by Sam Mariano
“Everyone who hurt you is gone,” I tell her.
She’s quiet, but nods slightly.
It’s probably not the right time, but her weird reactions seem to rub off on me and I mutter wryly, “Well, except me.”
She does look over at me, but now I’m not looking at her. Maybe she was going to say something, but Ryder and Al walk out of the lobby and get back in the car, so the opportunity to speak passes. Ryder reaches over his shoulder and hands me a room key.
He parks in front of the stretch of rooms we rented out. We’re all somber as we get out—even Ryder, who usually isn’t, but he can read a room.
Ryder gives me an expectant look, unsure how to proceed with a chick along for the ride. I’m actually waiting on him to give me shit about it, but again, it’s not the time. I need to talk to him and Al before we all part ways anyway, so I tell them I’ll catch up in a minute.
Annabelle walks in front of me, then falls back so I can unlock the door to our room. I wonder if maybe I should’ve gotten her a room of her own, so she didn’t have to be around me while she processed.
Once we’re inside I tell her, “I need to go talk to them. You’ll be okay here?”
She nods wordlessly and takes a seat on the edge of the drab bed.
I stand there for a minute, just watching her. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I feel tempted to ask stupid, needy questions, which is an impulse I haven’t had since childhood. The vulnerability is more uncomfortable than anything else I’ve done tonight. I want to ask if there’s anything I can do, any way I can fix this, but I don’t want to hear the answer.
Without another word, without getting her to look at me, I back out of the room, securing the door and just staring at it for a moment before I turn to walk away.
I linger in Ryder’s room for as long as I can. It’s far from the kind of room with a mini bar, but Al disappears for a bit while I’m catching up with Ryder, and when he returns he has a six-pack of room temperature beer.
After the night we’ve all had, not one of us hesitates to crack that shit open.
It takes until my second can before Ryder, sprawled in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world, finally says, “So, how the hell did this girl happen?”
The mere mention of her unsettles me. Reminds me what’s waiting for me back in the other room—and not in the good way, the lusty way, though now that I’m thinking about it, my blood does stir over memories of her naked body beneath mine. I wish things could be easy. I wish the hell I’ve been living in since I met her could be well and truly behind us, and I could go home to her, as boring as that sounds. I just want to sink into her body and let the fucked up world around us disappear.
“Story for another time,” I tell him, taking a last swig of beer and crushing the can.
“Will there be another time?” he asks, not unreasonably. “What’s next for you?”
Shaking my head, I push off the chair and cross the room to drop the empty beer can into the small, black trash can. “Don’t know. Guess I better go find out.”
He stands, putting his beer down on the shoddy bedside table. “Well, I’ve got something in the works if you find yourself… free. You want in, I’m sure I could use one more guy.”
“What kind of something?”
“The heist kind,” Ryder says, grinning.
I roll my eyes. “Not my thing.”
“Well, it’s gonna be a big payout if you change your mind.”
It makes me weary just thinking about it. I’d gotten too attached to the idea of taking a break from all this after this job was over, to a relaxed life at the beach with Annabelle, carving out something a little more normal, seeing how it fit. A heist is the last thing I want to do, but the idea of doing nothing and being alone with my thoughts after Annabelle doesn’t feel right, either.
“I’ll let you know,” I tell him.
After I leave the guys I linger outside for a few minutes. I pretend to myself I’m being alert, keeping an eye out as I gaze at the dark, empty road, but I know I’m just avoiding Annabelle. I don’t know how to comfort people, and I doubt she’d really want comfort from me right now anyhow. Even if it was the best thing I could’ve done for her logically, I’m sure it doesn’t feel that way right now.
Eventually I run out of sidewalk to kick and phantom headlights to look for. I almost wish I smoked, I could buy myself a little more time.
Steeling myself for what’s to come, I pause outside the door, take a deep breath, and finally push it open.
My eyes go to the bed, where she was when I left her, but she isn’t there anymore. It’s a tiny room, just a cheap bed with a nightstand, a worn beige chair. The back wall is a vanity with tacky lights overhead and a sink, because the bathroom is too small to fit one. There’s a nook with a shady looking bar and some metal coat hangers off to the right of the vanity.
The bathroom door is closed and I can see the light on, so I assume she’s in there. I wonder if she’s physically ill. I should’ve been much more thoughtful, less focused on my mission and more focused on her well-being. I should’ve known she isn’t me.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should’ve stayed away and let someone else handle it. I just had to see it done, and now I’ll pay the price, whatever it is. Can’t say it wasn’t worth it, knowing she’s safe now, knowing Paul will never lay another hand on her and Pietro’s reign of terror has finally ended.
Annabelle is finally free.
The bathroom door creaks as it opens up, letting a stream of light into the darkened room.
She gasps in surprise when she sees me, eyes fluttering shut, a hand flying to her chest as her whole body tenses.
I feel like I’m on trial and awaiting a verdict, but I can’t bring myself to meet her eyes.
I hear her expel a breath of relief. She hesitates in front of the door for a moment, then she steps around me and heads for the bed. With her back to me, I allow myself a glimpse of her in the tiny, white towel she has wrapped around her. Droplets of water still linger across her back and shoulders, and it takes an immense measure of control not to step forward, press myself against her body, and lick them off. I imagine gripping the towel, yanking it off her, and throwing it onto the floor.
Shifting in mild discomfort, I watch her take a seat on the edge of the bed.
Her voice is a little hoarse, like maybe she’s been crying. Her face is red, but I don’t know what she looks like after she cries, so I don’t know if it’s that or the shower. Regret rocks me, knowing I’ll never get to reach that level of familiarity with her.
She’s looking at me expectantly and I realize I completely missed her words. “I’m sorry… what?”
Her brow furrows briefly, then with a look of concern, she asks, “Are you okay?”
“Me?” I ask, surprised. “Yeah.”
She’s finger-combing her hair and it’s all I can concentrate on. Drops of water fall from the dark strands of her hair to the cheap carpet, and I’m hyperaware of her bare ass pressed against the bedsheet I’m going to sleep on tonight.
“Liam,” she says, a little more sharply.
My eyes widen and shoot to hers and I see she’s frowning again. I vaguely realize maybe she was talking again.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her again, shaking my head to clear it.
Annabelle stands and pads across the short stretch until she’s standing before me, her damp hair draped over her shoulder, smelling fresh and clean from the cheap bar of soap she used in the shower. Her hair doesn’t carry the signature scent I’ve gotten used to, but she still smells amazing and I breathe her in.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her free hand coming up to skim my jawline.
I don’t want to lose you. I keep the words trapped inside my tightly closed mouth, willing them to slink back down my throat and back into the abyss they crawled out of, because I’ll be damned if I say that.
Doubt interrupts my defensiveness, pulling my focus to the fe
eling of her hand caressing my face. Comforting me.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, since that seems more relevant.
Her gaze drops to my chest, but her hand doesn’t leave my face. It feels like she holds my fate in her tiny, soft hand instead of just the fate of our relationship.
Instead of answering me, she brings her eyes back to mine again and says, “In all my life, I’ve never known anyone who would’ve done what you did for me tonight.”
I stare, guarded, expecting a ‘but’ to follow.
But… it doesn’t.
Annabelle leans into me, releasing her hold on the towel. It drops on one side, then slides, and a moment later she’s completely naked, the towel in a forgotten pile at her feet.
I want to touch her but I don’t know if I should.
In the end, I don’t have to decide, because she fists her small hand in my shirt and uses the other one to guide me until the backs of my legs hit the edge of the mattress.
Biting down on her lip, she looks tentative, but she’s trying to bluff her way through it, straightening her shoulders and lifting her head before giving me a shove.
I drop to the bed, watching her. The bed creaks as she comes down on top of me, straddling my legs and pushing me back on the bed. Even though it’s clear what she’s doing, I can’t shake the mistrust, even when she pushes her wet hair back over her shoulder and leans down to brush her lips against mine.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She pulls back just enough to give me a sassy little smirk. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
I’m not quick enough with my answer; her hand moves between my legs and caresses my hardened arousal.
I’m not sure how to respond and I’m losing interest in words, as her hand makes a more tempting offer. I open my mouth to ask anyway, but she captures my lips with hers, and suddenly there’s no more space in this cheap hotel room for words.
Annabelle
Chest heaving, I pull back to catch my breath. I’m not completely sure where I want to go with this; I only know I want him.
His hands come to rest on my hips, then slowly make their way up my sides. Excitement surges through me at the contact and I bite back a smile as he launches forward, hands creeping around to my back, until he has my breasts pressed against his face. A short moan escapes me as his mouth closes around my bare nipple.
The way he holds me close, like he’s afraid he won’t get to again, strikes an emotional cord. For the first time in my life, I’m completely untethered. The ties that once bound me severed by the magnificent, powerful man worshiping my body. In the space of one evening, I’ve experienced so much horror, so much fear and pain and devastation. I know he wrought some of it, I just don’t care.
Not anymore.
I can get lost in the pain of the past, or I can move forward with a man who would put his own life at risk for me. I can focus on the terrible things he did on his way to freeing me… or I can spread my wings and soar into the future.
Our future.
Liam’s hips shift beneath me and suddenly he’s lifting me, switching our positions. I roll onto my back and gaze up at him, at his beautiful, strong shoulders as he hovers above me, gazing down at me like he’s a lion and I’m the prey. I can’t help but smile.
“Are you gonna gobble me up?” I tease.
One golden brow quirks upward and his lips curve up into a devilish little smirk. “Maybe. Is that a request?”
I open my mouth to respond but he’s already moved down my body, his big, strong hands on either thigh.
“Liam, no,” I say, laughing helplessly. “No, it wasn’t a request. Come back up here.”
Instead of obeying my request, he spreads my legs and plants himself between them. I watch his head dip, feel his warm breath on the inside of my thigh. My body tenses and I fist my hands in the sheets, anticipating contact.
Several minutes and one leg-shaking orgasm later, I’m curled up in Liam’s strong arms, feeling more at peace with the world than I have a right to. I can’t believe he’s mine to hold. It seems unfathomable that this reserved, sometimes scary wall of blond sexiness… is mine to love.
The thought brings a smile to my face. Liam must be watching me because he shifts beneath me and says, “What?”
I tilt my head back to look up at him, toning my smile down, but unable to completely suppress it. “Hm?”
“What’s the smile for?”
“You,” I tell him, simply.
Despite these last few minutes, doubt still appears to be a cloud hanging over him. “I… wasn’t sure how you’d feel after what you saw.” Pausing a mere fraction of a second, he adds, “I’m still not… sure.”
I take a moment, trying to figure out how to respond to that. It’s hard to filter through all I’ve felt and boil it down to something simple, but I do my best. “I… I knew all along it would be something violent. Not on that scale, but… I knew. I would’ve probably opted out of being right there when it went down, but…” I pause, feeling a little self-conscious of what I’m about to admit, but then reminding myself who I’m talking to. “The thing I didn’t expect was the relief.”
I steal a glance up at Liam for a reaction, but as ever, the man is stoic.
I try to muster an explanation. “When it was first happening there wasn’t relief. It was scary and I wanted to—to stop it, but I couldn’t. It was out of my hands. And when it was over I was sort of trying to reconcile the reality of it, all those people who woke up this morning and probably had breakfast and coffee and… just lived their normal lives, with no feasible idea that they wouldn’t come home from that party.” I shake my head a little, not wanting to drive that home. Despite his stoicism and general aura of toughness, I’m sure some part of him must have struggled with the morality of it. I don’t want to make him feel worse.
“But then… after that came the relief. Everyone who hurt me was gone and I didn’t have to do anything. For the first time since my father died, I felt free.”
He doesn’t say anything right away, and even though I can’t imagine he would judge me, in that moment, I fear he will. I sort of judged me, when the feeling first registered, and maybe he needs me to be the more virtuous partner, maybe the contrast is why we work, why he was attracted to me. Normally virtuous would be far from how I would describe myself, but compared to Rambo over here? Yeah.
Instead of responding with words, he leans in and kisses me. My arms wind around him, craving nearness. I’m happier than I would expect to be given the circumstances, but there are still a lot of unanswered questions. Not least of which….
“Where do we go from here?” I ask, once I’ve pulled back enough to meet his gaze.
“You still want to go with me?”
“Well, yeah,” I say with a light roll of my eyes.
He smiles, finally lowering his guard. “Yeah?”
“Without a doubt,” I promise.
“Good,” he replies.
I know a fishing expedition probably won’t net much with him, but I try anyway with a teasing, “Oh yeah? Why is that good?”
His smile turns jaunty and he says, “Because your plane ticket wasn’t refundable.”
Scrunching my nose up at him, I elbow him in the side and he laughs, and I feel so damn proud of myself for making him laugh when only minutes ago it seemed like his head was a mess.
“So, the beach house?” I question.
He nods, glancing at the wall beyond me, probably piecing together our next moves. “Our flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. We’ll have to stop and pick up at least a suitcase for you, just so it doesn’t look weird that you’re going on vacation with no belongings. I got you a fake passport, but with what just happened tonight… We don’t want anyone to recognize you leaving the country tomorrow.”
“That would probably be less than ideal,” I agree, nodding. My thoughts get a little heavier again, wondering what could go wrong. Pietro had some cops in his pocket, but I do
n’t know how far his reach went. What if someone did recognize me somehow? What if the police think I’m somehow responsible for what went down tonight?
Apparently noticing my concern, he adds, “I doubt they will. There are too many bodies to identify and with the explosions, they won’t get them all, but it was your mother’s party. In all likelihood, it will be assumed you were there.”
“What’s my new name?” I ask.
“Adriana White.”
My eyebrows rise an inch or so. “That’ll take some getting used to. Are you still Liam Hunt?”
Nodding, he says, “I had no real need to change mine. Plus my property there is in my name, and I have been there before, so people could’ve noticed.”
I can’t fight another smile, thinking of me at Liam’s property. “A beach house, huh?”
His hand lazily skates up and down my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Think you can get used to that? Sand and ocean in your backyard, a covered cabana on the beach so the sun doesn’t poison you in the first half hour.”
“I am a little pale for the beach,” I acknowledge. “We should pick up some suntan lotion.”
His hand creeps around my side to my back. “And a bikini.”
“I pictured you more in swim shorts, but hey, to each his own.” I’ve barely finished my joke and he’s tickling me, but it’s just an excuse to touch me. I laugh and wiggle, telling him to stop, and he relents easily. I’m snug against his body by that point, and I’m so full of dreams of our future and absolute affection for this man that I feel like I must be glowing with it. Closing the distance myself, I brush my lips against his.
It’s the first night of the rest of our lives, and I don’t intend to waste it sleeping.
“MAFIA MASSACRE.”
That’s what they’re calling it. I sit in the plastic seat at the airport in a dress and sandals we picked up at a thrift shop, staring up at the mounted television. An expressionless blonde newscaster offers up minimal details, throwing around words like “suspected Mafioso” and urging that while it’s too soon for speculation, police are investigating.
