Shattered

by Cynthia Eden

  “Then don’t trust me, but come with me.” His hand was still open, between them. Waiting. “And before this night is over, I’ll have you screaming with pleasure.”

  Her heart jerked in her chest. “Maybe you’ll be the one who screams.”

  He smiled at her. “You are not what others expect, are you?”

  Not at all. Her hand lifted. Her fingers were trembling as they reached for his. He caught her hand in his. Held tight.

  “There’s no going back now,” he told her.

  No, there wasn’t.

  Just a few hours.

  He didn’t take her back through the bar. They went out another door, one that led them to the alley behind the bar. She could hear voices back there. People talking. Laughing. She saw one couple against the wall of that alley, kissing and stroking each other.

  She quickly looked away from them and then saw that Jax was getting on a motorcycle. It was a big, black beast of a bike. He revved the engine, and the hard, rumbling growl filled her ears. He glanced back at her. “You’re not afraid of a little ride in the dark, are you?”

  No. She jumped on. He put a helmet on her. “To keep you extra safe.” Then he kissed her. A light, fast kiss.

  In the next moment, that motorcycle was lunging through the alley, then ripping down the street. Fast, faster, until it seemed like they were flying. And it was wonderful. The motorcycle was vibrating between her legs, her arms were wrapped tightly around Jax, and Sarah heard herself laughing.

  She didn’t know where they were going. Right then, she didn’t care. The ghosts from her past weren’t chasing her—or trying to use a knife to slice open her throat. She was with Jax.

  And right then, being with him was the only thing that mattered.

  DR. SARAH JACOBS had gone slumming.

  From the shadows, he watched as she climbed onto the motorcycle. Watched as she held her lover so tightly. When the motorcycle took off, her laughter rose above the roar of that bike.

  Sarah was a woman who was so very good at pretending. Pretending to be innocent. Pretending that she wanted to help the victims of the world. But he saw right through her lies.

  He recognized her for exactly what she was.

  Dark and twisted. Broken on the inside. Like a mirror that had been busted, then pieced back together, cracks all along the surface. Sarah had those cracks, right beneath her skin.

  Did she even realize the hell that was coming her way? Probably not. She thought she was the smart one. The woman who could figure out all the killers.

  She’d never figure him out.

  Tonight’s little visitor—that had just been the start of what he had planned. The true games were about to begin. Then he’d see just what Sarah knew . . .

  But first, he had to start with the right prey. Someone who would catch Sarah’s attention. No, not just her attention, but the attention of the entire LOST group. Because Sarah just followed orders, and he needed her boss to order Sarah to stay in New Orleans.

  Soon, Sarah would realize that she didn’t know killers nearly as well as she thought.

  And I’m coming for you, Jax. Jax Fontaine. The name whispered in New Orleans like the man was supposed to be someone. You’re nothing. You’ve always been nothing.

  Jax and Sarah were bound, linked, and they’d both be crashing and burning together.

  It was almost perfect that Sarah and Jax had found each other.

  Because it sure as hell made things easier for him.

  He’d planned to take them out separately, but this—this was fucking fate. His justice. They’d come together, and it was his time.

  His time to make them both pay.

  SARAH LIKED DANGER. Jax had realized that fact when she laughed as he cut through the city on his motorcycle. She hadn’t even hesitated to jump on behind him.

  Sarah Jacobs . . . such a mix of contradictions. She looked so controlled on the outside, all business, but then when you looked in her eyes . . .

  I see the truth.

  Fire. Passion. Her eyes burned for him.

  He’d driven the motorcycle to one of his newest acquisitions, a house in the Quarter, not too far from the old La Laurie mansion. He headed past the main gate and parked his bike. Sarah didn’t climb off right away. Her body was pressed to his back, her hands wrapped around his stomach. He liked the way she held on to him—so tight. But he had a feeling he was going to like plenty of other things about Sarah, too.

  She slowly let go and eased off the motorcycle. Sarah handed him the helmet and turned to look around.

  He rose, too, and typed in a quick code to send the gate shutting behind them. He’d just started renovating the house, so it wasn’t much to see. Not yet. One day, though, it would be.

  Sarah was staring up at the high stone wall that circled his property. Her gaze seemed centered on the broken bottles that were placed on the top of the wall.

  She glanced back at him, her brows raised.

  “It’s an old trick we use down here,” he explained to her. “If anyone tries to scale the wall, they either get cut or they knock the bottles over—and I hear them coming.”

  She gave a little shake of her head. “I would have thought your security system would be all the protection you needed.”

  “A man can never be too safe.” He turned and headed toward the house. But he didn’t hear the sound of her footsteps following him. Jax glanced back. She was still staring up at the broken bottles. “You haven’t changed your mind?” He was having trouble believing that she was actually there with him. Sarah. If the woman knew that she’d been starring in his fantasies every night since they’d met, she’d probably be trying to scale that wall, broken bottles or not. There was just something about her. The minute he’d seen her, she’d just . . . clicked for him.

  “I haven’t.” Her voice was soft, but she’d finally started walking toward him. “I’ve been . . . here . . . in this area of town before. I didn’t realize you lived here.”

  “I’ve got a few houses, scattered about.” He shrugged. “Sometimes, it’s a good thing to have more than one base for operations.” No, that wasn’t the truth. He liked to acquire things. It was a quirk—or an obsession. But when you grew up with nothing, well, you had a tendency to want everything.

  He opened the door for her. A curving spiral staircase led upstairs. The staircase was one of the finished elements in the house. He fucking loved that staircase.

  And I’d love fucking her on it.

  “Why this place?”

  He shut the door behind him. Secured the alarm system in the house. “I got a great deal on it.” He gave her a tight smile. “Not everyone wanted to be so close to the massacre house.”

  She tensed.

  “The La Laurie mansion,” he explained as he propped his shoulders against the door and studied her. “It’s just down the road a bit. Those haunted tours come this way several times a day, everyone so eager to get a glimpse of the place—and maybe see a ghost or two.”

  She rubbed her arms. “Now I know why this house seems familiar.”

  “Went on a tour, did you?”

  Her dark eyes held his.

  “Like you’d be afraid of a few ghosts.” And he stalked toward her. He just had to get closer. She was standing in front of those stairs and looking so beautiful that she made him ache. “I actually wonder . . . does anything scare you?”

  Her hand curled around the banister. “The man and woman who used to live in that house—the ones who hurt all of those people—they scare me. Real-life people always scare me more than any ghost story . . . because I know just how evil we can be.”

  We? He caught her hand. The sleeves of her coat came down to her wrists. He brought her left hand up to his mouth. “I don’t think you’re evil at all.”

  “Maybe you just don’t know me that well.”

  Damn, but he liked her.

  He held her hand. Stared into her eyes. And thought about all the ways he wanted to have her. Hi
s hand slid around her wrist. He could feel her pulse racing right there and—

  There was a long, thick line beneath his fingertips. Frowning now, he pushed back her coat sleeve as he stared at her wrist. There was a scar there, one that appeared to slice over the veins.

  “I usually do a better job of keeping that covered,” Sarah said, voice soft. “Tonight, I just didn’t bother. I figured you’d be able to deal with me, scars and all.”

  His index finger slid over that scar.

  “If you use your dominant hand to make the first cut and that cut is too deep, then your other hand won’t be able to slice when the time comes.”

  His gaze snapped back to her face.

  “Just a lesson I learned.”

  “You tried to kill yourself.” Fury pumped through him. Sarah—dead? No.

  “I was a teenager, utterly scared out of my mind.” But then she shook her head. “It wasn’t the fear that did it, though. It was the guilt.”

  He didn’t understand. “Sarah?”

  “You know who I am.” She stepped closer to him. And her bittersweet smile made his chest ache. “Oh, not all the specifics, because few people know those sordid details, but you know my father—”

  “—was a serial killer.” Yes, he knew that. Murphy Jacobs, a man convicted of murdering five people, though he’d been suspected in the deaths of at least a dozen more.

  “You know and you don’t look at me like I’m a freak.”

  “Because you’re not.” His finger slid over that scar again. They’d be coming back to that, later. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

  The smile became less bittersweet. “If that’s the case, then why are we wasting time just talking? Couldn’t we be doing . . . other . . . things?”

  Ah, so the sharing was over. For the moment. That was fine. He knew that he’d learn more about her soon enough. When it came to Sarah, he was learning that he had a rather insatiable curiosity. “You’re right,” he murmured.

  Her lips parted.

  “So come this way.” Then he turned and headed into the den. He made his way into the kitchen and found a bottle of wine. Chilled and rich, just what he thought she might enjoy. But when he turned back around, he found Sarah frowning at him.

  “What?” He lifted the wine. “Not your style?”

  “You don’t have to wine me and dine me.”

  He used a corkscrew to open the wine. Jax grabbed two glasses.

  “I want to fuck you, Jax. I thought I made that clear.”

  Fuck you. His eyes closed for a moment. “I was trying not to strip you and take you on the stairs.” He turned back toward her. Offered her a glass of the wine. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard about me . . .” Though he could well imagine. “But I can be gentlemanly, to a degree.”

  She tasted the wine. Then she downed it in one gulp—like it had been a shot glass.

  His lips twitched.

  “I don’t remember asking you to be gentlemanly.”

  He took his time savoring the wine, the way he planned to savor her.

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” she said. “So, um, not to rush you or anything here but—”

  Jax put down the wineglass. “We have as long as we want.” Then he made his way to her. Slowly, letting his gaze sweep over every inch of her body. “There’s no one here but me and you. No one to see us. No one to hear us.” His hand lifted and sank into her hair. “So you don’t have to pretend here with me. You can let go.”

  Her lips parted in surprise.

  That’s right, Sarah. I know who you are on the inside.

  “Let go,” he told her, “and go wild, for me.” Then he kissed her. She’d been sweet before, so delicious, but now with the taste of that wine on her lips, she was more than enough to make him a little drunk.

  Her hands curled around his shoulders and she leaned up to him. She was kissing him back with a passion that had his cock jerking and wanting to shove deep in her. As deep as he could go. And, as he’d told her, she could scream for him. Scream and scream and he’d be the only one to hear her.

  He shoved away Sarah’s jacket. It hit the floor. He yanked up her shirt and tossed it aside. She wore a light blue bra, one that lifted her breasts, pushing them up so perfectly toward him. He just had to lick them.

  “I don’t need foreplay,” Sarah gasped, her words husky and hot. “I just want you.”

  But he wanted foreplay because Jaxe wanted to learn every inch of her body. He picked Sarah up, and her hands tightened around him. “My house,” he told her, “my rules.” He carried her back into the den. Then spread her out on the couch. He’d have her on those stairs later. Have her in his bed. But first . . . he’d taste all of her.

  He stripped the rest of her clothes away. Left the thin scrap of light blue silk that covered her sex. Her nipples were tight and flushed pink and when he took one into his mouth, she nearly bolted off the couch. Such a lovely start. But he’d have much more.

  His hand slid between her legs. Pressed to the silk of her panties. Sarah’s hips surged up against him. Now that was nice.

  “Don’t play,” she ordered him, her voice a sensual temptation that shot straight to his cock. “I want you, now.”

  But first, he wanted her to come.

  He pulled the panties down her legs. Let his fingers skim over her thighs. Sarah was delightfully bare and he loved that. Nothing in his way. He could look and touch and take.

  And he did. He parted her legs and opened her sex to him. His fingers trailed lightly over the delicate flesh. A half moan slipped from Sarah when he thrust his index finger into her. So tight. She was going to feel fucking insane around him. But first—

  Taste.

  He put his mouth on her. Sarah’s hips surged, not to get away from his lips, but to get closer. He licked her. He sucked and he realized she tasted far, far better than the wine.

  His fingers stroked her even as his mouth learned all her sweetest spots. And when she stiffened beneath him, when she called out his name, he licked her even more.

  Jax tasted her pleasure when she came.

  In-fucking-credible.

  He put on a condom. Positioned his body right between her legs. Then he waited for her gaze to find his. Because he needed to stare into her eyes when he took her.

  Sarah looked up at him. Her eyes were even darker than before. He caught her hands in his, making sure to use care with her bandage so he didn’t jostle her injury.

  Then . . .

  He took.

  Jax plunged into her, driving deep in one thrust and—heaven. As close to it as he’d ever get, anyway. She was tight and wet and hot and he was pretty sure his head might explode at any moment. He thrust in and out, moving in a frantic rhythm because his control was shot to hell and back. Sarah was with him, arching toward his hips wildly, moaning his name, calling out to him to move—

  “Harder! Faster! Yes!”

  She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The sexiest woman he’d ever met.

  She came for him again. When her sex tightened around him, squeezing along the length of his cock, he erupted.

  THE REDHEAD STOOD in front of the bar, her hands twisting at her sides. The crowd was heavy around her, jostling and laughing. On Bourbon Street, the party never ended.

  Never.

  People of all ages were out there. Seventy-year-olds. Sixteen-year-olds.

  This girl—she was older than sixteen. She barely appeared to be legal, but he knew she was past the age of twenty-one.

  Some frat boys called out to her, and she tensed. She didn’t speak back to them. Maybe she realized that would have just been a mistake. They would have kept talking to her. Kept flirting. Maybe wanted more.

  There was plenty of “more” to be found on that street. Strip clubs waited just a few doors down. Girls were in front of those doors, too, but not girls like this one. Those girls were wearing see-through negligees and high heels. Scraps of panties and bras that j
ust revealed instead of concealed. They were calling out to all the men and women who passed, promising them private shows.

  The girl with the long red hair—hair she’d pulled back in a braid—didn’t look as if she wanted to give anyone a show. Instead . . .

  “Are you waiting for someone?” he asked her.

  She spun around. Her eyes found his. He saw the hint of fear there and realized that he’d startled her.

  Before he was done, he’d do more than just make her nervous. He’d terrify her.

  “I am.” Her shoulders straightened. “My brother. He said he’d meet me after my shift tonight.”

  Oh, but he can’t, baby. Your brother is in jail. Seems he tried to attack a woman in her hotel room and got his ass tossed in a cell. He snapped his fingers together. “I knew you were Molly! Eddie is a buddy of mine. He asked me to swing by and make sure you got home all right.”

  But Molly backed away from him. “You don’t . . . look like one of Eddie’s friends.”

  Mostly because he wasn’t one of Eddie’s friends. Despite what the fool had thought. “He’s done some work for me before.” He smiled at her. “The kid has a gift with that guitar of his. I’ve had him do a few gigs at some of my places around town.”

  Her smile came then, slow, but there.

  He offered her his hand. “My name’s Jax. Jax Fontaine.”

  Her fingers curled around his.

  She was still so hesitant. She held his hand a moment, then immediately let go. “I . . . um, thank you for coming out, but I can get home just fine by myself.”

  Molly wasn’t one of the strippers or dancers. She didn’t even tend bar. She had a job as a dishwasher at the bar across the street. She worked nights and went to the community college during the day.

  “I know, Molly,” he told her, as he inched a bit closer. “I know why you don’t like to walk home alone and I know why your brother made me swear I’d see you home safely tonight.”

  She caught the end of her braid. Pulled a bit nervously on it.

  “Your mother,” he said, voice soft and sad. He thought he added just the right touch of sympathy. An amount sure to fool Molly.

  She flinched.