by Callie Hart
“We have a twelve hour ride ahead of us. I’ll have figured out that part by the time we get there.”
“Oh god.” This whole thing sounds like a horrible idea.
“Don’t freak out. It’s going to be fine,” Jamie says. But I can tell from the tightness in his voice that he’s not a hundred percent sure it will be.
******
Twelve hours is a seriously long time to sit on a motorcycle. It’s better now that I’m actually riding my own bike and I’m not perched on the back of Jamie’s, but still. Sore shoulders. Sore back. Sore hips. Sore ass. Every part of my body is humming with pain. We stop to stretch our legs and get gas, but it’s not enough; the dull ache returns within ten minutes of being back on my Ducati, and all I can think about is blasting my skin with a hot shower and falling asleep in a soft bed.
The only thing that keeps me from complaining is the thought of Dad, asleep on a cold, damp floor, no hot showers or soft beds for him. He’s probably wondering what the hell happened to land him in this predicament. Has Ramirez spilled the beans about me? Has he told my father I’m shacked up with an outlaw, the leader of a motorcycle club that has one boot firmly planted in highly illegal activities, the other shoved up the Los Oscuros cartel’s ass?
I really fucking hope not—no matter how much I’ve let my family down, I don’t want them thinking badly of me, ironic though that may be. It seems as though Hector delights in causing hurt wherever he goes, though. He’s probably taken great pleasure in showing my dad what a miscreant his daughter has become.
It’s dark when we cross the border into California. There are no streetlights or cars on the roads. The sky overhead is cloudless and vast, a myriad of stars bowed from horizon to horizon, clustered so thick and shining so bright that it takes my breath away as I follow the constant red glow of Jamie’s tail light up ahead. We ride for another hour through the night before he pulls off the highway at a dingy looking motel and parks up out front. I pull in beside him, killing the engine on the Ducati, trying not to groan as I sit up straight, stretching out my back.
“Are we stopping here?” I ask.
Jamie nods. “We’ll head on over to Julio’s place first thing. If we come charging out of the desert at this time of night, his men will shoot us on the spot. Better they can’t use the dark as an excuse for any accidents they might try to instigate.”
Fucking perfect. So there’s a chance we might end up dead. I guess I knew that when we set off. Julio’s a piece of shit, and from the high fences and the razor wire I saw circling his home when I was there last, it’s pretty clear he doesn’t take too kindly to uninvited guests. Jamie climbs off his bike and heads into the motel; the building itself has been painted a rather gaudy color of pink, and there appears to be a Star of David painted above each and every single one of the entrances to the rooms. A flickering sign above the reception reads: Queen Of Hearts Motel, though it seems that half of the letters only work half of the time.
Jamie’s gone for five minutes. When he returns, he has a key in his hand and a sour look on his face.
“That was like pulling teeth,” he says. “The old guy in there is ancient. He had a fucking sawn off shot gun leaning against the wall behind his desk.”
I try and figure out if this makes me feel safer or even more concerned for our wellbeing, but I can’t decide. We both take our small backpacks up to the room on the second floor the ancient guy allocated us, which overlooks a drained swimming pool full of trash and rotting leaves, and Jamie pretends not to notice the craters in the building’s plasterwork that can only have been created by gunshots. Shotgun blasts by the looks of things. I know he sees them, though.
Inside our room, Jamie tosses his bag down on one of the beds and starts typing something into his phone. After a second he frowns, then holds his cell up for me to see the screen
‘Three teenagers attacked in rural Queen Of Hearts Motel. Girl’s mother shot dead in pool by elderly desk clerk.’ There’s a black and white picture of a pool underneath the tagline, the same pool that sits in the yard outside our room, except in the photograph it’s full of water, and there’s a woman floating face down in the middle of it. The article shows a date two years ago.
“Seems we can’t escape trouble.” Jamie lets out a deep breath. He takes me in his arms and immediately works his way underneath the light jacket and the t-shirt I wore to ride in. “I need to ask you something,” he says. “And this is the worst fucking time for me to ask this, but I’m sick and tired of waiting.”
I angle my head, tilting it to one side, narrowing my eyes at him, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. “Waiting for what?”
“For this.” Jamie reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and takes out something small and round and shiny. I don’t give myself time to look at it properly. I’m instantly panicked. Terrified. I screw my eyes shut, trying to back away from him.
“Oh, no, you fucking don’t.” He winds an arm around my waist, holding onto me tight, stopping me in my tracks. “What the hell d’you think you’re doing, missy?”
“God, Jamie. Not now. I don’t—I can’t even—” I can’t even think straight right now, but Jamie won’t let me finish my sentence. He places a finger over my lips, cutting me off.
“Open your eyes, silly girl.”
“I don’t want to.” I’ve just ridden a motorcycle across three states. My whole life is in turmoil, upside down and inside out, and I feel like I’m about to really lose it. I can’t open my eyes. If I do, I’ll see what he’s holding in his hand, and I won’t be able to take it. It’ll be too much, too overwhelming, too scary, and I’ll end up doing something stupid.
Jamie presses his lips against my forehead, his mouth hot and pliable as he kisses me gently. “Yes, you can. You’ve done much harder things. You survived being kidnapped. You made it through three days at my father’s house. You’ve lived with a biker gang for the past six months. You defended yourself against a man who wanted to do you harm, and you helped me bury him. All of those things were harder than this.”
I shake my head, still trying to wriggle free of his grasp. “Jamie, this—I can’t do this now. It’s not the right time.”
“That’s my point. There won’t ever be a good time.” He sighs heavily. His grip loosens, releasing me ever so slightly, but I can tell he doesn’t want to. “Please, Soph. Don’t run away from this. You can see what I have in my hand and you can listen to what I have to say, and you can shoot me down if you like. Or you can do the opposite. But don’t just fucking run away from it. I know you better than that. You’re going to feel shitty if you don’t deal with this.”
He’s right. I will feel shitty, I know I will, but that doesn’t stop my heart from pounding away like a jackhammer inside my chest. My head feels like it’s too full, so much pressure building inside it, and I don’t know what to do. It’s as though it could explode at any moment. Slowly, cautiously, I open my eyes. I make sure to look up at him—that feels safe enough, though it really isn’t. When I see him and the open, hopeful look on his face, I know I won’t be able to escape this.
“I’m not going to get down on one knee, sugar, and I was born in Louisiana. I was taught there was a proper way to do this kind of thing, so you should know how much it pains me to shirk tradition. But I know it’s not what you want.
“So this is just me telling you that I want you to be my wife. Asking you if you would do me the greatest of honors. I want to be your husband. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.” He blows out a deep breath, both his eyebrows rising up his forehead. “You know, I thought when I got out of the army, the hell I’d been living through was over. Shitty thing was, it had only just begun. The moment Laura went missing, everything got so fucked up. I never for a second thought something like this would happen.”
“Something like this?”
“Something huge. Something special. Something important. I didn’t want to love you, Soph. Fuck, I did everyt
hing I could to try and prevent that from happening, but this thing between us was out of control before I even saw it coming. I didn’t stand a chance. And neither did you. You can’t fucking deny it.”
I can’t deny it. I’d like to. It would be so convenient to tell him he’s wrong, and while I do love him, I don’t think we’re in that place yet. The trouble is, I know we are in that place. I could marry him tomorrow and it would feel so right. The mere thought of him calling me his wife makes my insides feel like they’re on fire, my veins racing with adrenalin. But the way things are right now…I don’t know. It would be dangerous to commit to a promise like this.
“Tell me what you’re thinking?” He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes only a few inches away, his lips so close I can almost feel them on me. “I can’t tell you how all of your concerns are pointless and invalid if you won’t tell me what they are.”
“I only have one,” I whisper.
“Say it.”
“Getting married is something I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl. I know you probably think that’s stupid, but I couldn’t help it. And in all of my daydreams about falling in love and getting married, my father has always walked me down the aisle. My mother has always done my hair for me. She’s always been there, crying in the pews. And my sister has always been my maid of honor. We fight like cat and dog, and we rarely see eye to eye, but I love her. I’ve always known I’d ask her to be there for me when the time came. And now, my father’s being held hostage and my mom and sister think I’m dead. I can’t get married without them, Jamie, I just can’t.”
He cups my face in his hands. “Okay, then. We won’t get married unless your family can be there. I can agree to that.” He kisses me lightly, his mouth finding mine, his tongue skating between his lips to graze against me, and a deep, penetrating wave of fear rises inside me. I’ve never been a what-if person, but there are so many of the cursed things hounding me right now. What if we can’t get Julio to help us? What if Hector kills my father? What if I have to hand myself over to the cartel in order to save him? But worse still, what if we do manage to free my father but he wants nothing to do with me anymore? What if he never wants to lay eyes on me again, let alone give me away to the man who technically kidnapped me and refused to set me free?
Jamie brushes his fingers along my jawbone, humming softly at the back of his throat. “I know what you’re thinking, sugar, and there’s no sense in worrying about that at the moment. I know it’s going to work out. I know I’m going to hear you say ‘I do.’ I know it deep down in my bones. So please…let me put this ring on your finger? Let me hear you say the words. I’m going to lose my fucking mind if you don’t.”
I hold my breath, wishing I was as certain as he is. I trust him, though. The past six months has been a cat and mouse game where I try to pretend I don’t trust him and I know better, but the truth is I’d happily place my own life in his hands if he said he knew I’d be safe. God, I must be certifiable. I release the breath I’m holding, trying not to shake. “Okay. Okay, Louis James Aubertin the third. I’ll wear your ring. I’ll marry you.”
Jamie smiles, and it’s the kind of smile you don’t see very often. It’s like sunlight breaking through clouds. His eyes are shining brightly as he holds up the ring he’s been hiding while we speak, and I can’t seem to form words. It’s lovely. A princess cut diamond, not too big and not too small. Simply set on a white gold band. It’s not an ostentatious, gaudy thing. It’s pretty and feminine. I love it as soon as I lay eyes on it.
“Jamie…” I whisper.
“You like it?”
I nod, trying not to get teary, though that seems pretty much impossible as he slides the ring onto my finger. “It’s so beautiful. It’s perfect.”
Jamie smiles down at my hand, sadness creeping into his expression. “It was my mother’s. I knew it would fit you.”
For some reason, the knowledge that he’s giving me his mother’s ring makes my throat feel like it’s swelling shut. It’s a monumental act on his part. He has so little left from his mother. Being given her engagement ring feels like an honor I don’t deserve somehow.
“Are you sure? Are you sure you want me to wear this?”
He dips down and kisses the ring on my finger, grinning at me. “Are you kidding me? I never want you to take it off.” He picks me up and carries me to one of the queen beds, raining kisses down onto my face, my neck and my collarbone as he does so. “Close your eyes,” he tells me. “I don’t want this to be the place where we have sex for the first time as an engaged couple.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I laugh, clinging onto him tightly, while he nips at my bottom lip.
“Close your eyes. You’ll see.”
“Fine.” I squeal as he throws me down onto the bed, landing on top of me. The weight of him feels good, heavy but also reassuring in a way. He brackets my head with his arms, supporting himself over me as he brushes his fingertips over my face, skating them over my forehead, my temples, over my cheekbones and down the bridge of my nose. He rubs the pad of one of his fingers against my lips until I part them for him, and then he slides it inside my mouth, wetting it against my tongue, pressing it against my teeth, his breathing growing quicker as he trails it over my lips, wetting them too.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers into my mouth, his breath hot, sending shivers all over my body. My skin breaks out into goose bumps, so sensitive as he shifts on top of me. I can feel the ache building between my legs already, and I know that soon it will be undeniable—a demanding pressure that will have to be sated otherwise I’ll go mad. Jamie teases my lower lip with his finger again; he licks at it, then licks over my bottom teeth, tracing the ridge of them with the tip of his tongue, applying enough force to make himself groan. “You mouth is so perfect. Are you going to let me fuck it, Sophia? I love feeling your lips wrapping around my hard cock. It’s the most incredible thing...”
“Yes,” I say softly. “You can fuck my mouth.”
“Are you going to tease your tongue around my shaft? Are you going to lick and suck on my balls like a good girl?”
“Fuck. Yes.”
“Good. And when I’m done with your mouth?”
“You can take whatever you want,” I pant. “I’m yours. I’ll do whatever you ask me to.”
“That’s right, sugar. Such a good girl. Now I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“I want you to imagine we’re back at your place in Seattle. I want you to imagine you’re getting ready for bed. You’re alone, you’ve just gotten out of the shower and your body is still soaking wet. Can you do that for me?”
This is new; we’ve never played this game before. I wonder where he’s going with this, I want to ask him, but that would spoil the surprise I suppose. He loves when I follow his lead without question. It turns him on so much, and that, in turn, drives me wild. “Yes. I can do that,” I say breathlessly. I keep my eyes closed, trying to place myself in my old room back in Seattle just as he’s asked me to. I try to imagine the feeling of the beads of water rolling down my skin, between my shoulder blades, over my buttocks, over my breasts. It’s surprising how easy it is to picture it. And it’s surprising how hot it’s making me.
Jamie licks at my lips, gently running his thumb over my chin, downward, over the column of my neck into the base of my throat. “You’re drying yourself, slowly, and you rub your towel between your legs. It doesn’t take long for you to realize how good that feels—the warm, soft material causing friction against your pussy. It’s turning you on.”
“Yes.” I can imagine it when he says it all too well. My hips press up a little, grinding against his, but Jamie leans back, moving so that our bodies are no longer connected there. I feel the loss painfully.
“Tut, tut,” he growls. “You’re on your own, Sophia. You know what that means, don’t you?”
I shake my head slowly from side to side, sucking
my lip into my mouth. “No.”
“Oh, you do. You’ve felt like this when you’ve been on your own plenty of times. And you know exactly what you need to do about it. So do it.”
I haven’t masturbated in front of him before, so the prospect is making me feel a little embarrassed. Still, the idea of unbuttoning my jeans and sliding my hand down my panties is kind of a turn on at the same time. I move slowly, my eyes still closed, knowing Jamie’s watching me intently as I reach for my pants and I undo them. My breath catches in my throat.
“That’s it. Good girl.” His voice is thick with lust. I can hear rustling sounds next to me, and I know instinctively that he’s unfastening his own pants. He’s stroked his own cock many times when we’ve been fooling around and he’s been getting ready to fuck me, but this is different somehow. It feels kinky. Knowing that he’s going to jerk off while he watches me finger my pussy has me blushing red all over my body. I can tell by the hot flush that burns at the base of my throat and over my cheeks.
“Take everything off,” he whispers into my ear. “I want to see everything. Keep your eyes closed though.”
I do what he asks, keeping my eyes firmly shut as I remove my shirt first and then my bra. My nipples are erect, hard and tight at the prospect of what might happen next. I squeeze them between my fingers briefly before I reach down, pushing my jeans and panties down over my hips and kicking them off as smoothly as I can. I lie back down, my back arching slightly off the bed, trying to picture what Jamie’s expression is like right now as he takes in every inch of my body, greedily studying and devouring my nakedness. I can hear his breath quickening next to me, and even though he’s not touching me my heart begins to pound.
Hesitantly, I slide my right hand down my body, over my stomach until my fingertips are resting in between my legs, my index finger and my middle finger working their way through my slick flesh until I find my clitoris. I’m already so fucking wet. I knew I would be, but I’m a little shocked at how wet. How turned on I am. Jamie makes a low, frustrated sound next to me, and I can tell he’s enjoying this.