by Lena Bourne
“Let’s take a ride before dinner,” I whisper into his ear, wrapping my arms even tighter around his waist.
He turns his head halfway, grins at me and nods. He eases the bike out of the garage, guns the throttle once we’re on the road, the sudden, unexpected acceleration making me yelp, press harder against his back, and wrap my thighs and arms even tighter around his body. He seems to enjoy that, because he kicks it into a higher gear, accelerates even more down the wide, dusty street before slowing down slightly to join onto another that runs right alongside the beach.
We’re riding at a steadier pace now, and I relax my grip on his waist, lean back and let my hair fly loose behind me. To our left, the sunset is in its final stages now, only the last strand of bright purple light still fighting the darkness valiantly, yet in vain. We’re not even riding into the sunset. We’re riding alongside it. But this is our version of that symbolic act.
An overwhelming sense of peace and belonging washes over me, such as I haven’t felt before. I let go of Brett’s waist completely and lean back, lifting my arms high in the air with my thighs clenched around his to hold me steady. The wind caresses my face, my entire body, blowing away everything that does not belong in this perfect moment of pure freedom, the one I’ve been seeking for so long.
We rode for a long time, but finally stopped at a small, candlelit cantina at the top of a hill overlooking the ocean. I spent most of dinner talking about how much I enjoyed the ride over, while he listened and nodded along with a serene smile on his face. We’re done eating now, and the bottle of wine we ordered is almost finished. I want to get back on his bike, watch the moonlit ocean ripple beside me as we cruise.
“We should head back soon,” I say, running my fingers through my hair. It’s still all tangled up from the wind but I don’t care. I want it to get even more tangled. And I want to wrap my arms around him again, feel the vibrations of the bike coursing through his body and flow into mine.
He smiles at me with such innocent happiness I can’t help smile too. And I feel it all near where my heart is supposed to be.
“I can’t wait to get back on the bike too,” he says reading my mind just perfectly. “I can’t believe I haven’t ridden since New Year’s.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
Something dark and immovable passes over his features, and his eyes are no longer smiling at me. The change makes me sad. He shrugs and doesn’t answer.
“You want to know what the biggest joke about my abduction is?” I ask, not even sure why I decided to start speaking about this. Maybe to spare him from talking about his pain, which my stupid question clearly brought up.
He shrugs and squints at me like he really doesn’t, but nods.
“I wanted to go on a date with a real biker for the longest time. I’ve only seen it in movies, but the idea of riding on the back of a Harley with my arms wrapped around a leather-clad man, the wind in my hair as we speed down an empty road cutting through the desert is something I always wanted to experience.” A slow smile stretches across his face as he listens to me talk about it, and I know I’m describing his fantasy too, but that’s not the reason I’m telling him this.
“I never got the chance to,” I continue, “And then my sister started working with those women at the shelter, and she was convinced all bikers were rotten to the core and would do bad things to me. So I put the plan on hold, since she already worries about me too much.”
I try to smile wryly at my sarcastic joke, but she was right and the joke was on me. It’s not funny, and I can’t smile.
“I also didn’t because bikers were hard to find in the circles I moved in, and none of my friends would come with me when I suggested we go look for some.” I’m still talking, but the lump in my throat is growing, almost choking me now. I shouldn’t have started talking about this. I have no idea why I did. I never talk about the things I went through unless I absolutely must. It’s bad enough having to live them once. But I’ve come too far to just stop talking now.
“So when a big bad biker came into a Las Vegas club I was partying in, I was all over him. But I never got that Harley ride down the empty highway. I just got thrown in the back of a van,” I conclude the story hastily, so I can go back to pretending it never happened. His initial smile faded while I spoke, replaced by a cold, stony grimace, only his eyes alive now, roiling with darkness and anger, burning.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he says and I finally let go of the breath I’ve been holding. “I’ll never let it happen again.”
“Never?” I ask, mocking and being annoying even though I don’t want to be. Because his promise touched me, covered the wound I just scratched open with my story like a clean bandage, and I don’t know why I’m trying to resist that healing touch. So many people have promised to keep me safe lately. But Brett’s the only one I actually believe. Maybe that’s the wine talking, or all the emotions I just spilled. We only just met, he can’t possibly mean it, despite the rock solid certainty in his voice. Why would he promise me such a thing? He won’t even fuck me. It’s just a cliché, he’s saying what he’s supposed to say. That has to be it.
“Never,” he says with the same unwavering certainty. And I still believe him, despite all the objections my brain is spewing forth.
“Let’s pay and go drive around some more,” I suggest in a shaky voice.
The memory of that night, of the weeks and months that followed are swarming my mind like a thousand angry buzzards coming at me at once. I should not have opened that door. But I think it’ll be alright once I’m holding onto Brett again, and we’re speeding down the empty ocean side road. It would be even better if he held me, but that’s a very foreign idea to me. One I can’t believe is even crossing my mind. Nothing was ever better because a man held me. Never in my life.
BRETT
I’m falling for her hard, and I shouldn’t be. And it’s not just physical anymore, although her body feels amazing pressed against me, and I can’t stop picturing my lips wrapped around her hard nipples that are poking my back through my shirt. Listening to her speak about her abduction, seeing how hard that was for her just fucking broke my heart. Made pure rage boil inside me. If I can be the guy who’ll make sure she never has to tell another story like that ever again, I’ll die a happy man. I want to be that guy, the one that shows her she’s more than just a hot piece of ass, more than just someone to take home for a couple of hours of sex.
But my dick’s the only thing I can give her, and she’s worth more than that. I have nothing else. She needs a man who’ll treat her right, give her a home, because I don’t think anyone’s ever given her that before. I can’t give her that. My home will never be safe enough for her.
Maybe that’s just my nesting tendencies talking, as Tommy and Ian used to suggest often and loudly, and very mockingly. But my bike always felt empty without a woman behind me, holding onto me tight. And I never realized that quite as clearly as I know it right now. The way she spoke about the ride felt like the words were coming from my own mouth.
But the last thing she needs is to be saddled with me—A man with no future.
The guy I was a year ago would take her away on the back of this bike and not let her go until she was mine in every possible way. Give her everything she needs and she desires. But I’m not that guy anymore. I’m a mass murderer now. A killer for hire. A hit man with no way out. There’s a thick crowd of ghosts surrounding me, so thick I can’t see past it anymore. I still try, but it’s a lost cause. I can’t ask Samantha to come join me in the center of it. Even though she’s the only one who’s been able to breeze right through it all and stand beside me. Show me that things used to be different, that they can be like that again. But my brain knows she needs to stay away, even if no other part of me does.
My desire for her hands to slip just a little lower from where they’re resting against my belt buckle is so strong it’s fucking up my vision each time she shifts them, or grips
me tighter to keep her balance. And a very loud voice inside my head is telling me to just go with it. Give her what I have to give. It might not be a lot, and it certainly won’t be enough, but it will make us both feel better. I know she wants it too. She’s not the settling down type, that’s not what she wants anyway.
But that’s selfish thinking. And she’s been used by selfish men for too long.
Yet I meant what I told her. She didn’t believe me, but I was dead serious. I will never let anyone hurt her ever again. I promised a lot of bullshit to women over the years so they’d sleep with me, or so I’d have someone to come home to. My promise to Sam wasn’t that. It was the truth. I’ll kill anyone that tries to hurt her. I’ll watch over her, even if I have to do it from a distance. And I’ve gotten very good at killing from the shadows.
Chapter Ten
SAMANTHA
Loud banging on the door wakes me the next morning. It can’t be very late, judging by how tired I still am as I open my eyes. We returned to Brett’s apartment late last night, had a couple of drinks on the balcony and talked some more. Then we shared silences, which was fine too, perfect even. But nothing happened.
Yet he’s spooning me right now, his hard cock pressed against my inner thigh. If I just shifted my leg a little, it’d be resting right against my clit. And then things would probably unfold in the direction of sex once he woke up too. But why force it? This is great too. I know he wants me, and it’s enough. Last night, I decided not to try and force anything anymore. I always go straight for the sex with guys. It’s the same every time. We fuck, they leave, and I forget their name and their faces, because I never got a good look to begin with. I won’t forget Brett’s face that easily. Or the sex we already had. I don’t even like to kiss much, so missing Brett’s kisses is completely new to me. But his refusal to kiss me and touch me is no longer frustrating. It’s nice and refreshing and new. Just like the promises he’s made me, and the things he says. That he’ll never let anyone harm me again, and that I’m better than just a hot lay. It’s not possible, and he’s wrong. But it felt so good to hear it. And the fact that he’s holding me now, while he sleeps, speaks volumes. Erases the doubts, announces his true desires loud and clear. Whoever’s at the door can just go away. Nothing better ruin this moment.
But the banging starts again, louder this time, finishes with a kick at the door that sends a sprinkling of cracked paint to land on my bare arm.
Brett stirs this time, hugging me closer and grinding his hard cock into my butt as he buries his face into my neck with a groan. The roughness of his beard against my delicate skin there sends flashes of desire sparkling all through my center, makes me reconsider all that about enjoying the sexlessness. But he tenses as he realizes what he’s doing, and releases his grip on me, though slowly like he’s reluctant to do it. I actually moaned during his display of desire, but I don’t think he knows I’m awake, since he backs off the bed slowly and covers me with the sheet.
The banging comes again, followed by shouts this time, and he mutters a string of obscenities under his breath. The jangling of his belt buckle tells me he’s putting on his jeans and a few moments later I hear his bare feet hitting the tiles as he walks to the door.
“What?” he barks the heat wafting in from outside hitting my face.
Whoever came knocking says something back, but I can’t make out the words.
The bedroom is at the corner of the building and the windows face both the beach and the open air hallway at the front. I roll off the bed and tiptoe to the window to try and see who it is, but I’d have to stick my head out the window to see the person at the door. But I can see the Merc with tinted windows parked outside next to a silver sedan. That one has tinted windows too, so black I can’t see inside even though the sun is shining directly on them and reflecting blindingly.
Brett slams the front door, startling me and sending more of the cracked paint raining from the ceiling. I turn to run back to the bed, but it’s too late. We lock eyes across the narrow hallway that leads from the front door to the bed. He’s holding a thick brown folder, and looks like he’s about to throw up. But his eyes are cold, so cold goose bumps erupt on my arms. I’ve never seen brown eyes so dead.
“Who was that?” I ask as he comes back into the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed. He tosses the folder and a set of car keys into the mess on his nightstand, sending several of the various items piled up there falling to the floor.
“My job,” he mutters and looks up at me. The cold anger is gone from his eyes, replaced by something I can only describe as a plea. And my urge to walk over, let him bury his face in my belly, as I caress his hair, while telling him everything is alright and will always be, is so strong that the effort it’s taking not to act on it is painful. I’ve never felt anything like that before. Not even for my sister Tara as far as I can remember, and certainly never for a guy. I don’t have comfort to give. I can offer them my pussy, and my ass, and my mouth. Hell, I can even cook and keep house and do laundry. But I can’t comfort and give love. I don’t know how to. I have none of that to give. I always knew that very clearly, and was perfectly fine with it. Until this very minute.
“Well, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says, getting up again. He couldn’t be more right. I just saw the ghost of something I’ve never had. “Maybe you should get some more sleep. I have to go out for awhile.”
He walks past me to the bathroom, stirring the air, his smell bringing back all the soft fuzzies I felt waking up in his arms this morning. I should’ve gone to him before, should’ve held him. But it’s too late now. The bathroom door is firmly shut and the shower is running. I missed my chance.
BRETT
If I looked at her for one more second, I’d have kissed her and wouldn’t stop until she was a breathless, sweaty, naked mess in my arms on the bed. Not even the prospect of what I have to go do now could cut through that desire. She felt so good, so right in my arms when I woke up this morning. She even smelled like dawn, like a new beginning. But no matter how much I want to spend the rest of the day kissing her, getting to know every inch of her soft, supple body with my tongue and my hands and my dick, there can be none of that.
But knowing that doesn’t help. The cold shower isn’t helping either. I want her to walk in and join me with a ferociousness that makes it hard to breathe.
I should send her away to true safety while I still have some control left. I wish Tommy and her sister would get here already and take this decision out of my hands. Take her back to LA where I can’t follow.
The man at the door brought new Intel on the target. He’s holed up on his father’s estate in a city about three hours west of here. Finding the perfect place and the right time to execute him could take days. In fact, I mean for it to take awhile.
I turn off the tap and get out of the shower, wrap the towel around my waist without drying off first and reach into the space behind the rust covered washing machine to pull out the .22 caliber handgun I keep there for emergencies, such as if the cartel suddenly decides to terminate my contract in the middle of the night. I have weapons hidden all over this apartment.
She’s still standing by the bed where I left her, clad only in a black and gold pushup bra and matching thong. She’s dressed too much. She’s not dressed enough.
Her eyes travel down my chest, then open wide as they lock on the gun.
I hold it out to her, handle first. “I’ll be gone for the whole day, and probably most of the night too. I don’t think you’re in any immediate danger but keep this with you at all times. You said you could shoot?”
She’s standing there completely frozen, only the hurried rise and fall of her breasts betraying she’s still alive.
“No one’s gonna come after me,” she says in a small voice, and I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement.
I shrug, which completely does not do justice to the sickening fear inside me that it’s exactly what could happen. “Th
ey might, but I don’t think they will. Not here in my apartment anyway. But take this just in case.”
I’m still holding the gun out to her, and she’s making no move to reach for it, though she’s staring at it like it’s a cobra ready to strike. If she’s this scared of a little gun, she’s never gonna accept me being a sniper. It’s a strange thought to have right now, but the hopeless fear it brings is real. Though if we ever end up together, it’ll be in a time when I never pick up the sniper rifle for anything except to throw it away. I thought I did that when I left the Army. As my last act with it, I could use it to kill the head of the cartel and make my getaway while the rest scurry and scramble to take over his operations. But I’ve never met the man, I don’t even know what he looks like or where he’s based. Though with this new found independence I bargained for myself the other night, I might be able to track him down. But that could take months. Years maybe. And there are no guarantees.
“I don’t trust myself with a gun,” she finally says, smiling faintly, her eyes finally lifting up from the gun to meet mine. They’re the color of waterfalls deep in some untouched jungle, far away from all the worries of this world. “If I use it once, I might never stop.”
I take her hand and wrap it around the handle of the gun, then have trouble releasing her. So I don’t, just hold onto her hand and let her warmth heat my cool skin.
“Stop being difficult, Samantha,” I say and it’s not hard to grin now, because just touching her is enough to forget why I was worried in the first place. “Do it for me.”
“Fine. I’ll take it. But just for you.” She smiles, her face transforming into something so beautiful I could just stare at it for days.