"Chelsea-"
"I'm the C.I.A., Javier! And you’re a fucking target! You’re wanted by-"
"You?" He says it with a smirk, and I know he's trying to lighten this mood, but there's nothing that would take back the horrible mistake I just made in kissing him.
"No." I shake my head; "This isn't happening, Javier. Not with someone like you."
The words sound far harsher the second they leave my lips, and I wince as my eyes dart to find his; "I'm- shit, I didn't mean-"
"Well what makes you think I wanted anything to do with an uptight bitch like you?" His words are cold, and he pushes past me into the motel room, grabbing his shirt as he heads to the door.
"Wait, where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Out, princess."
I sputter, storming after him as I try and wrap a towel around my naked chest; "Hang on! You can't just leave!”
He whirls on me, his face tight and his eyes blazing fire; "Where the fuck am I going to go, princess? Its a damn island, and I can’t seem to get away from you anyways."
I open my mouth, but the words don't come as he strides out the door.
Javier shakes his head before he storms out the door, slamming it behind him.
Fuck this.
My head is still swirling with thoughts as I storm back downtown to the little shopping area where we were earlier. I march right back to the same fucking bar I was in before with Benson and his assholes. It may seem like tempting fate, but this time I can actually see people in there; people in Hawaiian shirts and touristy fanny-packs and startled looks on their faces when I slam the door open and stomp up to the bar.
"Tequila," I growl, slumping over my elbows on the wooden bar-top. I chance one dart of my eyes around the room, looking for any sign of the Blackriver douchebags. But of course they're gone now, and I know I'm just being an idiot.
The bartender slides me a glass, which I instantly tilt back before sliding his way and nodding for another.
I sip the second a bit more slowly than the first shot, brooding about what just went down in the motel room with Chelsea. I rake the fingers of one hand through my hair, grimacing as they slip through the unfamiliar horter length. I can't believe I let her cut my hair like that.
I snort and take another sip. Right, like I "let" her do anything. I know the altering of our appearances, however small a measure, is necessary, but it still makes me mad that I let her do it now, after that whole bullshit back there. It's more than just the general situation, too. I'm not a little pussy bitch that cries about the world not going his own way. I mean, believe me, I’ve had the world not go my way plenty of fucking times. Actually, I’m not sure its ever gone the way I wanted it to.
But I’m pissed because I can't think straight. No matter what happens in life, even when shit goes sideways, my head is always clear. I know where I want to go, it’s just a matter of picking the right path to get there, sometimes no matter what the toll is.
Except right now, for the first time ever, I’m lost. And I’m lost because now there’s something else in my damn head blocking my view of where I need to go and what I need to do; something young, blonde, and way more innocent than I should be fucking around with.
How the hell did I let that fucking C.I.A. chick under my skin? And now here I am griping and moaning about it like a pussy. I've lost my power and my edge somehow just fucking being around her. I smile thinly as I sip the rest of the glass in my hand, thinking about some story I vaguely remember from church when my grandmother could drag me there. I spent more time most Sundays trying to steal alter wine to sell to the older kids, but I do remember Sampson and Delilah.
And here I let that bitch cut my hair and break my throne.
Another memory takes over then as the tequila starts to mellow me out. Only this one isn't me as a kid, holding abuela's hand and going to church. No, in this one, I'm holding a gun. I'm in a concrete room in some shitty little smuggler stop-off outside Tallahassee, and I've got Logan Dempsey and Chelsea's sister Quinn tied to chairs.
And I hate it.
I hate that it's come to this and I hate how being what I needed to be has brought me to this place where I have no fucking idea who I am anymore. I don't know how I got to be the Goddamn bad guy, but when you’re up against a wall and out of options, its the only route sometimes.
I'm hitting Logan, not even knowing why I am. I'm threatening them both, trying to bend him to do what I need him to do, only because its the only option I've got. I'm in too deep with the wrong fucking people, and Logan's a way out of that. So here we are.
I remember turning towards Quinn and just seeing the hate in her eyes; just pure fucking loathing and hatred, and for one brief second, I almost stop. There's a moment there, staring at Chelsea's oldest sister where I see the monster I've become reflected in her eyes. For one brief second, I see every mistake I ever made; every wrong turn and every poor decision that brought me right here to this very moment. I want to apologize; I want to say I'm sorry and find a way to change my ways.
And then she stabs me.
I can still remember that blade slicing into my skin and entering my damn throat; I can fucking taste it. I’m drowning then. I'm drowning on my own fucking blood, which is maybe the worst feeling in the world by the way.
And then, I die.
I'm dead, and I know it. When I’m drowning on the coppery taste of my own life-force, I know I’m dead. End of the road, Toro.
Except, she saves me.; that doctor, Chelsea's sister. She stabs me, and they could just walk away from all that, but she doesn’t. For some fucked up reason that I still don't understand, she saves my sorry ass. I will never understand that moment and what possessed her to do that, but fuck, here I am.
I snort a laugh to myself; thinking of one of the brief conversations I ever had with Chelsea's father; “Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”
And I'm roasting out here.
The bartender slides a bottle of something nice-looking in front of me, breaking my thoughts; "What’s this?" I eye the golden añejo sitting in front of me, squinting at the label and realizing just how nice it really is.
"Your friends bought it for you."
"Excuse me?" Friends? Clearly, we don't know each other, bud.
"Yeah, your friends." He shrugs, like he doesn't really give much of a shit; "I think they headed out back for a smoke or something, but they wanted to buy you one."
"What, a drink?"
"A bottle." The bartender shrugs and passes me a fresh glass; "You want me to hang on to it back here?"
"Leave it."
He nods and pours me a shot before he sets the tequila on the bar top and walks away. I bring the glass to my lips and inhale the sweet burn of it before I knock it back and let the amber fire slowly leak down my throat. I allow the burn to settle in for a second before I stand and grab the bottle.
This is a fucking real bad idea, but fuck it. I head through the bar towards the back door, knowing perfectly well now who my "friends" are. It's a shit move, walking out this door, but I knew they were going to check in on me sooner or later, and it might as well be here and now without Chelsea around. The way I figure, the more heat I can draw away from her, the quicker we can figure out what the hell we're going to do.
Hands grab and slam me up against the wall the second I step out the door. I wince and my head rings as it knocks off the bricks of the alley wall, and there's the now-familiar feel of a gun against my back as a very familiar voice rasps in my ear: "Where are we at, Toro."
I grit my teeth and strain against the two guys holding me down, and I turn to sneer into Benson's stupid piggy little face; "Fuck you, cabron."
"I'm not sure you're understanding me, you dumb fuck," Benson narrows his eyes at me, the veins in his neck sticking out and throbbing; "Get Chelsea Archer for us, and I won't dump your ass back in La Muerta, comprende? It's a fair trade."
"How 'bout I trade you for another shot at your mom’s ass
?" I spit out, forcing a grin to my face.
Benson's fist crashes into my mouth and white stars flash in front of my face. Yeah, I'm not sure what other response I expected from him; grunts like him aren't exactly the witty banter type.
"I'm gonna try and impress this upon you one more time, shithead," Benson leans closer, his face red and his eyes looking crazy as he pulls out his gun, cocks it and presses the barrel into my cheek; "Chelsea Archer, by tomorrow morning, or you're a dead ma-"
"Drop it."
That wasn't Blackriver-
All four of us jerk our heads up to the front of the alleyway, and I can’t stop the grin that starts to spread across my face.
"I said, fucking drop it!" The gun in the newly brunette Chelsea Archer's hands is leveled right at Benson as she stands there with her feet shoulder length apart and staggered. Benson and his goons freeze, and I almost want to laugh; is this chick saving my ass?
There's a coldness in her eyes, and I’m suddenly realizing as I hear the three idiots around me chuckle that they don’t take her seriously.
From the perspective of a guy who’s had her pull a gun on him, twice, they really should; even if they don’t know the gun is unloaded.
Benson chuckles and smiles at Chelsea; "Listen sweetheart, why don't we put down the gun before you hurt some-"
"I said let him go. Special Agent Archer, United States Central Intelligence Agency, and for the last motherfucking time; drop the-"
One of the guys holding me suddenly shoves me away and reaches for a gun on his belt holster. It's a blur of motion, but he barely gets his hand on it before the gun in her hand roars.
Holy fucking shit!
I don’t even have time to wonder where the hell she got ammo from before the man grunts as his shoulder rocks backwards with her shot, knocking him to the ground.
There's a quarter second of everyone freezing and not quite believing it - myself included - before I use that to jump into action. I elbow the other guy holding me sharply in the nuts, knocking him over. Benson shouts and fires barely a foot from my head right over me towards Chelsea, and I lunge at him as I plant a haymaker of a fist into his fat face.
I'm running for Chelsea, ducking wildly as she fires right over my head, before I tackle her back behind a dumpster.
"Nice timing, spy-girl."
"I told you not to run off without me!" She looks furious, but I only grin at how insane this all is.
Suddenly, there are flashing blue and red lights and the sounds of sirens at the other end of the alley; great, the fuzz is here.
"Police! Everyone freeze!"
Fuck, just what we need. I whirl to Chelsea, still crouched behind the dumpster with me, holding her gun with an iron grip; "We need to run."
She whirls to me; "What?! It's the police, Javier; we're going to-"
"Remind me which one of us has actually worked for Blackriver again?!" I shake her by the shoulders, trying to impress upon her the seriousness of this; “Trust me, if the police are here, they’re with them. We need to run."
Chelsea rolls her eyes and puts the safety on her gun; "Jesus, you really are insane, you know that?" She starts to roll her eyes again as she begins to stand with her hands in the air. She screams as I tackle her back down as bullets from the guns of both both groups rake the side of the dumpster and the brick next to us.
Jesus, I hate being right all the time.
"Will you fucking listen to me for once!?" I yell; "Can we run now, princess?"
Her mouth presses into a line and her eyes search my face wildly.
"We need to run; now, Chelsea“
She nods quickly, her eyes blazing and her mouth tight as I grab her and we run.
*****
Her hand is firmly in mine as I lead us charging down alleyways, between buildings, and down towards the dark of the beach. Running feels good. Running is freedom, and the fact that I'm holding her hand sure is fucking helping. It's bizarre, but as insane as this moment is with Blackriver and the cops chasing after us and the fact that I just had a gun to my head, I'm almost laughing as we dash through the darkness. I feel more alive and more in control than I have in ages, and having this girl's hand in mine as we pound the sand has me feeling like a golden god.
Her face looks tight but she’s not yelling, and she’s not panicking.
And she came back for you.
Quite honestly, I'm not sure anyone's ever “come back for me." I'm the guy you leave; the one that takes the hit because I was disposable anyways, and the fact that Chelsea of all fucking people in the world is the one that came back has me grinning like an asshole.
And we have a “thing” now; a common enemy in Blackriver. Whatever comes next, we’re a united front.
And really, this princess ain’t so bad as she seems.
This situation is fucked. Actually, I think Logan, Bryce, and Hudson would call it FUBAR - fucked up beyond all recognition.
I've graduated from flirting with a criminal, to hiding from mercenaries, to running from the cops now. If I had any sense left in me at all, I’d stop all this. I'm supposed to be lying low, and keeping a low profile and waiting for further instructions as to what to do for my job.
And again, ”running from the cops” is hardly a low profile move.
At the same time, my heart is racing a mile a minute, and the fact that people with guns are chasing us is honestly only half responsible for that; at best. Because the other part of it is that my hand is firmly in Javier Toro's and as we run headlong down the beach, I can't help but let every part of me soar.
We run for what seems like hours but must be more like minutes, though at our pace we've got to be at least two miles down the beach from where we were. We come up on a rocky area of the beach, and as we dash around the rocks and boulders, Javier brings our mad-dash to a halt.
We stop, panting with our hands on our knees as we suck in breaths of air. I'm swallowing my pounding heartbeat, trying to catch my breath when I hear laughing. I frown and look up to see Javier chuckling with a grin plastered across his face.
"Are you laughing?"
He howls out another laugh, his whole face actually lighting up as he throws his head back and hoots at the night sky. Sweat drips down his face and his chest but he's laughing even as he struggles for a full breath.
"You're insane."
"I've been told." He grins at me and shakes his head; “Where the hell did you get bullets for that gun?”
“The third Blackriver guy that was standing guard around the corner.” I try and shrug it off as if sneaking up on mercenaries and knocking them out to steal their ammunition clips is in any way something I’ve ever done before. Javier snorts, his laughs telling me he doesn’t buy my attempt at being a bad-ass at all.
“Well, nice job, Rambo.”
I shake my head and start to turn but he stops me with a hand on my arm; “C’mon, princess, don’t you feel fucking alive right now?”
I take another gasp of air and shake my head as I turn to look out at the dark of the ocean; "I feel like we’re making this situation worse."
He snorts; “But don’t you feel it? This is life; raw and crazy and happening all around you.” His voice is closer than it was before, and I turn suddenly to find him standing much closer to me, and my breath catches; “Don’t you feel alive?”
Scorch: A Soldiers of Fortune Romance (Military Bad Boy Romance) Page 9
