Beyond Wilder

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Beyond Wilder Page 17

by Leigh Tudor


  The irony in all of this was that he thought she was angry with him. Punishing him for his part in transporting her back to Findling. But she wasn’t punishing him. She was protecting him and punishing herself. Fully aware their so-called relationship had dropped to postmortem status; she just couldn’t bring herself to hear his rejection.

  She deserved it, but at the moment, she was too cowardly to hear the words from the lips she wanted nothing more than to feel on hers.

  And what Alec Wilder deserved was so much more than she could offer. He deserved someone normal, who was raised by kind parents and taught coping mechanisms rather than chokeholds.

  He deserved a woman who had never taken a life.

  She flushed the toilet and sat in the stall, not having had to pee but desperate for some solitude. She sat there with her arms wrapped around her stomach until the guards began banging on her door, informing her that it was time to return.

  Now she was back in her so-called hotel room, or prison cell, considering the two men as big as small villages standing outside her door.

  She walked toward the barred windows, assuring herself this would all be over soon. And then, they could move on with their lives, even if hers no longer included living with her sisters.

  Because living in Wilder was no longer an option.

  She couldn’t have that. Couldn’t have him. She wished fiercely that knowing that would make the desire finally go away.

  After several minutes, she managed to catch her breath at the thought of living alone, far from her sisters and Alec.

  The memory of catching a glimpse of him caused her chest to ache. And hearing him call her name nearly brought her to her knees.

  Moving woodenly toward the dresser, she looked at herself in the mirror to see what he had seen. Pale and thin, devoid of makeup and her hair unkempt.

  Honestly, what was the point?

  She grimaced at the lovely dark strip of hair running down the middle of her part. She pulled a hair tie from her wrist and did her best to pull her hair back into a ponytail to create some sort of semblance. Something that took her down a few notches from a look that screamed lunatic asylum to maybe one that whimpered marginally unstable.

  Nothing helped. There was no amount of primping on the outside that could come close to camouflaging who she was deep in her gut. She killed a man in cold blood in front of Ally. If not crazy, she was categorically unbalanced, at least.

  Forget her mental capacity. There was no telling the amount of irreparable damage she had stacked onto Ally’s fragile psyche. She didn’t deserve to be a part of the young woman’s life, let alone Alec’s.

  Hell, she was still trying to reconcile going back to the state of Texas.

  If she ever got to that point.

  The suits just kept coming and rather than treating her as an intricate part of taking down Amado, they interrogated her relentlessly, as if she were nothing more than a criminally culpable hostile witness.

  To be honest, a long history of criminal and violent activity didn’t help. And not all that shocking was that they viewed her as the metaphorical stepping-stone to their next big promotion. Every one of them was convinced they were the badass interrogator capable of breaking her spirit and unearthing information that would propel their careers.

  Nevertheless, she cooperated fully and answered all their questions. She told them everything with the exception of two things. One being Mercy’s hand in all of their escapades. But that was part of the deal. They were permitted to ask pointed questions about her nefarious deeds but were given strict orders to avoid mentioning the sister battling for her life. But it still didn’t seem to be enough. A new team was coming next week to run her through the wringer all over again.

  At this point, it wouldn’t surprise her if they took a stab at some good old-fashioned torture. Little did they know that she had suffered much worse and never broke. Not once.

  If she could only go back in time. Back to Wilder and the townspeople she’d grown to love and who’d grown to love her back. Not that she would have done anything differently, with the exception of murdering Milo. Although admittedly, she wasn’t sure she had the moral aptitude to do even that. But if she could rewind to the day she arrived in town, maybe she would have done a few things differently. Maybe she would’ve hugged a few more people and took the time to bring Jimbo more hot meals and warm blankets.

  Had more panty-obliterating sex with her sexy neighbor.

  But honestly, how could she ever return? How could that ever work? It was a small town, so she would see Alec at least once a week, and that was even with her avoiding him at every turn.

  The best she could hope for was moving to a nearby town where she could still see her sisters on occasion but not disrupt Alec’s and Ally’s life.

  Leaning her palms on the scratched surface of the dresser, she thought about Mercy. The last time she saw her and the look on her face when they drove away. And then screaming at the driver to turn around after watching her collapse to the ground.

  The driver refused since he had strict orders to take her directly to a secure location.

  He was lucky her hands were handcuffed behind her back. Had they been at her disposal, she could’ve found half a dozen ways to incapacitate him and commandeer the vehicle.

  The suits had allowed her only one monitored phone call a day to Madame Garmond. Even if Mercy were healthy and kicking, literally, she wouldn’t have been permitted to speak with her.

  She laughed at the extent they went to bar her from speaking with anyone. Especially in light of the pretty hefty promises they made when she called in her favor. They didn’t renege on any of them, but they certainly pushed the numbers toward their side of the balance sheet.

  As promised, she advised them how to circumvent all of the layers of security she had spent years building at the Center. A complex array of network infrastructure as well as physical security controls in the facility itself.

  Information housed at the Center was nothing less than a digital fortress.

  Why was she so diligent in protecting Halstead for all those years? That was the question repeated, ad nauseam, over the past several days. As if trying to catch her in a snare of self-interest and greed.

  The answer remained the same. Protecting his information in the short term was a necessary evil that allowed her to protect her sisters. The evil doctor didn’t know that she spent as much time gathering incriminating evidence against him and his clients as she did protecting that evidence. And she planned to use that information as leverage in the future, but on her terms.

  She kept one ace up her sleeve. She had yet to divulge where exactly that information was tucked away. The time wasn’t right, and frankly, the people involved had yet to prove themselves worthy of it. She’d spent too much time and sacrificed too much of her and her family’s freedom to hand it over to some junior-level suit who got a noticeable hard-on every time she entered the interrogation room.

  Patience was a virtue. And the only thing virtuous about her.

  Loren decided a shower was in order, hoping it would purge the beehive of self-pity buzzing around in her brain.

  Wrapping the towel around her head, she attempted to bring her complexion back to life with skincare products she had cajoled one of her prison guards, uh, protective personnel to pick up at a nearby drugstore.

  Maybe after, she would draft some geometric designs or scribble some calculations to set her mind at ease and facilitate a decent night’s sleep. Play around with some of Hawking’s quantum mechanics theories regarding black holes.

  Difficult, as denying her access to the internet was somehow justified as part of her so-called witness protection plan.

  Like that made sense.

  No problem. She could easily recall his theories and subsequent equations, transpose them on paper, and develop her own hypotheses.

  She ran a brush through her hair, blew the waves dry enough to take away the chill, and pulled o
n a pair of sleeping shorts and an oversized sweater.

  Stepping outside the bathroom, she instantly picked up someone standing at the door in her peripheral vision. Grabbing the nearest object, she snatched the dinner fork left on the dinner tray, and it went flying through the air, hitting the door inches from the intruder’s ear but flopping ineffectually to the floor. She barely noticed as she yanked on the cord in the socket to her right and raised the table lamp over her head.

  “Your aim is off,” Alec said, unmoved and leaning against the door with a bored expression.

  That voice. The one that sounded like gravel, indifference, and filthy sex.

  She lowered the lamp. “You moved.”

  “Good to know you wouldn’t think twice about taking an eye out,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

  Setting the lamp back on the credenza, she remained stiff, her hands in tight fists at her side. This was not good. Not good at all. “You’re not allowed in here. Or near me or speaking to me for that matter.”

  He continued to lean against the door with his hands in his pockets. “I’m sick and tired of being on the other side of this door, Loren. You can’t hide from me forever.”

  He was wrong. She had every intention of doing just that. She would be stronger and steadier once his rejection was no longer hanging over her like a dark cloud devoid of silver linings.

  Admittedly, it would take time. But she’d muster through. It was just a matter of taking his gorgeous 200-pound physique and body-slamming it onto the “vague acquaintance” list as opposed to the one titled “grumpy boyfriend.”

  Easy peasy.

  She swallowed. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Please don’t push me away,” he said with a hoarse voice.

  Ignoring his uncharacteristic plea, she asked, “How did you get in? Agent Juarez has at least fifty pounds on you.”

  “And a thing for late-night snacks,” Alec replied. “I bribed the pizza delivery guy from around the corner to let me deliver the next meat lover’s pizza called in by your guard. A habit I was able to capitalize on.”

  That explained his ball cap, jeans, and cotton twill jacket with “Antonio’s” embroidered on the chest.

  “And for the price of a pizza, he just let you waltz in my hotel room unannounced?” Agent Juarez was about to lose his job.

  “Not exactly,” Alec said, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip, making her knees go weak. “I waited until the knock-out drug took effect.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You slipped my bodyguard a date-rape drug?”

  “You left me no choice.”

  “Are you serious? This is my fault? Funny how my bodyguard gets roofied, yet I’m the one feeling violated.”

  She picked up the phone on the table to place a call to Birch and heard nothing.

  “Of course,” she spat and slammed it back down.

  She began to search the room for her mobile phone, and her blood pressure spiked as he reached into his jacket and held it up in his hand.

  A thunderstorm of anxiety rippled through her body. There was no way in hell she could be in the same room with him.

  A room with a bed.

  She marched to the door, attempting to pull it open. He grabbed her by the wrist, and she was impressed by the power of his grip. Easy enough to dislodge, but to her disgust, she was unwilling to do so.

  Frozen. She stood there silent and immobile without delivering an uppercut to the jaw or a sweep to his legs.

  It was that damn scent of his. The one that shacked up with her olfactory system, took it hostage, and made it his own personal plaything.

  She took a deep breath, feigning indignation rather than the bone-deep need to breathe him in.

  His back to the door with her wrist in midair, they competed in a test of wills.

  Did his upper-respiratory issue mimic hers? Not so much as from exertion but from standing so close to one another?

  He turned his face down toward hers, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. His other hand rose, making contact with her cheek, and she closed her eyes, reveling in his touch.

  Her body temperature was scalding hot. She felt overwhelmed, irritated, and irrationally aroused. She was a boiling cauldron of a mess, and he was slowly and maniacally stirring the pot.

  Long, deft fingers moved toward the back of her neck, massaging and slowly pulling her toward him. His lips traced hers, petal-soft and hesitant as if ensuring she didn’t have a makeshift weapon at the ready.

  He tugged on her wrist, not releasing an iota of pressure. To her embarrassment, she obliged and shifted against him, unable to fight against it. And when he positioned her just so, his hard-on pressed against her so perfectly, she responded with a jerk.

  His mouth gained confidence and pressure. He released her wrists, both palms cradling her head, moving her this way and that to allow his mouth the right angle.

  He tasted so fucking good.

  He tasted like home.

  One hand moved farther down, toying with the hem of her sweater that made a torturous upward path along her stomach, causing her to gasp into his mouth. Her nipples were doing a happy dance in anticipation of his touch.

  What was the matter with her?

  Just because it felt so damn good to have that big, rough palm under her sweater was not a reason to cave. Or thaw.

  His kisses grew determined as his calloused hand was now massaging her breasts and plucking her delighted nipples. Her wrist still pinned in his iron grip as if she had no choice but to succumb.

  She whimpered, her knees turning to goo, as he continued his personal attack on her senses.

  Without warning, still manhandling her wrist, he pivoted, and she was now the one up against the door. Loren felt the color drain from her face from refusing to execute a counterattack. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt with intentions to do just that, but instead, she held on. He felt granite-hard against her, his erection swelling behind his jeans.

  When he released her, she breathed a sigh of relief, but before she could rub the sting in her wrist, he had her sweater up and over her head, pooling on the floor.

  He licked and then nipped an engorged nipple, and she reared her head against the door at the electrical pulses that streamed to that place between her legs.

  “Alec,” she whimpered.

  “That’s it, baby. Say my name. Because it means nothing to me unless coming from your mouth.”

  He began to thrust his erection against her cleft, their clothing a constant barrier.

  She pushed away, and for a moment, he looked alarmed. But she followed by pulling at the arms of his commandeered jacket, and once that cumbersome piece of clothing hit the floor, she began gaining ground with the buttons of his shirt.

  Once they were both shirtless, she was once again pinned to the door.

  Her body ached for him, and she marveled at how she loved losing that white-knuckle control and buckling to this man’s needs.

  Being dominated.

  Mesmerized by his erection, rigid and fighting to break through the fly of his jeans, she cupped him and rubbed down his length and hoped like hell he was feeling the same level of pain as she was.

  Stumbling to the bed, he finally picked her up and then lay her gently on the sheets. She didn’t miss the low-grade smirk in his smile, at how she had at one time considered much of this unnecessary and superfluous.

  “I can’t hold back, Loren. You’re going to have to hang on,” he said as his mouth laid kisses down her stomach, nipping its way farther down and over her shorts.

  He rose and pulled at his belt. She caught her breath as she felt the leather graze her thigh and became nearly delirious with the need for him to be inside her. So much so that she helped him remove his jeans and then her shorts.

  But instead of allowing her to lie back, he was grabbing her wrists again, this time as he sat back on his knees. He lifted her, not taking his smoldering eyes off hers until they were
upright, and he slammed her down onto his length.

  Her muscles clenched in distress, and her head spun. He was so deep inside her. Stretched to limits she didn’t know she possessed, she felt full and impaled and also unyielding.

  “I . . . I can’t take you like this. It’s too much,” she breathed.

  “I’ve got you,” he choked. “I’m not moving until you’re ready.”

  Her arms were glued to his shoulders. Breathing was difficult as her muscles continued to revolt. The angle had him going so deep she couldn’t catch her breath. He rubbed her back, and the slices of pain started to turn into something less intrusive and more warming.

  He kissed alongside her neck, whispering dirty words and making impractical promises, his large bear claw hands holding both ass cheeks at the perfect angle where they’d allow her to envelop him if only her clenched muscles would cooperate.

  And then one of his thumbs found her sensitive nub and began to scrape his thumb against her bundle of nerve endings.

  “You’re fucking mine, Loren,” he said, his forehead leaning down onto hers, his restraint manifesting in the veins bulging in his neck. “From now on, we do this together.”

  Her eyes widened as her muscles waved the white flag of sensual surrender as she slid all the way down his shaft, completely impaled.

  They both remained still, taking in the headiness of being perfectly aligned. She felt so impossibly full, and she just wanted to bask in it. But then he began to move with gentle thrusts, his forehead rubbing against hers. “You’re so perfect. So fucking tight.”

  Despite the mind-numbing sensation, she gave him a smug expression, going back to their first time having sex. “That’s because your cock is so big.”

  He growled and leaned forward to latch onto her breast.

  She managed a ragged breath and another one. Every time she inhaled, she felt like she was coming apart at the seams. She felt every swollen inch, every throb of his cock, a familiar place where she felt safe and protected.

  Her breast turned cold as he unlatched from it with a pop and looked into her eyes.

 

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