by S. Poirier
In an area of a huge city I don’t know.
Without my gun.
And an injured wrist. Clearly I’ve lost my damn mind.
The garage is home to a small black sports car and a black Jeep Wrangler. His motorcycle is also black.
This guy must really like the color black.
He comes back over to the bike and throws his leg over. As he pulls the bike into the garage he doesn’t bother sitting down, which results in his ass being right in front of my face. And, wow, it is a nice ass.
He climbs down with ease as I pull the helmet off. I hand it to him as he offers his hand to help me off the bike. I wave off his gesture and hop off by myself. He chuckles as he flips his keys into the palm of his hand.
“What?” I ask confused by his sudden amusement.
“Nothing,” he says, as he walks over to a side door. The garage has two large doors, and one regular sized door. One of the large doors opens into the back alleyway and another that must open out onto the main road, so he can get the other vehicles in and out. There is also a work bench, tall tool box, and a bicycle hanging upside down from the ceiling. “Are you coming, or do you plan on spending the night in my garage?”
I hurry after him into what I can only explain as a warehouse turned into one huge apartment. There is a kitchen with an island bar and barstools, a living room area set up with leather furniture and a very large flat screen TV. There isn’t a dining room table, but a pool table instead. In the far back corner I notice the only part of the open space that is walled off from the rest of the open room. Since that area provides the only privacy I’m assuming it’s the bedroom and bathroom.
He walks over to the end table in the living area and empties his pockets in a little wooden bowl before turning around to face me.
“So, this is my place here in DC,” he says with a sly smile.
“Place in DC? As in you have more than one place?” I ask. His answer is a shoulder shrug. “A shrug? Well, what’s your name, because this whole time I’ve been referring to you in my head as ‘my kidnapper’ or ‘kidnapper-turned-helper’?”
He starts walking towards the kitchen, and I can’t help but watch his swagger and the way his jeans hang low on his hips. I have to repress the urge to fan myself, because seriously it just got really hot in here.
“Catch. My name is Catch,” he says over his shoulder. “Would you like anything to drink? Water, cola, beer?”
“A beer. And your name is Catch? Were you parents high when they named you?” I ask with a chuckle, as I walk over to sit on a bar stool. Catch is standing on the other side of the bar in the kitchen area.
He turns around, twists the top and slides the beer bottle over to me. “No, my parents were not high.” He doesn’t offer any other explanation only takes a long pull on his beer before leaning over the bar to look at me, those blazing grey eyes burning a hole through me.
“What do you have on your boss, Blaze?” he asks. I shrug. “That’s it? I only get a shrug.”
“Two can play that game,” I reply. He doesn’t need to know that I have no clue what information I have because I haven’t had the chance to look yet.
Apparently he doesn’t like my answer. Catch storms around the bar and comes to a stop when his thighs are touching my knees. My chest tightens and a familiar pressure starts building between my legs. My pulse hitches and my lungs squeeze tight inside my chest. I desperately want to cross my knees, but he is standing too close. Instead I bite my bottom lip, and pull a piece of hair free from my bun and start twisting it around my fingers. The next thing I know he snatches the beer out of my hand.
“Hey!” I yell. I bite down on my lip again because my first instinct is to punch him in the jaw. I don’t, because when he narrows his grey eyes at me I know that I have met my match.
He broke a guy’s ribs with a single punch. Of course you’ve met your match, dumbass.
“You have no idea what kind of situation I have put myself in to spare your life. Don’t make me regret it,” he growls. He’s primal, and I can feel thick waves of heat rolling off of him.
I lean back on the bar stool in an attempt to regain some of my personal space. I don’t know what to say. Catch has me speechless. No man has ever left me speechless. And he didn’t even say anything flattering. In fact he kind of growled at me. Growled.
“What’s your name, Blaze?” He asks in a softer tone. There he goes again with the nickname, and again, it doesn’t bother me.
“Max,” I reply. If he isn’t going to give me his last name then I wasn’t going to offer mine. It’s probably for the best anyway.
He takes a step back and I quickly cross my legs. His eyes flicker down at them and then back up to meet my eyes. The corners of his mouth pull up into a knowing smirk.
Arrogant, much?
“Max? Is that short for something?” I shake my head. “That’s usually a boy’s name. Were your parents high?” I want to shrug, because honestly a shrug would have worked for that particular question, but then I would have to explain. I didn’t want to explain it to someone I don’t know that, yes in all honesty, my parent’s probably were high. So, instead I go for a simple shake of my head.
His eyes flicker down to my wrist. “You should put some ice on that.”
I look down to see that it’s swollen again. I curse under my breath. I’m sure all the pulling and tugging made it worse.
“I’m fine,” I lie. The damn thing hurts like hell, but I refuse to say that out loud. For some reason I want him to know that I’m tough, that I can hold my own. I don’t know how long I would be bunking with him, and I don’t want him to feel like I’m some silly damsel in distress.
Catch puts one hand on the bar and one on the back of the barstool and leans into my personal space again. He smells like the wind mixed with a lingering soapy scent, and sweat. Somehow it manages to send him further up on the hotness scale.
I hold my breath, not sure what he is about to do. When he reaches up and runs his finger across the swelling bruise on my cheekbone I fight the urge to flinch. Not because I’m scared of him, but because that shit hurts. He pulls my hand away from my hair and drops it in my lap as he stares hard into my eyes. The muscle in his jaw clenches as he pushes away from me, and runs a hand through the long hair on top of his head.
And all I can think is how I seriously wouldn’t mind doing that for him.
“I have to go take care of something. Will you be okay here alone?” he asks as he starts swiping things out of the bowl.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I reply somewhat breathless.
“Don’t go outside. Don’t open the door for anyone.” He shoves his wallet into his back pocket. “Give me your cell phone.” I lean over the bar, grab my purse, and pull it out of the side pocket. He takes it from my fingers careful not to make any contact with my hand. Then he throws it, using all the muscles in his arm and shoulder, against the far wall. It shatters into a million little pieces.
“What the hell did you do that for?” I yell as I jump off the barstool, not hiding the fact that I’m pissed. I run over to my decimated phone and kneel down to pick at the little pieces.
“Your phone can be tracked,” he replies nonchalantly.
“I have to call June and let her know that I’m okay. If I don’t she’ll call the cops. The moment they find my car in that garage they will know something is up.” I’m standing in front of him now with my hand on his chest so he can’t leave. The muscles in his pecs flex under my hand.
“Not a good idea, Max,” he replies as he tries to get around me. His jaw clenched tight.
“No. Catch, I have to call her,” I say with finality. If he isn’t going to let me call her then I will find my own way. June needs to know that everything is okay. I will have to lie to her about who I’m with and why I’m leaving DC for a while. This isn’t going to be easy. “She’s all I have. I don’t have any family. I have to call her.”
Catch sighs and pinches the
bridge of his nose. He pulls a phone out of his pocket. “It’s a burner and can’t be traced. Call her but keep it short.” He walks out of the room and into the garage.
June freaks out when I tell her that I was canned. I’m sure she assumes that it’s because of the affair with Kelly, and I hate that I can’t tell her the real truth. Then she freaks even more when I tell her that I found my biological grandparents, and I’m going to visit them for a few weeks in New York. I assure her that I have plenty of money to cover my living expenses until I get back and am able to find another job.
I’m in the middle of telling her that I will keep her updated when Catch walks back into the living room. He taps his watch and gives me a hard look. This time I don’t hold back and I flip him off.
He didn’t like that much.
He stalks through the room and stops when our noses are almost touching. I can feel his breath huffing against my lips, and his chest just barely touching mine with each rise of his chest. His eyes are two hot pieces of coal, and his jaw is tight.
I croak out a quick goodbye to June; he takes the phone from my hands, and slips it into his pocket.
“You didn’t sleep at home Saturday night.” That wasn’t a question. I shake my head. “Did you rent a hotel room?” I shake my head again. I am speechless for the second time in one day. “So, I can assume that you have a bag in your car that is parked in Fiddles parking garage.” I nod.
He still hasn’t moved out of my personal space and I can feel heat radiating off of him again. His breath tickles against my lips and it takes everything I have not to close the gap between us. I really want to see what those plump lips taste like. I’ve never been the kind of girl to blush and hide. I almost always act on what my body is telling me. And as if on instinct my body tries to arch closer to him, but I tighten my muscles and root it to its spot. No way was I going to allow my body to betray me right now. Thankfully, he moves away and starts towards the garage again. I release a big sigh, and shake my hands and flex my fingers down by my side. I’m tense. He makes me tense, but not in the bad sense.
“I’ll go get your bag. I’ve made arrangements to have your car taken care of. I will also need your bank card and pin. Whatever you need we can pick up at a local store,” he says.
“Wait? Okay, I’m fine with you doing whatever you want with my car, it’s a piece of shit anyway, but you are nuts if you think I’m going to just hand over my personal bank information,” I reply.
Catch clenches his fist in frustration. “You need to understand that your bank account will either be frozen or they will keep it open to track you. You need to remove as much of your funds as you can before one of those two things happen.”
I stalk over to my purse and pull out my debit card. Reluctantly, I give him my four digit pin. “It only allows me to take out three grand at a time.”
“It’s better than nothing,” he says with a shrug. Then he looks at me and his features soften. “I put the brace for your wrist in your purse. And, Max, I’m serious, stay here. Stay away from the windows and don’t answer the door. I understand that you can take care of yourself, but not against people like me.” Before I can ask any questions he disappears into the garage and a few seconds later I hear the door open and what I assume is the sports car roar to life. I don’t relax until I hear the garage door close.
Flopping down on the couch I turn on the TV. Thankfully, he has cable, and like every channel known to man. What I really want to do is take a shower, but I don’t have anything to change into.
I find my brace in the side pocket I never use. I strap it on relieved for the stability. Then I grab the remote and look up the guide. Settling on one of my favorite movies I go and swipe another beer from his fridge.
Hey, he didn’t say anything about me not drinking his beer.
****
Catch
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. She likes to ask questions and I don’t like answering them. I don’t like the idea of telling her the truth about my occupation. Hell, she should feel special that I even shared my name with her. Yeah, it may only be my code name and not my given name, but if I can’t tell her what my work entails then I can’t tell her my given name.
I cannot tell her that I’m an assassin.
She is the first woman I have ever taken to my house. It’s my safe haven, the one place that no one knows about. I was able to purchase the place with cash under anonymity. It was the safest place I could think of at the time to bring her, but we would have to leave soon because they would eventually find us. I have another house in DC and one in a small town in Georgia. But it doesn’t matter where we stay; they always find who they’re looking for. Assignments never get away. Now I was one of their assignments. One of Timer’s assignments.
What have you gotten yourself into, Catch?
Stopping at a red light I shut my eyes and grip the steering wheel tightly. Instantly she pops into my head. The way stray pieces of her fire red hair fall from its bun, those long legs, and her brazen attitude is driving me insane. Not to mention the swell of her tits are on full display.
The only reason I got so close to her was because I wanted to experience what she smells like. It has been awhile since I have been with a woman, and their scent is one of the things that I miss most. Women always seem to smell wonderful, even when they’re sweating. Max smelled like lavender, mixed with a hint of perspiration. I was surprised with a pleasant bonus when I noticed some freckles dotting her nose.
The energy between us is apparent, and I know she felt it too when she crossed her legs and pinched her thighs together. The idea of her being aroused by my close proximity makes my cock twitch. I have to pull on my pants as I adjust myself in the seat.
Licking my lips wondering how she might taste, and then quickly shaking the thoughts from my head. Thoughts like that won’t help my current situation and I don’t need to climb out of the car with an erection straining against my fly.
Get a hold of yourself, Catch.
I shake my head again and focus on something else that doesn’t include her legs, ass, and tits. Like the fact that I don’t like that she won’t tell me what she has on the client who wants her dead. But I don’t feel like I can press her for it because I was also withholding when it came to information she wanted to know.
Before I pull into the garage at Fiddle I check the camera at the entrance. It’s still pointing towards the sky. I had moved the camera when I came earlier today to wait on Max. It amazes me how incompetent this company is when it comes to security.
I stop next to her car and check to be sure there isn’t anyone lurking. The garage is completely empty. I gather every bag she has in the trunk. I don’t know which one actually holds her clothes, and I’m not about to go through them. Then I drive over to the bank nearest to Fiddles office and withdraw the three thousand they allow. I shove the money in the side pocket of one of her bags. Next I go to the store to pick up food and more beer. Judging by the way she threw back that first one I figured we would need more soon. There also isn’t anything to eat in my house. Most of the time I just eat take out, and then the leftovers. I’m never there long enough to warrant keeping food in the cabinets.
After I finish at the store I drive around the block a few times before I finally pull back into the garage. Although I’ve been gone for a few hours I still needed some more time to get a grip on myself. This girl, Max, is doing things to me that no other girl has ever done to me before. I can’t get involved. There is no way she will be able to accept me because of my line of work over the last twelve years. Yeah, I’m officially retired now—with a bang—but that doesn’t change my past.
I walk in and drop the paper grocery bags on the bar, and then I go and get her bags out of the backseat. I walk straight to my room and drop them on the floor. When I go into the living room she is curled up on the couch sleeping.
She has pulled her hair down, the red locks fanning out over the small square pill
ow. Her breathing is even and relaxed. Her feet are bare and the skirt has ridden up showing off her long ivory legs. For a brief moment I like the way she looks sleeping so comfortably on my couch, but then I remember that I need to stop thinking of her that way.
As much as I want to wake her by brushing the hair off of her face I clench my fingers into the palm of my hand. When the temptation passes I go for shaking her shoulder instead.
She slaps my hand. “Fuck off. I’m sleeping,” she mumbles.
I have to suppress a laugh. Someone does not like being woken up.
“Max, I have your clean clothes. I thought you might want to take a shower,” I say softly. That gets her attention. She opens her sleepy eyes and looks up at me through her long lashes.
My breath seizes and I swallow thickly. Damn she’s beautiful.
Slowly she sits up. “Yep, I totally need a shower. I’m sure I smell like ass.”
I chuckle. If only she knew what her smell does to me. “Not really. But I thought it would make you feel better.”
She stands up and stretches. Again my attention is drawn to her tits, and then her legs. And this time she catches me looking.
“Like what you see, Catch?” she says flirtatiously.
The playfulness knocks me off guard. I narrow my eyes at her and say, “Just go take a shower, Max. You can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the couch. I put your bags in my room, and your money is in one of the side pockets.”
She goes to my room and starts digging through her bag stacking different bottles into her arms. “Thank you, Catch. But there is one problem…”
I sigh. I’m not really exasperated I just enjoy giving her a hard time.
“What, Blaze?” I turn to face her.
“Don’t be an ass,” she says calling me out on my attitude. “I sleep naked, so I don’t have a night gown, or shirt, moo-moo, or whatever it is that women sleep in these days.”