by Keri Lake
As Aaron fought one of the thugs, I went after the second, who’d already exited the club with Nicoleta. Skirting their brawl, I pushed through the door and caught sight of him struggling with her.
Seemed she had some power with her knives, but didn’t stand much of a chance against the guy in a fistfight. One hard backhand cracked against her cheek and sent her flying to the ground.
Muscles tensed with fury, I barreled forward, as the asshole reached for his piece, and tackled him to the ground. Scrambling over him, I pinned him by the throat and hammered my fist into his face. Once. Twice. Blood sprayed up in my face as I hammered a hard third, the resounding crack telling me I’d broken his nose.
He reached for my throat, but couldn’t get a grip on me.
I throttled harder, the playback of watching him strike Nicoleta urging me to kill the piece of shit where he lay.
At a sharp pain needling my side, I looked down to see the hilt of a blade sticking out of me. Fuck.
A hard crack splintered across my jaw. The distraction cost me the next punch, too, and the asshole gained some footing over me, knocking me onto my side with a harsh blow to my ribs. I yanked the blade from my side, and as he leaped onto me, I jabbed it square into his ribcage.
With a yelp, he fell to the side, and I straddled him once more, driving another blow to his face. And another. The third knocked him out cold.
Blood seeped through my shirt as I pushed to my feet and stumbled across the gravel toward Nicoleta, who also lay out cold. Aaron jogged out of the building, his face bloodied, but beyond him, the second thug sat slumped against the wall.
“Help me get her into the car,” I called, sliding my arms under hers.
“You’re bleeding man. You all right?” Aaron took hold of her legs, and together, we hoisted Nicoleta up and carried her to my ‘Cuda.
“I’m fine. Just a scratch,” I lied, throwing back the passenger door, and the two of us slid her limp body onto the seat.
Ricky jogged out of the building, and Tanya stood just inside. The two of them taunted my kill switch, so I patted Aaron on the shoulder and rounded the vehicle, grinding my teeth, to keep from acting on the urge.
“Thanks, brother. I’ll see you around,” I said to him as I fell into the driver’s seat.
Ricky called after me, but I ignored him and tore out of the lot, flipping Tanya off as we passed her.
Holding the stinging pain of my stab wound, I drove one-handed, my attention alternating between the road and Nicoleta, who remained motionless beside me.
The tension in my muscles eased, when she finally rolled her head against the headrest and let out a quiet moan. Resting her palm against her cheek, where the beginnings of a red knot marked the spot she’d been punched, she grimaced and moaned again.
“Dax?” she asked weakly.
“You okay? You took a pretty bad hit, from the looks of it.”
“Yeah. Asshole was wearing a ring.” Her eyes landed on me, before skimming down to what had to be a bloody fucking mess all over my leather seats. “You’re bleeding. Were you shot?”
“Stabbed.”
She sat forward and shoved my hand out of the way, lifting my shirt to examine it. “You’re going to need it stitched.”
“No hospitals. They ask too many questions.”
“Then, we’ll need to grab some supplies. Alcohol. Swabs. Needle and thread.” The odd calm to her voice was both welcomed and unsettling. While I appreciated her not losing her shit over the sight of the blood, at the same time, she didn’t lose her shit over the sight of all that blood. Or the thought of sewing it up.
“You’ve sewn a wound before?”
“Yeah. Once”
I nodded. “Once is good enough for me.”
17
Nicoleta
I drew up a syringe of saline solution I’d purchased at the drug store, and squirted it inside the wound. Washing away the blood gave a better view of how deep the blade had gone. Fortunately for Dax, it looked like a weak stab. “Not as deep as I thought. Should stitch nicely.”
“So, when did you do this before?” Dax sat on the toilet seat with his arm propped on the sink beside him, allowing me full access to the wound.
“My dad was in the military when I was growing up. He suffered from post-traumatic stress. One night, he got drunk, locked his keys in the car, and punched his fist through a window to get them. I was about nine years old. He passed out, while I stitched two of his fingers.”
“That’s pretty hard core for a nine-year-old.”
“Well, I didn’t know enough to sterilize the needle, so he ended up going to the hospital for infection.”
“You’ve, uh … studied a bit more on that, I hope.”
“Yes.” I squirted another round of saline into the wound and dabbed the thinning blood with gauze. “Looks like it’s slowing down a bit. Might want to take another swig of your drink before we start this.”
Dax swiped the whiskey off the counter and tipped it back, as I pinched the wound together and slid the needle through what little flesh I could grab. He flinched and groaned, but didn’t move.
“You’ve had this done before?” I asked, threading the needle through his skin a second time. The fact that he didn’t bother to ask questions left me to assume he must’ve, at some point.
“Sixteen years old. Got into a fight with a kid who wanted the ten bucks he’d bet me in cards. Had to have my eyebrow stitched by a buddy of mine. First time I ever got so shitfaced I couldn’t feel anything.”
“Talk about hardcore. You keep the ten bucks?”
“Nah. Bastard ran off with the cash, anyway.”
“Wasn’t worth it, then.”
“Probably not. Got a cool scar out of it, though.” He tilted his head just enough that I glanced up at the jagged skin in his brow, where a skinny line of hair was missing. “Was too fucking stubborn back then, too. Just like you.”
That brought a slight smile to my face, as I kept threading the wound, keeping the suture line neat and clean.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Nic. Tonight. I’ll ask around. I’ve got friends in some pretty low places who might’ve heard about that club.”
“I know where it’s at.”
“How?”
I didn’t have to look up to know his brows would be pinched together, as always. “Ricky told me.”
“You never went to the ladies’ room.” It wasn’t a question, and the slight twinge of anger in his voice tickled my spine. Made me almost want to laugh, if not for the gore of having to sew his wound together.
“No.”
“Fucking stubborn.” He shook his head and tipped back the bottle again, pausing midway to his mouth. “He didn’t make you—”
“No.”
“Where is it?” The glug in his throat chased the question as he downed a swill of his drink.
“Wyoming and West Chicago. You know that area?”
That growling noise rumbled in his chest, just like earlier. “Lovely area. Think you got, like, a one and ten chance of being a victim there, or something. I’ll check out the place tomorrow night.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. Fuck, no. I don’t need another disaster.”
I suddenly regretted telling him the location, and as I closed up the stitch, I yanked a bit harder than I should’ve. “I’m going. End of story.”
On a grunt, he clenched his jaw at what must’ve been a painful pinch of his wound. “Good luck, then.”
Bastard. He knew I’d never get in without that damn tattoo. They didn’t take outsiders—not even girls stupid enough to stroll up. Only the ones brought in by known handlers were permitted there, as even the young ones could be pegged as a spy.
“You need my help as much as I need yours, baby. My way, or no way.”
Grinding my teeth together, I gave him a look that must’ve been about as threatening as his had been moments before, when I’d told him I’d gotten Ricky to t
alk—like he’d wanted to throttle the ever-loving shit out of something. “On one condition. You take Jasper somewhere and let me finish him off. He’s my kill. Understand?”
“Nuh-uh.” He shook his head, lifting his arm and twisting his body, examining my sewing work. “I don’t kill on hearsay, or rumor. ‘S’at whole innocent until proven guilty thing. You go after him on your own time. I just said I’d track him down for you.”
“Then, this is a waste of my time.” I snipped the thread and tossed the needle onto the counter beside me. “I’m not looking for a fucking hound dog.”
“If delivering this asshole to you is a death warrant, I’m not doing it. Not until I have proof he’s done something wrong.”
“Proof? What do you think this club is, Dax? A bunch of consenting adults engaging in harmless bondage? Every girl in that place was picked up off the streets, promised money, fame, a better life. They’re prisoners. You want proof? Step inside that club. You’ll find every reason you need to kill him yourself.”
“Cops should do their damn job and shut the place down, then.”
I rolled my eyes, and tore open a square of gauze, which I taped over the sewn wound. “Cops are some of their best customers. You shut one down, they open another. You might save a few girls, but you won’t save them all.”
“If I save one, it’s worth it.”
The implication in his voice, the heat of his gaze—both were extremely telling—but I wouldn’t let his sweetness touch me. Those kinds of feelings were liabilities for me. “That’s not how you play this game, Dax. You expose yourself early on, the game is over.” After all, stealing one of Tesarik’s girls was one thing, shutting down his livelihood would be another entirely. “Patience is the best strategy. Destroy them from the inside out.”
“Killing one man isn’t going to take down an entire organization, Nicoleta.”
“Depends on the man. You’re right. though. This one is personal.”
“I’ll check this place out. Alone. Christ, I’d need a goddamn leash to keep you out of trouble in a club like that.” Head tipped in study, he ran his thumb over the knot on my face, and I caught the flinch of his eyes. “I would’ve killed him, you know. Had there not been all those people. You’re not going with me, Nic. Not this time.”
I could see by his eyes he had no intentions of negotiating. “I hate you. Like, truly. If I could do this myself, I would.”
“But you can’t. Hate me all you want, little lynx. You need me. Say it.”
“I don’t need anyone. Least of all, you.”
He silently mouthed the words, you need me.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? You’d love nothing more than to have me hanging off your big muscles, fawning over you like those strippers.”
He lowered his hand from my face and his lips stretched to a grin. “Ha! I knew you were jealous.”
“No. Slightly disgusted, but definitely not jealous.”
“Just try hanging off these muscles, baby.” Raising his arm, he flexed his tattooed bicep, and the thing popped like a ball of iron trapped beneath his skin, all the Spartan warriors inked there standing at attention. “Ain’t nothin’ disgusting about it.”
Ugh. The man wore masculinity like a fine tailored suit that clung to every inch of his perfectly carved body, which was frustrating in more ways than one.
“You’re obviously drunk. And quit calling me baby. I don’t care how much you think I need you, or how may stabs you take for me, I’m not turning into one of your little co-dependent groupies who like to call you daddy because they have issues.”
He shrugged and ran his hand over the dressing at his side. “Some just didn’t get hugged enough as kids. ‘Sides that, what makes you think I took a stab for you?”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Never mind.” I threw the towel onto the counter and spun around to leave, but Dax caught my arm, yanking me back to him. All the twisting and tugging made no difference in his steely grasp, and I fell awkwardly onto his lap, just short of the bulge sticking up from his thighs.
“You want to know the truth?”
“No,” I gritted, kicking myself off him while avoiding his wound. “I want you to let me go!”
Cupping my bottom, he dragged me back onto his lap, and my core hit his hard cock, sending a flare of excitement up my spine. Not like earlier, with Ricky, when my body reacted on some superficial conditioned response. The effects Dax elicited felt more natural, derived from something deeper, more carnal. “If he’d taken you away from me, I’d have gone fucking ballistic, because let me tell you, Lynx, you’re all that’s keeping me from taking a leisurely stroll over the edge of Book Tower right now.” The whiskey on his breath told me it was the alcohol talking, but that didn’t change the effect of his words. “So, as selfish as it may sound, I did it for myself. And I’d do it again. For myself.”
In spite of how he said it, it was his way of letting me know he needed me, too. Hell, maybe Dax needed me a lot more than I needed him. Maybe it wasn’t about finding girls that he could care for, like little playthings that he’d eventually discard, but finding girls who made him feel alive. Who gave him reason to keep going, when the world kept handing him bullshit. Perhaps the two of us were more alike than I cared to admit.
I ran my finger over his hairline and down the plum-colored bruises across his cheek, drawing in the hypnotic energy of his stare. Those deep brown eyes that carried a world of sadness and pain. Pain I wanted to reach inside to touch, to feel what gave the steely guy such vulnerability when it came to women. The instinct to nurture him, care for him, surprised me. Then again, seeing him charge out of that club after me, those mercurial eyes set to kill the bastard who’d taken me, had sparked a strange desire I couldn’t begin to understand. One that left me wondering if he could feel how wet I was right then.
With my hand splayed across his jaw, I leaned forward, only brushing my lips across his.
The pinch of his fingers digging into my thighs told me how desperately he was clinging to self-control. His big hands slid up the sides of my legs, and he clutched my hips, as if bracing himself to push me away. “Nic,” he warned.
I silenced his argument with a kiss, feeling his fingers curl into my flesh. His mouth tasted like whiskey and sorrow, wrapped in guilt. A familiar cocktail. Threading my fingers through his hair, I pulled him tighter, reveling in his taste, wanting to suck every last drop of shame from his lips. And just like that, my mysterious cravings had a name. Dax.
Grinding against him elicited visuals of his large body rocking against mine, pinning me to the bed.
Fucking me.
Something dark and fervent rose up from my belly, as I kissed him with the same frantic need as a junkie who couldn’t quite get enough of him. My addictions took over, oxygen waned, and my head felt light with dizziness.
Hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me away, breaking the kiss on a pop of suction.
Dax breathed hard, his chest rising and falling with every exhale that filled the space between us. “I can’t do this. I want to, but I can’t. And if you think kissing me is going to get me to change my mind about taking you with me, you’re wrong.”
Any other man and that might’ve been the case. After all, I’d grown accustomed to offering my body in order to get what I wanted. Smile painted on my lips, I slid from his lap, my body trembling with the sudden withdrawal.
At the doorway, I paused to look back at him hunched forward, still trying to catch his breath. The sight of him taunted me to sit back down on his lap and test his resistance, to toy with my restraint.
“I didn’t do it for you, Dax. I did it for myself,” I said, and left the room.
18
Dax
Knuckles white, I gripped the steering wheel, staring off at the building across the street from where I’d parked.
I thought I’d been in just about every abandoned building in Detroit, but I’d never seen the one stood on the corner of the surrounding
shithole neighborhood, like something straight out of a horror flick. Some carried an aura about them—sad, abandoned, lonely. The one across from me screamed of bad shit. Evil vibes, like it’d swallow a passerby who’d never be seen, or heard, from again.
The fuck was I doing there?
I tossed my gun into the glovebox and double-checked the blade stuffed into my boot by running my finger over the hilt of it. The gun would be obvious, but the blade? Hopefully, not so much, or I’d be a dead man before night’s end.
Earlier in the day, I’d moved Nicoleta and myself into an apartment owned by an old friend of mine, Frank Bojanski. He and his brother owned several buildings throughout the city, most of them designed for laying low. Single units located in areas with little traffic and small conveniences, like the party store a block up, where I could buy my liquor to deal with the fact the place only had one bed. A discovery that didn’t seem to bother Nicoleta anywhere near as much as it did me.
Seemed like every day took me one step closer to losing my grip. Each day—as the bruises healed, her eyes beginning to shine, her body to fill out in all the right places—was another day I had to remind myself to control the urges burning inside of me. I couldn’t give in to the temptation. I wouldn’t.
I knew myself well enough to predict just how much that woman would fuck me up, if I allowed even one small slip. Like that kiss in the bathroom. I could still feel her lips on mine, that sweet poison like sugar on my tongue.
No, I had to stay focused. Get her what she needed, so I could get what I needed, and the two of us could part ways afterward.
Climbing out of the car, I scanned the empty streets, before landing on the front entrance. A ratted hotel awning, propped up by two rusted poles, carried the name Grand Hotel. Couldn’t imagine anything grand about the shithole, but maybe in its heyday, it’d been one of the nicer joints on the block.
Chipped concrete led to a door covered in particle board that’d been spray painted black. More black particle board covered the windows at either side of the entrance, too. Thought it might’ve stood completely empty, until the door flew open, and an older man, perhaps in his sixties, stumbled out. Tall, skinny, wearing a disheveled suit and wire-rimmed glasses that made him look like the quiet accountant who worked in the basement of a big corporation. Definitely not the homeless junkies, or scrappers I’d encountered while exploring abandoned buildings. The smirk on his face held a sort of permanence that reminded me of something straight out of Silence of the Lambs.