by Morgan Black
I watch him and I wonder.
We seem like we’re standing on the edge. Just a day away from whatever horrible thing he came to Vegas to do. The horrible thing that he apparently needs me for.
I turn and look toward the other doors. I wonder how far I could make it before Jake started shooting indiscriminately.
But is that just an empty threat? Or would he actually do it? He seems so invested in whatever plan he’s made. I saw the look on his face when he was having that hushed conversation on the phone. Like he was grimly determined to do something, to succeed at all costs.
He doesn’t have the look of a madman about him.
Moving away from the door, I catch sight of his wallet on the table. And again, I wonder. I wander over to the tabletop and pick it up. It’s a smooth, soft black leather piece embossed with a small eagle logo. I don’t recognize it but it looks expensive.
Flipping the wallet open, I’m immediately floored by what I see.
There’s a family photo inside.
I wasn’t expecting that.
I was hoping for a driver’s license, a social security card, something identifying. Loyalty cards for a favorite restaurant or something.
But instead there’s a photo of Jake and a little girl, fussing on his lap, not quite looking at the camera. She’s got a mischievous twinkle in her eye and unruly sandy blonde hair. She can’t be older than about four, maybe five.
I study the photo in silence, my lips pursed. After a moment, more details jump out at me. Hold on, that’s not Jake in the photo, I think. He’s just a bit too skinny. But in the sense of his narrow build more so than body fat. There’s no way it’s just Jake before he got cut. This man has a thinner face, more sunken eyes.
But they look so similar. They have to be related.
My heart skips a beat as I ponder the significance of this picture. It never occurred to me that Jake was anything other than a lone wolf, a hired gun. But a man like Jake wouldn’t carry a photo like this in his wallet just for cover purposes. It looks too personal.
... is it possible he took the photo?
That leads me to wonder yet further possibilities: are they alive or dead? Is it possible Jake is avenging them, or doing this for them somehow? Is it possible he’s not some grim mafioso shooting people in the face for millions of dollars, or whatever the fuck?
I don’t know what to think.
I’m so stunned by this revelation that I don’t even try to hide the wallet when Jake comes back inside. He’s only smoked half his cigar, but he’s ground it out. He looks tired, worn out around the eyes.
When he spots the wallet in my hand, he doesn’t even get angry. He just licks his lips and then nods toward the table.
“I’d appreciate you not going through that.”
Which is a far cry from the usual threat of violence I imagine he’d throw at me.
“I couldn’t help it.”
I put the wallet down on the table without complaint.
Jake doesn’t say anything. He stares off into the middle distance like he’s entirely alone. Like he’s thousands of miles away.
I’m tempted to say something like cute kid, but I worry the child in the photo might not be alive anymore. The death of a young child would certainly turn a man down this path.
Instead, I ask him the questions I’ve been afraid to. I confront him point blank.
“This job you’re doing tomorrow, is it just something someone’s paying you to do?”
Jake’s eyes harden. His shoulders go stiff.
“You should mind your own business,” he says. But not this time.
I take a step closer to him.
“How about no? I’m involved in this whether you planned on it or not. Whether you like it or not. And you told me I’m part of your plan. I don’t need to know what the plan is or how this all came to be, but I think I deserve to know one thing.”
Jake lifts his head and looks me in the eye. His strange, hawk like eyes have a hard edge to them now.
“What one thing?”
“I deserve to know if you’re doing this for a reason or because you really are just some cold-hearted bastard.”
Jake lifts his shoulders, deferential.
“I’m a cold-hearted bastard,” he says, casual.
But somehow, I can tell he’s lying.
“Liar.”
Jake doesn’t flinch away from the accusation.
“Why does it matter why I’m doing what I’m doing?”
And briefly, I wonder the same thing. Why does it matter to me? He’s still a murderer. He still took me hostage. And yet...
Yet there’s that attraction I have to him. Those glimpses where he seems like such a good guy. Those moments when I wonder if maybe, just maybe, the murdering kidnapper side of him was just a man pushed too far by the world, backed into a corner with no other option.
I have no idea when I started to wonder these things, but I can sense them there, under the surface of my thoughts.
Is it... is it because I’m developing feelings for him?
Or do I still just want to get free?
“It matters to me because I want to believe you’re not like that,” I say, my voice quiet. I don’t extrapolate on the many reasons why.
“We don’t get everything we want.”
I wonder why he’s being so cagey. It’s obvious he’s into some bad shit. He wouldn’t have guns and extra cell phones and the ability to cold-bloodedly shoot a stranger if he wasn’t.
But why all the secrecy now?
Is it because I’m getting too close to the truth?
I think back to the photo in my wallet and something clicks into place. I can see what’s happening, clear as day.
“Someone hurt your family, didn’t they.”
I say it with the quiet conviction of certainty. And I can tell by the tiniest hint of a flinch in Jake’s hard eyes that I touched a nerve.
“The man and the girl in the photo. Something happened to them. The reason you’re so focused on this job, the reason for that phone call... this isn’t just a job for you. This is personal.”
I feel a stab of sympathy for him deep in my stomach. Back when I was with Erik, I’d wondered at the idea of having kids. We never got that far, but I’d imagined it a few times. How would I have reacted if someone hurt Erik and I’s would-be baby? With blind, overwhelming rage.
There aren’t that many people in my life that I’m close to. In that way, I imagine Jake and I are similar.
I can’t just forgive all the violent things he’s done, can I? But suddenly, a lot more of it makes sense.
Maybe if I understand his motivations, I can talk him down from whatever he’s going to try to make me do.
“Jake,” I start. I step in close to him. And this isn’t faux seduction, this is a genuine appeal to his better side. I put one hand on his shoulder, hesitant, my fingers on the fine fabric of his dress shirt.
“Jake, whatever you’re doing, it doesn’t have to end with you saying goodbye to your friend on the phone. Or if you think it does, you don’t need to drag me down with you.”
“You’re right. But that was never the plan anyway. Regardless of what happens to me, you’re walking out of there. I only needed you as a cover to move around unnoticed.”
I flinch back. So he doesn’t need me as a driver after all?
“What do you mean?”
“I know these people. I know exactly who most of them are. Some of them might recognize me. But they know me. I travel alone. I usually dress inconspicuously. A flashy rich guy with a new fiancee is someone they’ll automatically ignore. People like that just fade into the background in Vegas.”
“So you only need me to get into the building you were casing? And then what?”
Jake twitches his shoulders tensely upward. I can feel the powerful muscle under his shirt when he moves.
“Then you can go. Take the stuff I bought you and walk away and never come back.”
/> I knit my eyebrows together, watching him, trying to unravel what’s going through his head.
“And you?”
Jake shakes his head just once. He reaches up to take my hand in his, brushing it calmly off his shirt.
“It doesn’t matter what happens to me. Someone took the little girl in that picture. All that matters is I get her safe. Who gives a shit about the rest.”
Wait, he’s doing all this to save that little girl?
I feel dizzy. And it’s not just the remnants of the champagne. But before I can ask anymore questions, Jake pushes past me, moving for the bedroom again.
“I’m going to sleep,” he states, flatly. “I need a clear head in the morning.”
He leaves me standing there, more questions than answers, wondering if my idea I had of Jake Hawthorne was all wrong.
19
~ Jake ~
I can’t deal with Alicia. Not now. Not the way she keeps looking at me, the way she keeps touching me. The way she’s treating me like an actual person rather than a weapon to be pointed at the nearest target. I storm past her into the bedroom and close the door.
She might try to run. At this stage I’m not sure I care. Tomorrow at noon I’m hitting Augustine’s and nothing else matters.
Stripping down to nothing but my boxers, I peel back the expensive bedcovers and crawl into the bed. The sheets have such a high thread count they feel like satin, a smooth caress on my skin that would normally feel amazing. Right now, I barely notice it.
I curl onto my side and stare at the dark, distant wall. I run through my plan in my head. It’s crazy. It’s suicidal. But I don’t know what else to do.
I’m going to storm Augustine’s and pretend to rob it, then hope it’s Marton Császár that gets dispatched to deal with me. The Császár family won’t want the cops sniffing around, so it’s my hope they send their head of security. Once they find out it’s me, I’m sure Marton will come knocking. While he and I don’t have a lot of history together, he’s undoubtedly heard that I’m the one who torched his CEO in La Jolla.
I contemplate texting Vin to go over security details one last time, but my mind’s racing too fast. It’s all coming together too quickly. I wish I had even an extra day or two to prepare.
But I can’t risk giving them enough time to ship Eloise off.
All my brother would have wanted was for his little girl to be safe. Alain had it so good for a while, so much better than either of us deserved. When his wife finally succumbed to lymphoma, just thirty-one, Eloise became his entire world.
We should have brought her up in a better world than we did.
I ignore the door when I hear it open. It creaks, then footsteps pad gently along the floor to my bed. I can tell it’s Alicia, otherwise I’d flip around, grab the Sig off the nightstand, and put a hole in whoever it was.
Instead, I keep my back turned to her.
When I don’t react, she peels the blankets back and climbs into bed with me.
I did... not see that coming.
I keep my breath steady as she climbs in. She’s stripped down to just a shirt and underwear, the fabric soft against my back as she presses up against me. My dick immediately stirs against my leg. I don’t understand why she’s here, but unfortunately for my cock, it’s probably not for that.
Alicia is quiet for a long while, but I can tell she’s awake.
Finally, she says something I never expected her to say:
“Let me help you.”
Help me? Why on earth would she want to help me? I kidnapped her, for hell’s sake.
“Help me?” I say gruffly, staring at the wall.
“I didn’t know there was a kid involved. If you told me the truth back there, if you’re really doing this for her, let me help you.”
I shift around in the bed, ‘til I’m looking at her. Why is she so close to me? Why is she acting so intimate? For a while back there I was convinced she was trying to seduce me, but the look on her face now is so naked and sincere.
“Why?”
She wets her lips, then looks me in the eye. The moonlight shining through the bedroom window reflects off the glassy surface of her eyes, turning them an ethereal silver.
She’s beautiful.
I want to kiss her again.
“Because I knew you weren’t some suicidal psycho, as much as you’d have me believe it.”
“You don’t know a thing about me.”
“I know you’re doing all this to help someone else, not to make yourself rich.”
“And that changes everything? That washes the blood right off my hands?”
She stiffens a bit. So close to me on the mattress I can feel it.
“No. But it means I understand now.”
Then she lifts a hand up, brings it to my face. Her soft fingertips run over my stubbly cheek, touching at my jaw. She cradles my face in one of her hands. It’s so warm. It smells like clean lotion. She’s so different from me, my opposite in so many ways. Light where I’m dark, clean where I’m dirty, pure where I’m corrupted.
I feel something for her. Deep in my chest. Oh, shit.
“I know what it’s like to lose everything,” she says. “I never had a family, but my ex, he took my world from me. My art, my business, my independence. I can see how much that little girl means to you.”
I clench my jaw. I can’t talk to her about Eloise. I can’t talk to anyone about it.
Fortunately for her, she doesn’t try to make me.
“Just... let me help you. Let’s figure out a way to make this happen that doesn’t end in bloodshed.”
“How would you even be able to help with that?”
“Tell me what you’re going to do tomorrow.”
In the seconds between her climbing into bed with me and now, something inside me has changed. I cave in. I tell her the plan from start to finish. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
And it turns out, Alicia has some damn good ideas.
In hushed voices in the dark, we hash out a different idea. Turns out, she used to be a photographer. And photographers, she tells me, can get into anywhere. Rather than me storming in guns blazing, we’ll use slightly different cover identities.
She’ll be a photographer and I’ll be her model. The venue we booked for a photoshoot turned us away at the last second, so we need to shoot on the rooftop gardens at Augustine’s. She has a lot of money she can use to sway their minds.
It sounds like it might actually work. Vin is busy right this second trying to find out which suite is Marton’s, which is the best possible idea we have for where they’re keeping Eloise. Or we can just find Marton himself and torture the location out of him.
I’d rather not do that in front of Alicia, though.
“And after we get her out, you’re free to go,” I say to her, peering into her moonlight-silvery eyes in the dark. She’s still beside me on the bed. It’s strangely intimate, yet we’re not touching each other.
“Let’s worry about the girl before we worry about me,” she says.
And I wonder: is it possible she doesn’t want to leave?
Ha, like that could ever happen. That’s some fucked up action movie shit. People stuck together in moments of terrible crisis don’t ever get happy endings like that. Especially when one was a kidnapper.
I’m overwhelmed. I haven’t felt anything but bitter anger and sadness for my brother for so long that I can’t figure my own emotions out. I’m grateful to her, for the fact that she wants to help at all. For her strange moments of weakness, even if it was just a drunken attempt to forget what was happening.
I don’t understand her.
But I want her.
I want her so much.
Swept away in the moment, I reach out for her in the dark. My fingers reach her hair, comb through it gently. I touch her face, my rough hands moving over her soft skin. The contrast between us--our bodies, our lives--is unbearably hot.
When I reach for her, she reac
hes back. We curl our arms around one another and our mouths meet.
It’s entirely unlike the first two times. This time, it’s like fireworks.
I roll over atop her immediately, delighting in the smallness of her beneath my body. Before, she belonged to me because she was my hostage. Now, she belongs to me willingly. As we frantically kiss, she bucks her hips up against me, her body grinding against mine. I can feel the heat radiating off of her.
She wants me just as badly.
For now, the threats of the next day fall away to nothing. The Császár cartel, the eminent threat of many guns pointed in my direction, it all dissolves.
All that matters is Alicia. Losing myself in the soft, clean scent of her. I grab the hem of her shirt and peel it up over her head. She isn’t wearing a bra underneath, so I go for her breasts immediately. They’re the perfect size, big and round and full, a perfect fit for my hands.
I squeeze her tits, thumbing at the nipples, then sink down and take one into my mouth, suckling greedily and hotly. She moans, a high and tight-throated sound. I shudder with how much I need to hear her make that sound again.
As I explore her body, I go out of my way to seek out the places that cause her to writhe and twitch and gasp and make those excited little sounds. Turns out, she has quite a few. The hollows of her throat, the very edges of her shoulders, especially when bitten. The back of her neck. Her earlobes.
I feast on her body, all the while growing hard as a rock, my cock pressing against her leg.
She reaches for my boxers at the same time I reach for her panties. We scramble out of our underwear, eager to press ourselves together, real skin to skin for the first time.
It’s hot. It’s explosive. It’s everything I didn’t even know I wanted.
Crawling atop her, her body arched up into mine, I trail my fingers down her stomach, passing by her navel and brushing them along her slit. She reacts with a groan, opening her legs for me, and I take the invitation I’m given.
Positioning myself between her legs, I line the hard length of my dick up against her entrance. But not yet. Not yet. I want to enjoy this.
