by Anthology
Liv looks at me with fear in her eyes. I hate it, but I love the way she’s holding herself together.
“Is it him?” She asks. Her voice is calm, if a little tight. We both know she’s scared, but she’s not the kind of girl who’s going to freak out on me.
“It’s probably nothing,” I reply. I doubt either of us believe it – I know I don’t, but there’s no sense in stirring things up.
“Why would he come back?” Liv asks. “You beat him once. Surely he knows it will all happen again?”
In my mind, I’m thinking he’s probably got a gun. That’s the only way any of this makes sense. Still, Russell never was too bright. Fingers crossed that he’s just coked up – or better yet, on something stronger – and thought he could take on the world. Still, I can’t say that to Liv. She’s strong, but if I tell her that, she’ll freak out.
“You got a cell phone?” I say, dodging the question. I had to ditch mine for a bit. It goes hand-in-hand with the whole on the run thing.
Liv blinks once, but to her credit she doesn’t panic. She pats her body down, searching for hers. I get a sudden flash of her doing exactly that – only wearing a whole lot fewer clothes. I blink it away. No time for that, not now.
Liv plucks her phone from inside one of the deep pockets of Ricky’s sweatpants. “Catch,” she says, and tosses it towards me. I pluck it out of the air. I’m practically dialing Declan’s number when it’s still in the air.
I key in the last digit, and press it against my ear. While I’m waiting for the call to connect, I meet Liv’s worried gaze.
“He’s crazy, Liv,” I say, glancing out the window for any sign of Russell, “he always was a bit weird: but the drugs changed him; messed with his mind. He fixates on things: people; women.”
Liv’s eyes widened with understanding. “And that’s why he’s –”
The call connects. Declan growls his name. I know my cousin doesn’t recognize the number. He sounds guarded. Smart.
“It’s Dylan. I’m at Ricky’s. I need you to send over some of your boys – like ten minutes ago.” I hang up. I doubt anyone’s got Declan’s phone tapped, but if they have, it’s best to keep things short and sweet. Besides, I know my cousin. He’ll do what needs to be done.
I jerk my head at the couch. “Sit down, will you? You’ll be safe in here. I promise.” I promise. The last two words echo in my mind. I hope I don’t make a fool of myself for saying them.
“I guess the mob thing comes in handy from time to time, huh?” Liv says, faking a laugh. Her voice is high and tight, but I’m proud of her. She’s holding things together – probably better than I would in her shoes.
I glance around the living room. There’s a window on either side – one facing towards the street, and one to the yard. I can’t cover both.
“Sure does,” I say, moving to the window that looks out into the yard. It makes sense that Russell would come from the back. “They won’t be long, neither. South Boston’s our town.”
“Is he –,” Liv says, her voice catching for the first time, “is he out there? Can you see him?”
I press my body against the wall, and crane my neck around the window frame to peek outside, just in case Russell’s in the mood to come out firing. I pull the curtains ajar, and a pillar of light floods out into the yard. It takes a second for my eyes to get used to the light. I scan left and right, but there’s nothing.
“Dylan…” Liv says quietly. There is something different about her voice now, but it doesn’t register.
“Just a second, okay, doll?” I shoot back, eyes straining to pick anything out of the murky gloom. He’s out there – I know he is. He must be.
“Dylan,” Liv says again, and this time pure terror squeezes Liv’s vocal cords. She can barely speak. It’s as good as a scream, or a cry of pain. I spin on the balls of my feet, and I see Russell’s leering expression from the window on the other side of the rickety old house. He’s standing in the flower beds, looking in.
He’s got a knife in his right hand.
My blood goes cold with rage. He’s threatening my girl, making her sad, and I’m going to make him fucking pay. No one does that, not here, not in this city, not to my fucking girl.
“Stay there!” I growl. I don’t know what it is about Liv, but I know I need her safe.
I flex my fingers around the baseball bat and rush for the front door. I glance at Russell’s eyes. He hasn’t moved, just turned his body a few degrees. They’re glazed over. He’s high as a kite. Of course he fucking is: he’s a disgrace.
I pull the latch open and rush outside. The cold December air kisses my skin, but I don’t notice it. It doesn’t matter I’m wearing just a T-shirt; the rage fueling me keeps me warm.
“What the fuck’re you doing here, Russell?” I growl. My bare feet crunch against the frosted grass. I toss the baseball bat from side to side. I don’t want to have to break his ribs, but I will if I have to.
“Jus’ give me the girl, Dy’ln,” he slurs, making a mess of my name. I bristle with anger at the man’s narcotic ineptitude. “And we won’ haf’ no problem now, will we?”
I bite my lip and exhale. A long, angry stream of steam escapes my mouth. I stare Russell down. I don’t think he’s realized exactly how screwed he is right now. He might have a knife, but I’ve got someone to protect. That matters a whole lot more.
“Be careful, Dylan,” Liv shouts from the doorway. She’s hugging her body for warmth. “Shall I call the police?”
Crap. What is she doing there? Why isn’t she on the sofa? “Get inside,” I growl. I don’t take my eyes off Russell. He might be high, but I know better than that. “Don’t call anyone. Dec’s boys won’t be more than a couple of minutes out. We can handle this.”
“Come here, bitch,” Russell slurs. “If you know wass’ good for you…” He takes a step forward, and catches his toes on the edge of the flower bed. He almost stumbles forward. I find myself hoping he falls on the blade in his hand. It would solve a whole lot of problems for a whole lot of people.
“Don’t you dare talk to her like that,” I growl. “You think she’s just property?” I spit. “That I can just hand her over to you like I own her? You think I would? To you?”
Russell looks taken aback by the barrage of anger I throw his way. He should. It’s not just anger I’m happy to throw – it’s punches, slaps, and most of all blows with the three foot long, four inch wide heavy piece of Missouri mahogany I’m wielding in my hand.
He shrugs. “You don’ need to be like ‘dis,” Russell says, pulling his face back into his chest so that he’s got half a dozen chins, “we can make a deal.”
“Jesus, how fucking stupid can you be?” I groan. I massage my forehead. “Get out of here before I call the cops. How much powder have you got on you anyway, you idiot?”
Russell scrunches his face up. It looks like the gears in his mind are cracking as he tries to decipher what I’m saying. “Enough,” he finally grunts. He’s got a sharp, rat like expression on his face – distrustful.
As if I’d try and steal anything off him.
“Enough to go down for a long time, I bet,” I say taking a step forward. Russell flinches. I guess the cold is finally breaking through his drug-induced fever dream. He’s waking up to how much trouble he’s in. I grin, pulling my teeth back. I can look hella scary when I need to. “That’s right, boy. Scared? You should be.”
“I’m not leaving,” he spits – literally. Spittle flies out of Russell’s mouth and trickles down his chin. I wrinkle my nose with disgust.
I glance down at the knife. He’s holding it loose in his hand. It’s like he’s forgotten it’s there.
I swing the baseball bat in front of me. Russell’s eyes chase it like an insect at night. He’s entranced by it. I spin it in a figure of eight, just for fun. He shakes his head, pulling himself back into the moment.
“The bitch,” he grunts, “give –”
“You stupid, stupid idiot,�
� I mutter. “I tried so hard to give you a chance. But you had to go and blow it, didn’t you?” I take a step forward, holding the bat by my side. Russell can’t tear his eyes away from it. Suddenly it looks like the peril of his situation is hitting home.
Headlights light up the street. I glance up to check it’s not a police car. The second I’m sure it’s not, I focus back on Russell. This isn’t a neighborhood where bystanders try and get involved in fights.
“Ye wanna sey tha’ again?” I growl. I’m not sure I’ve ever sounded more Irish. My voice is thick and slurred with anger.
Russell’s eyes light up with fire. It looks like another hit of whatever he’s been snorting tonight – or smoking – just lit up his brain cells. “Fuck you…” He spits. Then he charges forward.
I take a step to my left, and let Russell’s momentum do the work for me. He charges into the bat. I barely need to swing it into his stomach. It impacts with a dull thud.
“Oomph,” Russell grunts. He wheezes an entire lungful of air out in one long, horrible exhalation. He sounds like a dying animal. Yet fantastically, improbably, he pulls himself back upright. His fingers go white around the knife handle. It’s like the drug inside him isn’t letting him feel pain.
“Dylan?” Liv’s nervous voice calls out. Damn, I wish she was inside. I wish she didn’t have to see this. Still, there’s no way Russell is getting through me. Car doors thud closed in the distance.
I glance over my shoulder at Liv. She’s pointing out into the inky blackness. I look up and smile with relief. Four huge, hulking brutes just stepped out of the car. They’ve each got more muscle than Russell has fat. So, that means quite a lot.
“It’s all good, doll,” I call back. “They’re here for us.”
Russell charges forward. He’s like a wild animal suddenly realizing there’s no way out. He’s mad, terrified with fear. He’s holding the knife above his head like a serial killer from a horror film.
I grab the baseball bat with both hands and hold it like a spear in front of me. Russell tries to dodge it, but he’s too slow, too dulled by the influence of whatever he put up his nose. I ram the bat into his front, smashing it against his chest.
“That poor bastard,” an Irish voice says. “They probably heard his ribs crack in Chicago. What did he do to deserve that?”
I don’t take my eyes off Russell’s moaning body. I feel my voice filled with venom. “Enough.”
I crouch down next to Russell, and pat him down. Like I thought, he’s loaded down with enough schedule ones to kill a small elephant. Or – more likely – enough junk to spend the next eight years in jail. I hop back to my feet.
I glance up at one of Declan’s boys. He’s still wincing. I shake his hand. “Can I leave the cleanup to you?” I ask, nodding my head at Liv’s freezing figure in the doorframe. “I’ve got business to take care of.”
“Always,” the man replies, squeezing my hand tight. “What do you want us to do with him?”
My lips curl as I look down at Russell’s body. “Don’t touch him. Just dump him outside the police station on Harrison Avenue. They’ll put him away for a long time.”
Declan’s man whistles. “Harsh.”
“He shouldn’t have messed with my girl,” I spit. I nod my thanks at the men, toss the baseball bat down by Russell’s still-moaning body for them to get rid of, and walk back to Ricky’s house.
Liv’s face is taut with worry. “I thought –,” she says, stumbling. Her teeth are chattering from the cold. Her cheeks are red – for once kissed by the chill, not through embarrassment.
I pull her inside with me, and kicked the door closed. Then I hug her to my body, squeezing her tight. I’m warming her, and she’s warming me. We are quiet for a long time.
Liv pulls her head back. I relax my hug, just a touch, and look down at her face, wrinkling my brow. She chews her lip – just for a second – and then, like her mind is made up, she leans in and kisses me.
I wasn’t expecting that. My hands slip a bit, cupping her sides. Suddenly, she’s giving off waves of heat. It’s like something changed inside her.
Liv presses her lips against mine, her fingers clutch a handful of cotton from my back and tug at it, and then her fingernails rake my skin. Her tongue teases my lips apart, and then we are one. I lose myself in her, but she pulls away.
I’m panting. I’ve never been kissed like that. Hell, I’m usually the one doing the kissing, but this – this was different.
“I thought,” she says, closing her eyes as if she’s remembering a nightmare, “he was going to kill you…”
I chuckle, pulling Liv towards me. “There was never any doubt, doll, that I’d be just fine” I say, grazing her cheeks with my lips. My hands slip a bit more, until they’re just above her ass. I’m desperate to go further.
Liv bites her lip. She looks so cute like that. I just want to – hell, I can’t list the things I want to do to her; it would take too long. But it starts with taking her top off, right here, right now.
“You think,” Liv says, still biting that lip, and looking up at me with a coy, seductive expression, “I’m still under the influence?”
My cock twitches. Oh my God, this girl is perfect.
“Or do you think I can make my mind up about whether I’m ready for this?” Liv licks her lips. “Ready for you?” She shoots me a challenging glare.
My mouth goes dry: as does my throat. My stomach does a backflip. “You mean in my professional opinion?” I croak.
“In whatever damn opinion you like,” Liv grins. Then her hands slide down my body: and her hands are on my ass.
Then I’m falling into her. Then I’m falling for her.
Chapter 7
Liv
There are times in your life when your brain screams at you to run: to run as far, and as fast away as you can. This isn’t one of them. No, if anything my mind and body are, as one, urging me on.
The taste of Dylan’s lips grazing mine is a shock to the system. My heartbeat is up. It feels like a bird frantically flapping its wings inside my chest. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump, thump.
Dylan’s hands rove across my body. His fingernails scrape down my skin. I arch my back, and a hiss of air escapes my lungs. It feels so good.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
Dylan chuckles, the sound of laughter muffled by his heavy breathing. “Wasn’t planning on it, doll.” He nibbles my earlobe as he speaks. I bite my lip as his breath caresses my neck, as the vibrations from his deep, low voice ripple across my skin.
He grabs my ass, and pulls me up onto his body. I feel as light as a feather in his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he stumbles a bit as he carries me to his friend’s bedroom. I feel a momentary pang of guilt, but it’s wiped away by the searing heat of my desire.
Dylan rests one hand in the small of my back. It’s enough to support my entire weight. He rips the gray sweatshirt off my body in one motion. I’m wearing a white T-shirt underneath – equally as big. The cloth hikes up, and Dylan’s eyes fixate on my exposed skin.
“Goddamn, doll,” Dylan groans. It’s throaty, breathy. I can hear how much he wants me. Do you know how sexy that is to hear? “Did I ever tell you how much I like freckles?”
Dylan pushes me against the door, and it swings open behind me. The cool wood kisses my skin, and I flinch from the unexpected chill. I can’t speak. I’m paralyzed by desire.
Dylan walks me over to the bed. Every time he takes a step, my ass brushes against his growing cock. I don’t know who it’s affecting more – me, or him. His hardness feels huge. It’s hot, and I don’t know if I’m imagining it – but I think it’s throbbing. It almost feels like it is vibrating. I bite my lip. I must be imagining it.
I shake my head, finally remembering that when someone speaks – I’m supposed to reply. I try to move my mouth, but it takes an age before my brain responds. “Freckles?” I ask. My mind feels stuck. “Why?”
I
n truth, I’ve always been a little embarrassed by my pale skin, by my freckles, and by the fact that I can – and do – burn after just a few rays of weak winter sun.
Dylan pauses by the edge of the mattress, and stares at me. His eyes drink in every inch of my face. I blink, my forehead wrinkles, I want him to look away. I want him to throw me down. I want him to dive on me. I want him to eat me up.
In fact, I’m happy with whatever he does; anything except looking at me like that; like I’m… special. It’s making me uncomfortable.
Dylan’s chest explodes with a throaty, low roar. He pulls his hands from my back, and I’m falling in slow motion. The mattress caresses my back, and then Dylan’s on his knees, and on top of me. The heat of his thighs presses against mine.
“Because,” he growls, pushing the cotton T-shirt up and away from my stomach, “they’re like a map, freckles.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. He better not think of making that my new nickname!
Dylan kisses my stomach. A stream of electricity explodes from his lips, vibrating in circles like an earthquake in the sea, sending huge, rolling tidal waves of crackling pleasure across my body. My ass clenches, my back arches.
“Do that again,” I whisper. Maybe I order. I don’t care, such a little thing, but it felt so good.
Dylan chuckles again. “Oh, believe me, freckles, I was planning on it.” He kisses me again, half an inch lower, and again, and again. He layers the kisses like falling icing sugar, or the first brush of winter’s snow.
“A map that leads to where?” I moan asking a question to which I already know the answer.
Dylan drags his lips down, and I arch my hips upwards. He takes the opportunity to press his fingers against them, digging them underneath the elastic drawstring of my sweat pants. He kisses me again, beneath the belly button, and I can feel the heat of his chest melding with the heat that’s burning between my legs.
“I think you know, doll,” Dylan growls. His voice is hungry. He starts to pull the sweat pants down, inch by excruciating inch. The cool air kisses my skin. My head tips back. I’m so ready for this.