by Lake, Keri
An eye for an eye.
Laws meant shit when it came to love, though. Could I love her in time?
From what I knew of love, it was a wild flame that would consume me with no apology. I’d lived it once, felt it. Knew the duality of love’s seductive and destructive natures. The tranquil glow with a deadly burn. Yet, somewhere in that fire was my salvation.
A moment of bliss in a dark world of pain.
A beacon of light on a shadowy horizon.
Love was the only thing stronger than hate. Fuck, if I didn’t already try hating her once. Something deep inside of me had awakened in the last few days. The moment we joined the same side, as I’d peered down at her brutal scar, was the moment an odd sensation clicked inside of me. I wanted to save her in a way that I couldn’t save myself. I’d found a reason strengthening my determination to follow through with my revenge. For her. For me. For my family.
The lingering question remained, though. What would happen in the end?
A blackness lived on the other side of my revenge—a future I’d never planned to live. Aubree couldn’t change that. I’d planned it for far too long, and with the grand finale of my vengeance, police, gangs, everyone who’d be looking for restitution for the deaths would be out to hunt me down if I happened to survive. I’d never endanger Aubree by putting her in the middle, making her an enticing object for retribution.
Her thumb traced the tattoo on my forearm. “I’ve had to wake up on guard for the last five years, always playing the game. Always watching that what I say doesn’t give away something that I’d be stabbed with later. Here, in this old, abandoned wreckage, I feel so calm and relaxed with you. For the first time in years, I’m genuinely content in my own skin.”
I nabbed the shampoo beside me and squeezed some into the palm of my hand before massaging it into her head. I didn’t know what to say to her. I’d made a promise, one I intended to keep. I didn’t know what that meant for Aubree and me. I certainly couldn’t promise her a happy home and white picket fences. That world had passed me by years ago.
“I love your hands on me.” She tilted her head back into the water, washing the lathered soap away, then twisted to face me again.
Her body felt almost weightless in my arms as I lifted her up and pressed her back against the wall, slanting my mouth over hers. Water trickling between our lips made for a wet kiss. I positioned myself inside of her, reveling in the sounds of our slick bodies beating against each other, her breasts bouncing. Her moans echoed inside my head, as I took her again like the selfish fucking bastard that I was.
I couldn’t help it.
I’d become ravenous for her. Fucking her wasn’t enough. I wanted to tear Aubree apart and claim all the pieces of her as my own. Even if the future was nothing more than a black splotch of ink on an unwritten page, in that moment, she belonged to me.
34
Aubree
Staring up at the bedroom ceiling, I lay in Nick’s arms, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe. We’d had sex so many times, in so many positions, it was as if I’d opened the cage to a lust-hungry beast that lived trapped inside me. In spite of my scars, my bruises, I felt beautiful with him. Alive. Strong.
In return, I wanted to heal the broken, beautiful man within him. His pain surged through me with every passionate kiss that spoke of loneliness and desolation. The anger and fury beat through me in the same tempo as his thrusts. I wanted all of it. I’d take all those hours, minutes, seconds of his suffering and let them swirl and simmer inside of my body until I could give him the exquisite fusillade of release that he craved.
Somewhere in between our tangling, we’d eaten, showered again. Exhausted from climaxing so many times in a matter of hours, I should have had nothing left, but as he pushed inside me from behind, I found I needed him again. Despite my dry throat, aching muscles, and spasms trembling my thighs, he simply felt too damn good to deny. I’d never felt so sated, deliciously weak, yet craving more.
He remained unmoving inside me, as though reminding me of the potential in his rock hard cock while he kissed behind my ear. “You’re tired and hungry. I’ll get you some food and let you rest.”
“No,” I moaned, but my stomach answered with a growl.
Laughing, he pulled out of me, and suddenly my body screamed for him again. “Sleep now. I’m not done with you, yet.” As he pulled the covers over me and stood, the dampness of the sheets caught the cool draft that blanketed my battered muscles.
My mouth watered at the sight of his cock beside my face, and again when he turned to reveal a tight, muscled ass disappearing behind his briefs. With lids so heavy I could hardly keep them open, I closed my eyes.
I could’ve sworn only minutes had passed when he returned, but I awoke, lying on my stomach, to his fingertips gliding down my spine. When the sheet lowered, I instinctively flipped to my side.
“I’ve seen your scar.” His kiss landed on my exposed hip. “Many times now.”
“I know.” His touch right then had felt too intimate, though, and I didn’t want to feel like he was examining it.
His fingertips drifted upward, and when he circled the right side of my back, I knew he’d found the yellowing bruise from Michael’s abuse. “Men who do this are weak. Cowards. A woman should never carry scars of pain and suffering.” His soft lips caressed the bruise before he left another kiss there. “You were with him a long time, yeah?”
I nodded, hating the confession, dreading the next question, one I’d ignorantly issued to so many women who’d come to me, desperate for healing after suffering similar pain.
So why did you stay?
All those women had had their own crippling reasons for staying with abusive men—children, money fears, lack of confidence in their own survival.
In my case, it was lack of options. My husband happened to own the police, the judicial system, and the government. On top of that, he had connections that would assure I’d never get far—connections that could find me in the farthest corners and darkest shadows. Still, I hated myself for being so weak.
I also hated that Nick, a man who’d shown me how fierceness could co-exist with gentleness, might’ve seen me the same way I once saw those women.
“You’re a strong woman, Aubree.”
His words stole my defense parked at the back of my throat, and the look on my face must’ve been more of an accusation than what was really spinning through my mind. I hadn’t been expecting him to say that. I’d expected him to tell me I was an idiot—that I should’ve fought harder.
He shook his head. “Years of bruises and scars. You must be exhausted.”
I’d fought every day of my life—even the days it seemed futile—and I’d been tempted to piss Michael off enough for him to kill me. “Thank you.” Lifting the sheets higher, I smiled, though I wanted to bury my face in the pillows and cry. Not for myself. Not for the scars. Not even for what Nick’d said so much as from relief that someone finally understood, finally saw the real me behind the mask I’d been forced to wear. Such a cathartic realization, it made me want to crawl inside of him and stay there forever. “Surely, strong women aren’t wrecked with bruises and scars.”
“You’re a fighter. Your scars aren’t about the rounds you’ve lost. They’re about the ones you walked away from. The ones you survived.”
At his pat to my ass, I twisted into myself to get a look at him as he stood, earning myself a view of the sexy happy trail and the top of the delicious ‘V’ that disappeared into his jeans. “C’mon. Get up.”
“What’s going on?”
Bending forward, he planted a kiss to my temple and whispered, “No questions.”
“And if I don’t want to get out of bed?” My confusion turned to a wily smile.
The raising of his brow coupled with the intensity of his eyes said, I didn’t ask you, I’m telling you. He reached out a hand to me, beckoning me with a flick of his fingers, and I took the bait. After all, how could I deny those beauti
ful instruments that’d pushed me over the edge more times in one night than I’d ever experienced in my whole life? I rose to meet him, and he dragged me into his body. “Wear something warm.” He kissed me and left the room.
A pair of ripped jeans, a thick, black cable sweater, and the black combat boots made for what I hoped would constitute warm. When I ventured downstairs, Nick jerked his head for me to follow him out back.
Blood still coated the pavement where Blue must’ve been shot. Nick didn’t so much as spare a glance, like he’d told himself not to look at it, as he made his way down the stairs to the back yard. Though abandoned houses could be seen off in the distance, the house sat on a pretty good chunk of property, with a small copse of trees, the sight of which brought a rush of bile to my throat.
He slid a pistol out of a holster at his hip that I hadn’t noticed on the way out. Eyes squinted, he peered down the barrel of the Sig Sauer and pointed it toward a mound of dirt a couple of hundred yards off. “Ever shoot someone?”
“No. Last I checked, hunting people is considered murder.”
His lip kicked up into a smile. “I think you need to learn.”
“Why would I do that?”
Lowering the gun, he glanced over his shoulder at me. “All women should know how to protect themselves.” He motioned for me to stand in front of him and held out a gun to me.
I caught a quick glimpse of his stoic face, then glanced back down to the gun before lifting it from his opened palm. This could be fun.
“How’s it feel?”
I shrugged. “Like a gun in my hand.”
He moved behind me and pointed toward a mound of dirt. “Aim there.”
With my finger half-heartedly curled at the trigger, I lifted the gun and, tilting it sideways like I’d seen gang members do, I aimed it at the mound.
“No, no. Hold it level and keep it upright. Not cocked to the side.” His hands covered mine, and he turned the gun upright. “Gangstas do that shit because it’s a fast way to deliver a bullet, but you want to steady your hand and aim at your target. Grip with both hands. Click the safety off, here.” He pushed my thumb against the hammer and pulled it back. “Ready?”
Oh, yes. The whole experience had me swimming in excitement.
At my nod, his fingers curled around mine. The gun kicked back at the same time a thunderous crack hit my ears. The lingering ring had me working my jaw, as a plume of dust kicked up from the mound of dirt.
“That’s good. Let’s do it again. This time, aim a little higher. You might’ve hit a set of nuts with that one, but nothing that would kill a bastard.”
“What makes you think I didn’t aim there?” I laughed at the roll of his eyes and raised the gun once more. It wasn’t the exhilaration of the weapon itself in my hands that had me excited right then. As he gently guided my aim, I realized it was the excitement of the man putting that power in my hands, adding another layer of appreciation for Nick.
My father was the only man in my life who’d ever made any attempt to empower me like that.
Nick’s chest pressed into my back and his arms wrapped around mine. I wanted to focus on the lesson, but being enveloped in his stiff muscles and his delicious scent left me distracted, burning with a desire that shot through my veins like lust bullets.
Just as before, he squeezed my fingers and the bullet bounced off the dirt. “That’s a little better. Might’ve hit a kidney that time.” He chuckled at my ear.
Smiling, I turned around and held the pistol out to him. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll turn the gun on you?”
He hooked my chin with his finger and glided his thumb across my lips, staring at them intently. “I’m more afraid that you wouldn’t,” he said, kissing me. “We’ll try again then set up some targets.”
“And if I hit them?”
His brow kicked up. “Perhaps I’ll keep you tied to my bed and administer your reward over the next few days.”
A shiver hit my spine at the thought.
35
Chief Cox
Cox sat in his office, his finger hovering over the mouse, before reluctantly opening the email that’d been sent to his personal account. The sender’s name stuck out from all the other shit mail he still had to weed through, written in bold caps, encrypted.
From: ANONYMOUS
Subject: EX
I’d like to discuss a transaction, as I have information you may find useful.
One week ago, a girl was rescued from traffickers at the Pantheon Motel. I’d like to know her name. Should you choose to provide that information to me, I’ve been made privy to E4E’s next victim.
Perhaps you might decide that a surprise is in order.
Not a single identifying clue existed anywhere in the email. Odd that the mysterious sender would inquire about the girl, whose name had been withheld by the media, as a victim of a sex crime, but what did Cox care? He himself had been the one to make the drop at the eastside Palms Motel, when he’d picked up the runaway from the streets a couple weeks back. In fact, he’d been her first customer, broke her in right on the spot, before threatening that if she ever told anyone, he’d kill her family. When she surfaced in the media, Cox just about had a goddamn heart attack.
Fortunately for him, she’d suffered some traumatic amnesia bullshit tied to her torment, leaving her unable to recall how she’d been picked up, let alone most of her abuses thereafter. If some bastard was ambitious enough to kill her off, so be it. Cox had alibis and connections. Her ‘stage name’ was all that most of the involved parties had, anyway.
Cox hit ‘reply’ and typed a single response: Sapphire. Dragging the mouse to the top of the screen, he prepared to exit the account, when a completely new email bounced back.
He clicked on the second ANONYMOUS in bold and frowned.
From: ANONYMOUS
Subject: EX
The Palms Motel.
Room 313
You’ll find the next victim.
A sharp pain struck Cox’s chest like a vice grip closing in on his ribcage. He slapped a hand to his heart and attempted deep breaths through the short pants. Fucking angina. Knocking papers to the floor, he rifled through the drawer beside him and grabbed his Nitro tabs, popping two pills beneath his tongue.
The pressure gradually dissolved with the tabs, and Cox sucked in deep breaths through his nose.
Room 313 had been rented out by Jonathan and his girlfriend, Theresa, as a second location to sell the girls.
With trembling hands, Cox replied.
Who are you?
An eternity passed before it became clear that the sender had no intentions of identifying himself. Cox slammed his fist against the desk before grabbing his jacket.
* * *
With cautious steps, Cox approached the room of the old, rundown shithole he’d frequented a few times. His hand instinctively rested on his gun holster, and as the door with the faded numbers came into view, he slipped the weapon out, trigger finger at the ready.
After a quick glance at the surrounding shuttered rooms, Cox placed an ear to the door, jumping back when it clicked open. He lifted his gun and pushed it in farther, giving way to darkness inside, as if the room stood empty.
Every nerve in his body flared like a livewire. He took long, easy breaths, having already popped his pills, and flipped on the lights.
Eyes wide, he fell back on a chair behind him with a gasp. Strung around the walls and ceilings like ghosts were large photographs—black and whites that showed him talking to the girl, her getting into his vehicle, him walking her to the room of the motel, the subtle stroke of his hand against her hair as he ushered her into the room.
She’d been scared at first, but he’d assured her he was leaving her with a good friend who’d help her find some odd jobs and make some cash, rather than send her back home. Theresa had convinced her to stay by promising to look out for her. After a few drinks laced with roofies, she’d passed out and woke up a prisoner.
Cox thought he’d seen the last of her.
Gun held level, he swung around the empty room. Rubbing the tightness in his chest, he headed for the bathroom, kicked in the door, and flipped on the lights.
A message screamed from the mirror, red like it’d been written in lipstick:
Her name is Danielle.
You’re Next.
Cox clutched his chest and exited the bathroom, ripping down pictures from the ceiling and walls. With images spilling over in his arms, he darted back down the staircase to his car. He’d burn them. Every single one of them. And the fucking bastard who’d pulled the stunt would die a slow, merciless death, he promised.
A shudder ran down his spine as he wiped the sweat from his brow and ignored the tightening behind his ribs. He pulled his cellphone and scrolled through the names, shaking his head when he stopped at the last cocksucker he wanted to talk to in his current state. Unfortunately, the asshole was the only one he knew who could answer the burning question inside his head.
At the greeting on the other end, Cox cleared his throat. “Riley, this is, uh … Cox.”
“Something come up?” No doubt, a polite version of what the fuck are you calling me for?
“Nah, I got a question. Encrypted emails.” He raised a trembling hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any way to find out who sent them?”
“Depends on the sender. For the most part, they’re not easy, no.” A pregnant pause followed his comment. “Is this related to our Eye for Eye dude?”
“No. This … this is a completely different case.” Back up. Abort mission. He needed to get off the phone before the guy asked questions that’d have him slipping up. “I thought you might say that. Thanks. I gotta go. Have a good night.”
“Yep.”
Cox clicked the phone off, kicking himself for what he could’ve gathered on his own. He’d been stupid to loop Riley into his mess, but, hopefully, the bastard’d been so fucking stoned, he’d forget they’d had the conversation.
