by Paige Hill
“You don’t know much about his past, do you?” Declan asks, his sharp eyes not missing a single emotion that crosses my face.
“Not really. I know he never married and has no children. He owns a small diner in Tallahassee.”
“That man is a dirty cop who fed confidential information to the largest drug cartel around. He was killed by the cartel ten years ago. Or so we thought.”
No way. Uh, huh. That is not my Manny. Nothing about what these men are telling me makes any sense.
“Tar—What the fuck is your name?” Declan barks, his voice pulling me from the fog in my head.
For the first time, I see hurt in his eyes. The betrayal between us stings and it causes my chest to ache. I’ve managed to hurt the one person in Miami who wanted to help me. The one person who cared enough to welcome me into his home.
I knew better. Sometimes I can be real fucking stupid. Staring at the table, I take a deep breath and let the truth fall from my lips.
“My name is Teagan Langford.”
Hearing myself say that name makes my skin crawl. Pulling my eyes back to his, I see the moment recognition registers.
“You gotta be shitting me.” Briggs’ southern voice booms across the table, a look of disbelief on his face. I can feel both men eyeing me, trying to see the resemblance.
“The only information I have is what I’ve seen on the news. They say you tried to murder him. That true?” His face is emotionless, and it hurts more than his anger ever could. Anger I can handle. But the emptiness in his gaze tells me he’s given up on me. Another piece of my soul breaks free, falling into the abyss.
“Yes,” I state simply. No point in lying now. Declan curses under his breath. Eyeing me again he asks,
“Why?”
That right there. That’s the question to which the answer doesn’t matter. I was sentenced before I ever pulled the trigger.
When I don’t immediately answer, Briggs gets impatient.
“Why, Teagan? You were basically royalty in Florida. You had a lavish house, money, clothes, security, all of it. Any woman would have been ecstatic to be in your shoes!”
That’s the moment I fucking lose it. Jumping to my feet, I slam my unattached fist into the table top and scream.
“Yeah? They can fucking have it!” I seethe. “You know what else I had? I had abuse. I had rape. I had a fucking baby and he took it from me! He took everything I had!” I scream, spittle flying from my mouth.
I collapse back into the chair, sobbing uncontrollably as every bad memory floods my thoughts.
“Enough!” I can barely hear Declan’s roar over the ringing in my ears. He stands so fast his chair flies backward, tipping on its side.
“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.” Briggs turns toward me and even through the tears I can see the regret in his eyes. “Teagan, I’m so sorry. I made assumptions.” He stands, pausing to look at me again.
“For what it’s worth, that outburst wasn’t directed at you,” he mutters, his voice sounding weak. As he turns to leave, Declan stops him with a hand on the shoulder.
“She isn’t Gwen.”
Briggs simply nods his head.
“I’m an asshole. I think it’s best I go, and you can fill me in on what you want to do.”
“Thanks man.” Declan closes the door behind him and stares at me for a moment. Sighing heavily, he walks over and uncuffs me.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“If I leave here, my only options are prison or death,” I state, my tone flat as I rub my aching wrist. Sitting in the chair that Briggs just vacated, he says gently,
“Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
How did I not see this coming? Because you didn’t want to, dumbass. I let myself get so wrapped up in the investigation, I stopped paying attention. Stupidity like that could get me killed. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this confused about a woman before. I stare at her, taking in her silky auburn waves, the colorful ink that decorates her skin and her sassy mouth. I see no evidence of the woman on the news.
Knowing this is going to be a long night, I start to make a pot of coffee.
“The beginning is pretty subjective, I suppose,” she professes after several moments of silence. I nod my head, trying not to make her uncomfortable. Keeping my eyes on the stream of fresh coffee percolating from the machine, I ask the basic questions first.
“Are you from Florida?”
When I met her at the bar, she told me she was from out of town, but honesty hasn’t been her forte, so it’s a start. I have to remind myself that this is essentially an interrogation. Something I have done dozens of times.
“No. I’m from a small town in Oklahoma.” She is looking everywhere but at me and I truly can’t help myself.
“So, you’re a farm girl, huh?” I tease. That gets her to look at me. Annoyance is clear on her beautiful face.
“Hardly. I’m more of the trailer park variety than family farm. I left Oklahoma when I was a teenager. Hitched a ride to Florida. I had no money and knew no one.” This trip down memory lane is clearly not an easy one for her. Darkness shadows her eyes and I can see her slipping away. “I met Mark at a college party and was immediately infatuated. He treated me like no one else ever had. Like I mattered. When he proposed to me, I was over the moon. That was coincidentally the first night he ever hurt me.”
The coffee finished brewing, so I fill two mismatched mugs and return to my seat next to her.
“Thanks,” she says as I hand her one of the mugs. “The first time I saw his jealousy, he hit me because his aging boss made a joke and called me beautiful. Things sort of progressed from there. When I caught him cheating on me, I tried to leave but he came after me. When the cops showed up, I was the one holding the weapon. No one believed me. It was my word against his. I was defending myself and I’m the one that went to jail!” She yells, flailing her arms out in frustration. “Can you believe that?” She asks, the question clearly rhetorical. “I had just found out I was going to be a mom, too. I was so excited.” Her voice lowers, and her eyes begin to water.
I heard her previous confession, but it hadn’t registered. She was pregnant. A sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. My thoughts take an unanticipated detour as I envision what my life could be like with Teagan. Teagan. Even her name is beautiful. Imagining how breathtaking she would look, her belly swollen with my child is too much and I shake my head to force the image away.
“I was released under Mark’s care. He was less than excited about the baby, but I refused to regret it,” she says, thoughtfully placing a hand on her stomach. “I waited a few more months, planning my escape. I was a fool to believe I could ever leave and move on with my life. He woke up and confronted me. Things went south, and he shoved me down a flight of stairs. I lost the baby that night.” Tears prick her eyes and my chest burns. “It was a little girl.” She smiles faintly through the tears and pulls a sonogram photo from her purse, holding it up for me to see.
If this child would have been anything like her mother, I don’t see how that asshole could not have loved her.
“I pretty much gave up after that. A few more years passed, the same ol’ thing. Then came the night that brought me here.” Deep in thought, she continues.
“He busted in one day, furious at me. I had no idea what his problem was but that was nothing new. He was accusing me of sleeping with the guy who delivered his pool table. We scuffled. He got me down and choked me until I passed out. But not before I was able to shoot him in the chest.” She smirks at the thought. “I woke up in the hospital. I fled here on a bus and well, you know the rest.”
She still held the sonogram, her thumbs slowly rubbing the smooth surface. I can see turmoil in her eyes. Gentle tears begin to flow as she takes in the blurry features on the tiny face. Like the weight of the world finally came crashing down on her, she begins to sob. Wanting nothing more than to hold her, I scoop her up in to my arms, surprised when she
curls into my chest.
My anger is retched so high I feel like I’m vibrating. Taking another man’s life hardens you. The memory clings to you for the rest of your life. That beast is always there, lurking just under the surface. The sadistic part no one ever sees coming is the willingness to do it again. The knowledge that you would be willing to kill for those you love and do it with absolutely no remorse.
When I find the man responsible for turning her into the kind of woman who doubts everything about herself, I will kill him.
Sitting there, wrapped in Declan arms, I feel safer than I ever have. He runs his fingers through the length of my hair and it soothes my frayed nerves. With my ear laid directly on his chest, I can hear his heartbeat speed up, but for what I am unsure.
“Are you going to turn me in?” I finally ask.
“No,” he says on an exhale as the rough timber of his voice rolls through me.
“Why not? Don’t get me wrong, I’m in no hurry to go to prison, I just can’t imagine why you would risk anything for me. You’re risking your job.” My statement is the truth and it pains me to know my past is going to come back on him. “I can’t let that come back on you.”
Declan stands with me still wrapped tightly in his arms. He strides from the kitchen to the couch and lowers our bodies onto the soft cushion, pulling me closer as he does. The warmth of his arms around me provide more security than I have the right to feel. We sit in comfortable silence, just briefly before he places a gentle kiss on the top of my head. Curling a tender finger under my chin, he forces me to look at him.
“I’m not giving you up to anyone. Not the cops, and certainly not him.” He is looking me square in the eyes and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much to take. My skin heats and I am given a slight reprieve as his eyes move slowly to my lips. Instinctively, I lick my bottom lip and tug it between my teeth, curious what his might taste like. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long before his strong mouth takes over mine. His kiss is unimaginably soft and firm at the same time. I don’t believe anyone has ever kissed me with so much passion. His tongue snakes out, licking the seam of my lips, silently asking for permission. I open for him and it’s difficult not to moan at the intrusion. We stay, locked on one another until we are forced to separate, gasping for air. His taste, his touch, his scent—it’s all too much.
He cradles my face in his strong hands, his right thumb gently rubbing circles on my cheek. Lowering his forehead to mine, he takes a deep breath.
“I am so fucking sorry.” His words are simple, but their meaning is not. The way he looks at me, the way he holds me. All of it. He feels the weight of my past and while I hate the thought of anyone having that burden, I am truly grateful that I no longer have to carry it alone. It no longer matters if I go to jail or Mark kills me. I was finally able to tell someone the truth, not bare bones, but the complete truth. All the gory details that most people can’t stomach. Something I’ve never been able to force myself into. It’s different with Declan. Once I started and the initial pain was over, I discovered I wanted to share my past with him.
I sit up and shift my hips, swinging a leg around to straddle his lap. His face is flush with obvious surprise as I settle in, running my hands up his firm chest.
“Sunshine, this was not my intention,” he says, swallowing heavily. I lean in, my lips close to his ear.
“I want this, Declan. I haven’t willingly touched a man in years and I want you,” I plead, praying he doesn’t turn me down. Nibbling gently on his ear, I continue, running my tongue down the side of his neck. I place open mouth kisses along his jaw, loving the feel of the roughness his unshaven face provides in contrast to my own skin. He grunts and wraps his hands around my hips, pulling me toward the growing bulge in his jeans.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he questions, his eyes hooded with desire.
“Yes,” Is all I can get out before he takes hold of my hips and grinds into my center, causing a moan to escape my lips. He reciprocates my earlier perusal and places strategic kisses from my jaw down to my chest. My skin is flush and my nerves flicker and snap like a campfire. He runs his hands over my breasts causing my nipples to harden as a wave of pleasure courses through my body from my chest to my core. With his rough hands sprawled on my back, he pulls my chest toward his face and takes a taut nipple between his teeth, tugging gently. The sensation, even through the material, is one I can’t describe.
It’s been close to eight years since I have had an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced. I am already so worked up that I am confident I will combust the moment he touches my now soaked panties. Lifting my arms, he pulls my shirt over my head and discards it on the floor. He makes quick work of my bra and suddenly I am bare. Exposing myself for the first time in a very long time—and its empowering.
His hands flex up and down the unclad skin that covers my back, his fingers pausing momentarily as he takes in scars left by years of abuse. Pulling me to him once again, he hugs me tightly and rests my face on his chest.
“I do not have the words necessary to tell you how sorry I am for the pain you have been forced to endure. I can make you one promise though.” He pulls my face back up to meet his stare. “I will never let another man hurt you again.”
I fight the tears that threaten to fall. No man has ever wanted to fight for me.
Declan’s hands firmly grip my ass as he stands, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me toward the bedroom, his intense stare never leaving mine. The intensity makes me want to look away, but I can’t, afraid the moment will end, and Cinderella will be back on her ass and missing a designer shoe.
He places me gently on the soft mattress, the motion making me feel delicate. Stepping back, he reaches behind his head and tugs his own shirt over the top of his head. I watch, entranced as the material pulls, revealing a body sculpted by hard work. Moonlight shines through the window, casting shadows over the ridges of his stomach. A tattoo is exposed on his left peck. The words written there are in a language I don’t understand. My fingers itch to touch them.
“What do the words say?” I ask.
His expression begs me to trust him.
“Si Vis Pacem Para Bellum. It translates from Latin as—if you want peace, prepare for war.”
Instinctively, I begin to question myself. His eyes still locked on mine pull me back to the moment, all thoughts of distrust and deceit wiped away. Tugging the button free, he slowly lowers the zipper on his jeans, allowing them to slide down his muscular thighs.
Declan, standing in front of me wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and looking at me with desire in his eyes, is the most erotic thing I have ever seen. I shift on the bed trying to relieve some of the need pent up inside me.
Declan leans one hip casually against his dresser and just stands there staring at me for several moments. Getting to my feet, I am compelled to cross my arms over my chest under his heightened inspection. His gaze is overwhelming. Closing the distance between us, he reaches up and gently pulls my arms free.
“Take off your pants.”
It’s a statement, not a request. My breath hitches and I am bewildered by how much his demand turns me on. I search myself, eagerly seeking a shred of self-preservation, anything inside of me that fears handing control of my body to this man. Unable to resist the temptation, I reach down and unfasten my worn denim shorts. The material is abrasive on my overly sensitive skin and the motion amplifies my desire. Relinquishing my power to Declan, I feel unimaginably strong. The air is thick with lust and it surprises me how much I enjoy the seductive show of removing my clothes.
“You’re stunning. I almost need to make sure this moment is real.” His hands roam sensually up my arms, pulling me in for a punishing kiss. Taking a few steps, he backs me up to a wall. Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead to mine, his breath heavy on my heated skin. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he murmurs, just before his mouth takes over mine again. His hands explore my torso, one h
and sliding over my ass and gripping my thigh.
His erection rests firmly at my core and I wrap my arms around his neck, needing leverage to grind myself against him. The friction is delicious, but I need more. With his fingers dancing toward the apex of my thighs, he rubs a thumb tentatively over my swollen clit, eliciting an involuntary shiver.
“Like that, did you?” he asks, his voice dripping with arousal. His hand firmly cups my pussy causing me to huff in frustration. He leans in and whispers, “answer me.” His moist lips tug at my ear.
“Yes.” My voice quivers. He tangles his fingers in the thin lace of my panties and in one swift motion, they lie in shreds on the bedroom floor. The sight causes a rush of wetness between my legs.
Looking down, Declan trails his fingers ever so slowly up my inner thigh, pausing only to run a single finger through my slick folds. A moan escapes my lips and the building tension is overwhelming. He has me in a constant state of arousal and he’s barely even touched me. He uses his thumb to rub circles on my clit as he wets two fingers and slides them into me, ever so slowly.
He drags his eyes up to my face, soaking up the pleasure in my expression as he starts to work his fingers in and out. The pressure builds rapidly, and I know I am going to come.
“Declan,” I plead, “I-I won’t last long. It’s been too long.” I stutter, the sensations taking over.
“Don’t hold back on me, Teagan. I want to hear you scream my name.” He finishes the sentence just as he curls his fingers upward and I explode. His name rolls off my tongue like a curse and I collapse, Declan’s strong arms holding me up.
“Christ, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He makes sure I am standing on my own before he pulls his fingers from my overly sensitive center. Making eye contact, he slips his moist fingers into his mouth, sucking me off them. The sight ignites an explosion of sensations and my thighs clench involuntarily. The second I feel the moisture dripping down my leg, I know I am done for.