by Cynthia Eden
“Eddie . . . Eddie was shot, Sarah.”
Her eyes flew open. “What?”
“Guards thought he was attacking one of the nurses that was there to check on him. One of those guards fired at him. I’m sorry, but he didn’t make it.”
It felt as if someone had just punched Sarah in the gut.
“Brent told me that Eddie was acting erratically, saying things that didn’t make sense.” He turned to the right. “It had to be the drugs, still in his system. The kid never had a chance.”
No, he hadn’t. Tears stung her eyes but she blinked, trying to stop them from falling. Brent had told Jax all of this? She was sure starting to suspect that those two were closer than they’d let on. She knew Jax supposedly had informants all over the city. Was Brent part of his network?
“Sarah . . .” His voice was a growl. “Eddie tried to kill you.”
“You said yourself”—her words were hoarse—“he was just a weapon that bastard out there used. Aim and fire . . .” Only now Eddie was gone. And Molly . . .
Live, Molly, please.
SARAH THOUGHT SHE was so damn clever. Escaping from his fire. Getting the girl out.
He’d figured Sarah would leave that girl behind as soon as the bomb exploded. Why not leave her? Molly Guthrie had been dead weight—literally. But Sarah hadn’t been alone. Jax Fontaine had been with her.
Jax. Did the guy even realize how he fit into the game? When he’d seen the two of them together—kissing in front of everyone—rage had consumed him. Jax knew what Sarah was. Fruit of the fucking poisoned tree. And he was going to touch her? Screw her?
Jax didn’t get it. Sarah was the one screwing with him. She was a master at the mind fuck. Like her father, she showed the world only what she wanted them to see. A true manipulator, all the way to her core.
He’d underestimated her. He’d thought taking Sarah out would be easy.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He would show her—and Murphy—just how strong he’d become. He wasn’t helpless. He wouldn’t cower and beg for help any longer. Now, everyone would be begging him.
Sarah would beg.
Then she’d die.
As for Jax Fontaine . . . he smiled. Jax was a pawn that would be used. A pawn whose time had finally come.
Jax didn’t know it, but he knew all of Jax’s secrets. Every single one of them. He’d use those secrets.
Right now, Jax was protecting Sarah. Keeping his goons around her so that she’d never be vulnerable. But he’d get Jax to turn on Sarah. Before he was done, Jax would be serving Sarah up for death.
And Sarah would be screaming.
JAX SHUT THE door behind Sarah and secured his alarm. She stood a few feet in front of him, her shoulders slumped, her hair trailing down her back. As he watched her, Sarah moved forward a bit, and her fingers curled around the banister. “I feel safe with you.” She said those words as she began to climb up the stairs. “And that’s probably wrong, isn’t it?”
Behind her, he shook his head. Then he stalked toward her and picked her up. Sarah gave a little gasp of surprise.
“Nothing’s wrong between us,” he told her. His arms tightened around her. “You need to remember that.” He started carrying her up the stairs. She was so small and delicate compared to him. She almost felt too light in his arms.
She didn’t struggle in his hold. Sarah curled her hands around his neck and said, “I think you like carrying me.”
Guilty. He liked holding her. Sarah . . . fit.
“Just so you know, though, you don’t have to do this whole Rhett Butler routine to impress me.”
He laughed. Her words were so unexpected—after everything that had happened—the laughter just spilled from him.
And Sarah smiled.
Fuck . . . Sarah smiled. It was a real smile, one that made her dark eyes light up. He almost lost his footing right then and nearly sent both of them tumbling down the stairs. But he steadied himself and held her even closer.
“I’m already impressed plenty,” she said. “Promise.”
Get her up the stairs and into bed.
He concentrated hard. One foot. The other. He really just wanted to kiss her and fuck her, but he was trying to hold on to some control. For the moment. He knew, though, that when he got Sarah naked, his control would splinter.
By some miracle, they got to the top of the stairs. His cock was swollen, his muscles tight. He marched down the hall, but he didn’t take her to his bed. Not yet.
Take care of her. Sarah needed to see that he could be someone she could count on. Despite what the rumors said, he’d be more for Sarah than just a—completely unforgettable—fuck. For her, he’d be one hell of a lot more.
Always . . . her.
He took her into the bathroom. That had been one of the first rooms he’d had redone in that place. Now marble gleamed in the room. The tub—hell, the thing was big enough for five people, so it would easily fit him and Sarah.
He lowered Sarah to her feet. Then he backed away and turned on the water, making sure it was nice and hot. “Figured you’d want to wash off this day . . .” He sure as hell did.
Jax turned his back and reached for his shirt. He tossed it over his head even as he toed out of his shoes and then—
Sarah pressed a kiss to his back. Jax’s muscles went rock-hard at her touch. His hands were on the button of his pants. He eased that button open and slid the zipper down very carefully. As a general rule, Jax didn’t bother with underwear, and he sure didn’t want to hurt his overeager dick because he was frantic for Sarah.
“I like your tattoos,” Sarah said as her fingers trailed down his arms. So many tattoos were there. Milestones, from his life. From the times when he’d had to crawl out of the gutter. Those tats showed others where he’d been. They told him where he was going.
Sarah eased away from him. He heard the faint rustle of clothing, and when he looked back, Sarah was naked. Naked and fucking perfect.
Unlike him, she had no tats that colored her body. The only mark on her . . . that was the scar on her wrist, and he’d noticed that Sarah covered that mark from others. But not from me. She stood before him, completely naked, and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
The water kept pouring into that tub. Steam was rising lightly. Sarah slipped past him and lowered into the water.
She sank into it, sighing softly. That sigh was a lot like the sound she made when he was balls-deep in her. A sound of pure contentment. Pleasure.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Sarah asked. She’d reached for the soap and was rubbing it on her body. The lather was over her skin. Caressing the pink of her nipples. Sliding between the heaven of her legs.
Did she even realize that he’d bought that vanilla-scented soap just for her?
He slid in beside her, sending that water sloshing. Her hands reached for him, and Sarah was . . . stroking him with her slippery hands. The lather got on him, eased over his chest and down his abs.
Then Sarah reached for his cock. Her eyes were on his as she stroked him. Once. Twice. From root to tip. And her touch was incredible. Faster, harder, she stroked him.
If she was going to play, then he figured it was only fair that he did, too. He wrapped his hands around her hips, lifted her up, and onto him.
“Jax!”
He didn’t thrust his cock into her. Oh, he wanted to. But he was holding back then, for her. Show her what you can do. Her legs curled around his hips in that big tub, and she was straddling him as the water poured down. He had her in the perfect position. She was stroking his cock—hell, yes—and he could slip his fingers right between her spread legs. Right over her delicate folds and into her sex.
“Jax!” Her hold tightened on him, squeezing so good.
He trailed his thumb over her clit. He knew just how to stroke that button so that she’d shiver. And when Sarah pushed down against him, moving even harder, he knew that she liked what he was doing to her.
He wanted her to love it.
His fingers eased in and out of her. He kept his thumb on her clit, pushing down, rubbing harder, stroking her into a feverish pitch. And she kept her fingers wrapped around his cock. Working his erection again and again. It was a race then; he was pushing her, determined to make Sarah come first.
Come for him.
And she did. He felt her inner muscles clench around him as she choked out his name.
Yes . . .
He was staring into her eyes and he saw them go blind with pleasure. Her cheeks flushed a sweet pink and her lips parted as she tried to suck in air.
You belong to me. Did she realize it yet? She would, soon enough.
She sagged against him. “Jax . . .”
He rose, lifting her with him. They were both soaking wet as he took her back to the bed. He wasn’t about to stop so they could dry off. He needed her too much.
He lowered her onto the bed. Her legs were spread. Her breasts glistening with those tight nipples. He climbed on top of her. Kissed Sarah. Deep and hard because he loved her taste.
She arched against him. Her hands curled around his arms and her short nails bit into him.
He pulled away from her.
“Wait, Jax—”
He pushed between her legs. Lifted her hips up and put his mouth on her. He didn’t just want Sarah to come. He wanted her to break apart for him. To go insane with the pleasure. To know nothing but him and the way he could make her feel.
He licked her. He sucked her. He caressed her in and out . . . again and again, and her hips were jerking against him, but he held her easily, keeping her just where he wanted her. Where he needed her.
She shuddered when she climaxed again—and she screamed that time. Screamed for him. That was exactly what he wanted from her.
Maddened now, her taste pushing him to the edge, he grabbed for his box of condoms. He jerked one on and then plunged into her. There was no control. No holding back. There was only taking. Taking. Taking.
Her legs wrapped around him. He drove deeper. As deep as he could get. Faster and harder and deeper. The tension built, as the desire, the ravenous hunger he felt for Sarah, spiraled out of control. Her taste was on his lips and her sex took his cock. She was wet, hot silk around him, driving him the edge of sanity—then right fucking over that edge.
“Jax!”
He erupted when he felt her contractions. He poured into her, gutted out and consumed by the pleasure that whipped through him. Deeper and stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. The climax seemed endless, holding them both in its grip so that he knew nothing beyond the pleasure of the moment. The pleasure of . . . her.
“SARAH?” IT WAS her dad’s voice, seeming to come from a distance away. “Sarah, you’ve got to see the surprise I’ve got for you.”
Part of Sarah knew that the scene wasn’t real. It wasn’t a nightmare, either, not really. It was a memory and she was trapped. Trapped . . .
Sarah glanced up toward the stop of the stairs. “I’m down here, Dad!”
She saw the burlap sack, waiting in the corner. Frowning, she moved closer to it.
“Sarah, you’re not supposed to be down here.”
She whirled around even as her heart raced in her chest. “Dad! You scared me.”
He didn’t smile at her. His dark eyes glinted. “I’ve told you before . . . you don’t need to be afraid. It’s the rest of the world—”
“—that has to be afraid.” He told her that line so many times. But it wasn’t like she was some big, bad beast. She was Sarah Jacobs, cheerleader wannabe. “Dad, I think a pipe broke and got your bag wet. That smell is terrible!”
He moved forward. “That’s one of your presents. Though I was going to show it to you later. After your friends left.”
Her present was in that stinky bag?
Her dad turned on another light and the bulb shone down on that bag. The bag wasn’t just wet. Those stains on it were so dark in color.
“I heard about the trouble you had at school.” His lips thinned. “Your counselor called me . . . told me all about that boy . . .”
Her cheeks burned. “It’s nothing, Dad. I can handle him.”
“He has a history of picking on other kids. Bullying them. He’s older, he should know better.”
“I can handle him,” she said again.
Her dad smiled. “You don’t have to.”
Then he opened the bag for her.
Sarah screamed because Ryan . . . Ryan Klein was in that bag! Ryan’s eyes were closed. His face was ashen, and his throat had been cut . . . from ear to ear. A macabre smile that split open his neck.
Her screams wouldn’t stop. Because Ryan couldn’t be in that bag. This couldn’t be happening! This couldn’t be real!
She slapped her hand over her mouth. The nausea and the fear were rising. Sarah couldn’t stop herself.
She vomited. Again and again.
Her father pulled back her hair. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Happy birthday.”
Sarah jerked away from him. She grabbed the bag. “Ryan? Ryan!” He . . . fell out.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “He’s just a boy, Daddy.” A boy who’d said something mean. Ryan was just a boy, and . . .
Sarah looked up at her father.
He was smiling at her.
Ryan was a boy, a dead boy, and her father was a monster.
A monster.
“NO!” SARAH JERKED up in bed, sweat covering her, her heart racing too fast in her chest. Her fingers had a death grip on the covers and—
She wasn’t alone.
It was dark in the room, but she heard the squeak of wood. He was there, coming from the bathroom, coming toward her.
“Bad dream?” Jax asked as he slid into the bed and pulled her close to him. He had to feel the frantic thud of her heartbeat. That beat seemed to be shaking her whole body.
“N-Not a dream,” she managed to say. Her eyes squeezed closed, but she could still see Ryan Klein’s face. She’d never been able to forget that sight. “I wish it had been.” Because dreams couldn’t hurt you. Reality could.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. Sarah flinched. “No, don’t!” She tried to jerk away from him because . . . her dad had kissed her temple. After she’d found Ryan, he’d kissed her temple and thought that she’d understand why he’d killed the boy. Her father had thought that she’d be just like him.
“Sarah.” Jax said her name so softly. “Look at me, Sarah.”
She forced her eyes to open. He’d turned on the bedside lamp, and a warm pool of light spilled onto the bed.
“I’m here. Not anyone from your past. Me.”
He didn’t get it. Sometimes, she felt like her past was always with her, no matter where she went or what she did. Like a chain, dragging her back to hell.
“The past doesn’t matter.”
She shook her head. They both knew that was a lie. “You want LOST to find your family. They matter, Jax. Where we come from, where we’ve been, it always matters.” She looked into his eyes, knowing that he had to understand that truth.
“Do you think your past matters, even a little bit, to me?”
He sounded as if he meant those words. But he didn’t know all that she’d done. Not many did.
“What do you want from me?” Sarah asked him as she shook her head. Their attraction had been instant and undeniable. The sex between them was hot enough to incinerate but . . . what was Jax looking for? Why was he risking his life, protecting her? “Tell me,” she said, the words torn from her. “Tell me what you want from me.”
“Don’t you know it yet? I want everything.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have very much to give.” He should know that. The physical connection they had—that was more than she’d given to men in the past. She’d hooked up, but always slipped away before dawn. Always slipped away . . .
Just as she’
d tried to do with Jax.
Only she was back in his bed, when she’d never returned to the others.
“Sarah . . .” When he said her name that way, it sounded like a caress. “I always get what I want. You should know that.”
And she thought about the bar he owned, all of the businesses. The fortune he’d amassed. He’d pulled himself from nothing . . .
I want everything.
But why did he want it with her?
“You’ve never even asked me . . . about him.” Others had. They’d asked with a sick curiosity. With disgust. With pity. With fear in their eyes. Different emotions, but they’d always asked.
She felt him shrug against her. “If you want me to know, you’ll tell me.”
Her breath came out on a ragged gasp. So simple. So . . . “I wish I didn’t know.”
The back of his knuckles slid over her arm. “Why? Do you think it makes any difference to me? You aren’t your father.”
“But that’s why he’s after me.” The man who’d taken Molly. The devil in the darkness. “To punish me for my father’s sins.”
“No, Sarah.” His knuckles slid over her skin once more in an oddly soothing caress. “He just wants to punish your father.”
“I want to punish him, too.” Those words tumbled out. “I wish, so many times, that I’d been strong enough to stop him.”
“Sarah?”
“Eight months,” she said, shuddering. “I knew what he was for eight months, and I didn’t stop him.”
“You were a child—”
“I’m a liar.”
He stiffened.
“I first heard the screams when I was six. I let him tell me to just go back to sleep. I listened to him. There were other signs . . . other nights when I’d wake up. Things he’d say and do, but I ignored them . . . he was my father, and he loved me.”
No, he didn’t. He just acted as if he did. He’s a psychopath. Psychopaths don’t love. They mimic. She’d learned all she could about her father’s condition when she’d been in school. Her father had driven her to become a profiler because by that point . . .