“Attack of the Killer Tomatoes? That’s a real movie?”
“Oh, it’s real. I have it on DVD. That and the sequel.”
“You’re shitting me. They made a sequel of that?”
“They made a few,” I tell him, pushing him backward toward the futon. “Would you rather watch it than get a blow job?”
“Christ, no,” he tells me. “But don’t you want to go see Daisy and Nick?”
“Soon,” I tell him, putting a sultry note in my voice. “But right now I want your cock between my lips and in my mouth.”
He groans, and I know I’ve won this round. I’m delighted as he flops back on the futon, takes the gun out of his pants and tosses it onto the old, beat-up coffee table that I rescued out of a rummage sale. He watches me with hot, avid eyes.
“I love you,” I tell him as I sink to my knees in front of him, pushing his legs apart.
“I love you more than anything,” he tells me, and he’s so serious for a moment, so intense, that I feel a shiver go through my body. Then, I give him another naughty look and unzip his pants.
“This loves me too, obviously.”
“Shit yeah it does,” he tells me. “Fucker can’t get enough of you.”
“Mmm.” He’s already hard, and I wrap my hands around his length, admiring him. “I think I might have to spoil my dinner with this.”
His eyes gleam as he watches me lean in. His hand goes to my hair, stroking it back from my face. “This is the perfect angle for me to watch you suck me.”
Even though we talk dirty in bed to each other all the time, with those words, my mind flashes to the brothel. The gun pushed to my forehead. I close my eyes and swallow hard. Those memories aren’t gone. I don’t know if they’ll ever be gone.
But then Daniel’s hand is caressing my cheek, the touch loving. “God, you’re beautiful.”
And just like that, I’m okay again. I open my eyes and it’s Daniel’s handsome face I see before me, Daniel’s skin warm underneath my hands. And when I lean down to drag my tongue over the crown of his cock, it’s Daniel’s taste on my tongue.
I can make new memories, starting now. I lick the head with a quick swipe and look up at him when his hand fists in my hair. “You trying to distract me, baby boy?”
“Fuck no,” he rasps. He lifts his hands in the air as if to show me that he won’t touch. “That’s the last thing I want.”
I take the head in my mouth again and giggle, and I feel him shudder as the vibrations from my laughter move against his skin. My hand grips the thick base of his cock, and I tease and stroke the head with my tongue while my other hand toys with his sac.
I’m pleased when his head falls back on the couch, his entire body tense, and his cock seems to visibly swell in my hands. He’s extremely hard, the head leaking pre-come faster than I can lick it up. He loves this, and I love doing it to him. I love the pleasure on his face.
“I want to put my hands all over you right now,” Daniel says as I lean in and suck his length into my mouth, careful of my teeth. “Just drag those pretty tits out of your shirt and play with them while you suck my cock.”
He’s not touching me, though. He’s just laying back and watching me work on him. Maybe he realizes that if he grabs me, it’d be too much for me to handle with memories pushing at the back of my mind. This makes me love him all the more, and I show my love by taking him deep and sucking so hard that my cheeks hollow.
His groan of pleasure is delicious to hear, and it makes me redouble my efforts. I practice all the skills that I know, working him with my mouth and now both hands at the base of his cock, pumping him in time with my motions.
“Christ, you’re good at that,” he rasps when his cock prods at the back of my throat again and I loosen my jaw so my gag reflex doesn’t kick in.
I don’t respond—my mouth is full. My mouth is full, and my senses are full of Daniel: his salty taste, the feel of his warm skin, the tickle of his groin hairs on my hands as I work him, the pleasure on his face with every pump of my mouth. There’s nothing but pleasure here for me.
I’m disappointed when he grabs me and tosses me down on the futon.
Well, almost.
But when he plunges into me, I give a shriek of pleasure and cling to him like a wild woman. His strokes pound me against the futon, and we’re slamming it against the wall, and it doesn’t matter one bit because we’re both coming hard and fast and I’m so happy I might burst.
We don’t make it back to Daisy’s apartment for well over an hour. And that’s okay, too. Somehow, I think Daisy was expecting that.
Daniel
MAKING LOVE TO REGAN IN a place where we don’t have to keep one eye on the door and one foot on the floor is both weird and amazing. I can’t wait to actually go to bed with her and then be able to wake up and have morning sex. Then we can go back to sleep and wake up and have mid-morning sex. When I suggested that we stay in the small futon bed and pretend we fell asleep, she shakes her head. Daisy is expecting us. Well, fuck Daisy, I think, but I pull on my trousers and join the surly Ukrainian and his farm girl for dinner. At least they have food. In the kitchen, the girls are making drinks that contain candy canes. I don’t mind a fruity drink now and then, but I draw the line at candy canes in my booze.
Nick, in a rare fit of insightfulness, invites me to the rooftop. In theory it’s a good idea. Go outside and get a fresh perspective. The reality involves standing out in sub-zero temperatures, which sends my balls inside my body for warmth. I hope the boys come out when we see Regan again. Nick is Ukrainian so apparently he’s impervious to the cold because he’s standing in a thin cotton shirt looking like he’s enjoying the Arctic breeze. I’m drinking my Shiner Bock as fast as possible to get some heat into my veins.
Nick doesn’t speak, merely stares out impassively into the distance. I wonder if he misses Russia or how he feels about the current situation in the Ukraine, but we don’t have that kind of relationship so instead I admire the night landscape. The night is cloudless and the slice of moon brightens up the sky enough so that you can make out the dark blues and black in the atmosphere. It’s strange to see Nick without a gun, though. He was an exacting, methodical, and successful hit man. If he took your job, your mark was dead. The only project he didn’t complete was his last one because he had to run off to rescue Daisy in Russia. Now he’s an art student and a landlord. The world has turned upside down.
“You are to meet the parents?” Nick asks pensively, as if he is worried for me.
“Tomorrow, first thing,” I answer and then frown. No mid-morning sex then. Maybe we’ll have sex first thing when we wake up, and I can eat her out in the shower. That might hold me over until I can have her again around lunchtime. “Why? Did you have issues with Daddy Miller?”
Nick nods. “He does not like people.”
“You two should be besties then, because you aren't a people person either,” I point out.
“Da, this is true.” Of course Nick takes me seriously. While I appreciate his concern, I have no worries about meeting Regan’s parents. My biggest issue is what I’m going to do with myself now that I’m not focused on running down my next lead in search of my sister. Fortunately, I don’t have to decide that today or tomorrow or even next week. I drain my bottle and reach for another. One positive thing about the frigid temps is sticking your bottles in the snow keeps the beer nice and chill. About four minutes of silence later, after I've completely forgotten about the subject, Nick asks, "Besties?"
“Best friends,” I explain. It never fails to surprise me how inept Nick is at social interaction—but given that he spent most of his time killing people, I suppose it made sense to erect emotional barriers. The army is full of people who kill, but it’s a family of some sort. A sniper is never without his spotter and even the recon teams are made up of four to five members. Suddenly I realize that part of the emotional toll the last eighteen months had taken on me is due to the fact that I was alone for most of the time. During my
stint as a mercenary, I tried to create connections with others like Nick because I’d missed my team so much, and now I am missing my family. Regan talks about how I can never leave her, but it’s me that can’t live without Regan. If she were to leave me, I’d be nothing. Might as well shoot me in the head because her walking away from me would mean I was already dead from heart failure.
“Vasily Petrovich has your sister,” Nick muses.
“Yup. I threatened to rat him out to the Bratva if he harms her.”
“Or we could go kill him,” Nick offers as nonchalantly as if he’s asking if I want a cigarette. But I guess if you’re raised to kill before you can feed yourself, then that’s how you act. Who was I to talk? I killed Nick’s last mark—the trauma surgeon in Seattle who was harvesting diseased organs and selling them on the black market—so Nick could get out of the business. It was a wedding gift for him and Daisy, although they haven’t gotten married yet.
“For some reason I actually trust him. Besides you aren’t allowed to go back to Eastern Europe, remember?”
Nick shrugs. “To kill Petrovich, may be worth it.”
I sit, kick out my legs and drain my second beer, but I don’t pop open another. I have plans for Regan tonight that require sobriety. “I’m tired of it, Nick. Tired of killing people, falling asleep with my gun on my chest, not sure if I’ll have to wake up shooting. I’m tired of closing my eyes and seeing blood splatter. I want to go to sleep in the same bed every night and wake up in the morning. I want to make love to Regan on a real mattress with soft sheets.” Up on the roof I can see the skyline of Minneapolis to the north and the outlines of planes taking off from the airport to the south. I get why Nick has picked this place. Subtle signs of gentrification are everywhere. In a couple of years this place will be worth a fortune, but living in the city, responding to a hundred daily complaints or painting pictures, even ones with a lot of black and red paint, doesn’t interest me. I want to go home, show Regan the land that my great-great-grandfather settled. Have her watch the foals being born and the bluebonnets poke their heads out of the earth. Turning to look at Nick to see if he gets it, I say, “I’m done with death.”
“Da, I am too.” He lifts a bottle of vodka. “But what will you do now?”
“Don’t know, man. Have any advice for me?” It’s a joke, a reference to when Nick asked me dating advice when he was stalking Daisy. But Nick doesn’t know how to joke, so he gives it some serious thought—which he washes down with a quarter of the vodka.
“It is easier to decide whether to pull the trigger or use a garrote to take down a mark than know what will bring happiness in the future,” Nick finally declares.
“I know Regan makes me happy. I’m going to stick with that. For now, though, why don’t you let me take a look at some of your honey-do list.”
Thirty
Regan
NOW THAT WE ’RE BACK IN Minneapolis, I have a laundry list of things to do. I go to the doctor and get a birth control shot so Daniel and I can continue to have gloriously, deliciously intense sex. I also get checked for diseases again, because I’m paranoid. I turn up clean of everything, including pregnancy. I’m actually a little sad about that, but now’s not the time to start a family.
I also sign up for counseling because I still have panic attacks when Daniel leaves the room for any length of time, and I still have nightmares. I know I’m not totally right in the head. The psychologist understands, though, and she’s supportive. Daniel goes with me to counseling, and it’s good. It’s a step in the right direction.
I want to go back to college and jump right back into my career path, but the psychologist doesn’t think it’s a good idea, and I’m surprised when Daniel agrees. They want me to take time off and get used to normal again. Normal without so many people, that is, since people still make me anxious. It’s weird to think about, but I try to submerge myself back into “normal.” I watch a lot of horror movies with Daniel, and we paint our apartment for something to do.
I visit my parents, and it’s as tear-filled and awkward as I thought it would be.
I don’t tell them that I’ve spent two months on my back in a brothel. I think that would break them almost as much as it came close to breaking me. We come up with a lame cover story instead. I took an impromptu vacation with my roomie Daisy to Cancun, hit my head while cliff diving, and Daisy thought I’d drowned. I woke up in a hospital with amnesia and just now got better. And Daniel was in the bed next to me with a tropical disease, and we fell in love.
It’s all very Days of Our Lives, and I’m not entirely sure they buy it, but it’s a nicer story than the truth.
Nevertheless, they’re concerned for my health now. They want me to come home for good. I can’t, though. I’m not their little girl anymore. We stay with them for a few days, but it makes me restless. It’s clear that they don’t understand, nor do they understand why Daniel needs to clear a room before I go in because it makes me feel safer.
Daisy’s my new best friend and always at my side. When Daniel and Nick are busy working on the apartment building, Daisy goes shopping with me or runs errands with me or whatever needs to be done. I’m not alone for a second, and it makes me feel safer. I don’t know if Daniel’s asked her to be my shadow or if she senses that I’m scared of being abandoned, but I appreciate it either way. Her attentiveness has gone a long way to resolving the festering resentment I’ve been harboring against her.
And one day, I get a wild hair up my ass to go and visit Mike and Becca. I don’t bring Daniel; I’m half-afraid that he would shoot Mike because he can’t stand him for being, well, Mike. For being selfish and self-absorbed and hooking up with my best friend. I don’t think it’s Mike’s fault as much as it is mine, though. I went along with everything before. That’s not me anymore.
I do take Daisy with me, though, because I don’t like to go anywhere alone. We pull up to Mike’s apartment building, and it’s one I’m intimately familiar with. How many times did I drive over after a football game for a quick fuck and cuddle because Mike wanted to get laid? How was I ever okay with that?
“You sure you want to do this?” Daisy asks me for the hundredth time as we walk into the building and head for the elevator.
“I’m sure,” I tell her. “Mike deserves closure too, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” Daisy says, and she looks troubled. She’s a good friend. I squeeze her hand to let her know it’s okay, and we head up to the fifth floor, where Mike has lived for the past few years.
And we knock on his door, even though I have a key back in the apartment. It’s taped to the bottom of my cookie jar. It was only for emergencies, after all. In case Mike needed something taken care of when he was out of town with buddies. It wasn’t so I could let myself in whenever.
Man, I really was a doormat before. I smirk to myself at the thought. Wonder what Mike’s going to think of me now.
He answers the door. I’m a little disappointed it’s not Becca, because wouldn’t that be a great conversation starter. But Mike looks utterly stunned to see me. “Oh my God. Regan.”
And he bursts into tears and reaches out to hug me close.
I have to admit, this is not the way I pictured our reunion. I pat his back awkwardly and give Daisy a helpless glance as Mike hugs me and blubbers on my shoulder. He’s so thankful to see me alive again, he says between gulping sobs. He thought I was dead.
And then he pulls back and tries to kiss me, and I recoil.
“Don’t,” I say. I don’t want to be kissed by him, ever again.
He looks shocked that I pull away from him. “What’s wrong? Baby, are you okay?”
“What’s wrong? Mike, I know you’re with Becca.” I can see her shit on his kitchen counter from where I’m standing.
He shakes his head, and his face is a little paler. I notice that he starts to close the door to his apartment behind him, blocking our view, and I fight the urge to giggle when sweet little Daisy rolls her eyes
at this move. “No, baby. That was, you know, a thing. We were comforting each other.”
“Uh-huh,” I say flatly. “How fast did you two start comforting each other? I’m curious. Was it a day or two after I was kidnapped or did you wait a whole week?”
Judging from the ugly flush that crosses his cheeks, I’m not hitting far off the mark. He’s embarrassed. “It’s not like that, Regan. I was . . . so upset when you disappeared.” He squeezes my shoulder and gets choked up again. “I kept drinking, and Becca came over to talk some sense into me. And she . . . kinda never left.”
“You make it sound like Becca hopped onto your dick.”
He shakes his head again and tries to rub my arm, but I bat his hand away. “Baby, you know I love you and only you.” He smiles at me through his tears. “Are you . . . are you okay?”
“Better than you,” I say, and I’m surprised to find that it’s the truth. He’s got snot running down his face, and he’s a mess. His shirt’s filthy, stained with breakfast. It looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week or two, and his hair is greasy. He does look like he’s gone through hell.
Which is ironic since I’m the one that went through hell, not him. But when his eyes tear up again, I find myself patting him on the shoulder. “I don’t think you meant badly by it, Mike,” I say. “I’m sure you were hurting and lonely. And it’s always been all about you.”
“What?” he says, as if he didn’t hear me right.
“Did you even look for me, Mike? Or did you hear I was missing, throw your hands up, and start fucking my old BFF?”
His eyes dart back and forth from my impassive face to Daisy’s, looking for sympathy. He won’t find any here. “Why are you blaming me?” he says in a sad voice. “I did everything I could. The police said they would handle it.”
“I’m sure they did,” I say. And maybe in his mind, Mike thinks that he did do everything. Maybe he can go to sleep at night knowing he placed a few phone calls and was appropriately sad that his girlfriend disappeared. Maybe that’s all that’s required for Mike.
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