Scooter

by Marie James

  “Next are you going to tell me that you like wearing clothes to bed now?” She rolls her eyes, but the apprehension that was clouding her eyes is beginning to lift.

  “I like sleeping with you against me. I like wrapping my arms around you in the middle of the night and listening to you sigh as you settle against my chest.” I grin, deciding to test the waters. “Would I like to do that without clothes on? You bet, but that may never happen.”

  Her face falls, and I can’t believe how much I’m fucking this up.

  “What I’m trying to tell you, Sweet Mia, is that you’re under no obligation to reciprocate anything where I’m concerned. You don’t have to kiss me or touch me or placate me in any way as payment for the kindness I’ve offered to you. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t owe Cerberus anything. As far as you and me? This goes where you want it to go, not where I hope it will.”

  “What do you want to do right now?” she asks with a yawn.

  It’s clear what she wants, but at the same time, I’m sticking to my word about not pushing her.

  “Whatever you want,” I tell her with a grin. “I’m leaving in three days.”

  This isn’t news to her. We discussed it last night, but now there’s a timetable to attach to that news.

  “Three?” As she looks up at me, her eyelashes brim with tears.

  “Yeah, and it’ll take a lot of energy, so I’m hoping you don’t suggest running a marathon right now.”

  She chuckles, but it’s not light and airy like it was in the kitchen earlier.

  “I’d like to take a nap,” she says softly.

  I’m kicking off my boots before she can even climb into the bed.

  Chapter 14

  Mia

  Ryan leaves for Venezuela tomorrow. We’ve spent the last two days watching Lost on Hulu, and it’s been easy enough to lose myself in the TV drama, but as the clock ticks by, the more nervous I grow. Like a fool, I slept in my own room last night, and even though it’s only early afternoon, my eyes are heavy with the need for sleep. Every sound in the clubhouse woke me up, and I’m sure I spent more time staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself not to go to Ryan’s room than I did actually resting.

  Max will be the only man left behind. All others are leaving the country to try and track down the man responsible for my abduction. I’m not delusional. I know that Luis Jiménez has hurt countless women and will continue to do so if someone doesn’t stop him. Their mission isn’t just about me, but it eases me some to know that they’ll make sure he can’t hurt another person.

  For some reason, I’m apprehensive with the Cerberus men here, but the thought of them all being gone also causes me concern, and I hate that I want both things, and can have neither.

  All of my meals have been spent outside of the room since lunch the other day with Jasmine. Since they live in houses behind the clubhouse, I haven’t seen Emmalyn, Misty, and Khloe much, but Ryan assures me they’ll be around more when the farting, grunting, stinky guys are gone—his explanation, not mine. They’ve been incredibly nice and welcoming the times that we did interact.

  I was a fool to think I’d have three solid days to spend with Ryan before he left. He’s been in and out today, some time spent in meetings, some time spent at Kincaid’s house.

  Right now, they’re all in that big meeting room in the center of the clubhouse and have been locked away for the last hour.

  “Mia?”

  Startled, I turn too quickly in the direction of the voice and manage to drop my bottle of water.

  It skitters across the floor, rolling until it stops against the toe of Camryn Davison’s shoe.

  “Still jumpy?” she asks with a smile as she bends to pick up my bottle.

  “Most days,” I mutter as she hands the water back to me.

  “The offer still stands for the anxiety meds.” I met Camryn the day after I left the clubhouse and nearly froze to death walking away from this place.

  “I don’t want meds.” Some of the girls were forced to take all sorts of things. Prescription meds, illicit drugs, bottle after bottle of liquor were forced down their throats. I was one of the lucky ones, and the guys who fancied me weren’t into sedation. No, they loved to hear me scream, wanted me to be able to fight them. Conquering me was their biggest thrill.

  “Okay. Just thought I’d offer. Let me know if you change your mind. How is that pinky toe doing?”

  The only concern I had after Ryan found me and brought me back here was the smallest toe on my right foot. It took forever before I got feeling back in it. The following morning when I got into the shower, it felt like fire was set to it when the warm water touched it.

  “It’s better. Full feeling. No longer hurts.”

  “Good. Good.” Her eyes rake up and down my frame, but I can tell she’s assessing me medically, not sizing me up to sell me to her pimp, which I was certain she was doing the first time we met.

  Loud conversation drifts through the double doors of the big conference room, and Camryn takes a step closer.

  “How are you sleeping?”

  “Better,” I answer honestly.

  “The guys are leaving tomorrow. How will you sleep then?”

  My jaw snaps shut, but even several years younger than I am, she gives me that doctor look, and I open my mouth to answer. It’s the fear of missing him that worries me the most. I’ve mostly accepted that I’m safe here but being wrapped in Ryan’s arms at night keeps the demons that try to haunt me at bay.

  “I don’t know. Terribly, I imagine,” I finally respond.

  “I can—”

  I jerk my hand up to silence her. “I don’t want any pills.”

  She gives me a sad smile. “I was going to suggest warm tea before bed. Focused calming breaths and meditation would help, too.”

  “Okay.”

  We chat a little longer, but eventually, she excuses herself and leaves. Stressed, thinking about Ryan leaving, I head back to his room and crash on the bed. The cell phone Jasmine gave me several days ago taunts me from the bedside table.

  Sighing after staring at the innocuous thing like it contains the plague, I pick it up and resign myself to making the call I’ve avoided since I arrived in New Mexico.

  I expect the call to go to voicemail because everyone, even my parents, screen their calls now, but my mother picks up after the first ring. So much for a few more minutes of avoidance.

  “Mia?” My mother’s hope-filled voice comes across the line.

  “It’s me, Ma. How are you?”

  Max must’ve given them this phone number.

  “I’m more worried about you, mi amor.”

  I sigh, unable to hide my overwhelming thoughts. I love my parents. I truly do, but with everything that has happened to me, I don’t feel like the same person. Their little girl was beaten and raped out of me over the course of the seven weeks I was in captivity. Before answering, I wonder if I even deserve their love. Could I have done more to protect myself, short of not walking away with the stranger in the parking lot? Could I have protected myself better after they locked me in that tiny room with those other women?

  “I’m okay, Ma. How’s Pa?”

  “He’s fine. Worried about you. It’s been so long since we heard your voice. We miss you dearly.”

  “I miss you, too,” I tell her, and that’s the truth.

  I miss Sunday dinners.

  I miss smiling as my mother frets around the kitchen, making sure everything is right as if a celebrity is coming to share a meal rather than just family.

  I miss how easy it was to get out of bed back then.

  I miss being able to walk around without the fear of being hurt.

  I miss a million things, a million things I don’t feel like I’ll ever get back.

  “Jason misses you, too.”

  I should feel something with the mention of my fiancé. I should miss him the most, right?

  I feel nothing. There’s an empty void inside
of me, with no room left for him, and that makes me feel something dark, akin to self-hatred because even though Jason is the one I promised to marry, it’s Ryan that I picture when I think of more, when I think of a future.

  “Jason hasn’t tried to contact me. He hasn’t called or sent messages through Max.” I don’t honestly know about the latter part of my statement, but I figure my brother would say something if Jason reached out to him.

  “He’s a very busy man, Mia.”

  It takes all I have not to huff my indignation into the phone. I haven’t been Jason’s number one in a very long time, so I shouldn’t be surprised by his lack of communication, but I imagine that most people would drop everything they’re doing to love and comfort someone who has been through what I’ve been through.

  “Yes, well…” I don’t know what else to say about it. The issue is between Jason and me. My mother likes to meddle, and I learned long ago that coming to her to discuss issues about my fiancé only makes her remind me how important the man is in a family. My parents were born in Mexico, and they brought their old ways to Louisiana with them when they immigrated.

  “When should we expect you home? Soon I hope.”

  “I don’t know honestly. I like it here.”

  Here isn’t there. Here isn’t where I was taken. I think I need the separation to maintain the minuscule amount of safety I feel being so far away. Plus, what do I have to go back to other than prying parents who want to shove me into the arms of a man that loves his fast-track responsibility to partnership rather than the woman he swore he wanted to have babies with?

  “I have to go, Ma. I’ll call again soon.”

  I hang up the phone before she can hear the lie in my tone.

  I don’t get long to stew in my thoughts because a knock on the door echoes through the room. It’s cracked open, and for the very first time since I arrived, I don’t begin to freak out when it’s pushed open.

  “Mia?” Emmalyn, the president’s wife, sticks her head inside but makes no move to come in. “I was hoping you’d help me make lunch for the guys. They’ve been in meetings all day, and they’re going to be starving when Diego finally cuts them loose.”

  “Sure,” I answer, even though I know I’ll do my best to be gone from the room when they begin to file out of the conference room.

  Misty and Khloe are also in the kitchen with a spread of ingredients in front of them by the time Emmalyn and I make it into the room.

  “We’re making enchiladas,” Khloe says with a soft smile. “It’s the easiest way to feed all of them at one time.”

  “The fastest, too,” Misty adds as she pops the top off of a rotisserie chicken. “They think it’s gourmet food when really it’s the simplest thing. Do you want to help me with the chicken?”

  “Sure,” I tell her as I step up to the sink to wash my hands.

  Soft country music plays in the background as we work. Misty and I pull the meat off the chickens while Emmalyn and Khloe get the sauce and tortillas ready.

  In less than an hour, we have six pans of enchiladas baking in the oven and more rice and beans than I’ve ever seen, which is saying something considering my nationality.

  Noise from the conference room drifts into the kitchen, and I’m seconds away from making an excuse to leave when a man covered in tattoos enters the room. He’s got stars tattooed on his face with little sparkling studs in the center, and his neck and hands are covered in ink. Months ago, I wouldn’t have given him a second look. Tattoos are so commonplace where I’m from, but they were rampant among the men in Miami, too.

  “This is Jaxson,” Emmalyn says so closely to my ear that I jump, startled that I was so focused on him that I didn’t even sense her approaching me. “He’s married to Rob. Samson, whom you’ve met, is his son. Delilah is Samson’s twin. You’ll meet her during spring break.”

  Jaxson smiles at me, but like many of the other men here at the clubhouse, he doesn’t offer his hand or invade my space.

  Another man, one with a long beard and kind eyes, enters behind the tattooed man, and as crazy as it seems, when he leans over and plants a kiss on the star tattoo, it makes me feel more relaxed.

  “I’m Rob,” the new arrival says, also keeping his distance. “Are you responsible for the amazing smells coming from the room?”

  “I h-helped,” I tell them both, still leery of them even though they’re being nice. There were guys that seemed nice back at the compound, too, and that didn’t stop them from taking what I wasn’t offering.

  Chapter 15

  Scooter

  I know Mia needs her independence. Her choosing to sleep in her own room is a step in that direction, and I imagine it’s been hard-fought, but that still doesn’t keep me from missing her warmth on my side or the sweet smell of her hair. My fingers itch to run up and down her spine, to tell her more stories about my life.

  She stayed alone last night, and this evening, she went that direction again. Emmalyn said she helped make lunch for all of us, but by the time I made it to the kitchen, she was already gone. It took as much resistance as I could muster to not go to her and make sure she was okay.

  The afternoon was filled with even more meetings as we geared up to head to South America. I’ve been with Cerberus for years, and I don’t think I’ve ever participated in a mission of this caliber. Sure, every job is important, but there’re a lot of cogs in this machine, a lot riding on our success, and it’s making everyone hyper-focused.

  Preparation for these types of jobs takes the longest. The mission, once we hit the property, actually goes by very quickly. It’s a slow buildup to the rush of adrenaline we get to cash in on the day of infiltration, which is over in a matter of minutes most times. I live for that rush. Live for the blitz of endorphins that makes me feel as powerful as a god, unstoppable and ferocious. It’s the sole reason I joined Cerberus in the first place.

  This next mission is different. Venezuela and defeating both the Cortez brothers and Luis Jiménez is now personal. Their demise holds more meaning than the thrill that comes with taking down a terror cell. Their destruction will give Mia some of her power back. It’ll let her feel just a little safer in her own skin, and that’s what’s most important to me.

  Like a ton of bricks slamming into my chest, I gasp when my next thought filters in.

  I love her. I fucking love Mia Vazquez.

  And that’s wrong on so many levels.

  She’s engaged to another man.

  She’s been hurt, probably beyond my wildest imagination, which is saying a lot considering my line of work.

  She trusts me to protect her, and I’m going to fuck it all up by letting my feelings get in the way.

  She clings to me for safety because she knows I won’t let anyone hurt her, and somehow my body and mind have distorted all of that until I convinced myself that she’s mine, that she feels the same way about me that I feel for her.

  I don’t do love.

  I don’t do attachments.

  I don’t let a single woman invade my every thought.

  Yet, Mia’s there. In my head. In my heart. In my fucking soul.

  This is bad, so terribly bad.

  This can’t end well.

  My pulse is racing with my realization when my bedroom door creaks open. Mia appears, looking like an angel, backlit with the light of the hallway surrounding her. She steps in, closing the door and once again wrapping us in darkness, but she doesn’t climb in the bed with me.

  Now would be the perfect time to urge her back to her room, to tell her that she’s doing good, and her independence is what she needs. I could remind her that she survived one night in there, and she needs to keep that momentum.

  I watch her as she stands beside the bed biting her thumbnail.

  I need to ask her to leave because if I do what my body and heart are begging me to do, she’s going to discover my secret, and that will ruin everything. My true feelings have the power to ruin the platonic relationship we’ve
been building. She’ll no longer feel safe. The expectancy that comes along with being in love with someone will eat away at what we’ve built like acid until there’s nothing left.

  I don’t listen to my head because my body craves her touch. Without a word, I lift the edge of the blankets and sigh with contentment as she settles on my chest. I do my best to ignore my throbbing cock as her heat engulfs me. He’ll only complicate things.

  Her fingers tangle in my t-shirt, and I pat myself on the back for wearing clothes to bed. Before her, I didn’t, and even though she didn’t come in here last night, I crawled in bed this evening hoping that tonight would be different.

  My eyes drift closed, content as I’ve ever been, but she startles me when she begins to speak.

  “Sephora was having a lipstick sale that day,” she whispers.

  I know what day she’s talking about. She’s never once breathed a detail about what happened the day she was abducted. I never asked and figured she’d talk when she was ready, if that day ever came. It seems we’ve arrived, and it truly sucks that it’s the day before I have to leave her for who knows how long. Setbacks usually come at the tail end of these types of conversations, and I won’t be here to hold her when they do.

  She huffs a humorless laugh against my chest, and I hate that I can’t feel her warm breath on my skin. I hold her closer, encouraging her to go on without using words.

  “Vanity put me in the crosshairs of evil. I wasn’t even out of lipstick. I just wanted more, and saving money was a good enough excuse as any. The guy in the parking lot was clean-cut, handsome, and unassuming. He said he had car trouble, and his cell phone was dead. I offered to let him use mine, and when he said he had to get his address book out of his glove box, I didn’t think anything of it. I should’ve seen the signs. I mean, what guy in his mid-twenties even has an address book. We live and die by our phones. But he was dressed nice, and he smiled at me like I was the prettiest girl in the world.” She swallows so hard I can hear her throat work. “Jason hadn’t smiled at me like that for longer than I can remember.”