Hard Candy

by Francesca Baez

  Miel

  I leave The Breaker to dispose of the body on his own, and he seems more than grateful for the solitude. I need to find Andrews. And if he still wants to kill me, then fucking hell, we can battle royale it. My best bet is back at the abandoned building where he was holding me, but I can’t remember exactly where that was, and I’m closer to Hard Candy anyway. I don’t know exactly what time it is, but I don’t think they would have locked up yet. At the very least, I can grab my car, some fresh water, and a handful of gummy penises.

  When I get there, the bright neon lights are off and the guest parking lot is empty, but I see Lucia’s car is here, and there’s a couple dim lights on inside. They must still be cleaning up. I go to the back entrance and find it unlocked. I make a mental note to warn Lucia not to let that happen again. She’s tough as nails, but that’s still no reason to invite trouble.

  I follow the lights and the quiet rumble of conversation to the stock room. Lucia and Gio are standing over a half-emptied box of glowsticks, arguing. Lucia clocks me as soon as I enter her line of sight, and immediately goes for her concealed gun.

  “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, it’s just me,” I call out, darting out of the shadows as fast as I can without further spooking them. I’d raise my hands over my head, but I’m afraid my wound will start bleeding again the instant I remove the pressure.

  Lucia keeps her gun on me, but her finger slides off the trigger, and she cocks her head at me. “Miel?”

  “You’re back,” her little brother exclaims, with a little more joy in his tone. He beams at me, but it’s past three a.m., guns are out, and I’m dressed like a fucking hooker, so there’s no welcoming embrace for the prodigal killer.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Lucia asks, putting her weapon away, but keeping her wariness tight around her. “What the hell are you wearing? And who the fuck is Reggie Andrews?”

  I ignore the first two questions, and my empty stomach does a little flip at the third. “Andrews?”

  “Yeah, some guy just called, saying he was looking for you,” Gio answers, cutting off whatever his sister was about to say.

  He’s looking for me.

  Of course he is. He probably wants to finish up what he started at the beginning of the night. Still, my pulse quickens, and my blood runs a little hotter. He’s not done with me yet. He’s looking for me, he wants me. I’m not sure I care what for anymore. He spent a year looking for me last time. How far would he go now? Is he still obsessed with me, now that he’s already had me? How badly does he want to hurt me again? It must be certifiably fucked up, but I find myself wildly buoyed by the idea of still being the sole focus of this man’s attention, the ending he’s desperately chasing.

  Me. He wants me.

  And it makes me the dumbest bitch alive, but I want him too, dammit.

  “Where is he?”

  “County lockup. Wouldn’t say why.”

  I know exactly why.

  Fucking idiot.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Andrews

  Dawn is crawling in when I hear loud feminine voices toward the front of the station. I sit up straighter. I was beginning to think Lucia had changed her mind about helping me out. I hear her distinctive voice, but there’s a second voice too, something throaty and warm. I stand to my feet without fully intending to. My heart is turning somersaults, but I don’t let myself jump to any conclusions. Not yet.

  I can’t make out what is being said, but the voices keep tripping over each other, each heavy with don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. The male voice, whatever poor shmuck is having to fight this losing battle, is barely audible. I smile. I can’t help it. I put myself in this fucked up situation, and bribed a kid to come rescue me, but still. It feels good to hear rumbles that I know are coming to my defense. I can’t remember the last time friends or family reacted to my shit in any way other than to apologize for my behavior and whisk me away.

  It’s a few more minutes until the voices get louder, coming closer. I recognize Lou’s voice now, and that second female voice, it thrums through my bones like it was born there, but I hesitate to let myself believe. Because why the fuck would the woman I kept captive for days and tried to kill mere hours ago come to my rescue? Unless she’s here to make sure they give me the chair.

  The worry has only just begun to squeeze my stomach when the hallway doors crash open. And there she is, always with the drama, Miel Conde herself. I swear it happens in slow motion. Her arms are outstretched, having thrown the double doors open, and her wild curls are bouncing with newfound vigor. She turns to me immediately, as if sensing my presence, and I resist the urge to fall on my knees. She’s a creature of the night, a goddess of death, flawless in all her imperfection. Luscious lips slightly parted, bare but with a natural rosy glow. Her dark eyes are blinding with ferocity, unrestrained by the miles-long lashes slowly blinking over them. She’s wearing a too-small tank top and an oversized pair of men’s sweats, and her posture gives that outfit the power of a crown. I want to take her all in, her deeply erotic commanding stride and self-assured aura and the half-assed bandage on her right hand, but I keep getting pulled back into her eyes. I can read every single thought and emotion in them. She’s let down all her walls for me, telling me everything I need to know about this night with just a look. She’s fucking pissed, both about my murder attempt earlier and my dumbass move landing myself in jail. She’s happy, a shy, pure feeling, to see me, to be reunited. And she’s just as tormented as I am, drowning in the nonsensical complexities of our relationship, a brutal battle of how things should be against what we actually want.

  “Andrews, tell him,” she barks, bringing us both back to reality. She juts her chin at Lou. “Tell him this is just a huge misunderstanding.”

  “Um,” I manage dumbly, thrown off by the power of her presence, and unsure of how I could possibly explain away the wild claims I made last night.

  “He was drunk,” Lucia interjects, and I realize I hadn’t even noticed her, standing slightly behind my woman. She’s sparking with intensity, too, but I suspect that has more to do with her allegiance to Miel than my attempts at bribery.

  “He didn’t seem drunk,” Lou says cautiously, eyes darting nervously between all parties. He looks confused as hell, and more than a little pissed about getting dragged back out here so early. “Didn’t smell anything on him, wasn’t slurring words, nothing.”

  “Some men can hold their liquor,” Lucia snaps back too quickly, not realizing this argument undoes her original explanation for my bizarre behavior.

  “He told you he kidnapped a woman, right?” Miel asks Lou, and I tense slightly. Lou saw my little den of iniquity, saw the ropes and remains of her captivity. He confiscated my phone, of course, but he probably hasn’t looked through my photos yet. “What did he say the woman’s name was?”

  Lou takes a bit, scrunching his brows to muster up the memory. “Michelle… something.”

  “Miel Conde,” I supply, realizing what Miel is doing. The beat of eye contact she sends my way confirms I’m playing this right.

  “Run that name,” Miel orders the detective, gesturing at the nearby desktop. “Tell me what comes up.”

  Lou is reluctant, but finally sits down at the computer and runs a quick search, pausing to ask me how to spell the name.

  “Nothing,” Lou says after studying the screen for a moment. His thick brows dig even deeper into his face. “Miel Conde doesn’t exist.”

  “See?” Miel says, gesturing wildly to no particular avail. “How can you kidnap a woman who doesn’t exist?”

  “She’s a figment of his hallucination,” Lucia adds, perhaps taking it a little too far. “He’s off his meds.”

  Lou glances at me but still says nothing. He’s never known me to have hallucinogenic issues before, but he’s also seen me go through enough weird phases to not completely take the option off the table.

  “Just let us get him home to his family, get him some help,” Miel
says, so earnestly that it’s obvious she’s putting it on. She grabs one of Lou’s hands in hers, an action that seems rather out of character. Damn, she’s really laying it on thick. She meets Lou’s eyes and forces him to hold her gaze. “Please.”

  An infinite pause. Fuck, if anything this weird had ever happened while I was on the APD, maybe I wouldn’t have been so tempted to go rogue.

  “Okay,” Lou says finally, pulling away from Miel’s grip. “I guess there’s no crime if there’s no victim.”

  I exhale a ragged sigh of relief. Miel turns to face me, and the victory on her face is a pure golden glow I’ve never seen her wear before. It looks good on her.

  It’s the kind of shit a man spends the rest of his life killing himself to replicate.

  Chapter Fifty

  Miel

  Officer Esposito quietly pockets the roll of bills and fetches the keys to the holding cell. Andrews’s paperwork hadn’t been processed yet, so it doesn’t take long to roll back any bureaucratic nonsense. I tell Lucia to go home as soon as Andrews is out of the cell. She drove me here, but I don’t want to drag her into the tangled question mark of what happens next. Esposito tells Andrews in no uncertain terms that he will never again be picking up his calls, and then we’re free.

  Andrews is free. I’m free. We stand uncertainly on the sidewalk in front of the precinct, together without chains or ropes or bars between us for the very first time. I feel something I can barely put a name to. Not fear, but a low, bubbling apprehension. I’m nervous.

  “What happened to your hand?” Andrews asks, nodding at my shoddy temporary bandage. He reaches out to take my injured hand in his, and I wince visibly. Immediately, a dark shadow crosses his face, something fierce and unforgiving. “Who did this to you?”

  I let him keep holding my hand, only because it would hurt more to take it back. I shrug a little as I respond. “I mostly did it to myself. You should see the other guy.”

  Andrews remains silent for a moment, then snorts. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

  I shake my head, and he gently lowers my injured hand back to my side. I feel cold as soon as he releases me.

  “We’ll get it taken care of,” he promises, and the we immediately floods my body with heat.

  “Are you going to take me hostage again?” I ask, not quite looking the man in the face. I know how he looks in the paper-thin light of dawn. Soft, warm, too beautiful to touch. Temptation itself.

  He doesn’t answer for a moment, then turns it back around with a question for me. “Are you going to try running away again?”

  Two can play at that game. “Do you still want to kill me?”

  “Do you still want to kill me?” he quickly retorts, and the invitation of his intense gaze is too much to resist. He’s dead serious, but there’s a light in his eyes that isn’t just the reflection of the rising sun. It makes my heart dance on tip-toes.

  “Maybe, a little,” I say, even though it’s probably not the answer he wants. I’m not interested in lying, not to this man. If he wants anything other than my raw, undiluted self, I’ll show him the door, then put a knife in his back as he walks through it. “Is that okay?”

  Andrews shrugs. “That seems fair. But if we’re being honest, I have to tell you that I definitely still want to punish you.”

  Icy heat spirals up my spine, and a now familiar warmth begins to bloom between my legs. It’s all I can do not to shudder in anticipation.

  “That’s okay,” I say simply. We’re fully facing each other now, and I don’t know when it happened, but there’s only a few breaths between us. “Do I get to punish you back?”

  Andrews is smiling now, just a gentle tug at the corners of his lickable lips. His palms are on the small of my back, pulling me in possessively. “Maybe on special occasions. You can have a safe word, though.”

  “I don’t want one,” I say. I don’t intend to whisper, but it comes out on a raspy breath, sticky with need. I can’t wait a second longer. I push up on my toes and press my mouth against his. He lets me in easily, like he’s been waiting for my arrival his whole life, like he left a light on in the window for me. I can’t give him that in return, but I can give him my shy firsts, give him my pliant body and let him shape it into whatever he wants. And he takes, he takes, he takes. My nipples burn at the mere sensation of his chest against mine, and when his hands slip under the waistband of my borrowed sweats, I fall into him so deeply, I’ll never be able to dig myself out.

  “Jesus fuck, can y’all just go home?”

  Officer Esposito’s irritated tone isn’t enough to dampen the burning desire twisting tight between us, but we break our kiss, and Andrews takes his hands off my ass. For that alone, I consider killing this cock-blocking cop. It would be easy to grab the gun off his belt while he’s distracted like this, shielding his eyes from the sight of a kiss like a kid. Sure, we’re surrounded by police, but maybe I could make a run for it, lose myself in the chaos. But Andrews’s instincts aren’t that honed yet; he wouldn’t stand a chance. And whatever this inexplicable thing between us is, I know one thing for sure. I would never leave him behind, not even to save my own ass.

  He’s already tugging me away, his hand warm around my good one, locking onto me not like a shackle, but like a promise. Like my favorite leather jacket, he wraps me in his protection, tucked full of everything I need to survive, lifting my shoulders without even meaning to.

  We’re wandering aimlessly down the street now, early commuters zipping by, but I don’t care about where we’re heading. There’s just one question I have left.

  “Do you still want to keep me?”

  It leaves my mouth in one smooth sentence. Just to hear me ask, you wouldn’t think the answer is the difference between life and death.

  “Do you still want me to keep you?” he asks after a moment of hesitation. He looks back at me over his shoulder, and I think I hear the same invisible weight in his question.

  I smile, a muscle movement that I’m still relearning. I leap to close the distance between us and throw myself into his arms, forcing him to wrap his whole body around mine. To hold me, to keep me, own me.

  “Only if it’s forever.”

  Epilogue

  Miel

  Six Months Later

  * * *

  “That one was me,” I grunt, wiping the sweat off my forehead. The back of my hand comes down bloody. “No question.”

  “I don’t know, I really thought it was my shot that did it,” Andrews answers, looking up at me from where he’s crouching next to the dead body on the floor.

  “You lying shit, you didn’t even shoot,” I say, grabbing the handgun he just set on the ground and emptying the clip. Not a single round is missing. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Andrews mumbles some kind of excuse as he collects his gun and ammo before the spreading puddle of blood reaches them. I jerk him back just before it touches his shoes.

  “Better luck next time.” I offer him a saccharine grin as I eyeball the scene, making sure he didn’t fuck anything else up. For an ex-cop who knows exactly how a homicide investigation works, my man is terrible at trying to get away with shit.

  “Come on, it’s just Thanksgiving,” Andrews cajoles, grabbing me by the lapels of my leather jacket and pulling me close. “Who doesn’t love Thanksgiving?”

  “Fuck your racist holiday,” I say, but lean in to steal a quick kiss. He tastes like danger and adrenaline, if only by osmosis. “We made a deal. This is all in your hands. Not my fault you’re still a punk ass bitch.”

  Now he growls and pulls me impossibly closer, fingers digging perfectly painfully into my ass cheeks. “Watch your mouth, woman.”

  I crave the punishment I’d receive for pushing the issue, but we don’t have time right now. The dead pimp’s house is empty right now, with everyone out trapping, but it’s only a matter of time until he gets company.

  “Asking me to commit felony murder just to get you to meet my family is
hardly fair,” Andrews continues as we slip out the back door and into the balmy Miami night.

  “Isn’t it, though? Because when you think about it, murder is kind of my family.” I wrap myself around his arm as we walk, as close as I can without tripping us both.

  “That’s so fucked up,” he replies, but there’s no particular intonation in his voice. It’s just a fact of our lives. I’m fucked up, he’s fucked up, now we’re fucked up together. We’re no closer to finding a name for this thing between us than we were when he kidnapped me, but it doesn’t really matter. This isn’t anyone’s business but ours. One of the many reasons I think it’s stupid for him to want me to meet his family.

  “A deal’s a deal,” I say, finding I’m still not close enough to my man, and crawling up his broad body until he gives in and hoists me to his waist, still keeping a steady pace toward home. “There’s still a shit ton of pimps in Miami, plenty more chances for you to nut up.”

  “Isn’t it enough that I even let you do this shit?” Andrews asks, faltering slightly as I nibble at his ear.

  “No one ‘lets’ me do anything,” I remind him, biting down too hard to be sexy to anyone but us. “Least of all you.”

  He wants to argue, I know, but not as badly as he wants to fuck. He pulls us both into the first alleyway we pass and pins me between himself and the warm brick. It’s always like this, after a kill. We rarely make it home before one of us submits to the sick rush of adrenaline.

  “I’m going to get you someday, Miel Conde,” Andrews mutters, one hand already in my shorts. I arch into him, never close enough. Not even with him inside me. I want to inhabit the same body, want to be completely inseparable. But I won’t submit to family Thanksgiving.

  “You’ll have to tie me up and drag me there,” I tease, fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. It doesn’t matter that anyone walking by could see us. We both need this now, can’t wait a second longer.