Savior

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Sounds great. Thanks for inviting me."

  She gave me a smile then turned to her son, the smile falling. "Don't fuck it up before then," she told him firmly before turning to Shooter and Breaker. "See you guys Sunday. Elsie," she said, reaching for my hand and squeezing it the way only mothers do, "it was so nice to meet you."

  "Nice to meet you too," I said, then watched as she turned and left.

  "We good?" Paine asked when his mother got into her car and pulled away.

  "Um, yeah, we're good. I really do need to get to work now though," I said, glancing at the clock.

  "I'll walk you out," he offered. Well, 'offered' wasn't the right word because it wasn't an offer. It was him narrating events as he pulled me toward the door.

  "See you guys Sunday," I managed to call before the door slammed behind me.

  Paine pulled me toward my car, pushed me back against the driver's door, and slammed his lips down on mine. It was by no means a 'good morning' kiss. It was hot and hungry and promising all kinds of fun carnal things that he couldn't give me because I was almost late for work and, you know, we were in public.

  "I'm not even close to fucking done with you," he said in a deep, smooth voice before turning away and going back toward his shop.

  With a strange fluttering feeling in my belly and wobbly legs, I got into my car and went to work.

  And couldn't concentrate enough to get a damn thing done all day.

  Thirteen

  Paine

  Drawing helps me focus. It lets my mind find what's important through all the bullshit that was always rolling around. Elsie had shifted away from me in her sleep and I had managed to get up without bothering her. A part of me had wanted to stay, to climb back, sleep in, wake up with plenty of time, and fuck her senseless before we both had to get off to work. But that was exactly the reason I needed to get my ass up, hit the gym, and get myself some perspective.

  The sketch of the barbell was first. It was a simple explanation to where I went so she didn't wake up and freak out. It was also supposed to be the only one I left, but as soon as I put it down, the animated cutesy sushi came to me and I just started to draw it out. Obviously, it was something that was on my mind.

  First, because it was a relatively new experience for me. I'd shared coffee with women, or drinks at a bar. I'd even taken a few out to an early morning breakfast after an all night fucking. But I never just... took a woman to dinner. For the fuck of it.

  Second, because in doing so, I got to see Elsie. See past the pretty and the smart and the rich, all the things that assaulted you when you saw her. I got under that. I saw the funny and awkward and silly. I saw the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her sister. By all accounts, Elana seemed like her shit was whacked, she was all over the place. But it was clear that Elsie loved her fiercely and loyally. And, well, Elsie was a pretty level-headed chick. If she thought you were worthy of fierce and loyal love, then you must be, despite all the outward appearances of crazy.

  As I plowed through a rough workout, I couldn't shake the question why. Why Elsie was different. Sure, she was drop dead gorgeous. But I'd bagged beautiful women before. She was smart. That was also something I'd known before. The rich thing, that meant nothing to me. It wasn't like I was the kind of man who would ever let a woman take care of him.

  There was just a 'something', a thing I couldn't put my finger on, but she had it and I wanted a piece of it.

  Maybe it was her contradictions. Sure she was pretty, but she vegged out in ugly sweats and wore giant glasses when her contacts were out. She was rich, but she worked her ass off to take care of herself despite the trust. She seemed to have her shit together, strong, independent... but there was also a hint of vulnerability about her that made any good man want to protect it at all costs. She cared about her body, but not in a way that made her deny good food when it was in front of her.

  And, well, shit, that woman wore a sexually confident vibe that a man could sense a mile off. And it wasn't the sad, desperate vibe you found on lonely women in a bar. It was something else, something infinitely more attractive. It was something that said she owned her sexuality, she liked to have sex if and when she wanted it with whomever she chose and that she didn't let it define her or in any way lower her.

  The sex? Off the fucking charts.

  Sure, there had been women in the past that I hit it off with in bed and spent more than one night with. Some that I called whenever the mood struck, alone and horny and in need of some headboard breaking, no strings attached sex. But that was clearly all it was.

  With Elsie, once I was inside her, I got this strange as fuck feeling like that was where I was supposed to be.

  Factor in that she could take it as hard and fast as I gave it to her, the fact that she gave good head (though it got interrupted), that her pussy tasted like fucking candy... yeah, no way was I going to pass up the opportunity to explore that with her.

  I showered and left the gym, texting Shoot and Breaker to meet me at the shop to talk about the Elana situation, see if either of them knew anything.

  Breaker got his name because he was good at breaking things. Mainly, people. That was how he made his living, through intimidation, through beatings. Shooter, well, obviously he was good with a gun. Meaning, he was the best sniper and contract killer on the East coast. I came across Breaker when he was squatting in abandoned storefronts as a teen. There was a certain connection street-kids felt for one another. Me and Break, we got along straight off. A couple years later, Breaker took in a younger Shooter like a little lost puppy. Breaker was, outside the gang, the best friend I had. So, by extension, me and Shoot got tight as well. It helped that we all lived outside the law; we understood one another.

  Through the years and me getting outta the gang, they were by my side. Both still worked their illegal jobs and, therefore, both had an ear to the streets at all times whereas sometimes my information was weeks or months too old to matter.

  "Fuck man," Breaker said, shaking his head with a smile after we had discussed the situation for a while.

  "What?"

  Shoot laughed. "You watched the two of us go through it and you don't know what?" he asked.

  See, Breaker and Shooter used to really enjoy the company of women too, many different women. Then Breaker met Alex. Because he was paid to kidnap her. Long story short, they ended up together. Then Shooter had to go back to Alabama to handle some family shit. He met Amelia. Amelia got herself wrapped up into some trouble that Shoot tried to get her out of. Lots of action and shit with both of them that ended up leading to serious relationships.

  "That's not what's happening here."

  "Sure it ain't," Breaker agreed, lips twitching.

  "What do you give it?" Shoot asked Breaker. "Week? Two?"

  "For what?" I asked, knowing I would regret doing so.

  "Until you're completely pussy-whipped," Shoot supplied.

  And that was exactly when Elsie decided to come in and bring me morning coffee. Which, well, was sweet as fuck. I'd never had a woman go out of her way to bring me anything before.

  Then my ma showed up and dropped that flavor of the week line with Elsie within earshot. I mean I love my ma, but I seriously wanted to throttle her for that, especially when I walked into my kitchen and Elsie backed herself into a corner, eyes wide, looking both terrified and horrified at once. And I didn't fucking like that one bit.

  I could see in that moment that she wasn't that girl. She wasn't the girl guys used and threw aside. She was class. The men who courted her, courted her. And the men she maybe fucked just for a fuck, guaran-fucking-tee they wanted more when she was done with them. That was what she was used to and the thought that anyone saw her as a disposable fuck toy really bothered her.

  I didn't like the idea either.

  So yeah... things were a bit more fucking complicated than I was used to.

  On top of that shit, Shoot and Break hadn
't heard anything. Nothing about Elana or anything about some extortion or kidnapping ring in the area.

  So short story... things were fucked.

  I was hoping Sawyer dug something else up. He might have been an ass, but he was an ass that got shit done. If there was someone I was comfortable with being on the job, it was him.

  If all else failed, I was willing to cross over to my old streets and start causing some chaos until I got the answers I wanted. Enzo would flip shit, but that was too fucking bad.

  I focused on work, never finding anything that I could concentrate on quite like I could drawing or tattooing. But as soon as I shut the shop, she came rushing back.

  She was in.

  Under my skin.

  And I didn't know what the fuck to do with that realization.

  So I went to the grocery store, like I had planned.

  Then I went over to Elsie's.

  Fourteen

  Elsie

  "Hey Elsie, wait up," Shane Mallick called as I skirted the front desk. I paused, turning, brows raised. Sure, he'd been my personal trainer once upon a time, but we barely shared more than hellos and goodbyes anymore.

  "Yeah?"

  "Got something for you," he said, reaching for something under the desk and coming back with an envelope.

  Alright. Truth be told, now that I knew he was some kind of knee-breaking loan shark... I kinda felt a little weird taking anything from him. But he was holding out the envelope like he expected me to take it. So I did. The front had my name on it but that was it. I slid a finger under the seal, opened it, and pulled out the sheet of paper inside.

  Curious, I unfolded it.

  It was from Paine.

  I knew this because it was another drawing.

  This time, a perfect replica of my kitchen. Except there were grocery bags on the island which absolutely did not belong there seeing as I did not keep much in the way of food in my house.

  "Uh oh. I know that look," Shane's voice broke in and my eyes sought his guiltily. It was then that I realized I was doing the goofy grin again. I had to make sure I didn't do that in front of Paine. Seriously.

  "What look?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

  "Oh fuck off babe," he laughed, giving me an amused smile. "You know exactly what look. You're so fucked. Paine, babe? Shit."

  "It's not like that."

  "Sure it's not."

  "It's not," I insisted.

  "What'd he give you?"

  Seeing no reason not to share, I showed him the picture. "It's my kitchen."

  "This supposed to mean something?"

  "I think it means he's cooking me dinner? I don't keep food in my house and there's food on the counter in the drawing."

  "Paine is gonna cook for you?" he asked like I implied Paine was going to paint my toenails while watching a Sex and the City marathon.

  "He already made me pancakes."

  "Shit," he said, shaking his head as he handed me my drawing back.

  I carefully refolded it, knowing it was going right in my jewelry box once I got home. "What?"

  "You're both fucked," he said with a shrug.

  "Gee thanks for that," I said, shaking my head. "See you next time," I added, going toward the door.

  I drove home with both a knot of uncertainty and a thrill of excitement spreading through my system. And, sure enough, Paine's Challenger was out front. I grabbed my purse and gym bag and hustled into my place, expecting to smell dinner cooking, but all I was met with was the sound of my TV playing some kind of game. Paine was reclined back on my couch, legs up but feet (and shoes) hanging off.

  "Hey babygirl," he called, not looking up from the TV.

  "I got your, ah, note."

  "And you got a kitchen counter full of groceries."

  I felt my brows draw together. "About that..."

  "You're gonna cook me dinner."

  "I'm sorry, I'm what?" I asked, completely thrown off.

  "Cook me, well, both of us, dinner. After you get that fine ass over here and give me a kiss."

  "Paine... I can't cook. At all."

  "Sure you can. And you're going to. I'll help."

  "Paine..."

  "Baby, you take care of yourself in every other fucking way. Wouldn't it be nice to know you can throw some food together too?"

  Well, he did sort of have a point.

  "Okay."

  "Good. Now what part of getting your fine ass over here to give me a kiss didn't make sense to you?" he asked, but there was humor in his voice.

  "You have legs too, you know," I said, standing my ground. "And if you want me to cook dinner, I think getting near a couch and kissing might delay that for, say, the rest of the night."

  At that, he knifed up, turning over his shoulder to give me a wicked smile. "Might have a point there," he agreed, standing and making his way toward me.

  I threw my gym bag and purse, knowing that whatever kind of kiss he had in store for me was going to require my hands as well as my lips.

  He stopped when his toes touched mine, slid one foot between my feet, slipped one arm around my lower back, then sank one hand into my hair at the base of my neck, curling and yanking it backward. The second my mouth opened on a gasp, his was on mine, tongue moving inside to claim mine. Claim. That was the only way to describe it. Every time Paine kissed me, it felt like he was marking me, branding me, making me his.

  What's more, I wanted to be his.

  My hips pressed into his as he bent me slightly backward, throwing me off balance, and if his hand wasn't around my hips, I'd have fallen over. Against me, he was hard and straining. Which wasn't helping the fact that I was already hopelessly wet and almost painfully aroused.

  "Alright," he said against my lips, getting me back on my feet and releasing my mouth. "Gotta stop or I'm gonna fuck you right here."

  I fought the urge to tell him I had no problem with that and nodded.

  Then he led me into the kitchen, my body still humming with arousal, and pulled items out of the bags.

  "Starting easy. It's hard to fuck up spaghetti," he said with a boyish smile. "Boil water, put in spaghetti, stir. Put a pan of sauce on, stir. Ten minutes later, dinner is done."

  "Sounds pretty idiot-proof," I agreed, going toward my cabinet to get a pot.

  "You cooking for a football team, baby?" he asked, making me turn.

  "What?"

  "Swear to fuck, you're so clueless about this that it's cute. That pot is too big. Something half that size for the pasta. Then something half the size of the pasta pot for the sauce."

  "Right," I said, finding the right pots, filling one with water, filling one with sauce and putting them on the stove as instructed.

  "Want wine with dinner?" he asked, moving toward the rack.

  "Sure," I said, watching the pot.

  While I waited for the pot to boil, he asked me about my day, handed me wine, found excuses to casually touch me. It was all so... normal. Casual. And I realized I could really get used to it.

  But I told him I wouldn't do that.

  The night before, I agreed to let things play out how they were going to play out, to not expect things.

  So yeah, I watched the bubbles pop up in the water and tried to tamp down the warm and gushy feelings inside.

  "Salt the water first," Paine said as he handed me the box of pasta. I followed instructions. I mixed the pasta a time or two.

  Then I couldn't mix it anymore.

  This was because Paine had snagged me around the belly, pulled me across the floor, turned me, and pushed me up against the island.

  "Got ten minutes. Twelve if you can deal with your pasta being on the soft side."

  "Twelve minutes for what?"

  "To fuck you," he growled, grabbing the waistbands of my pants and panties and dragging them down to my knees. He pulled me backward by my hair, sinking his teeth into my neck. "First let's have a quick birth con
trol talk. Pill?"

  "IUD," I corrected, groaning as his hand moved down my belly and started working my clit. "Had a screen at my last gyno visit six months ago. Haven't had sex since then."

  "Checked last month. Always use a condom. You wanna wait for the paperwork..."

  "I trust you," I said as his teeth bit into my neck hard.

  "Thank fuck," he groaned, grabbing my hair again, twisting in it, and using it to push me downward hard and fast, pressing my upper body and the side of my face against the island, holding me there. "Tip your ass up," he demanded and I quickly moved to comply, the need for him inside me a throbbing, insistent thing. His palm swung out and swatted my ass hard enough for me to go up on my toes at the sting, my pussy clenching hard in excitement.

  His other hand pressed hard into my neck, holding me against the counter, then he slammed inside me to the hilt. "Fuck," he growled, stilling inside me for a second.

  And then he was fucking me.

  Not fast, but hard.

  With each stroke, he almost fully left me before slamming all the way forward with so much force that it made my hips slam into the counter.

  All I could think past the clenching tightness of my growing orgasm was... never. No one had ever taken me so hard before. The men I had been with before had always been tentative at first, just shy of gentle. When they got more comfortable, there was some headboard knocking, but nothing even in the same hemisphere as the way Paine took me.

  On a strange growl, he released my neck. Before I could try to push up, his hands closed around my hips, his fingers sinking into my hipbones hard as he lifted me up and off my feet. I repeat: he lifted me off of my feet, thereby taking away any ability I had to thrust backward, or do anything at all but take him. My arms went out in front of me, grabbing the edge of the counter as he held me up and continued thrusting hard, getting faster, and I knew I was going to be done way before the pasta.