by Warren, Skye
Josh snorts his disbelief.
Liam doesn’t take his eyes off the road behind us. He’s probably got a nice little catalogue of every car, make and model, that’s come by. Maybe license plates, too. It’s hard to believe that he ever unwinds, unless you’ve seen him with Samantha.
“She was worried about Holly,” he says. “London. On the drive last night.”
Guilt eats at my stomach. No, I haven’t really turned over a new leaf. Not the way I beat her ass last night. The skin became pink, and that turned me on. “I spanked her.”
The three words contain a confession much deeper than some kinky sex…
Am I like my father?
How far can I go before I become him?
Have I already crossed that line?
“Did she like it?” Josh asks, and I punch him again. “What? It’s fucking relevant.”
“He’s right,” Liam says, softer. “It’s relevant.”
“She was wet, if that’s what you’re asking. She came around my dick. I could make her beg for it again tonight, if I wanted to, but that’s not the goddamn question.”
“You’re not like him.”
“You don’t even fucking know him,” I say, louder than I meant. A honeymooning couple from the next table glance over, and I look away. Shit. I’m losing my composure. Not a good sign as I get ready to walk into a deadly situation.
Liam tenses. “You’ve never told us. What was it like after we left?”
It was already pure hell when my brothers had been home. Our father had a particular dislike of Liam. Liked to throw him down a well and make him wait hours or even days to pull him back up. Then when he’d gotten older, he’d started throwing me and Josh in the abandoned well instead. He’d left us to cry, to drink the fetid water and then vomit it again, while Liam was forced to listen from the ground, unable to help in any way.
Then Liam turned eighteen. He enlisted.
And then Josh turned eighteen. He enlisted.
It was just me and the old man for four years before I could do the same.
“We don’t need to talk about this,” I say.
Josh runs a hand over his face. “We really don’t. What is this, some kind of intervention? A family reunion? We don’t know how to do the hard shit, so why bother trying?”
“It’s the reason he doesn’t trust us,” Liam says to Josh, his voice low, his gaze a rich emerald like our father’s. “He knows our secrets by now, but we don’t know his.”
“There are no secrets,” I lie. “You think the old man suddenly grew two heads after you left? No, he was the same bastard he was before that.”
Josh nods, looking relieved and exasperated. “That’s true. He didn’t magically change.”
Liam appears unimpressed. “Something happened.”
“How do you know?” Josh asks.
“Because there was not a single child services call, not a single police report, not a single record of Elijah at the hospital.” My oldest brother leans forward. “So if our father did not magically change into a half-decent parent after we left, how did that happen?”
My throat feels tight. “You don’t get to know the answer. You left.”
Josh’s expression takes on a begrudging approval. “How the hell do you do that? It’s like a carnival trick. Instead of telling fortunes, he can ferret out deeply buried secrets.”
I look away at the glittering surface of rocks and water. It’s a beautiful setting, but all I feel inside is dread. The same thing I feel whenever I think of the past.
Is it too much for that shit to stay buried? Is it too much to want to know my brothers without revealing all the toxic shit? Probably. Yeah, I have a tendency to want too much.
Same thing with Holly. I want her too damn much.
I swallow down the rest of the water and stand. If anyone attacked us right now, I’d be completely dependent on my brothers, because I’m moving blind and slow.
Underwater in the miasma of memories.
I knew Liam wouldn’t let that shit rest forever, but I didn’t expect him to bring it up in the wide-open sunlight of the Amalfi coast. That kind of thing deserves nighttime and a dark, scary setting. It deserves blood and gore.
Liam comes to stand on one side of me. Josh on the other.
“Now, let’s go over the plan,” Liam says again.
“I’m taking Holly.”
“I don’t understand why we can’t come too,” Josh says. “A party’s a party.”
“Because Taggart will bolt. You know that.”
“So we pin him down. Put a bullet in his brain.”
There’s that tug in my chest again. I feel it whenever I look at Holly. I’m looking at her now. “I don’t want her to be afraid of me. If I kill him, she will be.”
“We’re not murderers,” Liam says.
That’s the problem, of course. He’s wrong. I am a murderer. That’s one of the secrets I’m keeping from him. It would only pain him if he knew the truth. “Besides, that will make her a target for anyone loyal to Taggart. I want her free and clear of this shit.”
“And if something happens to you?” Josh asks.
“I don’t give a shit about me. He touches a hair on her head, you burn him to the ground.”
I leave them standing on the rocks and stride to the edge of the water. Holly looks up from where she’s floating, her hair a mass of curly wet, her eyes sparkling like the sea. She’s a siren drawing me away from my ship, toward a violent death. I don’t give a fuck.
My boots come off with a few kicks, and I’m left in socks and long combat pants. Not exactly the ideal swimwear, but I walk straight into the lapping waves. She meets me with joy in her expression, laughing, and I have a sudden desire to throw off the meeting tonight. Let’s fuck and fuck and fuck. Let’s forget about the rest of the world in the Mediterranean Sea.
She throws her arms around me. “Hello, Mr. Serious.”
That makes me grin. “Mr. Serious?”
“That’s your superpower. Being serious.”
“You’ve met Liam, and you think I’m the serious one.”
“Well, superpowers run in the family,” she says in a reasonable tone.
God, I love this woman. The words come to me in a swell of affection, and I have to turn away quickly to hide my shock. I don’t love her. I can’t love her. That means this terrifying obsession will never end. It means we’ll be forever locked in a grid of resentment.
“What were you three talking about?” she says, gesturing to my brothers.
“The plan for tonight,” I manage, my voice gruff.
“You got them to agree that it should just be the two of us?”
“I wasn’t exactly giving them a choice.”
“That was a lot of talking for such a simple conversation.”
“Logistics,” I say, which is a lie. We went over that already in the house. We’ll go over it again before tonight. The truth is we were talking about all the ways I would horrify her if she really knew me.
He knows our secrets by now, but we don’t know his.
“Logistics,” I say again. “That’s all. Now onto the more important questions. We’re walking into a dangerous situation tonight, Ms. Frank. Do you know how to shoot?”
“A gun?”
“No, a basketball. Of course a gun.”
She shivers, and I see the memory of last night in her eyes. “No.”
“The logistics are pretty easy. Point and shoot. The question is, can you kill a man?”
CHAPTER TEN
Holly
We make the climb up a winding staircase with crumbly stone steps and a wobbly metal railing. None of that scares me as much as what’s coming next. London goes upstairs for a nap. I have no idea how she can rest with what’s happening tonight. The other men disappear to make plans. Then it’s only me and Elijah behind the house, where a large lemon orchard suffuses the air with a sweet citrus.
Elijah pulls a gun from a harness built into hi
s cargo pants, and I shiver as I realize he’d been armed the whole time we were on the beach. Without any fanfare or warning, he aims at a lemon high in a tree. Pop. I jump at the sound. Yellow rind and juice explode.
“We cleared out the orchard and the rental houses fifty yards out,” he explains, though I’m reading his lips more than hearing him because of the blast. “It’s safe.”
Safe feels like a relative term when he hands me the weapon. The gun feels larger than it looked in his hand and heavier than I expected. It’s a dark silvery color, warm from where he held it. “Shouldn’t there be a safety presentation first? Or a debriefing? Something before me actually shooting this?”
He points to a lemon hanging low. “Go for that one.”
“Is there something easier to start with?”
“I’ll help you.” He puts his arms around me, clasps his hand around my hand. We point at the lemon together. He shows me the sight, and where to aim, but I back away from him.
“Nuh-uh. I’m not ready.”
“Like I said, the mechanics are simple. Point and shoot. The hard part is the mindset.”
I’m holding the gun like it’s a snake coiled to bite me. “What’s the mindset?”
“That you need to be ready to kill. You pick up a gun because you can shoot a man.”
“Or what if my aim gets good enough where I can shoot a tree branch that falls on his head, and that way he doesn’t have to die, and I don’t have to kill him.”
In a smooth motion Elijah comes to stand in front of me. He holds the gun steady so that it’s pointing right at his chest. Even as I yank and pull, it stays right there. I’m afraid to pull any harder or the trigger might go off.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Prove that you can do it. Pull the trigger.”
“Are you insane? Stop it.”
His green eyes glitter in the sunlight. “You can do it, Holly.”
“No, I can’t. I don’t want to.” My voice is going supersonic. “You’re scaring me.”
“Now I bet you wished you’d gone for that lemon.”
“How can you laugh at a time like this?”
He grins. “The safety’s on.”
I’m shaking so hard even when I drop the gun and step back. I could throw up. All over this beautiful green grass. I could throw up all over this orchard. “I hate you.”
“You failed the test, by the way. Never pick up a gun unless you’re ready to kill.”
“I’m not going to kill just anybody. I’d kill someone attacking us.”
“Would you?”
I pause, because I’m not sure. Maybe I would freeze, the same way I did with Elijah. Maybe I would go supersonic instead of saving us. Then I remember those cold nights in the French prison. I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I’m a survivor. “Yes. I can.”
Green eyes study me. Elijah gives a nod that feels like a benediction. “Good.”
“I still hate you for that.”
A slight curve to his lips. He glances down my body in a way that feels overtly sexual. “We’re alone out here. Probably the last time we will be before tonight.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting we do…” My cheeks heat. “That. I’m furious at you.”
“I’m not suggesting, sweetheart. I’m telling you to get on your knees.”
My body reacts to his command with embarrassing swiftness, becoming wet and warm, readying itself for him. I have to forcibly lock my knees to make sure I don’t obey him. “No.”
He glances toward the trees. “I’ll give you a head start.”
“A what? We’re not racing.”
“Of course we’re not.” That slow grin makes my heartbeat pound. “I’m chasing you. In about five seconds, that is. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m not doing this.”
“Three Mississippi.” He draws out the words, making them slower than they should be.
In that moment I know he’s serious.
He’s going to make me get on my knees, and the worst part is, the truly humiliating part, is that I would love to serve him that way. The thought terrifies me. I’m supposed to be a strong and powerful woman. At the very least, not on my knees.
I bolt through the trees, heading vaguely in the direction of the house. All the lemon trees look the same, so I don’t know if I’m getting closer. I give it every ounce of strength, bounding over uneven ground and stray roots.
“Four mississippi,” comes the call from behind me, and I speed up.
I’m going fast enough to hear the wind whistle past me, fast enough that I can’t hear when he finally says, “Five mississippi.” It’s not a sound, it’s a feeling. A certainty that my time is up. I dart to the left through the trees, an instinct telling me he’s close—and slam right into a hard chest.
The impact sends me flying, and he turns us mid-air, making it so we land with him on the bottom. I collide with his hard abs with an oomph, and then tumble across the soft grass.
“On your knees, sweetheart.”
It’s like I’m in a trance, some ancient obedient that knows I lost the chase, that I’ve been caught, that I deserve whatever forfeit he demands. I pull up to my knees and wait for him to approach me. He walks over like some conquering Visigoth, and me a conquered village woman. His hand curves against my cheek in a mimicry of tenderness. The cruel set of his mouth proves otherwise. His thumb taps my lips.
“You’re going to open and take me all the way down, aren’t you? Going to suck my cock like a champ, work my cock until you get your reward. Is that right?”
The crude words make me shiver, and I shake my head. No.
“We could do this the hard way, if you want. I might enjoy that. You think I need your permission to fuck your mouth? I don’t. I could lay you flat on the ground, kneel on top of you and fuck these pretty lips like they’re a pussy.”
A fork in the road. One way is the safe direction, the path where I tell him he’s disgusting, where I tell him to go fuck himself. The other way is more hazy, more dangerous. It’s where I admit the truth, both to him and to myself, the way his words make me wet.
“You can’t make me.” It’s a challenge.
A slow smile spreads across his handsome face. “You think I can’t? I’d hold your nose until you had to open your mouth.” He puts his thumb at the junction of my lips. “I’d hold your mouth open so you couldn’t bite me. And the worst part is… well, you already know the worst part.”
Some impulse has me asking, “What?”
“You’d be humping my boot by the end of it, wouldn’t you? Desperate to come?”
“Yes,” I whisper like it’s a confession. Like we’re in the dark instead of the sunshine.
“Thank fuck,” he whispers back, and it’s a break from the part he’s playing, a fervent prayer that makes me feel strong. He’s the one dominating me, but I’m the one with the power.
He pushes me back until I’m lying on the grass. I know the grass is soft from when I just took a tumble, but the perverse part of me wants it rocky like the beach. I want to feel the sting of his lust, and he obliges by kneeling with his legs on either side of my shoulders. It immobilizes me fully. I can only wriggle my legs, but I can’t even lift my arms. I won’t be able to control the depth of him in my mouth, the speed. I’m completely at his mercy, and my body responds by turning hot and liquid between his knees.
There’s no foreplay, only his zipper cutting through the pleasant air, the heavy weight of his erection against my cheek. He nudges my mouth with a cock already leaking at the tip. “Open for me. Give me that sweet mouth or I’ll make you regret it.”
I open my mouth, and he immediately invades me—his crown against my tongue, his masculine scent in my lungs, his green eyes in my sights.
“That’s right,” he says. “You like it, don’t you?”
He plunges deep, and I focus on not gagging. My head jerks back, but I’m on the ground with nowhere to go. He pulls back, an
d I only have enough time to suck in a breath, to register the salt slick of him, before he plunges in again.
His green eyes are slitted above me. “Such a good little whore.”
“What the fuck is going on here?”
The words pierce my lust haze, and I struggle to look up. From my position I see an upside-down Liam North staring down at us.
Almost as soon as I feel the pressure, it’s gone. Lifted. Elijah stands and pulls me up behind him in one smooth motion. I hear a zipper, and I know he’s covered himself. I cover my mouth with my hand, feeling a rush of humiliation to be caught in this position. It feels like I’m a teenager caught with my boyfriend in the basement. Adrenaline pumps through my heart. I have to remind myself that I’m a grown-up who can do dirty things with other grown-ups.
“What did it look like?” Elijah asks, his voice challenging.
“It looked like you were holding her down and fucking her mouth.”
“Then that’s what I was doing.”
My embarrassment morphs into something more nervous. There’s a strange tension shimmering in the citrus-scented air, a conflict I don’t fully understand.
From around Elijah’s arm I can see Liam’s expression, the usually stoic man now forbidding and outraged. “You don’t get to talk to her that way.”
“Then stop me,” Elijah says, a rare hollowness in his tone.
I force my way past him. “Hey, wait a second. This is embarrassing and everything, but what we were doing wasn’t illegal or even wrong. It was two consenting adults.”
Liam doesn’t take his eyes off his younger brother. “It didn’t look like consent.”
Shock holds me immobile for a moment as I process this. Liam thinks his brother was forcing me to do something. He thinks his brother was using me, violating me.
That’s why he interrupted us. That’s why he’s challenging his brother.
So why didn’t Elijah just tell him that I wanted it?
Then stop me.
“It was consensual.” I stamp my foot, which feels childish but the two men are posturing like fighting bulls and ignoring me completely. “It was, okay? I wanted it like that.”