The Darkest Hour (Running with the Devil Book 1)

by Jasmin Quinn

  “Noble of you,” Dean said dryly as he grabbed a fry from Kelsie’s plate and popped it into his mouth. He had already plowed through his entire meal. Kelsie had barely touched her fries.

  “I found out who my friends were then; found out that I didn’t have any – they were manufactured friends and when I was no longer part of that important circle of people, I was nothing to them.”

  Kelsie picked up one of the fries and took a bite as she looked across the table at Dean. “That’s the story of my life. Pretty pathetic, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Dean agreed.

  The waitress stopped by their table to refresh Dean’s coffee and remove the plates. When she left, Kelsie leaned forward towards Dean, hands on the table. “You’re such an asshole.”

  Dean grinned. “What about the wedding ring you pawned?”

  “It belonged to my mother. The first ring dad ever gave her. She took it off when she left. Took all her other fancy expensive jewelry and left the wedding ring. Dad gave it to me – told me he’d know how well I was treating Keith by the kind of jewelry I’d get from him. In the meantime, mom’s wedding ring would remind me to be a caring and loving and faithful wife.” Kelsie snorted. “I’ve never worn that fucking ring and I never will.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Before they returned to the motel room, they stopped at a drug store and picked up more first aid supplies, some bottled water, bread, peanut butter and a bag of pretzels. Then back at the room, Dean unbuttoned his shirt and opened his jeans so Kelsie could redress his wound. “It’s looking better,” she said as she gingerly probed at it. “How does it feel?”

  Dean caught her hand and pulled it away from the wound. “Still hurts,” he grunted. He was standing before her while she sat at the kitchen table with the first aid supplies laid out beside her. She had a perfect view of his wound providing she kept her eyes forward. If she glanced down, she could see his strong muscular thighs and his neat not-so-little package tucked between them, straining at his jeans. If she looked a little to the left, she could see his chiselled abs, each one of them magnificent in their own rights, but all of them together, breathtaking. If she peeked up, just a little, keeping her glance hidden behind her long eyelashes, she could see his chest, broad, strong, carved, with just enough hair to make her fingers itchy with desire. She could smell him too, smell his sweat and musk and a little leftover lavender from the soap she used on him the night before.

  “I’m done,” she said regretfully, looking up into his face. He was looking down at her, a hard, shuttered expression. For a minute Kelsie thought maybe he could read her mind. She blushed.

  “Good.” He stepped back from her. “We need to sort a few things out. Figure out what our next move is.” Kelsie felt disappointed at his dismissal, but consoled herself with the thought that he seemed to be relaxing with her, letting his guard down. We need to figure out our next move.

  She moved over to the loveseat, kicking off her shoes and curling her feet under her. “Okay, let’s consider the options.”

  “We’re going to need a drink for that.” Dean opened the smaller suitcase and pulled the bourbon and a bottle of wine from the bag. He placed them both on the coffee table in front of her and grabbed two glasses from the kitchenette. He dropped down on the loveseat beside her, his thigh brushing her knee, but he didn’t move away. Kelsie was sure he noticed; she sure as hell did!

  He kicked off his shoes, then uncapped the bourbon and poured a double-shot into his glass. He turned to her, bottle still in hand. “Bourbon or wine?”

  “Not bourbon,” Kelsie shuddered. “Wine please.” He uncapped the bottle and poured her a generous glass of red. His fingers brushed hers as he handed her the glass and she shivered involuntarily. It didn’t escape Dean’s notice. He took a long drink of the bourbon, and then held the glass up to the light and peered at it.

  “Tell me Kelsie, how you came to have a bottle of such fine bourbon in your liquor cabinet? Especially since you don’t appear to drink it.”

  “I don’t like it,” Kelsie confirmed. “It was a Christmas gift from the judge. He said I needed something decent in my house in case he should drop by.”

  Dean felt a tremor of anger rise in him. “And did the judge drop by?”

  “Not so far,” Kelsie responded as she sipped at her wine. “That bottle wasn’t cracked before you showed up.”

  Dean shook his head. “You don’t have a lot of experience with men, do you?”

  “I do okay,” Kelsie lied, feeling embarrassed by the intimacy of his question.

  “Do you really?” Dean challenged her. “Then tell me, why your boss, a guy probably twice your age, would want to be dropping by his law clerk’s house for a drink of bourbon?”

  “I don’t know.” Kelsie shrugged meeting his eyes. “To pick up or drop off papers, maybe do some work.”

  Dean snorted.

  “I know what you’re implying, but it isn’t like that with Malcolm.” Kelsie protested. “He’s not that kind of guy.”

  “If you’re a guy, you’re that kind of guy, Kelsie.”

  Kelsie took a large mouthful of her wine and swallowed it down, feeling the warmth in her belly, flooding into her chest, her legs, her arms. “Are you implying that all men are predators, sex fiends and cheaters? Because not only is that cynical, it’s just not true. Maybe in your world –”

  “Don’t go there, Kelsie. Not just in my world and no, not all men are like that, but not all women are like you. You have no idea how fucking sexy you are.”

  “I am not fucking sexy,” Kelsie retorted feeling embarrassed and vulnerable, “as you so delicately put it. I’ve only had a few dates since Keith and I broke up. That was two years ago! There’s been no one and I haven’t exactly gotten many offers.”

  “Well, that explains why you’re so uptight,” Dean said wryly.

  “Why are we even talking about this?” Kelsie took another large swallow of wine, then reached for the bottle and topped up her glass.

  Dean ignored her question. “It’s got nothing to do with your ‘sexy.’ Men don’t approach you because you send out the wrong signals. Holy shit, you have no idea, do you? You are bloody beautiful. Sexy as fuck. But you don’t flirt, you almost look right through people. Dismissive, except I don’t think you mean to be that way. It’s kind of an unconscious shield.”

  Kelsie rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Freud.”

  Dean ignored her sarcasm. “Men have their own insecurities, you know. If you’re the beautiful ice queen, they’re going to pass. Lots of easy pussy out there they don’t have to work for and risk getting fucked over.”

  "You do realize you’re back in civilization? Could you pretty your language up a bit?”

  Dean chuckled. “That is my version of pretty.” Then he shifted gears again. “The judge has you figured out. He knows what you’re about. He gave you the bourbon and is still deciding whether to drop by some night. Deciding whether you’re worth the professional and personal risk he’d be taking if he fucked you.”

  “Would you stop with the judge talk. It’s not like that,” Kelsie insisted irritably, trying to find a way to change the topic.

  “It is like that,” Dean retorted. “Trust me Kelsie. I know this shit, it’s what makes me good at my job.”

  Kelsie snorted. “Right, you’re good at your job. So far, you’ve gotten beaten up and shot by Russians, and you’ve terrorized, robbed and kidnapped a helpless woman. And now you’re accusing her boss of sexual harassment. Which part of that is good?”

  That pissed Dean off and he kicked back, stupidly and unreasonably. “Keith is probably the only guy you’ve ever fucked.”

  “Keith and I didn’t fuck, you caveman,” Kelsie snarled. “We made love. And no, he’s not the only guy I ever… was with. I had a boyfriend in high school and one for a while in university.”

  Dean grinned contemptuously and rolled his eyes. He reached for the bourbon and poured himself another measure. “I�
��m sure you learned a lot about sex in the back seat of your high-school sweetheart’s Chevy.” But for some reason, he felt relieved that there had been so few men in her life.

  “Shut up,” Kelsie snapped as she swigged her wine. Why, why, why was he talking to her about this stuff? “Can we please stop talking about me.”

  Dean looked at her looking at him over the rim of her glass. Yes, he should stop talking and start showing her what fucking was all about. But she was pissed off with him now and he didn’t think jumping on her and sticking his tongue down her throat would put her in a better mood.

  “Okay.” He agreed. “Let’s talk about what we’re going to do next.”

  “No,” Kelsie said tersely. “Let’s not.” The wine was going straight to her head and it felt good to feel something besides terror or edginess. It was her turn now. “Let’s talk about you. Tell me all about your sad little life. All the women you’ve fucked.”

  Dean threw her a withering look. “Is that really what you want to know? How many women I’ve fucked recently? In the past two years? Or do you want me to go further back? To high school?”

  Kelsie stretched her legs out in front of her and placed them on the coffee table, so she could lean her head on the back on the loveseat, slouching down, relaxing. “No,” she said, “I actually want to know why you speak Russian fluently. I want to know who you work for. I want to know… your story.”

  “I speak a handful of languages, Russian being one of them,” Dean replied simply. “It comes in handy in my job.”

  “Which languages?”

  “A handful,” Dean repeated stubbornly.

  Kelsie frowned, tried a different tact. “Where’d you learn to speak Russian?”

  “In a prison in Russia.”

  “You did time in a Russian prison?” Kelsie lifted her head up off the back of the loveseat and looked at him. “Why?”

  “Because I fucked up,” he said flatly. “I was in for three years before I was released and extradited to Germany. Spent a year there and then some time in Turkey and China before returning to Canada.”

  “Military?” Kelsie ventured.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me?” Kelsie said crossly. She sat up and poured the last of the wine into her glass. She picked up the bourbon and shook the bottle at Dean.

  He moved his glass lazily over to her and watched as she poured a good measure into his glass. This felt good, he thought as she set the bottle back on the table and brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and shifting her bottom so she could look more directly at Dean. Even if they were bickering.

  “I can tell you that I am working with the Gang Crime Unit for VPD,” Dean lied. “I’m not a member of the department, but on assignment from my organization because I have some specialized skills.”

  “Like your ability to speak Russian,” Kelsie said.

  “Among other things, yes.”

  “What’s the name of your organization?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “How’d you get the scars on your back?”

  “None of your fucking business,” Dean snapped.

  “Are you married?” Kelsie asked, grasping for something he would answer.

  Dean held up his left hand, the wedding band prominent. “You tell me,” he said looking at her with an unreadable expression. Kelsie flushed and dropped her eyes.

  “Be serious.”

  “I’m not married,” Dean sighed. “That’s not really realistic given my job. A woman wouldn’t understand it – I’m gone for months at a time, out of contact, deep undercover. Who’s going to tolerate that for long?”

  “Are you lonely?” Kelsie asked softly.

  Dean sat up suddenly and set his glass on the table. He turned to Kelsie. “Are you offering?”

  “Why do you always do that? Bring it back to sex?”

  Dean shrugged. “I am just a guy, you’re just a sexy as fuck girl, alone together in this motel room. Maybe if we fucked, I would get you out of my system.”

  “Really? That’s your pick-up line? How often does that work on women?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Dean retorted.

  “Do you have any redeeming qualities, besides your war on drugs?”

  Dean sat back and grinned. “I do. I’m loyal, stupidly idealistic at times, I like dogs, and I’m a blood donor.”

  “Really.” Kelsie snorted. “They let the likes of you give blood?”

  “They let the likes of anyone give blood as long as they’re clean. I’m clean and I’m careful to stay that way.”

  Kelsie mulled over his last words. Why was he telling her this? Because they were one condom short of getting it on? And it didn’t matter because she couldn’t get pregnant and he didn’t have STDs? She realized that was exactly what they were doing – establishing the playground rules before they started playing. They were alone together, in a motel room with one bed and no place else to be that night and they were both lonely, both afraid. It was a perfect storm.

  “Is Dean even your real name?” Kelsie asked backing away from her thoughts.

  He turned to her then, took her wine glass from her hand and set it down on the coffee table.

  “Yes.” He was suddenly serious. “It’s my name. And I like the way you say it.”

  She let him take her by the arms and pull her up so that she was kneeling in front of him, on the loveseat.

  Dean reached up and touched her hair, then ran his hand down her face and her neck more tenderly than she thought him capable. “Say my name, Kelsie,” he said softly.

  Kelsie inhaled sharply as he drew his fingers slowly down her chest to her breast. He circled the curve of her breast with one of his fingers, his steely eyes staring into hers, freezing her with his gaze. She couldn’t look away, she could hardly breathe. The seconds ticked by, neither said a word, the only movement Dean’s finger, stroking her.

  “Dean…” Kelsie whispered, it sounded like a plea. Then his hand slid lower, under her shirt, heat against bare skin. She shivered. He circled her waist and as he pulled her towards him, Kelsie brought her hands up to his broad shoulders to balance herself. Dean had one hand in her hair and was forcing her face down to his, touching her lips with his lips. He kissed her gently at first, then more insistently, his mouth opening to hers, his tongue sliding in, tasting her.

  Kelsie could feel the fire rise in her belly in a way she’d never felt before. Dean’s heat had already risen, his cock hard and straining at his jeans. “Come here,” he commanded as he pulled her onto his lap, her knees straddling his thighs, her pelvis planted directly on his hard cock. They rocked gently against each other, feeling the passion growing. Kelsie shifted slightly to get a better hold of him, brushing his right side just enough to cause a sudden bolt of pain to shoot through him. Dean jumped, knocking the coffee table with his foot. The empty wine bottle crashed to the floor, the sound jolting Kelsie out of her daze and back to the reality of what she was doing.

  She drew back from him, tried to move to her side of the loveseat, but he was still too near. As she scrambled off his lap, she carelessly banged him in the right side, kneeing his wound. She stumbled as she got to her feet and backed away from him, almost falling down. Then she reached down and grabbed her shoes and moved towards the door. “I can’t do this,” she gasped. Her heart hadn’t slowed, but this time it was panic, not passion causing it to beat hard. Dean was bent over on the loveseat, hand holding his side, pain coursing through him. He tried to stand, but his head swam and he thudded back down on the loveseat.

  “You fucking bitch,” he snarled through his pain, looking up at her. “Don’t you touch that fucking door.”

  But Kelsie was beyond hearing at that point. She kicked out the chair from under the doorknob, unlocked the door and flung it open. She bolted out the door in her bare feet, carrying her shoes with her. Once outside, she ran blindly for a few minutes, not sur
e where she was running to or why. She just knew that she couldn’t be in that motel room with Dean any longer. She couldn’t succumb to his charms, didn’t want him to fuck her and get her out of his system. She felt her tears, unbidden, start to flow. She hadn’t really cried in years. And now she was crying over what? Him?

  As soon as she put some distance between herself and Dean, she stopped running. She hadn’t really run that far, could see the motel sign in the distance. But she was away from Dean and the cool air was clearing her head. She found herself in the dimly lit parking lot of a closed tire shop. She sat down on a curb near the building, catching her breath. She wiped the dirt off her feet with shaking hands and put her shoes on. She stayed that way for a minute, fingers massaging her temples, trying to slow down her racing thoughts.

  Why had she run from him? Yes, he was holding her “hostage” but over the course of the day, she could feel herself starting to trust him, believe him. He needed a safe place for a few days to gather his strength and heal. She understood that. And they were attracted to each other – she blushed remembering his hardness against her pelvis. If they could find solace in each other’s company, even for a few hours, then why not?

  Deep down, though, Kelsie knew why not. She didn’t want him to get her out of his system. She didn’t want him to fuck her and then, when this was over, never see him again. But that’s who he was. He’d leave and at that thought, she felt an ache in her heart as fresh tears coursed down her face. But still, so what? She rationalized. Maybe she should have let it happen. Maybe she would have gotten him out of her system.

  When Kelsie got a rein on her emotions, she looked up and assessed her situation. She was in a dimly-lit parking lot. Yes, it was Richmond and it was Saturday night, but the street was dead. There was no one in sight. She hadn’t grabbed her purse, her cellphone, not even a jacket. At least she had the good sense to pick up her shoes, she thought as she looked down at her feet. So, she had two options, she could walk until she found a service station. Get them to call the cops, give Dean up, go home. But that would be the end for him, she thought. He would be dead by morning or in prison. Either way, it wasn’t going to play out well for him.