Skin Game

by Ava Gray

  “I don’t think so. That guy won’t be walking around for a while, though.” He tilted his head toward the bartender.

  She sighed. “I just wanted a drink.” And a score, she added silently. “What the hell was this about anyway?”

  “I dunno. But I’m thinking I’d like to find out.”

  His target followed him toward the back room, where he found nothing but stored beer and booze. “It has to be downstairs then.”

  “What does?” She watched while he broke the lock.

  “Whatever they were trying to hide from the cops.”

  He flicked the light on before they went down the stairs. If there had been anybody else on the premises, they surely would’ve come up if they heard the brawl, so he wasn’t expecting trouble. They came on an old unfinished basement with concrete block walls and a stained floor. The strong sulfur and ammonia smell gave away the secret before he spotted the paraphernalia, containers with tubes and funnels, coolers, boxes of supplies.

  “Meth lab,” Kyra said from behind him.

  Reyes wasn’t surprised she could ID one on sight. That was probably the least of the trouble she’d been involved with during her colorful career. He didn’t like ending women, but he’d done a little research before accepting Serrano’s job offer, and she had quite a record.

  He pulled his drifter persona close and tight before turning to face her. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “I know. It’s volatile.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’d like to burn this place down. Scumbags like that make their money dealing to high school kids. I have no problem with adults who choose to rot their brains like this; it’s sort of like natural selection—”

  “They win the Darwin Awards,” he put in, smiling.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Yeah. Exactly like that. But when kids get sucked in, not knowing what they’re in for, it totally pisses me off.”

  “So do you want to?” He met her gaze levelly.

  “Want to what?”

  “Burn the place down.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you crazy? That’ll have the real cops and firemen out here before we get far enough away. I don’t want to attract attention.”

  She’d said “we,” he noticed. His smile widened into something sharp and feral. It demonstrated progress for her to incorporate him into her plan, and he intended to capitalize on this opportunity.

  “Okay,” he said easily. “I’m gonna disconnect some stuff. You go on up.”

  Too trusting, he decided, as she took the suggestion at face value. He could be stealing meth for all she knew. Instead he rerouted some things and lit a cigarette, leaving it burning in a fashion that would wind up working like a fuse. This place was going up, one way or another. He didn’t like drug dealers any better than Kyra did, so he’d work this like a freebie. Nobody was paying him for this job, but sometimes it was just good karma to offer your services gratis to the universe.

  Before they left, he made sure the men were still unconscious. If one of them woke before the blast, well, he was welcome to try to find Reyes for some payback. That kind of thing made life interesting.

  In the gravel parking lot, he had the odd feeling they’d played this scene once before, but he wouldn’t threaten her tires a second time. His rental car was still at the motel; he’d hitched a ride over, as that was more in keeping with his role.

  “Fate brought us together again for some reason,” he said, lying through his teeth. “You walk on the wild side, you’re gonna hustle the wrong person someday, and then what? You need some muscle at your back, and I need wheels. Let’s see where it takes us. We don’t have to hook up again.”

  His body protested immediately. Since he’d first seen her ponied up to the bar, he’d had an insane urge to shove her down and take her, any way she’d let him. The scratches she’d left on his shoulders stung a little—in the best possible way.

  Damn, they didn’t have time to stand here talking about this. But she didn’t know that. He had to reel her in slowly, or she’d fight the capture.

  “Get in,” she said finally. “We shouldn’t hang around here. And maybe you’re right. I never thought about taking on a partner before, but you might fit the bill.”

  Her eyes slid over his shoulder, as if seeing someone who wasn’t there—a former cohort? Hell, maybe she’d killed him. Reyes rather liked the idea of living dangerously. He also liked that she didn’t bother to deny what he’d noticed her doing at the last bar.

  “You know anything about the biz?” She went around the vehicle.

  “Not really.” He slid into the Marquis on the passenger side. “But I learn fast. I can watch your back while you work and just jump in if something goes wrong.”

  She started the car, backed it out faster than anyone he’d ever seen, and slammed the wheel so that they spun onto the road. He loved the way she drove, all attitude and swagger, underscored with complete control. Reyes would bet she knew this car better than most women knew their own anatomy. It made sense; she practically lived in it.

  She thought for a while. Neither of them turned on the radio. They had come about a mile when a big orange glow and a distant boom rose up behind them. Kyra noticed it in the rearview and said, “What the hell did you do? I thought I said not to burn the place down!”

  Reyes grinned. “I didn’t. I blew it up.”

  Would she get all girly on him and cry? Oh, hell. Please, no. To his delight, she burst out laughing. “Ah, shit. So much for low profile, but they had it coming.”

  Something tightened in his gut. After a moment, he identified the feeling as pure lust. Most females couldn’t stomach the things he did; most flinched away from his eyes, seeming to sense the kind of life he’d led. She was brash and brave and full of wickedness.

  Damn, he wanted her.

  He made himself speak casually. “There was enough chemical in that place that they won’t find any sign of us, even if you’re in the system.”

  “Are you?” she asked without looking away from the road.

  She had to know the answer to that, if she had any skill at observation. But she didn’t seem to judge him for being an ex-con. Most people would.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ve had military training,” she told him. “Probably not Special Forces. But I don’t think you enjoy taking orders. Is that why you opted out?”

  “More or less.” It astonished him how much she’d picked up.

  “And I think you must’ve gone East to study martial arts, the way you fight.”

  “The East isn’t the only place you can learn.”

  She picked up on the fact that he didn’t deny studying abroad. “Then where?”

  “The Philippines,” he answered honestly. He didn’t let himself think about why he was answering her questions as Reyes. Maybe something told him she’d sense a lie. Professional liars often had a built-in bullshit detector, so whatever he said to her, he had to mean it. “Brazil. Indonesia.”

  That was the key, he realized. She’d catch on to any elaborate ruse. To get to her, he had to be himself. In some ways, this would be the hardest job ever. He’d been pretending to be other people for so long, he didn’t even know who lived inside his own skin anymore.

  “I thought I recognized some of your moves. Capoeira, combined with tarung derajat? Maybe some Jendo? You’ve blended the styles in a way I’ve never seen. But . . . it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful when you move.”

  She didn’t seem to realize she’d just called him beautiful. In his experience, women didn’t think so. He scared the hell out of most of them. Reyes didn’t know how to respond to that, so he addressed the first part of what she’d said. “Yes, you caught all three. How’d you know? They’re not common.”

  “I’m a fan.” Her dimples flashed as she smiled, cutting him an appreciative look. “UFC, mostly. I watch martial arts on ESPN whenever I get a chance.”

  Mmm. He put himself in the picture beside her, a beer in one hand and her in
the other. It was deliciously seductive. She’d clearly studied some herself, so maybe she’d even make a decent sparring partner. He could picture them on the mat, breathing hard as he took her down, fighting their way into the hardest, hottest sex ever. Her skin would shine with heat and exertion, sweaty-slick beneath him. She had a strong body, deceptively leggy. He wanted them wrapped around him.

  Ah, damn. His cock went hard as a spike. He should not be thinking along those lines. Reyes shifted to cover the fact that he wanted to wrench the wheel, shove her into the backseat, and take her. By some miracle, he kept his breathing steady, though his hands curled into fists.

  “I’m the brains,” she told him. “I’ve been doing this longer than you can possibly imagine, so I pick the targets. I plan the score. You just do as you’re told and maybe we can work something out. I’ll give you twenty percent to start.”

  What just happened? She’d decided to hire him while he was thinking about sex? There was something to be said for keeping his mouth shut.

  “Twenty-five percent,” he countered, knowing she’d expect it, which was why she’d lowballed him. “And we’ll renegotiate once I learn the ropes. This sounds like it’ll be dangerous.”

  “Deal,” she said promptly, making him think he could’ve gone to thirty.

  And I’m in.

  It was a ballsy question, but he had to ask. “What about sex?”

  “What about it?”

  “Are we going to have any?”

  She looked thoughtful, almost abashed. “I don’t know. I’ve never done it twice with the same person.” At his elevated brows, she amended, “Well—on a different night. So if we do, it’ll be a major event, and I’m thinking you’ll have to work for it.”

  And a lance of pure lust ran him through.

  CHAPTER 7

  Kyra hadn’t spent so much time with one person since before her dad died.

  It was disconcerting to ride with Rey all day and then hang with him in the bar at night while he watched her work. It was even weirder to wake up and meet for breakfast somewhere. She had to admit; it was helpful having someone at her back. He’d extricated her from a couple of shaky situations with only a dark look, not a single blow exchanged, and that made for a nice change.

  Since they were accomplices, jointly responsible for what went down at the bar, she figured she should be able to rely on him to some degree. He couldn’t turn on her without implicating himself. A down-on-his-luck ex-con like him needed the income she provided, too, if he didn’t want to wind up back in prison or homeless. That was too bad because he might’ve made something of himself on the fighting circuit, based on his other training, but they didn’t take convicted felons, and on the underground fight arenas, he would wind up dead or brain-damaged. Safety wasn’t exactly a concern for the handlers there.

  Everything was easier with him around, but she didn’t trust easy, never had. Maybe she’d just traveled with her dad too long; his paranoia had seeped in through her skin, making her unable to trust anyone completely. No matter how providential their partnership seemed, she’d still sleep with one eye open, so to speak.

  To his credit, he hadn’t tried to push their relationship. After asking about sex, he made no moves on her, and he seemed genuinely interested in learning the tricks of her trade. That wasn’t so hard to understand. If a body had any brains at all, it was possible to get by doing this instead of real work.

  They’d come north through Texas over the course of the week, earning enough money to cover food, gas, and shelter along the way. His cut was slim, but he didn’t complain. Today, if everything went according to plan, they’d be rolling into Pecos in early afternoon.

  Kyra yawned, stretched, and hit the shower. The hot water beat down on her skin, waking her up better than coffee. She made it quick, knowing Rey would be waiting downstairs by the car. She’d almost had enough traveling for a while. After Vegas, she’d thought she would want to be on the move constantly—six months was a hell of a long con—but she found she missed waking up in the same place.

  Maybe she’d never be ready to go straight, but she wouldn’t mind settling in a big city somewhere that had a lot of ready marks. The danger about small towns was that people tended to remember her, but they also made it easier to find gullible targets. At this point, she had it perfected. Find the local bar, identify the mouthy big shot, and then relieve him of some loot and ego at the same time. It was practically a public service.

  Once she got dressed, Kyra did a quick check of the motel room. Nothing left behind. That was good. She could pack in five minutes these days; she’d perfected the art of living out of a backpack. As she left the room, her damp hair clung to her cheek, irritating her. So she tugged it over her shoulders in two messy sections and braided it up. A quick rummage through her pack unearthed two bands, so she was set.

  Like most days, she wore her favorite ratty jeans, matching jacket, and a plaid button-up shirt. Kyra knew she didn’t look sophisticated enough to be up to something, particularly with the braids, and that was sort of the point. Rey reinforced that conviction as he slid off the hood of her car. Ordinarily she’d tear him a new one for that liberty, but she was in too good a mood—and too hungry—to waste time snarling this morning.

  “You look about fourteen years old,” he said in the gravelly voice that plucked at her nerve endings.

  She grinned as she slid in behind the wheel. “Good thing for you I’m not.”

  “No joke,” he muttered. “So we’re for Pecos today. What’s the plan there?”

  Kyra shrugged. “I won’t know until I take the lay of the land.”

  To her surprise, he left it there, turning away from her to stare out the window. Most people would be questioning her, trying to get her to spill her secrets so he could take off on his own sooner. Her new partner didn’t say much, which should have been peaceful. Instead she found herself wondering what lay behind his silences.

  She found a diner a few miles down the road, where they stopped for breakfast. Actually it was more of a truck stop, but from the number of semis out front, the food and coffee must be good. Kyra guided the Marquis in between two shiny big rigs and hopped out of the car. After snagging her backpack, she glanced at Rey over the roof of the vehicle.

  “Hungry?”

  “You have no idea,” he muttered.

  Her lips curved in pure feminine appreciation. That was the first indication he’d given of being aware of the smolder ing sexual tension. With every passing day, she wanted him a little more, but she’d meant it when she said he would have to work for an encore. If she broke her rule about entanglements for him, Kyra wanted to be sure he was worth the risk. So far he appeared to think abstinence would do that job for him without any real effort on his part. Well, he obviously didn’t know her very well.

  Inside, the restaurant was full of potbellied men in plaid, their jaws bristling with whiskers and their hair covered in baseball caps. The crowd made her anticipate breakfast in a big way. It wasn’t the sort of place where you waited to be seated, so they snagged a booth with rusty tangerine seats and a scarred Formica tabletop.

  She plucked a menu from the silver metal stand by the window. Over the years, she’d eaten in countless places like this one, and they all ran together after a while. After a thirty-second perusal, she decided on the Country Scramble: eggs, bacon, and sausage all fried up together and topped with yummy white gravy, biscuits on the side, of course. Her mouth watered just thinking about it.

  A perky blond waitress bounced over. “What can I get you folks?”

  “Fruit and yogurt,” Rey said. “Topped with granola if you have it. Plain whole wheat toast, no butter.”

  Kyra raised a brow. “On a health kick?”

  He shrugged. “Just tired of fried eggs, I guess.”

  “You’re gonna be sorry when you see my biscuits.”

  “I’ve already seen ’em,” he murmured. “But I wouldn’t mind another look.”

 
; Was he flirting with her? Her smile widened. “So tell me a little about yourself. How does a guy get to be your age, totally unencumbered?”

  He met her look levelly. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “You could, but you didn’t.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The waitress arrived with their drinks: coffee for her, herbal tea for him. Kyra was starting to notice he avoided caffeine and sugar whenever possible. It was an interesting quirk in someone down on his luck. Generally people without financial recourse would order the cheapest items, not the healthiest. Rey added a squirt of lemon, no sweetener, and took an experimental sip. If Kyra didn’t know better, she’d think he was stalling.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  “It’s not bad.” The amusement in his dark eyes said he knew she was losing patience, and that he found it entertaining.

  “Not the tea. What’s your story?”

  “So you want my life story at Stuckey’s? Not very atmospheric.”

  “It’s Gayle’s Gas-N-Go, actually,” she corrected. “And if you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”

  He thought about that for a moment, long dark fingers tracing a pattern against the scarred tabletop. “Okay,” he said at last.

  “So you don’t want to?” Her good mood evaporated.

  “Is that so surprising? Would you spill all your secrets to me over pancakes?”

  “Probably not,” she admitted.

  “Well, there you go. Trust takes time. I won’t be telling you everything until I’m sure you won’t use the information against me.” His mouth curved into an ironic half smile. “I’m sure you’ve heard the saying—familiarity breeds contempt—and all that.”

  “I don’t think it would,” she found herself saying. “The more I get to know you, the more I like.”

  Something sparked in his eyes. Kyra couldn’t decipher the expression, but for a moment, she thought he might reach across the table for her. She scooted back, knowing that would be disastrous for the day’s take. Rey narrowed his eyes, scowling at the implied insult, but before he could ask, the waitress delivered their food and they ate in silence. She felt sad and sick, but she couldn’t explain why she’d recoiled.