by L. M. Reign
“Yeah. She killed her.”
Rook chokes on the liquid. “No, she fuckin’ didn’t.”
Ness holds three fingers up. “Scouts honor.”
“What did she do?” I asked. Fury boiling my blood at the thought of someone laying their fucking hands on my girl.
“Mila found out she had epilepsy. Set up a room full of strobes, recruited me and the others to lure Jessa inside. She locked her in there for hours. Jessa had a seizure and died,” she said with a shrug.
“What the fuck? She’s fuckin’ insane.”
Ness shook her head, tsking at Rook. “Based on what? Your morals?” She laughs haughtily. “You say insane. I say brilliant. It only depends on perception. In our world, you kill or die trying. You rule, or you bow down. Mila chose to kill, to rule. Her method of ruling is an advancement. It saves you. It’s our way of forcing natural selection. Besides, she was punished for it.”
Rook actually had the balls to look sheepish after Ness laid into him. “Isn’t that somethin’ they should reward? You know, killin’ people and all?” Ness lets out a small laugh.
“He’s got a point. But Jorge actually punished Mila?” I couldn’t imagine him allowing something to happen to her. Not even at the hands of the Syndicate.
“Not even he had the power to save Mila from Celerity.”
“What’s that?” I questioned, intrigued by the depth of her past. The one she doesn’t share with me.
Won’t share with me.
“It’s one of our methods of punishment. You’re strung up and beaten until you lose consciousness,” Ness pops a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth as if she was talking about something as casual as the weather.
“They strung her up and beat her? What the fuck?”
They hurt my girl. They fuckin’ hurt my girl.
Rook leans forward, his hands on his knees. “And the reward part of that is...?”
“She got to pick her punisher.” she mumbled over a mouthful.
“Who’d she pick?” I knew before she even answered.
“Milo. We all had to watch. She was the exam-” Brass’ yelling interrupted her.
“Rook! Get in here,” he called.
“Gotta go. Don’t finish until I get back,” Rook ambles into the next room and I ignore his request, imploring her to continue.
“Why’d she pick him?”
Ness shrugs, scraping her spoon against the tub. “When your knees are so low that you just can’t rise, and you feel helpless - who would you want standing over you?”
“Someone who wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Exactly. I think that’s why she chose him. She’d rather be at the mercy of someone who loved her than to be at the mercy of someone like Jessa.
That’s the thing about Meitheal. You enter with so much innocence. Truly and utterly afraid to harm another. Yet, somewhere along the way, that part of you gets stripped away. You forget what that fear feels like, and you hurt them to survive.
Mila knew Milo would make it as quick as possible because he loved her. So, she chose him. Wouldn’t you rather be at the mercy of someone who loved you?”
“I’ve been at the mercy of someone who was supposed to love me.” Ness stilled and tilted her head as she stared at me.
“That’s right. Your father beat you. Question, Ace.” She crossed her legs, swiping at imaginary specks on her pants. I waited for her to continue.
“Why is he still alive?” It was an honest question that left me fuming.
“None of your goddamn business,” I snarl. Her brows furrowed at my response. “What happened after?” I decided to change the subject. I honestly didn’t know why he was still alive. I have the means and the ability to kill him, yet I haven’t. I guess… I got used to it. Became comfortable with my role in this life.
“Milo was gracious, but the purpose of Celerity is punishment, therefore, pain. He had to hurt her. Attacking her major organs was the fastest way to do just that. So, he did; forcing her body to shut down to cope with the assault. She was in the infirmary for a few weeks before she came back.
We linked up and she worked her ass off to master everything they threw at her. Even won the Culling like a badass. We became roommates after that. Nothing says friendship like a TKO,” she laughs. “Once we completed Meitheal, we were drafted into the Elite. And here we are.”
Her phone rang, interrupting our conversation. One look at the screen and she became all business. “I have to take this,” she tells me, walking off.
I hear the distinct sound of Mila’s voice talking to someone and remember why I’m here. I make my way back towards her, turning the corner to see her focused on tattooing a man’s thigh.
Not wanting to make any noise, I lean against the doorframe and watch her. My ears perked up when I heard my name.
_____________________
Mila
“You’re kidding,” Creed said. “You and Davenport didn’t end up together?”
“Nope,” I tell him while I continue shading the intricate portrait of his twins on his thigh. The first time I met Creed was in chemistry class in high school. He ran around with Chino’s group until he wised up and took off for college. Now he’s back, settled down with roots; a beautiful wife and twins.
“Well, shit. I always thought you’d end up barefoot and pregnant after high school.”
Keeping my head down, I blanch at his statement. “Nope. I went off to college and he did... whatever he did.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. We always thought he’d leave with you guys.” His statement was the broken record in my life. He was supposed to leave with us. I wanted to jab the needle harder into his skin, to punish him the way I punish myself, but I refrained. I didn’t respond, keeping my broken record response on loop.
I thought so, too.
I thought so, too.
I thought so, too.
I poured my focus on shading his daughter’s dimple even though my mind left me.
“Mila, are you sure this is what you want?” Mama asked me with pity in her eyes.
Nodding, I walk into the bathroom to change into the gown they provided me. “Yeah. You said it yourself, he’s not coming back. I’m leaving. I can’t have a baby.”
Her eyes were filled with unshed tears when I sat on the cold, sterile hospital table. I hang my head, ashamed that I’m making her cry. Ashamed that I’m robbing my baby of life. Would it have had his eyes or mine? My nose or his?
“Mila,” she says my name softly. “Mila,” she grabs my chin, making me face her when I don’t answer. “Don’t. Don’t do that. You’ll already carry this guilt with you for the rest of your life.”
“I’m sorry for disappointing you, mama,” I whisper in a small voice, willing my tears not to fall.
“Oh, honey,” she pulls me into a hug. “I’m not disappointed in you, baby. I’m sad. I’m sad because you had to make this decision at such a young age. And by yourself. I’m sad that it came to this, but I’m proud that you made this decision on your own. You will, one day, have beautiful children. And you’ll love them through whatever comes, just as I love you.”
The nurse came in, dragging a machine behind her. “Mila, we are going to do a quick ultrasound before we begin the procedure. Lay back and put your legs in the stirrups, please.”
Lying back, I propped my legs up, feeling exposed. Tears began to fall as I thought of the child whose face I’d never see.
“Do you want to see the image?” I shook my head and kept my gaze on the opposite wall.
“Can I?” Mama asked. I gave her a quick nod, wiping away a few tears that broke free.
She moved to stand behind the technician, looking at the screen. Her face broke with a slow, sad smile.
“I’m going to check to see if your cervix is soft enough from the pill we gave you. If it is, we can start the procedure,” the nurse said, her face kind. “You are set. The doctor will be just a moment.” Discarding her gloves, she left, taking the mac
hine with her.
“Give me a moment,” mama quickly followed, not waiting for a reply. A few minutes passed before she returned with the doctor in tow.
“Alright, Mila. Are you ready?” The doctor, an older woman with gray hair asked, bringing another machine beside the chair that’s settled between my legs.
“Yeah,” I croak. Mama stood beside me, gripping my hand tightly as the machine whirred to life.
“I’ll hold your hand, baby. I’m going to love you through this.” And she did. Mama held my hand as I laid there, tears silently streaming down my temples as the last connection I had to Cole was removed.
“You know,” Creed brought me back. “For a tattoo artist, you aren’t covered like I thought you’d be,” he gestures to my hand. I continue shading the rest of his daughter’s eye.
“I like to avoid fitting into the stereotype, but I actually have a full back piece. It’s a Día de Muertos portrait with a modern spin.”
“I actually failed Spanish. Twice. What’s that again?”
I laugh as I clean up his leg, wiping the excess soap away. “It’s Day of the Dead.”
“Sweet. So, like, sugar skulls?” I nod while applying salve. “Can I see it?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, gripping the hem of my shirt.
“No, you may fuckin’ not,” Cole interrupts, storming in and standing beside me. I drop the fabric I’ve collected.
“I thought you and Davenport didn’t end up together?” Creed eyed us warily. Alarm oozed from his voice and his gaze never left the angry body next to me.
“We aren’t. He’s just... affiliated with this particular shop,” I look up at Cole’s face. His nostrils flare as he looks down at me. The closeness forces me to step away. “Stop scaring my client,” I place a hand on his chest when he steps forward. “Ace,” I warn, my tone sharp. “Creed, go to the front. Brass will check you out.”
“Creed,” Cole says with disdain when he moves to leave.
“Cole,” he says, walking to the front.
“You can’t barge in on me when I’m with a client,” I start to clean my station for my last appointment.
“What the fuck, Mila? You were just goin’ to take your shirt off for him?”
I turn to glare at him leaning against the wall with his feet crossed. Looking ruggedly sexy with his grease stained pants and his navy thermal shirt. His hair hidden by his black hat, the bill facing back.
I almost groan at the sight. He was attractive as a teenager, but as a man, he was devastatingly handsome. Bruises and all.
“Wanted to see my art,” I tell him casually, testing my pump to ensure it works.
“Brass wants to know how much to charge the douche,” Rook pops his head in.
“Even they know what a douche he is!” Cole throws his hands in the air.
“Four-fifty and book him for an hour next week,” I tell Rook, glaring at Cole.
“Don’t book him,” Cole snarls. Rook’s gaze ricochets between the two of us.
“Book him,” I order Rook. “I’m getting tired of your possessive shit, Ace.” Rook slowly turns to leave, not bothering to ask.
“Cole.”
“What?”
“My fuckin’ name is Cole.”
“Ace. Cole. One and the same,” I stifle a yawn. Before he was able to respond, a sharp shrill pierced the air.
“What?” He snapped. Rude. It sounded like Diesel on the other end. I vaguely heard words like hiding out and orders.
He’s planning a kill.
“You’re sure? I can swing by and grab it. I’ll take care of it.” He snapped his phone shut and shoved it into his pocket. “You’re comin’ with me,” he starts walking away.
“I can’t. I have a client.”
“It was me. Change of plans. Now let’s go,” he gestures towards the door, impatiently.
“Where are you trying to take me?”
“Back to the club. Where I know you’re safe.” I scoff at him.
“Safe?” I couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in my throat. “You’re safer with me than I am with you!” His eyes go dark, predatory like he’s sizing up his prey. Slowly, he steps forward until he’s invaded my space.
“You’re scared.” There’s something soothing in his voice, despite the ferocity waging behind his eyes. The deep, rich timbre was almost unsettling as it was calming. “You’re afraid to trust me again,” his hands frame my face with a gentleness that was unexpected. “That’s my fault, but let me show you how a man treats his woman. How it feels to be coveted. Consumed. Owned. I want to own you, Mila. Just as you own me.”
“I can’t be owned,” I protest feebly. His chuckle pierces the wall I’ve constructed, leaving a crack. His words intoxicate me, slithering through the tiny breach, and reaching into the very essence of who I am. Collecting all my fears to display them in the light.
All but one. That one, I hold onto with a death grip
“This is crazy. It won’t work. We don’t work,” I breathe, shakily, keeping my hands crossed over my chest.
Don’t touch him. Panty dropping heroin. That’s all he is.
“Crazy was lettin’ you go in the first place. Crazy would be not keepin’ you safe,” his warm breath caresses my cheek. “Crazy would be believin’ we don’t work, and lettin’ you go a second time. Let me be clear, Mila, I don’t intend on lettin’ you go a second time. Crazy is the fact that we do work. You’re mine whether you want to acknowledge it or not. Now get your fuckin’ ass out the door so I can keep you safe.”
And he ruined it.
“No,” I pull away from him. The desire to keep him safe burning strong beneath the surface. “The only way I’ll leave is if you take me with you.”
“No,” he answered without hesitation.
“No deal.”
“Mila,” he warns.
“Ace,” I mock. “Look, I’m surprised you can even see with all the bruises you got on your face right now. Let me be your spotter at least.”
“I don’t need a spot.”
“And I don’t need a babysitter. We’re wasting time. Let’s go,” I grab my jacket and walk past him.
Chapter 9
Cole
“You aren’t seriously using that?” She says in shock, staring down at my black SR-25 7.62 rifle.
“What the hell is wrong with this?” I scowl at her for insulting my favorite weapon. “Dice’s ol’ man used this. It worked fine for him.”
“Is his ol’ man dead? Because this gun will kill you. It’s notorious for jamming up and has a ton of other issues. You can’t use this,” she picked it up, handling it like an expert. She checks the scope, shaking her head in disappointment. “Get rid of this,” she shoved it against my chest before walking off.
“I don’t have time for this shit, Mila!” I yell after her. Tossing the rifle in the trunk, I slam it before following her over to her car.
We were in the club parking lot and I was dangerously close to losing my window to kill Hurst. Bastard decided to come out of hiding and Diesel spotted him downtown.
Fuckin’ cunt.
Coming to stand behind Mila, I stare at her bent form, giving me the perfect view of the round swells of her ass as she lifts the cargo compartment, revealing what could easily classify as a small armory where the spare tire should be.
“What the fuck? You’ve been drivin’ around with this shit?”
“Shut up, Cole. I need to focus.” She rummages around until she finds what she’s looking for. I smirk.
“You called me ‘Cole’.”
“Here,” she ignores me, pulling out a hefty case and lays it across the trunk, popping the latch.
“Holy shit. She’s beautiful.”
“She is. Takes whatever I give her and doesn’t bitch. .300 Win Mag, superior stopping power, improved ballistics, all-around cartridge, and superb accuracy. She’s heavy but shoots like a laser.
Anything from a thousand yards and out, you’ll hit. For closer m
arks, you don’t have to worry about correcting come-ups if you dial in your five-hundred-yard dope. The barrel’s been customized with extra strips that shred the case, maximizing chances of a decimating hit, and eliminating the chances of ballistic matches.
You get hit with one of these, you’ll feel the burn of gunpowder before the sting of metal. You want to get away with it? This is your girl.”
I was stunned by her knowledge of guns, and the way that she explained this one to me had my cock stirring for her attention. Like I was raising my hand in class, begging the teacher to call on me.
Mila dressed as a teacher. My cock started to strain at the vision.
“You drive,” she slams the trunk, tossing the keys at my chest, effectively killing my fantasy.
What have I gotten into?
_____________________
“Who’s the mark?” She asked on the ride to Rocky point. I park in the nook of the ridge overlooking the mountains. We still had a short trek up top to get to the vantage point of the hotel that Diesel tracked him to.
“Hurst.”
“What did he do?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” she says quietly, staring out the window.
“Why? You remember all the people you kill?” I ask, cutting the engine. She gives me a curt nod before slipping out of the car. I follow and track her gaze up the small hill, to that spot. The one where we first had sex.
“Are you sure?” I pulled away from her lips long enough to ask her. Her dark hair fanned out on the blanket like a halo. She looked so warm, eager, and inviting. If Sex Ed ever taught me anything, it was to always get consent.
“I’m sure,” she breathed, her chest rising and falling. Her consent was music to my ears, and I smashed my lips against hers eagerly, groaning my appreciation as I grind my cock against her covered pussy. The warmth between her legs was like a beacon, drawing me in.
“Hold on. Let me get my condom,” I untangled myself from her long enough to pull my shirt over my head and my pants down my legs. Grabbing the condom from my wallet, I throw it by her head, watching her eyes follow the length of my torso until she lands on the outline of my cock in my boxers. “See what you do to me,” I grab her hand, stroking it slowly over my cock.