Hell Hath No Fury

by RC Boldt

  Before I can turn around to flee the bar and put this insanity behind me, the door opens. A chilled breeze rushes in, tousling my hair, and I’m thankful for the extensions offering more protection against the cold air.

  As soon as the person steps inside, I feel it. The prickles of awareness that reach out like the most delicate and tantalizing caress of fingertips along my body.

  It’s him.

  I sense his approach, and he addresses me from behind. “Looking for someone?” His deep voice dances over my skin, and it brings an unusual combination of yearning, lust, and fear pulsing through my veins.

  Oh, God. I can’t do this.

  I spin around and brush past him. “I need to go.” Bursting through the door, I head around the corner of the bar and escape to the narrow alleyway, bracing my hands on the rough brick surface. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I sense his approach even before he speaks.

  “Everything okay?” There’s a thread of caution in his voice, as though he’s wary of me for some reason.

  “Fine.” Go away. Please. Just go away. Otherwise, I’ll give in to this strange attraction.

  Contrary to my inner pleading, his footsteps sound on the littered pavement, the crunching of leaves and old food wrappers beneath the soles of his shoes. He draws to a stop near where my eyes are trained on the ground, and I notice that his shoes are black, much like mine.

  He’s dressed similarly to last time and, as I slowly drag my gaze up his body, I take in his well-tailored slacks and the button-down shirt that peeks out from beneath a black leather jacket. That same beanie is pulled over his head.

  A shaft of moonlight casts over us, and I find myself wishing for more light so that I could fully take in the man before me. But that would be the most lethal double-edged sword because then he’d be able to see all of me, and with it come too many risks. The sight I’m granted is of that sharp jawline and a nose that’s a bit crooked.

  “I can’t do this.” The whispered words catch me off guard, and it takes a moment to realize they came from me. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  Eyes narrowing slightly, he spreads his feet apart and I recognize it for what it is. He’s readying himself, and if I weren’t embroiled in this internal conflict, it might’ve made me laugh. Because I’m not a threat to him. It’s quite the opposite.

  He’s the one who poses the ultimate threat to me, even if he doesn’t realize it. Even though he took no action whatsoever. By his presence alone, by the blatant masculinity and that oddly invisible tether that seems to reel me in to him.

  “Can’t do what?”

  The words explode from me in a surge I’m not sure I could tamp down if I tried. I lower my hands from the brick. “You! Me! I can’t do this! I’m not this person. I shouldn’t even be here, looking for you!”

  My voice fades as if my outburst exhausted it, and my tone turns weary. “I’m not like this. I mean, just look at me, for fuck’s sake.” I gesture to myself, to my attire, which contrasts so distinctly with his well-put-together outfit. My jeans, ripped in the knees, black boots, an oversized black turtleneck shirt beneath my peacoat, and a trucker’s hat covering much of my hair, with my green-colored contacts behind wire-rimmed glasses.

  He could easily stroll into a five-star restaurant, the kind with linen tablecloths and napkins, whereas I’d be welcomed at the shithole fast food joint down the road—the one that barely passes health inspections.

  Silence is the only thing that greets my outburst, and I internally cringe. His expression is indecipherable, gaze locked on me with a fierce intensity; it’s like he’s trying to peer inside my brain to understand me better.

  Good luck with that. I barely understand myself when it comes to this man.

  “What person?”

  I stare at him in confusion. “What?”

  He steps closer, and even that small movement appears as if it’s made with precision, carefully calculated. “You said you’re not this person.” With a brief pause, he tips his head slightly. “What person is that?”

  I swallow hard. “The kind who wants to…do things.”

  His eyes hold me captive as he steps closer, eliminating the distance between us. Nearly toe-to-toe, he doesn’t touch me, yet I’m hyperaware of everything. The way his fingers flex as if he wants to reach out to me and the slight tic in his jaw like he’s restraining himself. A breeze whips through the alley, and I catch a hint of his clean, manly scent.

  He eases me back against the brick, and if it were anyone else, I’d have already put them on the ground. Except with him, I don’t feel threatened. All I feel is arousal rapidly expanding within me.

  My mouth parts, breath stuttering in my chest, when he reaches up, eyes never leaving mine, to slowly turn my hat backward. With the brim no longer posing a hindrance, he lowers his head, our noses brushing ever so slightly, our breath mingling in the night air.

  “Things like what?” He doesn’t do anything else; he simply lingers, our lips so close yet seemingly a million miles away. “Like this?”

  A life that hangs precariously in the balance, when you live each day understanding the risks you take might end it all in the blink of an eye, changes a person’s perspective. Caitlin Ashford would’ve never come looking for a handsome stranger in a bar. She would’ve never entertained any ideas about touching him or letting him touch her.

  But with every day that passes, with every attack I pose on the Dixie Mafia, my pathetic excuse of a life comes closer to ending.

  At this moment, though, I’m held captive by the onslaught of yearning for the touch of a man who makes me feel safe. Wanted.

  A man who might be able to ease the sorrow that’s carved itself so deep in every fiber of my being.

  One who doesn’t see me as the murderer I’ve become, but as a woman.

  This won’t—can’t—go anywhere. I know that. And maybe it’s what drives me to move. Maybe it’s what has me closing the distance and fusing my mouth to his.

  The instant our lips meet, a surge of electricity courses through my veins. His hands move to my head, knocking my hat off, sending it tumbling to the ground before he takes control of the kiss. He steals the breath from my lungs as our tongues war with every decadent stroke, his kiss blistering me with heat.

  With large palms cradling my head, he pins me against the building with his firm body, unrelenting in his kiss that sends a bolt of lust straight to my core. Gripping the lapels of his jacket, the leather buttery soft beneath my fingertips, I tug him even closer.

  A torrent of sensations bombards me, and I realize this isn’t merely a kiss. He’s laying siege to me.

  This is a kiss that’s all-encompassing, and if I still had a soul, it would be stolen at this moment.

  A staggering reality strikes me: this is my very first kiss in over seven years. The last person whose lips touched mine were Deacon’s. Yet this man’s kiss brands my flesh, inciting riotous emotions pulsing through me, electrifying every part of my being.

  Our labored breathing echoes within the silent alley, and when he angles my head to deepen the kiss, I can’t resist diving my hands beneath his unzipped jacket. He’s so hard beneath my palms, a body like granite, and I yearn to have nothing between us, for no clothing to prohibit our bodies from touching.

  When my hands drift down his broad chest to his belt, the holstered gun has my movements stuttering briefly. I wonder if he’s one of the braver citizens concerned for their own safety and willing to stand their ground against groups like the Dixie Mafia.

  I can see it in him. The bravery. The unwillingness to stand by and let overgrown bullies, murderers, thieves run roughshod over this place.

  Even though my fingertips barely graze the holster, he stills at the touch, and his hand moves with such speed, his fingers cinching my wrist, that I draw my mouth from his on a quick breath of surprise.

  Our eyes lock, and my whispered words are earnest. “I wasn’t going for it.”

  Features
drawn, he holds my gaze unflinchingly, as if trying to determine the truth in my words. Finally, the tense lines between his brows subside a fraction, and one corner of his lips lifts in a barely there smirk. “What were you going for?”

  A huff of a laugh escapes me, and I avert my gaze, a sudden awkwardness rushing over me.

  With the hold on my wrist he hasn’t yet relinquished, he guides my hand to him, flattening my palm over where he’s impossibly hard. My head snaps up as my lips part.

  “Yeah,” he says in a gravelly tone. “You did this.”

  I can’t resist curving my fingers around him through his pants, molding my hand around his thick arousal. And when he releases a guttural, “Fuck,” arousal licks through my veins like wildfire.

  His mouth finds the fraction of skin between the top of the turtleneck and beneath my earlobe, and I tip my head against the unforgiving brick at my back to allow him better access. When he nips at my sensitive skin before soothing it with his tongue, I clench a hand in the fabric of his shirt.

  I stroke him through his slacks before unfastening them to reach inside and grip his rigid length barely restrained by the boxer briefs. His jaw tenses, and he rocks into my touch. His cock grows even thicker beneath the fabric, and those fingers gripping my hips turn almost punishing.

  “Fuck, yes,” he hisses a second before his fingers move to my jeans, unfastening them with an urgency that has me growing wetter, the ache in my core incessant now.

  Becoming more frantic with need, I tug his shirt from where it’s tucked and slip my hands beneath it to touch his firm abs. He sucks in a sharp breath when I make contact and rests his forehead against my shoulder, our combined breathing choppy and harsh.

  I’m not sure what urges me on, but I confess in a ragged whisper, “I know it’s cliché as hell, but I’ve never done this before.”

  When he raises his head, I can’t restrain a wince, expecting a derisive response. But those eyes blaze with lust, drifting over my features in a heated caress with no apparent hesitation or distrust visible. Instead, there’s a hint of what appears to be understanding. If he were anyone else, I might think he’s never done this either. But a man who looks like he does… There’s no way that’s even possible.

  He slowly slides my jeans low on my hips, dipping his hand inside my panties to delve between my legs. The entire time, his gaze never veers from mine. When he drags a finger through my folds, gathering the slickness there, he watches me while he nudges a blunt finger inside. The sound of my gasp has his nostrils flaring while his other hand flexes its hold on my hip.

  “You okay with this?” He grits out the hoarse-sounding words as if it’s taking a great effort to speak.

  Oh, fuck. The instant the heel of his palm grazes over top my clit, my body jerks in response, so hypersensitive.

  “Yes,” I breathe out. I reach for him again, and when I curve my fingers over where he strains beneath his boxer briefs, the rigid length leaves me aching to have him sink inside me. The thickness of his cock would feel incredible, stretching me, but I don’t know that I can do more than this.

  This isn’t like me. I don’t let strangers finger me in a goddamn alleyway. Yet somehow, he makes me forget all my misgivings. When he adds a second finger and thrusts both in and out of me, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit, I bite back a moan.

  In response, his mouth crashes down on mine, our teeth clinking, but neither of us cares. I clumsily stroke him through his boxer briefs as my tongue spars with his. The kiss is wet and messy yet exactly what I want and need.

  My pussy clenches around his fingers as pleasure coils tighter inside me. His cock thickens in my grip, and the feel of it, the way he groans against my lips while thrusting his fingers deep, pushes me closer to the edge. When he hooks his fingers inside me, I lose all semblance of control as shudders wrack my body. My inner muscles spasm, and I ride his fingers through the waves of my release until they wane, and he eventually withdraws from me.

  My chest heaves, and his mouth is parted as he struggles with his own breathing. We stare at one another, and I’m unable to tear my eyes away until a bitterly cold gust of wind whips through, slapping me with the awareness of how exposed I am. And in an alley, for fuck’s sake.

  What the hell was I thinking? Shit, shit, shit. Deafening alarm bells blare inside my head.

  I jerk away from him, releasing my hold on his hard-as-hell cock, and I rush to tug my jeans back up and refasten them.

  “This was…” I shake my head, partially attempting to shake off the haze of lust clogging my train of thought.

  This is so wrong. I just came all over a stranger’s fingers. And, yeah, it was hot as fuck, but I can’t do this. A warring sense of self-preservation and betrayal battle it out. Letting someone close to me in any way—especially like this—is far too dangerous.

  Turmoil spreads through me like wildfire. Avoiding eye contact, I release a silent sigh of relief when he steps back to fasten his slacks. I quickly snag my hat from the ground.

  “I need to go. I’m sorry”—I gesture wildly toward him without looking his way—“about not… Yeah.” Dammit. I’m hightailing it out of here, leaving the guy with a hard dick and likely a massive case of blue balls. But I need to go.

  I make it to the corner of the building before his voice stops me. By the way he hesitates and clears his throat, I can tell this encounter has thrown him off, too. “Will I see you again?”

  Without turning, I answer, but I don’t know what the hell makes me say it. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” Then I disappear into the night.

  In order to try to eradicate this lapse in my judgment, my misstep in maintaining my vigilance, I feel a driving need to dive headfirst back into my mission. My plans.

  I’m so close, and I can’t afford to have anything or anyone derail me now.

  26

  The Hunter

  Scrubbing a hand over my jaw, I try like hell to get my shit together. Christ, I’m harder than I’ve ever been, and it was all I could do not to come in my goddamn pants when her pussy spasmed around my fingers.

  In a fucking alley, no less. What the hell was I thinking?

  I still can’t bring myself to regret it. It was hot as fuck even if it wasn’t the least bit classy, finger-fucking her in a dark alley while she had her hand on my dick. The way she came on my fingers, the way she kissed me back like she was as ensnared in the desperate need for more of my touch as I was to feel her come apart… Fuck.

  Then I had to go and ruin it by asking her when I’d see her next. Goddammit. I’d sensed she was skittish from the start. Maybe that’s a part of what draws me to her.

  When she put her hands on me and got close to my holster, everything inside me froze. Because for a split second, I wondered if the universe was playing me like a dumb fuck all over again. Wondered if she’d been playing me.

  “I wasn’t going for it.” There’d been sincerity in her tone as she’d peered at me from behind those cute glasses as if willing me to believe her.

  And I had. Something in the way she’d said it, the way she’d looked me dead in the eyes had compelled me to believe it was the truth.

  Dragging in deep lungfuls of air, I glance around the alley trying to figure out what the hell has me on edge. Something pricks at my mind as if I’m missing a crucial detail somehow.

  Or maybe it’s the fact that this whole encounter with her—with a woman whose goddamn name I don’t even know—has me so off-kilter.

  “Fuck me,” I mutter. Smoothing a hand down the front of my shirt beneath my jacket and ensuring it’s tucked in, I stare down the alley in the direction she disappeared.

  It’s been so long, I can’t even recall the last time a woman had my dick this hard. And my interest in her wasn’t restricted to below the waist.

  I scrub a hand over my jaw before tugging my beanie down securely and set off for home.

  Get your shit together, asshole.

  As soon as I get
in the door, Kujo greets me, and I’m reminded once again that I left him here after our walk to seek out a nameless woman at a bar.

  Petting his head just the way he likes, I say, “Sorry, man. I did something I shouldn’t have.” I grimace, and my eyes land on my desk, zeroing in on the files beside the laptop that serve as a glaring reminder that I need to keep my head in the game. “I need to focus on the job and get shit done.”

  A few minutes later, after Kujo’s done his business and darted back inside from the cold, I peer down at my groin and know there’s no fucking way this is going down anytime soon.

  Stalking into the bathroom, I turn on the shower and undress quickly before stepping under the spray. The hot water soothes my muscles, but my goddamn cock insists that I take action.

  Body wash in my palm, I wrap my fingers around my length and glide up and down in long strokes, coating my cock in a slick lather. Fisting the base, I glide my hand along my erection before giving the head a strong tug. My balls draw tight, and I brace my other palm flat against the shower wall, letting my eyes fall closed.

  My mind returns to the woman from the bar. The way her eyes flashed with confusion and want in that alley. How soft her lips felt and how fucking good she tasted when we kissed.

  Lust spreads down my spine in a fiery heat when I grip my aching shaft. My cock grows heavy, and I give the head another tug, my hips jerking in response. My strokes turn firmer when I recall how snug her pussy felt around my fingers. Goddamn, the little sound she made the moment she came around my fingers, drenching them in her sweet wetness… I never wanted to be inside a woman more in my life.

  I trail my fingers down over my balls and run the pad of my thumb along the seam, my breathing turning shallow as my back arches. The idea of sinking inside her tight pussy, of having her beg me to give her more, pleading for my cock to fill her up has my cock hardening even more. I fist my cock tighter, stroking faster as my hips rock, my erection pulsing. I’m so goddamn close.