Constant

by Rachel Higginson

  “No, it’s cool, Caro. I get it. Why stay here and get rich beyond your wildest dreams, when you could go there and live amongst the corn and cows.”

  I smiled against my better judgment. “Exactly.”

  “I’m not even sure they have cable.”

  “They have cable,” I said confidently. Although I wasn’t one hundred percent sure about that.

  “No fast cars.”

  “They have those too.”

  “No museums.”

  “Where do you think the Midwest is? The moon?”

  His smile was wicked, his blue, blue eyes full of the devil himself. “I just want you to think this all the way through. I want you to weigh all your options. Make a pros and cons list.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  He took another step closer to me, his chest almost touching mine. “You’re too pretty for the Midwest, Caroline. Too daring. Too independent. They wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you.”

  I struggled to think straight. “You think I’m pretty?”

  His head dropped so that his lips were at my ear. “I always think you’re pretty, but tonight you’re making it hard for me to breathe.”

  Now I couldn’t breathe. He lifted his head, showing me the truth in his eyes, the conviction in his expression. “Promise me you won’t leave, you won’t head off into the sunset until you say goodbye. It would kill me. You know that right?”

  “Sayer…”

  His jaw ticked, the muscle popping out a warning that he was serious. “Promise me. Don’t just leave. At least say goodbye.”

  “I promise,” I said quickly. “Of course. Of course I’ll say goodbye.”

  He nodded once, moving his tongue slowly over his bottom lip. His hand lifted, landing along my jaw. His fingertips dug into my hair and his palm curved around my face, holding me tightly. His head dipped, and I knew this was the moment. He was going to kiss me. He was finally going to kiss me!

  “Are we going to do this or what?”

  Wrong.

  This was the moment I was finally going to murder Atticus.

  “Yeah,” Sayer called back. “Yeah, we’re going to do this.

  An hour later, Gus had dropped us off two blocks away and we were creeping toward a four-story Victorian row house in Georgetown. Atticus let out a low whistle.

  “Quite the piece of real estate,” he mumbled.

  Sayer ducked, so his head was lower than the hedges in the back yard. “Jealous?”

  Atticus shot him a look. “Nah. It’s only a matter of time, Wesley. Only I’ll get it a hell of a lot sooner than fucking Fat Jack. And I’ll know better than to get greedy and piss it away.”

  Childhood had made my loyalties stronger than I realized, because I added, “We don’t know anything yet. We’re just supposed to look around. There might not be anything.”

  Sayer and Atticus stayed quiet. Their silence said enough though. Nobody but me thought Fat Jack was innocent. The pakhan wanted us to take a look around his house while he was at the party. They wanted evidence before they took action. They wanted us to come up with a reason for his suspicious behavior.

  I felt sick.

  “We’ll start in the basement,” Atticus whispered as he clipped the lock on the back gate. Somewhere in the neighborhood, Gus used his computer magic to shut off the security cameras posted around the house.

  “We’ll start upstairs and meet you in the middle,” Sayer confirmed.

  And that’s what we did. The boys let me pick the lock on the back door since I had the gentlest touch, and we separated. Frankie with Atticus. I stayed with Sayer.

  Up we went, creeping up three flights of stairs to the master bedroom on the top floor. My nose wrinkled at Fat Jack’s sense of décor. Okay, it wasn’t like my two-bedroom apartment with my dad was anything to brag about. But I never understood why men with money always went for the black silk sheets.

  “I should have guessed,” I told Sayer. He raised his eyebrows, having no idea what I was talking about. “A mirror above the bed. Because why wouldn’t a man that looks like Fat Jack want to watch himself get nasty?”

  Sayer chuckled darkly. “I don’t know, Six, maybe it’s for educational purposes. Maybe he’s trying to improve his game.”

  I wrinkled my nose, struggling not to gag. Fat Jack was three hundred pounds of bubbling anger with a vodka-reddened nose and deep-set dull eyes. He had no soul, no sympathy, no reason to look out for anybody but himself. If he could find girls willing to come back here with him, their needs were the last thing he was concerned about in that bed.

  “I’ve never understood the silk sheets though,” I whispered as we made our way around the room, looking for clues and evidence and anything damning. “Aren’t they slippery? I’m picturing Fat Jack like a greased pig in that bed.” I shook my head quickly, trying to rid myself of the mental image. “Scratch that. I’m not picturing Fat Jack at all. Ick.”

  I felt Sayer’s gaze on me from across the room. “You’ve never, you know, messed around on silk sheets before?”

  Giving him my back, I picked up the edge of a picture frame, my hidden fingers curled under the sleeves of my cardigan. I’d brought it in case I got cold tonight, but it doubled for fingerprint protection in case of last minute jobs.

  My cheeks flamed red and I wanted to jump off the balcony just off Fat Jack’s room. Was Sayer serious? Had I ever messed around on silk sheets? The real question was, had I ever messed around at all? No. The answer was definitely no. And it was all his fault.

  Not that I felt like a huge chunk of my life was missing because nobody had ever brought me back to their sleazy den of iniquity and slid me around on their slippery bed while they watched their technique in the mirror overhead. But, still. It was the principle of the thing.

  Instead of saying any of that to him though, I lied. Because that’s what I did. I was a liar that lied for a living, to stay alive, to pay off some stupid debt to the syndicate. “That’s what I’m saying,” I told him. “I think they’re more work than they’re worth. Not to mention tacky.”

  Sayer’s voice was devoid of his previous humor when he said. “I didn’t realize you had so many opinions about silk sheets.”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder as I moved to rifle through some papers on a desk in the corner. “It’s not like I’m high maintenance about the whole thing, I just draw the line at self-indulged assholes. That’s all.” Oh my God. What was I even saying? I blamed Sayer. He shouldn’t have made it sound like he had so much experience on silk sheets. It was annoying. And gross. And turned the normal female inside me into a green-eyed jealousy monster.

  “Those are some high standards, Six.”

  I spun around, glaring at him across the room. He had moved parallel with me, near a dresser in the corner. The room was crowded with our unsaid words and frustrated feelings and the constant push and pull. Or maybe that was just me.

  “Do I need high standards?” I asked, knowing it would piss him off.

  “Are you serious?”

  I shrugged as I walked over to a locked side table near the French doors leading to the balcony. “Oh, you’re one to talk, Mr. Judgmental. Didn’t you go home with Crystal what’s her name last Friday? Obviously you were exercising your incredibly picky decision-making skills.”

  “You’re awfully mouthy tonight, Caro.”

  He’d moved to stand next to me. I could smell him again, feel the frustration rolling off him. And it took everything in me to keep from gloating. It was nice to get under his skin. He was always under mine and in my head and pushing into my decisions and plans and better reasoning. He was always there, constant in everything I thought or did or wanted. And I was tired of it.

  Tired of him.

  I squatted down and did a little magic with the locked drawer using a hairpin and an Allen wrench. It popped open, and I smiled at it. I hated this too. This life. This specific skillset I didn’t ask for. Yet, I would take this every da
y over Sayer. I understood this job, these things. I could see the problem and figure out how to solve it.

  Sayer was something else entirely. I didn’t know how to pick him open. I didn’t know how to con him into playing my game. I didn’t know how to take what I wanted from him and leave the rest.

  Because it seemed like he just kept taking from me. Or I kept giving to him. Either way, I wasn’t getting anything in return, and I hated it.

  “I’m always mouthy.” I popped back up to check out the contents of the drawer and found Sayer even closer than before. I turned to look at him. “But the point remains. My standards are my choice. As are yours.”

  Those blue eyes that were my absolute downfall found mine and held on tight. “I didn’t go home with Crystal Kanstanova last Friday, Six. Nor have I ever gone home with her. Think what you want of me, but I do have high standards. And she doesn’t come close to meeting them.”

  I sucked in my bottom lip and nibbled on it, ignoring the way the two internal fists that had been squeezing my heart relaxed. But the game between us was still going. I couldn’t let him see how much his words affected me or how desperately I wanted to be the reason he hadn’t taken Crystal home. She’d been all over him last Friday at the club where the bratva spent most of their time. And she dressed like a total slut. I wasn’t saying that to be mean. It was just a fact. She was all nip slips and whale tail. It was like her thing, her signature. “I suppose you want me to acknowledge what an upstanding human you are now?”

  Sayer’s eyes darkened. “I want you to acknowledge what’s between us, Caroline. Fucking admit you have a thing for me. I’m tired of chasing you.”

  I slammed my finger in the drawer. Hissing a curse, I spun to face him. “Is that what you think you’ve been doing? Chasing me?”

  One side of his mouth kicked up. “Since I was twelve years old in an alley I didn’t belong in with three dollars to my name.”

  “Sayer,” I whispered, his name like a plea and a prayer, like a desperate demand for more.

  “Are you really this blind? You think this was Roman’s idea?” He motioned back and forth between us. “That he wanted a team of kids? Six, I’ve been fighting to be with you since the day you saved my life. My standards are fucking high. I only want the girl that’s totally out of reach, that’s so much better than me it’s embarrassing. I only want the one girl I should let go.” He stepped closer to me. “So she can move to the Midwest and have her corn and cows and normal life.”

  I shook my head. “I-I’m not better than you.”

  His chin jerked once. “You are. So much better. So much better than anything on this goddamn earth.” He dipped his head so that his forehead rested against mine and he lifted both hands to cup my face. It was the closest we had ever been. Butterflies took flight in my stomach and my appendages started to tingle. I had to close my eyes against the sensation, against the heady bliss of Sayer’s words and his touch and his body so very hot against mine. “And I know you can do better than me and this life and that you probably should get whatever it is you want so badly, but Caro, I’m going to ask you to stay here. Stay with me. Be with me.”

  Sayer was three years older than me, eighteen to my meager fifteen. It wasn’t that much of a difference, but it had always felt like the difference between being a grown-up and a little kid. Sayer was this big man in the syndicate. He was older than his age, so much tougher and smarter and wiser than he appeared. And I was just this little girl playing at a chance to be around him. I didn’t want the syndicate life, but I hadn’t had a choice. I didn’t want to be good at stealing and lying and cheating, but I didn’t have a choice. Sayer had every choice in the world and yet he chose this life.

  He could have done anything with his life and he picked the syndicate.

  That was how I felt now too. I had never had a choice in loving Sayer. I just had. Always. Since the day I met him, he had been it for me. I couldn’t even get myself to pay attention to other guys. It was always Sayer for me.

  But he had all the choices in the world. He could have anyone. Be with anyone. And yet, he wanted me.

  He wanted me.

  “Like as your girlfriend?” I asked because I was fifteen and that was the only thing I could wrap my head around. A distant, more mature part of my brain told me he wasn’t just asking for me to be his girlfriend, that his perspective was bigger than mine, more permanent. But I had never had a boyfriend before, let alone had a boy who said things like that to me. This was new and uncharted territory. Besides, like I said, Sayer was the only one I wanted, the only one I cared about. I didn’t stand a chance.

  Sayer’s chuckle cascaded over my skin, warming me and pulling goosebumps up at the same time, making my heart race and my blood rush in my veins. “Yeah, Six. You want to be my girlfriend?”

  I nodded, giggling a flirty sound I had never made before. “Y-yes. Yes, please.”

  He caught my words with his lips pressed against mine. I gasped at the sensation, those too-soft lips a heady contrast with the hardness of his body, the rough feel of his hands, the grit of his personality. His mouth moved against mine slowly, carefully.

  Sayer might have been my first boyfriend, but he wasn’t my only kiss—I had managed to get a few of those in since the first time he kissed me when I was ten. For practice’s sake. Boys from school under the bleachers or behind the track mats in the gym. I had no idea what I was doing with someone like Sayer, but I at least wasn’t a total amateur when it came to kissing.

  Or at least that’s what I thought.

  But kissing Sayer wasn’t just kissing a boy—it was kissing a man. He was all of my dreams and fantasies and desires packaged into one perfectly gorgeous, perfectly dangerous man of my dreams, and I could have spent the entire night just learning the contours of his lips and how they fit against mine.

  His teeth caught my bottom lip and then his tongue was there to soothe the nip, coaxing me to open my mouth wider and let him explore me more completely. He tasted like spearmint and everything I’d ever wanted. With my eyes shut tight and my hands tentatively clutching his crisp shirt, I let him lead the kiss just praying I was not making this a horrible experience for him.

  Was this going to be the shortest relationship in the history of relationships? Was my bad kissing going to send him running? It was all too much.

  I pulled back, gasping for breath and my scattering confidence. His head dropped to the curve of my neck, his breath heating the bare skin there, making me shiver.

  He felt the chill run through me and his hands were immediately around my waist, tugging me against his warmth. “Are you cold?” he whispered.

  “N-no.”

  His head pulled back so he could see my face. “Repulsed then?”

  His candid question pulled a nervous laugh out of me. “Intimidated,” I whispered. “You’re terrifying.”

  He brushed his nose against mine. “You’re delicious.” Then his mouth was on mine again, and this time it wasn’t slow or soft or careful. This time his kiss was hungry. Demanding.

  His mouth moved over mine quickly, our lips and tongues tangling together with need for each other, unrestrained want. My hands stopped being shy, smoothing over his chest and stomach, wrapping around his neck and pressing my body against his.

  He didn’t hold his back either, letting them explore the curves of my waist, the side of my breast, the top of my ass. He didn’t go straight to ripping my clothes off, but the feeling was there, the desire. On both sides.

  It had felt like we’d been playing this game for five years. This fire between us had been building and building and building and we’d just been adding fuel without bothering to contain it or tame it. And now there was no stopping it. We’d built this pyre, and now we would have to burn at its mercy.

  Which was fine with me.

  I’d gladly give into the flame to be with Sayer, to stay with him.

  When he pulled back this time, we were both flushed, our lips swollen,
our eyes dark. His smile was satisfied, cockier than I had ever seen it before.

  I struggled to swallow against the lump of emotion in my throat. “Wow,” I whispered.

  “Knew it was going to be good, Caro. I shouldn’t have waited so fucking long.”

  Blinking against the blinding beauty that was painful in its intensity, I had one clear, resounding thought. I’m going to lose my virginity to this guy.

  And the thought after that—He’s going to get me to give up running away. And I don’t think I care.

  I would have gladly handed it over that night had we not been in the middle of Fat Jack’s bedroom in the middle of a job.

  I stepped away from Sayer, anxious to untangle myself from those dangerous thoughts and my reckless heart. This was what we both wanted. For now. There was no way we would last. We were young. I was really young. And we wanted different things.

  This would be good for both of us. I would get over my insane infatuation. And so would Sayer. We’d let this run its course and then we could go our separate ways.

  It was almost like this had to happen for us to be able to grow up. Sayer had needed me when we were kids and he needed this now so he could thank me or get over me or whatever. And I needed to see this through so I could move on too. I needed to get Sayer out of my system so that someday I could at least find a way to be attracted to other guys. Sayer couldn’t be my only option forever.

  This would be good for us.

  And until we were over each other, we would have fun exploring the childhood crushes we’d had on each other. I could get rid of my V-card in the process to someone I trusted. He could trust me not to cheat on him or give him an STD. Win-win.

  “There’s something behind the—” I left Sayer and walked over to the wall behind the master bed where a map of the world had been artfully hung in a chestnut frame. I stepped up onto the bed, ignoring the wrinkled sheets and pillows I was ruining.

  I pushed the picture back against the wall, releasing the spring. The picture sprung forward, revealing a safe.

  “Oh, shit,” Sayer murmured, coming to stand beside me. “How are we going to open that?”