by Jenna Rose
“Who the fuck are those guys!?” he roars as he yanks the car into a turn that sends me flying into his lap. He catches me with a strong arm and holds me close to him. “Russians?”
“I don’t know!” I cry out.
“You don’t know? How do you not know who wants to kill you? You knew they weren’t cops, right?!”
“I don’t know who they are, but I know who’s trying to kill me!”
The car hits a bump in the road, which would be annoying if we were driving the speed limit, but at this speed, it sends me flying into the air. I hit the roof of the car and fall back into Dawson’s lap.
“Fuck,” he grumbles as he snatches the seatbelt from my side and buckles me in. “Hold on to something.”
The sound of sirens wail behind us as Dawson throws the car into another turn. The tires screech as we slide into a side street. There’s something thudding rhythmically from beneath the car – a flat tire maybe – but he’s got his foot on the gas and his hands tight around the wheel.
“Hang on,” he tells me.
Without braking, he takes a hard 90-degree turn out of the side street, causing the car to lift up onto two wheels. I yelp, sure we’re about to topple over upside down, but at the last second, Dawson yanks the wheel and we crash back down.
“Shit!” I cry out.
The sirens are getting louder. Dawson blazes right through a four-way intersection, takes another hard turn into a vacant lot, then slams on his brakes and hits the lights. I don’t know how he can see – all I see is black – but in a couple of seconds we’re parked and he’s getting out.
“Come on!” he tells me. Before I can move, he has my hand in his and is pulling me out of his side of the car. I try to stand, but I guess I’m more freaked out than I realized, and my legs give out from under me like overcooked noodles. But Dawson doesn’t even let me fall; he catches me in his strong arms and lifts me up like a new bride and quickly crosses the lot.
I glance over my shoulder as the flashing red and blue lights speed past the entrance to the lot, but Dawson doesn’t stop moving. He sets me down behind a dumpster, which he quickly opens and begins tearing through.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, but he doesn’t answer. He tears a bag open and starts rummaging through whatever was inside. I’m shaking. The sound of the sirens seems to come from everywhere. They’re circling the area; it’s only a matter of time before they find us.
“Here,” he tells me. “Put these on.”
He throws something at me. I catch it. It’s a big yellow sweatshirt and a pair of men’s jeans.
“I—”
“Put them on now,” he tells me. “You can either do it yourself, or I can do it for you. Those guys aren’t giving up anytime soon, and if you want a chance of getting out of here alive, you need to look not like you. Now put those on.”
He’s right. I’m honestly astonished at his competence; this is a man who has clearly seen combat. This is not time to be bashful; I quickly strip out of my clothes and into the ones he gave me. Thankfully they don’t smell, and when I glance at the building behind us, I realize he’s taken us to the Goodwill and we’ve just raided their donations.
When I’m finished, I look up to see he’s slipped into an oversized jacket and a pair of black jeans.
“Come on,” he tells me, taking my hand. “Just walk slowly with me, keep your head down, and try to not look like yourself.”
“Can’t we just stay here?” I ask as he begins to lead me up the alley towards the street.
“No. They’ll find my car back there, and then they’ll find us. Even if they don’t recognize us from afar, they’ll come and question us, and then we’ll both be dead. Just act as normal as you can.”
Yeah, that’ll be easy, I think as I walk behind him, willing my legs to work, even though they are desperately trying to crumple out from underneath me. My whole body feels like it’s almost not there – like I’ve been filled with a void from all the adrenaline. I feel like I could jump over a building or collapse into the shadows. Either one.
Dawson’s hand is strong and rough and holding on to me with such force that I’m pretty sure if a tornado hit me right now and tried to pull me away, he’d keep me down to Earth.
“Here they come,” he says as the sirens blare loudly in my ears. Then there’s the sound of tires screeching and the whole street is bathed in the flashing red and blue lights. There’s a homeless man sitting in the shadow of a theater doorway ahead of us, and Dawson leads me right over to him and pulls me down into a squatting position.
“Mind if we share?” he asks the bearded man, who looks like he’s about half-asleep, or half-drunk. He shrugs, and Dawson throws his arm around me and pulls me close like we’re just a couple trying to huddle up for warmth.
The sirens grow louder.
This won’t work, I think as panic starts to seize me. I’m done for!
The blue and red lights refract off the buildings, encompassing everything. My heart is pounding. I’m not breathing. I glance at Dawson, but his face is stone cold. He’s calm, collected; he’s everything I’m not. It’s amazing.
“Dawson, I—”
“Quiet,” he tells me. “Don’t move.”
The noise of the sirens almost deafens me, and I close my eyes against the flashing of the lights. They’re going to get me. This is it. But just as I’m sure they’re going to scream to a halt right beside us and shoot us both down, the cruiser flies past us and disappears down the street.
“Don’t move,” he tells me. “Wait for them to pass.”
I watch as the cruiser slows slightly at the end of the block, then takes a right turn. The sound of the engine roaring follows the sound of the sirens, and moments later, Dawson is pulling me to my feet and we’re walking again. To where? I don’t even care. All I know is that I feel safe with him, and there’s no place I’d rather be.
4
Dawson
Quickly, I throw a tarp over my ruined car, secure it with a few cinder blocks, then head inside where Joy is sitting on the couch, shivering, sipping the tea that I made for her. She’s pulled my couch blanket over her but looks like she’s on the verge of passing out.
I want to shout and get some answers out of her, but she’s scared shitless and doesn’t need me adding onto that. Right now she just needs support, and sitting there quivering, she looks like a beautiful angel.
I shouldn’t be turned on right now; I should be either angry or compassionate, or maybe a mixture of both. She totaled my car and almost got me killed, but at the same time, she’s a girl in way over her head and she needs my help. That’s what I should be thinking about right now…
…so why can’t I keep my eyes off her? Why can’t I keep thinking about how it would feel to press my body against hers?
“I’m c—cold,” she says.
“That’s the shock,” I tell her. “The tea’s not helping?”
She shakes her head.
“All right, come with me.”
Taking her hand, I help her to her feet and lead her down the hall to the bathroom. The old floor creaks beneath our feet and I turn the water on and let it run.
“Takes a while to get warm here,” I tell her. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
“I saw that,” she replies softly. I got this place six months ago with my VA loan. It’s basically just an old cabin that I got for cheap because of all the work that needed to be done to it, but I’ve been slowly fixing it up when I’m not driving. Just so happens to be the perfect place to take a girl who’s on the run.
I test the water with my hand; it’s warm now, so I find Joy a towel and hang it on the rack for her.
“I’ll, uh…I’ll just leave you to it,” I tell her. “Stay as long as you need to.”
I turn to the door, but feel Joy’s hand on mine. I turn around and see her looking up at me, her gorgeous eyes capturing me like hypnotic beams.
“Can you…can you stay?” she ask
s. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
God, she’s beautiful. Even under the big sweatshirt and men’s jeans, I can still see her unbelievable curves. How did a son of a bitch like me get so lucky to have a beauty like her in my house?
“Yeah, I can do that,” I reply, feeling my cock start to pulse beneath my pants. “I’ll just turn around and you can—”
“No,” she replies, slipping out of her sweatshirt. “You don’t have to turn around.”
Before I can react, she’s pulling her shirt off. Her breasts are perfect, and she stands in front of me with absolutely no shame – why should she have any with a body like that? Her eyes are fixed on me, watching mine as she strips all the way down to nothing. I haven’t been with a woman in so long that I almost don’t know how to react—but my body sure does.
My cock pulses between my thighs as she steps up to me, her eyes submissive but intent. I reach out and slide an arm around her, and the feel of her soft skin causes that spark inside me to bloom like a surge of electrical power.
I want her. I want her so bad I don’t even know what to do with myself, but somehow this doesn’t feel right; she’s shaken up bad, we just barely escaped those gunmen with our lives, and she’s not thinking straight. I don’t want her to do something she’s going to regret later. So, when she reaches out and touches my cock, I summon every bit of internal strength I have, and gently pull her hand away.
“What?” she asks, surprised. “What is it? You don’t want me?”
“I do,” I tell her, promising the truth with my eyes. “More than anything.”
“Then…what’s wrong…?”
“I want you to want this,” I tell her. “And not because you think you owe me something. Not because I just saved your life.”
“Dawson, I…”
Her voice trails off and she lowers her eyes from mine. I wait, and after a few moments she looks up at me and smiles – it’s almost a sad smile. A knowing smile.
“Where did you come from?” she asks. I laugh.
“What do you mean?”
“My momma said they don’t make gentlemen anymore. But I see she was wrong.”
My body is screaming at me to take her, but I fight against my most basic urges. It’s not the right time. Not yet.
“I’ll let you take your shower,” I tell her. Again I turn to go, but again she stops me.
“Stay with me,” she tells me. “We don’t have to…do anything. But I don’t want to be alone.”
“You want me to shower with you?” I ask. Oh, fuck, is what I’m thinking. She looks up at me with those big, submissive eyes and nods.
“Is that okay?”
No. It’s not okay. It’s going to be impossible.
“Sure,” I tell her. “You’re just going to have to ignore my uh…you know.”
Joy twists her lips and blushes, then averts her eyes as I slide out of my clothes. There’s no use trying to hide my hard-on, so I don’t. Joy pretends not to notice, but I see her eyes flick down between my legs before she turns and steps into the shower. The view from behind is almost better than the view from the front.
Her curves seem to go on forever, like a woman in a Renaissance painting. She’s got an ass I’d gladly bury my face in, and a waist I want to grab on to while I pound her from behind like the goddess she is. She’s so perfect. So beautiful, and I want to fucking ruin her.
But not now. Not yet.
She steps into the water and I join her. I reach out for a loofa, splash it with soap, and begin to wash her; it’s the only thing I can think to do to distract myself from bending her over and taking her…making her mine.
She leans close to me, then turns her back to me as I sponge suds across her perfect body. Her skin is smooth and pale, and her body feels like it was meant to be against mine. Maybe she was meant for me.
I’m not one of those guys who believes in astrology, psychic phenomenon or signs from the universe, but what are the chances that a girl like this who’s able to capture me so completely just happens to crash into me while I’m driving home one night?
“Dawson,” Joy says softly as I wash her.
“Yes?”
“I—I’m glad I ran into you.”
“So am I,” I reply. “Well…not that you ran into me, but—”
“Stop!” she laughs. “You know what I mean!”
5
Joy
What a gentleman, I can’t help thinking again as Dawson reaches past me and turns the water off. My body is alive for him; urges I’ve never felt before are swirling around inside me like a tornado. I want him to take me. I want to feel those strong Marine hands on me and know what it’s like to be stretched by that monster between his legs.
It’s the only cock I’ve ever seen in person. Yes, I’m what you might call that stereotypical “nerdy girl” who managed to spend more time at home with her books than out meeting boys. It probably didn’t help either that my mom was constantly telling me that men “don’t have brains like women” and that “theirs are in their dicks.”
I always thought my parents had a perfect relationship; he was a prominent lawyer and she worked for a non-profit preserving historical landmarks across the country. I couldn’t understand why when I was thirteen my dad started sleeping in the garage, or when they came to me when I was fourteen to tell me they were splitting up.
As it turned out, Dad was cheating on mom with his secretary, a twenty-two-year-old, who I later found out was a dominatrix. Yeah, I guess my dad is a sub. Oh, and I found out when my friend Kelly at school told me she found my dad’s profile on one of those fetish websites and showed it to me.
Awkward doesn’t even begin to explain how that felt.
So I don’t know if I was brainwashed by my mom, or whether seeing their relationship collapse just made me cynical, but any time a guy ever expressed any interest in me, I ran for it.
And it’s not like I never got any attention either. Senior year of high school, Bret Garret, the captain of the lacrosse team, asked me to the Homecoming dance. I almost said yes, but then I remembered what happened with my parents and convinced myself that he just wanted to get in my pants.
See, it actually became widely known at my school that I had never hooked up with a guy before. They called me “Joyless” and the guys started taking bets on who could get with me. I never heard Bret’s name mentioned when it came to that, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I stayed single all through high school, and now, at nineteen, I still haven’t gotten past first base with a guy.
“All clean?” Dawson jokes as he wraps me in a big, soft towel and takes my hand to help me out of the shower. I just smile, so lost in my own thoughts that I don’t even know what to say. I’m still coming down from the adrenaline rush of almost dying, and even if that hadn’t happened, I’m pretty much smitten by him.
His body is something they’d use to sell sports supplements to guys. His abs are more defined than I ever thought abs could be, and if I was looking at his picture online, I’d be tempted to believe his biceps were photoshopped.
I realize I’m staring, and with great difficulty, I tear my eyes away from him as he puts a towel on my head. I twist it around my hair and step into the living room and plonk myself down on the couch. I don’t know what else to do – all I know is that I want to be here with him.
I hear his footsteps as he heads into the bedroom, and when he returns, he’s wearing a tank top and a pair of sweatpants that do nothing to hide his boner. Again, I try not to look, despite the hot feeling between my legs.
“So you wanna tell me what that was all about?” he asks, taking a seat beside me. “It’s not every day that I save a gorgeous girl from a couple of Russian assassins.”
Gorgeous girl? My heart flutters and I take a deep breath. No one’s ever referred to me as gorgeous before.
“I—it’s a long story,” I tell him.
“We’ve got plenty of time.” He smiles. “Do you want some more te
a?”
I nod. “Yes, please.”
He gets up and heads to the kitchen and returns with two mugs. He hands one to me and takes a sip from his, all the while keeping his eyes on me. I feel like he can see right through me – like there’s nothing I can hide from him. Normally, a feeling like that would terrify me, but with Dawson, it feels…safe.
“So?” he asks. “Lay it on me.”
“Senator Bryant,” I say with a sigh. “You know him?”
“Sure.” He nods. “Isn’t he that prick that said something about women not being cut out for politics?”
“That’s the one!” I reply. “So he…it turns out that he…”
My voice trails off as my adrenaline spikes again.
“He what?”
“I—I really shouldn’t be talking about this…”
“Joy,” he says. “I saved your life. The least you can do is tell me why I had to. You can trust me.”
I look back at him and see nothing but truth in his eyes.
“I know I can,” I tell him. “Okay. Senator Bryant is running a sex-cult with women trafficked from Eastern Europe. I found out about it, and now he wants to kill me before I can tell anyone.”
Dawson’s eyes narrow. “That explains the Russians.”
“What Russians?” I ask.
“Those two men who were after you,” he replies. “One of them had a Russian Mafia tattoo. He must be working with them.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “So it’s worse than I thought.”
“Do you have proof? Can you put it online and out him?”
“I had proof,” I sigh, slumping back on the couch. “On a USB drive. But that’s gone now. It was in my car.”
“Do they know it was in your car?” Dawson asks quickly. “Because they were both chasing us.”
Quickly, I sit up and look at him. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. I simply assumed Senator Bryant knew I had the drive and where to find it, but he might just think I have it on me…or that I’d hidden it somewhere.
