Yeah, but not what he wanted to do, because Strike didn’t have the Point. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to aggravate—”
“Ok, then let’s get our ball and go home,” he said though she knew he didn’t mean it.
Home. Her gaze drifted toward the door. Strike was her home, that’s what she’d told him. That might not be true anymore, even if it felt odd to think that way. But if she wasn’t here, chasing this DARPA device down, doing the right thing, where was she going to run to?
Without a home, family, or friends left, there was nowhere else for her to go. It wasn’t like she had to rush off for any important appointments.
This was going to happen whether she liked it or not, and so it was time to reveal her contingency.
Breathing out in a huff, Rora took her hand from Junker’s and admitted a truth. “There’s a bar, a dozen blocks east toward the river,” she said. “It’s called Apocalypse.”
“How do you know that? You said you hadn’t been here before.”
“I haven’t,” she said. “But I thought it might come to this. I knew if you wanted to get anything from Exile that you’d have to talk to him. So I talked to a doorman, the young guy, and I asked him about it.”
“Why would you—”
“I asked him about the crappiest, scariest hole in town. I wanted to know where the lowest of the low hung out. He told me about one place and I asked about the one on the rung below it. Turns out, Apocalypse is as bad as you’ll get around here.”
Junker wanted to understand, she could see how he was trying to be patient in figuring her out. “Why would you ask about—”
“You’ll find Exile there. In the darkest corner. That’s where he’ll be.”
Clarity made his chin rise. “Like Last Resort. The darkest corner. I remember. But…” Brushing his thumb across her cheek, he got closer. “You’ll have to come with me, I… I don’t know what he looks like.”
And that suggestion was why she hadn’t told Junker before. The last thing she wanted to do was come face-to-face with her ex-lover. “You’ll find him,” she said, but got up to retrieve her shoes. “I’m not coming inside, but I’ll ride over with you.”
Doing something was better than doing nothing. Traveling with Junker saved her from sitting here wondering if he was going to come back alive. Staying in this room another minute would give her cabin fever.
“Ride? You don’t want to walk?”
Smirking at him over her shoulder, she pulled on her shoes and grabbed her jacket. “No. Always ensure you can make a quick escape… especially with… Exile.” It still felt weird using Strike’s alias. It was the name the criminal world knew him by, but it wasn’t the one she’d used for him. “Get ready, we’re leaving now.”
Snatching his wrist as he grabbed his jacket, she pulled him across the room and out the door.
SEVEN
Driving along the riverside, they’d peeked up every alley until they’d found the right place. Even though they didn’t know the area, it didn’t take long to find it. The vertical sign painted on its black door stating its name was sort of a giveaway. Unlike the other black-doored bar Rora knew, this one actually had a handle, meaning it was more welcoming by default.
Asking Junker to park at the corner, so she could see down the alley and have a view of the door, Rora’s adrenaline was simmering when he turned off the engine.
“Ok,” Junker said, blowing out a breath. “You’re sure he’s in there?” She nodded, but couldn’t take her focus from the door. “And that I’ll know who he is?”
“You’ll know. He’ll be the only guy not drinking and the only one working on a computer… Oh, and he’ll have a look on his face like just breathing pisses him off.”
“His computer,” he said, whipping around. “He’ll have his computer? That’s amazing, we can—”
“Don’t touch his computer.” Opal hadn’t done anything to Junker and messing with her was going to set him on the wrong foot with Strike. “You said this was going to be civil and if you touch his laptop, it won’t be. You’re a computer guy. How do you feel when people touch your hardware without permission?”
“Got it,” he said and took her hand to kiss her knuckles.
“And please, don’t say my name to him.” Any of her names.
“Ok, stay here. Don’t move. If you get scared hit the horn, I’ll come out.”
She smiled and picked her legs up to cross them. “I won’t get scared, Junk. Go on.”
Seeing his smile turn away, she got a shiver. He was more than just attractive, he was a kind of hunk in his own way, more polished than Strike, but not too polished that anyone would challenge him for being in Apocalypse.
Junker got out and walked about thirty feet down the alley to the Apocalypse door. He glanced back in her direction just before going inside. Once he was out of sight, she exhaled; all she could do now was wait.
Chewing her lip, Rora counted the seconds and began to panic about what she’d do if he didn’t come out again. She wasn’t afraid to go into Apocalypse; it looked like a nicer place than Last Resort and she’d thrived there. On top of that, she’d lived with Buddy. Dealing with his poker pals and the heavy metal guys he brought around was equivalent to getting a PhD in Badass.
But she wouldn’t be able to drag Junker out on her own if he started a brawl.
Funny that the dozens of big scary bikers didn’t worry her, but one guy did. Her former lover. The idea of seeing him terrified the crap out of her. He’d be mad, so mad, and she wasn’t going to beg his forgiveness for the Point bait and switch.
But a kind of peace settled over her when she realized that if anyone was going to take her out of this world, put her out of her misery, then Strike should be the one to do it. He’d told her not to put a bullet in her head. He’d prevented her from committing suicide and saved her life.
Every day she had from then on only happened because of him. Sure, he’d kept her alive to use her for information, but her choice not to pull the trigger was driven by him.
One minute passed and then another.
Convincing herself that the length of time was an indication the men were talking, Rora tried to ignore her anxiety. Less than a minute later, the door opened again, and Junker came out of the bar.
Pouncing to her knees, she braced a hand on the seat and one on the door. He seemed to be staggering, was he staggering? He took a hand to his jaw, then the other followed. His arms weren’t broken, good. But yes, he definitely stumbled to the side.
Grabbing for the car door, thoughts of everything but getting to him went out the window. Rora leaped out and ran down the alley.
“Junk,” she gasped, catching his body with hers. There was a daze in his eyes and redness on the jaw he was rubbing. “Oh my God, what happened? Did you find him? Did someone hurt you?”
“Exile’s got one hell of a right hook… but I think his left is stronger.”
Gritting her teeth, fury burned inside her. Junker had gone in to have a conversation, he was a nice guy, a kind guy, and that bastard in there thought he could throw his weight around just because he was him.
Rora didn’t even realize she’d stormed right past Junker. She wasn’t thinking about anything except her anger. Marching into the bar, she took about ten seconds to pick out exactly where Strike would be.
Setting him in her sights, she wound her way across the room, through patrons who were probably gawping at the raging, fuming woman with purpose in her step. But Rora didn’t care, she kept her destination in sight and didn’t flinch.
Shoving a hand onto the lid of his laptop, she slammed it shut and with her hand still on it, she bent toward the man seated in the corner.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
Strike’s eyes narrowed on her as he leaned back. “You always find your way home to me, Cupcake,” he said, a smug slant to his lips.
Oh, he infuriated her. “I have not come home to you,” she snapped. “Y
ou are a horrible, despicable, disgusting human being who wouldn’t understand decency if it smacked him in the face!”
Rora’s adrenaline was pumping hard, but Strike was almost serene in the way he considered her. She didn’t expect him to surge to his feet and grab up Opal. With his other hand, he seized the back of her head, sinking his fingers into her hair and using that grip to turn her around.
Although Rora screamed and snatched for his fist that was lost in her locks, no one tried to help her.
Strike propelled her across the room toward the door. They were most of the way to the entrance before she saw Junker just inside.
“Hey!” Junker said, rushing over when he noticed them.
But Strike wasn’t slowing down. “Get the fuck out, Square.”
Rora eyed her newest friend. “Move! Stay out the way!”
Junker had no time to do anything. Strike forced her outside. As soon as they were in the alley, he thrust her forward, letting go of her hair.
Spinning around, Rora wasn’t surprised to see fury in Strike’s eyes; it was exactly what she’d expected. He shoved Opal onto the lid of a dumpster, freeing up both of his hands before stalking toward her. Rora swallowed hard, bracing when he grabbed her throat and rushed her back against the wall.
It was in that moment her thoughts caught up with her actions, and she realized the peril she’d inadvertently welcomed by putting herself in front of him again.
“You want to get physical with me, baby?” Strike growled.
“Hey! Let her go!”
Junker rushed up behind them and grabbed Strike’s shoulder. As Junker pulled him back, Strike used the turn for extra leverage to hit Junker hard. Junker went down.
Rora screamed and punched the back of Strike’s shoulder to little effect. Her ex whirled around and grabbed her fist, slamming it to the wall. Getting in her face, he seized her chin and pulled it up, making her neck ache.
“You move on fast, Kero, lightning fucking speed. Guess getting guys on the hook is your skill.” Baring her teeth, Rora located her fury and brought her knee up, but he grabbed it before she could make contact with his groin and shoved it downward. His excuse for a laugh was little more than a groan. “You only get to use that one once.” Looming closer, his mouth opened just a breath from hers. “And I’m not so sure you’re done with those.”
“Dream on, Exile.”
The twitch in his eye was curious, but there was no time to think about it. Junker groaned, drawing Strike’s attention from her. She tried to go to Junker, but Strike stole her arm and dragged her away from her new friend who was still laid out on the concrete.
With a tight grip on her upper arm, Strike hauled her across the asphalt and thrust her up a stair into a shadowy double-width doorway.
“I’m disappointed,” he said, getting down into her face. “I’ve been watching you for days, waiting for you to visit. It’s almost insulting that you’d send your bitch to me first. What did you think I’d do to him?”
When she pushed forward, he slammed her back to the metal door. “Junker isn’t my bitch,” she spat.
“He’s your something. And if I find out he’s touched you, I’ll cut off his hands. It’ll be a real surprise for him when he finds out he’s been messing with my girl. He doesn’t know about us, does he?”
“There is no us,” she said, trying to wrestle her arm away. “Let me go.”
But every time she tried to get away from the corner he’d put her in, he used his body to push her back into it. “How’d he find me?”
Sneering, she enjoyed telling him the truth. “Your bitch led him to you,” Rora said, wearing a smirk.
But his frown deepened. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your beautiful Black Jewel,” she said, mocking him with each word. “She’s not as discreet as your woman should be.”
Strike didn’t check a woman out like any other man would, his gaze was always sinister. “Well you would know,” he said, admiring her lips.
Rora gasped when he spun her around and thrust her chest-first into the door. Planting her hands on the door, he kicked her feet apart.
First thing he did was reach around to take both of her breasts into his hands, squeezing them tight.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked and tried to push back.
But he flattened his body on hers, pressing her into the door. Grabbing both her hands, he stretched them above her head, holding them tight by her wrists in one of his capable palms, rendering her immobile.
His lips moved through her hair to the top of her ear. “Checking for weapons,” he said, running a hand down her waist and over her ass. “I’ll be disappointed if I don’t find any.”
Pulling her skirt up, he exposed one ass cheek. She bit her lip when he gripped it, doing her best not to give him the satisfaction of any reaction. But when he pushed his hips against her and she felt the ridge of his erection through his jeans, she had to close her eyes.
“What’s wrong, Cupcake? Not gonna fight me off?” Fighting would prove her hatred, but that was probably exactly what he wanted. “I could fuck you right here,” he growled into her hair and tugged the elastic of her underwear. “Maybe that’s what you want… you want me to fuck you, baby? You know you should hate me, but you want it.”
His words were little more than a sinister growl, fogging her hair as he rubbed his face in it. Disgust rose within her, but it wasn’t aimed at him, it was all for her. He wasn’t wrong.
That first night in the Last Resort parking lot after Strike had broken a patron’s arm, Rora had been aroused by him, and that same part of her was switched on now. She was feeling with her body, her hormones, not her mind or her good sense. It took every ounce of her willpower not to push her ass back into him and encourage his grinding.
Hating him. Loving him. Rora had thought she’d never be able to understand Bella and Strike’s relationship, but she got it now. She got how the need for another person could eradicate all sense, even that of self-preservation. If going insane was as seductive as loving him, Rora was a lost cause.
His fingertips stayed beneath the narrow band of her thong and began to slide around her hip to her mound. They began to descend, going so far as to make contact with her Brazilian before she forced herself to lift her chin.
“Don’t. Please, Strike,” she gasped, wanting to sound angry, but coming off as pleading.
If he touched her, if he started to stimulate her, she couldn’t trust her willpower to hold. If she gave in to him, she’d hate herself forever, though she doubted she’d regret it no matter how much she wanted to.
Just like Bella, Rora would find herself craving the object of her hatred and that internal conflict would destroy her.
His fingers stopped the moment she uttered the words. “You’re nothing like her,” he said as though he’d been able to read her mind. “You think that loving me and hating me at the same time will turn you into Bella… it won’t.”
The sound of understanding didn’t ease her anxiety. It dampened her eyes and for a breath, she recalled sharing her secrets with this man and listening to his.
“Strike,” she whispered.
He slid his palm from her wrists up over the back of her hands and instinct made her part her fingers to receive his between hers.
“I taught you to defend yourself or die,” he said, something more tender about the way his mouth moved in her hair now. “Tell me you’re armed, Cupcake. That’s one disappointment I couldn’t handle.”
Tightening her fingers around his, her head moved, responding to the not-really-there caress of his lips on her scalp. “There’s a switchblade in my cleavage.”
He breathed out a long rush of quiet relief. “Next time, use it.”
“Why do you care?” she asked.
He’d dumped her for a device, and that reminder made her tense. He could be soothing and relaxing her before wedging a blade in her ribs as payback for her betrayal
.
“Haven’t taken over the world yet, have I?” he said above her ear.
Probably not through lack of trying. She lifted a shoulder to push hair from her mouth. “Are you saying there’s hope for you yet?”
“Hmm,” he groaned. “Wouldn’t go that far. And I warn you, I will bring Armageddon if I don’t get my picture back…”
“Picture?”
“The picture you stole from the loft.” Why did he want that? And if he’d known she stole the money, why wasn’t he asking for that? He must have felt the shock vibrate through her. “I’m no more done with you than you are with me… Be bad, baby, you know what it does to me.”
Hauling her around again, he thrust her back to the door, squashing her to it with his body, his forearm somehow coming to rest at the base of her skull as it had so many times when he’d kissed her. His eyes slid to hers, so close to hers, just as they had been at their most intimate moments.
Before she could think about his intention or where this may be going, Strike spun away suddenly, his fist raised, ready to lash out again. She jumped to action and grabbed his elbow to stop him from hitting the man he must have sensed barreling up behind them.
Leaping around Strike, Rora planted a hand on each man’s chest, putting herself between them. “No! No fighting,” she said, looking from one to the other. Strike was pushing harder, or maybe Junker was being gentler because she was in the way, it could be described either way. But she laid her focus on Strike who was glaring at Junker over her head. “Break my arm or holster your pistol, Exile.”
It had to be her use of his alias that surprised him. Each time she said it, he looked at her like he didn’t know who she was talking about.
“If you’ve got something to say, Square, say it,” Strike spat.
Rora turned to Junker, hoping he’d calm down. It took a minute of just breathing before he spoke. “We want to meet,” her new friend said.
Kiss Chase Page 6