by Jessie Cooke
“Oh, no!”
He smiled and took another drag off the joint before stubbing it out on a saucer in front of him. “Yeah. Never saw it coming. Next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. My mom and my old man were praying over me. They all seemed surprised that I woke up. When they left to go home that night the nurse came in and she said there was someone to see me. She was all flushed and giggly...I didn’t recognize a woman in heat back then like I would now.” He chuckled.
“Anyways, I couldn’t even talk because I still had tubes in my throat, but she took whatever look was on my face as an okay to let him in. It was Bear. He sat next to my bed and barely said two words. For the next two weeks he did that every day and for some reason, just his presence made me determined to get stronger. I was disappointed when they were ready to transfer me to a rehab facility in Carson, but Bear told me he was leaving Vegas anyways. He’d joined the Navy.”
“Did he ever tell you why he came to the hospital?”
Saint shook his head. With a small smile on his face he said, “Nope. We never talked about it. Honestly, we talked less in that two weeks than you and me have talked right now. But somehow, he just knew that I needed...someone like him. Before he left, he gave me the mailing address where he’d be at in boot camp. I wrote dozens of letters over the next few years, and only got one back. It was short, clipped even...it was so Bear.” He laughed. “I honestly thought I’d never see or hear from him again. I figured he’d just felt sorry for me and then moved on with his life.
“The day I turned eighteen, I was also graduating from high school. I’d told him that in one of my letters. I guess part of me hoped that he’d show up, but I never in a million years thought he would. I have still never been as shocked as I was when I saw that big shadow and looked up at this giant in his dress uniform, covered in medals...and knew he was there for me. I realized right then that we’d been friends all along...but Bear just shows his affection in ways that other people don’t understand.” He chuckled again and said, “I’m not a superstitious person. I was raised to believe in black, white, and the Holy Bible. But sometimes I think it was some kind of a cosmic thing that we met...fate or some shit. We still don’t say much to each other, but there’s never been a time when I needed him that he wasn’t there...and, I hope, vice versa.”
Paige was touched on a level of herself that she wasn’t even sure existed. Two men, so different...one of them aching to belong, and the other searching for...? She didn’t know what Garrett was searching for, but she thought it was beautiful that he and Saint had found each other and stayed so close for so long nonetheless. After that conversation, Saint went outside for a while and chopped wood and Paige tried to read and keep her mind off Garrett...but it was impossible. His presence was as large when he was absent as it was when he was in the room. She found herself aching to see him, missing him, and trying to be more like Saint. Why waste time wondering why? Maybe Garrett was sent to be her savior too. Maybe that’s what he did, who he was. Maybe she was just looking for a rational explanation for the strong feelings she had for someone who was practically a stranger. Maybe...
16
Garrett parked the dark car in the shadows at the end of the block at exactly eleven p.m. He’d noticed the darkened corner his first night following Ewell. The streetlight was out and luckily, no one from the city or county had replaced the bulb. He was dressed in black from head to toe and his hair was tucked up into a black ski cap. Thankfully it was winter in Vegas; just in case he passed anyone, he wouldn’t look too out of place. He pulled a black duffel bag out of the back of the car and slung it over his shoulder before slamming the door closed. He hit the lock button on the fob when he was five feet away from the car without missing a step toward his destination. He could see the man coming from the opposite direction...right on time. Garrett had not only watched Ewell, he had kept an eye on his neighbors as well. The man coming toward him lived in the building across the street and at precisely eleven o’clock every night, he arrived home from work. He parked in a garage down the street and walked up to his building, which took him almost exactly three minutes every time. When he got there, he put his code into the security door and stepped inside, letting the door swing closed behind him as he went through the next door simultaneously. Tonight, Garrett passed the man with his head down and a hurried step, but the second the man pulled open the outside door, Garrett turned around. The man stepped inside and before the outside door clicked shut, he was pulling open the one inside. Garrett’s glove floated noiselessly to the floor just inside the outside door, catching the door before it latched. He counted off five seconds, long enough for the working man to hit the stairwell, and then he slipped inside. He wasn’t surprised when he pulled the inside door and it opened. This wasn’t his first time in the building. He never worked on assumptions and he never left anything to chance.
Once he was in the hallway, he kept his head down so that all the police would see when they pulled the security video was a big man all dressed in black. When he got to the stairwell he pulled open the door with his gloved hand and slipped inside. The building was twenty stories tall. Garrett would be going up twenty-one flights to the roof. He was sweating but not winded when he got to the top and pushed open the outside door. The cool air felt good and as he breathed it in, he also caught the scent of the ten cannabis plants that he’d found growing underneath a homemade tarp and bright lights around the far side of the heating vents. The marijuana farmer would soon be out of business; as soon as the police figured out the trajectory of the bullet, this roof would be the first place they’d look for clues. Garrett knew they wouldn’t find any...but at least with the cannabis plants, their trip up the twenty-one flights won’t be for naught.
Garrett went left and found the spot where he’d made an almost invisible white dot the night before. He dropped the duffel bag, unzipped it, and took out a plastic baggie. Inside the baggie was a small towel with solution already soaked into it. He used it to remove the dot from the cement and then he put it back into the baggie and dropped it down into the duffel. Once that was done, he took out the pieces of his rifle and began assembling it. He smiled as he put the gun together and thought about the conversation he’d had earlier with his daughter. Her preschool was doing a Thanksgiving luncheon in two weeks and the parents were invited. Lee Anne had to work, but Jessie wanted Garrett to be there. The idea of sitting around a table with all of those “normal” parents sent a shudder down his spine. But when his little girl had said to him, “I told all my friends that my daddy was a giant, but they don’t believe me. I can’t wait for them to see you. I’m going to tell Markie Stewart he was wrong, and I was right, straight to his stupid face.” Garrett almost told her not to say “stupid,” but then he decided who was he to judge her use of adjectives? Maybe Markie Stewart did have a stupid face. “Will you come, Daddy, please?” There was no way he could say no. The suicide could always wait...if he decided to go through with it after all.
Once he had the rifle assembled, he set it down on top of the bag and slipped on his night vision goggles. It took three seconds for his eyes to adjust and once they did, he focused them on the window with the open curtain on the eighth floor of the building opposite. People who lived in high places let themselves be lulled into a false sense of security. The other buildings were too far away and the people from the street couldn’t possibly see them...or so they thought. Garrett was thankful people who lived in nice buildings with big windows seemed to enjoy sleeping with the curtains open. It had made his job easier on more than one occasion.
Ewell had left work just after six p.m. He’d driven from Fremont Street to Las Vegas Boulevard and left his car with the valets behind Bally’s and gone inside. Garrett waited for almost two hours before he came back out, tipped the valet, and headed home. His evening routine when he got home consisted of checking emails on his laptop, making phone calls, and then showering before fixing himself a drink and reading
for a while in the living room chair close to the window. He wore a blue silk robe and slippers and occasionally smoked a pipe. Garrett couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the man’s blatant pretentiousness. Oh well, he isn’t going to look so pretty when that silk robe is covered in blood.
Garrett took off the night vision goggles and mounted the scope on his rifle, and then he sat and waited. The air was cold, especially on the twenty-first floor, but it felt good. He leaned his head back into the brick wall behind him. He was tired, physically and mentally. He wished that his mind and his body could ever rest at the same time. But even when he lay down at night, the demons in his head came out to play.
For the next couple of hours he checked on Ewell every fifteen minutes. It looked like everything was going to work out. He was still in his robe and on his third glass of brandy. When Garrett looked at him through the scope, he was on the phone. The big man started to lower the rifle again, and he caught sight of the front of the building. Fuck! A young woman, probably twenty-five and gorgeous, had just stepped out of a cab. She was dressed to the nines like she was going to a party and her long blonde hair hung like silk down across her back. She had her own phone pressed into her ear and she was looking up at the building. Garrett looked back up at Ewell. He was standing up now, facing the window and looking down. He was expecting her. She was the person he had called, and friend or call girl, she’d gotten there quickly. Garrett didn’t care who she was; Ewell would either have to be dead before she made it up the elevator or this wasn’t going to happen tonight.
He rested the butt of the gun against his shoulder, looked through the scope, and lined up the sights. For a split second, he had Ewell in the crosshairs...but either the bell rang, or someone knocked. He disappeared for a few seconds off to the right and then reappeared on his way to the door. Garrett felt a trickle of sweat on his brow. He usually liked to be long gone before the body was discovered. If he dropped this guy now, he’d still be warm when the cops got there. But if he didn’t...who knew when he’d have another perfect opportunity? He took a deep breath, told himself he had plenty of time, and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the glass of the window and Ewell crumpled to the floor. Garrett trained the scope on him again. He had a perfect hole in his forehead where the bullet had exited. Garrett couldn’t see it now, but he knew the matching hole was on the other side. The man wasn’t breathing. The monster was dead.
17
Paige couldn’t sleep. She’d wandered down the hall a few times and saw Saint sitting quietly by the window. He was reading something. The first time he’d put the book down in his lap and looked up at her. “You okay?”
She smiled and nodded. “Yeah, thanks. I can’t sleep. You?”
Saint grinned and said, “I don’t sleep.”
Paige raised an eyebrow. “At all?”
“Rarely,” he clarified. Paige had gone back to her room and tried reading a book she’d brought with her, but her thoughts were racing. What if Garrett got caught? What if she was responsible for him ending up in jail...or worse, shot by police? The thoughts caused anxiety to build in her chest, and she got out of bed again and once more went down the hall. This time she thought she’d make some tea and see if that helped. Saint didn’t look up from the book but simply said, “Still okay?”
“Yeah, making tea. Want some?”
He looked up then and said, “Got any more vodka?”
She smiled. “I’ll check.” She went into the kitchen and made the tea, wondering about the status of Saint’s liver as she poured a capful of vodka in his. When she carried it back out to the living room, he’d lit a joint and had the book upside down in his lap. With the joint between his lips and the book in his lap, he leaned forward to take the cup from her hand. The gold cross swung out and caught the light, which caught her eye. She looked down at it and saw the binder on the book. In all her life she’d never seen a more contradictory picture. The baby-faced biker, wearing the kutte of a 1% MC, smoking a joint and drinking tea with a shot of vodka...wearing a thick gold cross around his neck and reading the Holy Bible. Will wonders never cease?
“Thanks,” he said, not even fazed that she’d seen what he was reading. He took the cup and leaned back in his chair. Paige paced and drank hers. By the time she’d headed back down the hallway to her room, he’d picked the book back up with both hands and looked engrossed. She was still pondering how he might reconcile the two worlds in his head when she heard the Harley approaching. She nearly broke her neck, bounding out of bed and toward the window. When she threw back the curtain and saw Garrett’s bulky form approaching on the thick hog, she was filled with joy like that of a child on Christmas who just heard Santa Claus land on the roof. She turned and almost ran out of her room before she remembered...she still barely knew this guy. The only reason she did know him was because he kidnapped her. All they really shared was one hot, passionate night, and she was smart enough to know that didn’t make a relationship. The fast breathing and flushed skin...the tingling, fluttering sensation in her belly...it was all lust.
She listened to the sound of his footsteps on the porch, and then Saint opening the door. She sat down on the bed and let the sound of his voice fill the places in her that weren’t already full of the raging lust that wasn’t about to be ignored. She clutched the comforter with both hands and willed the feeling to go away, but the sounds of Saint leaving and the knowledge she was alone in the little house with Garrett only intensified everything she was feeling. Seconds later, when she heard him coming down the hall, she told herself to lie down and pretend she was asleep...again. But when his large, sexy body filled the doorway and blocked out everything else, she was still sitting there, waiting for him. Garrett didn’t say a word, he just looked at her with that intense look of his. She swam in those brown eyes, drowned in them really, before finally letting go of the bed and standing up. Garrett still stood there—waiting for her to make a move, maybe?
His eyes roamed over her body in the long t-shirt and filled her with warmth even as she shivered. They both had a need for connection and those needs were so strong that they were almost palpable in the room. Garrett made her feel what she hadn’t felt since Amanda died...alive. That was the last rational thought she had before flinging herself at him. Garrett caught her, fisting his hands in her hair and crushing his mouth down onto hers. She pressed her hands into his chest, and she could feel the rumble there as his tongue found a passage into the deepest recesses of her mouth. She moaned into him and that only made him embrace her tighter, almost forcing all the breath from her lungs. When Garrett touched her like that, nothing else in the world mattered, except how he made her feel.
He kissed her until she was gasping for breath and then he held her back in his big hands and studied her face. She felt like he was looking for something—reassurance maybe? She nodded at him slightly, and suddenly his grip intensified once again; this time as he slid his hands up her sides, he took the t-shirt with them. One quick movement and it was out of his way and flung across the room. A slight chill tore through her and caused her to shiver again, or maybe it was just another shudder caused by the heat of the look he was giving her. He lifted her up off her feet so that her body was pressed against his, chest to chest. She began to grope at his t-shirt. She suddenly hated it and felt an urgency to make it go away. Garrett held onto her with one arm and pulled at the shirt with the other. She heard it rip and the fire already glowing in her belly roared. He lifted her up then so that her legs went around his waist, and now they were skin to skin. He kissed her again, turning and walking them down the hall to the living room.
When they got there, he sat her down on the couch and picked up his giant sleeping bag. She watched as he fanned it out on the floor in front of the fire that Saint had built earlier and when his hands went to his belt, she put her own on the waistband of her panties and pulled them off. Garrett growled again, like the bear that he was, and as he stripped, he looked like he wanted to devou
r her.
Once he was as gloriously naked as she was, he held his hand out to her and pulled her to her feet. He kissed her again, licking and sucking at her lips like he was starving, as he guided her down on top of the sleeping bag. They lay down together, side by side with bodies touching, and the heat from the fire was almost too much along with the heat that radiated from his skin. He slowed his kiss and let his hand trail down the front of her body, between her breasts and down to brush softly across her stomach. Then suddenly his mouth was following the hand, only his lips and tongue stopped on the way to taste her engorged nipples. She whimpered and arched her back while his tongue drew circles around them and then she moaned when she felt his mouth wrap around them and suck them in against his wet tongue. He sucked on them, hard, before letting go and blowing cold air against them. Tremors ripped through her and the feelings were so intense that she wasn’t sure she could take much more...but Garrett was about to prove her wrong; there was so much more to come.
He held onto her by her hips as his mouth continued downward to her soft belly. He licked across it, and made her body jerk when he used the side of his teeth to scrape against her skin. As hot as it was, Paige was suddenly in love with the fire. She had her hands on his big shoulders and the flicker of the flame illuminated the lustful look on his face as he made it down to the top of her mound. Her pussy was flooded with moisture and she was dying for him to taste her. She pulled her thighs open and Garrett let his face fall in between them. He moved his hands so they were underneath her, cupping her cheeks and lifting her off the sleeping bag. As he attacked her most intimate parts, she felt like his prey...and she fucking loved it.
