King's Ransom: South Side Sinners MC

by BT Urruela

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the wind on her face, arms wrapped around his chest for dear life as they barreled down the open highway. The rumble of the bike between her legs and the roar of the engine ignited a fire in her. “Would you take me someday?” she blurted out. “I mean, you know, if I live and all goes well and you get your money, and the cartels don’t hack you up.”

  He paused, shocked. “Do you really mean that? Or are we talking alternate realities still?”

  “I’m serious. I would love that. I mean, I’d probably be scared shitless at first, but I’d fucking love to try. I promise not to leave nail marks in your shoulders or back from hanging on too tight.” She backed away a little. “Is that stupid to ask?”

  “Not at all.” He paused for a moment, his skin becoming hot, his thoughts a storm. “Anybody who’s had the balls to stare death in the face, to take it head on, a bike would be no issue. Trust me, I know.” He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words, struggling to say out loud what he’d never said before. “I, uh … shit, I’ve never actually said this to anyone before, or even talked about it with anyone but Preach, but I tried to, uh, tried to kill myself when I was fourteen.”

  The heat surrounded him then, suffocating him. He needed to fill the silence between them. “Preach found me in the bathroom after busting the door open. I only know what he told me, but I guess he stuck two fingers down my throat and made me throw up every bit he could. Took me to the hospital after that and they pumped out more. Had to do some inpatient shit after I recovered.”

  He couldn’t believe he said it, couldn’t believe the words really escaped his lips, but felt a slight weight lifted because of it. “That’s why, when I saw you there, and the bottle, and all that … it really fucking hit home. Nobody knows that about me. Preach has never uttered a word and I’ve certainly never told anyone. I never felt comfortable talking about it. Always felt like people would treat me like a sideshow. I didn’t want attention. Didn’t even really want to die. I just …” He hesitated, his gaze distant, and then he said, “I just wanted an alternate reality where my mom was alive and my dad gave a shit. Where I was a kid with a chance.”

  Annalise reached up with trembling hands and cradled his cheeks, her delicate fingers entwined in his beard. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Dimitri. Even in this fucked-up way, I’m glad to have the chance to know you. All of you. Your past makes you the man here in this moment with me. I almost feel like I can tell you anything because you understand. You really understand.”

  “The feel of your hands on me …” His words lingered as he eyed her, just inches away, and felt the electric warmth that radiated from her hands against his cheeks. “It’s the best thing I’ve felt in a really long time. You feel safe to me. Like home.” He blinked, and then added, “Which is just about the weirdest thing I could probably say.”

  That close, with his truth laid bare, he felt completely vulnerable. He wanted to look away but didn’t. Didn’t want to scare her. Didn’t want the anxiety to win.

  “Home,” she echoed quietly, her mind drifting to the possibility. She dared to picture them in a Hells Angels meets Norman Rockwell world. “Think, in our alternate reality, home would be like this?”

  He laughed, looking over the worn-down walls, the remnants of flowered wallpaper left behind. “I imagined us having some furniture. And maybe a picture or two on the walls.” His hand met his chin and he rubbed his beard. “Maybe some electricity and running water too.”

  She laughed, letting her hands fall away from his face. “Okay, true, so I guess glamping wouldn’t be our favorite pastime.” She snapped back to reality, taking in the age-fallen house around them.

  “Well, after your long day of ballet practice, and my long day of beating the shit out of people, I think you and I would really enjoy a quiet house by the lake.”

  “Maybe a bubble bath,” she added, looking at her loathsome condition. What would it be like to sink into a deep tub with him, oils and bubbles going everywhere.

  “Some wine and a good flick,” he finished for her. “Or just sit outside and listen to the bugs talk.”

  “Yeah, I could go for that.” She took a deep breath and wondered if death row inmates had such fantasies. “I wish I met you two months ago.” She let the breath out and desperately wanted to lay her head against his chest. Her body and mind were nearly exhausted from the ordeal but she didn’t want to fall asleep yet. It was the last night, the only night, they had together. However the whole thing turned out, tomorrow, he would be gone from her life for good.

  “Say we did meet prior to this, and I was honest about what I do, what would you have said?”

  “That depends,” she started with her half-smile, “if you gave me the chance to get to know you first, or if you rolled up and introduced yourself as an outlaw mercenary working with my father.”

  He laughed. “That is the problem at the end of the day. I would never approach you announcing myself like that, but that’s why I’d never approach someone like you. I don’t lie to get what I want, and I don’t hold back when questions are asked. Sooner or later, a girl like you is gonna ask, and a guy like me is gonna have to answer.”

  “Then I’m glad you took me,” she answered honestly, the admission surprising her. If it was just Stockholm Syndrome, it was in full effect by that point. It had to be. “It’s a fucking cruel trick of fate that we would pass a hundred times in the same damn city and never know each other. Never talk, never touch.”

  He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “It truly sickens me to think, feel, and say that I’m glad I took you too. I don’t see any other way I’d meet you, no way I’d get the chance to talk to you, and I feel better because of it. I know that’s a strange thing to say, but I feel better knowing you.”

  Annalise closed her eyes and imagined passing him in the street. Would he notice her? Would she have seen him? She couldn’t explain how the irony hurt. “Of all the cages, in all the windowless basements, in all the world, I happened into yours,” she teased, unable to face their reality with anything but humor. “We’ll always have this dank house.”

  Her face was only inches from his, her nose almost brushing his chin.

  He chuckled, shaking his head, but also, he took in the moment, scanning the concrete floor, and the remnants of a hard wood by the closet. He took a deep breath and let it out slow, paused, and took pleasure in it all. In her and him, regardless of everything else, every fucked-up broken bit of it, finding something in each other, a unity, a bond.

  “Honestly, I’ve lost countless hours of sleep over every which way this thing could go wrong, from me in prison coveralls to six feet deep with a bullet in my head, and no matter the ugly my mind can conjure up, I will still appreciate this right here.” He motioned between them. “Whatever this is. I’ll appreciate knowing somebody else out there feels the way I feel. Has faced the demons I’ve faced. And I’ll always appreciate that.”

  He put a hand to her cheek and rested it there, enjoying the way she looked back at him. “You’re special, you know?” Dimitri muttered, and he wanted to take her in, hold her, protect her. But protect her from whom? He was the bad guy in the scenario. But somehow the feelings persisted and the impossible seemed possible. The empty felt full.

  She didn’t know how to answer him; she just turned her face into his hand slightly, letting her lips touch the skin on the palm of his hand. She closed her eyes and rested there just for a moment. Imagining, wishing, not wanting to pull away. Two totally different people from completely different worlds, but the same on the inside, like two parts of the same soul. She almost whispered, unwilling to break the moment between them by speaking aloud.

  “Is there a chance, no alternate reality, no daydreaming, but a God’s honest chance of us reconnecting after this? Is that even a possibility? I mean, I know family get togethers are off-limits and all.” He grinned, but the nervousness was evident in his furrowed brow. “But really …
if only to continue the conversation. I’ve had a hard time imagining me leaving tonight and poof, that’s it.”

  “I know I promised to forget everything, but, if I’m honest, every time I hear a bike, I will be looking for you. Each time I step on that stage, I will picture you in the darkness.” She lifted her head from his hand and looked into his eyes. “And if I pass you on the street, no fucking way I can just keep walking.”

  Annalise bit her lower lip nervously. She pictured him rolling up on his bike and picking her up after ballet practice. She could see them then, him putting his leather jacket over her white tutu and fastening the helmet tight, then climbing on and clutching his chest as they rode away. What would it be like to feel him? Really feel him. She took a breath and suddenly the realization that this may be the last night of their lives came over her. A great pain, grieving the dream she never knew she wanted, came over her like a hurricane brewing over the open ocean. If it were their last night, no way in hell was she going to waste it. She leaned in, hoping beyond all hope she wasn’t about to make a fucking fool of herself, and gingerly put her lips on his.

  She felt him suck in a sharp, shocked breath, but he lingered for a moment before pulling away. “Annalise, I don’t want to be something you look back on and regret.” He forced the words out between clenched teeth. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest. Two sides to him, caught in fierce battle.

  “What if we don’t have time for regrets?” she asked, her voice lower, almost sultry. Pheromone laced notes left her lips and assaulted his ears, shattering his defenses.

  “Fuck, Annalise.” He breathed and grabbed her, one hand gripping her hair, and the other pulling her closer to him. He descended on her mouth, but it was no schoolyard kiss. Like a fire that had been slowly simmering and suddenly burst into flame, his lips enveloped and incinerated hers.

  “I don’t want to let you go,” he breathed between mouthfuls of her sweetness.

  “Mmm, then don’t,” Annalise returned and wrapped her arms around him, one hand in his hair and the other clutching his bicep. Her breath ran away from her but she didn’t care. The roughness of his beard on her face and the softness of his lips created a frenzy of sensations. The whiskey still lingered in his mouth, warm and wet, and she was desperate for more. She clenched his hair tightly, returning his kiss, her body melting into his. There were a thousand reasons why it was a bad idea, but they were tossed out like a half-eaten can of ravioli. Dimitri King had her fully in his control and at that moment, there was nowhere in the world she would rather be.

  He swiped the bag out of the way, along with whatever was left inside, and he laid her down on the floor. For a moment, he just looked at her, his heart pacing, his breathing slowed, and he took in the view before him. Not the tousled hair or torn clothes, but the big, blue, guileless eyes that looked back at him as if he were the man he always wanted to be.

  Annalise lay there, her chest heaving as she watched him, waiting for him to make the next move. She had never in her life been kissed like that. Never wanted to be kissed like that. Her lips still tingled with the heat and slight abrasions of his beard. A tremendous ache took over her. She wanted … needed him to touch her again.

  He cradled her face with his hand and looked deep into her eyes, felt as if, in that moment, they were somewhere else. Somewhere far from concrete and handcuffs, far from lawlessness and corrupt politicians. There, they existed in a world all their own. As he kissed her again, he pushed his body against hers, welcoming her warmth. He wanted more of her. All of her. But he didn’t want to push her. Didn’t want any bit of it to feel fraudulent. He pulled her up into him, her legs overlapping his, her face just an inch away.

  He dove into her neck, trailing little bites and kisses from her shoulder to her ear. He rested his lips there, brushing softly against her earlobe, and took a deep breath. He couldn’t believe this was real. Couldn’t believe she was so close, her hands on him, her lips on his. Couldn’t believe how bad he wanted to be inside her.

  His beard and teeth on her neck sent little explosions of electricity that traveled down her neck. A soft moan escaped her lips and she sank her nails into his shoulder. Her head fell back as he worked between her shoulder and her ear. When he nipped her ear, Annalise squealed, startled, but at the same time desperate for those lips to be all over her. Her body burned with anticipation and when he moved back to her mouth, she almost devoured him. Her heart took off like a hotrod barreling for the edge of a cliff. She was playing a deadly game and knew this would not turn out well, but in that moment, Annalise no longer cared. Overwhelming desire converged with feral adrenaline to create a perfect torrent. Turning her body toward his, she slid her legs around slowly so that she was straddling him, both hands deeply entrenched in his hair. Every rule, every inhibition shattered, one at a time. When she found his mouth once more, her hips moved to the rhythm her wild heart created.

  He groaned deeply, like the wind that stirred through the mountains low and powerful as she slid across him. His faded jeans restrained him like a vice, sending lightning bolts of pleasure and pain with each movement. He moved with her as if he could hear the music that took over her. Her body swayed and bent, creating a low rumble that built with in him like a storm on the horizon. He needed to feel her, taste her, take her. Sweat beaded on his forehead, the room fucking hot as hell.

  “Goddamn, Annalise.”

  “I think God forgot about me a long time ago,” she replied with a slight shrug. The winces of pain and the way his eyes came alive each time she moved made her feel powerful and enchanting. Not a showerless captive, not a suicidal ballerina, not some fuckstick’s daughter. He looked at her like the most beautiful thing in the whole fucking world. For a brief time, she was able to forget, and let go of it all.

  In her mind, they were alone on the porch of that stunning summer lake house. She looked at him, illuminated in the moonlight, and moved again; this time, grinding deeper, and she reached for the flask.

  He shook his head and cradled her chin with his hand. “Do you trust me, Annalise?” he asked his voice low, rumbling.

  She nodded, her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “I trust you too. And I would never do anything to break your trust in me. I may live a rough life, but loyalty means everything in it. Everything.”

  Annalise watched a wicked grin form on his face and his eyes blaze with a wild hunger as he closed in and kissed her hard, passionately. She sighed against his lips, relishing the feel of them on hers. He trailed kisses from her lips to her chin, and then her neck, and she basked in the way it felt to have his lips devouring her skin. The night air chilled the wake of his kisses, and she shivered when he lifted the worn T-shirt over her head and discarded it like an old rag; goose bumps trailed her skin. She was at once self-conscious and pulled away, one hand covering the wound on her side, the other hand covering a small surgical scar beneath her belly button.

  He stopped immediately, frozen, and gazed at her for a moment before pulling his own shirt off. “Annalise, your scars are beautiful. You are so beautiful.”

  She looked at the floor, struggling for a way to tell to him, his hands against her arms warm, welcoming. She bit her lip and looked away. What could she possibly say?

  “Dimitri, you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. You’re genuine and kind, and raw and fucking beautiful. I don’t know why but I do trust you. More than I probably should. I know this may be the only time, the last time”—her voice broke—“but I need this with you to be real. I need you to be okay with the ugly and broken parts, and not just the pretty package.” She sucked in a deep breath, her lower lip trembling, and searched his face.

  Dimitri rubbed his hands softly against her shoulders, wincing. “You can’t possibly see how incredible you are. Not just on the outside.” He traced his finger around the bandage on her side. “Scars, visible or not, aren’t ugly reminders of what you have been through. They’re a testament to your strength and courage
in the face of everything. A badge of fucking honor, Annalise.” He moved his hand to the thick scar that matched the Matryoshka doll tattoo on the opposite ribcage. It was thick and off-color from his tanned skin. His eyes remained on the jagged scar his dad had accidentally given him on his twelfth birthday, with the help of a broken vase, and he said, “Wear them proudly. They’re one of the many things that make you the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

  She let out the breath she had been holding with a slight laugh. “You’re full of shit, you know that,” she whispered, lowering herself onto him. She relished the feel of his warm skin against hers. The electric feel of him took her breath away. Like two stars colliding with one another in ferocious elegance, everything else was sucked away, vanished, and the red-hot energy firing between them was all that remained.

  Dimitri wrapped his arms around her, squeezing. “Not full of shit at all, lady. Actually, seeing clearly for the first time in a long time. And tonight, Annalise, I’m gonna hold you till you fall asleep. But when we get out of here, if you ever speak to me again, I’ll take you somewhere far from here and we’ll waste a few days together.”

  Her skin felt like silk against his chest. He couldn’t imagine a better feeling in the whole world, but the thought of letting her go tore at him too, the thought of leaving her in the morning twisting his guts up. He looked over the decrepit space around them as she laid her head against his chest, her breath teasing his skin, and he knew she didn’t belong there, knew what he was doing was wrong. The guilt plagued him, eating at his soul. Still, the excruciating perfection of having her in his arms in that moment was enough—enough to make him force the guilt away, and to fall asleep himself sometime after her, thinking about an alternate universe where the two of them could really be an item.

  Nineteen

  When three a.m. came, he was miserable. She had finally fallen asleep for a couple of hours in his arms. He had drifted off for a bit too. When he woke, he could still feel the buzz of her lips against his. Could still feel the euphoric feeling of their conversations and their future plans. But then, as he readied to leave, the ache came once more, and he wanted to wake her, to kiss her hard and tell her he was taking her out of there, far, far away to a place where no one could hurt her. Not her father, not Robbie, no one, and they would live happily ever after.