by A. C. Bextor
“Touch me, baby,” I barely grind out through clenched teeth as I try to control my aggression.
One hand remains on the seat of the bike as her other positions between her legs. Her fingers run the expanse of my cock as I start to move in and out of her.
“More,” I whisper, picking up speed and feeling every touch she’s offering. “Come when you’re ready.”
I feel her body move as she nods and her breath quickens. “I love you, Max,” she breathes. “I don’t know…”
The catch in her breath stops me from going further. I know Em enough to realize she’s about to cry. Grabbing around her shoulders, I pull her up and against my chest.
My hand moves her hair away and I kiss her neck with care. “Hey, don’t do that.”
Her fingers wipe away the tears I can’t see. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m being ridiculous.”
“You’re not,” I reply.
Her ass lifts again so I take it as a signal to continue, but this time my movements are gentle. I move slower. Each thrust, although deliberate, is meant for something.
“I love you, too,” I tell her, holding her close to me and kissing her neck and shoulders. “Let me feel you.”
She moves her hand to mine at her hip and wraps it around her waist. She takes me with her as she bends so my body blankets hers. The intimate position causes everything around us to fall away. I feel her insides clench, signaling she feels everything I do.
The want.
The need.
The passion.
The love.
My fingers dig into her hip as I push into her and hold firm. She begins to struggle in my grasp, reaching for her release. When she finds what she needs, I hear her gasp heavily before a moan of satisfaction comes out and she looks behind her, right at me. I keep my eyes on hers for as long as I can before emptying myself into her completely.
* * *
Although the stranger’s presence at O’Malley’s was brief, my past keeps me reminded to not trust anyone I don’t truly know. It’s been my experience that if someone doesn’t seem to fit in with their surroundings, they probably have an agenda.
“Are you okay?” Em asks as I stop at the first brightly lit gas station in an open area we passed on the way into town.
I won’t endanger Em by testing the black Escalade’s intentions. If he’s about to approach, he’ll be doing it with witnesses watching, including law enforcement.
“I’m fine. Need to run inside.”
“I can wait here,” she insists, having no clue of my concern.
“No,” I answer, releasing the helmet strap around her chin. “You’re goin’ in with me.”
“Max,” she contests.
I don’t give her a chance to argue and the follower pulls in and parks beside us. She hasn’t noticed at all, so I wait a second before he moves to get out. When he doesn’t, I turn back around to catch a glimpse of Em. It’s then he starts to move.
“What’s…?” Em starts, but doesn’t finish when the same man from the bar earlier steps down from his ride and walks in our direction.
On instinct, I step in front of Em as she sits on the bike, shielding her from the man walking toward us.
“Can I help you?” I ask, feeling Em’s hands dig into my jacket at both sides.
“Good evening,” he says with an accent I can’t place.
He positions himself in front of us and I watch his hands carefully as they slide into his suit trousers. Then he scans the area around us. Em clears her throat and when she does, his focus moves beyond my shoulder to her.
“Well, hello there,” he oozes.
I feel Em tense, so I step closer to him. If I were in his space any more, the dust I’m wearing from the desert floors would cling to what I deem to be an expensive suit.
“Again, can I help you?”
“Just admiring the view,” he says casually, still looking directly at Em.
“Max,” I hear Em whisper with nervousness.
“You can go,” I tell him. “Nothing to see here.”
He smiles, though it doesn’t sit right. A few seconds of challenge pass before he takes a step back and gets closer to his ride.
I start to think it’s over, maybe even a matter of coincidence, until he speaks. He talks directly to Em when he does. “Did you enjoy the drink?” he asks. “If you’re interested, I’ll be around for dinner and maybe breakfast if you’d be so inclined.”
Without thinking, I move to step closer to get in his face. Em grabs my jacket before I can get too far ahead of her.
“Max, please, no,” she whispers, and I stop at her words. Em hates violence. I know this, but still, he’s pissing me off.
“Your woman says no,” he tsks. “Bet she wouldn’t say no if she had me inside her.”
The final thread of my patience has been pulled.
Lurching forward in his direction, he pulls his fist from his pants pocket and I feel the punch to my eye echoing throughout my head as the skin tears and blood hits the ground. It was a cheap shot, but it slows me down.
I yank myself out of Em’s hold and lunge my shoulder into his chest, causing him to fall back into his SUV. Straightening quickly, I pull my hand back and deliver the same hit he had to me. I feel the flesh of his face give way to my knuckles.
Reacting quickly, I start to move back to guard Em. It’s then he checks his nose for blood, smiles cruelly as he opens his ride and steps inside.
“Max!” Emma yells, calling for my attention. I turn to her as he backs his truck up, but his eyes never leave hers.
“Fuck,” I hiss once he puts the truck in drive and rides away.
Chapter Nine
I’ve learned the truth isn’t what a person always wants to hear.
Casey sits quietly in a comfortable corner chair far in the back of the room as Anna and Viktor review a manila file he’s holding out in front of them. The office she’s found herself in is spotless. She’s never been in here before. It’s a complete contrast to her dingy room. If she didn’t know better, she’d be certain these two places couldn’t possibly exist within the same building.
Artificial plants, cherry wood tables, and plush office furniture take up the space around her. A heavy-looking matching cherry wood desk stares back from her seat. It’s adorned with only a computer and a few pens scattered carelessly around its frame.
Cilas stands stoically at her side. His hands are held together in front of him as he remains in position, guarding the office door. When she looks up to study his focus, she finds it to be on Anna. Even in the midst of her concentrated effort to remain quiet, the warm feeling rushes over her as she wonders again what Cilas sees as he watches her.
Viktor lifts his head in her direction and smiles before setting the file down. As he walks around Anna, Casey notes a look of concern, or fear—she can’t place which—radiating from her.
Once making it to Casey, Viktor bends and places his hands on her knees. As always, he’s dressed impeccably. His grey hair is combed to perfection and she smells the now-familiar scent of his soap.
He places one hand on her warm cheek and he sighs. “Anna’s outdone herself with you tonight, sweetheart. You look beautiful.” His strong Russian accent teases her ears, reminding her of all Anna had told her about his home. His fingers gently brush her neck, the same place she remembers Hangar’s hands being wrapped around her throat. When his finger stops in the exact place, Casey freezes.
You’re going to call me ‘Daddy’ and beg me to punish you.
She faintly remembers those words from the night Hangar touched her in the hallway near her private room.
That creamy, white skin of yours—I can’t wait to taste it.
Rather than letting the visions of memory assault her, Casey chooses to focus on Viktor’s praises of her beauty, all while looking him directly in the eye as she’s been told to do. “Thank you, sir.”
Her nerves get the better of her, though, and her mind starts to race wi
th worry. Feeling Casey’s body shake in reaction to them, Viktor grabs her hands in his and gently squeezes each in sync. His hands are warm, a sad comparison to hers, which are cold and clammy from her constant uneasiness.
“We have a guest coming, as I’m sure Anna has told you.” The smooth tone of Viktor’s words act as another much needed distraction.
Casey nods, still uncertain who it could be.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks, looking down to the white anklet still fitting snuggly around her ankle.
“No, sir.”
“I’m going to find you a home.”
Casey’s not sure how that’s possible or why he’s choosing to tell her, so she looks up at him with a puzzled expression. She doesn’t ask the question that begs an answer because she’s unsure she’s allowed to inquire.
“I need you to tell me something, if you would,” he says kindly, but she sees past his calm demeanor into the anger of his eyes. They tell her more than any of his words possibly could.
“Yes, sir.”
“Has anyone hurt you, my dear?”
“Hurt me?” she asks out loud, without meaning to.
“Yes,” he answers. “Let me rephrase.” His accent troubles her understanding even though he slows his words. “Anna told me there was a man, Hangar, who may or may not have touched you. Tell me, sweetheart, in your words. I want to know, did he hurt you?”
Casey ponders the truth, yet again recollecting Hangar’s vile words and the memory of his hand wrapped securely around her throat. In comparison to her life before Viktor had her moved into that room, he hadn’t hurt her.
Her recollections before then are a blur. Men pushed and pulled at her, but it wasn’t to hurt her, per se. She was ignored, neglected, and oftentimes forgotten, yes. However, intentional or malicious harm never happened.
“No, sir.”
“Are you lying to me, princess?”
His constant stream of endearments causes her more worry. Her body tenses, remembering Hangar’s voice as he called her princess. Only she knows Hangar meant them as terms of terror; they were said to be vicious and unnerving.
Deciding to offer the truth and risking the punishment she could receive for doing so, with shaky determination she tells him what she remembers most. “I couldn’t breathe.”
Viktor’s jaw clenches and his eyes narrow. He sends a quick look back at Anna as she uses her hand to cover her mouth. She’s about to break into a sob; Casey recognizes her sadness.
Looking back at Casey, he seeks clarification. “What do you mean you couldn’t breathe? Explain.” Viktor’s tone is no longer nice, but now upset.
“Everything started to get blurry, sir. His hand…” Casey releases Viktor’s hold of her hands and positions her own where Hangar’s had been the week before.
She hadn’t seen Hangar since that time, but the memory of his delivered torment hasn’t faded from her mind.
Twisting in his crouched position, Viktor aims a scolding look to Anna. Hearing Casey tell him exactly what she remembers, he bellows into the open room, “He had his fucking hands on her! That ridiculously vile man touched her!”
Casey’s shoulders involuntarily jerk in surprise. Her hands move to her head and she clasps them tightly around her ears, waiting with harsh anticipation for the fallout of her truth to come barreling down upon her.
I shouldn’t have told him, she thinks to herself. I should’ve said I didn’t remember.
“I told you it was the night I found them alone in the bathroom,” Anna reminds Viktor, but Casey only hears the mumbled relay of information. “It was the same night he slapped me.”
“That fucking animal,” Viktor hisses back. Now looking up to Cilas, he accuses, “You let him fucking touch her.”
“No,” Anna calls from her corner. “Ci wasn’t here. He wouldn’t have let anything happen to her.”
Viktor dismisses Anna’s interjection. “This...” He lowers his voice, but Casey can still hear the soft murmur of it. “It’s inexcusable. All of it. He’ll pay. Hoss will see to that, or I will and if I do…”
“Viktor,” Anna pleads, wide eyes staring from him to Casey.
Turning toward her again, Viktor’s hands reach to Casey’s arms before he pulls them away from her body with more force than needed. Immediately, she complies as he places them back in her lap and holds them steady.
Feigning a smile so incredibly wide, he holds Casey’s hands tightly. Speaking to Anna but looking at Casey, Viktor explains what Casey couldn’t possibly understand. “This is why we’re leaving. There’s nothing more here. She’s already gone.”
She’s already gone? Casey doesn’t question him, but looks up to Anna quickly.
Anna starts to say something, but the knock on the door stops her before she can.
Cilas steps forward and puts his hand on the doorknob before silently turning back to Viktor for permission to open.
Chapter Ten
“You don’t need stitches,” Em advises, holding the alcohol swab above my badly cut eye. She’s using more pressure than I know she needs to. She’s still shaking after witnessing what happened. “But you need to keep ice on it.”
“Thanks,” I reply, grabbing the swab from her hand so she can continue rummaging through the first-aid kit.
Shaking her head to herself, she whispers quietly, yet knowing I can hear her fine, “I told you we should have stayed in tonight, but nope. Max wanted to go out.”
“Babe,” I start, not wishing to hear her continue. “We need to get out more. Sittin’ around here is driving us both crazy,” I remind her.
“Did you recognize the man at the bar from anywhere? Had you seen him before?”
“No, not a clue who he is.” I move the hair from her face before stating, “You didn’t know him, either.”
Shaking her head, she utters with worry, “No, I didn’t.”
Grabbing her and pulling her to my side, I try to make light in the darkness of our evening. “Shit follows us, Em. It does.”
She sighs, turns in place, and kisses my neck. “I’m glad you’re okay. It could’ve been so much worse.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It could’ve been.” I can see her eyes are tired from worry. “I hated seeing you like that,” she tells me, no longer smirking or smiling at all.
“I’ve been hit before, Em.”
“Years ago,” she corrects. “Back then, you were fighting as boys, not men.”
“It’s over,” I whisper, grabbing her wrist in reassurance. “It would’ve only been worse had you not been there, but you were and it was fine.”
“He was a bully,” she states with a huff.
I try not to smile at her, but now that we’re home and she’s safe, it’s tough not to. “Bully?”
“Whatever. You know what I mean. You didn’t do anything to provoke him.”
“Right then. Bully.” I’m still smirking, but can’t help it.
Em moves in for a welcome change of subject. “I’m working tomorrow. I’ll pick up dinner on the way home. Maybe you should go see your dad or Tommy or…”
Squeezing her wrist in my hand, it stops her from avoiding my eyes. I bring it toward me and hold it tightly on my lap. “Stop trying to keep me busy. I’ll check in the shop tomorrow and see if Luke needs anything done.”
“He’s going to fire you soon if you don’t go back.”
“The shop is slow this time of year. And he loves me. He won’t fire me.”
She smiles finally, putting the box on the floor, then grabbing the television remote and burrowing herself in my side. “Hard not to love a man with a big black eye.”
“Oh, yeah? Something about the danger of it you like?”
“No,” she answers, focusing on the show she’s just put on. “I feel sorry for you. You got your ass kicked tonight. That can’t be easy on someone’s ego, especially yours.”
Rather than walk further into her bullshit, I accept what she says as her
way of being okay with the way our shitty night ended. We’re together, in our apartment, alone and safe. It’s a small blessing but one I’m thankful for.
A couple hours later, as I’m about to put a sleeping Em to bed, my cell phone rings in my jacket. Walking over and pulling it out, I find the caller ID states ‘unknown’.
I slide the phone to connect but before I’m able to say a word, the voice comes through directly. “This Max Taylor?”
My mind still holds onto the vision of the man in the suit, so I’m on edge. “Yes, Max Taylor. Who the fuck is this?”
“This is Brayden. Aimes told me to get in touch,” he says first. “I’ve got some information he wants passed along.”
Looking behind me to Emilyn sleeping on the couch, I think better of it and move this conversation out to the back balcony. “Hang on,” I tell him as I open the door and step out into the night air. “So, you said you had something from Aimes?” I ask, but I’m leery considering Aimes never mentioned anything about this man. Not his name or his involvement in this. However, I haven’t talked to Aimes recently, so I immediately ask, “How do I know you’re legit?”
Laughing once, he comments, “He said you’d be skeptical. I’m supposed to tell you that you’d better be takin’ care of Em or he plans to move in on all of that.”
I don’t smile because Brayden speaks the truth. That is exactly something Aimes would say. “So, you know him,” I concede. “Where the fuck is he?”
“He’s busy,” he answers in a no-nonsense tone. “He won’t be back for a while, but he said he needs you to keep your cool.”
“Right,” I reply.
“He said you’d be gettin’ anxious and he’s working something out with my brothers. He’ll be in touch soon and when he is, you need to be ready for what’s coming.”
“What is coming?” I ask with bated breath. This is as close to something as I’ve gotten since Aimes went off the fucking map.
His answer, though, isn’t what I wanted to hear. “A fuck-load of distraction.”
I hate distractions.
Distractions get me nowhere. What I need is help, the solid kind I thought I could bank on with the Easton brothers.
