I scan the merchandise and look for phones.
Please let me catch a break and let there be some shitty prepaid burners in this Twilight Zone.
Still jittery from the gallons of caffeine I've consumed, my nerves are frayed and this new annoyance isn’t helping. I resist the urge to fling a handful of cash on the counter and help myself to the bathroom key. I'm in desperate need of a shower, and a sponge bath in a sink is better than none at all. I force myself to wait patiently, a word nonexistent in my vocabulary, at least for sixty seconds. After that, all bets are off. Drew Carey and the contestants on the game show are laughing and screaming at the perfect prizes they've won for their perfect little lives. Fuck them. Fuck everybody. I try and distract myself for a few moments and force myself to watch the screen without putting a bullet through it.
You know what I care about?
Me, my life, not getting offed by some guy with a mission. Getting them before they get me.
Surviving.
That's what I'm best at, that's all I know.
Shit!
I can tell my stress levels are beginning to rise, I feel my heart rate increasing. I get agitated, impatient, I lose my shit if it gets too bad. Right now, that fucking show is pushing all of my buttons. All the rocket fuel I've consumed is more than likely adding to it.
They've got ten seconds to get out here, then I'm helping myself.
Breathe in.
One second.
Breathe out.
Two seconds.
In.
Three.
Out.
Four.
In.
Five seconds.
They need to hurry up.
My agitation is growing instead of diminishing.
Breathe out.
Come on, come on.
Six seconds.
This isn’t helping.
Breathe In.
Seven seconds.
Screw this.
I slam two twenties on the countertop. My eyes dart wildly over the piles of stuff behind it that has apparently been accumulating for decades as I search for the key to the facilities and cell phones. Before I can stop myself, I'm making a beeline straight for the mounds of crap a hoarder would die for behind the counter before I hit a brick wall. I bounce off the human mountain that's suddenly finally decided to emerge from the backroom. A huge paw wraps around my arm in a vice grip and holds me firmly in place.
My first instinct is to jam my knee in his groin. But logic takes over. I fucked up.
Shit.
"I'm sorry," I grit out between clenched teeth. "I was looking for the bathroom key, I did wait." Be nice, Raven, you don't want them calling the cops on you for shoplifting.
Wouldn't that be a joke? All the shit I've done and I get busted for lifting a cheap ten-dollar burn phone in Hicksville, U.S.A.
My face is level with a broad chest, a big, hard chest covered in a black t-shirt attached to a very tall body. The man is solid, not bulky, and I have no doubt I could bounce a quarter off his ass just by the looks of his chest. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. I tug my arm trying to dislodge it from his hold, his body heat penetrating the thin layers of my leather jacket. He does not budge. Neither do I.
Asshole.
"You mind?" I ask as I direct my attention to his face.
His face.
Holy shit!
The man is striking, incredibly striking, with sharp features and a jaw covered in perfect black stubble. His skin is tan from being out in the sun. But it's his eyes that hold me, a beautiful shade of green peeking from beneath a head full of a little too long dark hair. The coldest, hardest pair of eyes I've ever seen in my life. This man clearly doesn't give a fuck about anything. Human life, the weather, if God is real. Nada. Zip. Nothing. He's ruthless, powerful, and could give. Two. Fucks. About anything. With a glance of all of about two seconds I can read exactly what I am to him. An intriguing annoyance. A pesky, little annoyance that he wants nothing more than to eliminate.
The feeling's mutual, buddy.
If I were normal, and I'm not, I'd be scared to death of him.
Meeting his glare, I tug again. "I said do you mind?"
Nothing. Not a flinch, not one muscle moves, only those eyes staring into mine.
This guy is good. He's a professional. Of what is the question. If I'd have to bet, he's a killer, but not your normal gun for hire. He's too, 'I don't give a fuck,' no emotion at all. No, there's something about him. Although he's wearing what I believe to be an MC cut, I doubt he's your regular every day biker. I'd also bet it has some significance. With a man like him, everything's significant.
I obviously have disturbed that status quo of his.
"Well, I do declare, we have a customer," comes the sound of another man's voice, soft and gentle, definitely not Mr. Big And Bad holding me captive. A shocking mop of wild white hair pokes out from behind my captor. An old man with round wire frame glasses with eyebrows that look like huge white caterpillars stares at me from behind the wall holding me prisoner. "Hawk, my boy, have you helped this little lady?"
"No." Flat and emotionless.
Hawk, huh? It suits him.
"No, he hasn't, and could you please call off your watch dog?" I yank my arm again but he doesn't give. "I'd hate to see what he does with his teeth."
One of Hawk's eyebrows flickers slightly as his nostrils flare and the muscles in his right cheek twitches slightly. Was that a smile?
"Don't you pay him no mind, my dear," the old man chuckles. "Hawk here is the quiet type." He steps around the younger man. "Let go of our guest, Hawk."
Although nothing changes in Hawk's expression, it's apparent he gives me a warning glare before he drops his hand and releases me.
"I am Cornelius Jones, and this here is my store. Built it myself back in the seventies. We've seen many a changes, things coming and going from right here in this spot."
"I don't doubt that, Mr. Jones," I resist the urge to rub my arm where the pressure of Hawk's hold is still strong and hot.
"What can I have the pleasure of helping you with today, Miss....?"
A name, he wants a stupid formal name, this genteel man with the unbelievably crisp shirt, bow tie, and suspenders.
After a slight hesitation, I decide to be honest. "Winters."
"The lovely Miss Winters, what brings you in today?" a smile brightens his face.
I turn to look out the screen door, "I got some gas, and I need a cellular phone. The kind where you buy the minutes as you go along. Also, I'd love to use the facilities."
Hawk's eyes haven't left me. The man's like a robot, silently taking every minute piece of information into his database, storing it, filing it away into whatever categories he keeps in that skull of his.
"Splendid, Miss Winters. Why don't you freshen up first, I trust you'll find everything you need right through that the door," he motions with a dip of his chin to a door near the entrance, "and we shall accommodate your other needs when you return."
"Thank you," I answer Mr. Jones, the polite southern gentleman with a hint of Louisiana twang. I give Hawk a quick glance before going to the bathroom.
He still hasn't moved.
Once inside the restroom, the cleanliness is a pleasant surprise. I strip off my jacket and t-shirt, peel down my fishnets and pants, and do my business. When I'm finished, I wet some paper towels and wipe some of the grime from my skin and get a second wind for the last leg of my trip. It's amazing what a little water can do. After I put my clothes back on, I check myself in the mirror. The bruises on my cheek and neck have started to turn pukish green, but at least the swelling has gone down.
I don't think twice about it, and it seems the two men don't find it unusual either.
Peculiar.
After I wipe the sink down and make sure everything's in order, I go back out and hope there's a phone I can purchase.
Hawk's standing like a statue with his arms crossed in front of his che
st beside the counter. Mr. Jones, at least I think it was him, has laid out a selection of cell phones for me to look at next to my three course meal.
"Ms. Winters, I take it everything met your needs?" Mr. Jones asks as if he were referring to a room at The Plaza Hotel.
His bathroom is the closest I'll ever get there.
"It was perfect, thank you."
I'm already looking at the phones.
"Hawk suggested one of these would be to your liking," the old man states as he gestures to the mobile devices.
I give my silent captor a sharp knowing look.
He knows me, he knows what I am. He knows what I need.
These are exactly what I want.
That only means one thing. He's bad. Just like me.
What is even more intriguing is Mr. Jones is well aware of people like us and caters to the them.
"They are. I'll take this one," I slide the touch screen style over to join with my other purchases.
As the older gentleman rings up my things, I see him in a new light.
You can't judge a book by its cover.
Indeed.
"I'm glad we could accommodate you, Miss Winters." I hand him a hundred and fifty dollars. "It's always a pleasure doing business with such a lovely," his eyes meet mine, "associate. I do hope we get the pleasure of meeting again."
His words strike a very strange chord inside me. It's not frightening or threatening, but more so a promise, a dark promise.
I'm not sure I like it. But then again, I'm twisted and do love all things dark.
"If I'm ever in this neck of the woods again, Mr. Jones, I'll make sure to stop by. But next time," I turn my attention back to Hawk, "please keep your dog on a leash."
Mr. Jones laughs, Hawk grunts, and I…feel awkward?
You need to get back in the city, Raven, this fresh air is messing with your head.
"Miss Winters, you are lovely," Mr. Jones takes off his glasses, pulls a handkerchief from his pants pocket, and wipes the lenses. "I can assure you Hawk is quite a bit more...talented than a dog." He levels his eyes at me as he slowly and methodically rubs the glass clutched in his palm.
Our gazes lock.
Is that a threat? A promise? An invitation?
It doesn't matter, it makes no difference. Ally or foe, I’ll never see these two again.
"Is that right?" I quirk an eyebrow. "He does tricks and everything. How impressive," I drawl. "I'm sorry I'll miss the show, but I must be leaving."
My smart mouth rewards me with another chuckle from Mr. Jones, although I doubt it was humorous, and another glare from the silent Hawk.
"Thank you again, maybe I'll be back this way." I shove the food and drinks into my pockets and keep the packaged mobile device in my hand, then turn and walk toward the door without another word.
"See ya around, Miss Winters," the deep baritone voice from my captor, Hawk, stops me.
I turn. Hawk's posture hasn't changed. Mr. Jones is still wiping his glasses. Both men are watching me with the same expressions; calculated and penetrating. A sliver of caution ripples through me. I don't reply, there's nothing to say.
It seems he has a lot more to say than I thought.
The door slams shut again as I walk across the dirt parking lot. I have to get this phone fired up, but I'm not doing it here. Deciding it's better to make my call without company, I head back the way I came and look for a side road where I'll have some privacy.
Now that I'm almost there, I have things to do. I need to set up a meet with my boy. I've got a stash I need to unload and a direction I need to plan. I turn up the radio and decide to appreciate the scenery. Enjoy the moment they say, you never know when it'll be your last.
The old corner gas station gets smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror, but the occupants don't disappear from my mind.
Interesting men.
Friend or foe? Both?
I guess I'll never know.
CHAPTER 5
Snake
When I was a kid, the only person who'd ever held out hopes that I'd be more than the memorial of my rap sheet, which was already impressive at the ripe old age of thirteen, was my mother. Everyone else had written me off as a bad seed that would end up in prison serving a life sentence, and that still wouldn't do the world a favor because I'd be taking up space and eating up the tax payers hard earned dollars. Not until my brothers. Not until Rock, Gringo, and Bull. Was I bad? No, I wasn't bad, I just did bad things to bad people, I thought so anyway. Would I do it all over again? You bet your ass I would. The difference between me and the bad guys I sought retribution on is I got caught, they didn't. Which is why I did what I did, always have, always will, still do.
I've seen all the bad guys. This time, I'm on the inside, not some bystander. The bad guys want what's mine, all of them. I don't care about me; they're going to have to go through me to get them. We're family. But Rock and Summer, they're special.
What they did to Summer was vile and inhuman. They'll pay for that alone.
But if anything happens to Rock, there aren’t enough years in this lifetime for the torture I have planned for them.
"I don't want you riding your bike out there, we should all drive together."
Fuck.
Rock and I have had this argument about a hundred times.
"I'm taking my bike. If I need to move fast, it'll get me there," I give him the same response I've given him every time before.
"Snake," his hand lands on my shoulder.
I'm bent over the bed packing my saddle bag, shoving in a few things to carry with me on the ride just in case I need them. Rock's voice is tight and rough.
No. I'm not letting him do this now.
"Rock..."
The air is immediately heavy with apprehension, yes, fear, and lust.
"I should tie you up, gag your smart mouth, and throw you in the fucking car."
I stand, his hand doesn't move from my shoulder, his grip tightens.
"If you want to tie me, you should have just asked." I turn and face him. "But here's the thing, you're going to suck my cock when you do."
Summer walks in. We're in the bedroom doing some last minute packing before we head out for the Ink & Arms convention. We're all leaving together, me on my bike, Rock and Summer in the car. We’re getting Gringo on our way out.
Summer sits on the bed. "That's something I'm dying to see."
For the past twenty-four hours, we've been pretending that everything's fine, that it's just another day, sucking, fucking, sleeping, and eating. Then doing it all over again. But the tension's been building as the hands on the clock have ticked every goddamn second away. Eating up the time we have now like a damn zombie with brains.
Right about now we're ready to snap.
Rock grabs a handful of my hair. It's angry, it's possessive, and it's fucking hot as hell. Glaring at me, he asks the siren on the bed that looks like an angel, "You want to watch me suck his cock, princess?"
She slides that luscious body of hers up the bed and leans back against the headboard, crosses her ankles, and grins.
Wicked little slut.
"Mmmmhmmmm, just as bad as I want to watch you suck his, Snake."
Wrong, she's a filthy slut. And we love her.
With Rock's death grip still on my hair, I grab him by the jaw. "Do you want to suck my cock, Rock?"
My fucking dick is throbbing and pushing against the confines of my jeans screaming to be let out. He pulls my face closer to his, so close I can feel his warm breath on my skin. My fingers press deeper into his cheeks.
"About as much as you want me to shove mine down your fucking throat."
I hear Summer moving on the bed and out of my peripheral vision I see her feet slide up and her knees drop open as she pulls her dress up. No fucking panties.
Son of a bitch.
With one hand, she spreads her labia lips as she dips a finger inside her slick heat with the other.
She's going to p
lay with herself, the little bitch.
"Do you see what she's doing?" I palm his bulge roughly with my free hand.
Summer fucking giggles.
Rock growls.
"Yeah, I see what she's doing."
"She's going to fuck herself while she watches us," I grip him tighter.
"Yes she is, and we're going to punish her, starting right now."
I slam my mouth against Rocks, our teeth clash, our tongues battle, and our angry moans crash into each other inside our hungry open mouths.
This moment exploded from a spark, it's fuel the unsaid worry gripping us, the possibility it might be our last. Things have changed between me and Rock over the past few months since the three of us have been in a relationship. We've always been close, there have never been any barriers between me and him and Bull and Gringo. We've always fucked women together, we've grabbed each other’s dicks and shoved them in an available hole, there are no facades or inhibitions. There can't be with what we've been through together.
But what's evolved between me and Rock and Summer is more. It's pure.
To think we might be on borrowed time, I don't want to have any regrets, no 'I should have done this and said that.' Maybe that's why we've lived the way we have for the past few years, some would say it was reckless, I think it's been fulfilling.
This right now is not about being gay or liking cock or pussy. It's about love, it's about devotion, it's about the person and the soul and the heart.
And right now I want to devour him, I want to leave myself all over his skin and bones, his fucking heart and mind, I want to pound him with everything that I am. And I want him to do the same to me.
I suck his tongue deep in my mouth as I tear his pants open. His hand lands on the stiffness in my pants and squeezes. It hurts, it hurts so fucking good.
"You want to hurt me?" I ask.
"Yes"
"Good, because I'm going to hurt you too, you're not going to forget it."
Our eyes lock. There is so much being said, so many things we're telling each other, things Summer doesn't know about. This is between us, but is also a gift to her. By me and Rock giving each other everything, we're giving it to her.
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