by Jamie Magee
My morals and reason got the best of me, though. I glanced up the block to the corner dry cleaner I was heading to and wondered how fast I could get there if I took off and sprinted. But then I realized that these people would know where to find me, and suddenly the rumbling bike and the harsh gray eyes of its rider gained an entirely new degree of appeal. Survival.
Before I was settled on the back of his bike, the first I’d ever been on in my life, he took off. I swear I would’ve flown off the back if he had not reached back and pulled my arm around him, gripped my wrist to his chest.
At times like this, when you’re in mortal danger, you should not be hyper-aware of every God given sense you have. Well, at least if you are aware of them, they should be about getting your ass out of trouble, not walking into it.
I should not have felt a frenzied rush explode through me as I leaned forward and conformed my body to his—we fit too perfectly, like the kind of perfectly that gave me all kinds of ideas I didn’t need right then. I shouldn’t have noticed how ridged his chest was, much less breathe in a scent that I was sure was all Slayton—a deep, rich musk wrapped in sin. But I did.
At maddening speeds, we raced well into the dawn. His fierceness had me glancing over my shoulder wondering exactly who or what we were outrunning. Each time I dared to look back or pull away, he’d grip me tighter to him and grunt.
The sun was breaching the horizon when we stopped just along the train yard next to aisles of rundown storage units. Ironically, we were all of five blocks from where we started, on the outskirts of the rundown, now abandoned, industrial part of town. My father once told me it wasn’t safe to even look in this direction much less think about walking toward it. Which is exactly why anxiety was slaughtering my fandom for the bad boy I was gripping.
I didn’t move those first few seconds. He had silently scorned me every time I’d tried to sit back, so I decided it was a bad idea to try again. But then again, leaning forward literally wrapping my body around a stranger on a speeding bike didn’t make much sense either, true.
It was the manly grunt from him that had me retreating. I didn’t realize my hands were shaking, that my entire body was, until I shed the helmet he’d given me. From his seat on the bike, his devastatingly beautiful looks and an ever-growing critical eye struck me. I swear I felt every place his gaze roved over me. Hyper aware came up far too short when it came to how I was breathing all of him in. I could tell you how many breaths he was taking, what muscle tensed and when. Every expression he’d made was ingrained in my memory.
Without a word he dismounted then walked casually as ever to a unit door in front of his bike. Dumbfounded, and slowly becoming rightfully appalled, I followed him. By the time I had reached him, he had the door to the storage unit lifted then pushed it down to where it was just a few feet from the ground. I stared as a light flicked on inside, and heard music as it kicked on. Under the thick sound of guitars, I heard something heavy move across the cement floor.
The wise thing to do would have been to run, bolt and run to the job I was already late for, but I had never been a wise one. Well, at least my stubbornness and quiet temper had kept me from appearing to be so. I knelt down to get a peek inside. Right as I did, he pulled the gate door up a bit, ducked under it, glared at me then moved double time toward his bike.
I went to follow him, but I was too busy checking out what was inside the unit. Is he living here? To the left, there was a double mattress sitting on wooden pallets. It was somewhat made. Next to it was a mini-fridge, microwave, and a lamp. On the back wall, there was a row of tool chests, high dollar red and chrome ones. To the right of the room hung a massive punching bag, and just to the side of it were weights. I imagined the empty space next to the far wall was where the bike he left outside went.
Realizing I was gawking I turned to leave only to slam into his chest. With a sneer, he gripped my shoulders. “How old are you?” he asked in a pissed, quiet tone, one I was sure was the only one he utilized.
“Seven—eighteen.” Inwardly I cursed. I had a birthday five months back, but my dad forgot, and I couldn’t bear to think that it would be my first without my grandmother, so I acted like it never happened. I didn’t have time to reflect on the fact this was the first time I’d spoken my age aloud. Slayton’s grip tightened a bit, and he lifted his chin judging my words.
“What?” I snapped as I jerked back, he didn’t release me.
“Which is it, little girl?” he asked as he lifted me to my toes.
“I’m legal. Why? Do you make it a point to not assault minors?” I bit my lip as soon as the bluntness that had always gotten me into trouble slipped out.
Fury skirted across his gaze as he released me and stepped to the side and lifted the door further, then pushed me into his lair. His foot kicked the door down but not all the way. I wasn’t sure if the opening was for my comfort or his, because neither one of us seemed very comfortable right then.
I could have sworn I heard voices somewhere in the distance, but once again I didn’t have a chance to process anything. Slayton reached for the hem of my tank and pulled it over my head. Real panic struck me then. Hot or not, this was not okay. In the next beat, his lips were crashing into mine. I didn’t kiss him back. I fought. With a grunt, he picked me up. One stride later, I was lying on his bed with his massive build above me. With a swift move, he had both my hands pinned over my head and his knee was spreading my legs further apart.
I screamed but his mouth covered mine as his grip tightened so it sounded more like a lusty moan. A breath later his lips were near my ear. “Me or them, little girl,” he said in a deep, haunting tone.
I heard them then, voices hollering his name. A million scenarios were rushing through my mind. My gut, an instinct that had never taken me down the wrong road, was telling me to trust this devil that had me pinned. But the reality was I didn’t know him. He’d all but kidnapped me, and now I could not only feel his strength but his lustful desire crushing into my gut.
None of this made any fucking sense, but then a tiny voice in my head spoke. The devil you know—an idiom I’d heard more than once in my life. I may not know Slayton, but I knew him better than the men I heard coming toward us.
God help me, I kissed him back. I pulled at his shirt. I thrust my hands through his dark hair. I was losing myself in the madness of this moment when the door to the unit slid open. I didn’t know how much further I could let this go—when rightful fear would halt my wrongfully placed desire—but thankfully he stopped long before I did. My hands were scraping across his back when I felt him still. I didn’t want to open my eyes to judge the scene around me, but by some will deep within I did.
Slayton was staring back at me, completely mystified and saturated in lust. It was only for a second, but it felt like lifetimes.
After one of the men at the door said his name across the bustling sound of the others whistling and laughing, Slayton moved to his side. His grip never left my thigh as he did so. His hold on me was possessive, primal and had my head whirling. Nervously, I reached for the sheet around us looking for some cover, and he made no move to stop me. In fact, he cursed the asshole at the door chanting for me to ‘take it all off.’
“What the fuck? Out!” Slayton growled as he moved out from between my legs and ushered more of the covers over me.
“Are you serious right now?” the short Italian who couldn’t be much older than me said with a sneer. “All fucking night we wait. You show up for all of ten minutes then bolt after this piece of ass.” The bastard raked his sick gaze over me. “A job’s a job.”
Before the guy figured out what was happening, Slayton exploded from where he was sitting, and delivered a right hook to his chin. The ass went down like a sack of potatoes. Only one of the other three men bothered to come after Slayton and the fool who did found himself crashing into the cement wall. “Piece of fucking ass!” Slayton roared. “When have I ever brought a fuck back here?” he snarled.
> The guy against the wall threw his hands up in surrender. The one on the floor, bleeding from his mouth, made it to his feet. “You turnin’ sides?” he asked as he drew his gun.
I’d crushed myself against the wall, bracing the sheet against me like it was a magic shield.
Slayton stepped up to the man holding the gun; he didn’t stop until the barrel was pressed into his cheek. The others started to argue; the asshole gun handler shook and the second he did Slayton pulled the gun from his grip and raised his hand to pistol whip the guy but stopped a breath from his face. “Do not fuck with me,” Slayton warned.
Slayton cursed then stormed out of the unit. Leaving me with four men who I was sure were the epitome of malevolent. Before I could peep a word, or dare to calculate my escape chances, Slayton was back. He slammed a brown paper bag in the shape of a brick object onto the chest of one of the brilliant men who hadn’t bothered to say a word much less fight with Slayton. The guy was older maybe mid-twenties, but the authority and the slick way he was dressed right alongside his alpha demeanor made him seem ageless. He lifted a fair brow as he glanced down at the package.
Slayton raised his chin. “While your boys were balls deep in some cheap whore, I got Bloom to pay up.”
The sickest of feelings blasted through my body. My last name was Bloom. Since I’d lived with my father, I had never heard anyone call him anything but Bloom. Suddenly his paranoia and insane warnings all began to bear a new kind of weight. The life and death kind.
The guy with the money ticked his head toward me and then hitched his thumb toward the bleeding goon outside. “He’s been tracking Bloom’s girl for weeks, swears you took off with her this morning.”
“That’s her,” the ass yelled glaring at Slayton and pointing at me.
I’m not sure if I’d call the sound that came from Slayton’s chest a laugh, but it was close. He glanced my way, winking the sexiest wink I’d ever seen. “I had my girl help out. She’s not his fucking girl. She was staying with a friend in his building. She can get me in anytime—unseen. Like a fucking ghost.”
“Your girl?” The fair-haired leader repeated.
“You heard me,” Slayton said in an arctic tone.
The man stared Slayton down with a perilous eye, one that did nothing to unnerve Slayton. “Then you better keep your girl in place. There’s no way this covers all Bloom owes.” He tapped the bag against Slayton’s chest. “Good work, kid.”
“I’m not your fucking kid,” Slayton spat.
The man chuckled before nodding for the others to go. He waited a second until their voices retreated into the distance then ticked his head for Slayton to follow him out.
Another degree of panic struck me. I didn’t understand the world I’d slipped into, but I knew in his own fucked up way, Slayton had saved me. Having him out of sight with that ass didn’t sit well with me. I’d scrambled to my feet and was searching for some kind of weapon as I crept toward the door like I actually knew how to kick some serious ass when Slayton appeared at the threshold again, this time pushing his bike inside.
Like I wasn’t even there, he rolled it right by me, parked it, then turned and slammed the gate down. Then he pulled a gate from the wall adding another layer of security. Which was fine in one light and disastrous in another. I was trapped inside with him—and God knows what was waiting for me outside.
I went to speak, but he held his hand up in a pissed manner that clearly meant to not say a word. He walked to the radio and turned it up, effectively muffling out any sound of the outside world. His next stop was the mini fridge where he pulled out a long neck, popped the top, downed it, then tossed the glass bottle into an overflowing waste basket.
It was then his wicked gaze landed on me again; at exactly the same second I realized I was still shirtless. My bra was nothing more than a low cut piece of lace. My shorts weren’t much in the way of any kind of cover either. Even though the room was thick, struggling to cool with its one vent in the center of the ceiling a chill rushed over my skin when I watched him swallow, his jaw tensed and his gaze flickered with something dark, lustful...a dare I wanted to take, no matter how freaking scared I was.
His steps to me were slow, so slow that I could hear the skid of his boots on the cement floor and knew my heart pounded a thousand times between each. I wanted to retreat, to scream, but the only response I could muster was a tremble. Just before me he stopped. I breathed in his beer-laced breath as it rained down on me. He leaned down to where I felt the scruff of his check against mine. I barely heard his question. “Name?”
“Em—Ember,” I managed to say.
He leaned back, the look of measured scorn on his face gave me no choice but to raise my defenses.
“Which is it, little girl?” he said gruffly.
I glared, then crossed my arms, which I regretted because all it did was bring his attention to my chest. I couldn’t figure out how one look could unravel me so much. Sex and boys was an ‘it is what it is’ kind of thing for me in the past. I got off, yeah. I had fun, yes. But I was always over it once I had a taste—once the chase was over and there was nothing left for me to guess about.
I was still guessing about Slayton. Yeah, he kissed me, but I didn’t know what his tongue tasted like. Yes, I knew exactly what it felt like to have my body wrapped around his as we sped through the dark streets of the city. And without a doubt, I knew what it felt like to have him resting in the cradle of my thighs and rocking hard against me—the feel of his lips against my neck, on my shoulder. But that was all I knew. The boys at my old school had crossed more lines in the hallways than this rebel had so far.
“Ember Bloom,” I said in the toughest voice I could manage. Inside I was cursing my body’s reaction to this boy, the tension I felt swelling between us. I needed answers. Had he really gone after my father last night? Was he hurt lying in an alley somewhere? Why did my dad owe these guys money? And above all why in the hell did Slayton lie to his friends for me?
Just as one of those questions began to bubble up he turned and went back to his bed. He collapsed on the edge, then one by one pulled his boots off. His belt was the next to go which had my heart rate pick up as I debated if I should be on the defense or dripping with anticipation.
Utter deflation washed over me next as I watched him lay back, he turned the lamp off, then pulled his pillow to him before moving to his side to face the wall. The only light in the room was glowing from the radio and the exit sign above the doors that were locking me in.
Once I settled my fight or flight thoughts, I edged forward. He hadn’t spoken to me above a whisper the entire time I’d known him which left me wondering if he knew others were listening. I wasn’t dumb enough to shatter whatever protection he’d given me, so I crawled on the bed until I was just behind him.
Watching him tense, but never move only jumbled my thoughts and desire for this boy all the more. I swallowed nervously. “Is my dad dead?”
Long seconds later he answered me. “Not yet.”
THREE
Not yet.
I went boneless as anxiety and adrenaline went to war for center stage in my veins. My mind kept turning over all my father’s comings and goings, things he’d said recently. Even things I’d overheard him and my grandmother say in the past. I knew my father was a gambler. I knew he lost big and won big. I knew he battled with addictions and PTSD. I knew he never meant any harm.
I didn’t realize a single tear had fallen until Slayton sat up and turned toward me, and the back of his hand whispered across my cheek. I couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but I doubted his expression was kind. I could sense his resentment slamming into me, a blame I didn’t understand. He pushed his pillow to my side, then pulled my legs out from under me. Once I was laying down, he pulled the sheet over me then laid down by my side like I was nothing more than a chore he had to deal with when all he wanted to do was sleep.
I was tense, too scared to move, too petrified not to. Each t
hought twisted my emotions all the more. The girl in me was breathing in this boy at my side, the dark, addicting mystery of him. The survivor was working out every escape plan I could for my father and me. The realist, the voice of my grandmother, was telling me no matter where I convinced my father to run—something like this, if not worse—would always be around the corner waiting on us. It was the reason he’d kept me far from him my entire life.
My desperate thoughts seized when Slayton hooked his arm around my waist and pulled me to his chest. It wasn’t until then that I realized more than one tear had fallen. My cheeks were soaked. I wiped them as dry as I could. Then struggled with what I could or should ask him. My number one question was obviously: am I your hostage now?
By the time I gathered my courage, I heard his breaths become deep and even, a sign of tranquil sleep. At first, I didn’t let my defense down as I stayed stiff at his side, but then the constant adrenaline started to abate, and I relaxed. Somehow reasonable logic faded, and I found myself feeling safe at his side, protected.
I was sure by how deeply and quickly he had fallen asleep that he’d been out all night. I hadn’t. The night before I’d crashed at nine pm. Knowing Mrs. Jin expected me at 4:30 am. Her shop was slammed in the a.m. as people dropped off their laundry before they caught their train. Realizing I very well could be fired for not showing wasn’t helping me.
The follow up thought that she more than likely had called my father looking for me and now all kinds of red flags, if not worse, the law, was out looking for me didn’t make me feel any better. If I knew anything about my father’s lifestyle, it was that it was best to not stir any trouble. To assume governing laws protected you. I saw no way out of this which made every moment in Slayton’s grip both crawl and rush by at once.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I studied him. His jawline was sharp, but under the light scruff, there was a baby face. The top edge of his lip had a tiny scar. There was one along his left brow line too, but neither were noticeable, and once they were, they only expanded the dark allure of him. His hair was dark and thick; the cut was one I was sure was made for the wild boys. His long locks had been trained to swoop out over his eyes and cling to his neck—it was the perfect length to rush your fingers through, to pull in a fit of lust. My fists clenched against his chest as I realize I had done that. Not even hours ago I’d felt this boy’s power all but owning me.