The Darkest Hour (Running with the Devil Book 1)

by Jasmin Quinn

  Kelsie was startled and confused. She grabbed at his wrists in a useless attempt to lessen the pressure on her arms as she looked into his dark, angry eyes. “I didn’t lie to you,” she protested desperately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “What the fuck did your boss mean when he asked you if there was another man?” Kelsie gaped at Dean. Had Malcolm really asked that? She ran the phone conversation through her head – yes, he had! Maybe he meant since Keith, but that didn’t make any sense. Keith was two-year-old news.

  “I don’t know,” Kelsie said, disgusted at the small quiver in her voice. “I swear, Dean. There’s nothing between me and the judge.”

  Dean looked darkly at her, his hands on the wall, on each side of Kelsie’s head, pressing his body closer. “There better fucking not be,” he said viciously as he bent his face to hers, his mouth savagely possessing her lips, bruising them until she thought she might pass out from lack of breath. Kelsie could feel herself trembling from both fear and desire as he forced her mouth open, his tongue taking her mouth, probing hard. She tried to move her head to one side to get him to stop, but he brought his left hand up and wrapped it around her throat; he used his other hand to grab her hair with his fist. Kelsie had no where to go, no way to move.

  Dean came up for air and she grabbed a quick breath before he brought his lips back down on hers. This time less bruising, less frantic. He still took her hard, took her deeply, but less angry and more passionate. He moved his hand from her throat and trailed it to her breast, squeezing it just hard enough to make Kelsie jump and cry out. He dropped his hand to her waist, drawing her closer, her body curving into his. Desire swept through her as she felt his erection pressing into her stomach. He kissed her once more and then, letting go of her hair, he ran a thumb gently across her bruised lips. They were both breathing hard, Kelsie trying to quell the passion rising in her, steady her heartbeat.

  Dean inhaled deeply. “I’ll break his fucking neck if he’s ever touched you.”

  “He hasn’t, Dean,” Kelsie said softly. “I swear it.”

  Dean stepped back and she could feel his hunger as his eyes swept her body. “We can’t do this now,” he mumbled more to himself than her. He walked over to the bed, chose a few items of clothing and threw them at her. “Put these on,” he said bluntly.

  Kelsie scrabbled at the clothes, catching them inelegantly, then walked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. He wasn’t the only one that got to be mad. Why didn’t she fight back harder? Why did he get to push her around, make her fall apart whenever he got close? Why did he think he should have all the control? And these stupid clothes. She looked down at them in frustration. What was wrong with what she had on? Why the fuck won’t he tell her what the fuck he’s thinking. She yanked off her top and her pants and threw them on the floor, then slid into a pair of faded black jeans that had a hole in one knee and were worn thin on the other knee and backside. They were skin-tight, and to Kelsie, felt like they were painted on. The top was worse. A black, sleeveless crop top that was low enough to show cleavage and snug across her breasts to show everything else.

  “No fucking way!” She flung open the bathroom door and stormed out.

  Dean looked up at her in surprise and then a slow lustful grin spread over his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I am not wearing this,” Kelsie snapped. “Look at me!”

  “I am looking at you,” Dean replied shamelessly. “You look… exactly as I imagined.”

  “You’re a jackass. I’m not wearing this… these… rags.”

  “Yes, you are, princess,” Dean said darkly, dropping his grin like a hammer. “We’re out of your fucking world now, princess. No more designer jeans and cashmere sweaters. You walk into my apartment building dressed the way you were dressed today, you wouldn’t make it three feet without getting robbed, molested, or beaten up. If we’re going to make this happen, we need to get it right. I swear to god, you walk like you’re in a beauty contest and you talk like you have a grammar book up your ass.”

  Kelsie crossed her arms defensively. “Is there anything I do right in your eyes?”

  “Yeah,” Dean snarled. “You give a pretty decent blowjob.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Kelsie launched herself at Dean, hands curled into fists, curses flying. The small part of her brain that was still sane wondered what she was doing – Kelsie didn’t get mad, Kelsie didn’t swear, Kelsie didn’t argue. Kelsie certainly did not attack her lover and try to beat him senseless. And yet, here was Kelsie, doing all of this.

  She caught Dean off guard; he wasn’t expecting her to attack him and she managed to get a solid punch to his jaw before he grabbed her hands and tackled her to the floor. “Fuck you, Dean,” she snarled, flailing her arms, bucking at him, trying to get her legs around his neck so she could pull him off her or maybe even choke him to death.

  “Is that the best you can do, Kelsie?” Dean mocked her softly.

  “Go to hell,” she hissed at him as she tried to knee him in the side.

  He laughed derisively as he got up off her and pulled the pair of leather boots off the bed. “That’ll do – just channel that anger tonight and you might actually get in and out of my apartment without getting fucked up.” He dropped the boots on her belly as he walked by her. “Put these on. We have work to do.”

  The remainder of the day was spent going over the details of the plan. No inessential words were exchanged between the two of them – it was all business. Kelsie was still fuming, and Dean’s mood got darker by the minute. He showed her how to pick the lock on the motel room and stood over her, instructing her as she practiced, making her try again and again. Her fingers started to hurt where the bobby pins bit into her flesh; her knees felt bruised where she was kneeling on the concrete. When she complained, he called her soft. After an hour of trying, she finally managed to unlock the door. But there was little celebration. Dean let her up to stretch out her back and give her knees a break; then back to the lock picking until she could do it more or less fluidly. “You’re making me nervous,” she snapped at him at one point.

  “Good,” he growled. “Because you’re going to be nervous as hell trying to do this for real.”

  It was dark by the time he let her stop practicing. Her hands and knees ached and her fingers felt raw. She was cold, stiff, tired and hungry. And she didn’t hesitate to make him aware of her current discomforts.

  She got no sympathy from him. He made her plait her hair into one long braid in the back and put the toque on her head. “Your hair’s too fucking blond and you need a tattoo and a few more piercings,” he snarled as he threw her the leather jacket he bought at the thrift store. “Put it on but keep it open, show off those magnificent tits.” He looked down at her left hand. “And take off that fucking ring.”

  He poured a shot of bourbon then offered her the bottle as he downed it. She shook her head. He screwed the cap back on and dropped it on the loveseat as he headed for the door. “Let’s go.”

  They went to a drive-thru and he ordered for both of them, then parked on a residential street so they could eat. “What if I didn’t want a burger?” Kelsie was pissed at his bullish attitude.

  Dean shrugged. “Then don’t eat it.”

  “Asshole,” Kelsie muttered as she took a bite of the burger.

  Dean ignored her as he ate. When he was done, he balled up the wrapper and threw it carelessly into the backseat. “I’ll be parking a block or two away from the building. Any closer and we’ll get made. We have to find a way to keep a low profile and driving a fucking Mercedes isn’t going to help.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “It’s time,” Dean said suddenly, startling Kelsie and causing her to jump. “Do exactly as I fucking told you.”

  Kelsie nodded and slid out of the car, closely the door softly behind her.

  Dean watched as she strode away. Fuck, what was he doing getting Kelsie mixed up in this – letting he
r talk him into going into his apartment alone and defenceless? He watched as she strode up the street boldly, like he told her. With swagger and intention, like she owned the building and everything in it. He felt impotent with rage at her, at this situation, but mostly at himself. This is not what he was about – he didn’t let women do his dirty work for him, and especially not this woman. His heart ached when he thought of her. If they made it out of this alive, what was next? His organization would recall him and he would never see her again. It wasn’t the first time that happened to him, but it was the first time he felt any sense of regret or loss.

  Suddenly he tensed as two young punks stepped out of the shadows, stepping in front of Kelsie, stopping her from moving forward. He grabbed the car door handle and started to get out. Then he saw the fucks step aside, laughing. And Kelsie walking forward a few steps, then turning to say something else to them, and them laughing harder as she swaggered away.

  And he felt relieved, proud, and fucking pissed off.

  Kelsie walked away from the safety of her SUV and Dean. He had her back, he’d said. But they both knew that was only until she reached his building. After that, she was on her own. His tension had been palpable throughout the day, and it had rubbed off on Kelsie. She could feel her hands sweating, her heart hammering in her chest, her breaths a little shallow. She shoved her hands in her jacket pocket fingering her wedding ring and the bobby pins while she rehearsed the plan in her head.

  Walk like you mean business, back straight, eyes focused ahead, not looking around into the shadows. Saunter, don’t walk like you’re on a runway. You have every right to be there, this is your world and no fucking prick is going to tell you otherwise. You’re in no hurry but you know exactly where you want to go. You, Kelsie Scott, are a fucking badass!

  She crossed the road and strode toward the apartment building.

  And then two tattooed, male punks stepped out of the shadows and directly into her path forcing her to stop. “Hey pretty lady,” one of them crooned as they both swayed at her in what she could only think they thought were sexy moves. Inside, her stomach was flipping over and her heart was beating even faster than before. Her mind was racing with all the possibilities. Mugging, rape, torture, murder. Her first thought was that she was going to die, here on the mean streets of Surrey in thrift store clothes. Her father would be scandalized, which actually brought her some measure of comfort. But her second, and more important thought, was that Dean could still see her and he was going to blow his cover, getting himself killed. Which made her heart ache and helped to shore her up.

  “Hey guys,” she said, matter-of-factly. No aggression, no softness. Just like a general conversation she might be having with her colleagues in the courthouse. “What’s going on?”

  “Whatcha doing out here?” the taller of the two asked. He looked okay up close, too many weird tattoos and a half-shaved head, longish hair on one side, the other side, short bristles. They were young, 19 or 20. Just boys playing.

  “Going home,” she said shortly. Her logical mind was telling her emotional brain to step down and relax. If every encounter turned into rape or murder, the world would be in anarchy. But she needed to get moving fast, because she knew that Dean would be on them in a few moments. “Get out of my fucking way,” she said, but she smiled as she said it. “I gotta pee.”

  They both laughed and moved aside. “Was looking for a few bucks,” one of them called after her as she strode away. She turned back to them, walking backwards, holding her arms out so that the leather jacket flapped open, showing them her thin crop top stretching tightly across her chest.

  “Do I look like I got a few bucks?” she shot back at them. “I can’t even afford to buy a whole shirt.”

  She could hear their laughter as she turned her back to them and strode up the street confidently; this time, she didn’t have to fake her walk quite as much.

  When she got to the building, a small miracle happened. A couple of young women were unlocking the security door as she walked up, one of them held the door for her, smiling.

  “Thanks,” Kelsie said feeling a rush of endorphins blast through her.

  “No problem,” the woman said, her eyes raking Kelsie’s body, assessing her.

  “C’mon, baby.” Her partner reached out and pulled her girlfriend to her possessively. “Let’s go.”

  They turned around then, and headed up the stairwell. Kelsie waited a minute, until they were out of sight then started up the stairs herself. Her heart was hammering in her chest again and she could feel her palms sweating. She practically ran up the six flights of stairs to the top floor. The sixth floor was bathed in weak light and the hall was disorienting. She stood still for a moment catching her breath. The smell of stale cooking clung to the dirty carpet and the walls were dingy, the paint peeling. Never mind the aesthetics, Kelsie. Find 620 and get in, get out. Dean drilled into her to turn right off the stairwell, then right again, then left. And keep walking towards the end of the hall. Last door on the right. And there it was. Off the back stairwell. The one Dean told her to leave by.

  She stood in front of the door, listening for movement in the other apartments, in Dean’s apartment. So many things to think about.

  If someone comes down the hall, go out the back door. Wait until they’re gone, then go back in. Unless they approach, then get the fuck out. If there is even a whisper of sound coming from my apartment, leave. Try the door handle first. Softly, carefully. If it turns, it’s not locked. Leave. Don’t go in. Fucking leave. If you get in trouble, call me.

  Kelsie could hear the murmur of a TV down the hall, and movement in one of the apartments, a baby crying somewhere, but nothing indicating that anyone was going to walk into the hall. She tried the handle on Dean’s door. Locked. Good. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and then reached into her pocket. She felt the cellphone with her hand, reassuring her, reminding her that Dean was close by and would be at her side in minutes if she needed him. Then she dug deeper, finding the hair pins, taking them out and rolling them between her fingers. She almost looked like she knew what she was doing. She stayed standing, blocking the door handle with her body like Dean had showed her. “You don’t need to see what you’re doing,” he’d told her. “You need to feel it and hear it.”

  She slid the lever pin Dean made from one of the hair pins into the keyhole and applied some pressure. Then the pick with her other hand, feeling for the tumblers to catch, listening to the click. Her hands were shaking and she applied too much pressure to the lever the first time. “C’mon Kelsie,” she muttered to herself as her anxiety increased. She pulled the hairpins out and started again. A crash in one of the apartments, followed by cursing, made her jump and she dropped one of the hairpins.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she said quietly as she knelt to look for the pin. The carpet was dark like the pin and it blended. She searched around frantically, finally felt it with her fingers and let out a breath of relief. Still shaking though. C’mon Kelsie, get a grip. Remember, you are a badass. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. It helped settle her, her trembling eased. She opened her eyes, listened for a minute, then stood up and attacked the lock again. This time she was successful, and she let out a whispered whoop of triumph as the tumblers clicked.

  She opened the apartment door and stepped softly inside, closing and locking the door behind her.

  Once inside, stand still for a few seconds, Dean had told her. Resist the impulse to hurry. Just listen to make sure you’re alone. If you have any doubts, get out. Don’t turn on the lights. At all. Let your eyes adjust. Go straight to the bedroom, second door on the right, after the bathroom. In the bedroom, pull the third drawer out of the dresser.

  Which dresser?

  The only fucking dresser! Then reach into the back of the dresser, the gun is there. If the gun isn’t there, get the fuck out. If you get in trouble, call me.

  But the gun was there. Taped to the back of the dark beaten up
dresser. She had to pull hard to get it loose – the tape was like glue. It was black, heavy and ominous looking. She shivered as she looked at it, a moment of doubt creeping into her mind about what she was doing. Why she was doing this for a man she’s known for three days. A man who kidnapped her, terrorized her, touched her, kissed her, fucked her… she smiled to herself grimly and looked at the gun. She knew. Of course, she knew. She was in love with him. Or lust. Or whatever. He challenged her, he fought with her, he didn’t coddle her, ever. She felt that she could be whoever she was with him. Not some repressed white girl from posh Vancouver. And holy, could he make her body sing.

  She tucked the gun into the back of her jeans as Dean told her, felt it slide down, the shaft just touching the crack of her ass through her panties. The cold steel against her bare flesh, her thoughts of Dean on top of her, fucking her like a wild man. She felt a rush of adrenaline, a flood of warmth in her pussy. And she wasn’t done yet.

  She walked into the living room and looked around. A couch, a coffee table, a TV all shrouded in the darkness. An old bookshelf standing against the wall, next to the window. She may as well be back in the motel room. The same musty slightly damp smell. No wonder he seemed at home there.

  Keep low, away from the window. Dean had told her. Don’t let anyone see your shadow. The base of the book shelf, closest to the wall is loose. Pry it off. Cash under there. Same instructions as before – if it’s not there, get out, fast.

  It was there. A small stack of hundred-dollar bills; probably 20k in total as Kelsie shuffled through it. And now it was safely tucked into her jeans. And then in the kitchen, in the freezer, in an ice bag, ammo. And in a drawer, under some towels, more ammo. She dropped the ammo in her coat pockets. That’s it. Leave as soon as you’re done, Dean told her. Don’t bother locking the door behind you. Just go.

  But Kelsie lingered as she stood up. For just a moment, trying to get a sense of Dean, trying to feel his presence in the shadows. Trying to know him. Like he knew her. But there were no tells in these rooms. This was a place to sleep, it was not a home. Then she left, out the back exit, her feet flying softly down the stairs. The door opening onto the alley way that led into the parking lot. A few steps and she was out on the street again, walking back the way she came. Slowly, sauntering, remembering to blend.