“I can, too. I’m the game’s inventor.”
“And what’s the score, Mr. Inventor?”
“Fifteen to one,” he said, choosing a number that wasn’t so high she couldn’t catch up, but wasn’t so low she could best him. “But because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll let you ask me the next question. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He tsked with false pity. “Another two points for me. One because you answered an unnecessary question and another because you fell for my trick. Better luck next time.”
“You dirty little swindler,” she said with a choked gurgle of delight that caused the muscles in his stomach to once again clench up. She tapped a finger against her chin, brightened. “Oh, I know! Will you tell me about your farm?”
“Of course.”
“Got you,” she said in a singsong voice. “Another point for me.”
Really will not laugh. “It’s situated miles from any other residence, and surrounded by rare clusters of trees.” Most forests had been burned to the ground during the human-otherworlder war. “There’s a natural spring that’s filled with fish, and birds constantly fly overhead. There are multiple flower and vegetable gardens, and there’s a pesky rabbit that likes to ruin both. I’ve named him Dead Man Hopping.”
Expression glazed with awe, she said, “I’ve never heard of such a promised land and cannot even picture its like.”
Maybe one day he would take her there.
The idea registered, and he froze. He’d once thought about locking her there, but now . . . he knew he would do no such thing. He wanted to have her there, yes, but he wanted her there of her own free will, happy and smiling. And naked.
“Do you have any secret talents?” she asked, unaware of his inner turmoil.
He had many secret talents, but there was only one he could share without scaring ten years off her life. “I can wrangle a bull with my bare hands.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Got you! That’s four points for me, for using your own trick against you twice, and practically in a row,” she said with a smirk. “And before you can ask, I’ll just tell. My secret talent is a backbend kick-over.”
He . . . had no idea what that was. “One day, I’ll want to see that.”
In a snap, all of her enjoyment drained. Her sparkle died.
“What?” he demanded, unsure what he’d done wrong.
“Those words . . .” she muttered. “ ‘One day.’ I hate them.”
“Why?” They were so innocent.
She waved the question away. “What’s, uh, your favorite memory?”
He wanted her back the way she was, and decided not to push for the truth. Not yet. Instead, he leaned forward, placing his lips at the hollow of her neck. “I’ll tell you, but I have to whisper because it’s personal.”
She shivered, the motion brushing her skin against his mouth.
He moaned. So soft, so warm.
She gasped. “Tell me.”
“What if I said it was when I kissed you?” he rasped through a throat gone tight.
Her pulse quickened, and he leaned back to study her expression. Spots of color had darkened her cheeks. Color that spoke of arousal, not panic. Exactly what he’d hoped to see.
“Was it?” she asked, hand fluttering over her heart.
“Yes.” And that was the truth.
“I would say . . .” She nibbled on her bottom lip, and his blood hummed with exhilaration.
Steady.
Another slow, luscious smile bloomed, lighting up her entire face. “I would say you owe me another point.”
A moment passed before her meaning sank in, and he nearly swallowed his own tongue. What a sneaky little vixen she was—a fact he liked. “What about you? What’s your favorite memory? And keep in mind, you’ll lose eight points if you refuse to answer.”
The nibbling started up again. “Do I get an extra point if my answer is the same as yours?”
Gonna kill me. “You get thirty extra points,” he croaked.
“Well, good.” She was the one to lean forward this time, warm breath stroking over his neck. “Because it is.”
The arousal heated, becoming white-hot, consuming. “Vika—”
In the distance, he heard footsteps. Moans, groans.
He checked the sky, saw that the sun was in the process of setting. Cursing under his breath, he dragged Vika to the center of the cage.
Her arms flailed as she struggled to remain upright. “What are you—”
“Lie down.” The moment he had her on her back, he stretched out beside her.
“The monsters,” she gasped.
“Concentrate on me.”
She paled, but she obeyed.
“What’s your greatest wish?” he asked to distract her.
The cage shook. Arms reached through the bars.
Vika looked, cringed.
Solo flattened his palm against her cheek, forcing her attention back to him. He marveled anew at the perfect texture of her skin, the purity of her features. “Do you want me to win?”
She shook her head, swallowed. “Well . . . for a long time, I wanted a baby brother. Then, after my father changed, I was happy I was an only child. I never wanted another child to suffer through the Wrath of Jecis.”
“He wasn’t always like this?” Solo asked, his thumb stroking her delicate bones. For once, he was beside her, her softness pressed against his hardness, and she was awake—yet still he couldn’t have her.
“No. He changed when he took over the circus. He actually wasn’t supposed to be the one to run it, because he had an older brother. But my grandfather and uncle died fighting each other during the passing of the scepter. Jecis was then thrust into the spotlight, and I guess he grabbed the reins of control with both hands.”
The change had to have startled a little girl unprepared for what loomed ahead. “I’m sorry.”
Her smile was soft, sad, and sweet all at once. “Thank you.”
One of the monsters stuck a leg through the bars in an attempt to kick them both to the other side, where other monsters waited, hoping to grab them. That was a new move. One he didn’t appreciate, especially when he was making such sweet progress with Vika.
Anger created little bonfires in already hot blood, the flames crackling and spreading.
He grabbed the monster by the ankle and jerked with all of his might. The leg detached from the body, and he tossed the appendage through the bars.
He regretted the action immediately. Blood had dripped across the cage floor. Worse, Solo had partially morphed. His skin was now red, and his fangs and claws peeked out. Vika had to be scared out of her—
“Do you have a best friend?” she asked him, as if nothing had happened.
For a moment, he could only lie there, staring at her. “You don’t want to discuss what just happened?”
“Why would I?”
“I just ripped—I mean, I just helped that creature shed twenty pounds in less than a second.”
“I know. You saved me. Again. So, a best friend,” she prompted.
Perhaps she would always amaze him. “John and Blue. They’re like brothers to me.”
“What about the names etched into your arm?”
“Mary Elizabeth and Jacob. My parents. They died in a car crash.” An ache in his chest.
Sympathy in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“I would have given anything to have them back forever, and still would. Or at the very least, to have them back for five minutes, just to tell them just how much I loved them and how sorry I was for my behavior.”
“I’m sure they knew how much you loved them.”
He hoped so. “I moved out at the age of seventeen, when I found out how much they were being paid to keep me. I thought they’d been nice for the money rather than because of any affection they had for me.” A supposition Dr. E had encouraged. “But my mother called me at least once a day. At first I ignored her, but
she never gave up. We started talking again, and she told me they’d placed every cent in an account for me. I felt so bad, so foolish.”
“But I bet she forgave you right away.”
“She did.” And Solo had fallen that much more in love with Mary Elizabeth Judah. “But one day she failed to call me, and I was out on a . . . I was unable to call her. Six days passed before I could get to a phone. She didn’t answer. I returned to the farm—and found her and my father inside their truck, deep in the heart of their land, smashed into a tree, their bodies slumped over in the seats.” He still wasn’t sure what had caused the accident. Not a faulty break line. Not gunshots.
They’d been there seven days.
After an autopsy, it was revealed that his father had had a heart attack and wrecked, and Mary Elizabeth had died on impact, her side of the vehicle taking the bulk of the damage.
“Oh, Solo. I’m so sorry,” Vika said again. She cupped his cheeks as he’d often done to her. “Such loss . . . it’s a terrible thing, something that hurts you on an indescribable level.”
Yes. “Do you have a best friend?” he asked, changing the subject before he broke down. He didn’t want her to see him that way.
“I . . . well . . . hmm.”
Surely she did. She was so lovely, so kind and perfect. People had to flock to her.
Although, she had grown up in an abusive home and such an upbringing could warp a person’s mind. It had John No Name’s. Solo had watched, helpless, as the happy, loving boy he’d met for the first time in Michael’s office all those years ago had quickly become quiet and withdrawn. And then the outbursts had begun. Anytime anyone had touched him, John had reacted with a cutting rage even Solo had not displayed.
Solo had no idea what had been done to the boy John had been, but, as many criminals as Solo had studied over the years, he could guess. And even after Michael had pulled John from the home and placed him somewhere safe, the boy hadn’t relaxed his guard. In fact, he’d become more determined to remain aloof.
John trusted no one, believed in no one, and believed the worst of everyone he encountered. That was no way to live.
Yet it was exactly how he had been living, Solo realized.
Solo wasn’t sure what was worse. His and John’s determination to remain alone, or Blue’s determination to have a partner, any partner. Over the years the male had plowed through women as if they were disposable tissues. He had lived with a woman for a year and was now engaged to another, but he had not been faithful to either one, choosing the job over romance, always doing what Michael told him to do.
They all had.
“You want the truth?” Vika asked, hesitant.
He pulled himself from his mind. “Always.”
Softly she admitted, “You’re the only friend I’ve got.”
The knowledge floored him. Humbled him. “I consider that a privilege, Vika.”
She patted around until she found his hand, and then she twined their fingers, shocking him, delighting him. He’d never held a woman’s hand, not even Abigail’s.
He brought her knuckles to his lips, kissed each one. “You would like John and Blue, I think. We’ve known each other since the age of five, and we’ve always looked out for each other. They’re big, like me, and they’re fierce, but they would protect you with their lives.” Just because he asked.
Her features softened, becoming wistful. “Once, I had friends like that. They were the animals I used to tend. The lions and apes and bears.”
This little fluff of nothing had handled dangerous predators? “Did they ever hurt you?”
“At first, they were quite leery of me. We soon got to know each other, however, and everything changed.” The wistfulness vanished, replaced by a dreamy haze that even saturated her voice, and he would not have been surprised to learn she had actually stepped from a storybook and the animals had followed, licking at her feet.
“You loved them?”
But even the dreamy haze vanished. “Yes,” she said flatly.
“What happened to them?”
“They died. The end.” The words, so sharply uttered, told him far more than she’d probably intended.
“Vika,” he said. For this, he would push. He had to know. “I’m willing to forgive you as easily as you forgave me, and you won’t even have to apologize.”
Her brows furrowed. “For what?”
“For . . .” Making my body ache and my mind crave an impossible future—
“. . . interesting me in your past, and then holding the stories hostage.”
Her lips curled in a sensual grin. “You want a story?”
“I do.”
“Give me one first. How were you captured?”
How much to tell her? “An explosion injured me. A man decided to sell me to Jecis, while I was too weak to fight back. Now, how did your animals die?”
A shiver moved through her, and she nervously licked her lips. “My father.”
Thought so. “He killed them.” A statement, not a question.
“He did . . . right in front of me. He even made me shoot my lion, One Day.”
One Day. Why were those words so—ah. He got it. The words made her think of her pet, of what she’d lost, of what she’d had to do.
Solo could feel the bones in his fingers curling, knew it was only a matter of time before the nails in his left hand dug into her pretty cheek and the nails in his right dug into the top of her hand. He withdrew both, flattening his palms beside her temples.
The action shouldn’t have been arousing, but it was. He surrounded her, was all that she could see.
“I’ve known people like your father,” he said. “If you stay at the circus, Jecis will eventually kill you.”
Twin spots of pink painted her cheekbones, and whether they were born of shame or anger, he wasn’t sure. “He wasn’t the one who beat me this time.”
“I know. Matas was, but your father has beaten you. Yes?”
She meshed her lips together, refusing to answer.
“Yes,” he answered for her. “You don’t deserve what they do to you, Vika. You need to leave them.”
“I will,” she said with the determination he’d come to expect from her. “And I told you, I plan to. I’ve been selling everything of value that I can, saving and hiding the cash as quickly as possible to buy a new identity and to be able to support myself. I have to be able to support myself. I don’t have any skills, and I cannot place myself under another man’s control.”
She wanted out, which he’d known, but she was wisely trying to achieve her goals, which he hadn’t known. Good girl. He was proud of her, and utterly relieved. “You nearly sliced off my balls when I grabbed you,” he reminded her. “I’d say you can protect yourself.”
“I also stabbed Matas,” she whispered, with just a hint of shame.
“I’m glad,” he replied, clearly startling her.
The suns began to rise, and the monsters began to back away. Perfect timing.
“You lack confidence, however, and I can remedy that.” He stood, held out his hand, and waved his fingers in her direction. This is dangerous. If you handle her, you won’t be able to mute your body’s reaction. Hunger will consume you. You’ll push her to do something she’s still not ready for. “I will teach you everything you need to know.”
Twenty
The night is almost gone, and the day is near. Therefore let us lay aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light.
—ROMANS 13:12
SOLO WAITED.
Vika resisted, clearly unsure.
“You have a kind heart, and you deserve to be cherished,” he said. “Until that happens . . .”
She frowned, eyeing him warily. “Violence isn’t always the answer. I’m too weak to defend myself against the muscle and brawn of a man. I tried, and this was the result.”
She’d gathered her courage once. She’d risked everything. She could do it again.
“You’re right.
Violence isn’t always the answer. But sometimes violence is the answer. Don’t ever go looking for a fight, Vika, but when it comes to something like survival, don’t back down when one comes looking for you. Your opponent will simply keep coming back for more and things will get worse. I know you understand and accept that on some level, or you would have reacted to what I did to the monster.”
A moment passed. She nodded, whispered, “But if I try, I’ll keep losing.”
“Of course you will. Right now you’re fighting from a place of defeat. You have experienced the same results for so long, you no longer expect anything different.” He’d done the same thing. He’d taken one look at her and decided she could never want him. He’d acted that way, too. Had spoken that way.
The moment he’d decided to fight to have her, things had begun to change between them. They had talked, and they had laughed. They had grown closer. Soon, he would have his hands all over her.
“You have to force yourself to stand up again.” He kept his arm extended as he told her one of the stories his mother used to read to him. It was one of his favorites, about a sword-wielding giant who had caused an entire army to tremble with fear. Along had come a young boy who’d had no formal training, but who had managed to kill the giant with only a slingshot and a stone, saving the entire army.
As Solo spoke, interest sparked in Vika’s eyes. “And you think someone like me can save an army?”
“I will give you something better than a yes or a no. I will give you something to think about. We have both admitted that we believe there is another world in operation around ours. I’ve seen it.”
“I have, too!” she said.
Her enthusiasm made him smile. “Humans, otherworlders, it doesn’t matter. At our core, we are spirit beings. We have souls and bodies.”
“That’s what I thought!”
“You are a spirit, eternal; you have a soul, your mind, will, and emotions, and you live in an aging body. Your spirit is attuned to the unseen world. Why else do you think you can see into it?”
“How do you know this?” she asked.
“My mother taught me.” And so had X and Dr. E. “I wasn’t sure I believed her at first, but intense study proved her right.” He’d wanted to know more about the creatures following him. He’d wanted to know whether or not he was crazy.
Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin) Page 20
