by A. W. Exley
Between a rock and a hard place.
His solid body pushed her into the fuzzy wallpaper. When her heart rate settled, she unwound her arms from around his neck and moved them down to his chest. He withdrew from her as she dropped her feet back to the ground. Through lowered lashes, she noticed he was still hard as he pulled the condom away.
Maybe there are advantages to something dumber and denser in your life.
JJ shook her head, dismissing thoughts of going a second round, and picked up the discarded skirt and blouse. Her partner readjusted his pants, and then leaned against the wall watching her dress. Hunger burned in his gaze as though their quick release was a mere appetizer and he awaited the main course. She threw her clothes on, ignoring the rasp of fabric, like sandpaper against her skin. She shoved panties into her handbag and swept her hairpins in after the balled up silk.
Not trusting herself to look at his chiseled face without saying something vacuous, she avoided eye contact, unlocked the door and slipped back into the club. She took a deep breath, demanding her legs work. Her bones wobbled like jelly with the aftermath of the intense orgasms still rippling through her body. Her mind luxuriated in freedom and space, the constant pain tossed out.
Ariel leaned over the back of her booth and gave a frantic two thumbs up, and then made the international “call me” sign before winking and throwing herself at a blond surfer type sitting opposite her.
Jacob acted on instinct when he stood behind her. He had to touch her, smell her, to verify what a long dormant part of his brain yelled. When her cheek grazed his chest, and her skin touched his for the first time, his reaction was so intense, his heart nearly stopped. Mother Nature provided each of her Wardens with a Natural, the softness to balance their hard edge. He had waited so long for his counterpoint, he thought he would always be alone.
When she asked if anyone was in the VIP room, he didn’t think he would make it the six feet to the door. With his length buried in her tight heat, an inferno shot from his balls, up his spine and exploded, searing one word into his brain; mine. One fuck in the VIP room would never be enough. He wanted to spend years learning every curve and pore of her body.
It took him fifteen minutes to get his riotous brain under control before he could exit the room. As he made his way outside, he scratched at his left pec absently, and then his fingers froze.
The Cosaint. The mark to show a bonded couple.
Warden and Natural were marked with an identical symbol, to show they were paired. On the Warden, it appeared on the upper left chest, on the Natural at the base of the spine. Once fully formed, it resembled a tattoo, but one given by nature, not man. No two pairs had the same symbol and the elders amongst them dedicated centuries to examining the marks, to determine the underlying symbolism. They were ornate and complex, as unique and beautiful as the bond shared between the couple. Jacob never thought to feel one rising through his skin.
He gave a deep laugh, wondering when his attorney would get a similar itch. The emerging Cosaint proved their pairing, but she could still fight it. He would have to tread carefully with her. She was smart and strong. Not the sort used to a male taking charge and invading every aspect of her life. But he would. Gargoyles were dominant and he intended to take her over completely. He had eyes watching her all the way home and to the door of her apartment. Jema would never be alone again, not now she had pinged on his radar. He leaned on the cinder block wall, letting the chill of stone and night wash over him and cool his heated skin.
“You’re grinning like a dick.” Styx broke the silence.
“That’s because my dick is grinning.” He was still hard. Although, being crafted from granite, he was always hard. But this was different. The taste of her released a thousand years of longing and left him driving railway spikes through concrete hard.
“Shit, Jacob, in the club?”
“She was hurting pretty bad. What would you do if your Natural was in pain?” He threw the question to his second.
Styx gave a bark of laughter. “Offer her the best headache cure known to man.”
“Exactly.” The grin remained plastered to his face.
“The Watcher intel was right, then? She’s a Natural?”
“Yup.” And not just any Natural, his Natural. He scratched his chest again, wondering what design would appear on his skin; no one knew, the pattern always a mystery.
Thank the Mother Goddess, Jema Johnson was all his, every delicious, mouth-watering, spine-tingling inch of her.
She just didn’t know it yet.
J went back to her apartment and slept. For the first time in god only knows how many months, she got six straight hours of blessed sleep. She awoke at seven a.m. and rolled over. The sheet dragging across her nipples made her gasp. Her body still thrummed to remembered pleasure. Sitting up, she drew her hands through a tangle of hair, rubbing the back of her neck. The ache in her brain had gone, replaced by an itch lower down. One that would only be satisfied by a guy built like a Sherman tank who could pin her to a wall with his gun barrel.
“Not gonna happen,” she told her libido. “Too much work to do, and not my type.”
Her libido questioned her taste in men in return. The bartender had made her come so hard, she obviously needed to rethink her type.
Thirty minutes and a tepid shower later, she poured herself a coffee and padded to her war room. Her apartment had an open plan kitchen and living area. A small L-shape protruded off the lounge, jutting back alongside her bedroom. She used the odd space as a home office. Three walls of the nook were lined with built in bookshelves and jam packed with volumes of every kind. A large table dominated the space and served as a work surface. Her laptop sat to one side, while files, papers, photos, and reports lay scattered over the tabletop.
She dropped into her chair when the phone chirruped. A pixie face grinned on her screen.
“Morning, Ariel.” Cradling the phone against her ear, JJ dragged a coaster over for her coffee mug. Then she grabbed her yellow pad from the previous night with the outline of her argument, refreshing her dazed brain.
“So your phone does work.”
“Yes, why?” She frowned at both Ariel and the notepad.
“You’re my best friend who hooked up with a rock hard god last night. I expected my phone to be full with either pictures or graphic details, and preferably graphic pics.”
JJ gave a yawn and took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve been asleep.”
Laughter tinkered over the connection. “Told ya!” Ariel squealed in delight. “Good then?”
“I thought so.” She couldn’t keep the uncertainty from her voice.
“Uh-oh. Do you think he’ll call?”
Her frown deepened. “Nope. But then I told him not to talk to me. I wasn’t interested in conversation. And I left before it got weird and didn’t leave a number.”
“Well, promise to go back with me next Friday, there’s plenty more hotties there waiting for us.” Ariel had a simplistic view on life; wait ten minutes and another cock would come along, more reliable than the bus service.
“I don’t think so; one night stands aren’t my style. That was a oncer. Plus there’s something about that place, Ariel. I don’t think it’s entirely legit. Did you see the guys working the room? They looked like mob enforcers.”
Ariel snorted. “Don’t come high and mighty with me, we met in juvie.”
JJ dropped the coffee onto the coaster. “My record is sealed.” She lowered her voice, as though someone could overhear.
“But my mouth isn’t. Promise, or I’ll suffer a sudden bout of verbal diarrhea.”
As a best friend, Ariel could sometimes be insufferable, but maybe she should check the club out again, try and sniff out what was going on there. There was an undertone that fired up all her senses. It could be tied to Matthews, and any information added to her arsenal against him. Plus, now with her curiosity about the bartender satisfied, she should be able to keep her panties on. “All
right, but only to keep you out of trouble.”
JJ ended the call and buried her phone under a stack of police reports, then turned her attention to the prosecution’s argument, which is this case, had as many holes as Swiss cheese and the substance of fairy floss.
Douglas Matthews was the instigator behind the scenes. A man who made her skin crawl and set the pain pounding through the base of her skull. He was a prime example that breeding, money, and power didn’t make you a worthy human being. He was the rot killing their city as his hunger and greed grew. Much needed funds for inner city projects were funneled into his pockets. The medical center where Ariel worked as a nurse was chronically short of resources, despite the six figure checks written out at charity functions. JJ knew in her gut where the money ended up, she just needed proof.
The power behind the throne, Matthews had his hand so far up the DA and governor he wore them both as puppets. Her brain baulked at labelling him evil, not believing in divine labels. The man wore a permanent black smudge around him; his very existence an oil slick. It spread and killed whatever it touched. She would destroy him; she just needed to find the right weapon.
Monday morning and the ache in JJ’s head slammed home like a petulant teenager after a heavy weekend. She walked through the courtroom doors to find Matthews and three of his goons waiting with the prosecution team. Immaculately clad in an Armani suit and radiating blond charm, Matthews detached from his group of sycophants and headed her way. She kept her eyes fixed on him, not the smear trailing three feet behind him and polluting the air in the wood paneled room.
“Good morning, Mr. Matthews.” JJ plastered her best fake smile on her face, while trying to ignore the rabid wasps swarming around him as they dove at her, their stingers plunging into her brain. She sucked in a quick breath as the pain bloomed, and dug her fingernails into her palm as a counterpoint.
He stopped too close, but she wouldn’t step back and give him the satisfaction of knowing he repulsed her.
He jerked his head to where her client sat, waiting. “What are you doing Ms. Johnson, wasting your talents defending scum like that? I could make you a very wealthy woman if you played for my team.”
She held her ground, her nails gouging deeper into her flesh. “I don’t like the way your team plays.”
He jabbed a finger in her face. “Think long and hard, Ms. Johnson, before you damage your career. I doubt Simon would approve of your clientele. I’m surprised he hasn’t put his foot down.”
She held his gaze. “I don’t answer to Simon, or anybody, Mr. Matthews. Nobody pulls my strings.”
JJ turned and walked away, managing to resist the urge to rub the back of her neck. His presence set her teeth on edge, the pain stabbed through her skull whenever he entered a room. She drew a deep breath, and squashed her body’s response down the best she could. She had to concentrate. The poor woman waiting at the front of the courtroom needed her full attention.
Mandy sat at the defense table. The guard had unchained her wrists, but she kept her hands tucked in her lap. Lank, blonde hair hid her face. When she looked up, wide eyes glistened with unshed tears, and nearly broke JJ’s heart. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, as though she were somehow to blame.
JJ seated herself next to her client and reached an arm around to give her a quick, reassuring hug. “Please, his sort has never worried me.”
They rose for the judge, a man she knew as hard but fair, and the DA launched into his verbose and emotive opening. She made notes as he droned on and patiently waited her turn. It broke her heart the way she had to serve up Mandy like a Sunday roast, but she knew the proceedings demanded theatre. The case was set down for all week; but she had a personal bet to have it tossed by the end of the day.
Rising, she strode to the middle of her stage, and proceeded to lay out the abuse the tiny woman suffered over the previous twelve months. Reports, photos, broken bones. Systematically, she broke down the prosecution’s case, knocking over their cardboard buildings. The day wore on, the clock edged closer to four pm. Then she laid her trump card.
“I’d like to call Samuel Williams, please your Honor.”
The DA leapt to his feet. “Objection, there has been no mention of this witness.”
“Oh, he’s not a witness.” She flashed a smile.
“Explain Ms. Johnson.” The judge peered over the top of his glasses.
“He’s a prop, your Honor.”
“A prop?” Eyebrows shot up, hovering over the wire rimmed glasses.
“Yes, sir. I promise he won’t say a word.”
The judge dropped one eyebrow and left the other up in the air, her cue to clue him in on her little game.
“Sir, we both know a picture is worth a thousand words. I could bore you for the next hour until we’re out of time for the day, rattling off height-weight comparisons and minute statistical differentials. Or, I could stand Mr. Williams in the middle of the court room for five minutes for a succinct visual.”
The judge narrowed his eyes. JJ knew she walked a line, but she also knew he hated being late for dinner, and he loathed having to wade through figures and numbers. Math wasn’t their strong suit; that’s why they became lawyers and not accountants. “I’ll allow it. As long as he doesn’t open his mouth.”
The call went down the room for Williams to be brought forward. JJ walked to Mandy and squeezed her shoulder. “Trust me,” she whispered. The other woman nodded her head.
Williams appeared and she took the man’s arm and led him to a spot in front of the judge. “Your Honor, this gentleman is the exact same height, weight, and build, as the deceased.” She turned her attention to her client. “Would you come here please, Ms. Simpson?”
Mandy rose and walked to her on shaky limbs. The petite woman’s gaze took in the towering man and no one could fail to notice the tremble running through her frail body. JJ looped an arm around her shoulders and positioned her client next to the prop. The exercise was the visual equivalent of putting a Chihuahua puppy next to a full-grown timber wolf.
She watched the judge’s eyes, assessing the moment her point sunk in. “Thank you both.” She dismissed the client and their visual aid. Mandy scurried back to her seat and rubbed her hands over her arms.
The judge glared at JJ, and she resisted the urge to bite her lip. He banged his gavel, a heavy scowl over his face. “Fifteen minute recess.”
Crap. I don’t know which way this is going to go.
They all rose as the judge slipped away to his chambers.
The DA crowed. “You’ve pissed him off, Johnson. The diva just made a tactical error.”
Mandy looked close to tears.
JJ took her hand. “Just wait, it’ll be ok.”
As she turned, her gaze caught two men seated at the back of the courtroom, the bartender, and bouncer from Friday night. Her heart jumped and her throat went dry. Her one night stand wore a white t-shirt under a black leather bomber jacket and looked like the next defendant. He radiated trouble, and she knew she should stay far, far away from him and whatever flashed red about that club in the back of her head. She had enough on her plate with Matthews; she didn’t need another problem giving her splitting headaches. So why, when her eyes met slate grey ones and he gave a lazy smile, did her innards turn to liquid?
Because he cured your headache, her treacherous libido pointed out.
The bailiff called everyone back to their seats. JJ stood with Mandy, who swayed on her feet, as the judge returned and took his seat.
His gaze flicked from her to the DA before settling back on her. “I’m tossing this case. All charges are dismissed.” He banged his gavel, before pointing it at the DA. “Don’t ever bring a facetious case like this before me again, wasting both my time and court resources. Do your homework, not someone else’s bidding.”
Matthews roared from behind the public rail and hurled abuse at his team of sock puppet lawyers. JJ busied her hands packing her briefcase, or she would have given him a
one-fingered salute.
Mandy gave her a brief hug. “Thank you.” A shy smile transformed her face.
One tiny smile, and the woman’s smudge lightened a shade, from dirty white, to not so dirty white, and JJ knew the process of healing began. The slight woman worried her though. So vulnerable, and Matthews would seek revenge for the death of his son. She needed to come up with a plan to ensure Mandy’s safety, but the headache pounded through her and drowned everything out. Each day it became worse and nothing dulled the pain, except one brief encounter in a bar, three days ago.
She walked with Mandy from the courtroom.
Matthews leapt on her, Mandy dodged behind. “This isn’t over.” He threw her a cold look and leaned closer. “I’ll topple you from your perch.” He strode to his defeated team, his black cloud billowing behind like an opera cloak.
She closed her eyes as the pressure built in her head, threatening to drag her into unconsciousness. She swayed on her heels when a strong arm wrapped around her waist.
“Easy baby, I’ve got you.”
Pain swirled from her body like water down a drain as his warmth enveloped her. She drew a deep relieved breath, as the darkness scampered away, and she could think again.
Opening her eyes, she found Mr. Bump & Grind staring at her. He stood inches from her, acting like her own personal shield. His large body blocked out all stimuli as effectively as a concrete wall. The thought of walls made her nipples tightened at the memory of him pinning her to one, and the most intense orgasm she ever experienced.
Snippets of information struggled to coalesce in her mind.
“You’re not just a bartender.”
His full lips quirked. “No. It’s the façade, not the full job description.”
Another breath. Questions cascaded through her brain, and then one became more insistent. Shit, Mandy.
“We’ll take her somewhere safe,” he answered her unspoken concern.
Behind him, the large bouncer from the club took Mandy’s hand and gently tucked it into the crook of his arm, protecting her with his body as they walked past Matthews and his henchmen. Gentle Mandy, normally so scared of large men, went with him willingly, even giving a bright wave to JJ as she stepped through the double doors.