Guns & Smoke

by Lauren Sevier

  His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me close. My hands found purchase against his sun-darkened, taut skin. I shivered in his embrace, my heart hammering against my ribs. I folded into his arms gracefully, as if we were dance partners and we’d rehearsed this a thousand times before. Pushing roughly, I forced him into the stone wall at his back. My hands ran over his chest and down his thighs, searching for a weapon. They lingered greedily as I traced the midline of his jeans, feeling every hard inch of his desire for me and reveling in the smooth groan that explorative touch elicited from his open mouth.

  I swallowed the sound.

  He leaned down to kiss me, but I twisted my mouth away from him, a whore’s trick. Instead, I brandished my neck, and he needed no further prompting. His mouth was hot on my skin, and the rasp of his stubbled cheek contrasted sharply with the softness of his lips. The sensation drove my pulse to a frenzied speed, and a whimper fell unbidden from my lips. Strong, calloused hands roamed low on my body, squeezing tight and startling me as I was forced onto my toes. Our hips ground together slowly and methodically, a steady rhythm of small motions meant to drive me insane. Oh, it was working. His teeth nipped at the skin of my collarbone, forcing my eyes to flutter open. When had I closed them?

  His hand left my hips to slide the shoulder of my shirt over to expose more of my collarbone to his ravenous appetite. He dipped his head lower, his thumb tracing the hard point of my breast through my shirt while he showered my skin with scratchy kisses. A moan wrenched its way from deep in my gut, a husky, breathless noise more animal than human. Wait. The sound invigorated him, gave him confidence to continue. He pulled gently behind my knee and hooked one of my legs around his hip. One small change in position and now each of my soft curves was pressed intimately against the tall, hard length of his unyielding body. His blue eyes blazed in the dim light of the alley, reading something on my face that urged him on. This was supposed to be my trap.

  His hands were buried in my hair now, a thumb tracing over my cheek to land on my bottom lip. I knew what he wanted. Parting my mouth, I wrapped my lips around the pad of his thumb, my tongue flicking against it before sucking softly. A deep thunderous sound rumbled through his chest to shake me down to my bones. His hand in my hair slid to the back of my head, pulling my mouth closer to his. He wanted me to kiss him. He wanted this to be more than a transaction. He wanted me to want him back.

  I brushed my nose against his, and he stilled. All other motion and sensation forgotten as his eyes landed on my mouth, inching closer to his. I drank in the taste of his breath, a faint echo of the taste of his lips from before. My head tilted to the side, and he brushed the hair away from my face to see me more clearly as I angled toward him. He swallowed down whatever desperate words were on the tip of his tongue, and I took his chin in my hand, mouths open and millimeters apart.

  Click.

  His eyes widened as I pressed the cool steel of Selene to his temple. Shock and fury mingled in his expression until it almost hurt to look at him. Almost.

  “Sorry pal, you aren’t that lucky.” My voice was more breathless than I meant for it to be. It took a moment to disentangle myself from how fully we’d been wrapped around each other during our embrace. “Do what I say and no one has to get hurt.”

  My legs trembled as I was forced to carry my full weight again. I slid the neck of my shirt back into place over my shoulder, hiding my skin. Schooling my features into an unreadable mask, I willed my heart to slow down.

  Only I knew how shaken I was, how close I’d come to losing control. He stood to his full height, and it took all the strength in my bones to keep steady in the face of him. My gun stayed trained right between his eyes. He towered over me, all long and lean, the shadow of him blocking the scant light from the other end of the alley.

  “Toss over the bag,” I said, my voice hardened steel. No waver, no hitch, no sign of the fucking breathlessness that’d stolen my senses before. His eyes narrowed in a deep loathing that stung my pride more than I cared to admit. I leveled Selene and brought the hammer back, motioning for him to toss it quickly with a snap of my fingers. He hesitated again, and a cruel smile curled over my teeth.

  “Don’t pout,” I said, earning another hard glare. “You just aren’t my type. Now, toss it over or I’ll put hot lead between those pretty blue eyes and you won’t be anyone else’s type either.” He laughed at me, a short bitter sound. I didn’t like it, as if he were laughing at me and not his own foolish hopes. Tossing the bag over, he gritted his teeth together, a muscle flexing in his jaw, and he bit back words I was sure burned hot on his tongue. I almost wished he’d say them, that I could hear the ugliness aloud.

  Whore. Thief. Tease. Bitch.

  I heard them all in my head anyway. His eyes were shiftier now, dulled with a predatory glint that reminded me of a mountain lion Jones and I hunted once. My motions were long and slow, keeping Selene trained on him as I slung his pack over my shoulder and backed towards the street.

  “Well, it’s been fun. Look me up if you’re ever in Vegas again. We can almost fuck some more.” He swore under his breath. A pang of disappointment drifted through my mind at the knowledge that I would never see him again. Just as swiftly as it’d come, it disappeared.

  “Jesse?” The voice was small, scared. I whirled, flicking another hidden knife into my palm as a kid looked past me to the barely contained beast of a man held at bay by the vague threat of my tiny gun. Fuck. The kid’s innocent face crumpled when he saw my knife, and the last thing I needed was some brat’s wailing to bring the Crimson Fist down on us all.

  “Who’s the kid?” I asked through gritted teeth. My gun hand shook, and the echo of horrors in my past whispered towards me, threatening to swallow me whole.

  “My brother,” he answered, the words a barely veiled threat.

  It was the first time I’d heard Jesse speak at normal volume; it was a deep sound. Pleasant. Like listening to the rush of water echoing in a canyon. Rough enough around the vowels to be distinctly masculine, but with an oddly calming effect lingering beneath. The kid was blocking my escape, and the longer I stood here indecisively, the more I put myself at risk.

  “Motherfucker.” I sheathed my knife and offered the kid a placating smile before tucking Selene into my waistband. I held my hands up, palms forward, in a gesture of peace. “Listen, stay off the strip and get outta town. Fast. Whatever you do, keep far away from anyone with a tattoo of a red fist.” I pointed to my neck, still red from the attention his mouth had paid to the spot moments ago. “Here.” What was I doing? He didn’t seem to be listening to me, so I fisted my hand in the front of his shirt and pushed him against the wall. He bristled, his muscles bunching tight beneath his shirt.

  “You’ll get that kid killed if you don’t listen. Red fist tattoos, stay away from them. Got it?” I didn’t wait around to see if he would listen to me a second time. I scrambled back from him and shoved past the kid, ducking around a corner and trying to disappear into the crowd.

  “Hey! You!” he shouted after me. Curious stares tracked me as I ran faster. The recognition was worse than anything else; if one of the Crimson Fist caught a good look at me, they’d bring me back to Jones. Or at least they’d try; I’d made my mind up long ago that they wouldn’t take me alive. Seconds later, a hard fist yanked me forcefully back. I slammed into a hard wall of flesh, losing my balance. Another hard hand squeezed tight at my elbow, pulling me forward until Jesse’s furious blue eyes bore down on me and all my protestations died on my lips.

  Chapter Two - Jesse

  Striking, dark blue eyes stared at me with a mixture of hatred and surprise from beneath the woman’s dark eyebrows. The moment lasted a lifetime, before she lowered her gaze to where my hand clenched her elbow. My white-knuckled grip released.

  “I’ll need my things back,” I said, glaring down at her. From the moment I’d noticed the woman across the busy street, I had to find out more, had to know her. She was such a stark contrast to
the women I knew. Dark hair and brows above arresting eyes that were a shape unlike any I’d ever seen. I wanted to immortalize the curves of them so I could carry them with me. Her skin reminded me of white sand like on the shores of the lake back home. Clearly, seeking her out had been a mistake.

  “Not gonna happen,” she said, scathingly. She turned to stalk away, but light glinted off of the weapon she’d just pressed to my head. I yanked the gun from her shorts, brandishing it. She wheeled around, animosity tinting her alluring eyes as she looked between me and the gun. It was a dainty thing, small in my hand. A .22 caliber that I might break if I wasn’t careful. It may not have been the most effective weapon to take down a big predator, but it could end a life just the same. The woman straightened, her breasts straining against the front of her revealing shirt. She had a knife in her hand.

  A choked sound came from near my elbow. Harry. Fuck. I’d almost forgotten he was with me. Again. Even after months of traveling, I still wasn’t used to the responsibility of watching out for Harry like a parent instead of a brother.

  The woman’s eyes darkened beneath her deep-set brows; her eyes flashed to my brother and back to me again.

  “You see him?” I asked. “I’m the only person in the world he’s got, and I’ll be damned if I let some two-bit charlatan be the reason he goes hungry.” The smooth skin of her cheeks flushed, and her glare reappeared. Never before had someone looked upon me with such contempt. I was certain she hated me. Her gaze wavered as she looked at my younger brother.

  “Even trade. My bag for your gun. Otherwise, this is mine,” I said, checking the ammunition inside. When we fled from Montana three months ago, I didn’t have a chance to bring a weapon. Her attention was almost obsessive as she watched me manipulate the gun.

  “You really are clueless,” she said, throwing a sarcastic smile at me.

  Harry sniffed, a sure sign he was about to lose it. I stifled a sigh, steeling myself for yet another fit from a ten-year-old.

  “You just had to go and take all of the fun out of my day, didn’t you?” the woman asked, giving a sigh of her own.

  Her beauty struck me again. The women in Montana certainly looked nothing like her. Most of them wore conservative clothing. They were fair-haired and fair-skinned. This woman was the opposite. From the tight shorts accentuating her ass, to how her breasts threatened to spill out of her thin shirt, she was different. Seeing her for the first time was like snow thawing after a harsh winter, when the world felt right again after so long of feeling wrong. She cocked her head to the side, brandishing her neck. A temptation. One that had nearly gotten me killed.

  “Hand it over, farm boy,” she said, venom dripping from each word. “Before you shoot something off you might need later.” My grip tightened on the handle as she reached for the gun. I lifted it out of her reach, tipping my chin in defiance. I wasn’t giving her a damn thing until I got the bag back. Pop taught me that any good poker player knew how to bluff. This woman had obviously never played poker before.

  With a roll of her eyes, the woman tossed the bag into the dirt at my feet. She snapped her fingers impatiently. I handed her the gun and snatched the bag up, intent on getting the fuck out of Vegas. We should have never come here. When I’d seen the sign for Vegas, my father’s voice had come to mind.

  If you ever have the chance to go to Vegas, Jesse, go. Some of the best times I had were with the guys, playing poker for hours and winning almost every time.

  I didn’t know what I expected to find in Vegas, but being robbed and nearly killed wasn't it.

  Harry sobbed, pulling me out of my thoughts. The woman eyed him curiously, glancing between us before she put a hand on his shoulder and crouched down to his height.

  “Don’t cry, kid,” she said. Her eyes were alert as she gazed down the street behind me. She let out a defeated sigh, turning back to my brother. “Have you ever had buffalo stew?”

  “Who are you?” Harry asked. He took a loud, steadying breath. I grabbed his arm and tugged him away from the woman. He glared at me, shaking me off.

  “Bonnie,” the woman said, meeting my gaze. Curiosity barely veiled the distrust reflected back at me. “When was the last time y’all ate?”

  When my brother looked up at me, I shook my head. We couldn’t trust her. This... Bonnie. She was like a coral snake: beautiful, but deadly.

  “Days ago,” Harry said, defiance in his eyes as he turned to her. Bonnie didn’t respond. Instead, she stared down the road behind me, swearing beneath her breath.

  “C’mon, we need to get off the street,” she said, putting an arm around my brother’s shoulders and steering him away.

  When I turned to find what she’d cursed at, half a dozen men brandishing red fist tattoos and guns were thirty feet away, harassing a woman who carried a small bundle. While I didn’t trust Bonnie, I didn’t know that I could risk our lives running into the men she warned me about.

  “We’re not going with you,” I said, once again reaching for Harry. He twisted away from me.

  A scream stole my attention. I turned, watching as one of the men with a red fist tattoo ripped the bundle from the woman’s hands. The blankets fell away. A baby. The woman reached for the child, only for one of the men to press a revolver to her forehead. I grabbed Harry as a shot rang out, shielding him from the scene. Before the woman’s body crumpled to the ground, people descended on her like buzzards to carrion.

  “Suit yourself, pretty boy.” Bonnie started to turn but froze mid-step. Her eyes widened; tension snapped her spine straight. She grabbed Harry by the arm. “Change of plans. They saw us. You’re coming with me. Now. Keep up.” Before I could argue, she elbowed a man out of the way and pressed forward, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. I looked behind us to find the threat, but couldn’t see the men through the crowded street.

  Eventually her steps slowed. I trailed a few feet behind them. I was completely out of my element. Vegas was the first city we’d come across. Bonnie certainly seemed right at home as she navigated us through the busy streets. Every now and then, I’d catch her glancing over her shoulder. Sometimes she’d look at me, her eyes trailing the length of my body. Other times, she stared past me, eyes darting wildly as she inspected our surroundings.

  On our journey south, we’d traveled inside the backs of farmers’ wagons and on foot. Sometimes, people took pity on us and allowed us to sleep in their barns. So far, Vegas was the busiest place we’d been. Half-destroyed buildings lined the concrete street. Dust kicked up around us, as though the desert were trying to reclaim the city. A man was thrown into the street in front of us from a building with a big sign that said Casino! Women dressed in shiny, scant bits of brightly colored fabric and wearing feather headdresses gawked at the man as he climbed to his feet and scampered away.

  My brother peppered her with questions about the city and its people.

  “Ooh! What’s that?” Harry asked, pointing to a woman leaned up against the side of the building. She had a thick red ribbon tied around her neck. Her cleavage nearly spilled out of the confines of her dress.

  “Kid, you shouldn’t point at people,” Bonnie said, glancing back at me. Our eyes met. For a moment, I thought I saw a hint of desire. Then it passed, and she turned away again. I scanned the curves of her body, trailing from the neck I’d kissed down to the hips I wanted to clutch again. Desire flared in my stomach, threatening to boil to the surface. I had to stop looking at her. She steered my brother toward a big, rusty metal building with the word BAR spray-painted on the side. A single sign hung above the door.

  “Who names a bar in the desert the Drowning Camel?” I asked, incredulous. She didn’t acknowledge me. Instead, she shoved open the door. A bell rang as we entered. A half-stocked bar lined the back wall. Half-a-dozen tables dotted the room, occupied by a handful of people. I followed closely behind my brother, noting that everywhere Bonnie walked, the stares of the bar’s patrons followed her. Some gawked, but most only tipped their ha
ts or raised their drinks in her direction. As if they knew her.

  “Where are we?” I asked. With a mixture of contempt and amusement on her face, Bonnie guided my brother onto a bar stool.

  “Home, sweet home,” she said, flashing a smile as she settled on the stool beside my brother.

  What kind of woman called a bar home? Then again, Bonnie wasn’t like other women. She leaned over the bar, giving me a perfect view of her ass. It’d felt soft beneath my hand in that alley. I appreciated the view until I heard two glasses clink together. A loud thunk sounded as Bonnie set a half-filled bottle of whiskey on the bar. She glanced toward me, pouring two fingers of the amber liquid into a glass.

  “You gonna sit down or are you gonna stare at my ass all day?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. She poured the second glass and shoved it in front of the empty stool next to her. A man walked out from the back, eyes trained on Bonnie. He towered over the bar, his girth almost as great as his height. There were tattoos up and down his amber skin. I probably should have feared him. The man grabbed the whiskey bottle and set it back behind the bar.

  “Murph,” Bonnie said. “Can you get Beck to bring a bowl of stew for the kid?” She lifted her whiskey, but before she could take a drink, she stopped to stare at the man. He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. He looked at Harry, then me, then back to Bonnie.

  “You wanna tell me about this?” he asked, slapping down what looked like a poster on the bar’s surface. Tension seized her shoulders, but she shook it off quickly.

  “It’s not a very good likeness. They can’t seem to get my eyes right,” Bonnie said, knocking back the rest of her drink. She leaned over the bar once more and grabbed the whiskey to pour herself another glass. I reached around her to grab the sign.

  Wanted. Alive. Bonnie. There was a roughly sketched portrait of the woman beside me. I could have drawn her better than that. Beneath that was a list of crimes. Wanted in connection to acts of domestic terrorism, inciting a riot, and the unlawful freeing of slaves. Suspected in no less than three murders. My eyes were wide in shock. How could this little woman have done all of these things? This must have been what she was running from in the streets. There was a hefty reward for her to be taken in alive. Five hundred bits of silver.