DELVE

by Jacob Chance

Anger flashes in her eyes, she steps toward me and grabs my hard cock through my board shorts. Fuck.

  “Looks like you’re the one who can’t handle me,” she seethes before releasing me and walking away.

  Chapter Four

  Derek

  Two weeks later

  I’ve been monitoring Scott Johnson’s whereabouts for the past few weeks now and his drug addiction is the least of what he’s involved with. He’s involved with some big time players and he’s way over his head. This pretty-boy wasn’t made for the life he’s chosen and it’s not going to end well for him. There’s only two possible outcomes for him. One, he gets arrested and does some time. If he’s lucky it serves as the wake-up call he needs and gets him detoxed at the same time. The second possibility is he’ll get himself killed or Paddy will order a hit on him. He doesn’t keep guys like Scott around for long and once he’s no longer useful, he’s a loose thread he’ll need to do away with.

  I creep silently around the perimeter of the warehouse Scott disappeared into fifteen minutes ago. I was hoping he would come out right away, but he didn’t. I have a bad feeling about this. Some call it a sixth sense, others say I just have good instincts. I don’t know what it is but it’s always served me well. I’ve learned to trust it and I’ve come to rely on it. Right now it’s telling me this is no bueno. Cuidate la espalda – watch your back. My dad says this to me every time we talk on the phone or see each other. I hear his voice in my head now; cautioning me. I breathe in slowly to settle my racing pulse. I need to stay focused in spite of the adrenaline already racing through me. I hug the side of the building, staying close, my eyes scanning my surroundings. It’s dark out here and damn near impossible to see. I need to use all of my senses to compensate.

  I inch closer to the nearest window until I can see inside. The glass is clouded with dirt and grime, but I can still make out the four guys with guns trained on Scott and some other guy I don’t know. Fuck. This isn’t going to end well. I pull out my cellphone and call it in to the police. This is a job for them to handle. I’m a private investigator, not a cop. I’m a crack shot, but I can’t outshoot four people without Scott or his buddy ending up as casualties. I don’t want their blood on my hands. I tuck my phone back into my pocket, take a step back and hear the click of a gun at my temple. My eyes instinctively squeeze shut. Fuck. How did I not hear him sneaking up on me?

  “Don’t move motherfucker,” he says, pressing the gun into my temple.

  There are few options a person has when faced with the business end of a gun at close range. Like most people, you can comply and do as you’re told, hoping for mercy and the chance to live beyond the moment. You can bide your time, hoping for an opportunity to arise or the circumstances to change. Unfortunately, I’ve never been the type who likes to leave my fate in another’s hands.

  I slowly begin to raise my arms in submission. He sees this and presses the barrel hard against my temple. “I said don’t move mother…” Before he can finish I spin to the right, pushing the gun clear with my upper arm, then quickly wrap my arms around his forearm and trap the gun down against my hip. I immediately spin back around before he can react and squeeze the trigger, locking his wrist and twisting it downward until he can no longer maintain his grip. The gun falls away into the darkness and out of sight.

  He wastes no time and quickly swings his left arm toward my stomach. I move quickly, but not quick enough. I feel the sting of the blade in his hand as it slashes down the outside of my thigh. My reaction saved me from what could’ve been a fatal blow and leaves him off balance for a moment. I can’t tell how deep my wound is; I need this to end now. Seizing the moment, I slide in behind him, trapping his arm against his neck in a triangle choke and drop straight down onto the ground. Within seconds he goes limp in my arms and slips into unconsciousness.

  The police show up seconds later, quickly defusing the situation inside the factory and taking all the suspects into custody – including the lowlife who slashed me.

  I get rushed to the hospital by ambulance. The paramedic working on me looks like he’s about twenty years old. Goddamn rookie. I’m fine. I told them I don’t need to go to the hospital, but no one would listen to me. I’m sure the blood pooling on the ground beneath my feet didn’t help my case any. Now I’m forced to lie here, strapped to this gurney while they start an IV and take my blood pressure. The knife wound in my outer thigh is throbbing, keeping perfect tempo with my heartbeat. It feels like the inside of my leg has been set on fire. The burning pain is radiating through my whole thigh. If I didn’t know better, I’d expect to look down and see actual flames. I’m not a pussy when it comes to pain. I’ve had my fair share of accidents and fights over the years, but this might be one of the most painful I’ve had to endure yet. I grit my teeth and wish for some relief soon.

  They wheel me into the hospital like I’m on the verge of dying and push me into an emergency room bay. I smile and wonder if I’m this new kid’s first call. Hell, maybe I’m in worse shape than I think am. If I’m about to kick the bucket, I hope it’s fast and painless.

  I’m quickly transferred to the hospital gurney and before I know it, my jeans are being cut off of me by none other than Kenna McKenzie.

  I smirk through my pain. “Kenna, you’ve been wanting to see what’s in my pants for years now. If you wanted them off, all you had to do was ask.” I laugh at my own joke and then grimace from pain. She glares at me for a brief moment and then returns to the task of cutting me out of my clothes.

  “Derek, now’s not the time. Just lie there and keep your mouth shut. No one’s got time for your bullshit right now.”

  “Yes ma'am. I like it when you get forceful.”

  She ignores me and hooks up another IV bag. This one is full of antibiotics. God only knows what was on that dude’s knife. She cleans out the wound with saline and the burning sensation in my leg has my eyes watering. Fuck.

  “Can’t somebody just glue the sucker shut and send me on my way?” I ask.

  She sucks her teeth and shakes her head. “Believe me, I’d love to send you on your way but the doctor needs to look you over. Be a good boy and just lay there so we can do what we need to.”

  The doctor arrives, putting an end to our banter. “I’m Doctor Jonas. That’s quite a laceration you’ve got there. I’m going to need to stitch it shut. You’re going to have a nice scar after this, unless you’d prefer a plastic surgeon to do it.”

  I laugh. “Fuck no, I’m not worried about a scar. Women think scars are sexy. It’ll just add to my already immense appeal.” I catch Kenna rolling her eyes and rake my teeth over my bottom lip to keep myself from laughing. I love to fuck with her.

  After the doctor finished putting in the stitches, he gave me a tetanus shot and informed me he wanted to keep me overnight to pump some more antibiotics into me. I told him I’d stay for a few more hours, but then I was leaving, with or without his consent.

  Kyle came to hang out with me and then he gave me a ride home from the hospital. He carefully helps me inside.

  “Do you need anything?” he asks, following me to my couch.

  “Would you mind grabbing me a bottle of water from the fridge?” I’m doped up on the pain meds they gave me and I’m drowsier than I thought I would be. Kyle brought me a pair of basketball shorts to wear for the car ride. They fit over the thick white bandage that goes from my upper thigh to just above my knee. While I settle myself as comfortably as I can, he places a bottle of water on the end table beside me. I know I won’t be leaving this spot for the rest of the night unless it’s to use the bathroom. The stairs leading to my bedroom seem like too much work to conquer right now.

  “I won’t be at the office tomorrow,” I joke.

  Kyle laughs. “You can have the weekend off too.” He leaves shortly after and it’s only a matter of minutes before I fall into a painkiller induced sleep.

  The dull throbbing pain in my leg wakes me up. The events of the night before come cras
hing back to me. Fuck. How did I let this happen? It’s not like me to let someone get close enough to put a gun to my head. I must have been distracted. The mistakes I made last night were unnecessary and unacceptable. Kenna is taking up too much space in my head. I need to do something to get her out of there for good.

  My thigh is aching with vicious intensity, but I don’t want to take any more pain meds. Years ago, I used to take them to get high. I don’t ever want to go back to those days. I made bad decisions and missed out on opportunities all because of pills I had no business taking in the first place. I’m lucky I didn’t end up a full-blown junkie like Scott Johnson. After the close call he had last night, maybe he’ll straighten out. The sound of police sirens was enough to scare the four guys off and Scott was left standing there in a puddle of his own piss. I think most people would piss themselves if a gun was held to their head – the first time, at least. I was only thirteen when it happened to me.

  I was walking down the street to the corner store when Paco Rodriguez, one of the well-known neighborhood thugs, called me over. He gestured with his head for me to follow him into an alley and I was still naive enough at that age to do what he wanted. He caged me against the side of the building and even though he was only twenty years old, at the time he seemed like a giant to me.

  He held a black pistol to my head and clicked the trigger twice. “Wanna buy a gun, man?” He asked in his heavily accented English. “It’s clean man. Never been used for no crimes.” I stood there, my eyes wide fighting back tears. The front of my pants were wet with urine. He literally scared the piss out of me.

  I’m not sure if he could smell the urine or if he just happened to look down, but once he saw the stain he let out a loud laugh.

  “You little bitch. You pissed yourself. Are you sure you don’t have a pussy instead of a cock?” To make matters even worse than they already were, I started to cry. Big fat tears rolled down my cheeks and I couldn’t hold them back no matter how hard I tried.

  When Paco noticed my tears he gripped my neck, high under my jawline and lifted me up to the balls of my feet. He slammed my back into the rough stucco exterior of the building. “Don’t cry maricon.” Pussy. “If I ever see you cry again ninita, te voy a romper la madre, so you have a fucking reason.” He squeezed my neck tighter and tighter until my eyes bulged out of my head. He released the pressure when I was on the verge of passing out and threw me to the ground. His booted foot met my ribs with a hard kick and I cried out with pain. I drew my knees up and rolled into a ball to protect my stomach from more injury. I let out a sob of relief when he walked away.

  I’ve had some fucked up shit happen to me over the years. I could write a book based on my life and no one would believe it was true. All that fucked up shit takes a toll on you though. I can push all that craziness out of my mind, but it never really leaves me. Each situation you survive changes you; leaving its mark on you. I am the sum of all that’s happened to me and all the crazy things I’ve done. It’s just another reason why Kenna and I would never work. She’s light; I’m dark. She’s pure; I’m tarnished. She deserves a guy who grew up in a good neighborhood with a solid family with pedigree lineage. Not some half Mexican, half Irish mutt from Dorchester.

  It takes me five minutes to get from the couch to the bathroom. It takes another ten for me to piss, brush my teeth and make it back to the couch again. Goddamn. I hate being injured.

  I’m stretched out on the couch watching an old episode of Sons of Anarchy when I hear the front door lock turning. Only Kyle has a key so I assume it’s him. My attention remains on my large flat screen until I hear the sweet sound of Kenna’s voice.

  “Hi. How are you feeling?” She walks over to me, stopping next to the couch. My head cranes around to catch a glimpse of her. My eyes needing to see her as soon as they can. They’re drawn to her like a magnet to metal. No matter how hard I fight it; they’re going to drink their fill.

  “I’ve been better; I’ve been worse.” I shrug my shoulders.

  She smiles at me and places a small grocery bag down on my coffee table. My gaze runs over her. She has on black yoga pants, black chucks and a white, long sleeve K.D. Investigations tee shirt. Seeing her in that shirt makes me feel proud of all that Kyle and I have accomplished. Her hair is down today and the way it ripples in waves down past her shoulders has me wanting to bury my fingers in it.

  "I came over to check on you. I hope you don’t mind, but I had Kyle give me his key so you wouldn’t have to get up to let me in.”

  How can I be mad at her for being thoughtful? I wouldn’t expect any less from her, though. It’s why she makes such a good nurse. She’s a natural caregiver. I’ve just never had the opportunity to experience it first-hand.

  “You didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.” I don’t want her to see me like this. I don’t want someone hovering. I don’t like to be around people when I’m in pain.

  “Of course I did.” She moves closer until she’s standing between the coffee table and the couch. She reaches in the bag and begins removing items; setting them on the table one at a time. First is a bottle of hand sanitizer, then a new package of large gauze pads and finally an unopened roll of white medical tape.

  “I’m going to take a look at your wound and change your bandage for you. Can you sit up and put your leg on the coffee table?”

  “Yeah I can do that.” I sit up and swing my leg over to the glass table, supporting it with both hands. I grimace from the burning pain that tears through my thigh.

  “When was the last time you took pain meds?” she asks. I lift my head, looking up at her. Her eyebrows are drawn together while she studies me.

  “I haven’t taken any since I left the hospital early this morning.” I run my hand over my hair. “I don’t like taking them.” I don’t want to talk about why I won’t take them. “It’s just a cut. I don’t need pain meds.” Don’t ask.

  “You need to take ibuprofen at least. Can you do that?” I nod my head, relieved she didn’t ask for details. I’m not proud of my past. There are a lot of things I’ve done that I’m ashamed of. I’d rather she not know about that side of me.

  She moves closer, now standing between me and the coffee table. I’m fighting off the images my mind is conjuring of her dropping to her knees and asking me if she can suck my cock. Fuck.

  “I’m going to have to push these up so I can change the bandage.” She tugs on the bottom of the basketball shorts.

  “Okay, gotcha.” I hold my breath and will my dick to stay down. I know that when I feel her hands on my skin it’s going to be almost impossible to remain unaffected. She reaches down, pumps some hand sanitizer in her palm and then rubs her hands together. If only that were lube. I laugh and she looks at me, a confused expression on her face.

  “What’s so funny about hand sanitizer?” she asks confused.

  "Not a thing.” I smirk.

  Her hands go to the bottom of my shorts, pushing the material up until most of my thigh is exposed. Her fingers gently tug on the outer edges of the tape along one side, until it loosens enough for her to lift it up. She peels the bandage back and I get a look at the wound for the first time. They kept me lying down at the hospital and had a drape around it so I never got to see. It’s not pretty. It’s about six inches long and the laceration has been tightly stitched closed.

  She drops to her knees and I inhale. Jesus. She leans forward, the softness of her breasts are cushioned against my inner thigh as she studies my injury.

  “It looks good. No redness along the edges.” My dick is getting hard. It goes fully erect when she lays both of her hands on my leg while she places a new bandage on. I want her fingers wrapped around my cock more than I want to take my next breath. Instead of thinking about football or something other than what she’s doing I can’t take my eyes off her. I know this may be the only time she’s this close to me. I need to remember everything about it.

  I hold my breath and wait for her to notice the hu
ge tent in my pants. It’s impossible for her not to see it. She casts quick furtive glances out of her periphery and then turns her head, looking right at it. Fuck. I don’t think my dick has ever been this hard before. Her eyes are wide as she studies it; licking her lips. When her eyes move up to meet mine I see desire in them and I can’t hold off any longer. I grab her under her arms, lift her up to straddle my lap, ignoring the excruciating pain in my leg, and crash our mouths together. The kiss is heated and out of control, tasting each other for the first time in four years. Our tongues rub against each other and it’s even better than I remembered. I pull her closer to me until her pussy is notched against my dick. She gasps into my mouth and begins to grind against me. My hands grip her hips, guiding her. I can feel her hot pussy and it’s all I can do to keep myself from tearing her pants off and plunging my cock inside her wet heat. Fuck. I know she’d be tight and she’d squeeze my dick perfectly. I have to know what she feels like. I slide my hand down the front of her pants and run my fingers along the top edge of her silky panties. She moans and pushes her hips toward my hand.

  I whisper against her lips. “Do you want me to touch you, Kenna?”

  Her fingers grip my hair and tug hard. “Yes. Please touch me,” she answers and then bites down on my bottom lip – hard. Goddamn, she likes it rough. She could easily make me spin out of control. She’s my fucking dream girl, in every way. I can feel the pre-come trickling down my cock and I know that my restraint is fading fast.

  I slip my hand inside her panties and slide my fingers along her smooth slit. Fuck. She’s bare and so wet. I clench my teeth, fighting for control. I push two fingers inside her and hook them, rubbing and caressing the magic spot. She moans, rocking on my hand while I watch her. Her head is thrown back, her bottom lip is pressed between her teeth and she’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

  My thumb slowly circles her clit and she moans. “Derek, don’t stop.” Hearing her say my name has me on the verge of losing control.