“How can I resist that?” Daniel says and climbs into the bed fully dressed. Within two minutes, he’s asleep, despite the constant noise outside. There are people talking and walking around upstairs, and I tense at every creak of the boards. Daniel went to sleep with his hand on his gun, so I’m guessing he still doesn’t feel a hundred percent safe. But he’s got to sleep at some point.
I take my sandals off and pick up my gun, making sure the safety is on. Then I creep toward the door and lay down flat so I can watch through the crack underneath.
Twelve
Daniel
WHEN I WAKE UP FOUR HOURS later, I have a raging boner and an armful of warm woman. Regan has once again rolled over and plastered herself all over me. It’d be nice if it’s because she wants me, but her subconscious is probably screaming for her to hold on tight to the buoy in the water. I’ve got something to hold onto, sweetheart, my sleepy, subconscious self mumbles. Just like earlier, I slide out from under her, but this time she stirs and grips me harder, her knee sliding up my legs to rest under my balls, which are straining toward her flesh. A little rub, Danny boy, they beg.
I can’t give my package the good slap that it needs, and I’m a little afraid that if I even come close to touching it, my wood won’t go down until I find some place to jack off. Lusting after this girl is thirty kinds of wrong. If she had any idea about the thoughts that ran around in my monkey brain, she’d bash me across the face with the chair leg. And I’d let her.
Because I can’t stop thinking about how her plush lips form a perfect “O” when she’s thinking—or how her legs seem to be endless acres of smooth flesh. When we walked up the steep path to Pereya’s, my gaze wandered to her ass, the firm globes pressing against the fabric of the knit skirt as she climbed. I finally took the lead because I wasn’t going to be able to walk if I kept looking at her.
The puzzle of Mr. Freeze concerns me. He obviously wants Regan back, and Gomes was a greedy fuck for letting her out of his sight. Even for twenty-five grand. Sick people get fixated on things sometimes with no good explanation for it. In her late stages of Alzheimer’s, my Grandma would only drink out of a certain plastic cup. She’d throw a fit if someone offered her some other container. Apparently Regan was that plastic cup to Gomes’ rich patron.
Thinking about Regan being mistreated by Gomes and his pals is as deflating as a pin in a balloon, but I’m grateful. The last thing I need is for Regan to encounter the rod in my pants and then look at me for the rest of our time together like I’m one breath away from throwing her down. The last of my erection wanes away, and I’m left feeling awkward and anxious. Twin emotions I haven’t experienced since I was fourteen and about to take Marybeth’s virginity in the back of my Ford pickup. Even then I was more excited than anything.
I pull back her fingers that are wrapped around my waist, and she whimpers in her sleep. “Hey, sweetheart,” I say. This only causes her to snuggle closer, putting her nose and soft cheek in that angle between my shoulder and neck, fitting perfectly, as if I was made for her. And that erection I thought I’d killed off comes raging back. From a fucking nose rub. I swear to God, the minute I am done here, I’m going to find a willing woman at a bar in Dallas, and we are going to fuck until I’m so raw my dick is red for a week.
Needing her off of me, I use the nickname she hates the most and inject as much asshole into it as I can. “Baby doll, I’m all for a morning fondle, but I prefer the hand to the knee.” Then I lightly slap her butt for emphasis. She jumps off me like a cat doused in water.
“What was that all about?” she asks, brushing hair out of her eyes with one hand and rubbing the spot on her ass where I slapped her with the other.
My hand tingles from the contact with her butt. It wants to make contact again. I want to make contact with every part of her. Turning around I bend over to gather the blankets, using the housekeeping as an excuse to hide my erection. “Just waking you up, baby doll, and letting you know that I’m all up for a romp around the floor here, but I hope you don’t mind being on top. Ever since Afghanistan my knees are for shit.”
My back’s to her so I can’t see her face, but I assume she’s seething. At least she’s awake.
“Why do you say stuff like that?” she asks in a quiet voice which, shit, is not what I was going for. Now I’m feeling bad on top of crappy.
Holding the thin pillows and bedding in front of me, I face her. There’s a look of speculation in her eyes as if she’s trying to decode me. “I was concerned you might jack my manly bits into my throat, so I wanted to make sure we had a clean separation.”
“Nice.” Her nose—the one that fits perfectly into my neck—wrinkles up. I’m rank. Maybe I should’ve let her sniff me more because that would be enough to send any girl into a fit. I’ve got dirt, blood, and who knows what other bodily fluids from two dead men on my clothes, and I haven’t showered in…I count back. Three fucking days.
If I was with my team, we would’ve joked about the smell, saying that if you aren’t riper than a rotten peach then you haven’t been outside the wire long enough. I’ve gotten soft in the years since I’ve been out. Sleeping in a “Ranger grave” is common enough during deployment that blankets and pillows should be a luxury, but the services of a paid assassin pay pretty well and I’ve gotten used to feather beds and down comforters, not to mention hot showers.
I lay the bundle onto the wooden table and then stare down at Regan. My tired mouth speaks before my filter can catch up, “You are really fucking beautiful, you know?”
I’m grateful but surprised when she shakes her head and laughs disbelievingly. “You know my boyfriend Mike said I looked like a colt. All legs, no torso.”
“Shit-for-brains-Mike? The one who couldn’t give you an orgasm? You actually listen to what he says?”
Regan’s face falls. “I should’ve never told you that. You think I’m a weirdo.”
Leaning against the table, I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re the weirdo because he can’t give you an orgasm?” I don’t even tell her about the other stuff I know, like how he’d sleep through her masturbating right next to him. And how he hasn’t called, not even once, to find out where she is. Nick told me that he’d considered shooting Mike because he was taking up space in the universe that could have been given over to someone who actually gave a shit.
“No, because I told you all the stuff and…” she waves towards my crotch, “other stuff.”
I don’t need for her to notice my other stuff because it’s swelling in hopes that she pays real close attention to it. I need to get her out of sight and out of mind before I start telling her that I’m not going to be a tool that she uses to get off. What I’d like to say is that the next time my touches are going to be personal and when she gets wet, it’ll be because of my up close attentions.
Worried that she’s a distraction to me, I cast around for a place to stash her. In Morro Dos Macacos everyone is armed—from the residents to the police force that regularly marches through trying to clean up the slums so that Rio is respectable for the world stage. Regan could easily get hit by a stray bullet, which to my way of thinking would render this whole escapade worth about a Benjamin ripped in half. Meaning, less than nothing.
Mentally I check off the things we have to do. First, we need identification and passports for Regan or she is never leaving Rio. Second, we need to get to the airport and send Regan home. Third, I need to find the hacker. Fourth, I need to find my sister, and then the Hays siblings get on their own plane and return to their ranch and never, ever leave it again. But before all that I need to hustle up to the hill and meet my informant, the one that Pereya found that might have information about Naomi.
Running an agitated hand through my hair, I order her, “Stay here. Be right back.”
Upstairs, I find Pereya sleeping like an innocent next to his wife. My knife hand itches, and I place my palm against my ankle so I can feel the outline of the sheath against my hand. Pereya has sold me ammun
ition and given me a place to stay. I don’t need to threaten him with a knife across the throat. Not yet at least.
I give him a few alternating taps on the side of his face, and when I see his eyes pop open I cover his mouth. When the warm saliva and tongue hits my palm, I wonder why I don’t wear gloves more often. Resisting the urge to pull my hand away, I whisper in his ear, “Need one more thing from you before I leave.”
Pereya nods and I release him, swiping my hand across the fabric of my pants. A wet wipe will be in order as soon as Pereya gives up a source. “I need to know of a good paper maker.”
“Lots of them in the favela, but none that are good. You’ll have to go to Ipanema. See a mermao by the name of Luiz Soto. He can hook you up.” Pereya holds out his hand, and I slip him another hundred. It’s an expensive tip.
“So about the girl,” I begin to say, but he holds up his hands.
“No way.” He makes a shooing gesture with his fingers. “She needs to go. Take her down to Copa. No trouble there. There’s os homi by the Rio.”
“Pereya, I can’t leave Regan at the Rio by herself even if there is a police station next door. Let me leave her here.” I pull out more bills and start flicking through the stack. “How much?”
“How much for what?” Regan says behind me. I turn and the expression on her face saying I’ve betrayed her.
“I’m not leaving you behind,” I say, but my words are belied by my fat wad of cash. I feel more exposed here than if I were a john on a street corner with my pants around my ankles and the police headlights shining on the glossy wet of my dick that was polished by the mouth of the street vendor. Officer, I was not soliciting. I was taking a piss and my dick fell into this young lady’s mouth. All a misunderstanding.
The stricken look on her face says that I’ve struck a blow deep, harder than the guy I capped in the apartment we’d left. Cursing, I take her arm and drag her down the stairs, pretending to gain a little privacy. Pitching my voice low so that I can at least make it difficult for Pereya to hear our business, I tell her my plan. “We need to get papers, and out there,” I gesture over my shoulder toward the street, “you’re more likely to be endangered than here in Pereya’s home. People leave him alone on both sides because he’s got quality product. So he’s like the armory in Switzerland. You come in, take out what you need, and leave. It’s safer here than anywhere. You’re safe with his arsenal.”
She doesn’t hear one word I’ve said. “You’re leaving me behind,” she repeats.
“I’m not. I’m taking a detour, and then I’ll be back.”
“All those things you said earlier, they were to pacify me, right? Tell the little victim what she wants to hear.”
“No,” I protest. I realize I’ve fucked up on so many different levels that it will take a land mine specialist to get me out of this mess.
“Take her down to Ipanema. It’s safe there,” Pereya not so helpfully offers from the top of the stairs.
At this, Regan presses her lips together and looks at me militantly.
“I’ve got a tip. A lead on something important. But it’s in a real dangerous place, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
She’s not buying it. There’s no way I’m leaving her with Pereya. I can see it all over her face. With a sigh, I give in. I pack all the ammunition that I’ve bought from Pereya and drape my tactical vest around Regan’s shoulders. Maybe if everyone sees she’s armed, they’ll think twice about pointing a gun in our direction. Maybe.
Thirteen
Regan
THIS MAN IS SO FULL of shit. I won’t leave you behind, Regan. You can trust me, Regan. All lies. All stupid lies. He’s still trying to ditch me.
“It’s not safe for you to go with me,” he tells me, those blue eyes asking for me to understand.
I stare at him.
“I didn’t come this far for you to be killed.”
“And I didn’t come this far to end back up in a whorehouse,” I hiss at him, anger getting the best of me. I used to be such a nice girl. I never argued with anyone. Now I’m constantly screaming at Daniel. But it’s his fault, damn it. If he wasn’t so fired up to ditch me, I wouldn’t lose my shit so often.
He glances over at Pereya, then back at me. “Not here.” He calls over his shoulder, “We need our room again for a bit. See if you can find those jeans and boots for me.” And with that, Daniel grabs me by the arm and hauls me back to the safe room where we’d spent the night.
I let him drag me. That’s fine. His hand is pinching my arm, but if he’s hauling me along, he’s not leaving me behind. That’s all that I ask.
We shuffle back to the safe room, and Daniel flings the door shut, then turns and glares at me. “Okay. We need to talk.”
I adjust the heavy vest he draped over my shoulders. It’s bulky and doesn’t hang right over my boobs, but I’m not going to point that out. Fiddling with it gives me something to do without looking at Daniel. “So talk.”
“This place I have to go today? It’s a dangerous shithole.”
“As opposed to all the other nice, safe playgrounds you’ve taken me to so far?”
“Damn it, Regan, I’m serious. I need to get a tip from a guy in a soccer field that’s the favorite place of the local gangs for microwaving.”
I look up at him, puzzled. “Microwaving?” Somehow I don’t think he means Hot Pockets.
“Yeah. Someone fucks up, you take him out to the field, throw a few tires around him, douse him in gasoline, and set the whole thing on fire. Leaves a nice smoky skidmark to warn everyone else not to make the same mistake.”
I swallow hard. That sounds worse than awful. And Daniel wants to go to this place? Alone? What if he never comes back? What if he leaves me here and I’m sitting with Pereya for weeks, wondering what happened? How long before Pereya decides to sell me to the highest bidder? “Sounds like a shitty place. I’m still going.”
“No,” Daniel says. “I’m in charge of keeping you safe. Taking you there won’t keep you safe. We’re in the middle of some primo gang territory around here.”
“I don’t care!”
“Well, if you don’t give a shit about your life, I do.”
I gasp. How can he say that to me? I’ve clawed and scrambled for every inch of freedom in the last two months. I’ve survived hell. In fact, I’m still trying to escape it. The fact that the one person I can trust is secretly trying to ditch me? It fills me with anger and fury and more than a little hurt. I slap his chest. “You think I don’t care if I live or die? Really?”
Daniel closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “Regan, you know what I’m trying to say here…”
“No, you’re saying shitty things to try and get rid of me. I know how you work. You lie and you try to piss people off so they’ll go away. I’m not going away, though. Remember your promise? ‘I’m not leaving you, Regan. I’m going to stay at your side and protect you, Regan.’ What happened to that?”
“It didn’t involve taking you to a killing ground when you can sit here quietly—”
“And what?” I cry, beating a fist on his chest. I’ve smacked him a few times as we argue, but he doesn’t raise a hand to me. I know I shouldn’t hit him; I’m just so fucking frustrated. “What happens if you don’t come back? How long before someone sells the cute American pussy to the highest bidder again?”
His mouth flattens. “You have to trust me, Regan.”
“Trust? Now who’s crazy?” I laugh bitterly and throw my hands up in the air. “You said I was acting crazy when I jumped you, but I’m not so sure. I can guarantee that if you were getting your dick wet, you’d move heaven and earth to make sure I stayed at your side, instead of trying to ditch me. So now who’s crazy, huh?”
He reaches out and grabs the front of the flak jacket. I start to pull away, but he’s only tying together two strings at the neck that will keep it closed. “So,” he says flatly, “you want to talk about trust? How about you jumping all over me as soon
as I close my eyes to try and manipulate me into keeping you around? How am I supposed to trust you after that?”
I’m shocked at his words, that he can turn the whole “trust” thing around on me and still make me wince after all this. It hits home. I have been manipulating him. “But . . . you like me,” I protest. “You think I’m sexy.”
“I do,” he agrees, tying the cord into a bow and then reaching for another one under my arm so he can fit the flak jacket tighter to my body. “I think you’re beautiful. I also think my appreciation of you is completely inappropriate, and I would never act on it. Have I done anything at all to make you uncomfortable? Acted inappropriately?”
Other than a few smacks on the ass and referring to me as baby doll? I want to point this out, but we both know it’s to rile me up and distract me, and he’s not serious about it. He’s right. He’s been nothing but good to me even when he doesn’t have to be. If he snapped his fingers, I’d be on my knees sucking his dick out of gratitude because I’d feel like it would get me somewhere with him.
How fucked up is that? And how fucked up is it that Daniel’s the Boy Scout in the situation and I’m the one throwing my body at him? Not that it matters. Sex is ruined for me. I don’t think I could ever touch a man again without thinking of the brothel.
But then I look at Daniel’s frowning mouth. He’s been straight-up appalled that I never had an orgasm. Curls his lip at Mike’s name as if he’s done me some sort of disservice. As if everyone else is the problem and not me. Not Work-Harder-to-Make-It-All-Better Regan who refuses to see problems in a relationship. Not Head-In-the-Sand Regan who tries to ignore the world so her little bubble isn’t disturbed.
That Regan’s dead now.
Daniel finishes tying one side of my jacket and then the other as I watch him move. He’s got long eyelashes, and a strong jaw, and he’s . . . really attractive.
I wonder briefly what it would be like to kiss him. Really kiss him. It might be Stockholm syndrome speaking, but that can’t possibly be any worse than what I’ve already been through. And suddenly, I’m curious.
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