Frank laughed and smoothed his fingertips over my stinging skin, leaning over to kiss each wound. And leave it wet. I closed my eyes, panting with an enormous smile on my face while I waited for the pain. He whipped his belt across my ass and I whimpered, biting my tongue hard enough to taste blood. “One more?”
I arched my back. “Three.”
He ran the belt between my legs, mercilessly teasing my balls. Now that was more like it. “Do you remember what you promised?”
“What?” I asked, somehow finding my thoughts a little preoccupied. Hitting me so hard that I yelped definitely helped me remember. “Yes!”
“Good.” Frank gently pressed my face into the pillow to preemptively shush me, kissing the back of my head before striking me again. I buried my face in the pillow, tears wetting my cheeks. I wasn’t entirely sure that I could handle another one, much less the next three that I had every intention of asking for, but Frank once again proved that he knew my limits better than I did. He dropped his belt to the floor and carefully lapped at one welt after the other, his tongue soothingly cold against my heated skin. “Are you okay?”
I finally released my grip on the headboard, my knuckles white and my hands shaking. “Mmmhmm.” I may not have been able to sit or stand, but I was undeniably okay. And the best was yet to come. He slipped his tongue between my legs, but I was only able to enjoy it for a second before I realized why he’d asked whether I was all right to begin with. “Oh, no.” I closed my eyes against the bright aura forming in my line of vision.
Frank got off the bed, immediately going to get me a cup of water from the bathroom while I cursed my terrible luck and its even worse timing. He handed me some pills which he thankfully always had on him, helping me sit up just enough to drink without actually causing myself further pain.
“You sensed this.”
“You’ve been under a lot of stress.”
I rolled my eyes. Stress may have been the cause, but that didn’t change the fact that he uncannily called the effect seconds before it happened. “You sensed this.”
“Maybe.” He stroked my hair. “Or maybe Charlie cursed us for the sacrilege.”
I laughed. “It isn’t sacrilege. Sacrilege would be fucking on the stain.” We glanced at each other briefly before I shook my head and Frank turned up his nose. That was too gross, even for us.
“Well, we’re still being punished for it.”
“It’s the stress, remember?”
Frank gave me a stern look. “We should head back.”
I climbed onto his lap, pushing him back against the pillow even though it hurt to sit on him. “We have time before it hits.” He raised his eyebrows. I’d been on top for probably a total of fifteen minutes our entire relationship. I was too lazy to do all the work and we both knew it, but at least I proved my point. He sat up, cradling my head as he rolled on top of me. Apparently Frank hadn’t been lying about the reason for stopping here. Usually I was the one to carry the lube but he’d really come prepared this time, packing lube in his pocket along with my medication. Maybe he brought candy as well.
I pulled his pants down the rest of the way, only casually searching his pockets for additional treats before he grabbed my wrists and held my arms above my head. The bright spot in my vision was growing, but I stared half-blindly into his eyes as he entered me, our foreheads pressed together and his breath on my parted lips.
He slowly plunged his cock deeper inside me, his hips barely grazing my raw skin. I clung to him, hoping the pills would kick in before the migraine did. I was starting to feel nauseous from the rocking and nothing said fuck my brains out like a face full of puke. “Are you all right?” I nodded but Frank released my wrists and sat back on his heels, still inside of me but no longer thrusting. “Just close your eyes for a second,” he said soothingly.
“But we were having so much fun,” I whined. Maybe Charlie had cursed us. Just when I was starting to think I had my husband back I had to go and get another headache to remind him that I was damaged goods.
“We’ll have fun again in a bit.” He lightly traced his fingertips over my cock. “Relax.”
I groaned and closed my eyes. It was agony to lie still while he was inside of me, touching me, but it would be worse if he stopped. And that’s exactly what he’d do if I didn’t relax like I was told. “You’re not helping.” I took his hand and firmly gripped it around my cock.
“Aren’t I?” He released me entirely, laughing when my eyes shot open in distress. “How’s your head?”
I smiled sheepishly as I realized how little I’d been thinking about my head in comparison to the unbearable aching throughout the lower half of my body. “Touché.”
“The pills must’ve kicked in,” he said sarcastically.
“Yeah, that’s it. The pills.” I winced when he leaned over me again, his skin brushing against mine as he brought my knees up. The drugs weren’t helping me feel any less flayed, but maybe they could keep the headache at bay long enough to find out whether seeing the mad Russian had finally forced Frank to stop second guessing himself with my safety.
“Are you in pain?”
I nodded, lewdly biting my lip. “Mmmhmm.” I knew fully well that he hadn’t been referring to the pleasurable kind of pain, but I was still trying not to think about my impending migraine. I’d be thinking about it enough when it actually hit.
Frank smoothed my hair off my forehead. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
So much for no more second guessing. I held his face in both hands. “You’ll know it.” He flinched almost imperceptibly. I quickly kissed him, feigning a smile and saying, “You will,” but his eyes had gone cold. I kissed him desperately, trying to bring him back around while we still had time to play. “I love you.”
He sounded more determined than affectionate when he said, “I love you, too,” and he drove his cock into me, lifting my hips with his. I dropped my head back to the pillow and moaned as he slid out and slammed back in, his hips slapping my tender skin. He held my legs, pounding my ass until I was panting from the exertion of just laying there taking it. The force of each thrust nearly sent me into the headboard and I cradled the pillow around my head to keep from crashing. But it was too late. Even without the impact I could feel it starting, like cracks forming across my skull until it was so weak that it would split in two. Frank stopped the second I opened my mouth to ask him to, pulling out before either of us had come. I turned my face away, my brain throbbing. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“What else should I be, Frank? Happy?” We weren't fucking like we used to. We weren't even talking like we used to.
“Calm. Worrying about it will only make it worse.”
I rolled over, curling into a ball with the pillow. He pulled the blanket over me and pulled up his pants, then got up to switch off the lights and crack open the window. He sat in front of it and sparked a cigarette, no longer hiding his renewed addiction. “So tell me about Karl,” I whispered. It would be awhile before I could enter daylight again so we may as well talk.
“Karl,” he mused. “There was this job in Moscow. A modern art dealer—”
“Who would ever want to kill an art dealer?”
“Behave. The reason notwithstanding, someone did. They didn’t care how; their only request was that it be grotesque.”
I smiled to myself. I knew about this job. They’d cut a guy’s head off and left it floating in a bowl of Chanel No. 5 at the mark’s art gallery opening. Bella had written to me about it in exchange for a carton of cigarettes. Or at least, as much as she could without implicating anyone. It was enough for me to Google the details in an internet café. “Fucking fun job. Guioteene or however the fuck that’s spelled. Capital M.” She then proceeded to describe in detail over the course of six pages the costumes that they wore; from powdered wigs to petticoats, outfits that would’ve been at home with the French aristocracy. It proved that Bella knew very little about the French Revo
lution, since they were the ones performing the chop and drop. Historical accuracy aside, the fact that Frank even wore a costume showed how little say he had in their wardrobe, but I imagine using a guillotine more than made up for it.
“With Karl being Russian, and deranged, he was the obvious choice. But Bella got it into her head that the job should go to us. Silva, of course, would never refuse her, so we flew to Moscow to relieve Karl of his duties.”
“He didn’t take it well I’m guessing?”
“No, he did not. He proceeded to follow us everywhere we went. You know that I liked to spend time getting to know my victims. He tailed us for two weeks. He would stand outside our hotel room, just standing there looking up at our window. I decided I’d had enough, went downstairs, walked up to him, and stabbed him in the chest. He didn’t do anything to stop me. He just stood there, smiling.”
“That’s kinda freaky.” I was tempted to turn the lights back on, but if I couldn’t handle getting fucked I sure as hell couldn’t take any more light. “What did he say to you? Back at the house?”
“He thanked me for bringing him another present to play with.”
“A present?”
“Yes. You.”
Now I did switch on a lamp. Not since Frank’s brother had a man made me that uncomfortable. Thinking about him was like having one of those nightmares where you wake up right as you die. “What was the first present?”
“The knife I stuck in his chest. He wouldn’t give it back. He fell to his knees holding it. I tried taking it from him, kicking him, punching him in the head, and finally I just let it go. I’d been wearing gloves so there were no fingerprints, and I left him there in the snow. Needless to say, he survived. I had just missed his heart. When he went back to his flat to recover, I went there and set his bed on fire.”
“With him in it?”
“Naturally.”
“I thought we—you—weren’t allowed to kill each other?”
“We’re not, in Silva’s home. It's also generally frowned upon outside of his home.”
“What happens if someone does? In Silva’s home.”
“Their life is forfeit.”
“And if you had to kill someone protecting me?”
“Your life would also be forfeit,” he said grimly, and lit another cigarette. I chewed my lip, imagining that forfeiting my life would be at least slightly worse than when I had to forfeit a whole week of TV after accidentally using Maggie's cookware for target practice.
Then I remembered that I had news for him that might make him feel better than smoking could, three and a half hours after I should’ve relayed the message. “Maggie called this morning.” I caught him mid-exhale and he coughed up a lungful of smoke like a teenager sneaking their first cigarette behind the bleachers.
“Did she mention Casey? Is he okay?”
“He sounded fine.”
“You spoke with Casey?”
“Briefly,” I said, not wanting to admit that I’d hung up on the person Frank wanted to speak with more than anyone.
“What did he say?”
“We had a bad connection.”
“You hung up on him.”
I looked away. Frank wouldn’t hit me when I had a headache. I hoped.
“Give me the phone.”
I pointed toward my pants by the door and he helped himself. “He wanted to speak with Bella.”
Frank groaned and put the phone back in my pocket.
“And Maggie wanted to talk to you about something. Or Bella. Apparently I’m not good enough.”
He came and sat beside me on the bed, reassuringly taking my hand. “She doesn’t know you like I do.”
I sighed. Just when I was getting used to looking like a twelve-year-old Boy Scout who couldn’t even earn a merit badge for carving wood, I go and get my head broken so my year of training to kill meant a lifetime of hunting pheasant instead of people. At least when I was about to shoot someone in the face it didn’t matter if they scoffed at me like I wasn’t capable of it. Bullets have a way of making anyone look ferocious. I might as well have let Bella dress me in a skirt.
That was the difference between me and Frank. He looked like a killer. And anyone who doubted his abilities after a couple years of retirement ought to look at the damage a dull knife could do.
“Are you gonna call him?”
“I’ll call Maggie tonight. Or tomorrow. Let her wait.”
I smiled. Frank really was vindictive when someone upset me. Except that I was dying to find out what was so important that I wasn’t allowed to know about it. “Is Casey getting the silent treatment?”
Frank’s silent treatment was legendary, but it had its flaws. Mainly that he was so quiet to begin with that unless silence caused you physical pain like it did for me, it could take hours, or days, to realize you were on the receiving end. And if you were in another country, like the case had been with Bella after she’d nearly gotten herself killed a couple years ago, you may never find out. If not for his big mouthed husband, of course.
“No. I just have nothing to say to him.”
Poor Frank. His heart was obviously as broken as Casey’s had been, but whereas Casey seemed to have already made a full recovery, Frank would hold onto the pain until he figured out how to turn back time. And then some.
“Bella’s such a bitch,” I said. Casey was a bitch too. If I hadn’t been so worried about him, I’d be pissed that he’d hurt Frank. But I knew better than to say anything negative about Casey. The pedestal Frank put him on was taller than mine.
“She certainly can be.”
“Did Silva say anything new about Gideon?”
“He’s working on it. I’m going to be helping him. Are you okay staying with Bella?”
“As long as she doesn’t bite me again.”
“That’s how she says good morning.” He was completely unfazed by the news of my assault. Then again, he’d shared a bed with her for years when they were partners, and had several scars from occasions where Bella had something to say. “I highly recommend being out of bed before she wakes up.”
“But I can’t go anywhere without her!”
“Take a bath. I’ll run it for you when I wake up.” Showing just how rational Frank’s thought process could be, it seemed to have never occurred to him that I would just as likely have one of my fainting spells in the tub as I would behind the wheel of a car. As long as he was the one to fill the bath, I would somehow be safe.
“Maybe I can help you and Silva. It’s right next door, I can hardly get into trouble in such a short distance.”
Frank laughed. “Vincent, if you couldn’t manage to get into trouble in that short of a distance, I would think you weren’t feeling well.”
I rolled my eyes. He was right, of course, but that was beside the point. “You don’t want me around him.”
“I don’t want you to think badly of Gideon if we discover something untoward.”
“Do you still think he’s guilty?”
“I’m keeping an open mind.”
“If he’s innocent you’d better apologize to him.”
“Why do you think I’m trying so hard to find him guilty?”
Frank could be such a brat. I wouldn’t put it past him to continue his quest long after we discovered who hired Bella. Gideon could expect that apology on his deathbed. If he lived long enough.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Had Silva begun plotting his demise all those years ago when he created a passageway between bedrooms, he could not have made his murder more convenient for Frank. It gave him an alibi every time he put away laundry. Bella knew about the hidden door and even she did not suspect him. That was fortunate. Vincent was too young to be a widower, and she would certainly make him one if she found out Frank had killed Silva.
Frank attempted to put away his and Vincent’s clothes, finding space where he could amidst Bella’s rainbow of fabric: dresses for every occasion and every day of the week for the next sev
eral decades. Handbags dangled from hooks in the ceiling like carcasses in an abattoir and the floor was littered with more shoes than could possibly ever be worn. He squeezed a final black shirt between a dress that looked a bit like a goldfish and a long, red woolen coat. So many of Bella’s clothes were near duplicates of each other to his untrained eye that it took him a moment to recognize the coat; she had been wearing it the first time they met. The men had torn it while yanking it off of her shoulders, ready to kill her, or worse, at Malkolm’s command. Because Frank had offended her by saving her life, he had offered to sew it for her.
That was twenty years ago. It must have been the oldest thing in her closet, no longer in style and likely never worn again even after he took the time to mend it. But she had kept it.
“Do you remember when we met, Bell?” he asked, returning to the room where Bella and Vincent were sitting together on the bed. Vincent had somehow been tricked into painting her toenails, and was doing such an appalling job that he was certain never to be asked again. Bella had cucumber slices on her eyes and blue mud on her face, oblivious to her crimson painted feet. It looked as if she had been tiptoeing through broken glass.
“You were a prick,” she said.
“And you were the biggest bitch I had ever met.” His first impression was that she was like d’Artagnan from The Three Musketeers: quick tempered and eager to fight anyone over the slightest offense.
Malkolm was refusing to let her enter Silva’s home, claiming that she was trespassing. He had four armed men with him, and though Frank saw glimpses of fear on her face, she carried on as if she could conquer all five of them at once with nothing more than a nail file. It would have very likely been her last battle had Frank not intervened on her behalf. Just as quickly as he had come to her defense, she turned her rage upon him, shouting that she didn’t need his “fucking protection.”
Frank was not insulted by any means. He was enchanted. He had suddenly become a musketeer himself: Athos, taciturn by nature and presently injured just as he had been in the book, challenged by the hot blooded Gascon.
Les Recidivists (Chance Assassin Book 2) Page 23
