Retribution

by Shana Figueroa

  He kissed her ankles first. Smooth skin over hard bone turned to smooth skin over soft flesh as he ran his tongue up her leg, followed by his hands. He wanted to taste her everywhere, feel her everywhere. He’d done it before, in the boathouse all those months ago, but having experienced it once only made him want her more. When he reached her thighs, she breathed harder, and when he tasted her, she gasped. Every woman had a unique flavor, and he’d sampled many; it was an easy way to get them off while prolonging his own awkward or fake climax. But Val’s taste was exquisite, a bouquet of everything he enjoyed about sex, everything that made the act good. It was her essence and he couldn’t get enough. She writhed and moaned as he lapped it up with relish, losing himself in her, until she grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him up.

  “God, stop,” she said, nearly out of breath. “I can’t have you like that.”

  She seized his bottom lip with her teeth while she pawed at the button on his jeans. Max helped her with the zipper, then kicked off his pants and underwear. Finally they lay skin to skin, her legs wrapped around him, his arms around her. Her hands explored every inch of his torso as if she’d never touched him before. Maybe she was getting herself reacquainted, or maybe she felt what he felt—a desperate need to know, to feel, the good and the bad.

  Her hand slipped between his legs, fingers skimming down the hard length of him. He trembled and pulled back. He’d only wanted a kiss. After everything that’d happened to her in the last few weeks, he didn’t want to rush things or pressure her into doing anything she wasn’t ready for. And her visions could be terrible, traumatic. Yet he was the one who trembled, about to lose control.

  His cock pressed against her wetness as she stroked him, each caress a pump of pressure to his system. With her other hand she ran a finger along the outside of his ear.

  “Max,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

  Before he could stop himself, he entered her hard. He cried out with her, the feeling so divine it took all his willpower not to come immediately. Every thrust was ecstasy times a thousand, tiny explosions of heaven that resonated through him and passed into her. She moved with him, breathed with him, and looked into his eyes, his soul, as he gazed into hers. They were the only two people in the world.

  The fire in him reached a fevered pitch. His whole body vibrated, inside and out. It seemed like they’d only just begun, yet already he felt the numbers coming. Usually he had stamina in spades, but they’d been apart too long. Max forced the mad rush of his hips to slow, then stop. He searched her eyes, wet and awash in raw emotion. A tear slipped from the corner of her lashes and leaked down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

  Val cradled his head in her hands. “You won’t. You can’t.” She kissed him gently. “Come with me.”

  Max pulled her hips up until her chest arched into his and she threw her head back, her body a reed bending into his storm. He moved deeper into her, harder, faster as she clawed at his back, her moans louder, higher.

  “I love you,” he said between kisses. “I love you. I love you.”

  He possessed her body, consumed it with his own, but his soul belonged to her. When she screamed as she came, he let loose a roar of his own as the tentacles of the greatest pleasure he’d ever known seized his mind and pulled him away so they collapsed into each other’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I’m running down a corridor of concrete inlaid with metal doors. As I reach a corner, I slow and raise my gun. My heart pounds against my rib cage. I wheel around the corner and recognize Lucien’s back in a white lab coat, scrambling away from me. I shoot him in the back. He drops. I close the distance between us, and only then do I realize there’s someone else with him, a man he’d been forcing forward, now in a crumpled heap next to Lucien. That man is Max.

  My bullet went through Lucien and hit Max. He’s dead. I killed him. Oh God he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead—

  Blur.

  I’m running down a corridor of concrete inlaid with metal doors. As I reach a corner, I slow and raise my gun. My heart pounds against my rib cage. I wheel around the corner and recognize Lucien’s back in a white lab coat, scrambling away from me. I almost shoot him before I realize he’s dragging someone with him, and that person is Max.

  “Stop!” I say.

  Lucien spins to face me, holding Max in front of him as a human shield. Max thrashes and tries to fight back, but he’s pale and sweaty, his movements weak. He looks like he can barely stand. Lucien holds a syringe of mysterious liquid to Max’s throat.

  “You’re going to let me leave,” he says.

  From behind me the sound of police sirens wafts through the corridor, getting louder.

  “Let him go.” There’s steel in my voice. I’m not negotiating.

  “I let him go when I’m gone. Then you may claim him and make your babies.”

  I know he’s lying. He won’t let Max go. He takes a step back; I shoot him. I’m usually a good shot. But not today. The bullet strikes Max in the head, passes through his skull and hits Lucien. Both men crumple to the ground.

  Max is dead. I killed him. Oh God he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead—

  Blur.

  I’m running down a corridor of concrete inlaid with metal doors. As I reach a corner, I slow and raise my gun. My heart pounds against my rib cage. I wheel around the corner and recognize Lucien’s back in a white lab coat, scrambling away from me. I almost shoot him before I realize he’s dragging someone with him, and that person is Max.

  “Stop!” I say.

  Lucien spins to face me, holding Max in front of him as a human shield. Max thrashes and tries to fight back, but he’s pale and sweaty, his movements weak. He looks like he can barely stand. Lucien holds a syringe of mysterious liquid to Max’s throat.

  “You’re going to let me leave,” he says.

  From behind me the sound of police sirens wafts through the corridor, getting louder.

  “Let him go.” There’s steel in my voice. I’m not negotiating.

  “I let him go when I’m gone. Then you may claim him and make your babies.”

  I know he’s lying. He won’t let Max go. He takes a step back; I shoot the wall next to him, blowing chunks of concrete onto his feet. In the moment of confusion I’ve bought myself, I sprint straight at him, betting I can reach him before he can stick Max with whatever he’s got in the syringe.

  I bet wrong. The needle goes into Max’s neck; the plunger goes down. Half a second later, I scream and body-check Lucien away, then shoot him in the chest three times. That’s all the attention I give to Lucien.

  On the floor Max grasps at his neck. I cradle his head in my arms, paralyzed with fear. His lips move; nothing comes out. He can’t breathe. The light in his eyes fades until he’s staring at nothing.

  Max is dead. I killed him. Oh God he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead—

  Blur.

  I run along a path through a tropical forest. Max runs in front of me, barefoot, wearing only board shorts. I’m barefoot, too, in a bikini. I hear a roar through the trees. We burst from the forest, into a clearing at the edge of a cliff. Water cascades down the side into a crystal blue pool fifty feet below us. My stomach lurches as I consider the drop.

  “You can’t chicken out now,” Max says, panting from our run. He takes my hand. He wears a wedding ring. I have one, too. “Come on,” he says. “On three: one, two, THREE!”

  We sprint off the side of the cliff, screaming as we fall, hand-in-hand, until the cool water envelopes us.

  Val breathed in as she regained consciousness and opened her eyes. Max’s warm, hard body lay motionless on top of her. He was still in his trance. She liked his weight on her, like a rock keeping her from floating away. Her arms tightened around him, and she ran her fingers through his fine hair. The feel of him calmed her, counteracted the horrible image of him dying over and over again. She focused
on the last part of her vision, holding hands with him as they leapt into the waters of a tropical paradise. It meant there was a future where he lived, with her. She wouldn’t let him go again.

  Max stirred and made a little gasp as his eyes opened. He pushed himself up to look at Val, reading her face for signs of distress. When he saw none, he relaxed and let his head fall back to the pillow. He laced his fingers through hers and nuzzled her neck.

  “I ruined taco night,” he mumbled into her skin.

  She laughed. “It’ll come again next week.” Thank God he didn’t ask her what she’d seen.

  He pulled his head back and touched a spot below her ear. “What’s this?”

  Shit, the scar. There was no point in lying about it. “Lucien put it there when I was unconscious, probably to administer whatever drug he’d used to wipe my memory.”

  She felt his whole body stiffen. His eyes boiled with the rage she’d seen at the Mountain Lodge. “That fucking bastard. I’ll kill him.”

  She touched her forehead to his and sighed. “Max, please.”

  “You expect me to let it go?”

  “No, but—”

  “Have you?”

  No, she hadn’t let it go. She never would. But she wouldn’t risk Max’s life for revenge, now that her visions had shown her what would happen if she tried. “I told the police. They’re handling it.”

  “Lucien’s still walking free. I saw him at the art museum.”

  “That’s who you beat up?” Max hadn’t brought up the assault during her visits to the psych ward, and she hadn’t pushed. The news reports hadn’t released the name of Max’s “victim,” either, but if Lucien was there, it must’ve been him.

  Max exhaled. “Yeah.”

  She kissed the tip of his nose. “Thanks.”

  Finally he relaxed, though a deep frown still cut across his face.

  “Now that Margaret’s dead, the police have no choice but to focus on finding her killer. The trail will eventually lead them to Lucien.”

  “They never found my father’s killer.”

  Val flinched. “That was different.”

  “How?”

  “For one thing, Lucien deliberately tortured and killed someone, probably not for the first time. He’s got a lab somewhere. And at least a few people know he’s involved in the Blue Serpent cult. He’s good at covering his tracks, but he’s still got tracks for the police to follow.”

  Max scoffed. “If the police were competent, I’d be in prison right now.”

  She heard the familiar notes of shame in his voice. He still felt guilty for killing his father, after everything that man did to him. She didn’t feel guilty about killing Norman Barrister, nor would she feel guilty about killing anyone else who deserved it. Despite what he thought of himself, he had a bigger heart than she did. “I’ve got…friends on the police force helping me. If they throw Lucien in prison for Margaret’s murder, that’s justice enough for me.”

  Max’s face softened. He stroked her cheek and searched her eyes with his, warm hazel surrounding brilliant green filling her vision. “I wish you wouldn’t be so forgiving.”

  “It’s not about forgiveness. It’s about moving on with our lives.”

  She hugged him and nestled her head in the crux of his neck. If he couldn’t forgive himself for his father or for Abby, then he could at least move on with her and build enough happy memories to outnumber the bad ones. There’d be time enough to nail Lucien, after they put each other back together. In fact, the sooner the better.

  “Can we go to Fiji?” Val asked. Maybe the pool they’d jumped into in her vision was in Fiji. She could make it Fiji.

  “Of course,” he said, a renewed lightness in his voice. He’d asked her to go to Fiji with him several times when they’d been on the run last year. She’d turned him down each time, preferring instead to face their enemies. “When?”

  “Today.”

  His chest bounced against hers as he chuckled. “I don’t own a private jet, so that might be tough. And I need to get my passport from the condo, and Abby told Michael she’d need a week to move her things out, but I can probably coordinate a time to get in sooner—”

  “Whatever. As soon as possible.”

  “Okay.” He ran a piece of her hair through his thumb and forefinger. “Can we get married in Fiji?”

  He’d said it as if suggesting where they should eat dinner, the question flowing from his lips as a natural consequence of how they felt about each other, no posturing or buildup or pomp and circumstance necessary. As she considered her answer, she did, however, feel his heart quicken. He’d been engaged to someone else just a few days ago—to the wrong woman, which was partly Val’s fault. All this time he should’ve been with her. It was what they wanted—the people who called themselves Northwalk—but also what she wanted, and what Max wanted. If she could choose for the pool from her vision to be in Fiji, why not choose to wear the wedding rings, too? She and Max didn’t need to have children.

  She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I’d love to get married in Fiji.”

  Max gave her a smile that lit up his whole face, radiating pure joy in a way she hadn’t seen him do since the boathouse. He laughed and kissed her, pulling her to him with the enthusiasm of a man who couldn’t wait to make love to his future wife. She melted with his touch as he hardened against her, her body a puddle of wetness aching to accept him, her desire for him nearly unbearable. A moan escaped her chest as he slipped inside her again. He moved through her, slow and deliberate, the need for release less acute now that they’d finally had each other after months apart. Through the fog of love that consumed her, she heard Toby bark. Then she noticed the bedroom door.

  “Oh shit, stop.” She slapped Max’s back. “Stop.”

  He stopped, hot puffs of breath ruffling her hair as he panted. “What?”

  “The bedroom door is open.”

  He looked behind him to see the wide-open door with a view of the top of the stairs. “Huh. Must’ve been like that the whole time.”

  She palmed her forehead. “Shit. Stacey probably heard everything. She could have seen us if she came up here.”

  Max’s head fell into her chest and he laughed.

  “Like she doesn’t have enough reasons to be pissed at me. I’m the worst roommate ever.”

  He laughed harder.

  “Just shut the fucking door, will you?”

  He curbed his laughter and reluctantly peeled himself off her, then hopped from the bed and trotted to the door. Watching his naked body move across the room, toned muscles rippling underneath brown skin like Michelangelo come to life, she thought she’d never seen a more beautiful man.

  He poked his head into the hallway. “I don’t hear anything. I think she’s gone.” Over his shoulder he added, “I’m going to let Toby out.”

  Before Val could protest that he shouldn’t go down there completely naked, especially with reporters lurking outside, he pulled on his underwear and disappeared out the door. He’d always been comfortable with his body—too comfortable, a more modest person might say—but at least he’d had the sense to cover his erect penis.

  God, the things he could do with that cock…She burned for him to be inside her again, and stay there forever. Val could only imagine the orgasms he gave other women. Their prophetic abilities meant they could never completely satisfy each other. Not the way other people did anyway.

  A minute later he reappeared and shut the door behind him. “Yup, she’s gone. Left Toby a bowl of taco shells, though. Nice of her.”

  Val would worry about appeasing Stacey later. She stood and met Max at the door’s threshold, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. He leaned into her; she felt the smile on his lips, the hardness still in his underwear. She snapped the elastic band of his boxers.

  “How’s your endurance?” she asked.

  “Shitty, with you.”

  Val yanked down his underwear and dropped to her knees. She kisse
d the scar a couple of inches above his groin, the spot where Sten shot him. “Tell me when to stop.”

  Max gasped when she took the full length of him into her mouth. He tasted like she remembered—musky, salty, hot, and something else she guessed was her own taste. Delicious. She glided her lips up and down his shaft, lingering on the tip as she ran her hands between his legs, then around his hard thighs to cup his perfect ass. He stroked her hair, then clutched a fistful as his breath became ragged. His cock throbbed, ready to burst in her mouth. If he came while standing, he’d collapse and likely hurt himself, or hurt her if he fell on top of her. She wondered if he’d risk it. A moment later she got her answer.

  “Okay, stop,” he said, breathing hard. He laughed. “Fuck, Val.”

  She gave him an impish smile. “That was like eight minutes.”

  Max mirrored her grin. “Let’s see you do better.”

  He pulled Val to her feet and led her to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower faucet and guided her into the stall. She breathed in the steam that enveloped the room, a match for the thick heat already coursing through her veins, the hot water making the outside of her body as slick as her insides. Max pinned her back against the shower wall and kissed her rougher than usual, his broad shoulders tense, the steel rod pressed against her thigh a testament to the fire she’d stoked, one he barely contained. His hand glided down the path of water that ran from her torso to between her legs, and he slipped his fingers deep inside her. She moaned with each stroke, her whole body moving to his rhythm, as if she were a marionette he delighted in making dance with a mere jerk of his hand. Val bit her lip, then bit his shoulder to keep the end from coming. Her whole body quivered for release, but she wouldn’t let him win.

  With his hand still inside her, he moved down her body and swept his tongue across her breasts, sucking the firm nipples as he bit them lightly. She dug her nails into his shoulders and whimpered, knowing she probably hurt him but unable to stop herself. The pleasure was so intense she almost cried. When he knelt and replaced his fingers with his tongue, she couldn’t hold out any longer.