by Aubrey Irons
She's bent over on her knees in front of me, wiggling that ass of hers and daring me to yield, as if we're competing to see who drops or passes out first. And then I'm fucking her hard; the deep, rhythmic strokes that I know drive her wild. I'm pulling her hair, just hard enough to make her gasp, and just enough to have her reach back and claw at my chest, her fingers needy and grasping as she moans and writhes under me.
I'm groaning as she giggles and crawls between my legs, taking me in her mouth to revive me. And against every single aching muscle, and every single law of just human exhaustion, I'm hard again, and needing her.
She's riding me, her hands on my knees and her hair tossed back as she bounces that perfect ass up and down my length, milking me. My hands slide over her hips, one staying up to her breasts to tease and roll her nipples between my fingers, the other diving deep between her legs to the place we connect and pressing against her clit.
Lost time? Fuck it; in our minds, we're going to make up for a full year of this without taking a single damned break.
We do of course finally drop from exhaustion, and it's then that we take the time to right the wrongs of our past.
There are tears.
She's crying when she tells me about that Goddamn syringe in my bathroom that night; even more so when I tell her about Danny. And just like that, the sins of the past are brought bleeding and bloody to the surface, only to be shoved away; healed now.
It doesn't matter who was wrong, or what was said or wasn't anymore, because it's forgotten. It's pushed aside in favor of the now, because the now is the only real place we can be. We don't exist in the past, only here and what's to come.
But for now, it's just her and I under this big, big sky, and for now, that's all I need.
“So, what now?” The muffled, half-asleep voice against my chest mumbles.
I grin as I lean down to kiss the top of her head; “Well I think it's safe to say date three is off with Anderson after you slept with the guy that kicked his ass.” She giggles into my skin, the rumbling of her happiness making me grin; “I mean there's only so much a guy can take, Peyton, even a desperate douchebag like Anderson.”
She laughs and pokes me in the side; “I know that plan is off, dummy. I mean now what do we do?”
I shrug; “Now we should talk to Sasha again.”
I can feel her bristle beneath me; “Anyone ever tell you you've got a teeny bit of a jealous streak, Miss Rivers?”
“As long as that bitch keeps her hands and her eyes off of you, we'll be just fine.”
I laugh as she playfully nips at my skin; “Tonight we lie low and get some sleep, and tomorrow-” She looks up at me, and my jaw tightens; “Tomorrow we get Logan back.”
23
Peyton
“C’mon, wake up.”
I frown as I open my eyes and drag down the blanket I’ve pulled up over my face against the morning sun; “Hrmmr?” Some women, mostly characters in movies, wake up clear, alert, and ready for the world, with perfectly sexy tousled bed-head.
I am not those women, and I need fucking coffee, now.
I blink my eyes again and focus on a fully dressed, obnoxiously awake Bryce leaning over me. I grumble and start to pull the covers of the lighthouse keeper’s bed we’ve commandeered for the night back up, but he yanks them out of my hands and leans down to kiss my forehead; “Here, become human, oh bleary one.”
I frown in confusion until I look down and see the paper cup of black, strong-smelling Turkish coffee in his outstretched hand; “You’re…you’re a saint,” I mutter, smiling at him as I take the coffee from his hand and gratefully sip it; “Where did you even get this?”
“You sleep late; I went out to the market.”
I arch an eyebrow at him, glancing out the window at the sun low on the horizon; “Late? What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.”
I roll my eyes, grinning as I take another necessary sip of the drink in my hands; “Yeah, day’s-a-wastin’, huh soldier-boy?”
He grins and tosses me a pastry, followed by my clothes; “Here, eat up and let’s go.”
“Where?”
“I want to show you something.”
I raise my brows again; “Can’t we just stay here? Maybe sleep some more?” I add, hopefully.
“The lighthouse?” Bryce smirks; “I’ve heard mixed things about the continental breakfast.”
I laugh, almost getting coffee up my nose in the process.
“C’mon, seriously.”
I make a face as I stick the honey pastry in my mouth and start to pull my clothes on, feeling the glow spread through my cheeks as I feel his eyes roaming over my skin.
“So where are we going?” I say through pastry-stuffed cheeks as we walk back out of the lighthouse - our lighthouse - towards the bike.
“There was this thing, from when I was here before. I just want to see if it’s still-”
“Wait. when were you in Turkey?”
He looks up at me as he swings his leg over the bike; “Have I seriously never told you about that?”
I finish swallowing the rest of my breakfast and shake my head at him; “Well well, Bryce Connors; international man of mystery.” There’s a lot of him I know already, but even back before, there were times when I’d suddenly discover a whole new part of him for the first time, and it was like discovering a new, secret chapter in your favorite book. He’s told me about the Marines, obviously, and leaving, and about joining up with Blackriver later. But it’s the in-between that’s still a hazy mystery.
And apparently we’re covering that particular chapter today.
Bryce grins; “Long story; hop on.”
We tear headlong through the busy morning streets of Istanbul before moving onto the main highway out and roaring away from the city entirely. I look back into the morning sun to watch the minarets and the criers, and the dome of the Hague Sophia drop away as we climb the sloping hills of the countryside.
It’s already crazy, coming from some place like New York that seems so old compared to the shitty trailer-park next to the mega-mall that I grew up in back in Texas. Except this place exists from before New York was even a thing; from before the ships that came to it were even a thing. Hell, this place is older than old York. We’re passing villages that are over a thousand years old, moving past arched aqueducts that the Romans built two-thousand years before.
We’ve officially left Kansas, Toto.
This place has history from before history was written, which seems an appropriate setting for two people like us. Two people for whom history is both everything and also better left in the past.
I hug him tighter, pressing my face into his back as if to remind us both that we’re here and now, and that’s all that matters, and he roars the bike forward as if in response.
We drive past another small town, but this time Bryce takes us off the main road and begins to slow. He drives us carefully through the ancient stone town, past shops owned by the same families for the last millennium, past fields tended and grazed on since the fights between faiths that took place here a thousand years before.
We eventually drive down a small, rock-paved lane to a small stone house on the edge of the village. Bryce cuts the engine, and I look up to see that the wide, two-door garage next to the house is open, and there inside is a myriad of carefully and meticulously organized car parts.
No, motorcycle parts.
He kicks the stand out on the bike as he helps us off, only pausing when he sees the grin on my face; “What?”
I roll my eyes, smiling at him; “Of course.” He gives me a questioning look and I shake my head; “You are far less mysterious than you’d like to think you are, Mr. Connors,” I say, nodding towards the sign hanging on the side of the garage. I can’t read the Turkish, but I recognize the Harley-Davidson logo next to the silhouette of a bike.
Behind the garage is what some might call a junk-yard, but I know to people like Bryce, it’s a goldmine; a
yard filled with all manner of treasures to tinker with and explore. Two old VW busses painted with bright hippie flowers sit up on blocks, and my eyes suddenly go wide as I focus on the giant metal behemoth sitting behind them; a stark contrast to the two peace-buses.
“Is that a-?”
The door to the house opens then, and a frail-looking, shawled old woman steps out. She peers at us, frowning slightly with a blank look, before suddenly, her whole face lights up with what looks like recognition; “Bry-see! Bry-see!” She’s smiling widely as she hobbles down the steps of her house towards us, and he’s grinning as he runs towards her and scoops her into a hug.
“You go so long!” She says in a thick accent, carefully choosing her English words. Tears frame her eyes as she pulls back and brings hand up to stroke the stubble of his cheek. She glances past him towards me, her eyes bright as they dart between us.
I can see the love and pride in his eyes as he turns and beckons me closer; “Peyton, this is Fairuza Kartal; büyükanne, this is Peyton Rivers.”
She beams at him then me, the look almost grandmotherly; “Ah, love?” She smiles at Bryce; “Love yes?”
I blush and she grins wider. Bryce looks at me and slowly nods.
“Oh good! Very good, Bry-see!” She wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him tightly.
Bryce suddenly looks around, frowning; “Where’s Arkados?”
Fairuza’s smile fades to sadness, and I watch as Bryce’s shoulders droop suddenly; “Oh, shit.”
The gravestone is set back a ways from the house, up a small grassy slope of field under a tree. I hold Bryce’s hand, his other arm around Fairuza’s shoulder as he looks solemnly at the stone; “I’m so sorry; başınız sağolsun,” He says quietly to the woman next to him.
She nods, patting the hand draped over her shoulders; “He was…” She nods, finding her words; “There was no pain,” She says, turning to smile at Bryce; “He talk about you, all the time.”
Bryce grins as he nods; “He was a good man.”
“Yes. Very, very good man,” She says with a sad smile.
Later on, Fairuza brings us tea and we sit outside with her at a little table next to her small garden.
“The shop?” Bryce gestures towards the garage next to the house.
Fairuza smiles; “My cousin, he runs it now.”
“And you’re taken care of?”
Her face lights up; “Oh, Bry-see! I need tell you! I win!” Bryce grins a small smile; “Yes! I win the prize, the…the…I don’t know how to say.”
“Lottery?”
“Yes! I win the lottery; three years ago!”
Bryce just nods, smiling at her; “That’s wonderful, Fairuza.”
I turn to stare at him, suddenly realizing what’s going on here. I see the proud twinkle in his eye and the easy way he just takes in news like this, and I know suddenly exactly where that money came from.
“Yes, everything is paid for now, money is no problem.”
He grins, and looks back at the shop; “May I-?”
“Oh, please!” Fairuza gestures to the shop with her tea-cup, and Bryce takes my hand as he leads me over.
“This place- “ He shakes his head as we step into the shop; “I worked here.”
“Here?”
He nods; “Yeah, in Arkados’s garage. I mean, we had shit, Peyton, when we came through here. No money, no passports, no identities. I was strung out and desperate, and the cops busted me trying to boost a bike on the outskirts of Istanbul. I mean they were all over me, and ready to throw me into a cell or beat the shit out of me right there, but right then, Arkados happened to walk by. He told them I was his helper, that we were fixing the bike, not trying to lift it.”
Bryce shakes his head, his eyes drifting over the chrome pipes and the oiled engine parts around the garage, looking like he’s right at home; “They let it be, and after that, he took me here. Fed me, helped me out, and so I worked for him.”
“Is that a tank out back?”
He laughs; “Yeah, Arkados had a thing for World War Two junk. Fixing that thing up was our little side-project until the police got tired of us tearing up the fields outside of town with it. Never did get the gun working, but, eh,” He laughs and shrugs, his whole body loosening up and warming at the memory; “Who needs it; man that thing could really move though.”
He turns to me; “He was a good man, Arkados; probably the best I’ve ever known outside of William Archer. We were only in Turkey for two months, until we could smuggle ourselves into Egypt, but it felt like I was here for a lifetime. He knew what I was doing, knew I was running from something, and knew I was addicted at that point.” Bryce shakes his head sadly and smiles; “He didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t lecture either. He just told me to keep going; ‘it gets better’, he said.”
Later, we say our goodbyes to Fairuza; the grandmother Bryce never had. The woman that lost so much, but had even more, from the sounds of it.
“No trouble for him, OK?” She says as she leans in and hugs me tightly to her small frame before she kisses me on the cheek; “He’s a good boy.”
“He’s the best.”
She smiles at me before she turns and hugs Bryce one last time; “Come again, yes? And be good.”
“Goodbye, büyükanne.”
“Goodbye, Bry-see.”
24
Peyton
“I don't like this.”
The plaza on the outskirts of the Başakşehir district back in Istanbul where we’ve arranged to meet Sasha should be quiet, but not this quiet. Bryce nods slowly in reply to my words, his eyes darting around at the windows and ledges of the buildings around us. There’s no one here; no washerwoman hanging laundry from apartment balconies, and no kids in the background. You can barely hear the sound of traffic down the road, but besides that, the place is like a ghost town.
“Where is she?” I step closer to him, sliding my hand into his and hooking my fingers through his.
He squeezes back, shooting me a quick grin; “No idea.”
“Well if she’s going to ditch out on us, we could always go back to the inn and…” I blush as I look up into his eyes, tracing my finger over his jawline.
He grins widely at me; “Sorry, darlin,” He says with mock distress in his voice; “I’m just real bad at subtly today I guess. You wanted to go back to the inn and do what now?” He’s teasing me, trying to get me to blush.
Two can play that game.
I lean in close, my lips just brushing against his earlobe, my breath hot on his skin; “I said,” I whisper thickly; “I think you should take me back to the hotel room and fuck the shit out of me with that big cock of yours.”
Ok, even I blush at that level of directness, but I feel the thrill of it throb deep within me as I hear him growl at my words, his fingers tightening their grip on mine. He pulls me tight against him, his hand sliding down to grab my ass; “Careful there, darlin,” He whispers into my ear, his hand sliding deep down the curve of my ass between my thighs and making me gasp; “Keep talking like that we won’t even make it back to the inn.”
I’m moaning into his kiss when there’s a sudden sound somewhere close. We pull apart quickly, looking around.
“Sasha?” The plaza is still silent, almost even more-so now. I look up at Bryce, his eyes sharp and focused as the muscles in his shoulders tighten. He reaches back into the waist of his pants for the gun Sasha gave us before, pulling it out and quickly checking the chamber.
“Get behind me.”
I frown; “What is it?”
“Nothing- I mean,” He looks around, his eyes darting; “Just, stay behi-”
The wall right next to us erupts in plaster and rock as the shots ring out around us. I scream as Bryce shoves me down behind one of the potted planters in the square, before ducking behind the one next to it as bullets pepper the ground around us. I scream again, covering my head with my hands as I duck down, feeling the adrenaline roaring through my veins. Potte
ry explodes next to my face, sending me reeling to the ground.
There’s a ringing in my ears as I wince and look up to see Bryce screaming something at me from his spot behind the other planter. His face is red and his eyes are wild as he waves his arms as he yells at me, as if shoving me away.
I don’t understand; what’s happening?
The ringing starts to fade into the sound of thundering gunshots, cracking glass, and shattering plaster walls; “Run!”
This time I do understand it, and my eyes go wide at him; “What?!”
“Run!” He’s screaming, his face tight as he glances a look over the planter and raises the gun in his hand to fire off a few shots backs; “Get out of here!”
“Are you crazy?!” I scream; “I’m not leaving you here!”
“Just g-” A huge man in black comes crashing over the top of Bryce’s planter, tackling him to the ground. He’s got a bandage over his nose and clear signs of bruising around his eyes, and it takes me half a second to realize it’s fucking Anderson.
“Peyton!” Bryce is struggling with the bigger man, trading punches with him as they grapple on the ground; “Run!”
I can feel the fear then, the same gripping, arresting fear I felt once before; that night with Bill, in my mother’s trailer. And just like then, I’m paralyzed by it, frozen to the spot and just staring at Bryce as he screams at me.
“Go!”
“I’m not going to just le-”
“Get the fuck out of here! Get out so one of us can get Logan!”
I scream as two other men come charging around the size of the plaza and join the fray, holding Bryce down to the ground as he roars and struggles against them. And for a second, it looks like he’s winning. He bursts free of them, and in that second, he turns to me as he throws the gun at me. It’s clattering to my feet, and as I look up, it’s almost as if in slow motion as I meet his eyes; “Bryce-”