by Vivien Vale
Where everything would finally be okay.
The months we were together were easily the most extraordinary of my life.
After everything blew up in our faces, though, I packed my bags and left Jason and plans for Mexico behind me, focusing on my safe life of deadlines and bills, awful spin classes, and too much wine. All I kept of our plans for tucked away in my heart.
Before he said it had to be Mexico, I asked him to come to DC with me.
“If you like it there, you could—or, you know, we could—stay for a while,” I told him. “We could come to Tulum once or twice a year for retreats and workshops. I mean, I don’t want to be working on Capitol Hill forever. I have, I don’t know, maybe five years left at most. Any longer and I’ll keel over dead, probably.”
Of course, I had more years of work in me than I realized. When I told Jason I only had five years left, I didn’t count on the promotions I received and the campaigns I got to run. I didn’t count on being given the lead to craft and lobby for the congressman’s signature legislation.
I didn’t count on years after the law had been passed, that it would be threatened again and again.
Of course, I didn’t expect that. Not after all the years we gave to passing it. I didn’t expect it to be gutted completely, not after I had given over my entire twenties to it.
But it was declawed, and I’m gutted. Effectively, everything the law was supposed to do has been undercut. It’s a nothing law now—it does nothing, it helps no one, and I didn’t count on how much that would hurt and how personally I would take it.
And, of course, I didn’t count on Barrett. I didn’t count on meeting him one random Thursday night at the Black Cat, and then I didn’t count on him moving in with me two months later.
I for sure didn’t expect to be his boss three months after that. Then, of course, I was surprised by the exquisite, piercing pain and humiliation of watching my relationship disintegrate in front of my colleagues, the congressman, and our entire close-knit staff.
And six months ago, when I thought the dust had settled, I should have known something was up when the voices hushed when I opened my office door and walked into the room where everyone but the congressman sat. Barrett is getting married to Melinda, a press secretary who works for a congresswoman two offices down. A girl, incidentally, I hired as an intern four years ago.
Of course.
And so it goes.
The happy couple should have said their vows this very afternoon. Melinda and Bare together forever starting this weekend.
Then I got the cryptic message.
Now or never.
I gave myself the week off and booked a ticket to the last place I ever thought I’d go: Tulum.
And if all my instincts are correct, at some point, Jason should appear.
“Uno mass,” I say to Miguel, making my American accent as thick as possible.
Miguel laughs at me gamely and takes his time making my third margarita. He slides it to me.
I incline my head. “Grassy-ass, sir.” And I wave over my shoulder back to my chaise.
I misjudge the distance and nearly fall back into the chair. My drink splashes.
“Shit,” I mutter, moving the glass into my left hand and licking the right one.
“I bet it tastes salty,” a voice says. A voice I’d know anywhere. The voice that haunts me.
Jason.
I can hear his smile.
I look up, and there he is, staring down at me, dripping from the sea like the most fucking gorgeous demigod you’ve ever seen.
Jason
Her tongue darts out to graze her lips, licking up the margarita salt still lingering there. My eyes are drawn to them, and instantly a thousand memories assault my brain, my body responding to them as it always does.
“You know I like it salty, Jason,” she replies, her provocative voice and suggestive smirk almost masking the shock I see in her eyes.
And fuck, if her words don’t make my already-stiff cock turn to pure steel.
Katherine fucking Aviva.
I want to ask her what she’s doing here. Why now? It’s been seven fucking years, and she just now shows back up in Tulum and gives me that irresistible smile, flirting with me about how fucking salty she likes it like no time has passed.
“What are you doing here, Kat?”
It comes out even harsher than I intend, and I’m certainly not trying to sugarcoat anything. But I need to fucking know. Did she get my message? Does she know what’s at stake?
Her smile falters for half a second, but then it’s right back in place. She leans back gracefully in her beach lounger and takes a slow sips of her cocktail, looking up at me from under the brim of her hat, taking her goddamn time.
That seems to be her modus operandi. It’s not like I actually believed she’d come like she said she would—after she’d done all the things she said she needed to do before she was ready to explore what else life had in store.
Whatever the fuck that means.
All I know is she was supposed to meet me here.
And again, it’s been seven fucking years.
Kat shifts in her chair, and I’m sure it’s a measured move because it has its precise desired effect. Her full, round tits bounce slightly, threatening to prove that no, string bikinis are not, in fact, made to keep anything contained.
And fuck, that sparks another round of images in my head. It’s like they’re coming at me from everywhere, attacking from all sides. The sexy intermingled with the sentimental.
In my mind, I see her splayed out beneath me as I drive into her tight, wet pussy, then I spray hot cum all over the most fucking fantastic rack I’ve ever had the good fortune to fuck.
My cock twitches with need.
That image is replaced by one of us on a dark sandy beach in the early hours of the morning, our slick, naked bodies twined together, and the crashing waves are the only sound we can hear over our thundering hearts. The whispered I love you’s.
My heart clenches with pain.
Still she says nothing.
Fuck this.
I huff out an angry breath and turn to leave without another word.
I’m not doing this. Not today. Not ever if I have a fucking say. It doesn’t matter how much is at stake.
“Jason, wait.”
The urgency in her voice stops me, though. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, the muscle in my jaw ticking.
There’s also a hint of nostalgia in the way she says my name. And a hint of pain.
Good. I hope she feels fucking miserable. After the way she just up and left me, sending me here then never showing, I hope she’s suffered through every single fucking day of the last seven years. Just like I have.
I sigh and look back at her. “What, Kat? I’m not in the mood to play your games.”
Her eyes drop to my cock, and I don’t even try to hide the fact that I’m hard. What does she expect? She looks just as fucking hot as she ever did.
Time’s been good to her. Besides, it’s not like she doesn’t know what kind of effect she’s always had on me.
“Jason,” she says again, standing this time and closing the distance between us. “I got your message.”
I look closely at her, seeing the same woman I knew seven years ago. But I see something else too—something new. She looks almost…haunted.
Well, welcome to the fucking club, baby.
The ghost of this woman—of us—has followed me around like a fucking albatross. All the things I could have done differently. The choices we should have made.
Fuck.
I draw in a sharp breath when she places a hand on my chest in a gesture so intimate, so familiar, it’s like no time has passed.
How is it possible for her to still have this effect on me? She’s sucking me into her clutches; I can almost feel it, with a single goddamn touch. It’s like she’s casting some kind of spell over me.
Kat reaches up with her other hand a
nd runs her fingers across my stubble jaw.
And I can’t take it. I fucking snap.
Too many nights of what ifs and could have beens are enough to make me see this for what it is.
A chance to make things right.
I don’t know what brought her here, and I don’t even fucking know what kind of chance we could even have after all this time.
The only thing I know is that there’s never been another woman like Kat. And I’d be a fucking idiot to walk away from her right now.
It’s like something in my brain shifts, and I stop thinking. I act on pure instinct, forgetting everything about why we’re actually here together.
Grabbing Kat’s hips, I dig my fingers deeply into the soft flesh and yank her hard against me. She’s not prepared for it, and she stumbles forward, clutching my arms to steady herself.
But it doesn’t matter because I’ve got her right where I want her—wedged up against me, my cock straining against her bare stomach, and those gorgeous tits pressed into my chest.
“Fuck, Kat,” I growl. I can feel how hard her nipples are through the thin fabric of her swimsuit. “Look what you do to me.”
One fucking look at her. That’s all it takes.
She lets out this sexy little whimper as she shamelessly rubs her body against mine. It’s like fucking muscle memory. Our bodies recognize each other, drawn together like magnets, responding with an intensity that takes me by surprise.
I’ve always told myself that if I ever saw her again, I wouldn’t do this. I wouldn’t go down this same tired road with her.
Lies, all of it.
Because now that I have her here in my arms again? I know exactly what to do with her.
Driving my hands into her long waves, I fist my fingers in the strands and yank her head back, forcing her to look at me. The gasp that escapes her lips makes me even harder.
I rock my hips into hers, wanting her so fucking bad. Then I lower my head, crushing my mouth to hers in a kiss that unleashes an unstoppable ache for more.
And I know it’s a mistake because this woman is my kryptonite. I’m like an addict finally giving in after seven years of sobriety.
But I don’t fucking care.
Kat will be mine.
Forever.
I’ll make goddamn sure of it this time.
Starting right the fuck now.
Kat
I want to be Jason’s.
All over again. Like the way we were before. My eyes droop in the pleasure that’s going to come in just a few seconds as his hard body begins to envelop me.
“Don’t you fucking close your eyes, Kat,” he says gruffly, and I feel his hands squeeze my ass harder. I squirm as my eyes open. I look him deep in his blue eyes, and I can’t help myself.
I’m lost—transported back seven years ago.
When we were happy.
Before everything went to hell.
Jason used to work for my father back then. That’s before Maurice’s men killed Daddy. I wonder to myself if Jason had still been working as Daddy’s bodyguard if he would have allowed the two black Lincoln Continentals to pull up on opposite sides of Daddy’s Mercedes as it idled at a red light on 76th and 5th Avenue.
Would Jason have been in the back seat?
No, he always insisted on driving Daddy when he was the bodyguard.
He probably would have seen something suspicious immediately. He probably wouldn’t have waited for the windows on both cars to roll down. He probably would have peeled out long before the guns were drawn and hundreds of bullets from automatic rifles were unloaded into Daddy’s white Mercedes Maybach right there in broad daylight.
A gangland hit, the newspapers had called it. Unseen in the modern era of New York City with the clean streets and broken windows method of policing. Well, this was broken windows, alright.
Jason would have stopped it if he were there.
But he wasn’t. He had already left.
Or…I had told him to go. The thing is, I never expected that he would stay away. I never expected that I wouldn’t see him.
I thought that we would be separated for a while, that I’d be able to meet him there when the dust settled after I told Daddy about us. He told me he loved me. He told me that he couldn’t live his life without me.
I was so stupid to send him away.
But things didn’t go the way I thought they would.
I told myself so many things during those first months.
I told myself that it was the best thing to do. That a mob princess wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her father’s bodyguard. That I was only doing what Daddy wanted when he forced me to stop seeing Jason. Kept me from following behind.
I told myself that we would never be happy. That I was going to college. I was going to leave this world of crime, I was going to marry a Vanderbilt or an Astor, and my husband would be senator.
Yeah. More like I was going to cry into my pillow for two years and then pine for the other five.
Until today. When I saw Jason.
My legs are shaking as I take in his scent. I can’t believe what’s happening. I want to hold onto this moment forever. I want to grab it and never let it go.
Because if I do—if I close my eyes for just one second—I’ll lose it.
“Jason,” I say slowly, my eyes looking into his. I can feel his hard cock pressing against my body. My barely there bikini is ready to fall off, and I honestly couldn’t care less who is around us.
No one else exists when I’m with him.
Jason only replies by pulling me closer, if possible.
“Jason, I want to say,” I start, not knowing what exactly to say but knowing I need to say it. “I want to say I’m sorry.”
His gaze changes. If anything, I can see him thinking.
Jason’s not a stupid man. He’s actually done quite well for himself after he was cast out by the family.
I knew he was always capable of so much more than what he was doing. He was never meant to be just a bodyguard. Just like he was never meant to be more than just a low-level enforcer.
But Jason had a hard life. Orphaned when he was five years old, he was taken in by the family. Raised as a future soldier.
By the time he was eighteen years old, he had made a name for himself on the streets. He ran the largest weapons running ring in the Tri-State Area—all under the watchful auspices of Daddy.
It was his guile and perseverance that first made Daddy bring him into our inner circle. To trust his life in Jason’s hands.
I knew that Daddy was old-school through and through. To him, it was inconceivable that a mob princess like myself would ever deign to associate with someone that did the dirty work. But I didn’t care back then.
I still don’t.
“I just want you to know, Jason, that I…I love you,” I say almost shyly.
He looks at me.
“I fucking love you, Kat,” he says to me. “I love you fucking forever and fucking always. Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”
This moment is perfect.
More than I ever hoped for.
I don’t think I could have even imagined it any better.
And that’s when the gunshots ring out.
The glass shatters on the bar next to us.
It only takes a second for Jason to look around and see what’s going on. There’s screaming and yelling.
I’m frozen.
“Get the fuck down!” he yells, throwing me to the ground. “Now!”
Jason
“Get the fuck down! Now!” I shout, instinctively placing one hand on Kat’s neck and forcing her to crouch. I hear more gunshots, the quick rat-tat-tat of semi-automatic guns drowning my thoughts and allowing instinct to kick in.
Reaching behind my back, I grab my Colt, my fingers tightening around the cold metal as my heart pumps boiling blood through my veins.
By the time I’m done, there’ll be a body count.
Grabbing Kat
by the wrist, I drag her behind the counter and release the safety of my gun, my back pressed against the wall.
“Jason, no!” she whispers, looking straight at me. Her face is as white as the first snow of December, and her eyes are wide with terror. Even though she grew up used to violence and corruption, she sure as fuck isn’t used to having a target on her back.
No wonder. She’s been trying to lead a normal life for years now—a life that wasn’t supposed to involve me.
But I’m here now.
And I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone come between Kat and me. Point a gun at her, and you’ve just signed your fucking death sentence.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she tells me again, placing one hand on my chest, right over my heart. “Not again.”
“You won’t,” I tell her with a slight nod. At the same time, I hear footsteps all around us, shattered glass being stepped on by heavy boots. If I stay here hiding, we’ll be doomed.
I need to act, and I need to do it right now.
I take one quick peek over the counter, and a fraction of a second later, I hear another gunshot. I duck just before a rain of bullets falls against the counter, splinters of wood flying everywhere.
I counted five guys, three of them carrying handguns while the others have sawed-off shotguns. They aren’t after Kat then; if that were the case, they would have just sent one guy.
No, they sent five assholes because they want to put me down. Well, that was a fucking mistake. If you want my head, you better bring an army of sufficient size.
“Don’t move,” I tell Kat as I reach for my boot with my free hand. I grab the small blade I carry there and, still with the Colt in my other hand, I take a deep breath and jump up to my feet.
Moving fast, I cock my left arm back and then throw the knife at the first guy I see. He tries to shoot all the same, but by the time his finger squeezes the trigger, my blade is already buried deep in his neck.
“Get him!” one of them shouts, but I’m too fast.
Digging my heels into the floor, I place the palm of my left hand under the butt of the gun and take aim. The first guy goes down like an empty paper bag, his eyes going vacant the moment my bullet pierces his skull.
