Anti Hero

by Skye Warren

  I eased up on my clit so I could last longer. I made him fuck me for fifteen more minutes, sometimes changing the angle so that I backed away from my orgasm. All the while, I pinched and flicked and licked his chest, drawing him ever closer to climax. The sounds he made grew frantic and tortured. He begged me with incoherent sounds, muffled by my panties, his message clear. I need to come. Please let me come. On one particularly vicious stroke of my nails down his chest, the choked sound was mournful. I’m already coming. I’m sorry I disobeyed you. Forgive me.

  When he could open his eyes, I gave him my sternest look. “You couldn’t even help yourself, could you? Just rutted like a dog until you came, not thinking about me at all.”

  I could have sworn his cock twitched inside me, even softening as it was. He loved this shit, and God help me, so did I.

  He turned and opened his mouth, letting the panties fall to the floor. His voice was raw. “I couldn’t hold back.”

  “On your knees, then. I’ll just have to teach you how to please a woman. And not with that selfish cock of yours.”

  When he knelt by the bed, it reminded me of prayer. But he wasn’t asking favors of a disinterested God, wasn’t reading his tattered Bible right now. I pressed his face into my pussy and made him lick up the mess he had made. I came three times that way, imagining his tongue forming ancient words of communion and demise. Confess your sins, he would say, and I rode his face to a blinding orgasm. Pray for each other, he would say, and I yanked his hair until he groaned, sending vibrations through my clit.

  By the time my legs cramped from staying open that long, he was hard again. I bent him over the side of the bed and started playing all over again.

  Chapter Ten

  Clint

  I watched her sleep, her eyelids moving as she dreamed her way through an afternoon nap.

  Pretty sure I was the creepy guy in this scenario, sitting on a chair in the corner, elbows on my knees, watching her. Like when I’d followed her in the truck. I was becoming a full-fledged psycho, and I had to wonder if it was related to my recent mission. I’d heard of it happening to guys. They passed the psych evals, then went home and dragged their wife behind a couch to take cover from an imaginary grenade.

  Not me, though. You never think that will be you. But as I sat there, I couldn’t have told you if I was going through some kind of stress hallucination. Was there really a threat to Della? Or did my mind make that up because that was how it viewed the world now—through violence, through fear?

  I stood and kissed her cheek before settling the blanket tighter around her. She sighed softly and curled her hands into fists beneath her chin, childlike.

  Della and I had fucked for hours, literally. The last time she’d come, shaking and shuddering beneath me, she’d drifted off to sleep almost immediately. I’d still had my dick inside her, hard, primed to come, but I’d pulled out. Didn’t want to disturb her. I hoped she slept for a long time, deep and restorative. The sleep of the dead. That was what my foster mother used to call it.

  If another guy had told me he was worried about going off the deep end, I’d have told him to call the counselors at the VA. Make an appointment. Don’t do anything rash. Keep a cool head. You know those things are the safe thing to do, the smart thing. But I was too wired to fight, too certain this was true.

  Something bad was going to happen, and it would happen soon.

  I heard the distant buzz of my cell phone from the guest room. I left Della to sleep, shutting the door behind me. James’s grinning face flashed on my screen.

  “What did you find?”

  James was all business, which told me it was bad. “Had to trace it through a bunch of shell corporations. Fucking money trail. They put up a lot of roadblocks just to find out who owned that land.”

  “Pretty suspicious.”

  “Yeah, especially when one connection kept showing up. Dmitri Ozerov.”

  “Fuckin’ A.”

  I could almost hear James’s nod over the line. He’d been my contact when I was undercover. I was in the field, puffed up and acting like some kind of badass. Didn’t have access to my laptop or anything. That was what James was for. I’d feed him information, which he’d pass on to the higher-ups. He’d also clue me in about the people and their businesses so I’d be able to work them better.

  We both recognized the name Dmitri Ozerov. Not a major player compared to the guys we took down, but when you were talking about international terrorism affiliations, everyone was trouble.

  “That must’ve been who I saw,” I said. “Didn’t get a close look at him, but I wouldn’t have recognized him anyway. We got a recent photograph?”

  “I’m sending you one now, along with a domestic rap sheet. Lots of shit going on here. Drugs. Guns. Flesh trade.” There was a weighted pause. “How’d your girl get mixed up in all this?”

  She’s not my girl. I wasn’t sure that was true. She felt like mine, even if I shouldn’t get involved that fast. Shouldn’t fall that fast. I’d always fallen fast, and that was before I met Della. She was too damned perfect, like my wet dreams and deepest hopes come to life.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted to James—and admitted to myself that I didn’t know her at all. Just saw her sexy little swagger and the mixture of wonder and fear in her eyes. She was a contradiction, and I wanted her, all of her, no part left undesired.

  “What’s next?” James asked. It was something he’d said to me on those untraceable phone calls while I was undercover.

  “Find out the connection.”

  Another pause. “Snoop around on Della. Don’t you think that’s…”

  Creepy? Yeah. “Just do it. I think this whole thing is going to come down on our heads.”

  “Wait, you don’t mean the list, right?”

  I shrugged, suspicion a tight knot in my chest. She doesn’t owe you loyalty. No, but I wanted her to. “I just think it’s a little fucking suspicious that my life consists of Pop-Tarts and late-night television for twenty-one years. Then suddenly I’m in possession of a criminal list and I happen to meet a beautiful girl with ties to some arms dealer.”

  “I don’t know, man. People run into trouble all the time. Doesn’t have to be related.”

  “No, but I want you to find out how she knows him. How often she sees him.” Whether she’s fucking him. But that would be implied. If there was any information like that available, James would pass it on. He always had before.

  “You ever heard of imposter syndrome?” James said with his usual attitude. “Means you don’t think you’re good enough to deserve something. So maybe you fuck it up on purpose because then you’re back in your comfort zone.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Phil. Are you finished?”

  “Not really, because I’m saying if she gets wind that you had her investigated—”

  “This isn’t an imposter-syndrome thing. It’s not a PTSD thing.” I’m not fucking crazy. “There’s a threat here. I saw him with her, okay? She wasn’t happy to see him.”

  “All right. Okay. If you say that’s how it is…”

  “I’m saying so,” I said firmly. “Anyway, you’ve seen Della. It’s not stupid to question why she’s with me. She’s a ten and a half. Would you really think I deserve her?”

  “Hell fucking yes,” James said, as serious as I’d ever heard him. “If anyone deserves to find a nice, beautiful girl to fuck all night, it’s you.”

  Shit. My chest panged with some feeling I didn’t recognize. My throat tightened, and I had to end the conversation. “Find out the connection, okay? I need to know what I’m working with.”

  So maybe you fuck it up on purpose because then you’re back in your comfort zone.

  After hanging up, I went to my open duffel bag and picked up the hard case inside. Flipped it open. Stared at the purple ribbon and glinting gold and wondered if it would ever mean something good to me. All I remembered was blood and fear and the certainty that I was going to die. Shrapnel had gone deep i
nto my arm, splicing the nerves and spilling dark liquid down the front of my gear. Smoke and dust and sweat turned the air into a solid material, one I struggled to breathe. William and I weren’t friends. I had barely recognized him as another operative with the shaggy hair and long-ass blonde beard. He’d looked otherworldly like that, pale eyes, pale skin. He’d fit right in.

  At the end, when we’d gathered enough evidence to convict and the military force arrived to shut them down, I was supposed to get out. It was too dangerous to stick around, in case the terrorists made me for a spy. But then someone had suspected William, which was of course a valid concern. They tortured him a little. Some burns. Bashed his knee in. Kicked him around until he stopped opening his eyes. My choice was to take him with me or leave him to die.

  So I’d taken him with me and disobeyed a direct order to do it. Didn’t that beat all? Disobeyed an order and got a fucking medal. I couldn’t get over that.

  It made me feel like I’d been doing the right thing when I kept that data to myself. It had come from William, with a whispered warning about two days before he’d gotten himself tortured. Don’t trust anyone with this. Turned out to be good advice. He still hadn’t come out of his coma, last I heard.

  I hadn’t trusted anyone since then either, except James. And Della. I didn’t want to be making a mistake with her. Whatever we had going—the sex, the chatting over coffee in our pjs, the fixing up her house—I wanted it to be real.

  * * *

  Before heading outside, I tucked my pistol into the waistband of my jeans and tried not to think about what that meant. I just didn’t know what I was dealing with, whether this guy Dmitri would come over drunk and waving a gun around like some deranged ex-lover. Or maybe the next time Della went to see him, he wouldn’t let her leave. The point was, until I knew what I was dealing with, I wanted to be prepared.

  So when I stepped onto the porch and heard rustling in the garage, my skin prickled in warning. I lifted my chin, like an animal scenting danger. I didn’t smell the chemical tang of explosives or the gasoline of Humvees, though. There was just honeysuckle and a crisp summer scent.

  Silently I moved off the porch and through the grass. The back of the garage provided more cover, so I circled around. A quick scan of the street told me no new vehicles had arrived. Whoever this was had come on foot.

  I paused, listening. There was nothing for a moment, then a quiet shuffle of something being moved and set down carefully. It destroyed the possibility of a raccoon rummaging through her trash bins, which I already knew were stored inside.

  After a beat I pushed inside and pointed my gun at the intruder. “Hands where I can see them.”

  The person jumped in surprise, then slowly lifted her arms above her head. She was standing near the trash bins—not near my boxes. Not looking for the list. She had dark blonde hair and a small stature, but I didn’t let my guard down. Danger came in all shapes and sizes, including attractive women. Including attractive women like Della.

  “Turn around,” I said.

  The woman turned slowly, her expression calculating. Her eyes were a deep blue—and focused on me like a hawk’s. “Oh, it’s you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “We met before?”

  “No, but I’ve seen you around.” She smiled, but it didn’t seem friendly. More like she’d thought of a joke only she knew. “I live next door. Your friend knows me as Katie.”

  I flicked my gaze behind her. “There a reason you’re going through her trash?”

  “Just doing my job.” She didn’t lower her hands but pushed her right hip out. “Shield’s in here if you want to see it.”

  Fuck. Her shield? Then she was some kind of LEO—shorthand for law enforcement officer. Police? FBI? It didn’t fucking matter, because if a LEO was on the scene, things were about to get a whole lot stickier. It could have been a trap to pull me closer and let my guard down, but she was too matter-of-fact. And the way she spoke to me, it was as if she knew about my training. I suspected she had a guy who ran background checks and gathered intel for her the same way James did for me. After months of being undercover, I could recognize that in someone else.

  All the same, I said, “Turn around. Hands on the wall.”

  I kept the gun pointed at her until I pulled the identification out of her pocket and read it. Then I lowered my gun and held out the badge. “Good to meet you, Agent Katherine Porter.”

  Her lids lowered, telling me she’d caught the sarcasm in my words. Good. At least whoever they’d sent to mess with Della wasn’t an idiot. “Good to meet you too, Specialist Clint Adams. Now you want to tell me what you’re doing here? And don’t tell me you’re doing your job. I’ve already checked. There are no other agencies supposed to be here.”

  “I’m not a fucking agency. I’m a random guy bumming a place to stay.”

  “Random, huh?”

  Yeah, I had to admit that was seeming less likely as time ticked by. “What do you got against Della?” I asked, not really expecting her to tell me.

  “Nothing. We know she cut ties to Dmitri, or at least tried to.”

  “Oh good. I guess you’ll be on your way.”

  Agent Porter made a sour face. “Her sister, however…”

  Her sister was being held for ransom, as best I could tell from the conversation I’d overheard. That was some bad shit. The FBI could definitely help. Or they’d make it worse. One or the fucking other.

  “If Dmitri Ozerov is your target, then why don’t you go arrest him?”

  “You of all people know it’s never that simple.”

  Oh yeah. Gather evidence. Sit back while innocent people get raped and killed. Tell yourself it would pay off in the end even though William was still in the hospital and the people they arrested would probably plea bargain out. Being the good guy was a regular old good time.

  “I still don’t know what you expect to find in Della’s garbage bag.” Besides my used condoms. Goddamn FBI. They were worse than a nosy old lady.

  She shrugged, a polite way of saying mind your own business. “Has Ozerov contacted her while you’ve been here?”

  I ignored her question—for now—and scrubbed a hand over my face. “Un-freaking-believable.”

  Though I had to admit, the one good thing about this was I knew I wasn’t crazy.

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Agent Porter said matter-of-factly.

  Damn it, I didn’t want to agree, but I needed information. Might as well go along with it. And I really had nothing to lose here. Except Della. “Fine,” I said. “She went to visit him.”

  “I knew it! Goddamn it. They lost her tail.”

  I gave her a look that told her exactly how impressed I was with the FBI right now. “I can give you the coordinates and some background info I found about the owners, tracing back to Ozerov. That gonna be enough?”

  “Unfortunately no.” She took a deep breath. “I’d get in trouble for disclosing this, but I’m going to hold up my end of the bargain. The truth is, we can probably bust Dmitri right now if we wanted to. Nothing major but it would be enough to put him behind bars for five years, and my supervisors would take that much to get him off the streets.”

  “But?” I prompted.

  “But they need a bigger fish. Ozerov thinks he’s hot shit but the truth is he’s always been small time. Never made much of a mark on the global stage until recently. Something changed. We think he got an accomplice.”

  “It’s not Della,” I said flatly. No goddamn way.

  “We don’t think that,” she said quickly. “But we need to find out who it is, and she’s our best in.”

  “She’s not your in,” I said, all my bitterness pouring out of me. Della’s secrets. This woman’s cool deception. “You’re not going to use her for this.”

  From a distance, I heard the screen door slam. I stiffened, and so did Agent Porter. I managed to tuck my gun in the back of my jeans. A few seconds later, Della rounded the corner looking d
rowsy and gorgeous.

  Confusion flickered on her face before she smiled. “Hey, guys. I see you two met.”

  “Yeah, uh, I was just out here and—”

  Agent Porter cut me off. “It’s my fault. I must not have been counting my steps right, because I was standing here trying to get into your garage and he came to see if I was okay.”

  I glanced at her curiously and saw her eyes staring off into space. Aw fuck, that was low. Pretending to be blind? Very low. She had the sympathy angle. Plus Della wouldn’t even know she was being spied on.

  Della was gracious about the supposed mistake and even offered to help escort “Katie” back to her porch. I managed not to roll my eyes until they were out of sight. The whole incident had been hugely illuminating, not only because of what Agent Porter had divulged.

  Also because I could see Della as the sweet, easy mark that she was.

  She had a lot of world-wise vibes she put out, warning people away, almost threatening with that smile sharp as a knife. But she was too trusting to really play the game—and with a sinking feeling, I realized I was too. We wanted to think the best of everyone instead of assuming they’d fuck us over if they could. Della had made that mistake with her neighbor. And I had made that mistake with the pretty stewardess who offered me a ride home.

  Chapter Eleven

  Della

  It was almost a relief seeing Clint’s face dark and untrusting. Even the hint of hurt I saw in his eyes, as if I’d wounded him, felt right. Like a punch to my gut—losing my breath and knowing I deserved it.

  Now he’d demand answers, and I felt almost at peace. He’d know. He’d hate me, but he was already figuring it out without my help. He was putting the puzzle together, when I hadn’t even known he had any pieces.

  After helping Katie into her house, I returned to mine. Walked right past him despite the soft clatter of dishes in the kitchen. I sat down on my couch, the one I’d been so excited to find at a resale shop with plush rose-gold cushions and maple-wood inlays, and felt out of place in my own house. Felt out of place in Dmitri’s gleaming mansion too. I travelled the whole world feeling out of place, because where I really belonged was back in the seedy strip club downtown. Or huddling in the room I shared with Caro while my sister got shot in the living room.