Tinged (The Electric Tunnel Book 3)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  She leaned back into the dresser, her warm, creamy skin tone a stark contrast to the cold steel. “When I met Nat at the park and we went for coffee, she told me if we were a romance book, we’d be labeled NOT SAFE. Our story isn’t for the faint at heart. Most readers would pass us over as another heartache tale. They’d call you out, label you the piece of shit they’d make you out to be with their words.”

  “Babe—”

  She shook her head. “But she also said that her story with Asher wasn’t safe either. And freaking look at them! Happy, making babies, all their dreams coming true. She said that sometimes from the worst pain, the most evil actions, happiness is born. She also said it was up to me to believe it or not; I just don’t know if I can. There are so many reminders. Lisa’s always asking me about over there, and Marta’s at the gym, and now therapy.”

  “Come here,” I said to her.

  She shook her head.

  “Come here.” This time I growled.

  She shook her head but walked toward me. Snatching her by the waist, I pulled her on top of me on the bed. With her thighs splayed on either side of mine, I resisted the urge to lift my hips and press myself against her. I wanted the friction, but I didn’t know what she needed.

  I stared deep into her troubled eyes. “Our happiness is born out of whatever we say it is. I was a piece of shit, but not anymore. You were something else back then, and now you’re not. It’s behind us. You have a lot on your plate. Take it easy on yourself.”

  “I want that happiness. I do.”

  I ran my hands up her side, the sheer white tank doing little to hide the heat coursing through her veins. “You’re getting it.”

  “I don’t want you to fire Marta.”

  “I’m not. I can’t.”

  “I know. She risked it all for me,” Lynx whispered.

  “For us,” I said, correcting her.

  “For us.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead on mine as she mumbled, “Love you.”

  I squeezed her tight, and her warmth lined up with my hardness. I shifted but . . . damn, I wanted to be inside her.

  Her lips found mine and laid a constellation of soft kisses everywhere. She tracked her way down my jaw and over my chest, moving further, sliding off my shorts.

  “I haven’t showered,” I choked out.

  “Don’t care. You’re all salty, all man, all mine.” She gripped me, wrapping her hand around my girth, sliding it up and down with just the right amount of pressure.

  My only thought was, Lynx is made for me.

  She brought both legs over to one side and knelt over me, bringing her mouth to my tip, her tongue fluttering out and teasing me.

  “Take me, all of me,” I said, my voice hoarse and needy.

  And she did. Lynx took all of me, her hand remaining steady on the base, her pinky finger tracing my balls. I could have blown right there, but I was a strong believer in ladies first. I let her lave and suck me a while longer, closing my eyes and enjoying each ripple of sensation that made its way up and down my spine.

  When I was close, I pulled her up and kissed her mouth, using one hand to push down her shorts, and found her ready for me. My fingers explored freely, eliciting moans from her until she exploded on my hand. Swallowing her moans, I turned her back to the bed, grabbed protection with one hand, and guided myself inside her.

  Neither of us made it anywhere on time that day.

  Two months later

  LYNX SAT in the wingback leather chair, her legs under her and her eyes closed. “I can’t seem to allow myself to forget or to forgive.”

  “Lynx, it’s not about forgetting,” her shrink said matter-of-factly. “It doesn’t even have to be about forgiving. You can hold yourself accountable. Something good came out of your transgressions. Sammy is home, safe, and near you. This is about saying it happened, putting it on a shelf, and moving on.”

  “What if I’m not supposed to move on?” Lynx leaned forward, the strap of her tank falling off one shoulder.

  “Are you here? Breathing? Living? Talking to me?”

  She nodded, shoving her hair into a knot.

  “Then you’re supposed to move on.”

  “I mentioned Marta to Mike. He feels bad. I could probably push him more on it, but I know I shouldn’t.”

  Dr. Jensen set her pen and pad of paper onto her desk. She wore her black hair in a tight bun at her nape, a small rosary hanging around her neck. “It’s clear from how you describe him, Michael wants everyone to think of him as Big Mike—strong, protective, blind to pain and suffering. But he’s not. Inside, Michael is a kind human being, once emotionally abandoned by his parents. Like your friend Asher you always speak about, Michael has a rescue fantasy.”

  “Do you think that’s what I am to him?”

  “No,” she told Lynx point-blank. “I think you’re the love of his life. Do I think what happened with Marta was smart? Probably not. But somewhere in his subconscious, he was saving another innocent young woman from the streets. Like he picked up the pieces for your friend Lisa.”

  Lynx nodded. She knew all this to be true, but was still was having a hard time getting over it. “I know, I know. I want to believe; that’s my problem.”

  “If you know, you can believe. Close your eyes.”

  With her eyes closed again, Lynx tried to push herself to a place of belief. It was like a bright light at the end of a dark tunnel . . . she could see it but couldn’t touch it.

  She’d been coming to therapy for a few months now, living with Mike for two of them, and she needed to put this to bed. All the worrying, thinking, rehashing was taxing her.

  “What do you see?” Dr. Jensen asked her.

  “I see a life, a good one, a decent one. I want to be done with all this—no offense. Like wiping sand off my hands, I want to brush this all away.”

  The doctor blew out a small breath. “Tell me about the life you see.”

  “Michael, older, more distinguished-looking, even more successful. A house by the water, a kid, my sister with us around a fire pit, making s’mores.” Lynx laughed on the last word. “You know, I’ve never made s’mores. I heard about them from the kids at school while growing up, and I’ve seen them at movies. I want my kids to make s’mores with Michael.”

  “That sounds like a wonderful life. It’s the most natural instinct to want more for our kids than we had.”

  Feeling a tear slip from the corner of her eye, Lynx kept her eyes squeezed shut.

  “But I have to say this,” Dr. Jensen said. “What you’re here for, what you did, it isn’t something that can be wiped away. Look at me, Lynx.”

  Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

  “Your past, your mom, the decisions you made, all of those are part of you. What we need to do is shelve the negative and ground ourselves in the positive. You helped rescue your sister, and you helped shed light on this situation. Your book would serve to help others. Speaking of which, what did you decide to do about the book? I know the deadline to let them know was a few days ago.”

  “I want to believe that. I’m reaching for that life. But it’s not easy. I have a lot of ghosts. As for the book, it’s a yes. I’m doing it.” Lynx finally smiled, and felt it reach her eyes. “Strange how I can be so happy about it, but I am. I feel like many tears will be shed, but the writing will help, I hope. Help others.”

  “I will help you. Putting your experiences and thoughts down in writing so others can learn will be cathartic, Lynx. I’m so very proud of you.”

  Lynx could feel herself practically glowing as happiness filled her veins.

  “I understand. Listen, our work may not be done for a while, but I believe you’ll be having a good life soon, long before we’re finished. A deserving life, Lynx, one with meaning and purpose. When the ghosts loom too large, we need to shut them down. Not with scratching our palms and looking for blood. With talking, long walks, meditating, making love, whatever works.”

  “Thanks,” Lynx
said with a nod, praying the woman’s words were true. Lynx had agreed to publish the book because she wanted good to come out of her undoing. She never wanted another young girl to be lured into sex trafficking, whether to make money or for any other reason.

  “It’s going to be an incredible journey,” Dr. Jensen said. “I can’t wait to read a first draft. So, when do you start?”

  “I’m going to take a break from school. It feels like I’m too old or worldly or whatever to be there. I’ll be helping Mike and writing every other moment.”

  “If it means anything, in my mind, you’re a pioneer. We need to bathe your mind in that thought, Lynx.”

  Lynx digested Dr. Jensen’s words. She wanted to devour them quickly, but she allowed herself time to savor each one.

  Was she a pioneer?

  She hoped so.

  LYNX LEFT her weekly therapy appointment, and rather than going to get a cup of coffee or call Sammy, she decided to surprise Michael.

  The hotel was close to opening and she knew he’d be there, alternating between Facetiming with Asher and pacing his office, talking with vendors.

  Settled in her car, she pulled out of the Miami office building and headed back toward South Beach. Once she was over the bridge, she decided to park near the coffee shop and walk over to the new hotel. As she neared the Fritz on foot, she heard a familiar voice.

  “Lincoln! How ya doing, babe?”

  Looking up, she caught sight of Bruno leaning against a fancy red car parked at the curb. Stunned, she dropped her gaze to the sidewalk in front of her as she kept walking.

  “Don’t ignore me, sugar,” he called out as he headed toward her. “I got a lot of calls asking me where the hell you are and when you’re coming back. I figure you owe me.”

  Lynx kept moving, not sure what to do. People rollerbladed by the beach, seagulls flew overhead, but no one paid any attention to the biracial woman being hounded by Bruno. That’s the world we lived in . . . selfish.

  “I don’t owe you anything,” she spat out, keeping her gaze down.

  “Oh, you don’t?” he said, his snide voice so much closer now.

  She shook her head, her gaze darting around, looking for someone who might help. Where’s a cop when you need one?

  “Talked to Zayid’s guy. He wants me to send over every dark girl I have in my stable. See what you caused? More girls to go, more chaos and hurt.”

  Tears stung behind her eyes at his words. “You caused that. Not me, Bruno. Why don’t you close up shop? Then more girls won’t go. And you should leave here.”

  She didn’t dare look at him for fear he’d sense her fear, prey on her weakness for saving others. Apparently, she and Mike weren’t so different after all.

  “Why’s that?” Bruno asked from directly in front of her. “Pretty boy gonna come after me again? I let him take Chantilly . . . who needed her, anyway? The washed-up snitch. But I’d sure like you back.”

  Furious, she stopped just a foot away from Bruno and hooked a hand on her hip. The palm of her other hand made contact with his cheek, the sharp slap resonating off the buildings around them.

  His eyes widened. “You bitch! Fucking whore.”

  Bruno brought up his hand to swing back, his fingers balled into a tight fist. He’d hit a girl many times before—Lynx had seen it.

  “Not so fast, tough guy,” a deep voice called out from nearby.

  I NEEDED some air. I’d been on the phone all morning with Asher, and his constant grilling was getting on my nerves. He should just come out and see the hotel for himself, but Natalie was keping him busy with supervising a teenage Quinn while she was chasing the twins and being pregnant.

  I got it, though, and I owed him the respect to put up with it.

  It was my dad who really pissed me off. I didn’t owe the ass a damn thing. When he called and said he’d love to come out for the opening, to show me what could be managed better, I fucking lost it.

  Yeah, he was the brains and brawn behind Wind Resorts, but I knew what the fuck I was doing. I’d been running a successful business for a while, and damn, Asher and I weren’t copying Wind Resorts. We had our own goddamn vision.

  On top of all that shit, Lynx wasn’t picking up her phone. She had therapy today, and then she said she was going to hang with Lisa. Now she was fucking MIA, and for some reason, the hairs on the back of my neck were prickling.

  Full of fucking nerves, I traded my jeans and Air Force 1s for running shorts and shoes. Tossing my tee on the floor, I grabbed my earbuds and went for a run. It was either that or hit a bottle of JD hard. The latter wouldn’t help anybody or anyone, only my battered ego.

  With rap blaring in my ears, I ran the concourse along the ocean, the sun beating on my back, zigzagging to avoid tourists and skaters. It was crowded, and I was trying to pay attention so I didn’t bump into anyone, until I caught a glimpse of long black braids and legs that went for days.

  Stopping dead in my tracks, I saw Lynx across the street, standing in front of the Fritz as she argued with Bruno. She had her hand on her hip, her jaw set away from him until in one quick swoop, she turned and slapped his face.

  I yanked out my earbuds and hauled ass over there faster than I’d ever run, making it just in time for Bruno to raise his hand in retaliation. Fucker could call my woman names, but strike her? No fucking way.

  “Not so fast, tough guy,” I said, wrapping my palm around his wrist and squeezing tightly.

  “Oh, look who it is! The pretty boy himself.” Bruno gave me a twisted smile only a sick fuck can make.

  “Shut the fuck up, Bruno.”

  I used my free hand to pull Lynx close, examining every inch of her. “You okay?”

  She nodded, her gaze on the ground.

  “Look at me.” When she didn’t, I gave her a little shake. “Look at me.”

  Of course, Bruno probably thought my attention was completely diverted, and he tried to skip off. No such luck. I’d been a fucking bouncer for too many years to fall for that one.

  “Not so fast, Bruno.” I grabbed him again and dug my fingers into a pressure point in his wrist. His knees buckled a bit but I wanted him alert, so I let go a touch.

  “Lynx, look at me!” This time I demanded her attention and got it. “Tell me what this ass wanted.”

  Not meeting my eyes, she muttered, “We’re making a scene.”

  “I don’t give a shit. Tell me.”

  “He wanted to know what I’ve been up to.”

  “And?” I asked her, ignoring Bruno’s wince as I squeezed his arm tighter. “He mention the sheik?”

  Silence.

  “Huh?”

  “Yes,” Lynx hissed.

  “Hmm, I thought I made it clear a while back, namely when I told you to get the hell out of town, to never utter his name again?” I eyed Bruno, and he refused to meet my gaze.

  “It’s my business, dude,” he squeaked out.

  “Not anymore.” I let Lynx go and said, “Go to the hotel. Call Sampson at the club and tell him to meet me at Landon’s in Lauderdale. He’ll know where it is.”

  I dragged Bruno with me to the curb, letting out a sharp whistle to hail a passing cab.

  No matter how hard he tried, Bruno couldn’t wriggle out of my grip. Without his gun, he was no match for me. He was nothing but a washed-up has-been, a weak excuse for a man.

  Over my shoulder, I told Lynx, “I’m taking a cab to Lauderdale, so tell Sampson to bring me a shirt and drive a car up.”

  The taxi wheeled over to the curb, and I dragged Bruno inside with me. “My buddy, Landon, he’s with the Feds,” I told him. “He’s going to take extra-good care of you.”

  Based on the look on Bruno’s face, it was almost as if I were the lesser of two evils when it came to him being on the wrong side of the sheik.

  LATER THAT night, Landon slapped me on the back. “Thanks, bro. Not exactly what you thought would happen when you went out on a run, huh?”

  “Not exactly.” I to
ok a deep breath and smoothed my hand down the front of the track jacket Sampson had brought from my office.

  “We got enough from his confession to keep this guy for a while. If his shit turns out to be good, we’ll have even more on him. Until then, we’ll be keeping an eye on him if he gets out of here.”

  Not convinced, I eyed Landon, and he chuckled.

  “Don’t worry. Lynx will be safe. This dude will more than likely be going nowhere fast, but if so, we’ll know it. Keeping eyes and ears on him.”

  “Lynx finally moved in with me, but I’m not with her all the time. I’m thinking about having one of the bouncers go around with her.”

  “She gonna stand for that?” He leaned back against his desk and scratched his scruff.

  “No.”

  “That’s what I thought. Sammy says she’s tough, a hard shell to crack through.”

  “Pretty much, but I always liked a challenge.”

  Landon laughed at that and pushed off his desk to show me the exit.

  Sampson was waiting for me outside, smoking a cigar. “Cuban,” he said as he winked at me. “The Feds got all the best goodies.”

  “I’m sure they do. Let’s roll.” I opened the passenger door to the SUV. “I need a fucking shower and to see my woman. You talk to her?”

  “Yeah, boss. She’s good, at your place. Doesn’t know you got Jovi stationed downstairs.”

  “Good.”

  Dusk was falling as he pulled onto the highway, the buildings lighting our way back south.

  I glanced at him. “You need to hire one or two more guys. I’m going to need someone stationed there a lot.”

  Sampson nodded. “Figured as much.”

  That’s how I knew Sampson was good people. He didn’t question me, just let me be. He’d been that way since day one, something no one else had ever done for me until I met Asher.

  “You know what, Sampson? I may have grown a pussy recently, but if I never told you before, welcome to the family, the Tunnel family. It’s the best fucking family to be a part of—”

  “I feel you, man,” Sampson with a grin.

  Leaning my head back into the headrest, I closed my eyes and prayed for my woman to be okay.