by Lena Bourne
But I don’t have days, I don’t even have hours to devote to her. Those have already been claimed by death.
Chapter Eleven
SAMANTHA
As soon as Brett left, I went out and got enough cleaning supplies to disinfect an entire hospital. Then I spent the entire day cleaning, scrubbing everything down twice, taking at least five large bags of trash down to the dumpster, washing all his clothes and all the bed sheets. I left the gun on the nightstand, haven’t even looked at it much. I found other ones while cleaning, under the sofa, in the hall closet, behind the toilet tank in the bathroom, but I left them all in place. I’d like to know why Brett thinks he needs all those guns all over the house, but I probably won’t even ask him. I lied about knowing how to shoot. I went on a date with a cop once, and he took me to the shooting range, showed me the basics, but that’s the full extent of my actual shooting knowledge.
My dad had a gun that looked a lot like the one Brett gave me, though in my memories it’s bigger. But maybe my hands were just smaller when I held it, late at night, alone in the walk-in closet of his room where he kept it. For awhile, I had it in my room, tucked under the nightstand by my bed. Dad never noticed it was missing. But I took it back once my fantasies of using it to kill Tara and myself, to protect us both from the abuse became too hard to fight. I fantasized about killing my father too. And the sickening fear I felt once I could no longer find a reason not to carry all that out just rushed back to the surface when Brett shoved the gun into my hands. The cleaning helped push it down again. It’d be better if Brett was here though. Then I wouldn’t even think of it anymore.
Way in the back of the bedroom closet I found a large cardboard box full of some woman’s stuff, including a pink thong, garish neon yellow nail polish, and a skanky gold polyester dress. Whoever she was, I hope she never comes back. And the ferocity of that wish made me scrub everything even harder. Yet it made no sense. Why should I care about his ex girlfriend?
Also in the box, I found his cut, the skull and snake emblem crisp and white on the back.
I had to sit down and just stare out the window for almost half an hour after I saw that. Viper’s Bite MC ruined what was left of my life to ruin, and that logo will always be a symbol of that. Even though this cut belongs to Brett, and I believe him when he says he will not hurt me, nor let anyone else hurt me either. So I stuffed it back in the box along with that woman’s stuff and stashed it in the back of the closet again. But I had to literally talk myself out of throwing it away. Out loud. I had a full conversation with myself about it, convincing myself it was his stuff, and I had no right throwing it out, that it clearly meant something to Brett, since he didn’t get rid of it himself, and since he’s still doing Tommy’s bidding even though there is no more MC.
Tara finally called me back in the afternoon. But it was a very short conversation. Her voice was strained and colorless, as she assured me she was fine now, that it was probably just an infection, and that I shouldn’t worry. She didn’t sound fine. But she has Tommy to take care of her now, she doesn’t need me. And that’s the way it should be, but it still hurts a little bit. My sister’s my best friend, she’s my only friend, and this last year without her was hard. But she said they were coming home to the US soon, to stay this time, so at least there’s that good news. She couldn’t give me a date yet though.
It’s dark out now, and I’m exhausted. But at least the place is clean now. I even washed the wispy curtains on the windows, so they’re white again, not the nasty grey they were before. The smell of the lavender detergent I used is mixing with the scent of the fabric softener given off by the clothes drying on the rack, but even all that isn’t completely masking the scent of the disinfectant permeating everything.
I just got back from another trip to the market, where I picked up so much food I had to make two trips to the car to bring it all up. The tortellini will be done soon, and then I’m lying down on the sofa and not moving for the rest of the night. I found a bootleg DVD set of all three Lord of the Rings movies, the extended edition, and I really hope Brett’s DVD player works. I haven’t seen that trilogy in the longest time, and if I’m spending the night by myself, I might as well geek out all the way. No one’ll know.
I’m wearing a tank and a pair of Brett’s sweatpants, which must be way too tight on him, because they fit me OK with the waist rolled around twice. In fact they’re the comfiest pair of sweatpants I’ve ever worn. My hair needs washing, so I tied it back with a red bandana I found in the closet.
The front door opens just as the opening sequence of the first movie ends. I’m right in the middle of bringing the fork to my mouth, so I can’t shut off the TV in time before Brett walks in. He looks at me as he walks in, then his eyes travel across the rest of the room, taking everything in before settling on the TV screen. The tortellini stuck on the end of my fork is dripping tomato sauce onto my leg because I’m frozen in place, waiting for him to start making fun of me for my choice of entertainment. But once he does finally look at me, the expression on his face is unreadable, but not mocking at all.
His duffel bag makes a soft thud as he places it on the ground.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost again, Samantha,” he says, finally snapping me out of my frozen stupor. I bring the fork away from my mouth.
“Yeah, you too,” I counter, only just realizing how true it is.
He shrugs, looks at the TV again. “Lord of the Rings? Cool.”
For some reason, relief is the strongest emotion I feel. Probably because this is me when no one’s watching—wearing comfy clothes, eating obscene amounts of Italian food that I’m always regretting in the morning, watching a dorky fantasy movie, and completely wiped out from cleaning the house. I’ve never let any guy see this part of me. And he’s not making fun of me. In fact, I think he likes what he sees. I feel happiness too, and something soft and fuzzy, which I don’t think I ever felt for another person before. Unless it was for Brett this morning.
“It’s the extended edition too,” I finally manage to say. “I was gonna watch all three, since you said you’d be gone. Want to join me?”
I tap the sofa cushion next to me.
“Hell, yeah! Over twelve hours of quality movie entertainment. Count me in!”
I smile even wider at his excitement. That’s exactly how I felt when I saw the DVDs at the market. The guy selling them had some other cool ones that I fully planned to go back and get once I made sure Brett’s DVD player was actually working.
He plops down on the sofa next to me, making it wobble and groan.
“I didn’t think you liked movies like this,” he says grinning at me. “I had you pegged more for rom-coms and such.”
I smile back wryly. “I bet you think that about all girls, am I right?”
He shrugs, a very sheepish expression on his face. “Maybe. Nothing wrong with a good rom-com though.”
“Yeah, right,” I say. “I bet you say that to all the girls too. Me, I prefer action movies, and thrillers. And fantasy.”
“And I bet you say that to all the guys,” he counters. And then we just smile at each other for awhile, looking so deep into each other’s eyes I have trouble deciphering the boundaries between us. It feels like I’m floating in his eyes.
“I made some tortellini too. I can fix you some,” I say, clearing my throat as I stand up, the ripping sensation as I look away from his eyes strong enough to make me sway.
He chuckles, his eyes and his lips both smiling at me, and I can no longer pretend he’s not the sole source of the warm fuzzies in my chest.
“I can get it myself,” he offers and moves to get up.
I rush to the kitchen to beat him to it. “You just sit, and I’ll bring it. And pause the movie, I don’t want to miss the beginning.”
He does it and I start preparing a plate for him, my heart beating fast like I’ve just run a race.
BRETT
Today’s mission didn’t go well. Or
it did, depending on how you look at it. I drove for almost three hours to reach the plantation the young wannabe cholo hid in after my failed assassination attempt the other night. The place was heavily guarded, both inside the metal wall surrounding the property and outside it. But all told, it was only about twenty bodyguards, and I got around them with no problem. It took me forever to find a good vantage point to set up in a dusty outcrop overlooking the plantation. The air stood still, not even a breeze blowing, so I wasn’t worried about the distance or missing. I had the perfect view of the garden and the pool. On a hot day like today, he was bound to take a swim. In fact, he spent the whole day by the pool. And I lay there in the heat and dust for hours just watching him and his girlfriend go about their day, which consisted mostly of kissing and touching each other. I had more than one chance to take the shot. Like while they were napping on a huge lawn bed by the pool. But they were holding onto each other despite the heat, and I couldn’t kill one without at least wounding the other. I think that would be true even if I did manage to just kill one of them.
In the Army they trained me to never really see the faces of the targets, to just see them as objectives, not people, as the enemy. In the midst of war, when you’re fighting for your country that’s easier. Hell, it got easier the more I killed for the cartel, but with this guy, I can’t do it. All I keep seeing is the future I’m taking away from him and from his girlfriend, if I kill him. They’ll never marry, never have children, never grow old together. Never kiss again.
But that’s not all I see when I look at him. He’s me, the younger and more innocent version of me, the one before I took this contract, and if I kill him, I’m also killing myself. I’m killing the last chance I have at ever being that guy again. And it makes no sense to think it, I’ve killed young guys before, but I can’t shake that knowledge. This one is it. I kill this guy, and then I truly am just a coldblooded killer with no humanity left.
So I didn’t take the shot when I could.
I may have been one of the top snipers in my unit, but I never wanted to be. The Army practically forced it on me, because of my good vision, near perfect aim, and my patience. But I prefer an honest, hand to hand fight any day. It’s why I left the Army after only five years. Sneaking in the shadows, striking when no one expects it felt too wrong to me.
By the evening, I more or less got my emotions under control, was able to recall that I’m doing this to stay alive. And to keep Sam safe.
But a helicopter landed on the lawn late in the afternoon, and the target and his girlfriend boarded it, the bodyguards loading their suitcases in after them. I packed up and left right after, since judging by the size of their suitcases, they were going somewhere for a while.
The cartel will just have to find him again now, and I hope it takes weeks. Months even. If he’s smart he’s leaving the country. He knows how his father was killed, and he knows an attempt was made on him in the same way. I’m surprised he hasn’t left before now.
I called the cartel on my way back, said the target left before I could set up. The Henchman wasn’t happy about it, but I’m still banking on him needing me more than he wants to get rid of me. Either way, I’ll find out about his plans for me soon enough.
Coming home and finding Sam wearing my clothes and watching a movie while eating dinner she cooked in my kitchen, was the perfect conclusion to this day. Her serving me dinner, sitting so close to me I can feel the heat rising off her skin while I eat is just a bonus. My sweats are big on her, but she’s also wearing one of her own tight, low-cut tank tops, and the mounds of her breast are peeking over the collar, begging me to kiss them. Her lips are doing the same. I shouldn’t. After my failure today, I could well be a dead man.
She tied her hair back with one of my old bandanas, the red one, which goes perfectly with her black hair. She’s wearing no makeup, and her face is flawless, perfect and so beautiful, I can’t look at anything else. I want to kiss her. And I have no will left to fight that desire. There’s such rightness in this moment, it overshadows the wrongness. No, it blows it away.
But I promised to keep her safe.
“This place looks very clean,” I say, scanning the room. But my eyes snap right back to hers the second I try to look away. There’s no use pretending anymore. Nothing will ever be alright again. But this can be. Her and me can be.
“I cleaned all day,” she says, smiling at me like that was a very pleasurable experience. “It really needed it.”
I chuckle. “I don’t think it’s ever been this clean.”
Her eyes narrow, the smile momentarily leaving her lips. “Not even when your girlfriend still lived here?”
It’s my turn to frown. How does she know about Candy? I haven’t mentioned her, haven’t even thought about her since I met Sam.
“I found a box of her stuff in the closet,” she elaborates.
“Candy wasn’t much for cleaning,” I say. “And don’t worry, she’s not coming back.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she says, but I think she was. Her eyes became very sharp when she asked about her, and she blinked way too fast when I spoke her name.
This whole scene is exactly what I always wanted to come home to. And it’s not just that she cleaned, did my laundry and cooked dinner, or that she’s jealous of me being with other women. It’s also the fact that she’s made herself comfortable, thrown off that seductress mask she was wearing and became just herself. I saw glimpses of that true Samantha last night on our date, and this is the full version. I need to get to know her even better.
I set the bowl of food she brought me on the coffee table, and turn so I’m fully facing her.
She’s looking at me with very wide eyes, the black of her irises so large it covers almost all of the blue. But not quite. Those waterfalls far away from everything are sill there, beckoning me take a swim.
I brush my fingers across the soft, flawless skin of her cheek, rest them on her chin, my thumb less than a inch from her moist, full, red lips.
“Everything I told you the other day still holds, but I’m going to kiss you now,” I tell her, rather hoarsely and breathlessly. Because she could still say no. I don’t think she will, but she might, and it’s a scary thought, so scary it makes my stomach tighten and my vision darken at the edges.
“Finally. I thought you never would,” she breathes, and leans forward just a little, but lets me close the rest of the distance.
When I pictured this moment for the last couple of days, I was sure that it’d be a crazy passionate, rough kiss, full of desire and urgency, because that’s how much I wanted her. But it’s not, it’s deep and slow and lasting. When we kissed before we were each doing it for our own pleasure, to forget, to have fun. This is different. This is right, the way it should be. And the longer we kiss, the less important my doubts become.
After awhile, I can’t even follow my own thoughts anymore. Because they don’t matter. All that matters is this moment.
She’s straddling my lap, running her fingers through my hair, her tongue exploring my mouth, her lips touching mine like this is her first kiss. I want her naked under me, I need it, but it can wait. Because I also just want to do what ever she wants to do.
SAMANTHA
I kissed a lot of guys in my life, I even kissed Brett at least a hundred times, and those times were nice, but not like this. This kiss we’re sharing now is sending blood rushing through my body a thousand times faster than ever before, every last nook and cranny of my being alive and buzzing, rising to attention, awaiting more. Sparks, fireworks, explosions. None of that even comes close to describing this toe-curling bliss that is enveloping us as our lips touch, our tongues meeting in the middle. His beard is rough and prickly against my cheeks and chin, but it just adds to the soft pleasure of it all, standing in contrast, heightening it. I feel like I’m drunk, and it on him, since I haven’t had a drop of alcohol.
I want more. I want to feel his warm skin against mine, feel his heartbeat nex
t to my own. But I also don’t want this kiss to ever end. The warm fuzzies I felt before are a lake now, brimming, expanding, filling me whole. I can hardly breathe, but I don’t even want to. All that waiting was so worth it. I’ve been with hundreds of guys, but I’ve never felt anything like this before.
I groan as he pulls away from the kiss, tilting his head to the side. He grins as I lean forward to follow, kisses me again, but it’s just a peck. The whole room’s moving like the sofa we’re sitting on is a raft in the middle of the ocean, and it won’t be safe until he presses his lips against mine again.
He chuckles, his hands sliding down my back and coming to rest on my ass. “I need a shower.”
“Me too,” I say and lean in, kiss him again. He smells just perfect right now, the faint traces of the aftershave he put on this morning barely noticeable above the heady, musky smell that is all him, and which I feel more than smell somewhere deep in my belly.
“Alright well, let’s go take care of that,” he says, giving my ass a slap.
If I’d realized he was inviting me along to take that shower, I wouldn’t have protested at all. But now it’s clarified, so I climb off, wait for him to get up too before taking his hand and leading him to the bathroom.
His shower’s one of those open ones, with just a curtain and no tub, and I’m glad for it, since given his bulk and size, I don’t think we’d be able to fit into a regular shower booth together.
I start to pull my tank over my head as soon as we’re in the bathroom, but he stops me by laying his hands over mine. He gives my neck a slow, sensuous kiss that makes me rise on my toes involuntarily, before slowly pulling the shirt over my head. Once that’s done, he unclasps my bra, eases it off my arms and lets it fall to the floor. I’m expecting him to pounce on me, but instead he trails gentle, sensual kisses down my neck, my chest, over my soft breasts, and my belly as he kneels before me, sliding off my sweats as he does so. He hasn’t even touched any of my classic erogenous zones, yet my whole body is trembling in delight. He continues to kiss and caress my body as he slides my panties off, my head swimming, my thoughts soft and loving and flimsy like clouds. But the primal need for him to do more, lick my pussy, twist and bite my nipples is strong too. Intoxicatingly so.