Eagle's Heart

by Alyssa Cole

  The thick head of his cock brushed against her folds, and the too-brief contact made her moan with need. He slipped one hand behind her neck to cradle her head and forced her to look up at him.

  “Zemer means ‘darling,’” he said, pushing his cock into her just a bit and then retreating. “It means ‘honey’ and ‘dear heart’ and ‘sweetie.’”

  He teased her with his thrusts, abbreviated strokes matched to each term of endearment that drove her crazy with need.

  “It means that you are mine,” he said, finally sliding into her completely, grunting as she stretched around him. He hitched one of her legs to his side and began an excruciatingly slow pattern of entry and withdrawal, his thick member creating a friction that drove Salomeh insane. She could feel each inch of his cock as it slid across her inner walls, only stopping when he was lodged inside her to the root. His head rubbed against some exquisitely sensitive area deep inside her, teasing at a pleasure so intense it was almost painful. And then he slowly pulled out, the flared fullness of him creating a different type of erotic sensation as it caressed her from within on the downstroke.

  Mine, she thought, allowing the meaning of his words to warm her, stoking the blaze already fueled by Julian’s passionate caresses.

  He changed the angle of his thrust and hit a spot that made her gasp, but still continued with his slow, torturous rhythm.

  “Oh God, Julian,” she said, impatiently lifting her hips against him, trying to increase the pace of their union. His words, combined with the controlled passion of his lovemaking, had driven her to the edge. Her entire body felt charged and nearly ready to explode, and her pussy clenched tightly around his dick as he moved within her, creating an even more overwhelming sensation.

  “I’m trying to go slow, zemer,” he said. His breath came out shakily, and she knew he was close to losing control. “If I wasn’t holding myself back, I’d probably succeed in giving you the concussion you missed out on yesterday.”

  He ran his hands over her body as he continued to stroke into her, and then lifted her other leg and moved it across his body so she was in a sidesaddle position. He began pumping his hips faster, changing the direction of his stroke in a circular motion so he was drilling into her.

  “Is this better?” he asked with a devilish smile.

  Salomeh didn’t bother to answer. Julian completely filled her, gliding against places that left her unable to articulate beyond yips and cries.

  Julian burrowed himself more deeply with each thrust, building a rising crest of sensation that was so pleasurable as to be nearly unbearable. Salomeh looked up into his eyes then. The intensity of his gaze as he made love to her and the honesty of his ardor joined forces, propelling a blast of desire from her core to every extremity of her body, curling her toes and arching her back until the tension within her was broken by a hoarse cry of release.

  As her orgasm roared through her, Julian cried out too. It was a turn-on, hearing the helpless cries wrung from his lips as her pussy clamped his cock in the waves of her desire, and as the wetness of her release coated him and made his thrusting even more slick and sensual. He clenched at her hips to brace her as he pistoned into her with abandon, his rigid member throbbing within her as he rode one of the pulsing waves of her climax.

  “Yes, Julian, like that,” she whispered, newfound pleasure whirling through her from his increased pace She cried out as another orgasm crested, an aftershock that was less intense but still powerful enough to have her writhing mindlessly against Julian.

  “Fuck,” he cried out, shuddering his own release. His face was beautiful as it contorted in the throes of ecstasy, long lashes shadowed against his ruddy cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut.

  Salomeh held on to him tightly, a surge of emotion riding on the tails of her orgasm. He pumped a few more times as he came down from his climax and then collapsed beside her on the bed and pulled her into his sweaty embrace.

  “I hope you realize that there’s no faking that,” he panted as he nuzzled into her neck.

  “All right already, I’m a believer,” Salomeh said, running her hands over his back.

  They were quiet as they both waited to regain the ability and desire to move. Salomeh drifted into a shallow sleep. She could feel Julian smiling against her shoulder as he dozed, and she did the same, but her elation began to dwindle as she realized that great sex hadn’t changed most of their problems.

  “Julian,” she said, and he raised his hand to her mouth to stop her from speaking. She pulled it away and continued. “Not to kill the afterglow, but what do we do now?”

  “I knew you were going to ask that.” He sighed, standing up and tugging her off the bed. “Let’s go shower.”

  “I was talking about the Birdie-trying-to-kill-us situation,” she said.

  “So am I. I do my best thinking in the shower,” he said. “And two heads are better than one.”

  “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for annoying consultants,” she said as he herded her toward the bathroom.

  “Am I ever,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Excuse me?”

  Salomeh sat on the edge of the bed with a hand cupped over her ear, feigning deafness. Julian had known she wouldn’t like his plan, but it was the only option that made sense at the moment, and they didn’t have time to waste.

  “Salomeh, listen, I don’t doubt you in any way, but please be rational. It makes sense for me to go check out this meeting without you. I can’t exactly call for reinforcements, since I don’t know who’s on our side and who’s sold their soul to Birdie, and I’m not putting you in danger while I figure it out.”

  “But what if there is no one else? I can help you,” Salomeh insisted. “I’ve saved your ass before, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “You did, but you’re also—”

  “What?” she cut in. “A woman?” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared angrily at the wall.

  Julian pulled on the T-shirt Salomeh had used a nightdress, and then ran a hand through his wet hair in frustration. “Salomeh, I know the lines have been blurred over the past couple of days, but you need a reality check. I’m an agent who has been trained to go in and defuse situations and to exercise deadly force if necessary. You’re a school teacher.”

  She turned and glared at him. “Make that former school teacher, because if Bardhyn isn’t brought to justice, everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve ever achieved will have been for nothing. And…” She took a deep breath, and then added vehemently, “And Yelena is there because I didn’t do enough to protect her.”

  Julian knelt in front of her, placing both his hands on her shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was savage with strain. “So you feel like this is your fault? That Yelena is there because of what you did or didn’t do?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, guess what? I’m the one who didn’t act soon enough. I knew Bardhyn better than anyone, and I spared him because he was my friend. My family is dead. Countless others have been killed or irreparably damaged by his drugs and his guns and his human trafficking.”

  Julian could see the reluctance in Salomeh’s deep brown eyes, but he had to make her understand. “This is not a game, Salomeh. If you think I’m going to serve you up to him on a silver platter, that I’ll let him take you away from me like he’s taken everything else, then you don’t understand me at all.”

  He stood and whirled away from her, busying himself with checking that his gun was loaded and functioning properly. He needed the feel of cool metal against his palm to clear his mind of unwanted images—his family home burned to the ground years ago, of Salomeh bloodied and possibly dead just the previous night.

  “Okay,” she said, grabbing the remote from the nightstand and turning on the television. “I guess I’ll stay here and do some needlepoint, or rot my brain with basic cable garbage.”

  She began rapidly flipping through the channels, but at this point she seemed less
angry and more in search of a way to channel her frustration.

  “You can think whatever you want—that I’m sexist, that I’m an asshole—whatever. I don’t care as long as you promise to stay here and stay safe.”

  “I know you’re not sexist,” she said grudgingly. “I’m just so scared of what will happen after you walk out that door.”

  She put the remote on the nightstand and walked over to him. He opened his arms to receive her, wrapping her in a tight hug.

  “After I walk out that door, you’ll get some more sleep,” he said, feigning casualness. “You need it.”

  “That seems unlikely,” she said with a sigh. “How will I know you’re okay? What if something happens to you?”

  “Let’s plan for the best. But if I don’t call by five o’clock, get out of here.”

  His stomach heaved at the thought of failing her. Of failing himself.

  “And go where?”

  “To your parents, to start with. There’s money in the bag, and a couple of contacts who might be able to help. They’re out in the field right now, which sucks, but they might be able to help in the coming weeks if it comes to that.”

  “Please make sure that it doesn’t,” she said before leaning in for a kiss. He could feel all her anxiety and precarious hope in the way her mouth lingered on his. Her lips trembled as they molded to his, plucking at the ache in his chest.

  Julian wanted to stand there and hold her but knew the clock was ticking. He pulled away and stared at her for a moment, imprinting her face on his memory before heading out into a battle he wasn’t quite sure he would win. “See you later,” he said casually and gave her a final peck on the nose. Then he strode out of the room, hoping fervently that he’d made the right decision.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After an hour of watching people with vacant stares overenthusiastically trying to sell cheap watches, Salomeh had come to the conclusion that the Home Shopping Network was located in some horrific circle of hell reserved for retail workers.

  She flipped the channel, landing on a news report in front of a familiar location. Too familiar.

  “We’re outside the Brooklyn home of Salomeh Jones, the teacher embroiled in last month’s child-molestation scandal at Milton High School,” a reporter with lacquered hair said into the camera. “Yesterday, police arrived at the location to find the remains of what appeared to be a full-blown shoot-out, with three casualties. However, the teacher herself is still unaccounted for. Speculation as to whether she was the instigator of the incident or a victim is rampant, but police have declined to comment on the situation.”

  “Dammit!” Salomeh exploded, jumping from the bed. Unfortunately her fear that the media would descend on the melee at her apartment like vultures had been correct, and she still hadn’t called her family. Unfortunately, now she was even more paranoid about linking them to her, like through a traced call.

  She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, mindful of her wound, and reached for the phone in the room. She doubted she could be traced from a call to her voice mail.

  She had one message from Marta, begging her to check in. It pained her to ignore her friend, but there was no way she was going to risk dragging her further into this mess. The next was from her mother, and Salomeh’s heart skipped a beat before she realized her mother was chattering on about her neighbors, blissfully unaware of the latest setback in her daughter’s life. Apparently the news of her possible demise was still local. Salomeh swallowed against the lump in her throat and deleted the message. The next message caused her stomach to lurch dangerously: it was from Yelena’s mother.

  “Pick up the phone, Miss Jones,” she said. The accented voice had the uneven cadence of someone who had either recently woken up or recently ingested a sizable amount of drugs. The parallel to the call she had received from Yelena was not lost on Salomeh. “I’ll tell the police everything, I’ll tell them it was all a lie and we set you up, but first you help me, okay? I was just jealous because Yelena thought you were Miss Perfect, and everything I did embarrassed her. There, are you happy? I’m sorry. Look, Alexi is acting shady… I think he’s planning something bad, and I’m scared.”

  Salomeh heard a long shaky exhale, and then the message ended. Another followed and then another. They had been left in the wee hours of the previous night, and they got increasingly belligerent.

  “Fine, you don’t want my help?” Yelena’s mother bellowed in the last message. “Well, fuck you then. Have fun with Bardhyn. He’s going to fuck you up, you stupid bitch. Just…help me, okay? You need me.”

  Each successive message made Salomeh sick with anger. The gall of the woman, demanding help after what she had done. Because when it came down to it, Salomeh’s ruination had come at the behest of Ms. Kaslinko. The woman had abused her own daughter and had urged Alexi to do something to shut Salomeh up. The first domino had been knocked down by this pathetic woman and her need to lash out at someone who was trying to help. Salomeh hated her, but in the end it didn’t matter how she felt. Yelena’s mother had information she needed, information that could clear her name and put Bardhyn away, all without Julian having to endanger himself.

  She thought about calling her lawyer and then dismissed the idea. Like any logical person, he would want to call in the cops, the feds, and any other agency that could help. Salomeh could trust no one but Julian and nothing but her desire to get Yelena out safely, so that wasn’t an option.

  She had to go to Ms. Kaslinko.

  Be the heroine of your life, not the victim, she thought, recalling the words she had said to her students and friends so many times.

  She pulled a few twenties from the money Julian had left for her, and, with one final look around the room, she stepped out into the oppressively hot summer day.

  The man working the front desk looked as old and tired as the motel itself. Deep frown lines gave him a strange appearance, like his mouth had been purposely cordoned off from the rest of his face.

  “Hi, where’s the nearest train station?” she asked.

  He gave her an insouciant once-over as if determining whether she were vagrant, scam artist, or hooker. Apparently she met whatever criteria he deemed a prerequisite to conversation.

  “Train’s pretty far from here,” he said. “You have any money?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I can call a car service, then.”

  “That would be great, thanks,” she said.

  She waited outside for a tense ten minutes, sure that instead of a car service a police cruiser, or worse, a car full of Birdie’s goons would show up. To her relief, the car turned out to be an old but serviceable luxury SUV and the driver a young Haitian man who didn’t bother her with small talk other than, “Where you going?”

  Salomeh tightened her seat belt, hyperaware of how dangerous a car could be. But the man drove with skill and consideration, and she arrived at Yelena’s apartment unscathed.

  “You want me to wait?” the driver asked. His gaze flicked to the visible bruise on her temple, and she realized what she must look like. Many people would have taken her money with no regard to her safety or well-being, but this man looked at her with concern in his eyes.

  Gratitude filled Salomeh, buoying her spirits. There were evil men like Bardhyn and soulless men like Henderson, but there were also good people like this taxi driver, people willing to help.

  “No, but thank you,” she said as she waved away his offer to return her change. He nodded his thanks and drove away after making sure Salomeh entered the building safely. The apartment was on the sixth floor, so Salomeh waited impatiently for the outdated pastel-blue elevator to arrive. She realized that the last time she had visited this apartment, her life had been ruined. Hopefully history wouldn’t repeat itself.

  She stepped out into the quiet hallway that smelled of burned food and dirty laundry—a uniquely New York kind of smell. As she made her way down the fluorescently lit hallway, she could hear the sou
nds of television sets and radios coming from the other apartments.

  When she reached the door, fear rammed into her full force, stopping her in her tracks. The entire trip there, she had kept herself busy by thinking of Yelena and of Julian, and how this ordeal would be over for all of them soon. Only now did she allow herself to realize the real danger she had placed herself in by leaving the hotel.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. She could turn back now, but where would she go? And how would she live with herself if something happened to Julian and she hadn’t tried everything to help him? She remembered his fierce determination in taking on the men who had tried to kill her. He had been magnificent, but even then he had needed help. To her knowledge, he was on his own, about to take on a meeting full of thugs. It was that thought that finally spurred her into action.

  Salomeh screwed up her courage and pushed the square black doorbell. It gave a harangued cry, followed by silence. She rang again and this time heard faltering footsteps approach the door.

  “Ms. Kaslinko? It’s me, Miss Jones,” she said.

  The door opened, and she saw the woman’s sallow face and puffy red-rimmed eyes. She looked crazed with her brittle bleached hair and over-the-top makeup.

  “I thought you were dead!” she cried, and then cracked a smile that revealed a missing front tooth.

  Salomeh was surprised at the woman’s happiness at her survival, but Ms. Kaslinko’s moods were unpredictable.

  “Come in,” the woman said, stepping aside. “Let’s talk about how to fix this situation, yes?”

  Salomeh walked slowly into the living room and then heard the door lock behind her.

  “Look, I have her,” the woman suddenly said in a businesslike tone. “She’s not dead, she’s here. You said everything between us would be all good if I got her to come.”

  Alexi strode into view, a smirk on his face.