Deal with the Devil

by Stacia Stone

  “Mara…”

  “It’s okay.” Her smile is sad. “I know you don’t feel the same way.”

  Love. It’s a four letter word — literally and figuratively. I won’t pretend like I haven’t said it before, but I’ve never meant it. Not even with my ex-wife. I used to lie through my teeth to that shrew, just to get her off my back. That marriage had been a mistake in every possible way, but I never had a problem telling her what I thought she wanted to hear.

  I can’t do that to Mara. I won’t lie, even if it’s a lie that she wants to hear.

  All I know for sure is that I feel things for her that I’ve never felt for anyone else before. But is it love? I just don’t know.

  And I don’t want to hurt her. That’s why I still haven’t told her Apocalypse is coming for us. I need to make arrangements for where we’re going to go, so we can’t leave until the morning anyway. Let her have one more night to be oblivious to just how much shit we’re in before she has to face it head on.

  Mara has turned away to shuffle slowly toward the bedroom. She looks like a wraith in the over-sized robe she took from my closet. I want to stop her, but there’s nothing left to say.

  I’ll just sleep on the couch because I doubt she wants me anywhere near her. Women don’t tell you they love you, hear something lame in return and still want to jump into bed with you. I could probably force the issue, but it’s better to just let her have space.

  “Are you coming to bed?” she asks, the soft words floating over me like strands of gauze.

  “Yeah.”

  I follow her into the bedroom. There’s no denying it, I could die for Mara a thousand times and still never deserve to have her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mara

  We’re going to die.

  I freak out when Leo finally gets around to telling me about his meeting with Carmine and that asshole, Ares. He just let me go to sleep last night like there was nothing for me to worry my pretty little head about.

  I’m in love with a complete asshole.

  This is that old-school shit that always kept me from starting any relationships with connected guys. Even in high school, all my friends were going after the baddest guys they could find. I knew better. That rough and tumble exterior women always find so sexy is usually connected to the most backward, sexist ideals that you can imagine.

  And now we’re arguing again.

  “I’m going,” I say, glaring at Leo’s impassive face from where I sit on the messy bed. It’s covered in piles of clothes and toiletries. “You can come with me or I’ll go alone.”

  “We don’t have time for this, Mara. They gave me twenty-four hours to give you up and half of that is already gone. We leave now.”

  “No.” I don’t care if it makes sense. I don’t care if I sound completely insane. “I am not leaving town without saying goodbye one last time. Especially, if I’m never coming back.”

  A low growl comes from deep in his throat. He disappears into the closet. He comes out carrying a black metal case that I bet is full of weapons. “You’re fucking coming back.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Damnit, Mara.”

  “I just want to visit his grave. We can do it on the way out of town.” I feel him starting to cave and press harder. “I’m only asking for five minutes. Please.”

  Leo hesitates by the door of the bathroom, obviously contemplating our options. “Five minutes?”

  “That’s it. I promise.”

  He frowns at the sight of my satisfied smile. “If I get clipped for this five minutes, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

  I launch off of the bed and wrap my arms around him. “Thank you.”

  Leo squeezes me briefly. He pulls back with a bemused expression on his face. “Finish packing.”

  We’ve both been ignoring my confession from the night before. For him, the fact that the stray dog he reluctantly let sleep on the porch has turned into a love-sick puppy probably makes him intensely uncomfortable. I’m forcing myself not to think about it. I’ve said it and there’s no taking it back, so why dwell?

  I didn’t say it expecting something in return. I know what kind of man he is. He’s the type of guy that wouldn’t recognize the emotion of love, even if he ever did feel it. And I know that the two of us could never work long-term. Assuming we even survive this, our time together has a short shelf-life.

  I just wanted him to know. Even if it didn’t change anything.

  Whether he loves me or not, it’s still us against the world. I’m dead, otherwise.

  “You done?” he calls from the bathroom. I realize I’ve been standing and staring off into space for the last ten minutes.

  “Just a minute.” Luckily, I don’t have much to pack. That’s the one upside to being forced to live out of a suitcase for the last few weeks. I shove my meager belongings into the bag without bothering to fold anything. I’m just grabbing my laptop when his voice stops me.

  “You can’t take that.”

  I look up to see him standing in the doorway. I follow his gaze to my laptop — probably my most prized possession. “Why the hell not?”

  “Anything that can receive a signal can be traced.” He strides forward and plucks it the laptop out of my hands, ignoring my protests. “That means no laptop and no phone. You probably won’t even be able to get a signal where we’re going, anyway.”

  So the one place in the world more boring than this apartment. “Is it a forced labor camp?”

  The ghost of a smile crosses his face. “I hope you like the sound of your own thoughts.”

  Great. “You’re going to have to find some way to entertain me if I can’t have the internet.”

  His grin is wolfish. “I can do that.”

  A shiver of anticipation works its way down my spine at the frankly sexual look in eyes. I get to be with him, touch him when I want. It almost doesn’t matter that he can’t love me.

  Leo waits for me in an old beater of a truck while I visit Papa’s grave. I think it’s because you can’t see someone coming if you’re standing at the gravesite. He drove the truck off the little service road and right through the cemetery. He didn’t seem to care if the best vantage point that keeps both the main street and me in sight is literally on top of some random person’s grave.

  If I wasn’t already sure we were both going to hell, I’d be pretty certain of it now.

  I can feel his impatient gaze like an itch between my shoulder blades. When I glance back at him, his head looks like it’s on a permanent swivel as he constantly assesses for any potential threat.

  No one is going to be looking for us in that truck. It’s an old single-cab Toyota with rust stains and dents all along the side. The thing doesn’t even have a working radio. Leo says we’re going to need four-wheel drive to get to wherever it is we’re headed. This is best he could get on short notice, though I have no idea from where. I assume that if were stolen, he would’ve picked something nicer.

  Papa’s gravestone looks shiny new next to the others, but also sort of abandoned. The other gravesites are scattered with flowers in varying states of decay, little photos and other tokens of remembrance. It’s obvious no one else has been up here to visit him since the funeral. That thought makes me sad.

  Leo wouldn’t let us stop to get a bouquet. He threatened to keep driving right past the cemetery if I wouldn’t stop asking. I pull a handful of wildflowers that are growing in a wild bush nearby and press them together in a makeshift posy. I just want it to look like someone still cares.

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” I whisper as I fall to my knees next to the stone.

  I can’t help but feel like I’ve failed him. He trusted me to manage things and hold my own against my crazy-ass mother. But I couldn’t do it. Now everything has gone to shit.

  The stone is warm under my hands, in stark contrast with the cold air outside. A cold chill has picked up, sending tendrils of freezing air across my skin. I imagi
ne them as the icy fingers of death.

  I wish Papa was here to tell me what to do. He always had the answer to everything. I know he wasn’t the typical sort of grandfather. The kind who smells like mothballs and always has toffee-flavored candy in the pocket of his cardigan. Not my Papa. He was more the type to give you a $100 bill when you asked for money for the ice cream truck and threaten “to gut any schmuck that fucking touches you.”

  God, I miss him.

  Leo honks the horn in warning. Clearly, my five minutes are up.

  I don’t move immediately. Another minute isn’t going to make that much of a difference.

  It would be just too ironic if those Apocalypse bikers caught up to us here. Leo wouldn’t just let them take me. No. We’d go out in a hail of gunfire like something out of a movie. Bleeding to death on top of my grandfather’s grave has a sick sort of poetry to it.

  I hear the crunch of footsteps on the icy grass. A second later, Leo grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet.

  “I know you heard the horn,” he growls as pulls me toward the truck. “You trying to get killed out here, or what?”

  Considering the morbid direction of my thoughts, he’s not that far off. I don’t want to die. But there’s a sick part of me that doesn’t want to run or fight anymore. If I give up, at least all of this will be over.

  Except Leo would never allow it. He’d kill me himself first.

  “Hurry up,” he says. “We need to get out of town.”

  Despite his apparent rush, Leo walks me all the way around to the passenger door, opens it and helps me inside. I think that he’s less of a gentleman than just convinced that he can’t trust me not to do something crazy.

  I shiver as I slide onto the cracked leather seat. Leo must have been sitting here with the engine off because it’s freezing inside the cab of the truck.

  He climbs up into the driver’s seat. He seems completely unconcerned about the insane cold if he even notices it at all. The man has to be part reptile.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask through chattering teeth.

  Leo reaches over and turns up the little dial for the heater. “I’ve got a cabin up near the border. Almost no one knows about it. It’ll take a couple of hours to get up there, though.”

  “Near the border,” I repeat, confused. Then it dawns on me with growing horror. “You mean the border with Canada?”

  “Well, we’re going the wrong way for Mexico. And I don’t speak Spanish, so what do you think?”

  Jesus. “You mean I’m stuck in this truck for four hours.”

  “More like six.” He pauses, thinking. “Or eight.”

  I groan at that. I’ve never been a fan of long car rides. And without a phone or my laptop, this is pretty much torture.

  Leo reaches over and gently squeezes my hand. “Maybe you should try to sleep or something.”

  “It’s too cold to sleep,” I grumble.

  “It’s not too cold for me.”

  He shifts his grip on my hand and pulls it down on his crotch. He’s rock hard and hot as a furnace. I’m almost impressed.

  I inch closer on the seat, stopping only when the seatbelt holds me back. My free hand strokes his thigh, marveling at the tightly coiled muscles. I can almost feel him forcing himself down the back of my throat. I shiver at the memory.

  When I risk a glance, he’s staring down at me with a small smile on his face. I’m afraid he’s going to crash.

  “Watch the road.”

  He very deliberately grabs the back of my neck and pulls me in for a kiss.

  “You’re going to kill us both,” I say, once he lets me pull back.

  “What’s life without a little risk?”

  “You’re crazy.”

  His gaze returns to the road, but he rolls his hips up into my hand. And I’m back to thinking about how he good he feels in my mouth.

  The look in his eyes says that he knows exactly what’s running through my mind.

  “You want this, baby?” He makes another thrusting motion with his hips.

  My hands are already working at the zipper of his pants. I’m desperate for something to push away all of the bad thoughts. His erection has the same idea. I’ve barely undone the button when he spills out of the pants — hard, long and thick.

  I unbuckle the seatbelt so my head can move directly over his lap. I trust him not to crash the truck.

  Leo lets out a loud groan when I kiss the tip. A heavy hand falls on the back of my head. My mouth opens just as he forces himself past my teeth and down my throat.

  There’s a trick to deep-throating. You have to be active and passive at the same time. I’m ready to pull back if he goes too deep, but also force the muscles of my throat to relax against the invasion. Obviously, he appreciates the effort. His breathing comes faster and the hand on my head twists tightly in my hair.

  I love this in a way that I never thought I would. It’s dirty and degrading, but I also feel this heady sense of power and control. He’s feeling this pleasure because of me. With each little moan and muffled shout, I’m that much closer to owning him.

  “Just like that,” he groans, so close that I can hear the tension in his voice. “Faster.”

  The whole world has narrowed to us in this truck and my mouth on him. Nothing else matters — not the men coming after us and not the state of our relationship. All that matters is that I make him come harder than any woman ever has before.

  We’re running for our lives and I’m giving him road head.

  I giggle at the absurdity of it. He groans again in response, his dick growing impossibly harder at the vibrating sound. His hand in my hair shoves me down until my lips hit the very base of him. It’s almost painful, but I force myself to relax against the thick feeling of him at the very back of my throat.

  I can feel how close he is.

  He orgasms with a loud groan. I swallow, not that he gives me a choice. The hand twisting in my hair holds me down roughly through every tiny spasm of his cock. Eventually, I pull away as he leisurely sets himself to rights.

  When I look out the window, we’re passing the exit sign for Ithaca. I wait for a feeling of wistfulness or longing to rise up in me. But I don’t feel anything. Newark isn’t my home, anymore, but Ithaca really isn’t either.

  Leo grabs my hand again and squeezes it tight. He pulls until I’m laying down on the bench seat with my head resting on his thigh. His muscle flexes under my cheek. I don’t ever want him to stop touching me.

  The realization is like a sharp spike of pain in the pit of my belly. Because I know he doesn’t feel the same way.

  Home is wherever he is.

  I must fall asleep at some point. When I wake up, we’re no longer driving on the highway.

  Leo navigates the truck slowly up a snow-covered back road. Dense crops of bare trees painted silver with ice line either side. It’s just starting to get dark. The sun is barely a line of gold on the horizon and the formerly blue sky is painted with splashes of purple and red.

  The tires slide a bit on a patch of ice and the headlights swing toward the deep ditch on the side of the road. My heart jumps into my throat, but Leo quickly regains control. The truck makes a slow climb up the steep incline.

  I can see why he wanted the four-wheel drive.

  “Where are we?” I ask. My voice seems small in the cold quiet.

  “Right outside Nicholville. The Canadian border is about twenty miles north of here.”

  “I’ve never been to Canada before.”

  His eyebrow quirks in amusement. “I’ll take you someday if you want. It’s even colder than Ithaca up there, though.”

  I’ll take you someday.

  Why is he talking like we have a future? Like he’s ever going to see me again when all of this is done? It’s fucking me up.

  “I’ll pass,” I say lightly. I’m ignoring the turmoil of my emotions. “If you’re ever planning a trip to the Maldives, count me in for that.”

>   “You’re the one who’s an heiress.” His tone is teasing, but something darker swirls in the inky black of his eyes. “Maybe you should be taking me on a tropical vacation.”

  “You get me out of this alive and I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  It’s just teasing, I remind myself. Neither of us really mean it. He probably can’t wait to get the albatross of my problems unwrapped from around his neck. It’s just fooling myself to assume anything else.

  Silence falls between us as the cabin slowly rises into view. A snow-covered roof and walls made of thick wooden logs make it look like something out of American folklore. The small porch wraps around to a stone chimney that juts out proudly from the side. A woodpile gathers snow out front. I can tell from the blanket of white all around the cabin that no one’s been up here for a long time.

  Another, newer truck is parked outside the cabin. Leo catches me looking at it.

  “We’ll switch them out when we have to go back down the mountain. Just in case this one got made when we were leaving town.”

  He really does think of everything. It makes me wonder how many times he’s had to lay low until the heat died down.

  I’m the opposite of rustic, but I can’t help but be a little charmed by the cabin.

  “I built it myself,” Leo says, taking me by surprise.

  “Wow.”

  “Willy helped me with the electricity and plumbing.”

  The wiry lawyer didn’t strike me as the type to be good with his hands. Neither did Leo for that matter.

  “Seriously?”

  “He did carpentry work to put himself through law school.”

  My grandfather’s greatest strength was his ability to surround himself with capable people.

  “It’s cute,” I say. “But it better have electricity.”

  “I figured you’d be the roughing it type. We can light candles and shit. It’ll be romantic.”

  My gaze flies to his face to make sure he’s joking. “Hot water and central heat are pretty romantic, too.”

  He laughs as the truck rolls to a stop. “It’s fully wired, princess. We even have indoor plumbing.”