Endgame

by Mia Downing

  “I don’t want to see Chase. How will I keep from killing him? Because that’s what I want to do. He’s tied my hands on killing Reese. Who knows what deal he’s made with John?”

  There were no deals. But what he couldn’t tell Charlotte was Chase had hinted of more on the phone, deeper reasons, personal reasons for doing this. Reasons that involved Charlotte. “I don’t think he’d make any deal with John.”

  But she ignored him on a roll. “And how do I even kill him? John? Because I used to worship the ground he walked on. And yes, I am angry as hell, but I won’t lie when I say a part of me just wants to curl into a ball again at the thought of what I have to do. Being with you has started to show me what I had wasn’t…right. And maybe what I felt for him wasn’t…” She looked at him then, her blue eyes a bit wider.

  Love. Say it. You love me, never John.

  But she turned away and his chest tightened. She sniffed and whispered, “I know it will come down to John and me, and do I have the balls to pull the trigger? Throw the knife? Make the kill? Or will I look at that man and see him as I always saw him, and submit?”

  “I think you’ll do what you need to do.” He didn’t say that maybe, just maybe, this is why Chase made her an assassin. Because he knew she’d have to be a bitch of a dragon to get her endgame.

  “When I was in Brussels, I would be angry. I called my anger the freight train, because that’s what it felt like, straight to my gut at a zillion miles an hour. There was pain and numbness, but all separate. But what I feel now is so different.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I can’t find one feeling. It’s all here, the anger, the pain, the numbness. The desire to cry. Kill. Scream fuck you. All here. In one package. I can’t go face John feeling all this. I know my death is imminent. I’ve prepared for this for years. But I never thought I would face death with any emotion. Just me, cold and hard. Two shots. He’d die, I’d die. And Chase would be so pleased.” Her voice broke on the last word.

  That killed him, to know even in her death, she wanted to please Chase.

  “I know I’ll never please him now. I shouldn’t care. Christ on a motorbike, I should not care what that man thinks. Not after this. But I can’t lie. Not to you.”

  Aaron’s heart squeezed so hard, the ache choking his voice. Splash, splash went her tears on his chest, pooling under her cheek.

  “Please make the pain stop, Aaron. Please,” she whispered against the bare skin of his chest.

  She’d never asked him for anything before, not in that voice. He cleared his throat, raw and painful. “How, baby? I’d do anything.”

  “I want you to make love to me.”

  It took a moment for the true extent of her words to hit him. Fear and excitement coiled in his gut. “I don’t know if that’s a fair request.”

  “I know it’s not.” She blinked back unshed tears. “I know it’s so unfair, because my days are numbered. I need you to love me, for just tonight. I need you to be mine.”

  To be hers…

  “Will you be mine, too? The truth, Char.” He didn’t dare ask her to love him. This was scary enough for her.

  She hesitated, her eyes darting to the ceiling, a tear running down her cheek. She smiled sadly and her blue eyes held his gaze. “I was yours the minute I stole your shirt on location.”

  His, before Celia. If only he had known. He tipped her chin and kissed her lips gently. He kissed each cheekbone, the tears salty, too many for him to kiss, so he used his thumb to brush them away. Her eyelashes fluttered closed and she trembled.

  He inched out from under her and rolled so he was over her. Smoothed her blonde hair, a finger trailing down her cheek, over her lips to her chin. So pretty, in a way that grabbed his heart, his balls, his lungs and squeezed it all at once.

  He leaned in and kissed her again, channeling his own emotions through his mouth to hers. He loved her so much. He knew that. So much, and when she died… He kissed her harder, deeper, demanding, owning. Claiming her, because she was his no matter what.

  His fingers loosened the tie of her robe. He spread the cloth out and drank her in, like water for a man dying of thirst. The length of her throat, creamy from her chin to her collarbone. He kissed that.

  Then between her breasts, the cleavage there sweet and tempting. Under and around her left breast with his tongue, over and under her right. He’d always heard of nipples as being little bits of strawberry heaven, but hers were a bit darker than that. Hard and firm, sweet under his tongue. She arched into his mouth, his hands as he worshipped her, caressing the full globes of flesh, tasting her nipples.

  Her hands settled in his unfamiliar short hair, fingers massaging his scalp, alternating a rub with a pull to direct him, to offer herself. His breath quickened. She tugged him downward and his heart soared. To pleasure her this way, when she hurt so much…was he up to the challenge?

  He lapped his way downward, her stomach gently rounded, the scar across her bikini line a source of heartache for him. He wanted a child from her so much and mourned the loss, not because he wanted kids, but because it would be half of her. Half perfection to his half punk.

  He settled between her thighs and looked up. Her gaze was glazed with a mixture of pleasure and pain. And love. She’d never said it. A girl whose days were numbered didn’t love, but that’s what she felt for him. He knew then there wasn’t a God. No way would the entity he’d worshipped for his whole life give him the gift of her love only to take it away. No fucking way.

  “Aaron? You okay?”

  “Just concentrating, baby. Exploration is hard work. Lots of crevasses to fall into.”

  He dipped his fingers along one such crevasse, gathering the pool of moisture in his hand, dragging it along. He could finger paint here with her juices, and imagined each stroke a color. Pink for her clit, the hard nub already at attention, wanting a gentle suck. Violet along each outer pussy lip, then blue for the inner lips. He painted them with his finger, tracing them down to her ass, then back up, around her hot opening, rimming that with purple. So beautiful.

  Her inner muscles clamped down in welcome around his fingers. He bent forward and gently tongued her clit, liking how it changed, hardened, grew with each lap. This was how she must feel about his cock when she sucked him, though the changes were a lot bigger in his department. Hers took care to learn. He knew them now, so when he dined a bit more earnestly, he knew her moments were numbered before she shattered.

  “Come for me, baby. I want to feel the fireworks.”

  Aaron went back to work, fingers sliding in and out, pressing upward against the sponge of muscles he knew was her G-spot. He slipped another finger inside, giving her two, stretching her. Her inner muscles quivered harder, the twinges faster. So close, but she seemed to fight her release. He dipped his thumb into her juices and lubricated her puckered hole. Gently, he eased in his thumb to the knuckle, then home.

  She shattered immediately, pussy muscles clamping down on his hand, shoving his clit harder against his tongue. He kept going, riding her waves, pushing through the mewls and sighs, wanting another. More fireworks. How high could he take her? His thumb thrust inside her puckered hole. He added a third finger inside her spasming pussy and pushed them all upward, into her G-spot.

  She wailed. Another orgasm hit, and she shuddered harder, every muscle tense, her hands ripping at his hair.

  Higher. He wanted higher. He lubed another finger and slid it in her ass. Then he pressed the fingers inside of pussy against the back wall, against the fingers inside her ass. Then back to her G-spot, then in and out, thrusting harder. He gently bit down on her clit, adding that note of pain she sometime liked.

  She screamed this time and buried his face so deep between her thighs he thought he’d die from lack of air. But he went there, sucking, lapping, fucking her until the shuddering receded, much like the tide. Then he kissed her quivering inner thighs, his fingers still, then withdrawing.

  Three. He felt no pr
ide as he swung up over her boneless body, angled his bare cock to her opening and slid home, into her tight, still quivering heat. So much better than with a condom, her pussy like silk around him. This was for him. He doubted he’d get four from her, but he’d try. His cock couldn’t get much harder. He thrust deep, sinking to the root, his balls pressed against her ass.

  A part of him wanted him to slow down, to savor the treasure that was her pussy. But now he understood the need to pound. He wanted her harder, faster, fucking the pain from her with each thrust. Firing into her like pistons on her freight train, turning the engine, parts churning, driven by his own anger, his own pain. Faster, faster, harder, deeper. His skin tingled, his toes tingled. His balls clenched so hard he felt it deep in his ass.

  “Harder,” she whispered beneath him, wrapping her trembling legs around his waist.

  How could he do harder? But he somehow did, grinding against her clit on the down stroke, withdrawing, slamming, grinding. Through the haze of lust, he was able to take in her face, so pale, tear-stained, unemotional. Her body responded, sure. But he wanted her mind, wanted her with him and had no clue how to get that.

  He kissed her, desperation hot on his lips as he poured every inch of how he felt into the pressure of his mouth, the thrust of his tongue. When he thought he could take no more she screamed and came around his cock, more clenching, squeezing, her pussy a vise around his shaft.

  He lost it. He came, too, the release magical, one that involved floating with each squirt of liquid fire, deep inside for her, claiming her body as his. He slowed, his hips almost unable to stop though his bones seemed to melt. And then he collapsed on top of her, unable to hold himself aloft with no bones.

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek, her lips, her hair, sinking down into her welcoming curves.

  He knew what he wanted to say. I love you, I want you to ditch all this, become my wife. Adopt small dogs with little clothes. Live on a farm or on the lake or in a tree house. Grow roses. You can come for me like that every night. Forget you have revenge and an endgame. Forget Chase existed. Make me pleased as hell.

  But he loved her. And for once, he had to do what was right for her, even if it went far beyond anything he’d ever believed.

  “That’s what I feel, for you,” he said. “That’s what you’re going to remember when you face John. You’re going to take the freight train that is your anger and direct it right at him. The guns will go off, twice. He will die. You will die.” He swallowed, his throat aching. And then he manned up and went deep, knowing what she needed to hear as he lied, “I’ll be proud, Charlotte. So proud of you. You don’t need Chase. Just know I’ll be there, with you.”

  She sighed and snuggled closer. This time, there was only one tear on her cheek. He hoped like hell it was his, only his, and she cried for what they could never have. Selfish, yeah. But that’s what he wanted.

  Eyes still closed, her face changed and she smiled, one of peace and gratitude. Love. She opened them, her blue gaze colliding with his, unguarded. And suddenly, she was with him again, all his for the first time. That smile said he owned her. “Thank you.”

  He took a huge chance and laid it all on the line. “I love you, Charlotte. If you have to die, know I love you. You’re not alone.”

  The smile changed and faded and became something so sad and wistful he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He held his ground, though.

  He kissed her lips. “I’m not sorry for telling you, and I don’t need to hear it in return. This isn’t about me. This is about what you need to face the motherfuckers. You need me to love you, to be proud of you. Simple.”

  She looked away then, another single tear sliding down her cheek. “Do you understand now why I can say fuck you to your God?”

  “Yeah.”

  He knew exactly why.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A whimper broke the silence. Aaron struggled awake, listening in the dark. The noise came again, a little louder, and it stabbed at his heart, despite not knowing what it was. He reached for Charlotte, but her side of the bed was empty. The whimper came again, louder, growing to a moan. He bolted upright in the bed, struggling to remember where they were. England. Hotel in London.

  “Charlotte?” Heart hammering, he flicked on the light. He found her curled into a ball under the desk, eyes squeezed shut, his T-shirt tucked up to her nose. She heaved in hard breaths, her slim shoulders quaking.

  “Baby, shh,” he crooned, crouching, hoping his voice didn’t reveal his terror at seeing her dissolved to this. He reached for her, and she screamed, as if sensing his presence. She kicked at him, batting his hands, eyes closed as she sobbed. He got brave, reached under, grabbed her shoulders, and wrapped her into a bear hug. He murmured nonsense as she struggled, the shirt held to her nose.

  Finally, she settled, her sobs slowing, her damp cheek pressed against his chest, as if she wanted to crawl inside his body.

  “What do you see, baby?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered and shuddered. She shoved the shirt under her nose, sniffing it harder, sucking the breaths in through her mouth. Like someone who didn’t want to smell something bad, trying to block it out.

  If she couldn’t see…he watched her sniff the shirt and something clicked. “What do you smell?”

  She shook and breathed in harder. “No,” she whimpered and tried to burrow into his chest again.

  But he had to know. He kissed her cheek and held her closer. “Baby? What do you smell?”

  “Blood.” She shook harder. “It hurts.” Her whimper cut through his soul, and he swore he could feel it bleed. “Make it stop, Aaron.”

  She knew him, in her nightmare. She recognized him, wanted him. Needed him.

  “Shh, I’ll make it stop. You’re safe.” He rocked her for what seemed like an eternity, hating the man who did this to her. She’d always said she’d been unconscious, but he knew the truth.

  Doomsday was indeed evil. She’d crawled away as some man beat her, and the smell of Chase’s shirts—and now his—blocked the smell of blood in her mind when she revisited the horrors in her dreams. Maybe because they were men and should be able to hurt the bad guy. Maybe because they smelled stronger. It didn’t solve why she didn’t like Jake’s scent, but it told him tons. Her sobs quieted and she stopped rooting her head under his arm. She shuddered and gave a huge sigh, growing still.

  He rose and picked her up, struggling just a little because she was damned long and awkward. The bed wasn’t far, and he tucked her in and slid in behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

  “I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered against her ear. She sighed and shuddered, leaning against him, as if in sleep she knew he’d do his damnedest.

  As badly as Aaron wanted to hate Chase and Jake, he finally got it. He understood why they created Charlotte to be who she was—cold, hard, trained to kill. Who could hold Charlotte when she was like this and not want give her tools to fight back? After tonight, if they hadn’t, he would have questioned how much they loved her. Now he knew. Chase was an asshole, but he loved Charlotte, had created her to be exactly what she had to be to survive day-to-day life, never mind a meeting with the motherfuckers.

  Aaron held her closer, wrapping a leg over hers, cocooning her in safety. As much as he hated her goal in life, to kill the motherfuckers, he silently signed on the dotted line to help the cause. Endgame was fast approaching, and he was ready to fight her battle with her. No way was she facing that hell alone. Not after tonight.

  ****

  The next morning, Charlotte sat on the bed as Aaron told her about her nightmare and what he’d learned, shocked that she’d had a nightmare when she went to bed with four orgasms under her proverbial belt. Mortified that she’d been weak in front of him. Proud of him because Jake and Chase were shaken fools the next morning. They doted, coddled, and held her until she threatened to kill them.

  But Aaron seemed almost…excited, especially when he t
old her she’d spoken and he shared the shirt connection. He sat on the bed next to her, one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand.

  “Oh,” she said, reeling. She used the shirts not to smell the blood in her mind. It made sense, in an odd way. “I’m not crazy, then. There’s a reason.”

  “See?” He kissed her, proud as punch. “You’re justified.”

  “I probably had a nightmare because talking to Reese triggered something from my past.” She hadn’t felt that feeling before bed, though. But Aaron had handled it so well…maybe she didn’t have to fear the nightmares. Maybe he would accept that side of her, too.

  Aaron shrugged and looked at his watch. “We have a little bit of time before we need to be at the airport. Do you still want to check out that shop?”

  “Please.”

  They gathered their things and went down stairs, hand in hand, stopping at the storefront that specialized in piercings and tattoos. She got the micro diamond nose stud she’d always wanted and a simple ring in her navel. When she gushed over the purple hair dye, they gladly slathered some in a section of her hair. She rinsed it out in the bathroom and pow, she had a streak of purple hair, too.

  An hour and a half later, she boarded the plane, her hand in Aaron’s, totally the rebellious child of the devil. Chase would have an absolute cow. No identifying marks, no piercings, no hair dye. Period. Well, she was going to die very soon, so who the fuck cared? Aaron seemed to like it. Right now, all she cared about was pleasing Aaron.

  “You going to call him?” Aaron asked as she sent Chase’s call to voice mail for the third time that morning. “Might be better to know what he wants than to be surprised.”

  “No.” She glared out the plane window at the gloom. She has no clue what to say to Chase. Why? That’s the most she could come up with, and it was lame. He was her favorite. She had killed for him, stolen for him, spent long hours all alone, doing what jobs he bade her to do, traipsing across six continents. She’d given up a future, a life, any hope she had at love and not because he was her boss, either. She loved him.