The Vigilante's Lover III

by Annie Winters

  I take a firm grip on both hips, squeezing. She’s spread wide, open for me. Just to torture her, I lean down and run my tongue along those tender exposed parts of her. They are mine, and even my jaded self revels a bit in the fact that they have only ever been mine.

  She seems none the worse for wear for having lost her virginity the night before. Her pain threshold is high, perhaps. Maybe that’s why she likes what she does. It bodes well for a Vigilante to withstand anything. And for Mia, maybe even to like it a little.

  My erection jumps at just the thought of it. I’ve unleashed every brutal instinct I’ve ever suppressed in the name of being a gentleman on this girl, and she wants more. I keep waiting for her to tell me to stop, to show any sign that I should go back to something more traditional, more vanilla, as they say.

  But she doesn’t. Danger is in her blood.

  She’s utterly still. Listening. I won’t give her a hint of what’s to come. Watching her glisten up with every new sensation is my obsession.

  This one last thing will require a bit of preparation. I have nothing on hand that is designed for what I’m about to do, but Vigilantes know how to craft a tool from whatever materials might be available.

  I snatch up one of the pillows. As expected, they are high quality and filled with feathers. I rip open the end. Mia startles a little at the sound.

  The feathers are light and soft. Perfect. She’ll think it’s a break from the more intense striking play, like with the belt. But she’ll be wrong.

  I jerk a tissue from a container next to the bed. I roll it in a line. To make the feathers behave, I grab a handful and dunk the tips in the watery remains of the Old Fashioned. The wet ends are much easier to tie together in a tight clump, like a feather duster. I knot them securely with the rolled-up tissue.

  I touch it to the tender spot under her chin.

  Her concerned expression softens when she feels it.

  “Ahhh,” she says, opening her neck to the sensation.

  She doesn’t seem to realize that there is not much that is more difficult to manage than a prolonged tickle.

  I drift down, encircling her breasts. She writhes a little, enjoying the soft caress.

  I dip it into her belly button. She smiles, almost giggling.

  I stay there a little longer, knowing we’re going from a tickle to a forceful irritation. Mia’s movements begin to become more forceful, trying to shift the prickle to new areas.

  It’s getting to her.

  “Jax,” she says. She’s still in the realm of normal sensation, unable to push past it. So far she’s enjoyed the short painful strikes of flogger or belt, but this is a whole new level. I will push her, just to see if I can take her into that euphoric space where pain and pleasure cross back and forth over the same threshold.

  I shift down, just below her belly, but not any farther. For a moment, she is still and patient, but then she begins to squirm again.

  Her breathing speeds up. She’s trying to manage it. I drop down, hitting her squarely where she is most sensitive.

  At first she moans, enjoying the attention to those delicate parts. But then she’s struggling against her bonds, arms thrashing.

  “I can’t take it,” she says. “I can’t do it.” Her voice is strained.

  I know she’s close to the end of her tolerance. I go a little longer, just a hair more. She lets out a low groan.

  I jerk away the feathers and smack her hard with my palm.

  She jerks up, everything quivering. Her whole body tenses and she cries out, her words unintelligible. I press my hand hard against her, feeling the shudders come over her.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she keeps going on. I stay in place, holding firmly to her, feeling her orgasm ripple out. Then I can take it no longer myself.

  I kneel between those soft thighs and thrust into her in one hard move.

  Mia lurches up against me, and I wonder if I am too rough for her so soon after last night. But then I have to laugh because she’s got her hands on me, pushing me in. She’s figured out how to get out of the belt and I haven’t even noticed.

  I pull the sleeve away from her eyes. “You amaze me, Mia Morrow,” I tell her.

  “Show me how much,” she says.

  I hold on to her hips and move in a steady, hard rhythm. Her breasts sway with every movement and I can’t look away. Everything about her is perfect, delectable. And mine.

  She sits up, holding on to me, bending her knees now so that she can move with me even with her ankles tied.

  I’m not sure who’s in control anymore now, as I’m getting lost in the feel of her breasts against my chest.

  My body moves within her, steadily, with increasing frenzy. Her breathing speeds up, and I can tell when this deeper, stronger orgasm begins because a low moan comes from her throat.

  I concentrate on taking her where I want her to go. Then, unexpectedly, she moves her head and bites me on the shoulder. Hard.

  Shit. That’s it, I unleash inside her. She shudders around me, and the room echoes with both of us going over the top. Her arms clutch at me, and I hold her tightly. We’re breathing at exactly the same rate, chests rising and falling in tandem.

  We don’t move for a moment, caught in that airless space of the aftermath.

  Then she draws in a breath. “Jesus, Jax,” she whispers. “You’re going to ruin me for any other man.”

  And I realize then, she’s ruining me too.

  8: Mia

  Mind. Blown.

  I try to pull myself together as Jax unties my ankles. “This was in one of the letters, wasn’t it?” I manage to say. “The ankles? The tickler?”

  His hand rubs my skin where the sheet has left an imprint. “I believe it was, yes.”

  “So you knew me before I knew myself.”

  He laughs. “I knew for damn sure you weren’t Klaus.”

  I fall back on the bed. “We’re going for him, aren’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do we have to? Can’t we just keep living like this?” I look at him. “Or are you poor now that the Vigilantes are trying to blow you up?”

  I think he will chuckle, but he answers very soberly. “I would never put my finances in the reach of my employer,” he says.

  He slides next to me, his head propped up on his hand. He trails a finger along my ribs, and I shiver. “Besides, do I seem poor?”

  “No.” I have no idea what it costs to stay in a place like this, having people believe you are royalty, and waiting on your every whim. “Is it worth going after Klaus?”

  Jax falls onto his back, his hands behind his head. I already miss his touch on me. I turn in to him and place my head on his shoulder. His skin is golden and smooth. He must have some Italian in him. Makes sense. De Luca. Plus, he’s going by Argetti now. It definitely works for him.

  His voice is low, a touch of bitterness giving his words an edge. “I’ve had everything I’ve worked for all my life snatched from me over one incident. I’m going to locate Jovana and Klaus, and I’m going to find out what the hell they’re involved in.”

  A huge lump forms in my throat and I can barely swallow around it. “I’m with you,” I say. “I can honestly say that I don’t care if I go down with you. As long as I’m with you.”

  “Dying is on the table,” he says.

  “I know it.”

  He turns his face to me. “There aren’t many people like you in the world,” he says.

  I shrug. “I guess people like us find each other, then.”

  He moves his arm around me and draws me firmly against him. This was what I wanted. What I hoped for. For him to acknowledge me. To show me a sign that he gets that we’re a fit.

  And I meant what I said. There’s nobody out there who will miss me. Nothing behind me is worth staying back for. Everything that might happen to me is out ahead.

  I’m not going to be too scared to run toward it.

  “When we get to the arena, I’m going to be loo
king for the two of them,” he says. “My aim is to get them to meet me somewhere less public. They probably know by now we’re not dead. I’m sure Vigilantes combed the wreckage of your house and know we got away.”

  I picture strangers going through my home and shudder.

  He squeezes me. “Judging from the last time Jovana went to a public MMA match to watch her brother, Klaus is against her being there. That makes them at odds with each other. We can divide and conquer. Klaus isn’t going to like you, because you already bested him once.” At that, I can feel Jax’s cheeks move into a smile. I turn my head to see it, but by the time I’ve moved, his face is serious again.

  He looks down at me. “He isn’t going to be pleased to see you again.”

  “Good,” I say, remembering his icky touch on me. “I’m already upset I didn’t kick him in the balls.”

  “You might get your chance,” he says. “Because you’re a special, they might treat you carefully. But they might know why you’re special. And we don’t.”

  “How can we find that out?” I ask.

  “Normally when records are wiped, even someone like Sutherland, who is in charge of the entire operation, can’t access them.”

  “Someone must be able to.”

  “Only the oversight committee can empower someone to open a record like that.”

  “But electronic records can be hacked by anybody,” I argue.

  He shakes his head. The sun is setting through the windows now, and the gold light warms our entwined bodies. “These records aren’t on the grid. They are on a single off-network, air-gapped machine, guarded like it could destroy the world.”

  “Really? Something about me could destroy the world?”

  His blue-gray eyes search mine. “Maybe. But more likely you are being protected. No telling why. It’s not something I come across very often.”

  “Huh.” I snuggle into his chest. Only after we’ve been quiet a while, the sun’s glow shifting to red, do I realize something important.

  Jax is telling me his plans. We’re going to do this thing together.

  9: Jax

  The arena is smaller than the ones in Vegas I’d been to back in my Vigilante days. The fighter culture was huge, but here it seems people don’t know quite what to expect as the crowd filters in and finds their seats.

  Down on the floor is the octagonal fighting ring. Installed overhead are Jumbotrons that will give close-ups of the match.

  Mia and I sit on the second tier near the back. It was easy enough to pick up a pair of scalper tickets, all cash and no trace of our arrival. I peer through a pair of binoculars at the crowd, scanning for Klaus or Jovana. No sign of them yet.

  “Can I try those?” Mia asks. She’s vibrating with excitement to be doing something other than being on the run. She bought a black “Strong Man” T-shirt without knowing a thing about the fighters and pulled it on over the silk number Armond sent. She’s a country girl through and through.

  She made me pick up a matching hat. Probably a good call. I don’t blend in well with the locals, even though I did put on jeans.

  I hand her the binoculars. “Don’t push any buttons,” I say. “Particularly that red one there.” I point it out.

  “What does it do?” she asks.

  “Poison dart.”

  Her eyes get big. “Maybe I shouldn’t.” She tries to hand them back.

  “No, no. We’ve got antidotes in the car.”

  She frowns, probably remembering coming out of her own poisoning after we escaped the silo. “Is there a safety or something?”

  “Vigilantes don’t believe in safety locks. Safe isn’t what you’re going for.” I consider the entrances and exits while Mia fiddles with the binoculars. There are many all around the arena. I chose these seats because they would be behind wherever Jovana would likely sit, hoping to be near her brother. But not at the far back, where it is easier to be spotted.

  An announcer comes out and begins talking up the fight. There will be six matches on the card. I thumb through the program. Jovana’s brother, Lukov, is third.

  I spot a familiar figure down low. Colt McClure. He’s the one who told me about this match in our helicopter ride from Vegas. He’s with another fighter I remember, Parker. His girlfriend, Maddie, is the one I helped recover after another fighter snatched her.

  I should have realized Colt would show. He can’t know about the altercation with the Vigilantes after I left his chopper. Although he might know that I destroyed his father’s car. I should wire The Cure some money for that.

  Colt scans the crowd but doesn’t spot us. I’ve chosen our location well.

  The announcer starts shouting into his microphone as the first fighter comes out of the tunnel and toward the center cage.

  A giggling woman in a sparkle-laden shirt, pushup bra, and at least a gallon of drugstore perfume plops into a seat near me. She’s followed by a guy in a ball cap. He looks like he may have had a beer or two in his lifetime. His gut hangs over a big silver buckle like it’s a knapsack.

  Mia glances over at her, sees the ten miles of cleavage on the woman, and her face contorts in a “whoa” expression. She looks at me to see if I’ve noticed. Ah, these relationship games. I lean over. “Switch that green dial to MMW and take a look at her,” I say.

  Mia looks at the binoculars and finds the control. Then, casually, she aims them at the woman. I can hear the mechanism adjusting from distant to close-up view.

  She jerks them from her face. “I can see her implants!” she hisses into my ear. She looks at the binoculars again. “What is this thing?”

  “Millimeter wave scanner. Been in airports since 2012.”

  “They can see through everything!” she says. Then she picks them up again and points them at my groin.

  “I think I like this,” she says and grins up at me.

  Then she frowns, aiming the binoculars at her own lap. She yelps and pulls them away again. “It’s like those ads in the back of comic books when my parents were young! They used to talk about them!”

  “X-ray vision, yes,” I say, amused. “I remember them.”

  Now she’s all curiosity, scanning around the arena. The first fighter strips off his sweats and enters the octagon in his fighting shorts.

  “I think he does steroids,” she says, and I have to cough into my hand to keep from laughing.

  She hands them over to me. “You should get back to business,” she says, then takes them back and switches them out of MMW mode. “Okay, now.”

  My lips twitch as I’m about to smile again. This girl is going to ruin my reputation as a menacing man.

  The lights suddenly dim and the music increases to ear-thumping levels.

  “And now it’s our homeboy, Jason ‘The Meatgrinder’ Jamison!” the announcer shouts over the din.

  Spotlights crisscross and focus on the boy, early twenties at best, as he heads up to the cage. I scan the seats ringing the stage. Colt and Parker stand and clap for him. There’s still a number of empty seats down low.

  Maybe she won’t come until Lukov’s match.

  I settle back in my seat. Might as well just watch the show.

  The ref brings the boys together and says something unintelligible, just a mumble of reverberating speaker noise. I glance over at Mia, who is rapt, sitting forward in her seat. Color washes over her as the lights pulse and move around.

  This feels so normal, so civilian, sitting in an arena attending a public event with a crowd. Beer guts, pushup bras, and all. I shift in my seat. It’s almost like she said last night, forgetting about the vendetta and Klaus and just living a life.

  I have more than enough money to last ten lifetimes, no matter what I do. We could do anything.

  She looks over at me and pats my leg. I take her hand and bring it to my lips. I can’t see her blush, but I know it’s happening by the way she casts her eyes down.

  Pushup-bra woman leans over the empty seat between us. “He’s a keeper,” she say
s to Mia.

  I’ve been exposed to a lot of toxins in my career, but her overdose of cheap perfume makes my head rush. Mia catches it too, as she absently brushes her hand across her nose.

  “I think so,” she says to the woman, or shouts it, rather, as the music has gotten crazy again now that the ref has stepped back.

  A buzzer sounds and the two men begin their patterns. One slams a hard kick into the other and the crowd roars in appreciation.

  I watch Mia’s reaction. I’m curious to see how she feels about violence, if she’s a shrinking violet who will look away.

  But she’s up, out of her seat, jumping up and shouting, “Kick him again!” The crowd all gets to their feet as the action in the cage gets more aggressive, the two men tearing after each other.

  Mia can’t stand still, hands in the air, yelling in chorus with all the voices around us.

  No shrinking violet here, for sure.

  The flying arms and legs slow down when one fighter gets the other in a submission hold, elbow locked around his neck, one leg wrapped around the other guy’s. They fall to the floor.

  Then suddenly the ref is on the ground, looking intently, and one of the guys jumps up, arms in the air.

  “What happened?” Mia asks. “I don’t get it.”

  “The other one tapped out,” I say. “Submitted.”

  I scan the arena one more time. Still no Jovana or Klaus. With the unexpected lengths of these matches, some ending in less than a minute, like this one, she should be here.

  She must have bowed to the pressure not to come, not with everything going on. She did, after all, try to kill us just yesterday.

  If they don’t show, I’ll have to decide on a second plan.

  10: Mia

  This is the coolest thing I’ve ever been to.

  The second fight goes longer than the first. These guys are super tiny, flyweights, the announcer says. The program says they only weigh 125 pounds, and that seems crazy. They zip around like acrobats, tossing each other into the cage walls.