Frankie doesn’t say anything. Instead, she presses her lips to my neck.
My little fucking manipulator.
“Look at me,” I demand, needing to see her face.
Frankie opens her eyes and blinks rapidly. She looks deeply into my eyes and shakes her head from side to side. “I don’t want gentle. I just want you,” she whispers. “All of you.”
I growl, and then my lips are on her. She wants all of me, so I give myself to her. All six foot three of barren soul and misguided morals. All of my broken, black heart.
All of the nothing I am is now hers.
She’s my victim, and I’m her tormentor.
She’s my prey, and I’m the predator.
She is mine to do with as I please.
And what I please right now is to make her come. Make her scream my name. Make her feel every inch of my desire for her and show her she’s always belonged to me.
I want to see her tears of pleasure. I want to hear her screams of pain. I want her moaning my name.
I want it all.
I have it all, and right now there’s no going back. I’m going to take it. Take HER.
Because she's mine.
There’s a tug of war going on between us, and I’m losing my grip on the rope.
I’ve been at the wrong end of a gun, but this? This…whatever it is between us? That’s new for me and far more frightening than a bullet to the fucking head.
But what’s even more terrifying?
Not acting on it.
Not feeling her skin on mine.
Not plundering her body like the half-starved man I am. Starving for her. All of her.
It’s like my body is no longer my own when I take her hand and pull her to me. When I press my lips to hers. When I peel off her clothes, lay her down like she’s more precious than a ten-pound diamond. She’s the sky, and I’m the wind. We’re a matching set.
We fucking belong together.
I’m tired of fighting it. Tired of being alone. Tired of not getting the revenge I crave. Tired of not being inside of her again.
I’m. Just. Fucking. Tired.
Yet looking at her beneath me on the cement floor of the basement with her father’s frozen corpse only a few feet away, I feel a new energy coursing through my veins, and I know that energy is courtesy of Frankie.
I fuck her hard. With my entire being, I fuck her. The pleasure is enormous, and it’s not just in my cock; it’s everywhere. It’s not knowing where I end and she begins. It’s some otherworld shit I never thought could exist.
Everything with Frankie is new.
Fucking is new. Kissing is new. This feeling in my gut like I could break her in half and break me along with her is new.
It’s because I fucking love her.
The very thing I thought I was incapable of has been given to me by this girl. A gift I won’t ever be able to repay.
I thank her for it. Not with my words, but with my body. I thank her in every way I can. Fast. Pounding hard. I make sure she understands the depth of my gratitude before sending her soaring into an orgasm that has her digging her heels into my lower back and screaming my goddamned name.
In the end, I’ll have both Frankie and my revenge.
Chapter Forty-Four
Before I shut down ‘the monster’ I send an untraceable message to Nine and hope he understands what I’m asking him for.
“Aren’t you going to send the text to Griff?” I ask Smoke as we ascend the stairs. It’s already light out. We’ve been in the basement all night.
Smoke tucks the phone in his pocket. “Not just yet. We’ve got a little time. I’ll send it later. Griff can wait to find out Frank’s dead while I decide how to go about killing him.”
“I don’t suppose you’re hungry,” I say.
Neither of us has eaten since the day before.
“Fucking ravenous,” Smoke rubs his stomach, his abs flexing under the thin material of his t-shirt.
I lead him to the kitchen and find dried pasta and a jar of marinara in the pantry. I take some ground sausage from the freezer, which thankfully was still frozen even with the power off, which means it must not have been off that long. I defrost it in the microwave.
Smoke watches me as I brown the meat and add it to the sauce to simmer. When I’m done and set the plate in front of him, he leans in and smells the food like it’s something to be savored. “It’s not much, but it’s all I could manage with what’s here,” I explain.
Smoke digs in like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, and something about that makes my heart flutter. He moans in pleasure while he chews, and I lean forward on the counter to hide my hardened nipples.
“By far, the best I’ve ever fucking had.” Smoke says, but he’s not looking at the food.
He’s looking at me.
I blush, then feeling uncomfortable under his unyielding gaze, I go back to my own food and change the subject. “I’m sure there are plenty of other women out there who’ve made you better food than this.” I stab at a rigatoni and pop it into my mouth.
It is good. But as I suspected, it’s not great by any means.
Smoke’s answer surprises me. “I’ve never had anyone cook for me before, besides Zelda.”
There are wounds peppered in his voice. A vulnerability in his eyes. It makes me want to take care of him. Cook for him something better than dried pasta and canned sauce.
“I’ve never had anyone cook for me either,” I confess. “At least, I don’t think. I don’t remember much about my mom. I was too young when she passed so I’m not sure how she was in the kitchen. And well, my Dad, you know that story now.”
Smoke’s hand slides across the table and briefly covers mine. He squeezes my hand then slides it back and returns his concentration to his food as if nothing had happened.
As if he hadn’t just wrecked my entire world with one fucking touch.
Chapter Forty-Five
Smoke’s upstairs in the shower.
I’m in the kitchen having stayed behind to wash the couple of dishes and throw away anything in the fridge that could be rotting. I open the refrigerator and realize my concern was pointless.
“Can beer go bad?” I mutter to myself, grabbing a bottle from the six-pack, popping the top off against the edge of the counter. I take a sip. It’s not super fresh, but it’s not completely skunked either. I shrug and take another sip before setting the bottle down next to the sink.
I turn the radio on and grab a sponge to scrub out the dried marinara sauce from the bottom of the pot. I’m singing along to “Stupid Girl” by Garbage when a hand covers my mouth from behind, muffling my scream. I drop the pot into the sink, water spills over the edge onto my feet.
“Shhhhhh, Sarah, it’s me. It’s Duke. Don’t scream.” Duke releases my mouth and spins me around.
I’m breathing hard. I lower the ladle poised above my head in strike position. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, glancing up the stairs. I can still hear the water running from the bathroom.
“I was delivering groceries next door, and I saw you through the curtains. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay. I haven’t seen you in school. Not since the day the cop dragged you out. What was that all about, anyway?”
“This isn’t the time or the place for that story,” I say, “You’ve gotta go.” I shove him toward the door then stop. “How did you get in here, anyway?”
Duke smirks, puffing out his chest with pride. “I broke in through the basement window when you didn’t come back to school. I half-expected to find your decaying corpse somewhere in the house, but I found nothing. No sign of you, but all your shit was still here. Where the hell have you been, Sarah? You disappeared off the face of the fucking planet.”
I can’t help but smile at the concern in his voice. “I promise I’ll tell you everything, but I can’t tell you now. You’ve really got to go.” I push him toward the door and unlock all the locks. Before I can open it and give him the
gentlest of shoves over the threshold, he puts his hand on the door to prevent me from opening it. He takes my hand in his. “Duke,” I whisper yell.
Duke looks down like he can’t believe he’s holding my hand again, rubbing his thumb over my fingers. “I missed you, is all. I’ll go. I’ll go. Just…just tell me that you’re okay. That you’re going to be okay. That whatever is going on with you isn’t a life or death thing.”
“I’ll be okay,” I tell him. “I promise.”
Duke flashes his winning smile. “Good, then I’ll see you back at school?” he asks, removing his hand from the door.
I exhale. “I’m not sure,” I say, dropping my shoulders. I reach for the door.
“Oh,” Duke stops me from opening the door again.
I’m not expecting Duke to wrap his arms around me and press his lips to mine. They are still as soft and skilled as ever but even though they are warm, his lips feel cold. Wrong. I don’t want this. I don’t want him. He doesn’t smell like oil and cigars and soap.
I push on his chest and disconnect my lips from his just as a deep voice cuts through the space between us. “Get the fuck away from her.”
Smoke’s standing less than ten feet away wearing only his opened jeans. His hair is wet and slicked back. Beads of water fall down his chest as he moves. His feet are planted wide. Dark eyes are cold, flinty. I can see his quickening pulse through the throbbing vein under the pocket watch tattoo on his neck. He raises his gun and aims it at Duke.
“Fuck,” Duke swears. He pales, blinking rapidly as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He shuffles backward and forgets the door is still closed, hitting his back of his head against it.
“Smoke. Don’t.”
“He laid his hands on you,” Smoke seethes. “The only reason I haven’t already fired is you’re standing too fucking close to him so step away, hellion.” Smoke cocks the gun.
I step in front of Duke. “No, Duke is my friend.”
“You let all your friends stick their tongues down your throat?” Smoke says with a snarl.
“I knew you weren’t okay,” I hear Duke whisper from behind me.
“I am okay! I’m fine, but you aren’t going to be if you don’t leave,” I say to Duke. “Now go and don’t say shit about this to anyone. I mean it. It’s important. I promise I’ll explain all this later but please. I need your word, Duke.”
Duke glances wide-eyed over my shoulder to Smoke and then back to me. I don’t need to look over my shoulder. “You…you’ve got it,” he says on a shaky voice. He feels for the door at his back, and when his hand finds the handle, he turns it quickly and stumbles out.
Smoke steps in front of me. “Before you ever think about touching her again, think about this. Any part of you that comes in contact with her I’m going to rip off your fucking body with my bare hands.”
Duke scrambles backward and runs for the GrubTrain car. Smoke steps back and closes the door. I take a step back from the fuming volcano before me.
“You fuck him?”
“No!” I toss back. Now, it’s my turn to be mad. I cross my arms over my chest and jut out my hip. “He’s my friend. Or, he was my friend.”
“A friend, who you let kiss you?” Smoke closes the distance between us. His nostrils flare.
“Sometimes,” I admit, swallowing hard. I remain defiant, pushing out my chest. “And sometimes more.”
“More?” Smoke questions, the word is a rumble in his throat and touches me right between my thighs. I press them together. He’s so close now. Water drips from his hair onto my t-shirt. “I swear to fucking Christ, Frankie, I need one good reason why I shouldn’t chase after that motherfucker and paint that ugly ass green car of his red with his own fucking blood.”
“Smoke, he was my sort of friend. When I had to stay away from the world, he was the only person I let in because he was nice and he was safe. He dated all the girls in my school so I knew he wasn’t looking for anything serious so yes, from time to time he came over, brought me groceries, and kissed me. Sometimes a little more. Never more than what I’ve given you. Ever.”
Smoke’s shoulder muscles seemed to relax, even if just a fraction. His knuckles, on the other hand, are still white. “My little hellion.” He brushes my hair from my eyes.
My shield is down along with all the other defenses I’ve tried and failed to keep him from getting to a place he can really hurt me, and I don’t mean physically. Physical hurt is nothing compared to what Smoke can inflict on me now. Because he’s broken through. He’s inside.
And there’s no turning back.
I’m terrified. More so than in that prison cell as his captive.
I try to remain defiant. I stick out my chest and straighten my shoulders, holding my chin up high. “And don’t you expect me to apologize for it, either. I won’t. Duke kept me company. He made me laugh. He was my friend. My only friend.”
I press my flat hands against Smoke’s warm wet chest and a current runs through me, zapping my arm hairs to attention. My breath catches, and I glance up at Smoke. He’s looking at my arms, and I know he felt it, too. I lean into him. He smells like fresh soap and toothpaste.
I remember I’m trying to make a point, so I don’t inhale deeply as much as I want to.
“Duke was there for me. I had nobody,” I say, then pause, rethinking my choice of words. “I have nobody.”
Smoke tilts my chin up. Our eyes meet. The anger is still written all over his face from his furrowed brows to his tight jaw but there’s something else there that looks a lot like concern.
“You have me,” Smoke whispers so low I think I might be imagining it.
“Do I?” I regret the words as they leave my mouth.
Smoke’s answer is pressing his lips to mine in a slow and tender kiss that shakes me to my very foundation. He tells me everything I need to know with his lips. His tongue.
The uncontrollable man is showing me control. I’m lost. To him. To this.
To us.
Forever has passed when we finally come up for air. My skin is flushed. Lips swollen. Pussy throbbing with unrelenting need.
My heart stops.
“I do have you.” I say, running my hand through his wet hair, keeping my fingers tangled within it.
“Yes, you do have me,” Smoke nods. His forehead falls to mine and my heart starts beating again. His pupils are dilated, his dark eyes are glossy. His words lick their way across my skin. He lifts me into his arms, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. “Now, I’m going to have you.”
Chapter Forty-Six
We’re lying in bed. Frankie’s bed. Some tiny frilly thing that smells like her. Frankie is curled up around me, her leg hiked up over my thigh.
I send the text to Griff.
FRANK HELBURN IS DEAD.
It’s done.
Not even three minutes pass. My phone rings.
“You found him and killed him without permission? Where’s my fucking money?” Griff snaps. “That asshole is the only one who knows where my money is, and he better have told you before you ended him.”
“I didn’t kill him,” I snap back. “The fucker was slumped over when I got here. And Griff? I’d watch my tone if I were you. I’m not one of your boys, and I ain’t a ‘yes man’. I wasn’t the one who killed him. I think his ticker just gave out. So remember who you’re fucking talking to.”
There is a moment of silence before Griff speaks again. “I’ll send a team for his computers tomorrow. Maybe, they can track down my fucking money.”
“Send mine while you’re at it,” I say, “What the fuck do you want me to do with the girl?” I don’t have to pretend to sound annoyed because this fucker is grating on my every nerve. More than usual. I look over at Frankie, the sheet draped haphazardly over her tits, her shiny dark hair splayed all around the white pillow.
She wakes with a flutter of eye lashes. Her golden eyes meet mine.
I’m done for.
I can’t imag
ine a world without her in it. I can’t kill her. Don’t think I ever really could’ve. Not when she’s already killed me, or at least the person I used to be.
“Whatever the fuck you want,” Griff snorts. “Dispose of the girl. But before you go, move Frank’s body off the desk so my team has complete access to his computers when they get there tomorrow. Maybe, second time is a charm, and they can track down my fucking money. I’ll transfer your funds now.” The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone. Griff wasn’t his usual self. There was no small talk. No questions about my future plans. No comment about my one-man team. Something is off. Not to mention this was the first time he’d hung up on me and not the other way around.
“Is everything okay?” Frankie asks sleepily.
I click the burner phone shut and set it on the nightstand. As much as I want to wrap my arms around her and sink into her again for a much needed repeat of last night, something isn’t sitting right with me about that call.
About Griff’s demeanor.
“Did he buy it?”
“Yeah,” I say softly, but I’m going over the conversation in my mind for the hundredth time in the last few seconds, searching for the knife in the needles.
“What is it?” Frankie asks, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around her chest.
It hits me like a bullet to the back. “Shit,” I leap out of bed. “Get dressed. We gotta go, and we gotta go NOW.”
For once Frankie listens and pulls on her clothes, I do the same “What happened?” she asks, shoving her feet into her shoes and pulling her t-shirt over her head.
“He told me to remove your old man from the desk to give his team better access to the computers when they get here,” I tell her.
“So?” she asked, hopping up and down to pull up her shorts.
I grab my cut and shrug it on. “So, the problem is My text said that I found your old man slumped over dead. Didn’t say shit that he was at the computer or at a desk.”
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