads have to be.

  And now Justin, her cool new older friend, ditched out on her.

  I already know I’m gonna go to stupid lengths to find that guy, just to make her happy.

  “Head backstage with Peace,” I say, offering her a smile. “Just wait. I’ll hunt him down.”

  “Okay, fine,” I get again.

  She gives me a skeptical look, but after a moment turns and flounces inside.

  I catch Leo’s eye across the carnival grounds, through the steadily growing crowds of people moving through booths selling funnel cakes, fried things that probably shouldn’t be fried, hot drinks, trinkets, all the little touristy things people like to take home with them even though they ain’t good for much. I see a lot of out-of-towners, folks I don’t recognize who came just for the carnival. Makes it harder to spot anyone acting fishy, but I trust the guys to have things under control.

  So I signal Leo that I’m ducking out, then let myself blend into the crowd.

&nbs
p; I check the entire grounds up and down for Justin, every nook and cranny, every storage shed, every backstage area—even looking under the stage. It doesn’t make sense, they were together less than an hour ago. Did he forget something at home?

  I do some more checking.

  Nothing.

  And after a few more calls go unanswered, I’ve had it.

  I’m about to go and drag Justin out of his apartment if I have to, if it’ll make my little girl happy.

  Dammit.

  I trusted him with this, trying to make him feel like he was part of the team. Part of my family.

  Look, I know he’s got heavy shit he’s dealing with, but I need him not to duck out on me like this right now.

  So, reluctantly, I stop for a holler at Warren, letting him know I’ll be back and to call me if anything goes down. Then I climb in my Jeep and head back into town.

  The apartment complex isn’t far. Heart’s Edge is so small we’ve only got a few of these multi-unit buildings since most people buy or build their own homes.

  Justin’s truck isn’t in the parking lot when I pull up, but I go up to check just in case.

  And find his door open.

  Unlatched, just barely pulled closed a crack, like he left in a hurry.

  I frown. After finding my own home ransacked, I’ve got a bad feeling.

  But before I can push the door open, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I snatch it out, not even checking the name on the caller ID, and answer.

  “Justin?”

  “Nah, Blake,” Sheriff Langley says. I can hear the music and noise of the carnival in the background, chatter and people moving about. “It’s me. Listen, I got bad news.”

  My chest goes heavy, and my breath goes thick with dread. “What’s that?”

  “I left the new junior deputy watching the station, and uh, well...” He clears his throat. “Apparently, Holt stole his keys right off his belt and managed to get loose.”

  I close my eyes.

  Fuck.

  I don’t need this right now.

  “Watch for him at the carnival,” I growl. “Be ready to evacuate people, but don’t cause a panic just yet. I’ll be right there. If you need help, get the guys.”