Deal with the Devil

by Stacia Stone

  Thank God for small favors. If I had to choose between facing down a murderous motorcycle club and digging a latrine in the woods, I’d be hard-pressed to decide which is worse.

  Leo opens his door, letting in a blast of cold air. He tosses a set of keys onto the seat next to me. “Go inside,” he says. “I’ll bring in all of the bags.”

  He disappears into the dark. The black silence is ominous, but I ignore the sense of foreboding. If I can’t trust Leo to keep me safe, then there isn’t any hope left.

  The front door has two deadbolts and a lock on the knob, each keyed differently. I unlock them with fingers gone stiff from the freezing cold. When I finally get the door open, I’m greeted with a blast of frigid air.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Leo laughs as he comes up behind me. His arms are heavy with my suitcase and two black duffel bags. “You’d make a horrible survivalist.”

  He drops the bags and heads straight for the fireplace. The stack of firewood is quickly depleted as he arranges the logs carefully in the fireplace. He builds the fire like he’s done it before, lighting it here and there and rearranging the wood until it’s raging.

  I yawn loudly.

  Leo glances over at me. “You should go to bed.”

  I’m too wound up for sleep. And I can’t deny that I’m hoping he’ll throw me down on the rug and ravish me.

  “I’m okay.”

  His expression brooks no argument. “You’re swaying on your feet. Go on.”

  I frown at him but realize there’s no use fighting. “Fine.”

  He watches me go, some dark emotion that I don’t have a name for swirling in his eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Leo

  I wake her up with my head between her legs.

  Mara hates having her pussy licked. Something about how it’s too invasive or too sensitive. She feels too vulnerable —exposed.

  Which is probably why I like doing it so much.

  She squirms underneath me, feet kicking uselessly as she writhes. But I’ve got her pinned down with just the weight of my body. She can’t get away until I feel like letting her go.

  “Stop,” she pants as my mouth moves over the soft skin of her thigh. “I can’t—“

  “You can.” I kiss the little bundle of nerves at her center, relishing the high-pitched shrieking sound she makes above me. “You don’t have a choice.”

  I love that she fights me like she has any chance of winning. There’s no biding her time or saving her strength for just the right moment. Mara is all in — all the time. It’s what I love most about her.

  Love. There’s that fucking word again. It keeps creeping back into my head. Probably because I can always picture her face when she says it to me. Fucking love, what did it ever do for anybody?

  I don’t understand love.

  I do understand the little frantic sounds she makes when my hands tighten on her thighs. My fingers squeeze hard enough that they’ll leave little imprints on her skin when I’m done. And I understand the desperate heat that pours off of her when my mouth descends on the fragile skin.

  Her hands twine in my hair and pull hard. I look up the pale line of her body. Her eyes are closed with her head thrown back. She has no idea what she’s doing. She’s all emotion and raw need.

  It’s intoxicating.

  I use the trick I learned a long time ago from a girl that used to work in one of the clubs Vito owned. You start making letters of the alphabet with your tongue. Mara is screaming and bucking before I get to the letter “D”.

  “Fuck.” Her head falls back to the bed, making her hair spread over the pillow like a waterfall. “Why do you have to do that? It makes me all wobbly.”

  “Maybe I like you wobbly.”

  I move up her body until my face hovers directly over hers. She’s fucking beautiful. I’m always a little surprised when I look at her. It’s like the memory of her face is too much for my mind to comprehend. Every time I see her it feels like the first time.

  And then I kiss her. Because I can. Because she’s mine.

  “Why can’t we just stay here forever?” She touches my cheek.

  “You’d like that, huh?”

  “There are murderous bikers looking for us, remember? Compared to that, this isn’t so bad.”

  I roll us over so she sprawls across my chest. “You want to go all rustic and live off the land? I hunt for meat and you skin it.”

  Her lip curls at that. Mara is definitely not the roughing it type. “Maybe we could find a Ritz Carlton to hide out in forever.”

  “If I can’t keep you out here barefoot and slaving over a hot stove all day then what’s the point?” She tries to punch me, but I easily evade the blow and grab her fist. “We could even get you one of those metal washboards so you can do our laundry out in the river.”

  “The river is frozen, you jackass.”

  “Yeah, it’s probably going to take you some time. Better get started early.”

  Mara casts me a mock glare, but I can see the laughter blooming in her eyes. “And why do you just assume that you’ll be the one doing all the hunting, you caveman? I know how to handle a gun.”

  “I know, sweetheart. Mack’s proof of that.”

  She grins. “I was actually aiming for his dick. That revolver pulls to the right.”

  My savage little darling. Mara can be truly ruthless when she needs to be. It’s probably the thing that I like most about her.

  Taking her out back to shoot off a couple of rounds probably isn’t a bad idea. Vito obviously made sure she knows the basics, but more practice can’t hurt. Given all that’s happened already, the day might come when I need to have her at my back.

  Her stomach growls loudly between us.

  “Hungry?” I ask as a red blush slowly creeps up her cheeks.

  “Shut up. If you’d taken me to the Ritz, there’d be room service.”

  That reminds me that we’re running dangerously low on supplies. I brought up as much as I could when we left town, but I’d saved most of the space in the truck for guns and ammunition. And a few plastic explosives.

  Priorities.

  I’ve been deliberately not thinking about any possible timelines, here. How long can we really keep this up? With each passing day, my hope that Mara will ever get back to something resembling a normal life gets a little dimmer.

  Eventually, I’m going to have to start thinking about getting my hands on fake passports and setting her up somewhere far away.

  Someplace tropical, considering how much she hates the cold.

  “I’m going to drive into town and pick up some stuff.”

  Mara pushes up on my chest so our faces are only inches apart. “I want to come, too.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “How are you going to know which are the right tampons to buy?”

  Is she fucking serious? The small smile on her face tells me she’s just messing with me. “I’ll just get you those diapers they make for old women who piss themselves every time they laugh.”

  The humor slowly fades from her face. “I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

  “I won’t be long, maybe an hour.”

  “Why can’t I come, then? I’ll stay in the truck.”

  “No, Mara.”

  It’s unlikely anybody followed us up here, but I can’t take the risk. I might be able to get myself out of a bad situation on my own, but those chances are much smaller if I have to worry about keeping her safe.

  “You can’t just make me sit here and wait for you. It’s literally torture.”

  Her voice breaks. I feel an answering crack in the ice that’s always around my heart. “It’s you they’re after, Mara. You’ll be safest in the cabin.”

  “Fine, whatever.” She rolls away from me, angry now. “But this is bullshit.”

  Fucking women. “Relax. I’ll be back soon.”

  “You better come back.” Tears gather like fallen stars in the darkness of her l
ashes. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

  A strange sense of foreboding rolls over me. The look in her eyes is intense and consuming. I push the feeling down with an effort. She’s being irrational. And what’s the other choice — stay up here and starve?

  “I promise, Mara. I will always come back for you.”

  It’s snowing when I take the newer truck down the mountain. Everything is blanketed in a fresh layer of white. This truck has better tires, so I’m glad I switched them out. Even if I almost flooded the engine trying to get it started. The thing has been sitting outside in the cold for too long.

  The snow is good, though. It makes the road harder see to see and the cabin more difficult to get too. Especially if you don’t know exactly where you’re going.

  Everything is going to fine, I reassure myself. Mara likes to freak out about being left alone. There’s no point in obsessing over it. She’s not a fucking psychic.

  Nicholville is a little rundown town. It looks like equal parts rusted out farms and crack dens. But they do have a little convenience store in the center of town, where I should be able to get the basics.

  I pass a historical marker on the side of the road as I enter the town. It explains that the place used to be called “Sodom” back in the day.

  Judging by the number of abandoned buildings and boarded-up houses that I passed on my in, the old name might not be that far off. God didn’t need to destroy this place with fire and brimstone. A shitty economy and rampant drug abuse have done the job for him.

  The convenience store is one of those places with cigarette advertisements and neon beer signs plastered on every inch of the glass front. They’re barely visible under the heavy metal bars that cover the windows. There’s an opening just large enough for the entrance.

  Only one car is parked in the lot and it probably belongs to whoever’s working. This whole scene is like something out of a horror movie. A deserted convenience store in the middle of nowhere, with pretty much nobody around. All that’s missing is some spooky music.

  The Glock is a comforting weight in its holster on my hip. Nothing obvious says that I’m in trouble. But I can’t fight off the feeling of foreboding that I’ve been carrying since I left the cabin.

  Fucking Mara’s got my head all messed up with that promise you’ll come back to me shit. Like it’s the American Revolution or some shit, and I’m going off to fight the redcoats while she’s left at home to wring her hands and tend to the homestead.

  The bored clerk is leaned over the counter when I go inside the store, reading a magazine. The pimple-faced kid, probably barely out of high school, doesn’t even look up when the bell dings over the door.

  I move quickly down the aisles, grabbing up things I need as I see them and tossing them in a hand-basket. It’s all no-name and off-brand shit at ridiculous prices. Mara’s gonna be pissed when I show back up with a loaf of “Whunderbread”. The thought of it makes me laugh a little bit to myself.

  The clerk barely looks up when I approach the counter and empty the little cart on top of it. He flips idly through the magazine. It’s one of those racing ones splashed with brightly colored sports cars in exotic locations. This kid must really get down for the wishful thinking.

  He scans slowly. The register makes tiny beeps with each swipe of his hand. I keep my gaze moving over the deserted parking lot. A snowplow rolls slowly down the street but otherwise, the entire block is deserted.

  That tickle of awareness still plays along the back of my necks like prickles of painful sensation. I’m probably just being paranoid.

  “Pick up the pace a little?” I say to the kid.

  He rolls his eyes but starts start scanning a little faster. Two or three items move across the glass every minute, instead of just one. I start bagging up the shit myself. That prickle of awareness has turned into a piercing headache that can’t be ignored.

  I need to get out the fuck out of here and back to Mara.

  Carmine had been kind enough to share some of the crazy shit he’d heard about Ares before I left that night. Ares isn’t the type of asshole who’s happy with just shooting you. He goes in for the most creative methods of torturing that his sick mind can imagine.

  Biblical shit.

  One story involved some guy who owed the club money and hadn’t paid up. A hit went out on the bozo, but Ares wanted him brought in alive. When Ares finally got a hold of him, he tied the guy up, covered him with honey and milk, and left him outside in one of those cast-iron tubs that was big enough for only the guy’s head to stick out. Thing is, he gave the dude water and enough food that he wouldn’t die right away. Then left him there swimming in his own shit until he was covered in flies, maggots, and worms. He literally decayed while still alive.

  According to Carmine, it took the guy about a week to die. Sick shit.

  “That’ll be $84.51.”

  I slide the kid a $100 bill and don’t wait for change. A blast of cold air greets me when I get outside. I’m usually pretty impervious to the cold. But today I feel the chill in my bones.

  The sun peeks out from behind the cloud cover.

  I see a flash of chrome between the boarded-up houses across the street. The grocery bags drop to the ground and the Glock is in my hands, so quickly that it’s practically one movement. I don’t care if I’m reacting to shadows or if the clerk watching me from inside thinks I’ve lost my mind.

  Sick nausea rises up inside of me. Mara’s face swims in my vision like a ghost.

  The throttle of several engines coming to life sends me diving behind the truck. A barrage of gunfire rains down on the front of the convenience star. I’m deaf from the sound of shattering glass and the loud ping of metal striking metal.

  I hope the clerk had the good sense to dive for cover, but I can’t worry about that now. Shots ring out fast enough that I know they’re using automatic weapons. Hundreds of them hit the body of the truck. I feel the impact each one vibrate through me as I crouch behind it. I make myself as small of a target as I can behind the wheel well.

  Several bikes shriek through the parking lot. Their wheels make crunching squeals into the fresh snow. I can’t make out how many of them there are, but I know I’m outnumbered. Fuck.

  A brief lull tells me they’re reloading. I use the opportunity to return fire with the Glock, my finger pulling the trigger too fast to really aim. I hit one of them and his bike crashes onto its side and slides another few feet with a loud screech of metal against the pavement. A momentary triumph runs through me, but it’s short-lived.

  I’m just leaning back to reload when an invisible force slams into my shoulder, driving me backward. Drops of red splatter on the snow like a constellation of stars.

  I’m hit.

  Fucking bikers! I’m determined to take as many as them out with me as I can. A burly asshole stands over the overturned bike with a sawed-off shotgun held in both hands. I put one right between his eyes. The back of his head explodes in a fine red mist.

  Another punch gets me in the gut. An answering fire blooms in my belly, almost doubling me over with the pain of it. I collapse against the truck and slowly fall to my knees.

  I don’t think about dying. Instead, moving pictures of Mara fill my vision — her smile and rare laugh, the look on her face when she told me she loved me. Why didn’t I ever say it back to her? I told myself that I didn’t know how I felt, but that was a lie. I was just scared. Terrified like a little boy of letting her carve a hole for herself inside my heart and then smash it to pieces.

  I am an idiot.

  And now I’ll never have the chance to make it right. All I want is to wrap her up in my arms and tell her I love her over and over again until she gets sick of hearing it.

  The pain is so intense that I can barely breathe through it. Darkness closes in at the edges of my vision. My last thought before I pass out is the sick realization that I’m about to break my promise to her. Like every other bastard in her life, I’m leaving her on h
er own.

  I will always come back for you.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mara

  I don’t really start to worry until the first hour has gone by.

  By the second hour, I’m a nervous wreck. I pace back and forth across the tiny cabin in circles, probably wearing tracks on the floor.

  I try to distract myself by imagining every possible reason that Leo could possibly have for taking this long to get back. Or at least, all the reasons that don’t involve him being dead. Maybe it took longer to get down the mountain than he thought it would. It has been snowing all day. Maybe the truck got caught in a snow drift and he’s digging it out right now.

  He took away my cell phone and probably tossed his too, so it’s not like he could call me to let me know what’s going on. It hasn’t been that long. There’s no reason to assume the worst.

  So then why do I feel this sense of cold dread like dead fingers moving up my spine. I’m not the kind of girl who gets crazy and sentimental, freaking out over every little thing. My grandfather was a mafia boss. I know when it’s time to be worried.

  But what the fuck can I even do?

  This is exactly why I never wanted to be with someone in the life. I’m not the good mafia wife who can get her nails done and drink mojitos with the girls while my idiot husband is off somewhere getting shot at.

  Dread and fear set my heard beating so hard that it’s a painful rhythm in my chest. I can’t take this. I have to do something.

  But what? Drive down a snow-covered mountain by myself with no idea of where I’m going. My sense of direction is nonexistent. I don’t even listen when people give me directions anymore. I get the address and just plug it into the GPS on my phone. The phone that I don’t have right now. I don’t even have access to a computer to maybe download a map. The cabin is wired for electricity, but there’s no computer or internet.

  At some point, Leo and I are going to have to talk about how his efforts to keep me safe always seem to just make things worse.