Bad Boy Criminal: The Novel

by Olivia Hawthorne

  I was startled back down to Earth when Ashton reached out and lightly touched the patch of singed hair follicles near my temple, which did, at first glance, appear to be a lock of shorn hair. “Maybe you can relate,” he murmured. God, those eyes.

  Smiling up at him, suddenly demure, it was I who broke the eye contact and continued forging down the road ahead. Ashton loped after me, but he did not speak.

  We walked in silence for almost a minute before he went on, “Who was Berenice’s lover? The one she’d protect in battle with her hair?”

  “Her husband,” I answered, suddenly meek. “A pharaoh. One of those Ptolemies. I can’t remember which one—he had a ton of brothers.”

  “Ha,” Ash barked, startling me. When I glanced at him, he was grinning, his eyes sparkling, and I again caught a glimpse of the real Ash. Or, the man I hoped was the real Ash. He was the man I had wanted to go to Mexico with. “Maybe I can relate too,” he divulged.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Isabelle

  The Sandy Castle was a motel so far off the beaten path, we hadn’t even reached the main strip of Bluff when we found it. It didn’t even look like it housed guests, and at first, we thought it was just an abandoned duplex or something. However, there was a Vacancy sign in the front lot; only the last four letters were alight.

  We took our room—#3, which the mildly drunken manager informed us had always been “lucky” for couples—and tried not to look too hard at the crumbling plaster, or the stains on the thin carpeting.

  “Oh, my god, a shower,” Ash groaned as soon as we entered the room. He fumbled over a lamp and illuminated the area with a dim puddle of yellow light. Green carpet. Miniature television mounted on top of a VCR. And one queen-sized bed.

  “But ladies first, right?” I half-joked, half-pleaded.

  Ashton replied with a warm smile. I couldn’t figure out why the sudden thaw—or if he was just bound to refreeze any minute. “Of course,” he acquiesced. “After you, my lady.”

  But the bathroom wasn’t any dreamy vacation, either. Don’t get me confused with a princess, now. I had no trouble stripping off my pants and tank top and clambering on into that narrow stall, wrenching the faucet, and damn near moaning with pleasure at the steam which buffeted almost instantly up to my face.

  Scanning the small shelf located on the right wall, I found a bar of hotel soap, still wrapped in its plastic, and two tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner. My feet throbbed with gratitude as the hot water rinsed over them, and my joints joined in the chorus of their song. Ripping the plastic from the bar of soap—mm, vanilla and sandalwood—I worked up a thick lather between my hands and glided it over my breasts, down my stomach, and into my arm pits. Oh, god, it was fantastic.

  Shifting to and fro to rinse the suds from my shoulders, my mind trailed as if by design to contemplation of the man undoubtedly now stretched out on that hotel bed. Ashton.

  With that sculpted, golden torso, etched in vibrant dragons and suns and roses and guns. His shaggy hair as dark as oil, and almost as reflective. And the eyes…like gemstones ringed by raven feathers…

  I thought back to our last kiss, with my back pressed against the rescue shed and his fingers slick beneath syrupy Vaseline from milking Rosie. The way he’d seemed to have known my body innately, his thumbs rolling roughly across my nipples, already so taut and electric with arousal. Argh, and then, Hope had hollered out the window, and we’d sprung apart like a couple of teenagers…

  But what if Hope had decided to run to the grocery store for fresh parsley? Then what might we have done?

  As I contemplated this, my fingers trailed down my breasts and pinched my nipples again, reminding them of Ashton’s touch. And then, what if he had turned me roughly toward the wooden wall of the rescue shed, pressing my torso there…and I would have pushed back, I would have resisted, desiring to be against his body at all costs. In my mind’s eye, my ass ground into his rigid member, and while one of Ashton’s greasy hands had continued to paw and massage one of my breasts, damn near milking it, too, the other had frantically unfastened the button on my blue jeans, shoving the denim flaps to either side, manic fingers slithering between my labia with a mind—no, an appetite—of their own…

  I bit my lip and trembled as my own fingers captured my clit, pretending to be Ashton’s. My middle and pointer finger worked together over the engorged nub of my womanhood, eliciting further trembles, causing my knees to lock into a position from which I would not accidentally go sprawling. While one hand worked a nipple, and the other brought me to the threshold of orgasm, nestled between my responsive labia, I was hundreds of miles away, back on Turner Dairyfarm, with Ash again… He was pulling my pants down, so savage, so desperate to be inside me… The clatter of his belt coming undone… His thick, turgid cock sprang up between my legs and pressed hungrily at the very entrance—

  An authoritative knock brought me screaming from the fantasy, and my hands—one had come down to work with the other—both flew away from my now totally soaked pussy.

  “Uh,” I called out to him, almost as disoriented as someone waking from deep sleep, “yeah?”

  “Nothing,” he yelled through the door. “It’s just been, like, almost half an hour… I was just checking—”

  “Oh!” Blush sprang to my cheeks. “Right! I’m sorry! I’m just so—dirty—” Thank God he couldn’t see how red my face was just then. “I totally lost track of time, I’m getting out.”

  Disappointed, I bade farewell to my fizzling fantasy and wrenched the faucet in the other direction, bringing the steaming shower to an immediate halt. Seemingly frigid air rushed to greet me as I swept the plastic curtain to the side, and wrapped myself in a towel. As much as I wanted to fantasize about what might have been, who really knew? Things seemed to have changed for Ashton, hadn’t they? And I wasn’t the type of girl to pour myself into a man’s lap for nothing at all.

  It was probably just an accident. When he was at the dairy, he was swept up, it was sudden, no strings attached, strangers, practically… But now, here I am, following him on the road, pretending to be his prisoner, and it’s probably getting a little bit too real, and he’s just not really that—

  As I opened the bathroom door and stepped out, I almost walked directly into his chest. Speak of the devil…

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. I’d never been so consciously nude in my entire life. Around us, the hot fog from the bathroom drifted by. “Sorry, I—I—There’s still hot water.” IDIOT, I cursed myself.

  It couldn’t have possibly been my imagination that Ashton’s eyes were so intently trained on me. “You smell like peonies,” he murmured, taking me in as if I was a drink at his lips. “And—I smell like dog shit,” he added, smiling sheepishly.

  He didn’t smell like dog shit, per se. He just smelled like…rust, and gasoline, and sweat, and he needed to keep his wound clean…

  I bit my lower lip and peered up at him. “There’s still hot water,” I reiterated. IDIOT!

  But Ashton only grinned and tipped an invisible hat at me. “Be right out,” he promised, sidling past me and into the tiny, steamy bathroom.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ashton

  Goddamn, Ash, get ahold of yourself, I cursed, lathering rapidly and hardly paying much attention to any part of my body that wasn’t on my face, under my arms, or between my legs. The part that was between my legs made itself easy to wash by lifting itself directly into the air. Great.

  It was bad enough, bringing her, I chastised myself. This was real danger, and Isabelle Turner didn’t know anything about that. The closest she came to real danger was a coyote caught in some barbed wire. She’d never been fucking chased by the police, and it was all a daydream to her, but to me, it was real. It was very, very fucking real.

  I can’t strike up some kind of . . . THING with her, though. I just can’t. It’s a huge liability for me, and she’s only a kid. She’d wreck her whole life without thinking twice right now. But I’ve
seen the other side. The longer we go down this road together, the more likely it is she’ll see the other side, too. The other side of the chain-link fence at a workout yard.

  Still, it was hard to deny those dewy hazel eyes, and even harder to deny how fresh and supple she’d looked, still damp from the steam and bending that little towel all out of shape with her curves.

  And I’d already bought the condoms.

  And it wasn’t like I could let them go to waste. On a budget of $700, you can’t let anything go to waste.

  One time, my shoulder angel allowed. That was saying a lot; usually, the guy was completely mum. You get one time with Izzy, maybe two, and then you have to let her go when you get to Mexico. You gotta send her home to her folks and let her have that good life.

  Yeees. That was all I wanted. One time. Maybe two. Yeah. I could handle that.

  I thought of her out there already, laying in the bed, waiting for me. I’d get my head between her legs, first thing. A girl like that is bound to taste just as good as breakfast. She’d wrap her thighs around my head and shudder and cum roses and rainbows… Fucking ambrosia…

  As I imagined her pussy, smooth and pink and soaked and trembling with orgasm, my fingers succumbed to the urge to placate my throbbing dick, and my stomach tensed with each pump over the sensitive skin. Shit, I was way too close to coming, just thinking about her pussy. I couldn’t go any further or I’d lose my load like a handful of confetti, and then what would I have to give her? With a condom on and everything?

  And no man wants to fantasize about an eager, writhing beauty in his bed, grasping his limp instrument, struggling unsuccessfully to revive it post-orgasm.

  Sighing deeply, I forced myself to relent, finished shampooing and conditioning in about sixty combined seconds, and twisted the faucet to a close.

  My mind’s eye was already vivid and pert: curled on the bed like a cat, maybe, but totally nude, smiling up at me with such readiness…or maybe she was a bad girl, deep, deep down, and her legs would be fully spread, and her fingers would already be playing across that field of peonies…

  I tucked another white towel around my waist and stepped from the bathroom, striding eagerly into the motel room—

  And grimaced.

  Of all the sexy scenarios my mind’s eye had conjured, this had been the last.

  She was sprawled on her stomach, one leg draped over the side of the bed, snoring faintly.

  It was eight AM, and I’d struggled through a nap (from which I’d awoken to find my erection nestled lovingly against Isabelle’s forgiving booty), but I couldn’t sleep anymore. My body was humming with adrenaline. We had to get to Albuquerque today to intercept Jade’s identification documents from Arlo, and that was a six hour venture, even on the interstate. If we took backroads again, there was no way we’d make it today. Which meant that I had to take some risks, and go legit.

  I was glad for Izzy’s continued slumber, because if she heard my idea, I was sure she’d slap me.

  But I was going to have to hunt down a Bank of America ATM and just spin the wheel. I needed real money for a real hog, and $700 wouldn’t do. Not when I needed a real fucking gun, too.

  To circumvent any protests from Isabelle’s lovely mouth, I scratched out a quick note to her on the hotel memo pad:

  Hey

  I stopped right there. With the pen in my hand, I knew that I could just finish off the message the way it was meant to be. The way a good man, a fair man, would write it:

  Hey, Izzy. I’m so sorry, but you don’t deserve this life. I appreciate the gesture, but frankly, this ain’t nobody’s mess but mine, and I have to go. I’ll never forget you.

  I glanced over at Isabelle’s body, so relaxed in its sleep, rising and falling gently with every breath, and I seriously thought about it.

  But, at the same time, fuck it.

  I’ve never had the best impulse control, did I?

  And I promised myself one time with her. Just one time.

  Let us get to Mexico, I begged my shoulder angel. And I’ll let her go.

  So instead, I wrote:

  Hey sexy. Had to get some shit for us. I’LL BE BACK. Don’t go nowhere. Promise. –Ash

  With that, I was out the door, ready to max out my fucking account. I would need whatever the max allowance for a single withdrawal might be—and yeah, fucking Agent Harrison was going to get an alert from his little butt buddies over at the FBI, about how there’d been a withdrawal from my account made in Bluff, Utah. Fucking fine. I would risk it. I had to risk it. We were running out of time.

  Chapter Twenty

  Isabelle

  When I woke up, Ashton was gone. Just. Fucking. Gone. His jacket was gone. His wallet was gone. And my eyes were hot and blurry with tears as I hunted for any answers as to where, and why, he’d just left. He’d abandoned me in some cheesy hotel outside of Bluff, Utah, with no car, and no phone, and no wallet; my only option would be to call Bill and Hope and beg forgiveness, explaining that…yes, I had willingly stolen Bill’s truck for a felon who had ditched me without even using my body first… Damn, he must’ve really lost interest.

  Maybe that girl, Jade, was his real girlfriend, and he had an attack of conscience and bailed…

  You should just get used to people leaving for whatever reason, I berated myself. How could you be a fucking foster kid and STILL not used to everyone always leaving?

  It was after I’d blinked and the tears had spilled that I saw the memo on the table by the mirror. I snatched it up and read it in despair, then sagged and exhaled like a drug addict getting their fix.

  He was just getting something. He’d be right back.

  The swell of relief that I felt was so sharp and strong, it surprised even me. And it wasn’t because I didn’t want to go back to Colorado; it wasn’t because I didn’t want to confess to Bill and Hope that, deep down, I was still Izzy on the inside.

  It was because I was heartbroken at the notion of never seeing Ash again.

  The sound of a key turning in the lock startled me from the realization that I had actual, serious…feelings for Ash.

  Then the door fell open and there he was, framed in sparkling shafts of early morning sunlight, and I just fell in love all over again.

  “You’re still here,” I blurted, immediately showing my hand. I sounded upset when I said it. And he might have even been able to guess that I had cried a tear, or two, or four. Maybe six.

  “Yeah, babe,” Ash replied, first chagrined and then slowly moved by the emotion passing between us.

  Dammit. The surprise in his eyes showed his hand, too: he hadn’t guessed that I might be so upset if he had really abandoned me here. Dammit.

  “Yeah, I’m still here,” he reiterated, crossing the room to weave his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck. “Why don’t you come outside? I’ve got to show you something.”

  He pulled me outside, and my jaw dropped. It didn’t even make sense, but…it was parked directly in front of our door. A sparkling, slender red motorcycle stood before us, and I approached it with a kind of reverence I didn’t even know that I had for vehicles.

  “Where did you steal this one?” I breathed.

  “Didn’t,” Ash replied. “Bought it.”

  I turned to examine Ash, squinting my eyes thoughtfully. “With what money?”

  “My money.” Ash shrugged. “Turns out, Bank of America allows a thousand dollars to get withdrawn in a single shot. So. Bang, bang.”

  My gape only widened, but now my eyes flashed with a kind of horror. “ASH!” I cried, leaving the motorcycle behind to advance on him. “What the hell are you thinking? You made a WITHDRAWAL?”

  “A little louder, please,” he hissed. “Why didn’t you just go ahead and say my full name and sentence?”

  I shifted away from him and glared. “Agent Harrison and Agent Carson wanted you badly enough to go door-to-door at every house near the interstate your transit van was on,” she informed me hotly. “You thi
nk they won’t appreciate the hot tip about Utah?”

  “Babe, babe, babe,” Ash cooed, swaggering another step toward me with every word from his mouth. “Shh.” He put his finger to my lips, and I didn’t know if I was infuriated, or if I wanted to suck it a little. “We have plenty of time to get out of here. They think I’m still in Colorado. If they’re going to come all the way here…fuck it…we’ll be in New Mexico then, won’t we? Look. We need to be meeting a connection of mine and Jade’s—Arlo—in Albuquerque today. Stolen cars, Izzy, can’t go on the interstate…and we can’t afford to waste any more time on backroads. You feel me?”

  Uncertain, I still nodded. Ashton sounded awfully certain.

  “So, can you trust me?” he asked, his finger still on my mouth.

  I nodded again, and this time, he curled his finger and pulled it down, strumming it across my lips as if he was playing a chord on a beloved guitar. His other fingers braced my chin and gently tugged my mouth fully open.

  He descended hungrily onto my tongue, taking it into his mouth and suckling on the appendage like some carnivore who only ate women. I weakened in his arms and let him. My own hands snaked up into his hair and clenched, our bodies buckling against each other like two pieces of perfect complement.

  God, yes. Maybe this was a terrible decision, and maybe we were both going to go down swinging for it…but I couldn’t even bring myself to care. I wanted to go down with Ashton, no matter how far he led me.

  “Let’s go inside,” Ashton growled, his fingers clenching at the button of my jeans, again like an animal.

  Oh, I wanted to, but one of us had to be reasonable, didn’t they?

  “Can we really spare the time?” I asked him. “The agents are probably already on their way.”