Game of Vengeance

by Amanda K. Byrne

  “Yeah.” As he sits down, I pull my legs toward me and wrap my arm around my knees. “Lot of stuff happened in a short period of time.” My stomach hasn’t thawed. If anything, it’s grown heavier, the ice threatening to spread through my limbs.

  I could have died in that house. I could have been sitting on the couch when the bottle was thrown. I could have been shot. Instead, I’m alive and fretting over something as silly as a lack of condoms.

  He stretches out a hand to me, and I crawl over to rest my head on his shoulder. “Where’d you get the gun?” he asks.

  “Eighteenth birthday present from my dad.”

  “Figured as much. Want to tell me why I had to hear about the fire from my sister?”

  I trace circles on his bare stomach with the tip of my finger. “Didn’t occur to me to call you.” I’d been more concerned with getting out of the house alive and then getting away. I hadn’t thought to call anyone. “I was on the phone with her when the first bottle was thrown. She called me back several times before I answered.” I lift my head. “And I didn’t want to distract you. I had no way of knowing what was going on, where you were, if you were busy trying to stay alive yourself.”

  He strokes his hand down my side and walks his fingers under the hem of his shirt to tickle my hip. I squirm. “Stop it.”

  “Nope.” Leaning in, he nips my earlobe. “Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he murmurs.

  I stiffen. “Notice what?”

  “Now you’ve distracted me because I sure as hell noticed that.” His fingers aren’t gentle as he grips my chin with his fingers, his face almost completely obscured by the dark. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  He tilts my head up. “No bullshit. Something happened.”

  I pull free of his hold as I stand and wander to the window. “It’s…what we did in the shower,” I admit. “I got caught up in the moment. I was ready. Then I wasn’t. Not afterward.” A shiver tiptoes up my spine, and I cup my elbows, wishing the dark would hide me now.

  I’ve never felt more naked.

  When he doesn’t respond, I glance over my shoulder. His expression is shuttered, and my heart sinks. “Never mind. It’s not important.” Truth—there are much more important things to talk about than our sex life. My mouth curves into a smile I don’t feel. “I’m going back to bed.”

  The hallway is too long and not long enough. Every nerve ending is on alert, waiting for Nick to react, anxiety growing with every step. Blowing out a long breath when I reach the guest room, I ease the door shut behind me and climb into bed, facing away from the door.

  I should have said something. Told him no, dropped to my knees and sucked him off, something that would have averted this stupid mess. I lie there, fatigue finally settling into my body, and I welcome it.

  But I can’t fall asleep. Willing it to come doesn’t work. Tensing and relaxing my muscles doesn’t work. I’ve resorted to counting sheep when the door opens. Nick slides into bed, staying on his side, leaving me curled in a ball.

  I’ve already dug this hole. I might as well see how much deeper I can make it. “Sex hasn’t meant much to me the last few years. It’s fun, it’s a great stress reliever, but it’s not something I think of as bringing me closer emotionally to my partner.” He shifts on the bed, and I plunge on. “It’s a trust issue for me. I figured when it happened, it would be with someone I love.”

  Love, romantic love, isn’t something I’m familiar with. What I’m starting to feel for Nick has me questioning whether I’ve really been in love before or if I just convinced myself of it.

  Any love-like feelings die a hasty death when the mattress starts shaking. I roll over. He’s laughing. He’s got his fist jammed in his mouth, body jerking like crazy as he laughs.

  Something breaks inside me. A mistake, taking that step before I was certain. “Knew I should have kept my mouth shut,” I mutter. I slide off the bed and grab my pillow, then yank the comforter from the bed. I bundle everything in my arms and hobble toward the door, my progress impeded by the comforter twining itself around my legs.

  “Cass, hold on.”

  “No, thanks, that’s quite all right.” I would rather go back to his burnt-out house than share a bed with him right now. I fumble a hand free and reach for the handle.

  Arms like titanium bands wrap around my waist. “I said hold on,” he whispers, warm breath tickling my ear.

  Then he picks me up and tosses me on the bed.

  Chapter 11

  I’m going to kill him. With my bare hands.

  He halts my attack by grasping my waist and pushing me back down, pinning me to the bed. “You must have missed the girl memo where you’re supposed to always want to talk about feelings and where your relationship is going and that kind of shit. So yeah, it’s funny to me that it obviously embarrasses you when you do talk about it.” He grins. “Never thought I’d meet a woman so reluctant to talk about how she feels.”

  Death isn’t good enough for him. I’ll have to kill him twice.

  His grin fades. “You should have said something.”

  “I got caught up in the moment. Same as you. At least we were smart enough to talk about it beforehand.”

  “Not smart enough,” he growls. “You should have said something then. Did you think I wouldn’t get it?”

  “I did tell you I’d never done it before,” I point out.

  “What you failed to tell me was that there was a reason for it. Christ, Cass, it’s not like I go sticking my dick into every woman I date without protecting myself. There’s got to be a certain level of trust first.”

  Heat flares across my cheeks. “It wasn’t just that. It was the whole thing. Nick, I think I have bruises where your hands were. It’s always pretty intense, but that… That went beyond intense. I felt owned. Like you might as well have just stamped me with a branding iron. And it’s kind of scary because I liked it.”

  He braces himself on one forearm and shoves the shirt up to my waist with his free hand, eyes narrowed as he searches for bruises. “Can’t see,” he mutters. Flicking on the bedside lamp, he hunches over to check the damage. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  I glance down. In the dim light, I can barely make out the darkened skin, shaped like fingers, right at the curve of my hip. Nick looks like he’s about to crawl off the bed and leave. Calm steals over me, wiping away my fears. It’s over and done with, and for the first time since the shower, I feel like he might sort of, kind of, maybe understand where I’m coming from. “Did you not hear the part where I said I liked it?” I ask mildly.

  His gaze sweeps up my body, lingering on the soft cotton rucked up around my ribs, my hands clasped over my chest. “It’s not a spur of the moment or easy thing for me either, Cass. There’s a lot of things about being with you that aren’t easy. Don’t know what I was expecting, but I sure as fuck didn’t expect to fall for someone ten years younger.”

  There’s that damn age difference again. I bring my arms down and try to wriggle away. He closes his hands around my wrists, his hold careful, and he draws them up above my head. Then he stretches out on top of me, hips notched against mine. “But now that I’ve found you, I’m starting to think maybe I should keep you.”

  I’ve lost the ability to breathe. He’s telling the truth. It’s right there in his eyes, that certainty more frightening than his total ownership in the shower earlier. He releases my hands. “Take off your shirt for me, love.”

  What is it about his orders that render me helpless to do otherwise? He tells me to do something, and I do it. Probably because my body knows that what’s to follow is sure to leave me limp.

  Arching my back, I pluck and tug at the shirt, freeing my arms and pulling it over my head. He props himself up on his forearms and lowers his head, sucking my lower lip into his mouth. He slicks his tongue over my top lip and dips it inside, his eyes open and watching me.

  I’d never thought kissing with
your eyes open could be anything close to a turn-on. Stupid. Pretty much everything Nick does turns me on. His eyes blur as I struggle to keep mine open. My lids drift shut as he doubles his effort, swallowing my gasp when he nudges his hips forward.

  He doesn’t do anything more than rock his hips into mine and kiss me thoroughly and with painstaking slowness, following every dip and line of my neck with his lips. The thick ridge of his erection is a constant pressure on my clit. With every stunted thrust, every rough slide, I climb higher, hands scrabbling at his back. It’s not enough. I’m almost there. I need his hand, his mouth, or his cock.

  It breaks over me, the release a low throb that still leaves me empty and aching. His hips stop, and he lowers his head to the crook of my neck. As his breathing slows, he pushes himself up, drops a quick kiss on my mouth, and shifts off.

  Oh, no. Nuh-uh. That was not it.

  I roll on top of him.

  “Cass—”

  “Your turn. Boxers off.” And I grasp the waistband and pull.

  His hips come up, and his erection pops free, dark and angry in the lamplight, the tip glistening. Curling my fingers around him, I stroke him, scooting forward to straddle him.

  “Condoms are in the bedside table.”

  I glance up. He wants to backtrack? His expression is strained, jaw taut with lust and determination. “No regrets this time,” he says softly.

  No. No regrets. I lift my hips and take him in, biting my lower lip to stifle the groan at the back of my throat.

  “Jesus.” Nick fists his hands in the sheets and arches up, plunging all the way inside in a single thrust. Everything in me shudders and quakes, neurons pinging in rapid fire pulses.

  If we’d waited a few minutes more in the shower, we could have had this. It could have been the sweet, intense sex I’ve dreamed of, one of the few soft fantasies I allowed myself. Nick’s gaze burns into me, his hands gentle as he strokes them over my hips. It’s like he knows, and he’s determined to give it to me now. Intense, close, and as important to him as it is to me.

  He sits up and flexes his hips, arms tight and locked around me. He urges me into a shallow rocking motion, the rhythm stunted with our inability to move deeply.

  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  * * * *

  The other side of the bed’s empty when I wake the next morning. Locating Nick’s shirt, I slip it on and pad into the bathroom.

  Wow. I look like I had some epic sex last night. My mouth is swollen, my hair looks like a rat tried to use it for a bed, and my chin and jaw are red and slightly raw. The tips of my ears flush to match my lips, and I yank my fingers through my hair.

  Our second time around had lasted longer than the shower. Long enough for us both to fall apart in massive orgasms. Long enough my heart trembled as he lowered me to the bed afterward, brushing my hair from my face.

  Maybe I’ll keep you.

  I fist my hands at my sides, squeezing my eyes shut. The last thing I need is to fall in love and to fall for someone like Nick. Older, unattainable Nick.

  Except he’s not. He’s right there for the taking. Is this an advantage to dating an older guy? He’s more secure in his feelings, knows what he wants? If that’s the case, sign me up for seconds. And thirds.

  I braid my hair away from my face, letting the ends dangle loose, since I don’t have a ponytail holder. I gather up my clothes from yesterday and carry them out into the hall. There’s probably some panties in the bag of Lia’s clothes, but wearing someone else’s underwear feels weird.

  Constantine’s in the kitchen, standing next to the coffee maker. I hold up my bundle. “Mind if I borrow your washing machine?”

  He shows me the washer hidden in the long hall closet. Once my clothes are churning away, I head for the kitchen and caffeine. An empty mug sits on the counter, and I pick it up. “This for me?”

  “Knock yourself out.” He slurps up coffee and leans against the counter, all bare-chested and morning scruffy yumminess. I must have some wicked good karma being surrounded by drool-worthy guys all the time. The corner of his mouth kicks up in a smirk as I pour myself a mug. “Tired of Dom already?”

  “No.” I lean on the counter myself, crossing my legs at the ankle, and return his smirk. “I’m also not dead. Doesn’t mean I can’t look.”

  “Aw, you think I’m pretty?” He ducks his head. I snort, breaking into a full-on laugh when he glances up coyly and bats his lashes.

  “Cute,” I say, still chuckling. I put the mug on the counter. “Is he around?”

  Constantine shakes his head. “Left about an hour ago to inspect his house.”

  Oh. Right. The reason we’re here in the first place. Suddenly conscious I’m wearing basically nothing in front of my boyfriend’s extremely hot cousin, I pick up the mug again and clutch it tight, the heat stinging my palms through the ceramic. “Um. Food? Am I allowed to root through your cupboards? Or I could make you breakfast.” I swallow coffee to cut off the flood of words. The bitter liquid burns the roof of my mouth.

  He waves a hand at the kitchen. “Help yourself.”

  Why didn’t I have the forethought to hang on to my bag when I ran out of the house last night? Then I’d have my own clothes, and I wouldn’t have to worry about flashing people. “Be right back.”

  Ignoring the questioning look on his face, I hurry to the guestroom and dump out the bag of clothes. There are a couple of pairs of panties with the tags still on them. I make a mental note to pay Lia back and paw through the rest of the clothes. It’s all skirts and tops, not a single pair of shorts among them.

  I step over to the dresser and start opening drawers, fully expecting them to be empty. The bottom one actually contains what look like gym clothes. I pull on a pair of shorts and knot the drawstring waistband to keep them on my hips, then return to the kitchen.

  “What happened last night? Dom had to leave before he could fill me in.”

  I open the fridge. “Molotov cocktails. A couple of them. I was on the phone with Lia when the first one landed in the living room. Someone shot at the living room windows with a high enough caliber gun to break the glass. Did the same with one of the guest room windows. Didn’t have to bother with a gun to get it through the master bedroom patio doors or the dining room window.”

  “So the house was surrounded,” he says grimly.

  “Bingo.” I take out the carton of eggs and go back for the butter. “The dining room was the last hit, which means the kitchen was basically clear, but the living room was pretty much gone by the time I was able to get out. And guess what? There was a guy in the backyard with a gun.” I frown. “I wonder if he made it out alive? The gas line blew,” I explain. “I shot him in the chest, but I don’t think he was dead when he went down. He was awfully close to the house, though.”

  The man’s behavior comes back to me. It was…odd. He shot first, but the bullet went wide enough it was likely a deliberate miss. Maybe Isaiah sent him? If I didn’t die in the house, Isaiah may have wanted to kill me himself. “Nick wouldn’t tell me what happened with Isaiah.”

  Constantine huffs out a frustrated sound. “That’s because we spent more time arguing over what the hell to do than doing anything. Fuckin’ genius, holing up in a building full of students.” It’s hard to miss the grudging admiration in his voice. “We figure it’s one of the two end units, but that high up, and with every other unit occupied, we’ll have better luck catching him leaving the building.”

  I crack eggs over a bowl, duck back into the fridge for milk. “Make sure you monitor the back. Take the stairs all the way down to the parking garage. There’s an exit next to the garage door. There’s also two side exits. The east one opens onto an alley. The west one opens on a pathway between the two buildings. It’s not large enough to be an alley. You can barely fit a person through there.” I glance over my shoulder. “Maybe you should write this down.”

  “Probably,” he drawls, “but
that’d mean I’d have to go find something to write with and something to write on, and it’s more fun watching you cook breakfast while wearing my gym shorts.” He motions to the stove. “Go on. I’m hungry.”

  I flip him the bird and turn back to the eggs. “Anyway. My apartment building’s not some impenetrable fortress or anything. There’s no balconies, but Nick found a way to get in, and he got in and out of the parking garage. With my car, no less.”

  “My cousin does have some skills,” he agrees. “He broke into your apartment?”

  “Three days after we met, I tried to sink a knife into his carotid,” I confirm. “He snuck into my bedroom at around one in the morning and tried to get me to leave with him.”

  Constantine swears softly, and I glance over my shoulder. He’s staring at his coffee mug intently, like he’s wishing a genie would pop out of it and grant him a couple of wishes. “What?” I ask.

  He lifts his gaze. “That’s not typical for him. Normally he’d wait until you were somewhere public and corner you.”

  I shrug. “So?”

  His eyes narrow. “Remind me again how you two met.”

  “I tried to kill him. So did someone else. I saved his ass; then he saved mine.”

  His mouth thins, and he gulps the rest of his coffee. “That is typical of him. You were injured somehow, right?”

  “Twisted my ankle, then got grazed by a bullet. I tried to get him to leave after he finished the first aid, but he insisted on seeing me back to my car.”

  The kitchen goes quiet as I continue breakfast preparations and Constantine broods. The toast is done and the eggs are light and fluffy, divided onto plates, by the time he speaks up.

  He sticks his fork in the eggs and leaves it there. “Look. I like you. In a lot of ways, you’re good for Dom.”

  “Even with the age difference?” I ask dryly.

  He barks out a laugh. “Trust me, the age difference means shit right about now. You’ve got this blackened, scarred part to you that matches his. He doesn’t have to lie about who he is because you already know, and you’ve proven you can handle it. The shitty thing is it also makes you a huge liability. He’s already fucking crazy over your safety.”