The Getaway

by Hope Anika

  Do it.

  But—

  “I want them to have…normal,” she said haltingly, her throat so full she could barely speak. “I come from chaos and violence and pain. I do not know how to be normal—”

  Sam was pulling her down to the ground with him before she could get all of the words out, catching her weight so that she kneeled gently before him.

  “Normal,” he murmured, his hands possessive and heavy on her hips, “is just an idea. No one is normal, and anyone who tells you different is trying to sell you something.”

  He smelled like sunshine and sweat and Sam, and she wrapped her hands around his thickly corded forearms and clung, unable to help herself. “When my family died, I told myself never again.”

  “Time passes. We heal.” He leaned close, his expression grave. “Do you think Alexander will ever know normal?”

  “No,” she whispered, a painful truth.

  “He needs us both, sweetheart.”

  Yes. But that did not require—

  “I love you, Lucia.”

  Everything within her went still. Her heart pounded hard at the back of her throat; blood roared in her ears. Love. Something she had tried very hard not to think about for a very long time, especially in relation to Sam because—

  “They might come for me,” she said, her words tripping over themselves. “They might take me away and—”

  “And we will deal with it.”

  Hope warred with terror, and her hands trembled on him. “We are strangers.”

  Sam scowled. “Really?”

  No. She felt like she’d known him forever. And she couldn’t deny it: she wanted him.

  She wanted to marry him.

  “Ay, yai, yai,” she whispered. “This is…muy loco.”

  “I don’t care.” A muscle leapt in his jaw. His hands tightened on her. “I want you. And I want to do it right. I’ve never done a fucking thing right in my life, and I’m not screwing this up. You, me, and the boys, together. A family. Come what may.”

  The vision that rose in her head made her dizzy. A future.

  One in which she desperately wanted to believe. “I…”

  “We’re halfway between Yakima and Tacoma. Both have top-rate med schools. You can finish your schooling. I know it’s important to you, and I don’t want you to give anything up. I can take a desk job at the Service; I’m sick of chasing assholes anyway. We can put the boys in public school and go to Disney World on vacation and just fucking be.”

  She opened her mouth to speak. Closed it.

  “Just say yes,” he murmured. “The rest will work itself out.”

  She stared at him, trembling. She thought of all the years she’d spent nursing her pain and her rage; how many things—people—she’d given up on. Was that who she wanted to be? That angry, bitter, deeply unhappy woman?

  No.

  She’d learned that there were no guarantees long, long ago. There were only choices. If she turned Sam aside, she would never know what could have been. She would know she hadn’t been brave enough to try. And she would regret it every day for the rest of her life.

  Taking the boys had been the biggest risk she’d ever taken, and it had paid off. It had been worth it. It had changed everything. As this would. Sam was strong and stubborn and proud; he would only bend when she made him. But she was equally strong, stubborn and proud. She could handle him. She wanted to handle him. And if it didn’t work out…the world would not end.

  Life would go on. And the realization that something might end was not justification for never allowing it to begin.

  Ivan had shown her how short and precious her life was. How valuable. She would not forget that lesson.

  A rush of wild happiness burst in her chest. She could do this. Just one more leap of faith. So she leaned over and said softly, “Sí, Sam. Sí. I will marry you.”

  For a moment, he didn’t move. And then he was shoving the ring pop onto her finger and she was laughing at the sheer weight of it when his mouth found hers.

  His tongue pushed into her mouth and stroked along hers, and lust surged through her. All of her fear burned away, and when he pulled her to him, she went, wrapping her arms around the hard, broad width of him, clenching her fingers into the thick, golden pelt of his hair. His hands were gentle as he caught her against him, careful of her injuries, but even though her wounds ached, Lucia didn’t care. Her nipples prickled, and she moaned and squirmed to get closer.

  “I want you,” he grated into her ear, his breath hot, his teeth sharp when he nipped her earlobe.

  “Sí,” she whispered.

  “Now,” he added, and his hands swept up her waist to boldly cup her breasts, careful of the bruises that covered her, the wounds that traced her shape. He rubbed her nipples, gentle but relentless, making her cry out. When pinched them lightly, she snarled and pulled his mouth back to hers,

  Somehow, Sam stood, lifting her with him. Lucia held on as he devoured her, giving as good as she got. The pain of her wounds faded beneath the onslaught of hunger she felt for this man. Pain simply meant she’d survived. And she was going to celebrate that.

  Sam lifted her higher, and she wrapped her legs around him, and the hard press of his cock made her womb clench. A scorching, restless fire streamed through her veins, and their kiss grew wild, a passionate tangle of tongues and teeth and wet, raw sex.

  Sam made a low, rough sound, and the vibration rippled through her. She was vaguely aware that they were moving, but she didn’t care, lost in the heat and the hunger and him.

  “Hold on,” he growled, hefting her higher, and then they were climbing the stairs, shoving through the door, across the living room into his bedroom. The door shut with a thud and then he was lowering them to the bed, and when he came down on top of her, the weight of him made her moan.

  “Naked,” he rasped. “Now.”

  Her t-shirt was gone in an instant. He stripped her bra away and stilled. The moonlight was bright through the large windows, and his eyes were glittering brilliantly as they raked over her, searing her flesh, making her nipples swell and throb and ache for his touch. His gaze lingered on the mark left by Ivan’s mouth, and Lucia lifted a hand to cup his jaw, his beard rough against her palm.

  “See me,” she whispered. “Not him.”

  Sam made a low, rough sound. He cupped her breasts, his skin rough and hot; he thumbed her nipples, small circles that made her breath catch.

  “You make me fucking weak,” he muttered. Then he leaned down and put his mouth on her, flicking his tongue over their tips, rubbing her until she writhed beneath him.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “Patience,” he murmured and suckled her.

  Lucia arched toward him with a sharp cry. An arrow of white heat shot to her core, and the pull of his mouth made the need throbbing within her flare hotter, brighter, more wildly out of control. His teeth scraped her, and she ground herself against him in desperation.

  “Please,” she said again, and he bit her, a sharp nip that made her entire body clench in need.

  “Fucking perfect,” he rasped and rubbed his cheek against her, and the rough bristle of his chin made her throat swell with sudden, unexpected emotion. But then his hands went to the button of her jeans and tore it open, and the need took control.

  Lucia tugged at his shirt, but he ignored her, stripping her jeans and underwear away.

  “You, too,” she told him, and he acquiesced and pulled off his shirt. His skin shimmered in the moonlight, the muscle that roped him rippling as he moved above her, and the sheer beauty and power of him locked her breath in her throat. She stroked her hands over his tattoos and scars and touched the gleaming silver rings that pierced his nipples.

  He made another low, hungry sound, and she reached for the button of his jeans. His hand shot out and captured hers, and he shuddered, stilling above her.

  “We can wait,” he said raggedly. “I know you’re hurting. This can wait.”

/>   Lucia growled at him. “I want you inside me.”

  His gaze captured hers. “Be very sure, sweetheart. Because once I’m inside, you’re mine. There’s no going back.”

  Mine. It was a warning, she knew. But deep within her, something answered. Yes. Please.

  “I will be yours, and you will be mine,” she whispered. “Now come inside me.”

  His hand flexed around hers.

  “Sam.”

  His jeans were open a heartbeat later, and he was climbing from her to strip them away, and the sight of him naked in the moonlight, so much raw power and sleek male beauty, made her clench her thighs together. The Ringpop snagged the sheets, the sugared gem twisting on her finger, and she was very aware of it. Of the promise it signified, the leap she’d taken. Everything she’d ever allowed herself to dream in her most private moments sat on her finger, and her hand clenched in effort to keep it from sliding off.

  Rough hands slid along her inner thighs, pushing them open, and for a moment she resisted. Such vulnerability…but this was Sam. Who she trusted. Who she loved. So she opened herself to him. When he cupped the aching hollow between her thighs and rubbed knowing fingers through the wetness there, she shuddered and spread herself wider.

  It was ecstasy. But it wasn’t enough.

  “So wet,” he muttered, his eyes heavy-lidded and pale in the light. He thrust a finger into her, and she arched, a cry locked in her chest. “Christ, you’re tight. Going to fit me like a glove. Fucking perfect.”

  Lucia didn’t respond; she couldn’t. Every fiber of her being was locked on the hand between her thighs, the thrust of his finger into her. When he pushed a second finger in, a low moan tore from her.

  “Just like that,” he breathed and leaned down and suckled her again, and she almost came.

  “Now,” she cried. “Please, Sam. I need…”

  His head lifted. His hand worked between her legs, and the pleasure rolled through her like a wave breaking. “What, sweetheart? What do you need?”

  Her eyes met his, and her fingers dug into the supple muscle of him. “You,” she whispered. “I need you.”

  A muscle leapt in his jaw; veins stood out in his neck, at his temple. And she realized the control he was exerting over himself, and she wanted that control gone. She wanted him as wild as she felt.

  “I want you inside of me right now,” she snarled and wrapped her hand around his cock. So buttery soft, yet like heated steel. The feel of him made her womb clench again. He growled and thrust himself into her hand, and she squeezed him hard, gratified by the shudder that shook him, the clench of his fingers into her, the pleasure that seized his features.

  “Now,” she said again.

  And he pushed between her legs, his heavy, muscled thighs spreading her wider, their rough surface abrading her own soft skin. Then he was poised at the entrance of her body, and she burned and throbbed and tried desperately to get closer.

  His hands clamped around her hips and stilled her, and she looked into those shimmering eyes again, and almost begged.

  “Are you ready?” he whispered, and his hands flexed around the curve of her hips.

  “Oh yes,” she breathed and smiled at him. “Bring it.”

  “Fucking weak,” he growled, and the low, deep tone of his voice rasped against her skin like a physical touch, and when he began to push inside her, her breath snagged in her throat, and her body burned like the brightest flame.

  She moaned as he thrust through the tight tissue, a slow, wet glide that made her tremble.

  “Like a fucking glove,” he said and shuddered. “Christ.”

  “It’s been…” She tried to catch her breath. “A long time.”

  Those glittering eyes met hers. “Good.”

  And then he thrust hard, shoving all the way into her, and her body clamped down on him like a vise. A ragged sound tore from him, and he thrust again, and the friction bore a pleasure both mindless and consuming. Her nails dug deep into the skin of his biceps.

  “We’re going to do this every day,” he snarled and thrust harder.

  His body rippled with power, his abs flexing, the muscle she gripped tense, and her body clenched around him again, so tight she couldn’t breath. He hissed and surged into her, each thrust stronger, harder, his control leaking away like water from a spilled glass. Lucia gloried in the loss, lifting herself to his thrusts, her thoughts imploding and scattering.

  There was only him. Only this.

  Another snarl tore from him, and then the control was gone, and he was pounding into her so hard the bed shuddered in effort to hold them. A sharp, wild cry broke from her, and he took her mouth, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, matching the rhythm of his cock. Lucia moaned, the ache within her curling tighter and tighter, every stroke taking her higher, closer.

  Then he tore his mouth away, and his breath touched her ear, and he grated, “Come,” and she did with another harsh cry, brilliant lights glinting behind her eyelids, her body milking his, the pleasure so intense and shattering she could only hold on for the ride. The sound he made when he came gave life to something ancient and primitive within her, and she came a second time, shuddering around him, her skin vibrating, every muscle quivering.

  He rolled them over, and she sprawled on top of him, her body trembling around his, his arms locked tight around her. The faint tremor that moved through him made her deeply satisfied, and for long, quiet moments they simply lay silent, basking in the afterglow. One strong, rough hand rubbed the length of her back, long, soothing strokes that made her boneless.

  Sam pressed a kiss to her head, and Lucia felt her heart squeeze with sudden, unexpected fierceness. She looked up at him.

  “I love you, too,” she told him softly.

  His eyes narrowed. “I know.”

  Arrogant, willful man. She laughed and shook her head and rubbed her cheek against the thick muscle that padded his chest. His hand slid down her back to her butt and rested there, heavy, possessive, and she felt herself stir, that hunger ever-present, urging her to take more.

  “I will have to go back,” she said. “There are things I need. Things that are precious to me.”

  “Then we’ll go get them.” He paused. “Do you live alone?”

  “No. I rent a room in a house.”

  “Will they be worried?”

  “No. We all go our own way.”

  “We’ll go in a few days. Give the boys some time to settle before we drag them around again.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Anything you need,” he replied quietly. “I’m there.”

  Tears filled her throat, and Lucia blinked in effort to contain them. What had she done to be gifted with this man? She didn’t know; she didn’t really care.

  She had him now, and no one was taking him from her. Not even herself.

  “We can do anything,” he murmured. “As long as we’re together.”

  She pushed herself up until she straddled him. He was supple and toned beneath her hands, and within her, his cock stirred, making her breath catch. She met the bright, luminesce gaze that watched her with such steady, unwavering intensity.

  “I love you,” she said again, barely able to contain it.

  He hardened within her, and his hands lifted to cup her breasts.

  “Show me,” he said.

  So she did.

  Epilogue

  Webster had two definitions for murder.

  One: the crime of deliberately killing a person.

  And two: something that is very difficult or unpleasant.

  Well, two was out. There was nothing difficult or unpleasant involved. But number one…

  Bingo.

  She knew that, and it didn’t trouble her for a New York minute.

  No, the only reason she hesitated was because he would know it’d been her, and while she harbored no illusions when it came to him—he understood exactly who she was—she knew he would worry. He always had, even if he let her g
o her own way.

  Your ass is gonna get caught. And then what?

  Perhaps. But she was very, very good at what she did, and very, very careful. He knew that, too.

  “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” she told herself. His favorite saying.

  The monitor to her left, which displayed the diagnostics of the machines she’d hacked into, sat silent, awaiting her decision. It was a simple thing, to reach out and push the button that should shut down the ventilator. And she’d made certain to disable the alarms that would sound in the event it stopped functioning.

  She wasn’t a moron. Many things, perhaps, but not that.

  No, all it would take was the stroke of a key, and Donavon Cruz would die, quietly, without fanfare, and by the time anyone realized he was gone, he’d already be burning.

  At least, she hoped he would. Because people like Cruz deserved the hell the Christian Bible described.

  He deserved worse.

  She’d spent the last day working to put the pieces together, connecting him to the much larger organization he’d participated in, one that stole children and sold them to the worst humanity had to offer. And one by one, they would fall.

  She would make certain.

  But first, there was this. This choice she had to make. And part of her wondered why she was hesitating; at any other time she would simply act. And she knew her hesitation was a sign that she still retained—if only in part—her own humanity. Her soul.

  A hindrance at times. And at others…her driving force.

  An odd paradox.

  And yet, it existed. As did she.

  “Why am I hesitating?” she asked the second monitor, staring at the slack, unmoving features of Donavon Cruz. The camera was angled so that she could see his face and part of the window behind him. It was night in Boise, and lights flickered beyond him, tiny pinpricks of light that winked through the glass.

  It must be done. For the greater good. For Alexander and Benjamin Cruz; for Lucia Sanchez. For all of the children Donavon Cruz had raped and tortured and, she was certain, murdered.

  So that those who’d done business with Cruz would know she was coming for them.