Czar frowned. “This happens every night?”
Player nodded. “Every damn night. In the beginning, it would happen sometimes during the day, but not anymore. But I’m faster at putting the bomb together. And it’s too real. Others in the house can hear it ticking. I know it’s real. Sometimes, lately, I can feel someone watching me. Zyah can feel them as well.”
Czar sat back in the chair and regarded him over his steepled fingers. “How close are you to finishing the bomb?”
“Too damn close. I worry for everyone. And that’s not all.” He had to finish it. He glanced toward the door, hating the feeling he was betraying Zyah. “I would be dead if it wasn’t for Zyah. She’s been with me every night. She knows the threat, and she refused to let me leave. She says she has this gut feeling—and has had it all along—that she needs to be with me. Steele has the same feeling. But we’re connected in this very strong way.”
“Anyone can see that, Player.” There was a trace of amusement in Czar’s voice.
Player shook his head. “I wish it was just that. It’s much more. Much more intimate. She’s in my head. She has to be in order to chase out the bomb making.”
Immediately, Czar’s all-too-intelligent eyes narrowed, and Player’s heart sank. He knew Czar would comprehend what he was saying. He went doggedly on.
“She sees my memories. My childhood. She knows the things I’ve done. I was straight with her, Czar, about what that could buy her, but even knowing, she came here with me.”
There was silence. Outside, the wind blew, a soft moaning sound that echoed through his heart. A branch slid across the side of the house.
“How much does she know?”
Just the quiet in Czar’s voice told Player everything he needed to know.
“Our childhood. Our training. That we were used as assets for our country. No details on anyone but me. Obviously only my memories. But she knows we aren’t saints even now.” He wasn’t going to lie. “She’s mine, Czar, and I’ll stand for her.”
“Does she know that she’s yours? Does she know what you standing for her means?”
Player shook his head. “I was up front with you about what an ass I was. I haven’t exactly made the best impression on her since, but I’m not going to let her get away. She’s the one. My only. I’m absolutely certain. If you want, I can take her away from here. She won’t like it, but she’d go to protect Anat if she thought it necessary.”
Czar shook his head. “You wrap it up fast, Player. I mean it. Get her to commit and make it solid. In the meantime, we have to figure this bomb thing out fast. I want you to keep her in bed with you. Write everything down, every detail, and compare notes. The two of you go over the notes and then bring them to me. If you think it’s too dangerous for you to be in Anat’s house, then we’ll set you up in your home.”
“I want to move out, but I don’t know if I can persuade Zyah yet. She thinks her grandmother is still in danger from the gang of thieves. Code said, word is the cops don’t think they’ve moved on, that they’re just lying low. They haven’t hit anyone since Jonas stopped by last week, but Code thinks the cops have it right.”
Czar nodded. “That’s what he said. No dead body left behind. Get Zyah’s grandmother on your side when it comes to you and Zyah. She’ll be your greatest asset,” Czar added. “And Player, get it done fast. Zyah can’t be left running around loose knowing about our club members.”
Player didn’t protest. Czar was giving him a reprieve.
“You should have told me about the byproduct with your gift.”
“I felt like such a loser already.”
“Because of the bombs.”
“So many of them. Sorbacov took us to so many parties. After the first one, I knew what we were doing. I made them. Carried them in. You placed them. You covered for me when I couldn’t put on a party face so many times.” Player tried not to think about that five-year-old boy looking at the rubble and the bright party dress with blood splashed across it caught under the bricks and dirt.
“I shouldn’t have let them read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I should have known what it was doing to you. You were always so willing to create the characters for them.”
“It was the only thing I could contribute,” Player said.
“That’s such bullshit,” Czar said. “You saved our butts so many times.”
TWELVE
Player should have headed straight back to the house, but he needed the wind in his face, Zyah’s arms around him and the Harley between his legs. He’d asked her first if she minded a ride down the highway. She’d said she definitely wanted to ride, although she’d indicated that she wanted to talk to him where they couldn’t be overheard. He needed the time to clear his head.
Czar had made it clear he expected Player to handle Zyah. To bring her into the fold. Zyah wasn’t the kind of woman one just handled. He was going to have to prove himself to her. He had so many mountains to climb as far as she was concerned, it was laughable. He wasn’t about to tell them all to Czar. He rubbed his palm over the back of her gloved hand. It was such an experience to ride the highway with her. A good one. He felt as if the wind washed him clean.
It wasn’t as if Czar had excused him—there was no excuse. It didn’t matter to him that he’d been five, a child, when he’d built those bombs, thinking of them as toys, as a way to climb into his mind and escape from what was happening to his body; once he found out, he could have stopped. He hadn’t. He’d kept building them. He’d kept carrying them into the places Sorbacov insisted he carry them. He’d done so when he was six. When he was seven.
Player. In his mind, Zyah’s voice sounded tender. Gentle. Just a brush, like fingertips skimming down his spine in the most intimate way. You were a child. Stop condemning yourself.
Her gloved hand opened against his jacket so that her palm cupped his abdomen, and she rubbed soothingly, giving him a feeling of being cherished. Player had never experienced that particular emotion and at first didn’t identify it with an actual word, but when cherished crept into his mind, his entire body reacted. He didn’t deserve her. He would never deserve her. No matter what Anat or anyone else said, no man deserved her.
Sometimes you break my heart, Player. There was a time your mother must have cherished you. You don’t want to remember because it hurts too much.
His entire body flinched. Shuddered at the idea of even allowing that thought into his head. How did she get to be so damned smart? She was right. He refused to think about his mother. Not when he first was taken to what all members of the Torpedo Ink club referred to as the dungeon and not now. He rubbed his hand over hers and kicked their speed up a notch.
Her arms tightened around him. He felt the possession in her. The slow, smoldering burn. The ache was there for both of them. He knew, for him, it would never go away. Just looking at Zyah would put it there for him. Thinking of her could do it, but having her riding down the highway with him was going to ignite a blaze that rivaled anything he’d known.
She nuzzled her chin against his back. Show me your house. Where you live. You made me a promise if I came with you tonight.
His cock jerked hard. Every cell in his body was suddenly alive, aware. There was no way to miss the unashamed invitation in her voice. The way her tone slid along the walls of his mind like a temptress. His woman seducing him. She didn’t have to work very hard.
I did make you a promise, didn’t I? I meant every fuckin’ word. Deliberately, he took one of her hands and moved it to the very front of his jeans, curling her palm over the thick monster of his cock. He held his hand over hers as he guided the Harley toward Caspar, finding the way toward his home. He ached for her in every way possible. If she came home with him, they would be alone. They would have a night together. She would need to work the next day, but he would have her alone, just like their first night. He could work with th
at. Neither one of them was going to get much sleep.
The house he’d bought suited him perfectly. He hoped Zyah would love it the way he did. It was out a little farther from the ocean than some of the other homes. He wanted to be closer to the trees. The house sat in the middle of three acres, which gave him privacy from neighbors, something important to him. He drove straight up the private drive, through the wealth of flowering trees and shrubs, to the sprawling single-story home. Every time he saw it, he was glad he’d bought it.
Aside from the main house, there was a two-car attached garage as well as an extremely enormous workshop with three garage bays, something he’d wanted, since he was always working with wood. Brick patios, a firepit, a greenhouse, fenced gardens and even a small fruit orchard had really sold him on the place. The chicken coop was empty at the moment, but someday he knew he would get chickens. He’d always wanted to have them. He didn’t want to think too hard about his reasons why, afraid that might have something to do with his mother.
Player helped Zyah off the bike as the motion lights automatically came on around the house. He slowly got off, watching her as she wandered around the outside, looking at the things he thought were particularly beautiful in the front of his home. He loved plants. The colors and textures of them. The subtle differences in their leaves and structures even within the same varieties. Apparently, she did too, because she bent over one of his favorites, a lacy fern he’d planted near the front entryway.
She turned back to him as he pulled off his gloves and held out his hand to her. “Come in and see the inside.” He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice. He knew most of the other members of Torpedo Ink had problems sleeping away from one another, a byproduct of the torture and rape of their childhood. They wanted eyes on one another. But Player always worried that he would somehow harm the others. He wanted distance from them in order to keep them safe.
Because he was alone so much, he took pride in his home and worked at making it as nice as he could. The band members came often to jam there, or practice. They wrote music and created songs. He had the workshop so they could build cabinets and furniture. Inside the house were two kitchens, a chef’s dream, allowing him to cook for the others or use the outside brick oven to feed them when they were over.
They took their boots off at the door, leaving them at the bench where he always left them. He had little places built in at the doorways for his shoes. He preferred to be barefoot in his house, to feel the wood under his feet. Zyah didn’t object, removing her boots and socks as well. He appreciated it. His fellow Torpedo Ink members gave him a bad time about it and said he was a pain, but they usually removed their dirty boots before entering his home.
Zyah took his hand and he led her into the house. Strangely, he found that his heart was pounding. He hadn’t realized how much it would matter to him that she like his home. It hadn’t mattered at all that anyone else had.
There was gleaming wood flooring throughout the house. That was a good part of what he loved about it. Vaulted ceilings overhead. That always gave him the needed feeling of space—and he needed space. He had so many nights waking up with nightmares of that dungeon. Of being in chains. Of being confined.
There were archways, beautiful trim on the windows and custom cabinets built by a master crafter. He appreciated the work. The man had since passed, but Player would have talked with him for hours, and sometimes in the middle of the night he walked barefoot into the kitchen and dining room and had a conversation with the deceased man anyway, just to acknowledge his craftsmanship. Skylights provided natural lighting in many of the rooms, something Zyah couldn’t see at night, but if she was there during the day, she would be able to appreciate the effects.
He let go of her hand so she could wander around on her own. The floor plan was mostly open, one room leading through to the next with the open archways. She moved slowly, looking into the more formal dining room with the gas fireplace built into the wall. She walked right up to the long table he’d built with his own hands. The thick slab of polished oak that gleamed as bright as the floor. The chairs were made of the same oak, but the high backs and seats were covered in thick square foam with black microfiber material Lana had sewn for him. He thought the effect was striking, and they were extremely comfortable.
“The table and chairs are beautiful,” she said. “Truly beautiful.”
“Thanks.” His voice was gruffer than he intended.
She turned to him. “You made them.”
He nodded. “Lana did the seat covers for me.”
She ran her finger over the edge of the table. “This is incredible work, Player. Can you turn on the fireplace?”
The remote was on the long trim board above the fireplace that ran the length of the room. Flames sprang to life with one press of the button. Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed. It had been beautiful before, but cold; now there was a warmth, a life, the flames flicking on the walls, dancing, throwing shadows as if for a show. Heat moved through him. He dimmed the lighting in the room until the fireplace was the main source of light, showing Zyah how the flames danced across the wood of the table, changing the color and making the top come to life.
Player came up behind her, unzipping her jacket as he leaned in, lips close to her ear. “What do you think? The fireplace gives the room an entirely different appeal, doesn’t it?” He poured seduction into his voice.
She tipped her head back against his chest as he opened her jacket and tugged it off her arms, sweeping her gloves away with the jacket. “I like the way it looks right now. It’s amazing.”
“I made that table very sturdy. It doesn’t move at all.” His mouth wandered down her neck. Little kisses. Little nips. His tongue tasting her. Savoring her. All the while his hands were pulling the next layer of clothing off of her. A sweater this time. A thin one. He had to back off enough to pull it over her head. Her T-shirt was next. He got that off fast, leaving just her lacy bra. She wore the most beautiful underwear.
He kept her turned away from him, liking the way it felt to be fully dressed with her skin gleaming in the firelight, and that thin layer of lace, so delicate, stretched around the heavy, perfect tits he thought of far too often. He cupped the weight of them in his palms, his thumbs sliding over her nipples. As he did, he leaned forward and caught the lobe of her ear in his teeth, biting down. She moaned and pushed her bottom back into him.
“Unzip your jeans, Zyah.” He whispered the words as he slid his hands around to unhook her bra, freeing her gorgeous breasts. As much as he liked her underwear, holding the soft mounds in his hands without anything in his way was much better. He bent his head to her shoulder, biting down on her neck, right where he remembered she couldn’t resist. At the same time, his fingers traced her areolae and then cupped her breasts again, kneading and massaging gently, applying pressure and then becoming gentle.
“Push your jeans and panties off your hips.” He poured velvet command into his voice, and she responded with another moan, pushing the blue jeans and underwear down her rounded hips and off her thighs as far as she could manage. She was so beautiful. The dancing flames played over her body with loving lights.
He removed his hands reluctantly so he could take off his jacket and sweater. “Baby, take your jeans all the way off and pull out the chair from the table. The one at the end so I can see your reflection on the wall.”
She looked up at him, her gaze moving hungrily over him before she nodded and did as he told her. He removed his jacket and shirt but left his jeans on deliberately, only opening them to give his cock and balls relief. He went to her, taking her mouth, kissing her because it was essential in the way breathing was.
Her hand pushed at his jeans, wanting them farther off his hips so she could stroke his cock, cup and roll his balls. “I’m so hungry for you,” she whispered. “That ride with the bike between my legs was wonderful and torture at
the same time.”
He caught her hand and moved it down her body, his eyes holding her gaze, refusing to allow her to look away. “I want to see how much you want me,” he said, deliberately wicked. He curled her fingers into her slick entrance, coating them, and brought them up to his mouth. Her scent was that exotic mixture that made no sense but was all Zyah. He curled his tongue around her fingers and licked off every drop. Immediately, the taste set up a craving, and he almost laid her out on the table and feasted, but his cock was too thick and hard and he’d never last that long.
He spun her around and shoved her down over the tabletop. She cried out and gripped the table’s edge on one side, pushing back with her bottom. He could barely manage to roll on the condom he had snagged from his jeans.
“Hurry, Player. I really need you right now.”
The soft little entreaty nearly drove him out of his mind. He loved the way she looked as he forced her thighs farther apart. Her bare cheeks gleamed in the firelight. He rubbed them gently, his heart pounding right through his cock.
“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, Zyah.” He didn’t mean just her physical body, although he knew she would think that.
Her head was turned to one side, lying on the table he’d made, her eyes looking back at him, filled with dark hunger, with need. He ran his hand slowly and possessively from the nape of her neck to the seam of her cheeks meeting her thigh. Ignoring his own hunger, he lodged the overly sensitive crown of his cock in her slick entrance. She was tight, and he was broad. She clamped down on him, grasping, trying to pull him deeper into paradise. It was the most shockingly perfect feeling.
Reckless Road Page 26