by Brook Wilder
“I think I always knew, too,” he said. “When she was a kid she used to play pranks. I’m thinking it’s just normal kid shit but one day she actually drowned Amber’s hamster. We blamed it on something else so Amber wouldn’t hate her the rest of her teenage years but she fucking killed an animal. I thought it was just an accident you know? Shit happens. But she didn’t cry over it like you’d think a kid would. I knew that the first sign of a psychopath is animal cruelty or whatever, but I just liked seeing so much light in her. I wanted so bad for her to be the one that redeemed us, got us all out of this craphole. She was the best of us.”
Hanna listened and watched. She couldn’t tell, in the dim light, if Roarke was crying, if his eyes were watering or she heard a crack in his voice. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to be crying or stoic, which she’d be able to handle more. She understood his pain. He built up an idea of his sister, an idea she likely cultivated in his head. He wanted so much for her to be one thing, that he couldn’t understand the possibility of it being wrong. Of everything he put his hope in over the years of being wrong.
“I hated my old man, you know,” he said. “You notice I never talk about that fucker?”
“I didn’t want to ask.”
“Well, he was beyond an asshole. He was irresponsible, he was a drinker, he only ever cared about himself and would bawl his eyes out about how bad of a father he was when he got just that drunk,” he said. “Then one day he was shot by the Caracals and I was the man of the house.”
“My dad was a drug addict,” she said without meaning to. She needed him to know something, wanted him to understand something true about her. “So was my mom. I was the product of one too many blacked out fucks. Didn’t stay with them long. State took me. I haven’t seen them since. I don’t even know if they’re alive.”
“Folks suck, plain and simple,” Roarke said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
His face had relaxed, the tension seeped out of the balloon and now he was still. She wanted to tell him still, wanted him to know the full truth. She was sure of that now. But she was alone with him, trapped in the dark in a building full of people who did not like her. She was attracted to Roarke. She had feelings for Roarke. But she could not trust him. There was something so oxymoronic about that, but it made everything that much more tantalizing in the end. It’s not that she wanted something she couldn’t have or wanted something bad for her. It’s that she understood how layered a person could be, how you could hate them and love them at once. How you could want to hurt them and heal them.
When her eyes moved back up, Roarke was staring at her with new intensity and she knew she was powerless to stop herself when she crossed the room, straddled his lap, and kissed him.
Chapter 17
She rocked into his lap and this time it was not needy, not full of barely contained, keening moans. She was not desperate for friction in her jeans. She just wanted to feel him close to her, relish in the heat their bodies created together. His hands were cradling her gently as he encouraged her movements. He whispered God-knew-what into her ears as she moved like the ocean over his shoreline and made sure her lips were touching somewhere on his skin at all times.
His hands were calloused and rough and scalding hot against her skin as they moved up and under her shirt, brushing her breasts as he lifted and her shirt came free. His hands moved fluidly, like smoke, to the clasp of her bra and undid it. When her breasts, complete with pert, pebbled nipples, were free, he moved his hands to massage them gently, pulling back to watch her. She found his eye contact intense as he watched her, like an experiment he was judging the results of. She bit her lip and moved with more speed when she hit a particular sensitive spot on herself and felt him flex his thigh. Her eyes started to flutter closed and he whispered in her ear.
“I want to watch your eyes.”
She forced them open and looked at him as she moved faster and faster, harder against him. She could feel his erection now and it was pushing her closer and closer, thinking about how badly he seemed to want her and how deeply.
She felt it happen. She stiffened. She took in all the sensations, fighting to keep her eyes locked on his and felt like crying. He watched this chain reaction with such attention. When she was done, he lifted her up just enough to shimmy out of his pants while she pulled off his shirt to run her hands over the taut and tight muscles that hid underneath. His erection was free and she stripped herself of her own pants, wasting no time in coming back to hover over him and lowering herself down onto his lap, letting him fill her.
It felt so different than it had before. She felt warm, she felt caressed everywhere, his rough hands were like the only cloth she wanted against her skin. They began moving together, without a word needed to be passed between them. Their thrusts met gently, slowly, with grace. Even as they sped up and they both needed more, none of it was hurried or ruined with dirty talk.
She thought it was only in movies and bad erotica that people found a way to come at the same time. And while they may not have hit their high precisely the same moment, she was certain they came fairly close to it when they both released and let out sighs and whispers that they weren’t going to dare repeat in the daylight.
The world above them didn’t exist. Their enemies within and without were far away from there. They were trapped in a cellar that smelled like mold and dirt, sweaty and in desperate need of showers and long vacations. But it was so perfect, too perfect for Hanna not to let the fateful truth slip out of her mouth.
“I’m pregnant.”
As soon as she said it, she was sure the spell was broken, it was done. She saw him standing up, throwing her off of him, and sending her packing with her bastard child.
But instead she saw glass eyes looking back at her, the familiar comfort in them not disappearing as he processed the news. He looked positively grateful and she thought she might cry.
“I know I’m supposed to be freaking out right now and panicking,” he said. “But honestly, all I can think of is how I get a second chance and I hope to God I don’t fuck this one up.”
She giggled and kissed and, in a fantasy, it could almost seem domestic and normal. It could almost seem like they weren’t running for their lives or hiding from enemies who wore the disguise of friends. This was almost a moment you’d see in a Hallmark movie or you’d tell your girlfriends about at the baby shower. She let it go. She’d let herself have this. She had no idea what was ahead.
Chapter 18
The time after sex always seemed incredibly awkward to Hanna. She’d spent many post-coital moments fumbling to put clothes on, trying to read the room and whether or not she was going to spend the night in a stranger’s bed or if she was being dismissed when he got up to go pee because the internet said that was how you fought bladder infections from sex. Sometimes it was nice, there would be breakfast the next morning, maybe they’d shower together or talk about random things and there would be the hint of the possibility of more before something happened, someone didn’t call, or life simply moved on.
This was different. Roarke stayed inside her until his lessening and lessening erection made that impossible, pulling out, but not letting her leave his lap. She’d just told him easily the biggest thing you could tell a person. It wasn’t some random thing like saying she was actually on her period or she was allergic to the fabric softener he used in the sheets. She told him he was going to be a father, that she was going to be the mother of the same child. And he looked grateful.
For a brief moment, she was convinced there was no way this could be real. No one was this perfect--well, Roarke was far from perfect. Roarke was an awful human being. Roarke hurt people, had no problem torturing them, physically assaulting them, using them. She wondered often if he had ever killed someone and realized she was terrified to really know the answer. But in this, she was everything she hoped for but was sure she would never get.
“You’re not angry?” she asked, voice small.
> “Why should I be angry?” he asked. “I helped make whatever baby we end up with. I told myself long ago that I wouldn’t blame a woman if she came to me and told me she was pregnant, as long as no one was lying to anyone.”
“Lying?”
“I had an old girlfriend before I dropped out of high school tell me she was pregnant once. Turned out to be completely false. But for two weeks I thought I was a dad. I never forgave her for that,” he said.
She brushed her soft fingertips against his temple, opening her palm to the side of his cheek and he leaned into her, turning to kiss the open palm. She felt the warmth there, the utter stillness and beauty in it. She felt the shuddering of his pain, as well. She was fairly certain much of this was being caused by the hormones, both from the baby and the sex only moments ago. But she wasn’t going to complain one bit.
“Have you wanted kids?” she asked.
They disentangled from each other and laid, facing each other, in the small twin bed. Her back was to the cool cement of the wall and it was a welcome comfort to the rest of her overheated skin.
“Not actively,” he said, playing with some loose strings in the sheets. “I was sure as hell excited when she told me she was pregnant. I guess I really do want kids. I didn’t realize it until it’s a possibility, you know?”
She nodded. There was another question here to be asked. Two people in a casual hook up relationship did not cuddle together after sex, nor did they tangle their hands together. And they certainly didn’t sit together and talk about a child they made completely on accident like it was the greatest joy in their lives. This had moved beyond whatever it started out as, if it started out as anything at all. It had taken on a life of its own, both literally and figuratively.
“So what now?” she asked, hesitantly, quietly, afraid she’d scare his arms and hands away from their soft hold on her.
“Now I don’t really want to wake up another day without looking at your face,” he said and blushed and she felt herself swoon. She leaned forward to kiss him across the small gap between them, softly and quietly. “It won’t be easy. We’ll have to be careful with it. People like to talk shit, and having a new recruit actively on the arm of the president isn’t going to bode well for either of us.”
“Really? I feel like it would make me look like hot shit,” she teased, but he frowned.
“That’s the idea. They’ll think you’re climbing the ladder and I’m some weak imbecile manipulated by anything between a woman’s legs,” he said.
“If you want it to be a secret, I’m perfectly fine with that. The last thing I want is to look Rick in the eyes every day and deal with his judging glares.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“So we’re doing this?” she asked. “This. Us. And a baby.”
“It’s fast paced and ridiculous and incredibly scary but--yeah,” he smiled. “We’ll be the first folks in history that don’t suck.”
They went back to silent kissing then, hands roaming over each other. It was just touching, the hope that they could get at all the skin there and never separate. It was soft and warm and not exactly chaste, but it wasn’t sexual either. It was just present, being there, feeling each other.
And then some hard knocks on the door ruined the moment and they pulled back to look at each other.
“Couldn’t hide from the world forever,” Roarke said, kissing her one last time before getting up.
They got dressed quickly to avoid the suspicion of how long it took to get the door open when, only moments ago, they’d talked about the dangers of that very same thing.
It was James waiting on the other side when the door opened and Hanna felt a little bit mortified, like a father calling a daughter in the middle of a hook up at college, but she pushed it aside. He wasn’t her uncle right now. He was the bad tempered family friend who had several grudges against Roarke and a general suspicion at the nature of their relationship.
“We’ve got eyes on Isabelle,” he said. “Security detail finally got a lead on what fucking snake hole she’s been hiding in.”
Chapter 19
“What do you have?” Roarke asked, jumping immediately back into business mode, incredibly good at mentally avoiding the fact that he just had sex with the woman sitting opposite him in the room. He needed to focus though, there were bigger things going on.
“Looks like we’ve got quite a few dirty cops,” he said. “Or maybe just stupid ones. She’s very good with her “poor me” act, your sister. She’s been staying with a few of the guys fresh out of the academy. They practically jizzed their pants over her little innocent act and she’s bouncing between at least three houses. As far as we can tell, none of them know about the others. She’s tricky.”
“We knew that,” Hanna mumbled from behind, arms crossed over her chest.
“So what now?” Roark asked.
“Now? We stop fucking around. We’ve got the house she’s at now surrounded with undercover cops. We’re going to haul her in and be done with this fucking nightmare,” James said.
“I’m fine with that but we’re doing it my way.”
“Your way?”
“No cops. My guys. You can blame us, do whatever. I’m already in hot water, might as well see how far it will take me.”
“Does that seem wise?”
“No, but we’re past that point, don’t you think? Besides, keep the cops out of this. All squeaky clean. We’ll take care of Isabelle and you can deal with your dumbass newbies,” he said.
They were staring each other down again. They were good at mental games played with the eyes. He was almost starting to like this guy. He’d miss having someone to glare at who actually glared back.
“Fine. But just to be clear, this isn’t ‘your way.’ This is me wanting to keep my department safe. Got it?”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sir.”
“Five minutes. Meet me outside with your gang.”
“Roger that.”
The cop left and Roarke was left again with Hanna, looking on edge again. She was watching him closely and he knew a lecture was coming. She wore her emotions all over her face and he wondered if she always did that or if his feelings made what she was thinking and feeling so obvious to him.
“You’re not stopping me,” he said, evenly.
“No. I am going with you, though.”
“No way in hell.”
“You can’t tell me what to do. Baby or not. This is my fight too now. You can either let me ride with you or I find my own way there. That’s the most control I’m giving you in this.”
“Hanna--”
“That’s what this is going to be like Roarke. I won’t be talked down to or told what to do and you’re going to have to get used to that. Now, you can be man enough not to be threatened by something as stupid as a woman making up her own mind. Or you can pout about it, do what you like,” she said. She had that power stance. The same one that drew him to her in the first place. It was no time to be hard but he knew he wasn’t letting her go anywhere away from him any time soon. And if that meant she came to what was likely going to turn into a shoot-out, then so be it. He wanted her everywhere he was.
“Alright. You’re the boss.”
“Damn right.”
***
They drove en mass to the house. There was no time to come with a plan, to think about how best to sneak in or lure someone out. It was just about showing up, knocking, and kicking the door in when they decided not to answer. Rick finally had a smile on his sourpuss face for the first time in ages, he was finally getting the chance at a fight he’d been craving and Roarke was more than willing to let him loose.
They followed the directions James gave them, moving through the streets, overtaking cars, and drawing the concerned looks from everyone they passed. Good. Roarke wanted them to know what was happening, he wanted Isabelle to know what was coming for her. They rode on like a pride of lions. They were Pharaohs after all. And Roarke ha
d never felt that more than in that moment. When they neared the neighborhood where the house was located, they slipped on the Pharaoh masks, pulling them down and putting their bikes around the house, blocking any exits.
“The fuck you think you’re doing, boys?” a man said, stepping out of the house in pajamas.
Roarke guessed this was one of the police officers his sister had charmed. He looked just like the naive boyish type she’d manage to con. He tried to look tough, a glock in one hand and a badge in the other, like it was supposed to be a real shield. He smiled behind his mask and chuckled.
“Want no trouble Mr. Officer,” he called. “We just hear Isabelle Withers is here and we’d like to talk to her.”
“You can fuck off is what you can do.”
“Is that any way for a man of the law to talk, boys?” Roarke and several of his men let out laughs, pulling out their weapons. All the safeties were still on. This was just a show of force. An intimidation tactic.
