The Redemption

by Lauren Rowe

  I’m speechless.

  He swivels my head away from him, moves my hair aside, and softly presses his lips against the stapled wound at the base of my skull. “Does that feel good?”

  I shiver. “Mmm hmm.” Feeling his lips on my stapled skin is turning me on too much to say anything else.

  His soft lips migrate down my neck, all the way to my bare shoulder. His hand wraps around my torso and cups my breast.

  I feel him shudder with desire behind me—and I’m right there with him. I lie down on my back, and he instantly begins licking my erect nipples—and then my neck. My ear. My lips. His tongue enters my mouth and his hand touches my face.

  Oh my gosh, I’m on fire. When my life flashed before my eyes in that bathroom, when I thought I was a goner for sure, what did I think about? I love you, Jonas. Of all the thoughts my brain might have conjured in that most vulnerable, raw, life-defining moment, my love for Jonas was everything.

  “Sarah,” he breathes, kissing me. “I thought I’d lost you.” He chokes back emotion. “Sarah,” he says again.

  “Make love to me,” I breathe.

  He pulls back, unsure.

  “The doctor said sex is okay after three days,” I assure him. Okay, technically, I didn’t ask the doctor when I can have sex again—but Dr. Sarah is here and she says it’s okay. I feel like me again and I want him inside me. Oh my God, do I ever. I want to be as close to him as humanly possible. For goodness sake, the man just said he loves every inch of me, and I’m suddenly desperate for him to prove it, from the inside out.

  He touches my face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Just take it slow.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” I take off my pajama bottoms. I’m yearning for him.

  He takes his clothes off and lies down against me, his erection insistent against my belly, his skin warm and smooth against mine.

  I’m trembling.

  He holds me for a moment, looking into my eyes. “When I saw you in the bathroom... ,” he says. But he stops.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “That must have been terrifying.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Jonas.”

  He pauses a really long time.

  Something in the way he’s looking at me makes me hold my breath.

  He inhales deeply. “I love you, Sarah.”

  My breathing halts. I’m not sure I heard him correctly.

  “I love you so much,” he says. His eyes are moist.

  I burst into tears.

  “I love you,” he says softly, wiping at my tears. He kisses me.

  I know this is the part where I’m supposed to tell him I love him, too, but I’m mute. I can’t believe my ears. I’m dumbfounded. I’m spellbound. I return his kiss passionately and throw my leg over him, eager for him to fill me up. When his body enters mine, we both moan loudly at the pleasure of it.

  “I love you,” he says, his voice husky.

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I’m overwhelmed.

  “Am I hurting you?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  He kisses my lips as his body moves inside mine. His hands stroke my back and butt. I feel nothing but pleasure and love and elation as his body leads mine into synchronized movement. Any pain my wounded body might have been feeling a moment ago has been replaced by pleasure, sublime pleasure. I feel euphoric.

  “I love you,” he says, his body zealously emphasizing his words.

  “Oh, Jonas,” I gasp, finding my voice. “I love you, too.”

  “Oh God,” he exhales, shuddering. His lips find mine again, and then he whispers in my ear. “I love you, baby.”

  I moan and press myself into him enthusiastically. I never knew it could feel so good to hear those three little words.

  “I love you, Jonas,” I whimper. I’m bursting with joy. I can’t believe this is happening.

  He pulls out of me, his chest heaving. “I love every inch of you, Sarah Cruz.” He gently pushes me onto my back and proceeds to kiss every single inch of me, from the top of my head to the wound on my neck, down to my breasts and belly and the gash on my ribcage, to my hips, thighs, crotch, arms and fingers and thighs and legs and toes, and then he begins working his way back up my legs and slowly up the insides of my thighs, to the sensitive skin right between my legs. By the time he gets to my clit and licks me ever so gently with his warm, wet tongue, I can barely hold it together. I’m arching my back, gripping the sheet, shuddering violently. I’m not sure if I’m going to scream or burst into tears or flames—or if all my stitches are going to simultaneously pop out of my skin like tiny projectile missiles—but, certainly, something’s got to give. I can’t withstand this pressure building inside me for much longer.

  I make a guttural sound. I can’t take it anymore. This is too exquisitely pleasurable to bear. He loves me. I feel like he’s enveloping me in his love, wrapping me in it from head to toe—delivering me into a dream. But this is way better than any dream, even the one where Jonas became a slithering, sensuous cloud. He loves me. And I love him.

  His wet tongue leaves my sweet spot, making me cry out in protest, but he ignores me, kissing his way back up my torso, all the way up to my face. Finally, he arrives at my mouth and devours my lips, urgently pressing the tip of his erection against my throbbing clit. He kisses me voraciously, all the while grinding the tip of his penis desperately into the most sensitive spot on my body. Oh God, he’s rubbing me, coaxing me, making me cry out, and whispering into my ear all the while.

  “I love you, Sarah Cruz,” he says, his voice and tip conspiring to push me over the edge. “I love you so much, baby.” His voice is gruff as he rubs against me, making me writhe in ecstasy. “I love you with all my heart.”

  I scream his name as my body releases and shudders, an all-consuming orgasm rippling through me, and he slides his shaft into me, deep, deep inside me. After a brief moment, he finds his release, too.

  “I love you,” he whispers again, his body heaving one final time.

  “I love you, Jonas,” I say, shivering.

  We lie together for several minutes, neither of us speaking.

  Holy crap, that was delicious, even if my wounds have started pulsing angrily at me from the exertion. I don’t care about a few throbbing stab wounds—I can take an ibuprofen for that, for Pete’s sake. I just experienced unmitigated ecstasy—life-changing, earth-shattering, heart-swooning euphoria. Oh good Lord, this beautiful man loves me. And I love him. We actually said it out loud to each other. Oh my God.

  Jonas kisses my cheek and rolls onto his back, sighing happily. “The culmination of human possibility,” he says, flashing me a beaming smile. He’s the picture of sheer exhilaration. I’ve never seen him smile quite so joyously before—never seen his eyes light up and dance without reservation quite like this. It’s as if something dark and heavy has lifted off his soul, unburdening him and leaving him light as a feather. He’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld. Oh, Jonas. My sweet Jonas. I love him with all my heart. And, Lord have mercy, he loves me right back.

  Chapter 13

  Sarah

  Jonas and I are sitting on his balcony, looking out at the city, sipping wine (me) and beer (him), and finally having that heart to heart I’ve been avoiding for the past three days. I’ve just told him every single detail about my run-in with the Ukrainian John Travolta in the bathroom and I’ve also shown him my recent email exchange with The Club, too. He’s listened intently to every word, barely breathing.

  “You’re so fucking smart,” he says. “Thank God you had that check in your purse.”

  “Not thank God,” I retort. “Thank you. I had that check in my purse only because you gave it to me, Jonas. You saved my life.”

  He shakes his head, unwilling to accept this simple but incontrovertible fact.

  “Yes, Jonas. Listen to me. Two things saved my life—knowing Oksana’s name an
d having that check—and I have you to thank for both. See? You saved my life.”

  Jonas takes a swig of his beer, mulling that over. I can almost see the gears inside his brain turning.

  “Hey, maybe you can stop payment on that check,” I say. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that until just now. ”

  “Hell no. We want them to deposit that check—it’s a homing device. Couldn’t have worked out better if we’d planned it.” He clinks his beer to my wine glass. “’Twas a stroke of brilliance, Sarah Cruz.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Once they deposit the check, we’ll know their bank of deposit—and we can use that information to find them.”

  “Oh, wow,” I say. “I didn’t think of that.” I twist my mouth. “But that’s assuming they deposit the check. My name’s listed as the payee, don’t forget.”

  He scoffs. “Any two-bit criminal can chemically lift the payee name off any check.”

  “Really? Jeez, that’s scary. For a girl employed by a global crime syndicate, I’m not very knowledgeable about organized crime.”

  “Sarah.”

  “What?”

  He’s staring at me, his eyes moist. “I’m so proud of you.”

  I swat at the air like it was nothing. “All I did was buy myself a little time. I’m just worried about what’s gonna happen when I don’t deliver the oodles of cash I’ve promised them.” I shake my head, thinking about all my big promises. “How long before they figure out I’m full of crap? How long before they decide to finish the job they started in the bathroom?” My stomach tightens.

  “Oh, don’t you worry, my pretty baby, we’re gonna figure them out long before they figure us out.” He puts his hand on my thigh and his palm is warm in the evening air. “You just keep making them think you’ve got me right where you want me, just like you did in that bathroom. Just like you did in your email to them. We’ll use their greed against them and fuck them up the ass six ways from Sunday.”

  “I’m sorry I threw you under the bus, Jonas,” I say. “I wish I could have figured out a way to save myself that didn’t drag you into this.”

  “Are you serious? You were brilliant. You said exactly the right thing.” He swallows hard, choking back emotion. “Whatever you had to do to stay alive, I’m glad you did it.”

  I put my wine glass down and move to his lap.

  He puts his beer bottle down and wraps his arms around my back, nuzzling his nose into mine. “So what were the other horrible things you wanted to tell me, my precious baby?” he asks. At the beginning of this conversation, I’d warned Jonas I had five things to tell him, some of them not so great. “Whatever they are, I guarantee you, I won’t be upset.”

  We’ll see about that. I’ve only told him two out of the five things on my list of horribles: One, I gave the bad guys Jonas’ two-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar check. Two, I told the bad guys I’ve been scamming Jonas and can get them even more money. So far, so good—he seems to think I’ve handled things brilliantly. But now it’s time for items three, four, and five.

  “Item three,” I say. “I’ve got a list of twelve different Oksanas who rent post office boxes in the greater Las Vegas area—plus the physical addresses each Oksana used when she registered for her box.”

  His mouth hangs open. “Wow, that’s amazing. Why would I be upset about...” His face suddenly darkens. “Sarah, how’d you get that information?”

  I take a deep breath. “I asked Georgia to help me.”

  His face reddens and his body jerks beneath me like he’s trying to buck me off.

  I stand, my cheeks instantly burning.

  “How could you even think about getting Georgia involved in all this?” He runs his hand through his hair, trying to contain his anger. Oh man, he’s pissed. “That’s just... I can’t believe you did that.” He looks like he’s restraining himself from saying more.

  I knew he wouldn’t like this particular item, but I thought he might just roll his eyes about it. I didn’t think he’d be genuinely angry with me.

  His jaw muscles are pulsing in and out. “I don’t want Georgia and Trey involved in all this—what were you thinking?” His voice is controlled rage.

  What was I thinking? Well, in a nutshell that I’m going to do whatever I have to do to track these motherfuckers down. That I’m not going to sit around waiting for them to come back and finish the job they started. That I really didn’t think I was putting Georgia and Trey in harm’s way or else I never would have asked for Georgia’s help, for Pete’s sake, give me some effing credit.

  I’m sure my indignation is written all over my face.

  He stands. “Well, Jesus. What did you tell her when you asked her?”

  I tell Jonas exactly what I said to Georgia, my voice tight and contained.

  He’s quiet for a solid minute, leaning over the balcony railing and looking out at the city.

  I cross my arms over my chest and wait for the supreme lord-god-master to grace me with his verdict. Does he want to get the bad guys or not? Because I do—and that’s all I was trying to do, for goodness sake. I sit back in my chair in a huff and grab my wine. Blood is pulsing in my ears.

  He turns around and leans his back against the railing. “You’re so fucking snoopy, you know that?”

  I’m trying to keep my lip from trembling. I nod. Yes, I’m snoopy. I know this about myself. If he doesn’t like that part of me, he’s in for a long and tortured ride.

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  I nod again. It’s true. So what? I’ve always been this way. I can’t help it. If he has a problem with the way I am, the way I’ve always been, the way I’m inherently wired, maybe this thing between us isn’t going to work after all. What does he want me to do? Sit around and wait for them to come back and finish the job they started—

  “Come here,” he says, his voice full of warmth. He holds out his arms.

  But I don’t move. My cheeks are blazing. I’ve worked myself into a bit of a tizzy inside my own head and now I need a minute. What did he expect me to do? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs? That’s not my style.

  He walks over to me and pulls me out of my chair. I resist him for a grand total of three seconds, and then I melt into his broad chest.

  “From now on, we’re a team.” He kisses the top of my head. “No more Snoopy Sarah running around conquering the world all by herself, okay?”

  I don’t reply. I’m just enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped around me in the cool night.

  “We make decisions together on this thing. And that goes for me, too—two and a half heads are always better than one.”

  I look up at him. “Two and a half heads? Is Josh the half?”

  He laughs. “No, though I’ll tell him you said that. I’m spotting you an extra half a head because you’re so fucking smart.”

  I nuzzle into his neck. He smells so good. “I’m sorry, Jonas.”

  He tilts my face up to look at him. “What am I gonna do with you, baby? Hmm?”

  I purse my lips. “Kiss me?” I raise my eyebrows hopefully.

  He smiles and kisses me.

  “Okay. What else is on the list?” he asks. He sounds a helluva lot more wary now than he did a few minutes ago when he so confidently proclaimed I couldn’t possibly upset him.

  I sigh. “I didn’t believe you about seeing the Ukrainian Travolta. I thought you were overprotective and hypersensitive—and maybe even paranoid. I was an idiot. I should have believed you.”

  He cocks his head to the side and looks at me for a long time. He opens his mouth to say something and then reconsiders. “I understand,” he finally says. “It’s okay.”

  I’m expecting more, but apparently that’s it.

  He shrugs. “What else you got?”

  So we’re done with that one? Because if we are, I have no idea how it just got resolved. “Um. Well, last but not least, I think it’s important for us to talk about how all of thi
s must have affected you.”

  He clenches his jaw but doesn’t speak.

  “I feel so horrible.” My eyes suddenly brim with tears. “I’ve put you through yet another bloody trauma—the last thing in the world I ever wanted to do to you. It must have been beyond torture for you to find me like that—the whole scenario must have brought up all kinds of stuff about your mother’s murder. I’m so, so sorry—”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry.” His voice is pure anguish. He sits back down in his chair and puts his head in his hands. “I’m the one who promised to protect you and then let you go into that bathroom, unprotected, all alone, while I sat in that classroom, listening to fucking music—” He’s choking up, becoming more and more emotional as he speaks.

  “You were listening to music? Were you listening to the playlist I made for you?”

  He stops and stares at me, his train of thought hijacked.

  I sit on his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. “Were you able to decipher the super-secret coded message I sent you in those songs?” I smile, but he scowls.

  Boom. It suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks—this right here is the exact moment I’ve been wanting to avoid for the past three days—the exact thing that made me retreat from Jonas and seek out a little space. This. I don’t want to do this. I knew in my bones Jonas would view this entire situation as his frickin’ fault—as yet another example of how he’s miserably failed to protect the one he loves the most. I knew he’d blur the attack on me with the horror of his mother’s murder and wrap the two incidents together into a giant ball of intractable self-blame—and, frankly, I can’t handle it. I just don’t have the emotional bandwidth to watch to him spiral into yet another tortured round of self-loathing.

  This beautiful man has blamed himself for twenty-three frickin’ years for his mother’s murder. So is he going to blame himself for my attack for the next twenty-three years, too? And if so, at what cost to his soul? And to mine? At what cost to our relationship? I’m a compassionate person, but I’m not a frickin’ saint. I don’t want to deal with this. It’s bullshit and I don’t have time or patience for it.