Kiss Chase (Exile Book 2)

by Scarlett Finn

  “Flame!” she screamed.

  Junker choked, coughing and clawing at the arm Strike had clamped around him. “He’s a liability,” Strike said.

  “Please,” she said. “Let him go! He didn’t know! Please! He didn’t know!” But Strike had determination on his face and Junker’s hits were getting weaker. “Goddamnit!”

  Grabbing Strike’s forearm, she leaped up and sunk her teeth into the side of his hand. “Fuck,” he called out and let go of Junker who fell to the floor. “Jesus, baby!”

  Dropping to the floor, she checked on Junker; he was still conscious, just wheezing and coughing. “He’s a maniac,” Junker croaked, rubbing his throat.

  The air rushed from her lungs when Strike grabbed her and hauled her up to her feet. “I’m gonna muzzle that mouth,” Strike hissed at her, snatching her close to him.

  “We have to get out of here,” she said, willing to take any punishment he dished out, but the anger in his eyes was too aroused to be a danger to her. “They know we’re here.”

  “Let’s split,” he said and started to pull her, but she yanked him back.

  “Help Junker take Torres to the truck.”

  Tugging her hard so she fell against him, Strike was losing his patience. “No way,” he said. “We’re with each other, that’s it.”

  But she curved her arm around her waist, pulling his arm with hers. “Junker is helpful. Like it or not, he can be useful.”

  “And him?” Strike asked, nodding at the bed though he didn’t take his eyes from hers. “What do we need him for?”

  “Burke needs his fall guy,” she said. “And if we cross his path, we might need—”

  “Leverage,” Strike said, and he dropped his forehead to bump it on hers. “Fuck, baby, that’s cold. I love it.” Kissing her hairline, he let her go and went to haul Junker off the floor. “Move, Square, help me get this prick in the back of the truck.”

  Junker was still recovering from his own Strike encounter, but he stumbled along to do what was asked of him. She didn’t know if Junker had picked up on much of what she’d said to Strike. Rora wasn’t sure if she would be able to hand over one man to another who wanted to ruin his life. But, for now, it kept them all together and the sad truth was, if it saved innocent Leandra, she might be capable of it.

  Torres had training and could be a plant, she hadn’t eliminated that possibility, but for now, she didn’t know enough to come to that conclusion. She and Strike knew how to limit what they said in front of Torres and as long as they told Junker not to talk too much in front of the narc, she hoped they wouldn’t lose any ground.

  This was a chance to gather some intel of her own on the men around her. One of them would be her path out of this, but as of this minute, she didn’t know which one of them to trust, so she wasn’t ready to call any of them out of the running.

  SIXTEEN

  Sitting on the edge of a bed in the new motel room they’d travelled to, Rora appreciated the skill of Strike’s hands that were massaging the side of her neck again. All this driving and the lack of sleep was starting to take its toll, she wasn’t used to being awake for such long periods of time.

  Squeezing her shoulders, he worked the tension out of her taut muscles. “I swear I’m going to keep looking until I find a skill you can’t master,” she said, moaning at the pleasure delivered by his strong fingers. The TV was on in the background, but the volume was low, so she couldn’t really hear it. But when her eyes opened, she saw the cute creature on the screen and smiled. “Sloths are cute, don’t you think? If we were together, would you get me a sloth?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I let you have a pet square and a pet narc, a pet sloth is nothing.”

  His hand slid down inside her top to cup her breast. Rora curled her fingers around his wrist and drew it back out. “Don’t get fresh, Mr. Exile.”

  “Why not? We’re alone,” he said, dipping down to kiss the back of her neck.

  “What do you call that?” she asked, opening her hand to Torres who was sleeping on the bed next to the one they were seated on.

  “He’s out.”

  But the moment he said that, Torres groaned. Strike wasn’t put off because he kissed her neck again. “Flame,” she whispered, twisting to peek at him. “You can’t risk touching me like that in front of Torres. If he’s here for information—”

  “What?” he asked, running a hand over the hair she had piled on her head. “He calls me your boyfriend. He knows we’ve fucked.”

  Taking his hand from her hair, she twisted around to look him in the eye. “I told him I wasn’t a factor in your life anymore.”

  “Won’t be the first or the last time we’ll give him misinformation,” he said, kissing her shoulder. “I don’t give a damn what you say is for the best, Cupcake. I know that him thinking you’re important in my life is vital to your safety. I love you and I don’t play games with that. And I don’t think you get it.”

  That was the first time since… before, that she’d heard him say those three little words. That his tone was so matter-of-fact gave her shivers, but she feared being sucked into his orbit again, she wasn’t sure she’d be strong enough to break free.

  “Get what?” she asked, surprised to see how quickly he became stern.

  “We’re not just together, we’re the same. I’ve opened myself to you, Ro, and there’s no way you’re getting back out. I don’t care how long it takes, I’m not leaving your side.”

  Glancing at Torres, she couldn’t tell if he was still out or not, but he looked to be. “If you want to let him believe we’re together, I don’t care.”

  “But you’re still going to play hard to get,” he said. “This is some kind of payback, isn’t it?”

  “Payback?”

  “For me trying to ignore what was happening between us for so long.”

  Could be. Letting him wonder about her motives for a while would be a novelty. “I always knew you were damaged. I never asked you not to be. I’m damaged too, it’s one of the reasons we worked together.”

  “But?” he asked, brushing his lips across her shoulder.

  Grabbing his hair, she pulled his mouth away from her skin. If she kept letting him get away with these subtle, intimate caresses, she’d be naked beneath him before she realized she’d been seduced.

  “I was on my knees, begging you to choose me and you didn’t.”

  “I did, baby. I did choose you.”

  She knew that now, but that didn’t erase the memory of how it felt to have him rip her heart out. “Ultimately,” she said. “That’s what you say. How can I trust that? How can I trust you?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “I’ve got a long time to make it up to you. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not done with me.”

  Torres groaned again, and this time blinked open his eyes. Rora was watching him taking in what he could see of the ceiling and the bed when Strike began to massage her neck again. A kind of panic seized their patient and he tried to sit up.

  “Don’t sit up,” she said, and when she tried to get up, Strike held her down.

  Torres’ head rolled on the pillow. “So this is what crime’s power couple do of a night?”

  “Save helpless strays?” Strike asked. “No, but you’ve got Kero to thank for your life… I’d have killed you.” She swatted Strike’s stomach as he passed her to climb off the bed. He opened a bottle of meds and shook a couple out to hand them to Torres. “There’s water by the bed.”

  “You have no bedside manner,” Rora muttered and got up to help Torres put the pills in his mouth and then she cradled his head to help him sip the water she held in her other hand.

  “Does this make us even for the biting?” Torres asked her.

  “Maybe,” she said, returning the glass to the nightstand. “But I still haven’t forgiven you for copping a feel.”

  “Whoa, wait, what?” Strike asked, putting a hand on her shoulder to drag her back against his chest.

>   “Never told him about that, huh?” Torres asked, shifting on the bed.

  “If I had, you definitely wouldn’t be here. Are you hungry?”

  Torres shook his head. “Let’s get back to him copping a feel,” Strike said.

  “Let’s not,” she said, patting his stomach and turning away to return to the bed she’d left.

  Junker came out of the bathroom where he’d been in the shower and getting ready for bed. Strike was narrowing his laser focus on Torres who was squirming under the scrutiny; he wasn’t exactly in a great position to fight back if Strike thought to put a pillow on his face or a bullet in his brain.

  “How are we going to do this?” Junker asked, looking at each of the beds and the couch, clearly trying to figure out the sleeping arrangements.

  Strike turned his back on Torres. “You’re on the couch, Square,” he said, grabbing the back of his tee-shirt.

  From her place kneeling in the middle of the free bed, Rora held up both hands to him. “Stop,” she said. Strike paused and tipped his head in question. “Keep that on.”

  Torres laughed, pained though it came out. “You’re not getting any tonight, Exile.”

  “Don’t bet on that,” he growled and stepped forward to grab her wrist and haul her to the edge of the bed. “What’s your game, Kero?”

  Stroking a hand down his face, she drew him down to whisper in his ear. “We’re not revealing our identifying marks to the feds, Flame.”

  Leaning back, he found her eyes. “You are something else.”

  She shrugged, taking her arm from his grip to loosen her hair and pull back the covers.

  Rora had just slid beneath them when Junker came to the end of the bed. “You’re happy with this?”

  If this descended into another pissing contest, she’d probably end up walking out and abandoning them all. “Everybody’s tired, can we please just sleep?” she asked, fed up. Though she didn’t care where everyone ended up sleeping, she couldn’t let Strike get into the bed just yet, and presented her palm to him when he tried to get in. “I’m not comfortable with the narc being free like that. Can we… I don’t know…”

  “Cuff him?” Strike asked, opening the nightstand drawer to pull out cuffs like he’d been going to restrain their prisoner whether she asked him to or not. “You got it, baby.”

  “Hey, now, wait a minute,” Torres said when Strike went over to attach a cuff to his wrist. “What do you think I’m going to do? I’m sworn to uphold the law!”

  “Yeah, when it suits you,” Strike said.

  Scooching over in the bed, Rora made herself comfortable on the furthest side. “I was more worried about you snooping than anything else, but now that you mention it, you are the only man in the room who’s violated me against my will.”

  “Yeah,” Strike sneered. “And we’re gonna talk more about that soon as your wounds heal and you can stand up and fight like a man… What the fuck gives you the right to touch my woman?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Torres said. “And no way you haven’t assaulted her. No fucking way. I know the stories about you.”

  Angered, Rora pushed onto an elbow. “I’ve welcomed his caress every time he’s touched me,” she snapped. “I crave having his hands on me, you prick. I beg him to get rough with me and trust him to push my limits because a real man gives his woman what she needs… not that you’d understand that.”

  She hadn’t meant to sound quite so vehement, or defensive, or to inadvertently confirm that she belonged to any one man. When Strike tipped his head in her direction, she flopped onto her back, too afraid to see the look in his eyes. Either he’d be aroused or grateful, or both, and she knew better than to confront that kind of want when it radiated from him because she struggled to resist it.

  “I said you had a mouth on you,” Torres said. “You are some fucking woman, Kero.”

  “She’s my fucking woman,” Strike spat. She peeked around to see him pull Torres across the bed and cuff him to the radiator that was beside it. “You fucking move, and I’ll put a bullet in you,” he said and spun around to stalk over to her.

  Sliding into bed beside her, Strike lay down, locking his fingers together over his chest.

  “You know what occurs to me,” she said, lifting her temple to her fist when she turned onto her side. “You once told Torres you’d take down his organization if he hurt me.”

  “Yeah,” Strike said, fixated on the ceiling.

  “His organization is the federal government.”

  Rolling his head toward her, his scowl hadn’t moved. “Yeah.”

  He might think it the most obvious thing in the world, but to her it was still profound that he could threaten something so massive in such a casual way and be capable of following through. Shit, he could turn her on even when he was just being him.

  “This is uncomfortable,” Torres said, breaking their stare. “And this isn’t the same motel room we were in before, is it? Where are we?”

  Strike pulled his phone from beneath the pillow and pressed some buttons, making all the lights go off. “Go to sleep Torres,” he grumbled.

  The arm he’d attached to the radiator was Torres’ uninjured one, so he couldn’t gripe that they’d been unfair, he’d have done the same thing to them if the situation was reversed, no doubt about it.

  “Are you ok, Junker?” she called out.

  “Better than our patient.”

  “Damn right,” Torres mumbled.

  “What a happy little family,” Strike mumbled.

  She poked his ribs but moved over to pull his arm around her. Rora might be unable to trust him but sleeping with her head on his chest still made her feel safer than to be without it.

  “You’re just in a bad mood because your friend is still under my control.”

  “Thought you didn’t have friends,” Torres said.

  Strike didn’t want to be lying here with her, he wanted to be up doing whatever he usually did with Opal. But for now, Rora was keeping that particular game piece under her control. She’d relinquish it eventually, but she wanted Strike rested, and out of contact with the world.

  “I remember when I had to beg you to lay down with me,” she mumbled, sliding a flat hand up the front of his tee-shirt.

  “How things change, huh?” he asked, threading his fingers through her hair. “Ask me if I wanna and I’ll give you a different answer to last time.”

  She smiled, but relaxed, having no intention of seducing him. As much as Rora wanted to trust him, she had to be cautious. If this was all some gambit cooked up by Strike and the Black Jewel, Rora wanted to do all she could to make sure they couldn’t coordinate and that meant keeping him away from Opal.

  The first thing she was aware of the next morning was a sting of pain on her arm. Dazed as she woke and opened her eyes, she felt Strike move on top of her.

  “Ow,” she mumbled, her morning voice croaky. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting up,” he said, kissing her lips the moment her tired eyes closed again. “You got something else in mind?”

  He rocked his hips, rubbing his morning wood against her, but she grumbled and shoved at him. “Bring me coffee,” she sighed, still half asleep.

  “Caffeine over cock?” Rora’s eyes stayed closed, but her brows rose because, yes, that was pretty much exactly what she was saying. He brushed his lips across hers. “Shower first.”

  Strike climbed off her and left the bed to head into the bathroom. Rora was still at the confused end of the spectrum, but yawned and made herself wake up. Clasping her wrist, she sat up and looked around, trying to remember what was going on.

  Torres appeared to still be sleeping. Junker was sitting up on the couch that faced away from the end of the beds and was watching the news on the TV at a low volume.

  Slipping her legs out of bed, she pulled the tie from her wrist to put her hair up. She had no idea what time it was and there didn’t appear to be any sign of coffee around. Yawning, she heard the sh
ower going on, and dragged herself onto her feet.

  Going to her pack, she pulled out the first dress she found and pulled it on under the tee-shirt she had worn to sleep in. Slipping her feet into Strike’s untied boots that were by the door, she unlocked it and went out into the cool day.

  Being outside in the fresh air was cleansing. She leaned back on the wall under the awning of the porch and blew out a breath.

  But Rora was barely alone for a minute before the door opened at her side, forcing her to stand upright. She sort of expected to see Strike, but it was Junker who came out.

  “Hey,” he said, closing the door at his back. “How are you doing?”

  “Just getting some air,” she said.

  “You’ve been through a lot in the last few days… probably the last few months. Have you stopped since Benjamin went missing?”

  That felt like another lifetime. Thinking of herself after losing Benjamin and during her period of fervent determination to find him, was like looking at a different person. Back then she’d been full of hope, and now she felt that she’d lost her way.

  “No,” she said, but didn’t elaborate.

  “You and Exile, are you back together?”

  Breathing out exhaustion and amusement, she sank back against the wall by the door. “We’re not back together,” she said. “I don’t know what we are.”

  “You seem close.”

  She felt like the world just wouldn’t stop and she needed it to, just for a minute. Her head bumped back against the wall and she closed her eyes. “Exile and I are complicated. We’re as broken as each other and in that way, it works. What we are, works. And if this was just about me, if it was just about us, I’d probably have thrown myself back into our relationship. Yeah, we have issues, but, you know, what do I have to lose in loving him? Only my life, and he’s never threatened that.

  “I could lose my dignity, my heart, but I don’t have family to lose or friends he can hurt. I don’t know, Junk. I don’t know who to believe or who to trust and I feel this burden on me. Leandra’s life is on me and if I make one wrong move, she’s dead… I remember thinking how much I needed someone to lean on when I was trying to find Benjamin. I wanted a partner to help me make the right choices, who I could rely on.”