by Eros, Marata
“Is Simone your name?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “My name is a secret no one has known in the seven years since I was taken.”
I wait, and she looks at Kiki. But her eyes come back to mine.
“Juliette.”
“Oh my God,” Kiki says with a giggle of delight. “You're her Romeo,” she says to me.
I guess I am.
I kiss Juliette softly as my tough heart cracks, absorbing the wounds of hers.
16
Juliette
“Wait a second,” Kiki says, counting on her fingertips. “You're not twenty-three!
I shake my head. “No, twenty-one.”
Thorn stands awkwardly. My body weight has been on his lap for a half hour, and he has to be stiff, getting feeling back into his limbs.
None of that shows.
He walks me to the couch, cradled in his arms like a precious bundle. He sets me there and runs his hand down my hair.
“Juliette,” he muses then smiles. “That's an even prettier name than Simone.”
“I got to pick my name. It's pieces from my family.” I look at them. Shame fills me, but I squash it. I don't see the expected condemnation, only compassion. “My grandmother's maiden name is Balland.”
“I could listen to you speak French forever,” Kiki says.
I bite my lip to keep from crying at the small compliment.
God, I'm so shaky.
“Hey, baby, settle. It's a good thing,” Kiki says, squeezing my shoulder.
“I know. I just… God, I'm such a mess. I've finally talked about my dirty deeds, and it feels like such a release. But there's a lot of guilt mixed with it.”
Kiki nods. “I gotcha. I feel the same way.” She lifts a finger. “Not that I'm not some multi-lingual, gorgeous, talented, smart girl who was made into a drug runner and sex goddess. Nope. But I understand what it is to be made to do things you don't want to do.”
I look into Kiki's wide-spaced chocolate eyes. She’s too wise to be innocent of some of what I've been through. We may not share the same experiences, but we’re in the same book.
Thorn lifts my chin again. “It's not your fault, Juliette.”
I nod, but my heart doesn't believe him. “I've had to do terrible things to survive. Things I never want to do again.”
“So you escaped?” Thorn asks.
I nod.
“Yes.”
“That was brave,” Kiki says.
“Yes,” I say without a hint of pride. It was something I could do, an opportunity I took.
I leap, trusting for what feels like the first time in forever.
“I—I was at a delegate's personal residence and there was a cherry there...”
Kiki's eyes widen. “God, seriously? Is that what you call the girls?”
I look at her. “Yeah. When a girl is first 'picked,’ she learns the ropes—if Shep is the man in charge for getting her feet wet in the trade.”
I admit yet another horrible revelation on top of the others. “A virgin can't carry an Easter egg.”
Kiki just stares at me and Thorn groans.
“What. The. Fuck?” Kiki says, looking between the two of us.
“It's what women put in their vaginas to transport the drugs,” Thorn says, and I nod.
Kiki looks so disgusted, I don't feel so bad about what I'm going to say. They need to know I don't kill people easily.
“So this cherry is there in this group of male delegates—”
“Name?” Kiki asks in a harsh one-word question.
Like I can forget. Ever.
“Colette.”
I inhale sharply. “Shep assigned me to watch her. There's always three sets of eyes on a cherry.” I tick them off on my fingers. “Shepard, of course. Then an experienced girl. In this case, it was me.” I look at them, and their faces are serious but not accusing. I go on. “And the Body.”
Thorn's eyebrows lift.
“A guard,” I say.
“So what happened?” Kiki asks.
I measure my breathing, sort of like I do on a long run.
“I lost sight of Colette. The Body didn't know where she was, and Shepard had three of us under his watch. I was scared I'd be punished if a cherry got plucked.”
I hesitate, but finally, I tell them. “She was in a bedroom, and there were five of them.”
“Delegates?” Thorn asks.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“They were taking turns on her.” Tears stream down my face at the memory.
“The blood... They didn't even care that they had hurt her... She was screaming, but they had their hands on her—over her mouth. She couldn't breathe.”
Thorn and Kiki appear to hold their breath.
“Colette saw me, and I knew what I needed to do.”
“Oh God,” Kiki says, clapping a hand over her mouth.
“You killed them,” Thorn guesses.
I stand, my hands dropping from Thorn's. “Every one.”
The silence is painful completeness.
“Those fuckers got what they deserved,” Kiki says.
Yes.
However, their blood covers my hands even now.
I wasn't strong enough to turn the other cheek. I had to make them pay.
Thorn stands and tries to hold me.
“No!” I scream and back away.
His eyes tighten, coming for me.
“I don't deserve love. I'm a killer,” I say.
“Simone—Juliette—no, baby, it's not like that,” Thorn says.
I try to squirm out of his grasp, but he's too big.
I'm too weak.
Too sad.
Just too everything.
“They didn't deserve to live,” Kiki says.
“I'm not God.” I still try to tear myself from Thorn's grasp.
“No, ya don't,” he says, and I hit him. He holds my wrists. “Let it the fuck out!” he roars and I do.
I scream in Kiki's condo. I scream until my voice goes hoarse... then it just goes.
I'm spent, collapsing inside Thorn's unyielding embrace.
When he's sure I won't bolt, he carries me the two steps to the couch.
Kiki gets in my face. “Listen to me: That was not your fault. You protected a girl who couldn't protect herself, Simone. Fuck… Juliette, whoever ya are. You protected her when you couldn't protect yourself.”
Thorn kisses my forehead, and my head dips.
“Juliette?” Kiki asks.
My head's too heavy to lift, but somehow I manage.
Her hard eyes meet mine. “What did Colette do when the last turd bird bit the dust?”
I hold up two fingers.
Thorn says, “Two words.”
I nod.
Kiki grins. “I bet I know what they were.”
I manage to say them anyway. “Thank you.”
“I bet she was, baby. I bet she was.”
They hug me on the couch, my new lover and friend.
I can't accept what they give me. I can't.
But it doesn't matter.
My traitorous heart already has.
17
Thorn
Drug smuggler.
Whore for foreign ambassadors.
Assassin.
Then the worst fucking truth of all: I think I love her.
I'm a cop who hung on to my undercover assignment by the skin of my teeth after the death of the perp who was after my best friend's girl. Now wife.
I don't believe in love at first sight. It's for pussies. Thorn doesn't do love. Thorn does sex.
I've only had sex once with Simone. Juliette—that's going to take some getting used to.
I should take her straight to the precinct and let what needs to happen happen.
But her soft, warm body presses against mine, and I just can't. I can't allow more harm to come to her. It's not okay that they'll wound her without violence but with words.
No one will hurt her again if I can help
it.
Kiki interjects, scattering the shit in my head. “Stay here, Simone. I mean, Juliette.” She sighs.
I look around the tiny condo and wonder where she'll stuff Juliette in this place.
“Numbnuts won't think to look here,” I say.
She shakes her head. “He's so connected. Shep will eventually find me. Maybe I have a day or two.”
I squat until our faces our level, and I grab both sides of her jaw. “Why can't he just let you go?”
She doesn't cry, but water sits in her eyes like a never-ending pool of poised grief.
“Shepard wants me.”
I feel my scowl. “You said he's some kind of perv, that he breaks the girls in, shows them what's what, then sends them on their un-merry way.”
“True.”
There's something more in her face.
“Then what makes you special?” Kiki asks then blanches, realizing she might have inferred Juliette's not special.
I don't think Juliette has a big enough ego to bruise.
Juliette doesn't notice. “I think I was his first.”
“First what?” Kiki asks.
“Cherry,” she says.
I blink. Let me count the shades of fucked up.
*
I pace the small living room, noticing nothing—thinking about everything.
I stare out the expansive glass that covers the walls and spreads out over Puget Sound. The water churns, deep pewter and angry. Kind of like my thoughts.
Shepard will come after Juliette. He's got some emotion wrapped up in his quest for her. It's more than business. So naturally, it's more complicated.
I need to protect her. I chuckle, softly shaking my head.
“What's so funny? 'Cuz, Thorn, I can't find any comedy right now.”
I give Kiki a small smile as the drone of water comes from Juliette's shower. “I'm just thinking I need to keep Simone—Juliette protected.”
Maybe, if I did my goddamned job, she could be witness protection. But no. My pits sweat when I think about the potential for her in that system. What terrifies me is her being separated from me.
Now that's honest as a two by four between the eyes.
Kiki jerks her eyes up from what she's fixing in the kitchen and arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, sounds lame. That girl can take care of herself.”
I scrub my coarse mat of hair. Twice. “Yeah, true that. But here's the thing: she's all offense right now. She's hell on defense, but everyone wears out on that one. We need strategy.”
Kiki makes a sound. “Well, exotic dancing is out.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
I hit on something. It's crazy but just might work.
“What?” Kiki asks, watching my expression as she sets a plate of sandwiches on the table.
They awaken the beast. My stomach gives an appreciative growl, and I grab one.
She smiles.
Bad shit happens, but hunger needs to be handled. Simplicity.
I take a huge bite and swig of water. I work the food to the side of my mouth. “Mick wants me to shore up those east coast clubs.”
Kiki nods. “Yeah, I know.”
“My mom just died.”
“Yeah,” Kiki answers quietly, her face questioning where this is leading.
“I'm thinkin' it'll take me some time to get past my inability to protect my mom....”
“No Thorn,” Kiki says, denying my words.
I hold up the hand with the sandwich. “It might not be technically my fault, but I can't help how I feel. Responsible.” The cheese and meet flop back and forth in my hand. I take another bite, leveling it between the chompers and a pull of water. I set the water bottle on the table.
“Pffft.” Kiki doesn’t believe my role of protector for my druggie mom. She takes a small bite of her sandwich. Probably trying to soak up the booze. Kiki never eats enough. Typical of a dancer.
“Then there was wanting to find Rex,” I say, crossing my arms.
Kiki nods.
“I don't know if it's right to blow off whatever fucked up grief I need to figure out or put finding bio-daddy on hold, because my pecker's in a twist about Juliette.”
“I think it's more than your pecker, dude.”
That's what I'm afraid of.
Thorn's not afraid of jack.
Except now—I am.
Kiki gives a small shrug and takes another bite. “Maybe it's the perfect thing, Thorn. You go jerk a club into shape and take our girl with you. She distracts you.” Kiki looks at me and inhales deeply. “Heals you.”
I whirl around, my back to the sea of glass and water. “I don't need healing, Kik. I'm not some simp trying to work through my mind shit.”
Lie.
Juliette stands there in a towel. Neither one of us heard her approach.
My gaze rolls down her body like she’s my favorite candy, and my dick pops a boner.
God.
I track the water droplets that slide from her neck to that tender spot between her breasts. Her eyes are emeralds in the sweet coffee and cream of her face.
Hair like kinky ink springs back from wet to dry as I watch.
“Huh. Don't need anybody or anything, Thorn?” Kiki asks in a droll voice.
I resist flipping Kik the bird.
I move toward Juliette, and she meets me.
“Don't take me,” she says. “Just let me go, and you do what you need to do. I can survive. I can avoid Shep.”
My decision’s made before I know it.
“No.”
She cups my face, and her other hand holds the towel around her tits.
My eyes burn. I've never felt like I do now. God help me, I can't let her go. Won't.
It was so much easier when I was numb to life.
This is my chance. Happy has come calling and contentment is MIA.
Somehow, the status quo isn't enough anymore.
*
I sort through Juliette's “escape duffel,” and my sense of things going sideways deepens.
She's got five different passports, contacts to turn her green eyes brown, wigs, and money from five different countries.
A shitload of currency.
But there are no drugs.
“Damn, baby, you've got enough money...”
“Three months,” she says, taking a small gun apart and oiling every piece.
I watch her cram a cleaning rod down the barrel of the tiny 380 Colt. She sights it, one eye scanning the beads at the end, and slaps the whole thing back together, carefully priming each section with a tramp down using a lint-free cloth.
Then she's on to her knives. She doesn’t have many, but all are martial arts oriented.
She even has a throwing star.
“You're not just a mule,” I say, pacing over to the door.
Juliette looks up from sharpening a familiar-looking blade. “No.”
A black light would light that thing up with blood spatter.
She rubs lanolin and Neosporin on the abrasions of her knuckles.
My gaze moves to her hands and locks on.
“I don't know if I'll have to defend myself again. If I fight in too quick of succession, my knuckles will be stiff because of the wounds. But if I use this”—she holds up the lanolin—“it allows flexibility, suppleness of movement.” Her lips twitch. “And who knows what those guys were carrying, germ-wise.” She lifts up the tube of antiseptic ointment.
My eyes are steady on the implements of the trade.
Her lip begins to tremble and I come off my lean against the jamb. My body fills the doorway, casting her in shadow from the light behind me.
Juliette brushes her hand over her cheeks as she cries for the cretin she killed.
Who knows what happened to the other.
I'm not broken up about them. They would have incapacitated Juliette and returned her like a broken doll to that French pimp, Shepard.
I grab her duffel. The door I shut and lock.
Her eyes never l
eave mine.
Expectant.
Alive.
I fall even harder. It's not something I can stop. My iron control of my emotions, my life—and everyone in it—slides down the slippery slope that is Juliette.
18
Juliette
I feel guilty.
I feel sublime.
It is slow this time, our lovemaking. I don't think either of us understood what we were starting in my apartment just days ago.
Now he takes me as if he'll lose me. He savors each touch.
Thorn sets my weapons on the nightstand, and it’s just he and I. Kiki is out getting supplies for the short time I'll be here.
The quiet is profound—swollen—as he strips off my clothes.
My skin is still damp from the shower as I lie back and toss my arms behind me.
Thorn accepts my unspoken invitation. He slides my shirt up and over my head, leaving it in a knot behind me. I keep my arms where they are.
When sex isn't a maneuvering technique or something required, it becomes organic. Each caress builds on the last, our breathing propelling us like two mountain climbers toward that mutual peak of ecstasy.
I can lie here and not think. I can let my instincts guide me for pleasure instead of survival.
Thorn has given that gift to me in the handful of days I've known him. He blanks my head. His large hands are espresso against my cafe au lait skin. Dark and perfect, they trail down between my breasts.
Then his mouth is there, his full lips pressing into that soft spot that separates what his hands now knead.
I groan, scissoring my legs at his touch. I'm full-breasted, but his hands are so large they overwhelm my flesh. He squeezes, and I make a small noise of encouragement.
“Oui,” I whisper, and he responds in French.
He calls me his sweet.
It's a common expression for the French, but whispered in his gruff tones, I respond, parting my legs. He swims between them.
“Too many clothes,” I say, panting.
He ignores me, wrapping his hands around my waist and bringing his mouth to my nipples. He laves one until the bundle of flesh fills his mouth in a hard pebble of arousal.
Thorn moves to the other, suckling until I cry out.
