I don’t reply because the passenger door is ripped open, and I’m pulled from my seat by a strong set of arms. “Noooo!” I scream.
“Hello, again, Mic.” I look up into familiar dark eyes, burning with rage and something more sadistic.
My skin both heats and crawls.
I look back to the man. One last silent plea for help. One glance tells me that help won’t come. I don’t know the man, yet his betrayal stings, leaving me feeling vulnerable and exposed. Why? I silently ask.
He grins as if he’s an Uber driver hoping for a decent rating. “Because we don’t betray our own here,” he answers, as if the answer is that simple to him. “Besides, just like my son, Bo, Pike’s not so bad once you get past all the scary shit.” He thinks for a minute. “If you can get past the scary shit.” He puts the car in drive. “By the way, I’m Samuel Clearwater. My friends call me Preppy.”
Preppy drives off with a wave. “You two kids have fun!”
Fun. Yeah right. There’s so many possibilities of what will happen now, but fun most certainly isn’t one of them.
Pike cradles my face in his big rough hands, forcing me to stare up at him. The metal of the handcuffs are cold and rough against my cheeks. “What to do with you now?” he asks, searching my eyes. It’s not his usual warning. I get the feeling he’s not asking me, but posing the question to himself.
Pike slowly walks me backward, hands still on my face, until I’m pressed against the base of one of the large palm trees lining the road.
Preppy is wrong. There will be no getting past the scary shit. Not with Pike. Not now.
Not ever.
But I’ve dealt with my fair share of scary men, and I remind myself that I’m not the frightened girl I once was. I’m strong and capable.
Before I can complete the thought, I act, landing my fist below his ribs. My hand stings. “Bitch,” he breathes, nostrils flaring as he looks down at where my fist is balled.
He wasn’t expecting my punch, so I figure the next will come as even more of a surprise. I swing my left arm up, connecting with the underside of his elbow. His hand falls from my face. Rearing back my head and gritting my teeth, I take a page out of Pike’s book and go for the headbutt. Only, Pike is so much taller than me. I only manage to connect with his chin and cause my vision to momentarily blur.
“Fuck,” he cruses, rubbing his chin.
I duck under his arm and make a run for it. The shell road slicing into my already injured feet. I only manage to make it a few steps before his massive body collides with my back, sending me crashing onto the ground.
I gasp for breath as the wind is knocked out of me. “Still got some fight in you, Mic. We’ll see what we can do to change that.” His breath is low in my ear as my cheek is pressed into the sharp shell.
He raises off me, and I’m finally able to take a full breath. He flips me over, trapping my wrists above his head. His hair falls into his eyes as his gaze drinks me in.
The chill in the air heats. The hairs on my arm stand on end as we stare at one another without saying a word.
Thick silence fills the space between us. The only sound is heavy breathing and my own thudding heartbeat. I count them to measure the time. Ba-boom. One. Ba-boom. Two.
Pike’s dark eyes are pinning me to the ground as much as his hands on my wrists.
Ba-boom. Three.
And then his lips are on mine.
I push back on his chest only to realize I’ve got a fistful of his shirt, and I’m not pushing, but pulling him against me. His lips on mine feel like I think
Evidence of his arousal strains against his jeans, I gasp as it juts against my thigh.
“I told you I like it when you fight back,” he groans against my lips.
He’s so fucking arrogant and so cocky and his lips are heaven and hell. I bite at his lip, drawing blood only to be rewarded with a bite of his own. He rises up and swipes at the red smear on my lip with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth.
He lifts me from the ground so that I’m straddling his lap on the curb. I slap his face so hard my palm stings. His eyes darken, and I realize too late that was the wrong thing to do. He wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing, but not hard enough for me not to be able to breath. His lips are on mine again, and I hate that I moan when his tongue pushes past the seam of my lips and our tongues war with one another. He threads his other hand through my hair, yanking hard. I grab his hair with both hands and do the same. He hisses then grins. It continues like this. An endless cycle of punishment and pleasure.
His hand digs into my upper thigh, before unbuttoning my jeans. He snakes his hand inside, and it’s so fucking wrong but so right. I’m wet for him, yearning for him to touch me there. His rough hand on my skin has me shaking with anticipation as his fingers descend lower and lower. His lips suck and bite at my neck. The pleasure courses through me, and I moan loud into his ear. His finger reaches my clit, barely brushing it, but the shock and pleasure has me writhing on his lap.
“Pike!” Thorne’s shout is an ice bucket, pouring cold reality on top of our heads, dousing the lust fueled flames.
Flames that should never have been burning in the first place.
Chapter Seventeen
Mickey
“Pike!” Thorne’s voice calls out again.
Pike stands, tossing me off his lap. He looks calm and put together as he lights a cigarette. The only evidence of what we just did is the large bulge straining the front ofhis pants.
I, on the other hand, look as if I’d just swam through a swamp. Which I did.
We’re in the shadows, and I’m pretty sure Thorne can’t see us from where she is, but I’m even more sure that Pike doesn’t want her to see us because he steps in front of me, blocking me from view.
“Meet me by the garage. Quick!” she adds, disappearing around the building. Pike takes my hand in his and drags me in her direction. I still taste his lips on mine and feel dizzy from it all, but he looks as collected and as angry as ever.
I’m thankful for the interruption. A chance to collect my thoughts. To become logical me instead of reckless me.
Pike turns around. Again, his face is cold and impassive. “This changes nothing,” he remarks flatly.
His words sting, and I know what he said, but then why do I hear something else? Something underneath his coldness. As if what he really said was This changes everything.
Pike grabs on my hand, tugging me out of the shadows and into the parking lot.
Thorne gives me a once over, popping her gun. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“The swamp happened to me,” I reply.
She shrugs, and like she’s told me before, she doesn’t ask questions.
“What the fuck do you want to show me? I’ve got something I’ve got to take care of,” Pike spits, sparing me a glance.
Me. He’s got to take care of me. And not in the bubble bath and foot rub kind of way.
Thorne leans down and yanks open the garage bay. Inside is a large white truck with no markings. I recognize it instantly as the truck I’d helped steal from Pike. There was no mention of bringing it back. It makes no sense that it would be here at all.
What the fuck is going on? Whatever part of the plan this is, I wasn’t there when it was discussed because even I don’t understand the motives behind going through all the trouble to steal something like this, only to bring it back.
Pike takes a step forward as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“Can you believe it?” Thorne asks, smiling from ear to ear.
“How?” Pike asks, pressing his palm to the bumper and pulling himself inside the open gate. There are barrels of hazardous waste lining both sides of the truck. He opens a few to check the contents.
He looks to me and repeats the question. “How?”
“The honest to God truth is that I have no idea,” I reply. “I’m just as confused as you are.”
Thorne shrugs. “I have no idea
either. I came out to store a Vespa, and when I opened the bay, boom, it was back.” She makes a mind-blown gesture with her hands.
The sound of a motorcycle pulling into the parking lot vibrates through the garage, the echo growing so loud I cover my ears until a shiny black bike pulls up and cuts the engine.
The man is huge and dressed in all black. There are belts wrapped around his muscular forearms. He stares up at the truck and then at Pike. His bright green eyes blazing with fury.
“What’s going on?” I whisper to Thorne. Her eyes are wide and she presses a finger over her mouth, indicating that I should shut mine.
The man jerks his chin to the truck. “Care to explain why I got a mysterious phone call suggesting I should check your fucking garage and how when I do I find you standin’ out here with the truck that you told me got jacked?” He turns suspicious green eyes on Pike. “We need to fucking talk.”
* * *
Thorne leads me back to Pike’s room and makes sure I again have everything I need for a shower. When I ask her who the man in the garage is, she simply says, “King.”
I know the name. I’ve heard it before, but never in a context that would give me enough info to classify him as enemy or friend or associate.
I wrap a towel around my body and sit at the edge of the bed. There’s a laptop open on the dresser. I walk over to it, and press a key. The screen comes to life. It’s not password protected. “Idiot,” I mutter. The screen has several squares of black and white videos. The upper right-hand corner is the garage. I rewind it until I see familiar men in skull masks pulling the truck in before racing into an awaiting van and speeding off.
I fast forward it to now, when King and Pike are deep in conversation. I wish the video had sound so I can hear what they’re discussing. But something else draws my attention inside the open truck gate. I zoom in on the contents and compare it with the memory of the night we’d taken it, searching for a difference I know is there.
The locks clicks open. Instinctively, I tighten the towel around my body. Pike stalks in and notices what I’ve been watching. “Care to explain?” he asks.
“I wish I could,” I answer honestly.
“You need to explain, or this isn’t going to end fucking well for you,” Pike grates. It’s not quite a warning, but an explanation, a plea for the truth I can never give him. “This isn’t a fucking game, Mic, and I’m done fucking playing. Talk now.”
“You…you’d kill me,” I reply. It’s not a question.
“Mic, I’m running out of fucking patience, and yes, I’d kill anyone who crosses me. I don’t discriminate. Not only did your buddies steal from me, but they returned my shit to frame me and make it look like I was trying to keep all the profits for myself. Whoever is behind this is out to fucking destroy my life. Everything I’ve worked for. I had to talk King off a fucking ledge, and he’s still not satisfied with my answer of I don’t know how the fuck it got here or why the fuck it’s back.”
I don’t know what to tell him that could take the pain and anger from his face and not destroy everything I’ve been working so hard for. I take a deep breath. “It’s the fifth day. What are you going to do?”
He eyes me suspiciously. “Jesus Christ! I’m not following those fucking rules. I’m just trying to protect what’s mine and hurt the people who are fucking hurting my business. My friends.” He stares at me; his eyes are daggers being thrown into my heart. “But you wouldn’t know about protecting people. You’re too selfish and caught up in some bullshit you think is more important. You may be smart, but you’re also fucking selfish.”
His words cut a cavern within my chest. An empty place once only filled with hate and sorrow not an expanse of pain. Because he isn’t wrong, but he also isn’t right. “You’re right. My intentions are selfish. But don’t think for one fucking second that you own the rights on protecting those you love because you don’t know shit about what I’ve been through or why I do what I do.”
“Because you won’t fucking tell me!” he screams.
Pike stalks over to me and grabs me by the throat. A sharp pang of fear expands in my chest. I glance around for a weapon but only find the computer screen. Suddenly, what I was looking for earlier becomes obvious. “Wait!” I cry, pushing against his chest. “The barrels. They have white packaging with a piece of black tape over the top.”
“And?” he says, slowly releasing his hold on me, blinking away the anger possessing him.
I point to the screen. “Look. In the video, they have the same tape, but it’s thicker than I saw it downstairs, and it’s wrapped differently. There are two passes over the packages instead of one.”
“They’ve been tampered with,” he says, staring at the screen.
“That’s what I’m thinking.” Keeping my towel tight around my body. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
“Why?”
“Because there are some things we’ll need if you want to know for sure.”
* * *
After I write down what I’ll need, Pike storms out. I take the opportunity to get dressed in one of Pike’s t-shirts I find in the dresser since I don’t want to put the muddy ones back on. I comb through my wet hair and brush my teeth. I check the alarm clock on the nightstand. He’s been gone for over an hour, and I’m beginning to think he’s not coming back and has blown off my idea as another tactic of manipulation.
After almost two hours, the door opens. Pike enters with one of the packages from the truck and a crate containing plastic jugs of the chemicals I requested. I’m not going to ask him how he managed to get them since the only place I know of that would have them on hand are labs and industrial chemical plants.
“The kitchen will be easier,” I suggest. “More space.”
He motions for me to follow him. He sets everything down on the counter, and I go to work setting out what I’ll need, making sure to identify each liquid individually and placing them in a line in the order I’ll be using them. “You have a clean bowl? Glass would be preferred.”
He opens the cabinets and pulls out a brandy glass, setting it on the counter beside my elbow. “This will work.”
Pike takes a seat at the counter on one of the stools and watches as I work, delicately combining a fragile mix of chemicals that, if not handled properly, could blow this place to smithereens.
He shakes his head as if he can’t believe he agreed to this. “You could be building a fucking bomb for all I know.”
I shake my head and swirl the contents of the glass. “Nope, but it could do some damage in untrained hands,” I offer. “A bomb would require a current. A car battery or…” I notice Pike staring at me. It’s probably best not to explain to him how to build a bomb, never mind let him know I can build one with household items. A powerful one, too. “Uh, never mind.”
I glance to the plastic package. “Open it,” I instruct him.
Pike unsheathes his knife and is about to cut into the package.
I hold out my hand to stop him.
“What now?” he barks.
I smile flatly. “Wash it first.”
He rises to his feet and washes the knife in the sink with soap and water. The counter space is limited, his bicep brushing my forearm as he dries the now gleaming knife. The electric current I felt outside hums between us once again. My skin becomes all too aware of his presence, and I squeeze my legs together to stop the pulsing of unmet need pounding there.
I let out a held breath when he rounds the counter and again perches on his stool, putting some much-needed distance between us.
He stabs a hole into the package. “How many do you need?”
“Just one,” I reply. “Drop it into the glass.”
He scoops one pill from the package and hovers the knife above the glass. “Slowly” I say, crouching down so that I’m eye level with the glass. I raise my palm. “Very slowly.”
Pike lowers the blade inside the glass without touching the liquid. He slowly flips it, dropping the
white pill into the clear thick liquid. “What now?” he asks, sheathing his knife in his boot.
“Now, we wait.” I lift the glass, slowly swirling the contents. “It should only be a few…” The liquid begins to change to a light blue, and after a few seconds, it’s much darker, the color of the stuff used to unclog drains, confirming my suspicions.
I set the glass down carefully.
Pike leans over the counter, staring down into the glass. “Well?”
I point to the glass. “It’s definitely been tampered with. The MDMA has been laced with fentanyl and judging by the color…” I tap the rim. “This one pill contains a ton of it. If it were ingested…” I pause unable to process how someone could target innocent kids looking to have a good time, regardless of the reason behind it.
“What?” Pike asks, slapping his hands down on the counter.
I jump. “It would be lethal.”
Pike picks up the glass.
“What are you doing?” I ask, curiously.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, Pike takes the entire glass in his hand and looks at the color as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then, with an angry roar he throws the glass over my head and it shatters against the cabinets. I crouch down behind the cabinet, a failed attempt to hide from his wrath.
“Go to sleep,” he orders.
“You…you’re not?” I ask, not knowing how to finish my sentence because I don’t really know what I’m asking. You’re not going to murder me right now? Seemed too much like a reminder to keep him on task.
He balls up his fists. His chest is heaving. He leans his head against the wall and punches it with his fist. “Not tonight. Tonight, I have other shit I’ve got to deal with.”
I feel a strong need to comfort him, which is strange under the circumstances.
“Go to bed,” he orders again. He steps outside of the room. The locks click in place. I hear him talking on the phone, his voice fading as he moves down the stairs.
Bed? How can I sleep now? After all that’s happened? But the thought of how much I can’t sleep or just sleep at all makes me yawn, and I realize that I’m tired. Mentally. Physically.
Pike: The Pawn Duet, Book One Page 12