River North, Chicago
J A C K
Jack descended the stairs into The Underground, a basement bar and nightclub that could have doubled as the President’s secret bunker. It was the kind of place you wouldn’t be surprised to find the likes of James Bond playing poker with Michael Jordan. The club’s coffers were lined with athletes, celebrities, and beautiful hangers-on, drinking expensive cocktails while they chatted and mingled at artillery-case cocktail tables.
Jack wondered briefly if Samantha would be amused by the place, before he shoved the thought away, glancing around.
A scantily-clad hostess recognized him immediately, escorting him to a corner table where Nia waited, resplendent in a creamy dress with a neckline so low, he could almost see her belly button.
“Well, well,” she purred, her blue eyes glowing. “Something wicked this way comes.” She tossed back her silky, white-blond hair as he sat down beside her.
“You’re one to talk,” Jack replied, leaning in to kiss her cheek. But Nia turned her head at the last moment, his lips falling on her lush mouth as she gave him a seductive kiss. He nearly blanched as guilt struck him, but he pushed back the unwanted emotion, letting the kiss happen. Her mouth tasting faintly of champagne. Jack’s hand tightened at the small of her back, his thumb touching the exposed skin there.
Nia pulled back with a feline smile as she traced a long fingernail down his torso, tucking her finger delicately between the buttons of his dress shirt.
“It’s been a long time,” she purred.
“Years,” he answered succinctly, his MDMA–high cresting as he vindictively imagined all the things he could and probably would do with Nia before the night was through.
“You look good, Jack,” she purred, picking up her glass. “May I offer you some champagne?”
“I’d prefer something harder,” he replied, glancing at the approaching waiter. “Glenlivet, neat.”
“A man on a mission, I see,” Nia observed.
“Making up for lost time,” he replied.
Nia regarded him languidly while she sipped her champagne.
“I heard you went straight a few years back.”
Jack merely shrugged, lounging comfortably beside her as he regarded the room, watching women undulating against each other to the music, weaving visuals into Jack’s mounting sensory bliss.
“I see you started without me,” Nia continued, looking into his dilated eyes.
Nia, his once lover and favorite dealer, served top-shelf party favors to Chicago’s high-end social elite. Molly, cocaine, Special K, acid, 4-FA, codeine, hydrocodone, Percocet. You wanted it? She had it in spades—and in a good-looking package to boot.
She dropped a pill into his hand.
Jack lifted a brow. “Just one? We’re rationing now?”
“You’ll have to come and get the other one,” Nia smiled, placing the other pill on her tongue, her heated gaze beckoning.
“Gladly,” he murmured, sliding a hand around her neck and drawing her to him.
She wasn’t Samantha; not even close. But then, no one was. And maybe he could forget for a while…
Just for a while…
Chapter 17
Dec 12th—Afternoon
Austin, Texas
W E S L E Y
Wes glanced up from the negatives he was examining, wondering who was knocking at his door. He moved across the wooden floors of his loft as another gentle rap sounded against the heavy steel door. He unlocked it, sliding it back. Seeing Sammy at his door was one helluva great surprise. He rocked back on his heels, a wide smiling spreading across his face.
He took in her simple outfit—dark jeans and a leather jacket—his eyes wandering down to the biker boots and the motorcycle helmet in her hand. Sam looked him over in kind, brow lifting as she noted he wore nothing but an old pair of jeans. Wes watched her eyes fall on the dog tags, then slide down to the tattoo on his chest, her dark eyes shuttering before they returned to his face.
“You want to go for a ride?” she asked, rattling the helmet slightly.
Wes crossed his arms, leaning against the door jamb as he considered her. “You didn’t come all the way here to ask me to get on a bike with you, Sammy.”
“No?” she asked, brow lifted. “Then why did I ask?”
“Because you want to be near me without having to talk to me on a bike,” Wes replied, considering her. “You were never one to avoid something Sammy. That’s new.”
Sam shrugged, stepping back to leave. “Suit yourself.”
Wes snagged the helmet from her hand before she could retreat. “You’re here,” he replied, holding onto the helmet. “The hardest part is over. Come inside.”
“This isn’t the hardest part,” she answered, taking in the large warehouse space he’d converted into a studio a few years ago on one of his rare trips home. As Sam moved past him into his place, Wes caught a whiff of her scent. It was different now, more jasmine and Bergamot than it used to be, but the undertone of Samantha was the same—delicious and complex, like tasting a secret in the air.
Wes watched as she paced through the open layout, admiring the handful of photographs he had enlarged hanging against brick walls. He waited patiently as she fiddled with his camera lenses, leaning over the drafting desk where he kept his light box, browsing over the negatives he’d just been examining. As she hemmed and hawed, tacitly avoiding him, Wes wondered what stroke of good fortune had brought her to his doorstep.
“You want something to drink?” he asked, moving toward the kitchen. He set her helmet down on the kitchen table before opening the fridge and pulling out two bottles of Shiner Bock.
Sam smiled as she accepted the cold beer. “I still drink this too,” she said, clinking her bottle neck to his.
“Some things don’t change, do they, Sammy?” Wes replied, watching as she took a long draw.
She didn’t acknowledge the double entendre, but she tilted her bottle toward his chest. “You gonna put on a shirt?”
Wes’s mouth stretched into a wide grin. He was both surprised and a little delighted she was feeling bashful around him. And so, because he could, he decided to tease her a little. Wes leaned back against the counter across from her, crossing his arms and legs casually as she watched him warily.
“Why?” he asked blithely. “Ain’t nothing you haven’t seen every inch of already.” And touched. And kissed. These thoughts he kept to himself, sensing Sam was standing at the precipice of something, poised for flight at the slightest opportunity.
She appeared uncharacteristically flustered for half a second before she pulled a bar stool over with her boot, sliding onto it while she glanced away from him.
“Why are you still wearing my dog tags?” she asked instead, redirecting.
Wes pushed off the counter, moving toward her. “You want the sentimental reason or the practical one?” He leaned on his arms in front of her, the tags dangling between them.
Her eyes narrowed on him. “If you tell me it was because you wanted to keep me close to your heart, I’ll know you’re running game on me, you cocky sonofabitch,” she replied.
“Cocky?” Wes asked with feigned innocence. “Who, me?”
Sam rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her beer. “You were always the most charming, conceited man I ever met.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Wes replied. “I’ve met Jack Roman. I know better.”
“Don’t talk about him,” she said quickly. Too quickly.
Wes leaned back, assessing her. “You love him, Sammy?”
She looked away, and Wes swore his heart tore. He hid the hurt behind a casual sip of beer as he regarded her.
“You love him more than you loved me?” he pursued when she said nothing.
“This is the hardest part,” she murmured, pushing back from the counter, making a move to grab the helmet off from the kitchen table. Wes snatched it up before she could make the move to leave. He saw the flare in her wicked dark eyes
as she looked up at him, her expression half angry, half pleading. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, Wes,” she confessed. “I’d better go.”
“If you’re looking for trouble, darlin’, I’d rather you come looking for it with me,” he told her, pulling the helmet back, his other hand tilting her chin up. “You came to me, Sammy. Now all that’s left is to tell me why.”
“I don’t know why; I just told you that,” she answered, flustered.
“Yes, you do, Sammy,” he countered, catching her eyes again. “You always know what you’re doing. You’ve always made up your mind and done whatever you wanted, simple as that,” he replied, tilting her chin up. “Now tell me why you’re here,” he said again, searching her face.
“I guess I’m here because—” Sam stopped, taking a deep breath, like she was mustering up her courage. “I came here because I want you to tell me something. Something only you know.”
“I’ll tell you anything,” he promised, running his fingers along the line of her cheek. “Just ask.”
Sam took another breath, and he saw the pulse in her throat, her heart beating rapidly, her anxiousness nearly palpable. He’d rarely seen her like this. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever seen her nervous in the years he’d known her. So he did what he’d done then, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her up against him in a hug, surprised and more-than-a-little pleased when she folded into his arms willingly.
“You can tell me, darlin’,” he murmured. “Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell me. You know that, right?”
Sam’s arms went around him, and her hands on his skin felt so incredibly good, Wes fought against the arousal, aware she needed something else from him. Something important was happening with her, and now wasn’t the time to be filling the space between them with his own desires and unmet expectations.
“I need you to tell me what it would have been like,” she blurted out, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “That other life. If we had made it,” she explained. “Back when we were young, and everything was good, and I was guiltless—” Sam stumbled through the fractured, hard-fought sentences—like she was learning a new language and couldn’t find all the right words.
Wes pulled back enough to look down at her, unsure of what she was asking as she grasped at the dog tags, the chain biting a little into his nape. She gripped her own name plates in her slender hand, staring at them as if they were artifacts from a different era.
“When things would get dark—too dark, I’d have these visions,” she continued, rubbing her thumb over the metal. “I’d think about what that other life looked like, existing in some parallel universe somewhere, and I’d find myself grounded again, remembering what I was like once, before I lost everything that ever mattered to me—” her voice broke, and she closed her eyes.
“Hey, hey, Sammy, don’t,” he whispered. “You can’t seriously be doubting yourself like this. This isn’t you. This isn’t the Sammy I know.”
“I’m sorry,” she answered, pulling back. “I shouldn’t have come—” She turned away quickly, embarrassed.
Wes stared at her. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined she’d just show up at his door, messed up and needing him after all this time. But he was going to embrace the opportunity with both hands. No two ways about it.
As Sam moved to leave, Wes swiftly picked her up, surprising her. He carried her across the expanse of his loft, moving toward the bedroom he’d blocked off with shoji screens.
“What are you doing?” she asked, startled.
“Taking care of you,” he replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He laid her down on his bed gently, drawing the covers back. She watched him silently as he slipped off her leather jacket and her boots and socks, leaving her in a tank top and jeans.
“Get in,” he murmured, surprising her. She complied slowly, her face a question mark as he slid in beside her as the sheets settled around them.
“Pretty sure that’s the first time you ever got me into bed and left all my clothes on,” she joked feebly, turning on her side to face him.
“You didn’t come here for that,” Wes replied, resting his head in his hand. “You came for another kind of love, Sammy.”
“What’s this kind then?” she asked quietly, peering up at him with troubled eyes.
“The faithful kind,” he answered, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You’re safe here, Sammy. You’re safe with me. That’s why you came here, isn’t it?” he prodded gently. “Even though I hurt you all those years ago, you know I adore you, and you know I’ll do anything I can to help you. Don’t you, girl?”
“I’m not a girl anymore, Wes.”
“You’ll always be my girl, Sammy,” he replied, smiling a little. “Even if it’s just in some parallel universe somewhere.”
Wes slid his arm over her waist under the sheet, tugging her closer. Their legs twined under the covers, his jean-clad thigh sliding between hers, fitting exactly like it used to, so many years ago. Sam hitched her leg over his hip, and their bodies slotted neatly together, as if God had made them that way; just for each other. The rest of the world evaporated.
“Now it’s just you and me, Sammy,” he whispered. “Tell me what’s going on.”
*
Dec 12th—Afternoon
Austin, Texas
S A M A N T H A
“I honestly don’t know what the hell I’m doing here,” she admitted. “Since Rio, I feel like I’m careening down a rabbit hole. My emotions are getting the best of me, and you know I never allow that to ever happen—”
“So the ice queen is admitting her humanity,” Wes replied, sliding his arm under her pillow. “Heaven forbid you have a moment of self-doubt,” he teased. “I’m having a hard time imaging you like the rest of us mere mortals.”
“You know I’m not like that.”
“I know for Sam Wyatt to feel unsure, divided and just plain flummoxed takes a rare confluence of events,” Wes answered, touching the wing of her brow.
“I don’t want to pull you in,” she confessed. “I shouldn’t have just shown up here.”
“Too late,” Wes replied. “You pulled me in in 1997. Never did escape after that,” he drawled. “Now I know you wouldn’t have come to me if you didn’t think I could help you somehow, so let me try.” He smoothed her furrowed brow. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
As she spun in the centrifuge of her emotions, Sam saw Wes in the center. She saw a younger version of herself with him. The girl she’d once been, what felt like eons ago now. Every day, the anxiety she felt since Rio had grown substantially; each moment another step closer to what she realized might very well be the end.
“It’s naive. And foolish,” she confessed quietly, reaching out to trace his tattoo.
“Are you talking about my ink?” he teased, watching her touch the intricately entwined ‘SW’ emblazoned over his heart.
“You don’t regret getting this?” she asked, looking up at him. “The initials of a girl you don’t know any more branded on you forever?”
“Not at all,” Wes replied, his eyes warm. “I told you the day I got it you were the love of my life, Sammy. It’s just as true now, even if you don’t feel that way anymore.”
Sam drew her hand back, wondering why it felt so easy to be here with him again after so many years, tangled intimately under the sheets like no time had passed at all.
“I was up all night, tossing and turning, wondering if it would have been different—if I would have been different—if somehow after Dad and Ry died, we’d managed to stick together,” she confessed. “Do you ever think about that? Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we’d worked out?” She closed her eyes. “Would we have made other decisions? Would we be better people? Would I have still gone to war and made the same calls that got me here?”
“Where’s ‘here,’ Sammy?” Wes asked gently.
“I too
k the job at the Kennedy Irregular Warfare Center after I graduated A&M. Do you remember me telling you about it?” she asked quietly, recalling her excitement, the honor she’d felt at being selected.
“Like yesterday.”
“Yeah, well, I trained under this man: Morrissey. He recommended me for naval intelligence.”
“Makes sense,” Wes shrugged. “You always were the most perceptive person in the room.”
“And, with my language skills, they had me interviewing suspects and interrogating hostiles once I was deployed. I was good at it. Maybe too good.” She flinched, drawing back, but Wes tightened his arm around her waist.
“Go on,” he urged gently.
“The deeper it went, the darker it got. The things I did, Wes.” Sam shook her head; bit her lip. “It went beyond anything I could have imagined. Anything I could have prepared for or anticipated. And after the end of my second tour, I had to get out. Because I was scared…” she trailed off, eyes distant.
“You can say it, Sammy,” he whispered. “You can tell me anything.”
She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “I was scared because I’d begun to develop a taste for it,” she admitted quietly. “At first, I did it because it was my duty. The events of 9/11 had happened and I was furious; completely bent on justice.” She took a breath. “But then those feelings of vindication changed, and I started doing it because I could. Extracting information out of people, breaking them down,” Sam squeezed her eyes shut. “It was the only way I could feel anything after losing Daddy and Ry died—God, I’m going to burn in hell for this—” her voice caught.
“Sammy, your judge and jury aren’t here,” Wes told her softly. “It’s just me.”
“After they died and you and I ended I’d walk through everything feeling numb. Day after day,” she continued, the words erupting from her faster, as if after years of being buried, they demanded exposure. “It was like I was frozen through and through, and when I got into a room with these people, people I knew were guilty, who I knew had done something awful or were planning or helping in some way, I felt like I was coming awake—sentient all of a sudden,” she confessed. “I felt a sense of purpose. And what I’d do to them didn’t bother me, because vengeance was mine, and I could feel again. Even if it was only anger and pain.”
Complicated Creatures: Part Two Page 19