SACRED (The Kingwood Series Book 3)

by S. L. Scott

  Cold air seeps in when she smiles, but she closes her mouth around me and takes me deeper. I want to fuck her mouth, but I also worry I’ll hurt her. I’m aware of my size, and her small mouth, as much as it’s tempting to shove in until her throat closes around me. That’s something we still need to build up to.

  In the meantime . . . “Fuck, you feel amazing. You want to swallow because I’m about to come?”

  There’s just enough light to not only appreciate the view of watching her take me into her sweet mouth, but also see her eyes lift to meet mine. Lightning strikes, my body forcing my orgasm out. Holding her head, I thrust between her lips as they hold steady and tight around me until I’m free from the coiling and she’s swallowed around me. “Fuck, Dove.”

  Lying back, my arms fall to the mattress beside me and I close my eyes. She doesn’t climb back up next to me, but on me. Her head rests on my chest, her perfect breasts against my stomach. I start to stroke her hair and try to regulate my breathing. I want to give her the words I feel inside, but I don’t want to do it after a blow job even if it is the best I ever had.

  She tilts her head to look at me. “It was good? I did all right?”

  “All right?” How does she not know how incredible that was? “C’mere.” I spread my arms open and she moves to cuddle against me. I kiss her swollen lips, and then say, “It was amazing. You’re amazing.”

  A smile in the soft light appears. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I want to make you feel good.”

  “I know you do. I want the same for you.” Shifting my arm up, I angle to move. “Let me show you how amazing you make me feel.”

  The taste of her on my tongue could make a dead man rise. I’m just a mere mortal, not immune to this goddess and her powers over me. Within minutes, her desire coats my mouth and my fingers and I lie back on the mattress closing my eyes and savoring her flavor.

  Her breath comes harsh, filling the dark room. I open my eyes to see the stars glowing above me, and I smile, thankful for every last damn one, and say my own prayer for many more to come.

  23

  Cruise

  I wore white for her. A white shirt, and I even tucked it into my jeans. I guess the black I usually wear intimidates people. That was kind of the point.

  But for her family, I lightened my look. Second impressions, and all that. I kind of liked living our lives in seclusion, keeping the outside world at bay. After a week of rescheduling with her family, we were all available on the same night for dinner. It was probably best because last week I would’ve pummeled her brother into this week anyway. Dove is the only reason I’m calmer tonight.

  I straighten the shirt when we get out of the car. I’m calmer now, but just a bit. I don’t know what bullshit they were fighting over. I only care about Clara’s wellbeing. I never would have hit Paige or Liz. However, I wouldn’t mind a few rounds with Fredrick, the fucking pussy.

  This past week was busy, which I liked. Alex has me overseeing a new development project downtown and Clara has been busy with her student teaching and classes. We were so normal that she kept pointing it out with a huge grin on her face. She finds joy in the most mundane things.

  I find joy in her.

  Holding her hand, she leads me to the front door, a mixture of excitement and fear flickering across her delicate features. She knows me well enough to lay the warning down before we reach the door. “Please don’t judge us too harshly. I know we can come off as different, but it’s because of what we’ve lived through.”

  “I wouldn’t judge you for that.”

  She stops and turns toward me. With her hands on my chest, she looks up into my eyes. “I know. That’s one of the reasons I lo—care about you. I just want you to like my family.”

  “I’m not going to lie. Your brother and I have business to discuss.”

  “Please just let it slide.”

  “I’m sorry, Dove. I can’t. But I will wait for another time if that will help you relax a little.”

  Perking up, she hugs me to her, her lips pressed to mine. When she drops to her heels, she smiles. “Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

  She knocks lightly before opening the door. Peeking in like a neighbor overstepping her welcome, she tiptoes in with me walking in behind her. Her mom is in the kitchen to the left, her brother watching TV.

  The door closes and she announces, “We’re here.”

  Her mom looks back over her shoulder. “Hi. I didn’t hear you come in. I was checking the roast.” She comes over to us with an apron wrapped over her shirt and jeans. I like that she’s casually dressed. My parents were never casual, not even around the house. She hugs her daughter and then smiles at me. “It’s so good to see you again, Cruise. Clara has said the most wonderful things about you.”

  “Thank you. I hear the same about you, Mrs. Eckerd.”

  Waving me off, she says, “It’s Johnson actually. Long story. Anyway, hope you’re hungry. Dinner will be served soon, but make yourself at home in the meantime. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Whatever Clara’s having is fine. Thank you, Mrs. Johnson.”

  Clara says, “I want wine to calm my nerves. We have beer if you’d rather have that.”

  “Wine’s fine.”

  “I’ll get it, Mom. I know you’re busy. I can help you, too.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” her mom replies and returns to the kitchen.

  Clara sighs before leaving and looks between her brother and me. “Vaughn, you remember Cruise from the restaurant.”

  Not a question. A statement.

  His eyes dart to me and then back to the TV. “Yeah.”

  Clara says, “All righty then. Wine it is.”

  She heads into the kitchen and I’m not sure what she wants me to do. Stay here, follow her, or sit on the couch. I know I promised to lay off today, but the way he’s a grunting fucking teenager is already on one of my last nerves. I decide to make my presence known.

  When I sit on the couch, I see her littlest brother playing with the clothes in a laundry basket. I didn’t see or hear him when I arrived, which is really strange, considering most babies are noisy as fuck.

  He’s a cute kid, even if his father was fucking psycho. At least he won’t have to endure what his siblings did. Hopefully stars can just be stars for him.

  “What are you watching?” I ask Vaughn, not looking at the TV but at him. He’s wearing a skate shirt that looks like it’s seen better days, some beat-up jeans with paint splatters near the ankles, and socks with holes in them. He doesn’t look like he belongs in this family, or perhaps Clara and her mother are better at keeping up appearances by the way they dress.

  I glance toward the kitchen where the two women are talking quietly so we can’t hear. Clara’s holding the filled wine glasses but doesn’t look like she’s going to deliver them anytime soon.

  Vaughn says, “What do you want with her?”

  The sound of his voice is not what I expected. Puberty seems to have come and gone with him. The deep tone to his voice might alarm others. Not me. “What?”

  “What do you want with my sister?”

  The question in and of itself is odd. I want her. That doesn’t seem like the answer I can give her family since it can come off wrong. “We’re dating, so I care about her very much.”

  “So I hear. I’m just not sure why.”

  “I’m not sure what there is that you’re not getting.” Leaning forward, I rest my arms on my legs and stare at him.

  “She’s never dated anyone. She’s fucked-up.” What the actual fuck?

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I can’t believe he said that. This jackass has balls the size of the Grand Canyon. “Don’t ever talk about her like that again.”

  “Or what?” he asks, sitting forward. A fire’s been lit in his eyes, an excitement that shouldn’t exist. Clara’s right. I’ve seen people lit by drugs, and I think he’s high as a kite, or he’s out of his fuck
ing mind. Either way, he’s a danger to my girl, and I need to make sure he’s kept away.

  I lower my voice and reply, “If you talk about her like that or touch her in any way ever again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”

  “You talk like you have experience in the matter. Should I see if you can back that threat?”

  Clara’s voice comes from behind me. “Vaughn, shut up.”

  We turn to find her standing behind the couch staring daggers at her brother.

  He shrugs, then stands. “Fuck, I’m starving.” We watch as he leaves the room for the kitchen, thumping his brother on the head on the way.

  Her baby brother starts to cry, so she sets the glasses down and rushes to pick him up. “Shhhhh,” she tries to soothe him, and then kisses his head. “It’s okay.”

  She’s sweet to him, the love she has is clear by the way she treats him. They’re kind of cute together. I stand and start to walk over to meet the little guy but a family portrait on the mantle catches my eyes. The photo is of Clara, Vaughn, the baby, her mom . . . and her father. Her father. The one that abused them, raped her, beat them. Why the fuck would they have a photo of him anywhere in this house?

  As if reading my mind, she frantic to explain, “We have it for pretenses, to hide our secrets that we don’t want the world to know.” Bumping against my arm, she gently pinches me to get my attention back on her. “My mom puts it out when people come by.” Reaching for it, she lies it face down. “I guess she thought she needed to for you. I haven’t told her that you know about him.”

  Something doesn’t sit right, a conversation we once had is triggered.

  “Chad was killed.”

  “My father was killed.”

  Lifting the photo up, I look into the eyes of the devil himself. My gaze bounces from his chin to his nose, his hair to the heavy lines on his face. I land back on his eyes, staring deep until the full picture of his features come into focus and I realize I know him.

  “It’s Johnson actually. Long story.”

  I fucking know him.

  “How did you say your father was killed?”

  She hesitates, and I almost expect to hear donut come from her lips, but it doesn’t. “I didn’t.”

  The sharp response makes me look her way. She’s bouncing the baby on her hip, but stops when she looks at me.

  The sleeping couple didn’t draw my eyes, the baby in the crib by the window did. I stand over the baby, staring down. We’re about to murder someone, but not just any someone. Someone’s father.

  We did the research before coming here. We knew this fucker had a family—a wife, a teenage son, a college-age daughter.

  Holy shit!

  We never saw a baby in the records. There were no signs they had another child, but here it is—a girl or boy, I have no idea—but it sleeps peacefully, sucking a pacifier, not realizing its father is about to be taken out.

  This fucker and his partner are responsible for Chad’s death and Sara Jane being shot. I look at the bed and then to King holding the gun in front of him. If he pulls that trigger, the fucker’s dead on the spot.

  Jason stands behind him with his gun in hand at his side.

  I’m more than a lookout on this mission. I’m backup, but I can’t stop thinking about this baby. Staring at him is like seeing a reflection of myself. My own life altered around this same age when I lost my birth parents, or they gave me away.

  King’s not a killer.

  He wants revenge.

  So do I, but is this the way to go about it?

  Before that gun is fired, they should know that there’s more than the fucker’s wife in this room. I click my tongue, getting my friend’s attention. They both look my way and I signal to the crib.

  King comes over and looks down. “Fuck,” is uttered under his breath.

  I’m not here to make decisions. I’ll leave that burden to bear on their shoulders. The last death was his reaction. I would have done the same. This death is a choice I’m not sure my best friend should make under these circumstances.

  He returns to the end of the bed and raises his arm. I’m here however he needs me, but my gut is twisted wondering if this is the right thing to do.

  I’m already going to hell for all the hell we’ve raised. What’s one more mark added to the tally? I wait by the window, making sure it’s clear and that no one starts snooping around my car.

  The gun is lowered, and he nods toward our exit. I jump out, my feet hitting the grass just as a shot rings out and the screaming inside that bedroom escapes the window and echoes in the night.

  . . . Whispering to Clara, I say, “We need to talk.”

  24

  Clara

  I feel sick.

  I’ve never seen Cruise look like this, much less sound like the world we built is about to come crumbling down. Toby starts pinching my nose and twisting. “Ow! No, Toby.”

  Grabbing his hand, I continue to bounce him on my hip and I try to amuse him, but he’s not having it. He starts crying. I look at Cruise, and say, “One moment. Let me give him to my mom.”

  He nods silently, then turns back to look at the photo of my father. Something’s wrong. Very wrong. I just hope it doesn’t sink us. I move around him to take Toby to my mom when Vaughn comes back out, and says, “He wants his mother, Clara.” I suck in a breath that never makes it to my lungs. My throat closes as I stare at him. He adds, “Have you told your boyfriend all your secrets?”

  “Vaughn,” I warn, my feet unable to move.

  “What are you worried about, sis? He told me he’d kill for you. Do you think he would if he knew the truth?”

  “Shut up, Vaughn,” I say, my voice quivering. Why is he doing this? I feel like I’m on the edge of a breakdown. I can’t get to my knees with Toby on my hip, but if I could, I would be praying for this to not go any further than it already has. So much damage has already been done, but not to the point of destroying what Cruise and I have together.

  “Tell him, Clarissa. Tell him. See if your knight wants to stay and save you after he knows what you’ve been hiding.”

  My eyes flash back to Cruise, who asks, “Why did he call you Clarissa?”

  I’m quick to reply, “We need to talk.”

  “I know,” he says with a furrowed brow. “We do.”

  “Okay. We’ll go. Yes, we’ll talk about . . . things.”

  Suddenly looking unsure, he shifts away from the mantle and comes toward me. “What things? My thing?”

  “And my thing.”

  The warmth of his hand on my arm is comforting, more so knowing it might be the last time I feel it. “What is going on, Clara?”

  “Just give me a minute. We’ll go. We’ll talk.”

  Reaching out, he caresses Toby’s cheek, instantly calming him. Toby happily babbles when Cruise says, “See you around, little guy.”

  His parting words to Toby give me an inkling of hope. I still feel sick to my stomach though.

  Toby reaches to touch his cheek and my heart clenches. Seeing them together is so sweet, the quiet acceptance before the storm.

  Always the gentleman, even under the worst of circumstances, Cruise says, “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Johnson. My apologies for having to leave so soon.”

  “No apology needed. Maybe another time.”

  “Yes, maybe.”

  I hear the uncertainty in his voice when he looks between us. Vaughn’s laughing like an idiot, and I look down in shame. Cruise opens the door and walks out, closing it behind him, so I take Toby into the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry you went to so much trouble.” It’s the first time we’ve had someone over since . . . since he was killed. Tonight was supposed to be the start of something wonderful for us, a time to work together and figure out how to help Vaughn, and now this . . .

  My mom takes him from my arms and steps back to sit down. “I’m sorry, Clara. He seems really nice.”

  My chest shudders and I lean down to stop the panic attac
k beginning to drag me under. My mom rubs my back. “Talk to him. If it’s meant to be, it will be no matter what you tell him.”

  Through sobs, I ask, “Did you put out that photo?”

  “No. Vaughn did.”

  I nod, because I knew it. I just needed it verified. Standing up, I kiss my mom on the cheek and then Toby who’s slobbering from blowing raspberries. I wipe my mouth, dragging it across the back of my arm. “I’ve got to go. Bye.”

  “Bye, sweetheart.” I feel every ounce of sadness in her goodbye.

  Swinging the door open, I make sure to glare at Vaughn, who stands proud with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’ll pay for this.”

  “Actually,” he snarls, “you will.”

  “I hate you.” Three words I never thought I’d use with my brother.

  “Good. It will make things a lot easier that way.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Nodding to signal behind me, he says, “You should catch up with him, break it off. It was never a good match.”

  “You don’t know anything about him, or me, it seems. I have no intention of breaking things off with him.”

  “You’ll come to regret that.”

  “Your threats aren’t so veiled anymore.”

  “No, they’re not.”

  There’s no backing down for either of us. But I refuse to fear him. We’ve both done more than our fair share of submitting in our lives. Now we’ve tasted freedom, we’ve changed. I thought for the better, but glancing at my brother one last time before the door closes, I don’t know if it is for him.

  The death march plays in my head as I walk toward the car. Cruise is inside, the tinting too dark to see what he’s doing, although at this moment, I’d rather know what he’s thinking. He gets out when I approach and silently walks around the car to open my door.

  Please look at me, I silently beg, but am not rewarded with the rich browns I’ve fallen in love with. I slip into the car. “Cruise?”

  “Can we wait until we get home, Dove?”

  He always told me to be loud, not ever to be silenced again. Even when he has every right to request my silence, he asks me to speak. I nod, and then my head drops as I cry, because I realize he said home like we share one.