Paths (Killers #2)

by Brynne Asher

  “What’s going on?” Clara asks.

  “Yeah,” I add. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Addy moves to the door, waving her hand for me to follow. “You got a delivery and Evan said it’s something pretty! Well, he didn’t say pretty, but he did say it was pink and girly, so it has to be pretty, right? Come on, let’s go see what Grady sent you.”

  Why would Grady send me anything? He’s been with me constantly—sending me something would be silly.

  But I’m a curious girl nonetheless, so I hop up and am the first out the door.

  When I round the corner to the tasting room, I see them, and Addy was right—they’re pink and pretty. But they aren’t just pretty, they’re beautiful. A huge arrangement of pink blossoms are overflowing on the bar, but it’s not a bouquet. They’re brimming out of a basket and look more like a plant rather than cut flowers. It has to be over three feet wide and just as tall. I grew up with fresh flowers displayed in our house at all times, and this one would impress even my mother.

  My heart stops as I’m halted in my tracks, the rest of the nosy crew stopping with me. None of us utter even an ooh or ah, when the arrangement is completely ooh-and-ah worthy.

  This is because Grady is standing next to my delivery and I instantly know it’s not from him. Ever since I first laid eyes on him, he’s been grumpy, brooding, teasing, sweet, or downright panty-melting hot. But I’ve never seen him angry, and it’s radiating off of him.

  “Umm.” Clara breaks the silence from beside me. “I take it those aren’t from you, are they, stud muffin?”

  Grady doesn’t move, but his eyes dart to Clara and narrow.

  “No, I’d say these are definitely not from Grady,” Bev guesses.

  “They are pretty,” Addy adds, hesitantly.

  I feel someone touch my arm and hear Mary as she leans in close. “I think he might explode.”

  That was all it took.

  Grady crinkles a piece of paper I didn’t know he was holding and turns to roughly pick up the basket, heading to the kitchen.

  I move quickly to follow, calling, “Wait, what’s going on?”

  But he doesn’t wait or explain anything to me. Like he’s been in the kitchen a million times, he stalks straight to the back door where the loading dock is located. Right when I clear the doorway, I see him at the dumpster just in time to hear the crash as he violently slams the flowery pink plant inside.

  “Holy shit,” Clara mutters from beside me. I agree wholeheartedly.

  I move to Grady and look down into the dumpster where the plant is now mangled with all the smelly trash.

  But I don’t care about the flowers. I look back up to Grady because all I care about is him being upset. “Are you okay?”

  His rage is still festering, but I see him take a deep breath and he lowers his voice. “You’re not going back to him.”

  Confused, I shake my head. “What? Of course, I’m not.”

  He takes a step and his hand comes to my jaw where he levels his eyes with mine. “You’re not going anywhere without me, and I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  I lift my hand to gently give his wrist a squeeze and soften my voice to calm him. “Okay, but you have to tell me what all this is about.”

  “Oleander.” He lifts his hand up with the crinkled piece of paper to read it aloud. “My dear Maya—An oleander for you as a reminder of how anything around you can be deadly if you don’t choose wisely. It’s time to come home.”

  My eyes widen and he instantly crinkles the paper again, throwing it harshly into the dumpster, with what I now know is a poisonous plant.

  “It’s signed Byron Murray,” he growls. “He’s not getting anywhere near you. None of them are—I promise.”

  I exhale and nod right before he pulls my face to his where he kisses me—deeply and passionately—showing me he’ll take care of me.

  “Holy shit,” Clara exclaims again.

  “You got that right,” Mary agrees.

  Chapter 13 – Don’t Call Me A Carrot Cake

  Grady –

  This is the first time I’ve run since before I was captured.

  I’ve been a long-distance runner since I joined the Army at eighteen. The Army didn’t care whether I liked running or not. It had to be done and it was another way I could work at being the best, distinguishing myself from my peers. I’ve always been competitive, but that drive went to another level when I enlisted. I knew I needed something—a direction, a focus—and I knew I’d never find it in college.

  When my organization approached me, explaining a top-secret group wanted to discuss alternative career options, they didn’t have to ask twice. If there was ever a career created specifically for me, it was being a Soldier of Fortune. I was top-notch for nine years—on top of my game, had my specialty, and was in high demand.

  Until I lost my focus. I let the guilt fuck with me.

  When my fascination with Maya began, I’d notice her running every night. That turned into watching her go from camera to camera. I’d wait for her. Like a pathetic dog knowing it was time, there I was. If she didn’t come out for me to stalk, it almost hurt.

  So now, after all that, to have her close to me and actually be running with her? I can’t describe it, other than it feels like another piece of my puzzle has fallen into place. And after what happened with the fucking flowers today, there’s no way I’ll be able to tear myself away from her.

  I asked her to point the way, even though I know her normal course. I can’t let her know how much of a freak I am just yet. I keep her pace, which is a quick one, letting her lead as I follow. Now I’m glad I paid attention to the course so I’d know when to take the lead. Otherwise, I would be lost in the way her body moves effortlessly through the woods and hills.

  After we finish mile four, I shift next to her. When she glances at me, she narrows her eyes, and instantly quickens her pace. We aren’t jogging. She’s fast and efficient with her strides.

  We haven’t said a word since we started, which I’m thankful. For the next two miles, I focus on her breathing and match my pace to hers. I keep my eyes on the path we’re maneuvering side-by-side, letting myself absorb the feeling of being close to her, moving in tandem, like one, but still not.

  I do this for six miles, and the whole time I have to work at not getting hard. It takes all my concentration and strength—listening to Maya Augustine breathe hard for that long is not easy.

  We’ve just made the last bend and we’re getting close to her tiny house on Addy’s property. Since I’ve set my speed to hers, I can tell she’s picking up her pace. I wait for my moment since our path is a narrow one. As efficient as her footwork is, I don’t want to do anything to trip her up. I’d feel like shit if I won because she fell, even though there’s no way I’m not gonna win this race—not with our first date on the line.

  When the woods open into a clearing, I see her house in the valley. I move away from her and let loose. The last four-tenths of a mile goes fast, I hear her close behind me, but as I near the end, I lengthen my strides and I know I have it locked up.

  When I cross the drive where her compact car is parked, I slow and turn to watch her do the same. When we’re both stopped and facing one another on either side of her gravel drive, she puts her hands to her knees and breathes the word, “Shit.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday—date night.” My words come out quick while trying to catch my breath. It’s been a long time since I’ve worked out. “Be ready. I have plans for you and they don’t include a salad.”

  Her head pops up at the word salad.

  Her fair skin is flushed red
from the cold and the run, but her light blue eyes flare, and I can tell she’s pissed. Only, I’m not sure what she’s pissed about.

  “I’m gonna start running for time again,” she breathes, standing up and wiping her brow with the back of her forearm. “I hate losing.”

  She’s pissed because she’s competitive. I close the distance between us and she holds her ground, her face tipping back to look at me as I get close.

  Before I kiss her like I plan, she asks, “How’s your shoulder?”

  “A little sore, but I’m good.”

  She tips her head to the side and barely smirks. “I should be happy it’s sore since you beat me, but that wouldn’t be nice since you’re sort of my patient and you’re traveling all the way to Buffalo with me. And you’ve been kind of sweet.”

  I step closer. “Kind of sweet?”

  Finally catching her breath, her smirk turns into a smile. “Yeah. You’re like dark chocolate compared to milk chocolate. Or carrot cake as opposed to devil’s food with all the thick frosting.”

  I lose my smile and mean it when I say, “Don’t call me a carrot cake. That’s rude.”

  She grins broadly, taking a step back and throws her arms out low. “How about zucchini bread?”

  “Now you’re just being cruel.” I move closer, making her take a few steps backward up her small porch.

  She unzips a small pocket on her hoodie and pulls out a key. When she turns to unlock the door, she peeks at me over her shoulder and keeps talking shit. “Sweet potato pancakes?”

  When she opens the door, I follow her in and watch her switch on some lights around the room. “What is it with you and health food?”

  She tosses her key on the table and kicks her running shoes to the side before peeling off her sweatshirt. Between her leggings and compression shirt, it’s easy to see every contour of her body.

  “I have a minor in nutrition.” She puts her hands on her hips and changes the subject. “So, this date tomorrow. What are we doing? I have to work in the tasting room all day. By the time we close and clean up, it’ll be late. I guess I should’ve clarified that when I accepted your wager, but I really thought you’d be eating a salad. I shouldn’t have let you keep pace with me for so long.”

  “We aren’t seeing a movie and we don’t have a reservation. Whenever you’re ready is fine.”

  She smirks. “There you go again, being a candied butternut squash.”

  That’s it.

  I advance on her and when I do, her eyes get big, but her smile remains. She puts a hand up to stop me, but I move it out of the way and back her into the wall. With my body pressed into hers, I bring one hand up to her slim hip and place the other gently on the side of her face.

  When I lean in close, I lower my voice. “Do you know what I want?”

  Her smile shrinks. “No.”

  I lean in to kiss her so softly, her lips are barely a whisper against mine. “I want to be molten chocolate cake for you.”

  She sounds confused when she breathes against my face. “You do?”

  “I do.” I probably shouldn’t, but I press my groin into her stomach, not able to keep from getting hard when I feel her body against mine. Her face flushes, this time having nothing to do with the cold. “Warm and moist, with chocolate oozing out. Have you ever had anything so good?”

  Knowing full and well we aren’t talking desserts any longer, she shakes her head twice. “Never.”

  I let my hand slide from her jaw into her hair, tilting her head to me. Brushing the side of her cheek with my thumb, it’s all I can do to restrain myself from peeling her sweaty clothes off her and taking her against the wall. Instead, I let my hand on her hip move to cup her ass.

  This doesn’t help my resolve.

  I force myself to focus on her eyes that flare at my touch. “Judging from the interactions with your ex, this doesn’t surprise me. If you’ll let me, I can give you sweet.”

  Her tongue instantly appears, wetting her lips before she catches her bottom one between her teeth. I feel her hands grip my sides where she’s hanging on, but her voice is smooth and assured when she changes the subject. “What should I wear tomorrow night?”

  I squeeze her ass, loving the feel of it in my hand. “I like these.”

  She tips her head. “Are we running again?”

  “No. We’ll be eating, drinking, talking, and maybe eating some more.” I pull her away from the wall and fully palm her ass, making her eyes widen. I grin before leaning down to kiss her quick. “But I still like these.”

  She tries to look put out, but does it while suppressing a grin, and pushes against my chest. “I need to shower and you need to leave.”

  “You shower, but I’m not leaving. I’ll get in after you.”

  Her eyes widen. “What do you mean, ‘you’ll get in after me’?”

  “I mean, I don’t want to smell like this all night and I doubt you want me to, either. I packed a bag. I’ll shower after you. If you think I’m leaving you alone after what happened today, you’re crazy.”

  “But,” she starts before biting her lip again. I’m beginning to think it’s a habit and can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. I’d love to bite on that lip freely. “I feel bad, there’s nowhere for you to sleep.”

  I shake my head and turn for the door. “I’m not leaving. Either you shower or I shower,” I stop and look back before I add, “unless you want to shower together. I’m up for that, too.”

  She looks down and sighs.

  “Maya?”

  Looking back, I can tell she’s giving in because she raises her brows when she widens her eyes to silently acknowledge me.

  “I want to know about your family—more about Joe and what I should expect from your parents. We’ll talk about that as I watch your hair dry.”

  Again, she shakes her head, turning to her bedroom. But I catch it, the smallest of smiles, even if it wasn’t for me to see, just before I lose sight of her face.

  When I open her front door to go to my SUV and get my bag, I do my best not to think about her in the shower. Listening to her breathing hard during our run was rough enough, imagining her wet and naked is pure torture.

  I was serious though, I need to know what to expect from her family. Reading her background, I know her dad’s corporation has been listed on the Fortune 500 for years. Next week should be interesting, that’s for sure. I’ve got three days to prepare—she told me today we’re leaving first thing Tuesday morning. She’s got two days off work, that means we’ll be there for only one night.

  I grab my bag and the two sacks of food I picked up this afternoon. As much as my obsession has taken over, I’m not about to become a vegetarian.

  *****

  Maya –

  He licks me from my opening to my clit.

  Oh, yes.

  More, I need more. I try to lift my hips, but I can’t. He has me pinned—deliciously pinned to the bed with his big hands behind my knees—holding me wide open for his painfully slow ministrations to my pussy.

  I’ve never felt this before, I don’t want the humming to end. I want to orgasm, but I don’t want to lose his mouth.

  “Please,” I call to him.

  He says nothing, and I didn’t know it was possible, but his grip on my legs tighten, holding me stronger.

  Then he circles my clit with the tip of his tongue before lightly scraping his teeth across it.

  “Yes, that, more of that,” I beg, but he lets me go.

  I lose his tongue, his lips, his teeth, and his hold on me. But he does give me his weight—every beautif
ul muscle I’ve come to love is heavy and firm, pressing me into the bed. I bring my hands up to touch him, but I find nothing.

  I frown as I look up into his blue eyes that shine brighter than they should through the dark. “I can’t feel you.”

  “No, you can’t. But can you feel this?” He slides into me, and as he does, he presses on my clit that’s on the verge of igniting into a burst of hot sex flames. “Now you can come.”

  I lurch awake.

  Breathing hard, I lean up on my elbows to look around my dark bedroom where I’m alone. My door is still closed, thank goodness for that. My gasping isn’t quiet, and since my reality doesn’t include Grady’s face between my legs, he must still be asleep on my tiny sofa.

  I fall back to my pillow and squeeze my thighs together. I’ve never had a sex dream, wet dream, or whatever it’s called. Is it possible for a woman to orgasm in her sleep? If so, I’m seriously jealous. Why did I have to wake up right before the good stuff?

  I roll to my side and groan. It’s nowhere near morning. With thoughts of Grady between my legs and then inside me, I’ll never get back to sleep.

  *****

  “Give me a show of hands, who got Madagascar?”

  Grady raises his hand low, showing the world, or at least the brewery, he knew Madagascar produced two-thirds of the world’s vanilla.

  I raise a brow, wondering how he knew this bit of weird information.

  He shrugs as he picks up his water. “I didn’t know that one. That was a guess.”

  Grady has done everything he said he would. Last night after the nerve-racking ten minutes of imagining him naked in my shower, I watched his thick, brown hair dry into a perfect wavy mess before he ate enough for an army. He brought over a bevy of junk food, but he did eat two bananas with what looked to be a half a jar of peanut butter. I made a mental note to buy him the organic kind the next time I go to the store.