by Wilde, Kati
Good. The plan is to roofie his drink. So if he doesn’t have one yet, that gives me a little more time.
He scans the crowd as he turns, his gaze sliding right past me over my head, as if looking for someone taller…then skipping back and down. His eyes lock with mine.
Probably because I’m staring at him. I can’t read his expression as he stares back—the only thing clearly written on his face is the damage that Paladin did. A busted lower lip gives him a pout. His left eye is partially swollen shut and he’ll be lucky to see anything out of it by tomorrow. Nothing permanent, though. Not like the scars that cut through his right eyebrow and carve a ragged trail across his cheek, as if whatever slashed up his face barely missed his eye.
Slowly that eyebrow rises. The corners of his mouth tilt into a crooked smile and he gestures me closer with a curl of his index finger.
My heart pounding, I force my feet to move. This is it, then. These are the steps that will light the match that burns the Cage to the ground.
I wish I didn’t have to burn with it.
He bends his head when I’m a step away, which brings him down a few inches, but he still has to half-shout across the distance and over the noise. “Does it scare you?”
Dying? Of course it does.
But was I that easy to read? “Does what scare me?”
“My face.”
Oh. “No.”
“You sure?”
I think of the blue-eyed devil, of how beautiful he was, and of how grossly creepy. I think of Papa and his elegant cruelty. “I’m sure,” I say—probably not loud enough for him to hear, but he’s watching my face so intently that he seems to get the gist, anyway.
“Good,” he says and grins, which is so bright and sudden that I can’t stop my grin in return.
Until blood starts dribbling from his lip. “You’re, uh…bleeding.”
“Shit.” Without any apparent effort, he turns and pushes aside three massive bikers crowded up to the bar and snags a paper napkin, then tosses me a wry look. “You should see the other guy.”
I laugh, remembering Paladin’s face—and his petulant insistence that this man only got lucky. “I have!”
His brows shoot high.
Oops. “I saw your fight!”
About thirty seconds of it.
He grins again and presses the wadded napkin to his mouth. “So you saw me win?”
“I did. And I’d love to buy you a drink and toast your victory.” Because Victor is very deliberately edging into the corner of my vision. “But maybe you’ll buy me one, instead? In a dress this tight, a girl can only carry money so many places—and pulling anything out of those locations in public might get me arrested.”
That earns me a laugh. “You know I will, darlin’. Come on.”
His big hand engulfs mine, lacing our fingers together. We don’t have far to go, just a few steps to the bar, and in his wake I don’t get jostled or groped. Somehow he even secures a barstool and quickly lifts me onto the seat, then spins me so that I’m facing him.
I try to catch my breath as he shouts to the bartender, lifting two fingers. All this time, I haven’t looked away from his face. His black vest covers a plaid flannel shirt. I take a second to check out his rank—Enforcer—and his name.
Stone.
“It’ll probably be an hour before we get those beers,” he says. “That all right?”
“I’m not in a hurry. Are you?”
“Not even a bit,” Stone replies, and everything about his posture echoes that statement. He appears completely at ease, even as his big body forms a barricade against the shoving crowd. A barricade that protects me, I realize—and creates a tiny, private bubble in this crush of people.
For the first time in months, I feel…safe. But it’s a safety that’s no more real than the safety of my locked cell in the stable.
All that matters is that I keep this man out of a similar cell. His eyes are hazel and flecked with green, and despite his easygoing smile, his gaze is piercing as he studies my face. “You aren’t here with a club.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only because if you belonged to someone, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight.” His gaze sweeps down to my hips before zooming back up. “You local, then?”
I’m a terrible liar, so I try to stick with the truth. “I’m staying at a place nearby.”
“Staying with someone who took you to that fight? Or you just like watching them?”
“Only in action movies.” I take the wadded napkin from him and press it to his lip when it starts bleeding again. “Not so much in real life.”
“You see a lot of fights in real life?”
Too many. My throat tightens, and I force a careless shrug. “A couple.”
“So you’d have preferred going to a movie over going to my fight. Even though I was stripped to the waist, looking goddamn sexy, and busting a fucker’s head.”
I can’t stop my smile. “But there wasn’t any popcorn.”
“Shit. Okay, serious question.” Stone catches my wrist, stopping me from tending to his mouth. My gaze flies up to his. That narrowed hazel stare bores down into mine. “You like action movies. So tell me—where do you put Die Hard?”
“Uh-oh. The question itself says that you want me to put it in first place. But I can’t.”
He looks pained. “Don’t hurt me like this, girl.”
“Sorry. But I’ve got to go with John Wick. Sure, saving your wife from thieving terrorists at Christmas is great. But John Wick lost everything when his wife died—and then they killed the dog she gave him.” I shake my head, then tug on my wrist until he lets me go. I apply pressure to his split lip again. “So watching him make everyone pay is just so, so sweet.”
“Aw, shit. I forgot about the dog. You’re right. That’s hard to beat.”
“You have a dog?”
His eyes soften in a way that makes my heart clench. “Yeah. A boxer, Daisy.”
“Here in town with you?”
“Back home.”
“Where’s that?” Hopefully somewhere he can get to easily after I warn him about what’s coming for him.
“Oregon.”
Crap. I’m not exactly sure where we are now, but I think it must be Arizona or New Mexico. “You’re a long way from home, then.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“What do you do there when you aren’t fighting?” I check his lip for more bleeding…it’s stopped for now. But he needs to quit smiling.
“I’m a lumberjack.”
My eyebrows shoot upward. “That’s still a thing? I thought Paul Bunyan was the last one.”
That makes him grin, but he doesn’t start bleeding again. Yet. “It’s still a thing.”
“Oh. I thought you might be enlisted.” Hoped he might be. The military could provide him some protection, surely.
His eyes narrow, though not in the same playful way as before. “What made you think that?”
“As you pointed out, you were stripped to the waist and damn sexy. So I looked hard.” Because they wanted me to recognize my target. But it wasn’t his face or his thick muscles that made the biggest impression—instead it was the same intensity that he focuses on me now. “I saw your tattoo.”
“I’m surprised you knew what it meant. You’ve got family in the service?”
I didn’t know what it meant; Victor did. That this man had been in special forces. I wish that was enough to protect him. But several of the other guys currently in the stable came out of the military, too. Crash has a tattoo similar to this man’s, though I’d never asked what it meant.
“A friend of mine was,” I tell him now.
“Does that friend happen to be the bastard who hasn’t taken his eyes off you?”
“What?” My heart stills. “Who?”
“To your left, a little farther down the bar,” Stone says without glancing away from my face. “Six-two, white, a high-and-tight, got ‘drill sergeant’ written all over
him. And dressed like that, he sure as fuck didn’t come on a bike. So I’m thinking another local. You know him?”
Victor. Not once have I seen Stone take his eyes off me, yet he’d noticed the guard watching us. Pulse thundering, I glance that way now, as if trying to be casual about it. But there’s no casual. Thanks to this microphone in my wig, Victor knows he’s been made.
The guard meets my eyes, then lifts a hand as if in greeting before turning his back to me. Because he doesn’t need to watch. He can still listen.
“Oh, him. No.” I return my gaze to Stone’s, find him watching me closely. “That’s my boss. He probably just saw me here and is making sure I’m okay.”
“And what about the asshole in that direction?” He tilts his head slightly back and to the left.
Utterly confused, I scan the crowd—and don’t see anyone through the mass of bodies. Though I know who it must be.
Hotel. Probably looking as out of place here as Victor does.
But I genuinely don’t see him. I don’t understand how Stone did. “I…don’t know.”
“All right. So just tell me straight out—is he your pimp? Because I don’t mind paying. But I like to know up front if that’s what this is.”
My mouth falls open. “You think I’m a prostitute?”
He shrugs those massive shoulders. “No insult intended. It’s honest work.”
If a woman chooses it, maybe. “I’m not.”
“Fair enough.” A brush of his thumb beneath my chin gently closes the outraged gape of my mouth. “Have you got a name, then?”
“Cherry,” I tell him, and when his deep laugh rolls out, my face goes hot and I push at his chest. “I’m not a hooker.”
Just a virgin in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Okay, okay.” His laughter settles but amusement still dances in his hazel eyes. “What are you, then?”
“Most recently, a nurse.”
“Yeah?” His brows arch and he gives me a once over, as if trying to match everything he sees—from the flaming red wig to the skintight dress to the platform heels—with what I just told him. “So that explains what pulled you in my direction.”
“What does?”
“A care-taking streak.” He gestures to his battered face. “You saw my fight, and here you are trying to patch me up.”
What else am I supposed to do when someone’s bleeding in front of me? “Or maybe you just seem like a nice guy.”
“I’m not.” This time his smile doesn’t hold any humor. “So if I seem like one to you, the men you know must be real assholes.”
I huff out a laugh. “You have no idea.”
“You want to tell me about it?” His voice deepens, his gaze steady on my face. “I’m real good at making trouble go away.”
Oh god. My heart twists up so tight. Because I wanted just one person who would help, before realizing I would have to be that person. But here this man—a complete stranger to me—is offering to make my trouble go away.
And he’s the one person who can’t help me. Because he needs my help.
I’ll be killed for this. But I’m suddenly glad that this man—Stone—is the one I have to die for. That it’s not someone like Tusk or Papa.
So I force a smile though my entire chest is aching, and continue flirting. “You look like you’re really good at causing trouble, too.”
“Guilty,” he admits. “So is that why you came over? Looking for someone to cause trouble?”
“No. Just…looking for someone who takes good care of his dog.”
“How do you know I do?”
“Because you’re trying to take care of me.”
“Well, fuck.” His big hand cups my cheek, his gaze searching mine. “That sounds like you don’t expect anyone to treat you better than a dog.”
I try for a bright smile and am pretty sure I fail miserably. “I’m just glad it was you who I ran into.”
“Yeah, girl.” His thumb rubs the wavering curve of my bottom lip. “I’m glad you did, too.”
And he kisses me. Just lowers his head and kisses me. In a crowded bar, with a million people around us, and while my head is filled with thoughts of saving him and dying painfully. I’m uncomprehending at first, eyes wide open and staring into the blurry image of his too-close face, while his firm lips brush over mine, back and forth. Gently. Not taking. Just teasing.
Or maybe soothing. Because the crowd fades away, and so does any thought of Victor, or dying, or the horrible reason I’m here. There’s just Stone, kissing me so tenderly. As if he thinks a harder kiss will break me.
It won’t. After all that I’ve been through, how could a kiss break me?
But maybe Stone’s kindness will. His offer to help me. Because suddenly, I want this kiss. I want to feel something sweet and good before I die.
And this is so sweet. And he’s so good.
My eyelids fall closed, shutting out everything but Stone. I say his name against his lips before fisting my hands in his flannel shirt and dragging him closer. A sigh of pleasure escapes me when his mouth coaxes mine open. Still tender, but not holding back now. He tastes like peppermint and the faintest coppery tinge of blood, his tongue slicking over mine in a way that makes a shiver race over every inch of my skin.
“Fuck.” The curse is nearly a growl as he breaks away, then comes back in to nip my bottom lip. “How the fuck are you even real? Looking like you do, but kissing like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve never been kissed by someone who wants you.” His long fingers tighten around my nape and he tips my head back, his gaze scouring my face. “Like you need to be kissed by a man who’s dying to get inside you. Do you?”
Breathlessly I nod. “Yes.”
God, yes. Because Stone takes my mouth again, and if this is how a man kisses when he means it, I don’t ever want to do anything but this, don’t ever want to feel anything but this. As if he’s consuming me with every hot stroke of his tongue, as if there’s nothing else in the world for him, either. No bar, no fight, no pain. Nothing but me, and his need for me.
His hand grips my ass and he drags me to the edge of the stool, his hips forcing my thighs wide. And oh god. God. He’s big and hard and when was the last time I felt like this? Fumbling around in the backseat of a car when I was sixteen? Dry humping a guy at a frat party? I remember the excitement of those encounters, the frantic heat, the wonderful sense that there was so much more to come, so much to look forward to. My entire life seems as if it’s been divided into before and after the Cage, and not once in the after has my blood surged hot, not once has sex been about pleasure but instead a horrible and frightening inevitability. Not something to look forward to.
And although this kiss won’t go that far, I love Stone in this moment for giving that feeling back to me. For making me remember a time when my body wasn’t going to be a prize, when rape wasn’t my only future, for asking what I want and letting me have that little bit of control again.
Yet even those fumblings and dry humpings weren’t like this as he leans in, so solid and strong. His erection grinds between my legs like he knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly what spot will send sparks flashing behind my eyes, my inner muscles tightening. Knows exactly how to make me pant against his mouth and helplessly rock against his thick inches, how to make my pussy damp and eager for him.
Damp? No. I’m so wet. Oh my god. Slick and hot and if he unzipped right here, I wouldn’t even say no. Instead I’d use him to fill this empty hollow ache. I’d wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips and take that big cock inside me, let his body finish what this kiss started. Let him consume me completely with every hard thrust, let him burn away the horrible here and now.
“Christ.” He groans against my mouth before taking another taste, then lifting his head to gaze down at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “You look like you need to be fucked. You need to be fucked, girl?”
My breath shudders wildl
y. In answer, my hands go to his belt buckle.
He suddenly laughs, catching my fingers. “Not here. Shit. No matter how hot tugging aside your panties and getting into your pussy would be.”
I can’t do it anywhere else. This is my only chance.
But even as I think it, that chance is fading. Reality is returning. Because I’m not here for this.
I’m here to save him. And to light the match that burns the Cage down…hopefully. Though I don’t yet have a plan about where to go from here until Stone rubs his thumb across my lips and says gruffly, “I just need to find my brother, tell him we’re heading out.”
His brother. Someone’s here with him. Relief rushes through me.
This will be so easy, then. I’ll go with Stone to find his brother. And then, as fast as I can, I’ll tell him what’s going on. Victor will rush in and grab me, but Stone should be safe if he’s not alone. Because I’m supposed to drug him, but our drinks haven’t even—
“Fucking finally.” He reaches past me, steps back with two foaming pints. “Here you go, darlin’.”
Crap. I take my glass, doing my best not to look in Victor’s direction. I know he’s watching to see if I roofie Stone’s drink.
The longer I play along, the longer Victor will let me be. “Getting through this crowd won’t be easy. Do you need me to carry that beer for you?”
In answer, Stone drains the whole thing as I watch in wide-eyed amazement.
“I guess you were thirsty,” I say when he slams the empty back to the bar.
He laughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let’s just say that I’m looking forward to eating something a little sweeter, but using what I can to hold off. C’mon, then.”
Taking my hand, he pulls me off the stool. Almost immediately I’m bumped from the side, half of my beer sloshing over the rim of my glass. “Oh shit!”
The biker who bumped into me—and whose jeans just got soaked—looks as if he’ll break my neck before his gaze lands on Stone, who turned back when I cursed. And it’s like a magic trick, how fast the man’s expression becomes apologetic. “My bad. Should have watched where I was going.”
