by Lacey Alpha
I tug her tight against me, laying back on her single bed. She opted for shared halls at university, which means a shared bathroom too. With eight other birds. I've just about had enough of living like we're teenagers. It's either sneaking her into my Mum's house or fucking in her dorm room with a sock over the fire alarm so we can smoke. At what point do I become a fucking adult? I'm nearly twenty for fuck's sake. This is bullshit.
“I wanna get clean. And I want you to do the same.” I nuzzle into her neck, pressing my lips against her velvet skin.
She sighs, giving in and placing the joint down on her bedside table. “Just for you.”
“Love you,” I mumble, nibbling at her throat.
She tilts her head so her hair cascades around us in a dark fan. “Have you ever seen Children of Paradise?” she asks as I work along her shoulder.
“No,” I mumble, continuing. “What's that? A porno?”
She smacks my arm. “No. It's a French film.”
“Then definitely no.”
She sighs dramatically. “It tells the story of a beautiful courtesan called Garance and the four men who love her.”
I stop kissing her, raising a taunting brow. “Are you trying to tell me something? Who are these other three men, I want their names and addresses.”
She giggles, cupping my chin, that delightful glow brightening her cheeks.
I grin at her, starting my assault on her neck again. “Go on,” I growl.
“Garance becomes involved with each man, and all of them try to make her love them on their terms, not hers...”
I snap my head up, knowing what she's angling at here. “This is about the weed?”
She nods guiltily. “It's who I am.”
I cup her cheeks in both hands, gazing directly into her eyes. “At least give up the harder shit, Ki. Please, baby. I don't wanna find you dead in a ditch somewhere.”
She rolls her eyes but I can see I'm getting through to her, so continue my plight, “This is the real deal. I'm talking wedding bells and baby carriages, Kira. We're not kids anymore.”
She gazes at me, perplexed. “You wanna marry me, Ads?”
I nod, a smile creeping onto my lips. “Course, someday. It's you and me, right, babe? And I don't wanna be sky high on our wedding day.”
She nods, wrapping her whole tiny body around me, rubbing against my already rock-hard dick.
“Yes, yes, yes!” she squeals and I know she's going to be making that exact noise again when I'm inside her two minutes from now.
¸.•*´♥`*•.¸
“I think I asked Kira to marry me,” I say bluntly.
Logan's taking me for a ride in a silver Chevrolet Corvette, letting me accompany him to a drop-off. It's not the first time. But he usually doesn't like me getting wrapped up in this shit. I dunno if he's looking out for me or just being a prick. Probably both.
“Let me guess, you were fucking her at the time?” He shoots a grin at me but I don't smile.
As we sail away from London, I gaze out at the country view. For once it's not raining, but there's a fog in the air, rolling over the grassy hills of Kent.
“No man...”
“Are you serious?” Logan barks, his tone cutting through my chest.
“Yeah, I love her. She loves me. It's simple.” And it is. It really is. I've never met anyone like her before. We're on the same level. She gets me like she sees right into my fucking soul.
“Don't be an idiot, Adam. Sometimes it feels like you're in love but-”
“And what would you know?” I cut him off. “You never so much as ask a girl how her day is once she's finished sucking your dick.”
“Watch your mouth, little bro.”
I grind my teeth together. But I know I'm right. Certain of it. Just because Logan doesn't know what love is, doesn't mean I don't. For the first time ever, I think I've actually done something before he has.
He sighs. “Just, don't rush into anything. You've only been with the girl what? Six months?”
“It wouldn't matter if I'd been with her for six days, she's the one. I just know it Logan.” I slam a hand onto my chest where I can feel that weird, growing, tugging pain that attaches me to one other person in this world. Her. It's always going to be her.
He glances at me, his eyes hooded. “Jesus,” he mutters, clearly not getting it.
I shake my head. “Anyway, I don't need your permission. I just thought I'd let you know. We're engaged.”
“Did you get her a ring?” he asks, suspicious.
“No,” I mumble because he's caught me out. “But I will.”
Logan takes a right down a bumpy track, heading through two tall hedgerows. Blackbirds dash across the path before us, not using their wings for god knows what reason. Idiots. If I could fly, I wouldn't run in front of moving vehicles.
We arrive at a dead end with two other cars – one a shit-heap Rover and the other a shining black van. No doubt the shitty Rover is for us to drive back to London in. A beefy guy stands beside them in a grey vest, looking like the cool spring air has no effect on him.
“Wait here,” Logan mutters but I don't obey his orders, instead, jumping out of the car after him.
“You him?” the beefy guy addresses Logan.
“What's it look like?” He chucks the guy the keys then holds out a hand expectantly.
When the huge man doesn't move, Logan starts patting his legs like he's summoning a dog. “Here boy, come bring me my money.”
“Is that supposed to be funny, Mr Chase?” The large man straightens his spine, pulling up to an impressive height of what must be closing in on seven foot. Jesus fucking Christ, is this guy The Rock's uglier, beefier cousin?
“Evidently not,” Logan says dryly and I shift from one foot to the other.
“I need to inspect the car first, then you get your money.” The Rock's ugly cousin moves to the Corvette, circling and assessing. When he's done, he stands straight, his eyes never straying to me. Am I even bloody here? Hello?
“Aright. I'll give you ten grand for it.”
Logan spits air through his teeth. “Are you having a fucking laugh? This car's worth ten times that. I want fifty.”
“Fifteen. Final offer.” The guy folds his huge arms and I grow anxious that even between Logan and I both, we might not be able to take him on.
“Pff, no deal.” Logan holds his hand out for the keys but our new best friend doesn't hand them over.
The tension in the air clings to the fog itself. I plant my feet, trying to ignore the writhing feeling in my gut telling me we're fucked.
A roar of engines rush up behind us. Mud splashes up our legs as we're circled by three black-as-night Land Rovers.
A suited man exits the first, quickly surrounded by ten other men with guns and – fuck- machetes.
I share a glance with Logan who gives me an I-don't-know-any-more-than-you-do expression.
“Who the fuck are you?” the beefy guy asks the suited stranger. He's young, perhaps just a few years older than Logan, with loose chestnut hair hanging around his shoulders.
With a wave of his hand, a gunshot blasts through the air and the enormous beast of a man in front of us crashes to the ground. Dead or horribly injured, I don't know. I just want the fuck out of here.
My heart nearly explodes in my chest, working so hard it's like I'm running already. But I'm not. I'm standing stock still by my brother's side, wondering what the fuck we've gotten ourselves into.
The suited man approaches, his eyes skipping between us. The rolex on his wrist tells me everything I need to know. This guy's the boss. And we're dead.
“Who's in charge?” the newcomer asks us, waving a hand so his men lower their guns.
Admittedly, it is easier to relax.
Logan presses his shoulders back. “That's me. My brother's not involved in this. I just brought him along for the ride.”
“So you're the one who's been stealing cars on my turf?” he questions, moving in front
of Logan and giving him an up and down stare.
“Your turf?” Logan questions and I hope to god he really is as ignorant as I am. Lying to this guy does not seem like a good idea.
“Yes, my turf. Ralph Heathcote, pleasure to meet you.” He holds out a clean palm and Logan slowly takes it. His Adam's apple bobs slowly, the only sign that he's scared. But I know my brother and he may not show it, but he's as fucked up as I am over this.
“Logan Chase,” he says smoothly.
Heathcote's eyes swing to the Corvette. “I'll give you eighty for it.”
“Eighty?” Logan echoes in surprise. “Why?”
“Because, Mr Chase, you now work for me. And I pay a premium for skilled men such as yourself.” He slips a slim white card into Logan's hand. “Phone this number. I'll set up a private, untraceable account for you and deposit your money into it within 24 hours.”
Logan gazes at it for several seconds then tucks it into his back pocket. “Why?”
“I don't do cash payments, Mr Chase. We are not in a seventies cop show. I assure you, the account is entirely secure. You will be able to withdraw money as you please.”
Heathcote gestures to one of his men who takes the Corvette keys from the guy on the floor - who I'm certain by this point is dead - and heads toward it.
“One of my men will take you home,” Heathcote says, strolling toward one of the Land Rovers. Before he enters, he glances back as if a thought has occurred to him. “We won't meet again, Mr Chase. So long as you do your job properly. But I expect loyalty. You will not work for anyone else but me.”
¸.•*´♥`*•.¸
“Bro, please tell me you're gonna rip up that card and never think about it again,” I demand as we walk the ten blocks back toward our home.
Logan had the genius idea of giving our silent driver the wrong address. I don't think I would have been thinking clear enough to do the same thing. But then, Logan has always handled pressured situations pretty well. He has to, I guess, considering he steals cars for a living.
Rain clouds gather overhead, threatening us with a storm as static crackles in the air.
“He owes me for the Corvette,” Logan answers stiffly.
“He killed a guy!” I shout, my throat hurting.
Fuck.
I saw someone die.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I rub a hand over my face, trying to calm down. It's all hitting me now. Before, it was like watching a film play in front of my eyes. But it happened, it really fucking happened.
Logan elbows me hard in the ribs. “Shut up, do you want the whole of London to know?”
“Come on, man. Don't be stupid. Walk away from this guy.”
“It's eighty grand,” he says vaguely.
“What part of 'he's a fucking murderer' do you not understand? You slip up once with him, you think he's gonna save bullets on you?” Raindrops pepper my cheeks. We're still four blocks from home so it looks like this shit storm is turning into a real storm, too.
“I know – fuck – I fucking know alright?” Logan doesn't look at me, running a hand down the back of his neck. “Just let me think, for fuck's sake.”
“There's nothing to think about, Logan. Don't be a dick.”
Please, big brother. Don't do this.
He falls silent and I know he isn't going to discuss this any further. Which means he's going to make the wrong decision. The dangerous decision that gets him money. But money isn't worth his life. He's my fucking family.
“Please, man,” I say in a low voice. “Please don't. For Mum. Fuck it, for me.”
He remains silent, walking half a step in front of me so I can't see his expression.
And I know he's made up his mind. And not me, not Mum, not anyone else in the world is going to change it.
DARCY
An hour and a half in the car with Logan and I'm already going mad. As he parks the SUV inside the Eurostar, I take the opportunity to get out for some air. The train is packed with cars, all lined up in a single row, a whirring and rushing noise filling the air. I weave through the cars, finding a quiet spot where I can sit on a low shelf of plastic protruding from the wall. The walls are lined with advertisements and artwork, some in French, some in English, like this really is a portal between the two countries.
How am I going to get through a whole week in Logan's company? His teasing and constant cockiness is gonna drive me insane. It already is!
And the worst thing of all is, I still can't stop thinking about kissing him. His tongue felt so good against mine. But more than that, I felt a box break inside me. The one I swore I'd never open again.
I force the memory away. I have to remember that he's an expert at winning girls over. And I'm not going to let him play me. Whatever 'connection' it feels like there is between us, I know it's not real. It's just him and his charm, his ability to turn girls into puddles at his feet. But not me. He will not break me.
I take a deep breath, calming my thoughts. When we get to France, we'll have more space. We'll have our own hotel rooms, our own free time. I just have to get through the car journey. And that, I think, I can do.
¸.•*´♥`*•.¸
As night is falling, Logan pulls in to a motel. I stir from a nap, my cheek pressing against the cool window pane.
Yawning broadly, I take in the dimly lit motel with disdain. “Aren't you like...a millionaire?”
“No, actually. And anyway, this place is en route. I'm not diverting twenty miles just to put you up in a five star hotel, sweetheart.”
“I didn't ask you to,” I mutter angrily, wishing I hadn't said anything. Why is every conversation we have rife with heat? I can't even ask him how his day's going without him finding a way to chastise me.
“I'll check us in. Watch the car.”
Nodding, I laze back in my seat, watching as he heads across the dark parking lot to the reception. I absent-mindedly eye his behind and quickly catch myself doing it, whipping my head around to look at the road instead.
Car lights flare at me, each one growing and growing before passing by.
I step out of the car, wanting to stretch my legs, finding Logan approaching already. He takes our bags from the boot, leading the way towards a row of doors beneath a dark porch.
He unlocks a door and I wait, holding out my hand.
“What?” he questions, pushing inside.
“My key,” I demand.
“Yeah about that... this place is all booked up. Only one room left.” He shrugs.
I freeze in the doorway. “No way. I'm not sharing a room with you.” My eyes fall on the double bed. It might as well be an anaconda hell-bent on eating us for the way I feel about it. Vigorously, I shake my head, walking backwards, my heart racing.
No no no no no no.
“Well you can sleep in the car if you prefer.” He disappears into the bathroom and I take in the space. For the size of it, it's actually decently decorated. Little blue flowers sit in a vase beneath a window on the back wall, the sheets look clean and fresh and there's a large flatscreen hanging from a rack on the wall.
I shut the door in defeat, moving to my bag and unzipping it. Am I seriously going to share a bed with this guy? I barely know him. And what I do know of him, I don't like.
Flashes of heat dance through my belly.
Christ - of course we're not going to share a bed. I'll sleep on the floor. No, even better, he can sleep on the floor.
The shower sounds from the bathroom and I notice he's left the door ajar. Doesn't he give a damn about privacy?
Keeping my eyes firmly away from the gap, I take out my phone charger, plugging it into the wall and kicking off my shoes.
When Logan reappears, he does so in nothing but a towel around his waist. I survey his hardened abs, his torso glistening with water. I simply can't help myself; he's got a body that belongs in a fitness magazine. The sight does strange things to my insides and I'm suddenly furious. I'm certain he's parading around half naked on pu
rpose. But it's futile. My body may want his pressed against it, but my brain is not so easily tamed.
Arsehole with a pretty face. Remember that, Darce.
Springing to my feet, I grab some clothes and head into the bathroom, slamming the door and twisting the key in the lock. I sigh, breathing in the steamy air left behind from Logan's shower.
Alone at last. Just how I like it.
It's very difficult not to imagine Logan in the same spot as me, butt-naked, junk and all. Guy like that? Gotta have a wonky dick. All these cars and chiselled abs, they have to be compensating for something. With that thought in mind, I feel a whole let better.
When I'm freshly washed and my hair is hanging damply around my shoulders, I dress in my skirt and vest top and return to the room.
Logan's lying on the bed in jeans and a shirt, looking like he owns the place. I head to my bag lying beside him, thumbing through my clothes as I search for my hair serum. Logan shuffles up closer, eyeing my things and, without warning, snatches something from my bag.
“Woah Darcy, these aren't boxer short briefs.” He holds up a pair of my lacy knickers before his eyes, licking his lower lip.
“No they're not.” I snatch them away, my neck heating up. “Just because I don't always dress well, doesn't mean I don't know how to.”
“Then why don't you? If you've got stuff like this lying around?” He reaches for my little French knickers again and I tuck them deeper into my suitcase.
“Because...Well. Just – because. Alright?” I snap, my anger rising. I am not going into this with him.
“Come on, you gotta give me more than that.” He gives me a hard stare.
I sigh, exasperated. “Because I don't want guys like you looking at me.”
He frowns, seeming mildly hurt by my words. “And why not? What harm does it do?”
“Because I don't want a guy; period. No boyfriend, husband, one night stand. Nothing. I want nothing from men.”
He tilts his head to the side, surveying me. “Because you got hurt, right?”
I shrug, not wanting to say it, feeling pathetic.
“Just 'cause one guy hurt you doesn't mean the rest of us will.”
