Blood Deep (Blackthorn Book 4)

by Lindsay J. Pryor

  ‘Make you question whether he’s human at all?’

  ‘That term means nothing,’ she said, ‘when you’ve lived here as long as I have. When you’ve seen the things I have.’

  ‘But we’re not all like that.’

  She wanted to believe it. At the same time, sense dictated he would get what he wanted and then he would leave. Maybe not straight away, but eventually. He would leave her with an even greater sense of emptiness than she already had.

  Still she couldn’t let go of his wrist though, despite the self-inflicted damage she knew it was doing.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked, his eyes searching hers with an intimacy that made her believe she could tell him.

  Could tell him she wanted one more moment of feeling like she had on that very bed. A moment where she felt she mattered to someone, felt alive, wanted. Because as pure an act of lust as it had been, the way he’d handled her, and the way she had responded, had been anything but.

  More so, she’d seen the tenderness in his eyes when he’d seen her shock, her horror, and her pain when he’d made his discovery. A tenderness she had forgotten how to handle, having existed so long in a world without it. A world where tenderness was equated with weakness. But Eden wasn’t weak. The way he had looked at that point had told her just how strong he was – and it made her feel strong too. It made her feel, just for that short time, that she could do anything. It made her want to hold on to it until the very last second.

  ‘Tell me what you want,’ he said softly against her ear.

  ‘I want you to finish what we started. I want to see you finish what we started.’

  He raked his hand up the nape of her neck and knotted his fingers in her hair there. ‘You want to see me come?’ he asked rhetorically, as he brushed his lips along her ear.

  More than that, she wanted to look in his eyes as it happened, not just for the thrill but also for the connection again.

  Heat rushed between her legs. Her palms instinctively clamped onto his thighs as they remained spread either side of hers. The tension within them, the hardness nestled against her behind, told her she’d been right to suggest it.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, sensing the change in her breathing, the room closing in around her.

  He untangled his fingers from her hair to slide around to gently clasp her throat, resting her head back against him.

  ‘Only if you take those contacts out,’ he whispered.

  ‘If I lose them…’

  ‘You won’t,’ he said, holding out his free hand.

  She hesitated for just a second longer before placing the padlock and pins aside. Deftly removing the small plastic discs, she placed them in the palm of his hand.

  He leaned past her and dropped them in the empty glass on the bedside table before raking her hair back from her shoulder. Clasping her throat again, he tucked his other hand down the front of her knickers.

  Through parted lips she gasped again as his fingers slid down over her sex, his thumb encircling her clit before not hesitating in slipping a finger inside her.

  ‘Let’s take a look,’ he said, tilting her head towards him. As he examined her eyes, his smile was faint but undeniable. ‘Violet?’

  ‘It’s a good thing. It’s when they’re black you have to worry. But I don’t want this to be about me this time.’

  ‘If I’m going to come, it’ll be everything to do with you.’ He rubbed his lips across her ear again. ‘It’s going to be even more sensitive for you this time around, so soon after, do you know that?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You’ve been with others?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Not now. Please.’

  She felt him unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans. She gave him the little bit of room he needed to ease down his jeans, his shorts. He kicked them off before reaching for her underwear. He slid her knickers down over her behind, to her knees. As they fell to her ankles, Jessie stepped out of them. But as she moved to stand, to turn to face him, his grip on her throat tightened.

  ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s try something different. Tuck your legs under you, your thighs spread either side of mine.’ She heard the tear of another foil packet. ‘I want to fuck you from behind.’

  She froze. Bit back a breath.

  She felt his smile against her ear. ‘Not like that,’ he said. ‘That’s advance class only. I want you to feel it even more, that’s all.’

  And she did. As he guided her down onto his ready erection, as he eased an inch inside her, she almost fell forward had he not switched from holding her throat to wrap his hand across her chest. With his other hand he held her inner thigh, holding her down as he pushed himself inside her.

  The exquisite tease of his slow penetration was matched only by his hand massaging her breast as she relaxed into position, the caress of his fingers as much to do with sating her as pleasuring himself.

  She closed her eyes, wanting to linger on every sensation until soon she moved in perfect rhythm with him, his increased pace a welcome relief to the tension peaking inside her.

  As dangerous and forbidden as the illicitness of the act under Pummel’s roof was, it was the connection their shared silence forged, their awareness to maintain their secret, that meant the most. That they trusted each other enough to do it.

  That she trusted him enough to want it again.

  But she nearly forgot that silence as he thrust harder. He released her breast to close his hand over her mouth, to stifle her whimper. This time she was grateful for the restriction as he slid his free hand back between her legs, his thumb finding her clit as he continued to thrust inside her.

  Her hands gripped his thighs, her wrists brushing the inside of her thighs, her nails digging in deep into his jeans as he thumbed her clit more frantically. Amidst her own peaking arousal, she felt his do the same, his breaths hot and heavy against her neck, his perspiration dampening her temple.

  Guided by the firm hand that gagged her, she looked over her shoulder at him. She met his gaze as he came, her gasps frantic against his palm as she too climaxed.

  Eyes that were now glossy and beautifully dark beneath hooded lids as they gazed deeply and intimately into hers. Eyes that betrayed the deepest sense of satiation. Eyes that she connected with then like she had no other. A connection that she guessed he too didn’t forge often.

  He rested his forehead against the side of her head, his breaths gradually steadying as she gently eased off him.

  ‘I really have to go,’ he said.

  She moved to sit beside him, her legs still trembling. ‘What if we talk? Now.’

  He hesitated for a moment. ‘Unless you can give me a guarantee that you’ll help me, I can’t, because if I don’t get down there, it’ll raise too many questions.’ He met her gaze. ‘I need a definitive if I’m to risk it.’

  She knew what he was asking. But, for too many reasons, she couldn’t give him it yet. She looked down to the carpet, her hands clenched. ‘Then meet me as soon as you get back,’ she whispered, looking back at him.

  He frowned. But then he nodded. ‘I’ll be there.’

  He glanced down at his watch – both he and Jessie knowing what staying much longer could mean. He retained his silence as he pulled away from her, tucking himself back inside his jeans, smoothing out his T-shirt. He pulled the chair away from the door. Glanced over his shoulder once more. And disappeared outside.

  She bit into her bottom lip, staring at the barrier between them. A coldness surrounded her, consumed her. The thought of him never coming back overwhelmed her with a gut-sickening feeling.

  She nearly lunged at the door to beg him not to go, but this was about more than her.

  She resented the way her concern for him took such deep root in the pit of her stomach; that already she missed him. It was dangerous to have that mindset in Blackthorn. Competition fro
m other cons, let alone run-ins with third species who resented their presence there, made survival poor. And tough as Eden was, as smart and as proficient, he was still only human.

  But he didn’t have to be. She could make him so much more. Without him even knowing, she could keep Eden as safe as it was possible for him to be – make him stronger, faster, more resilient. But it was unthinkable. Granting that to a con, let alone one she was still unsure about, was an even greater risk than sleeping with him in the first place. Now she had her thinking head well and truly screwed on though, reverting her to the other problems she had to deal with.

  Eden knew how to look after himself. Or she hoped now more than ever that he did.

  And she had to return her attention to the children, especially with being on the cusp of uncovering what the hell Pummel was up to.

  20

  It wasn’t unlike many of the run-down, shady stores on the south side of Blackthorn, and one of many establishments where Pummel ran his protection rackets.

  Some of the humans who opted to live in Blackthorn were the relatives of the cons abandoned there, choosing to be with their loved ones. Most though were victims of circumstance.

  Whereas the neighbouring district of Lowtown was reasonably secure in the early days of the regulations being introduced, now, in many ways, it was more dangerous than Blackthorn itself. There, desperation was endemic amongst the residents who, unable to reside in the more lucrative areas of Midtown or Summerton, had been forced to struggle for survival against the odds with minimal opportunities and provisions. And with opportunities limited, only the tough, merciless or those in with the right cliques earned a living through any weak semblance of legitimacy. For the rest, it was illegal activities or starvation. As such, crime was rife; much being ignored by the authorities who, amidst their dwindling resources, were too caught up in the third-species activities in Blackthorn to notice. The result was clear: humans who lived in Lowtown were seen as the wasteful deposits of society – even by their own kind.

  So, with a bullying culture dominating Lowtown, some crossed the borders into Blackthorn. Those who didn’t want any involvement with the third species, who could handle the oppression in return for relative protection, ran businesses on behalf of a few select cons top of the hierarchy. With no other options available, most “employees” toed the line. However, seemingly this store was the exception to the rule. And Pummel never tolerated exceptions to the rule.

  It was the perfect opportunity to introduce Eden to that part of the business. It was also the perfect opportunity to test his mettle a little further – not least remind him of who was in charge. Because he still wasn’t convinced about what he’d seen that morning with him and Jessie. The only thing that had saved the kid was that he didn’t have enough evidence to accuse him – or not enough to blow what was already proving to be a very lucrative venture.

  Besides, he knew it would have been a shame to spoil Eden’s good looks just yet. He’d be very useful out there at night, luring home the entertainment for the others to enjoy.

  That’s why he still needed to see for himself what the bastard streak of numbers on his arm dictated, even after Tatum’s explicit rundown of just how far her new playmate was willing to go. And there was one sure way to test that.

  Homer shoved open the door, Pummel entering behind him, Chemist behind him. Eden followed through last.

  Jem looked up from her paperwork behind the counter. Her youthful blue eyes flared then narrowed. Her attitude was as hard as her cropped, gelled hair; the cheap, fake dye that had turned it from the mousy brown at her roots to the mask of blonde only softened by the clumps of fringe above those cat-like eyes. Out of her and her brother, despite the time he’d done in the pen, she was the one who held it together. Dom liked to drink. He also had a habit of putting cheap and easy women before the business. Pummel had a feeling that could have been the reasoning behind their indiscretion.

  ‘Dom!’ Jem called out warily towards the room to her right, before she glanced anxiously between the four of the cons who had entered. Eden immediately caught her attention – and, from the way she lingered over him a little longer than she needed to, not just because he was new. ‘Pummel,’ she said, with an acknowledging nod as she looked back at him, at least remembering her manners. ‘You’re early this week.’

  ‘You know how I like to keep people on their toes. Are those my account books you’re sorting?’

  ‘I’ve still got more to do. Like I said, you’re a little early.’

  Pummel stepped up to the table that lay amidst the collection of CDs, vinyl albums and DVDs. He pulled out a chair, Homer following suit. Chemist wandered around the store, always on the lookout for a freebie that came as a perk of the job. Eden did the same, only Pummel got the feeling it wasn’t anything to do with perks.

  Dom appeared moments later, a red tinge to his cheeks, a light perspiration to his brow. He indicated for Jem to leave, but Pummel had other ideas.

  ‘Come join me,’ Pummel said. ‘Both of you.’

  Dom tried to exchange glances with his sister but Jem was having none of it – another thing that exposed she was more efficient in playing the system than him. She’d always been a hard-arsed little thing – with an attitude, let alone looks, far beyond her twenty-four years.

  Dom rubbed his hand under his nose as he followed Jem out from behind the counter, both moving to sit opposite Pummel.

  ‘Well?’ Pummel asked, Homer taking his seat to his left at the far end of the table for six.

  Dom frowned, but the slight trembling in his eyebrows was enough of an indication that he wasn’t completely lost at the reason behind the question.

  Jem remained silent, her eyes flitting attentively between Pummel and her little brother.

  Pummel leaned forward, resting his interlaced hands on the table, as his resolute glare rested on Dom. ‘Where is it, Dom?’

  ‘Where’s what?’

  Pummel smiled. His temper notched up from aggravated to annoyed. He glanced at Homer. It was all he needed to do.

  Homer was on his feet a moment later. A split second after that, Dom’s face was slammed down onto the table before naturally rebounding as Homer let him go to resume his seat.

  Blood gushed from Dom’s broken nose and filled his mouth as his trembling hands reached up to tentatively clutch his wounded face.

  Jem knocked her chair back with the force of her standing, inevitable that she’d tried to defend her little brother.

  Chemist was on her in an instant, slamming her down into his lap, using it as a free excuse to have a grope as he wrapped one arm around her chest, the other over her mouth to remind her to be calm.

  She settled quickly, despite the resentment emanating from her eyes. She was smart enough to know when she was outnumbered. She’d been on the receiving end of both Chemist and Homer a couple of times before – individually and jointly.

  The scuffle had also captured Eden’s attention. He glanced over from examining the CD he held, but his expression was nothing more than one of vague interest as he placed a mint in his mouth before turning his attention back to what he was reading.

  Pummel mentally crossed knight-in-shining-armour off the list.

  ‘I’ll ask again,’ Pummel said. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Dom’s now nasal, liquid-filled voice declared.

  Homer stood and slammed his face down again.

  This time Dom cried out with agony, but his cries soon waned as Homer sent several blows into his back, neck and head.

  Pummel leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head as he closed his eyes to the sweet rhythm of pounded and broken flesh and bones. He opened them again to see Dom bent over double from his chair, spitting out a mixture of blood and saliva.

  Eden had looked up again, but this time his gaze was resting steadily on Homer until it impassively switched back to the CD.

  ‘Remind me how this plac
e runs?’ Pummel said.

  Dom pulled himself back into a seated position, his face a mess.

  ‘You give us goods,’ Dom said, stopping only to spit out another mouthful of blood. ‘We sell the goods; we take a cut of the profit.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Pummel said. ‘I give you the goods. You sell the goods. I give you a cut of the profit.’ He leaned forward, resting his interlinked fingers on the table. ‘So, when the fuck did it become about you receiving goods from others, selling those goods and keeping all the profit for yourself?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Dom said, his speech slurred from his already swelling cheek as he stared at Pummel through one puffed-up eye.

  As soon as Homer stood again though, the boy flinched, his hands held up defensively.

  Pummel lifted his own hand to abate his second in command.

  ‘Chemist,’ Pummel said. ‘Let the slut go, and work your magic. Looks like Dom needs a little help with recollecting.’

  Dom’s bloody-eyed gaze flitted between Pummel and Chemist as the latter approached. This time, Homer moved in behind Dom. Getting a hold of both hands, he pinned one onto the table top.

  ‘This will only hurt a bit,’ Chemist declared as he reached inside his own coat pocket. The vial he pulled out glinted in the dim light as he flicked off the cap before pouring the contents over Dom’s hand.

  Dom’s delicate skin hissed and frazzled as the acid ate through the first few layers, drowned out by the kid’s screams, tears mingling with the blood on his cheeks.

  Jem was nearly on her feet again but instead she had the sense to clutch hold of the seat she was sat on. It was almost a shame – Pummel was itching for an excuse to wipe the defiance from her eyes. She’d always been difficult to crack, not showing a hint of emotion all the times he’d called around for his non-business visits. But one day he’d make her cry.