Stepping back, I sniffed, feeling light. “I found a way to solve our little problem,” I told him matter-of-factly. I tapped at the suitcase, pinging the rickety thing open to reveal stacks upon stacks of bills. They rolled onto the linoleum floor, their rubber bands sticking to the ground.
My father gasped, bringing his hands to his mouth. “Luna, no,” he whispered. His eyes blinked back tears. “How on earth did you—”
I held up my hands, stretching my fingers toward the sky. I hadn’t lied to my father in years. I hadn’t needed to, especially when he told enough lies for the both of us. “Don’t ask me any questions about where I got it, because I won’t be able to tell you.”
My father knelt down, his knees creaking. The mechanics of him were busting down, leaving his heart slow, his knees aching.
“You won’t be able to tell me?” he asked, his words soft.
“I just need you to take this to that loan shark as soon as you wake up tomorrow,” I said. I lowered myself to his level and tossed the bills back into the suitcase, as if they would be safer there. “And once the loan shark’s paid, Dad, I need you to never deal with him again. Okay?”
My father’s eyes, filled with about a thousand questions, met mine. This was exactly how he’d looked when I was 13, when he’d found out I’d skipped school to hit a downtown clothing sale.
The fact of it was, my father’s gambling addiction had started to get bad around then, and he hadn’t noticed that I didn’t have any clothes without holes in them. I had been ridiculed, the portrait of hideous ’90s fashion as I’d scrambled together outfits from whatever my mother had left behind when she’d passed. He’d grown angry with me when he found out, grounding me for a week. Not that he had ever been around to see if I stuck to his rules.
But I was 25 now, and he was more of a child than I ever had been.
“I still can’t wrap my head around this,” he said, his voice soft.
In the next room, the chess tournament went to a rare commercial break. A bright-voiced woman told us about her favorite brand of laundry detergent, demonstrating stain removal in a three-step process. I shuddered, knowing I needed to get away from this cash as soon as I could.
“Just promise you’ll do this for me, Dad. For yourself,” I said sternly.
“What have you gotten yourself into, Luna?” he asked, pressing the suitcase closed and eyeing me. “You aren’t doing anything illegal, are you? You’re not—”
“I’m not doing anything you need to worry about,” I told him. I rose from my squat and readjusted my dress, my nostrils flared. “And if this all goes according to plan, we won’t have to speak about this ever again. All right?”
My father looked hopeful for the first time in years. He rose from the floor, looking poised to either hug me or shake my hand—I wasn’t sure which. In the awkwardness that fell around us, my chest felt crushed, weighted down.
“I’ll do it,” he finally said. “First thing when I wake up tomorrow. Luna, do you want to stay here tonight?”
I gestured toward the driveway, where the Mustang motor still ran. “I’ve got a friend waiting for me. But I’ll call you tomorrow, all right, Dad?”
I moved toward the door and stepped back out onto the front porch without giving him another moment to hesitate, to hum and haw. My gaze landed on the crooked porch swing, and I felt an urge to curl up in its cold embrace.
Jumping into Colt’s car, I gave him a crooked smile. Wrapping my hand around the thickness of his wrist, I waited until his blue eyes met mine. He looked almost shy, a bit ruffled, his blond hair hanging around his ears.
“I have an idea,” he said.
Back in the house, my father turned off the television. He moved up the steps, turning off one light after another until he reached his bedroom.
“What is it?”
“I say we get a motel room to rest up a bit before our full-day journey tomorrow.”
“Oh, a restful stop, you say?” I asked him, my eyebrows high.
“I think we both deserve it after the day we’ve had.”
“If you say so. I know of an almost decent motel back near the diner,” I said, instructing him out of the neighborhood. “One of the finer establishments in the state, according to Forbes magazine.”
“Oh yes. I think I read that article,” he joked.
As we drove back the way we’d come, I allowed my head to fall back on the headrest. Easing my hand across the armrest, I found my fingers intertwining with his. I sensed that Colt had nothing restful in mind for our night at the motel, but I was happy to be along for the ride right now. I would enjoy his company, tire him out, and then sneak back to my car at the diner before he awoke.
It was a failsafe plan, just as long as I took every precaution.
I couldn’t afford a misstep.
Chapter Seven
Luna
Colt checked us into the motel, leaving me to hang around the Mustang while he paid with whatever remaining cash he had. “We’ll have to pick up some more on the way down,” he told me in a cold whisper, presumably meaning we’d have to steal it.
I gave him a confident grin in return, not wanting him to think for a moment that I was playing him. “Let’s think about all that later, Colt. Tonight’s been enough already, don’t you think?”
I’d never actually been inside the motel, just driven past it countless times on my way to and from the diner. It was two stories and gray, with broken numbers lining the doors. I’d long thought the place was only still running due to various out-of-town affairs or sad drifters passing through on their way to someplace else. But when Colt unlocked the door and revealed the interior, I was pleasantly surprised.
The bed was crisp and clean and had a magenta comforter with a strange bit of homey charm. A large, vintage mirror in the corner allowed me to see Colt and me as a couple for the first time: the tall, broad-shouldered man of the road in his sexy leather jacket, his blue eyes scanning the room, and me, short and petite with long, auburn hair.
I shivered, clasping my hands over my stomach. With a flourish, Colt bounced onto the bed. His eyes were alert, hungry-looking again.
“You said you wanted to get some sleep?” I asked. I was trying to be playful, but my voice shook with sudden anticipation.
“Maybe we’ll get to sleep in a little while, but for now, I have something else planned.”
“I didn’t realize we’d have organized activities,” I murmured.
“You thought wrong,” he growled.
Smacking his hands on his lap, he ushered me forward. Smoothly, I brought my legs up onto the bed, wrapping them around his waist. The intensity in the air around us seemed to grow with each passing second, booming in my ears. With our lips just an inch away from one another’s, I paused, inhaling his musky, manly scent.
As I began to say something—to stall—he thrust himself forward, kissing me. My self-assured demeanor fell away as I gave over to his confidence, his arrogant strength. His large hands wrapped tightly around my waist, clinging to me, forcing my groin against his erection, which rose up from his pants.
“Jesus,” he whispered, breaking the heat of our kiss. “I can’t handle myself around you.”
Gruffly, he thrust me off him and onto the bed. Then, he reached under my dress and teased his way up my slender, pale thighs, before easing a single hand between my legs. He touched me, at first softly, gazing into my eyes. I grew wet at his touch, and allowed my lips to part with pleasure. A long, smooth moan escaped my mouth.
God, I could have had him touch me forever.
But he had something else in store.
Leaving me alone on the bed for a moment, Colt reached toward the backpack he’d brought in from the car. Inside, he found a long, thin rope, which he lashed through the air with a violent, muscled motion. I shivered, but I didn’t have the voice to speak.
“All right, little country girl, time to test your limits,” Colt murmured.
After fully
undressing me, he reached forward, bringing the rope around my wrists and tying me to the top of the bed, locking me in place. I felt the ropes close tightly around my skin and wondered for half a second if this had all been a ploy—if Colt’s plan all along had been to kidnap me and murder me in the motel of my choosing.
Shivering with anxiety, I glanced up at him and saw only lust in his eyes. I was stretched thin before him, my naked skin gleaming in the soft lamplight.
Colt undressed, revealing the hardness of his impressive cock. Straddling me, he kissed my breasts, his tongue coming out to flick at my nipples. My breath came in spasms as I inhaled the musk of him.
“I’m going to fuck your brains out,” he whispered into my ear, making me shiver.
After easing his hand down the center of my chest, past my flat stomach, and all the way to the space between my legs, he began to tease my clit, smiling slightly as he watched me squirm. Unable to do anything but watch, as my hands were still tied above my head, I felt completely at his mercy—strained, tied, helpless.
As the pleasure grew, I arched my back, pushing my soft wetness toward Colt’s face. He kissed me between my legs, running his tongue over my lips. My brain nearly exploded from the intimacy of it.
This boy was going to destroy me.
Suddenly, Colt moved upward, bringing his large, throbbing manhood into me, grabbing my ass as he thrust himself in as far as he could. Gasping from the pleasure of it, I wrapped my legs around his waist and began to meet his thrusts. The sex was rougher and wilder than it had been at the diner. Beads of sweat raced down my temples as he railed into me over and over, both of us gasping and crying out.
I could sense Colt was going to come, could feel him pulsing inside me. Crying out, I closed my eyes as I allowed myself to fall into an orgasm alongside him. Our bodies clenched and released, making us fall into exquisite pleasure for what seemed like an eternity before Colt collapsed beside me.
“Wow,” he said breathlessly. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached toward me and kissed me. The heat of his mouth turned me on even more. His tongue parted my lips and glided along mine as we shuddered in the wake of what had been the best sex of my life.
Of course, I would never tell him so.
As I began to come down from my orgasm, falling into the great post-coital hangover, I watched as Colt leafed through his pants pocket to find a packet of cigarettes. He lit one with a flash of his lighter and took a long, even drag before offering it to me. I shrugged playfully, flicking my eyes up toward the ropes, which still held me tight.
“Don’t suppose you’re going to untie me, eh?” I asked him, giggling slightly.
“I kind of like to watch you squirm like that,” he said. “It’s sexy.”
“Ha. I’m telling you, it won’t be sexy when I punch you in that handsome face of yours the moment you release me,” I teased.
Cigarette still burning between his lips, Colt reached upward, untying the ropes. He allowed them to fall to the other side of the bed, out of sight, as I traced my fingers across the red indentations on my wrists. Tucking my head against his shoulder, I found myself experiencing a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss. These were the strangest circumstances of my life, bar none, and yet I had no urgency within me to flee.
“You know, I’ve never even left this city before,” I whispered, reaching up and turning off the light. “Never met anyone who was on his way out, either. It seems that if you’re born here, you die here. And you aren’t allowed to dream otherwise.”
Colt didn’t answer, not for a long time. After stabbing his cigarette into the ashtray on his side table, he wrapped a firm bicep around my head and held me close.
“That’s the way it was in Detroit. I never thought much about leaving until I had to.”
I nodded, sensing the story rumbling beyond the surface. Drugs? Murder? I couldn’t even imagine. And yet, safe in his arms, caught in his powerful, masculine presence, I wanted to be with no one else. My eyelids closed, my lashes fluttering across my cheeks as fantasies rose to the surface of my mind.
Suppose I did leave Iowa City? Suppose I chased after Colt, fell in love with him the proper way, somewhere between here and the edge of Texas? Suppose we got married in Mexico, learned Spanish and how to make tamales, tanned our skin beneath the summer sun, and never felt lonely again?
Colt was powerful, passionate—dangerous. These were all the things I’d been lacking in my life before he’d arrived in Iowa City. And as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t quite imagine letting him go without me.
Chapter Eight
Wes Kraemer
I got word my place had been robbed at around five in the morning. One of my men, Hank, dialed me up and said there was something suspicious about the back fence—busted, he’d said—and that the back window was cracked open. When he went in, sure enough, the safe had been cleared out.
I’d been robbed before. Years ago, when I hadn’t had such a bad reputation around town, people had begun to take advantage of me and my services—taking a bit too much here and there and then not paying it back. Oftentimes, they’d learn where I kept my goodies and sneak in, taking whatever they pleased—like kids in a candy store, frankly. But I’d taken care of them.
Violence was the only answer in my book. People didn’t listen to reason.
At nine in the morning I flew into the parking lot of the loan office, parking in my usual place, and then stabbed my boot onto the gravel, eyeing Hank, who was off to the side, smoking a cigarette. He was hunched over, short but powerful, especially in the shoulders and arms.
Hank tossed his smoke into the gravel and stomped it out, not bothering to wave. He knew I hated that shit, the pleasantries. In the Midwest, it was what everyone did. Wave hello. Ask how you were doing. Give good thoughts to your folks. It was disgusting.
Hank and I headed into the office, locking the door behind us. He pointed toward the far corner of the next room, where, sure enough, the lock had been tossed to the side and the rusty safe was empty, void of all the cash I’d had lying around, wrapped up and ready.
“Fuck,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. “And we’ve got no clue who might have done this? Not Bob and the others?”
Hank shook his head, looking unfazed. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the broken blinds. “Actually, boss,” he said, his words slow, “I received a payment this morning. A bunch of cash from a Jim Priskin.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, sinking down into my desk chair, having lost any sense of excitement. “The one with the gambling addiction? That pathetic asshole?”
“The very one. He owed us twenty thousand, you remember,” Hank said.
“Sure, but he ain’t ever going to get us that money. Such a sad little man, putting his life in danger like that. And they say his daughter ain’t got much in the way of money, either. Seen her tight little ass at the diner last week. Poor kid. Don’t know her daddy’s about to lose all his fingers.”
But as I spoke, Hank revealed a backpack beneath the other desk. With a slow, smooth motion, he unzipped it, revealing bundles of cash inside—all organized in 50s. My jaw all but dropped to the floor.
“That from Jim Priskin?” I asked Hank, incredulous.
“Yup,” Hank affirmed. “But, boss, there’s something else.”
I flung myself from my chair and wrapped my hands around the money, piecing through it, feeling giddy. Nothing gave me a hard-on like a good stack of bills. “What?”
“It’s the same cash that was stolen out of the safe,” Hank said. “I checked the serial numbers before you got here. The exact money that was stolen from you has been returned to you in the form of a payment.”
The bills fell from my fingers like leaves in autumn. They scattered to the floor around my boots as I scrunched up my face, unable to hold my laugh in another moment.
“Old Jim boy stole from us and expected us not to notice that he was returning the very same bills?” I cackled.
“Oh, Jesus. This is some of the best news I’ve heard all year.”
“Pretty fuckin’ stupid,” Hank offered. “Only an idiot would do this, boss.”
“Damn right, Hank. Damn right,” I said, shaking my head. “I suppose this just became an opportunity to deliver some rough justice, didn’t it?”
“Absolutely,” Hank said. “I’m at your service, as usual.”
“Sure, sure,” I said, collecting more bills from the backpack. I felt like a grubby kid digging for the toy at the bottom of the cereal box. “Bring old Jimmy to me, Hank. Don’t let him live another moment longer thinking he got away with this.”
Hank turned from the room, finding his stride as he walked his stubby form back toward his little dark green car parked in back. I watched as he hopped into it, donning a black baseball cap and starting his trek toward Jim’s place.
Rubbing the bills together in my hands, I allowed my imagination to roll. What could I possibly do to Jim that would make him more miserable than everything he’d already done to himself?
I’d have to be creative. My line of work wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Chapter Nine
Colt
The beautiful girl slept in the crook of my arm as I awoke beside her, smelling of lilac or lavender or whatever perfume she’d chosen. I lifted my head from the pillow, my eyes blinking at the sad motel room: the drab blinds half-covering the window, the crooked crack down the wall, the mirror in the corner, reflecting light back at me.
Where was I again?
Turning toward Luna, I cradled her close to me, feeling the warmth of her chest. We were naked, pressed tightly together, and I was no longer sure where I ended and she began.
I hadn’t felt like that with a woman in years.
Staying the night in Iowa City hadn’t been in the plans. I felt anxious, jumpy, locked in the motel room with that loan shark less than two miles away. By now, he would know he’d been robbed, and was probably out for blood. Those sharks were all the same.
Buy Me, Bad Boy - A Bad Boy Buys A Girl Romance Page 4