by J. A. Huss
“Feel free to risk your parents, West. Oh, I forgot. You don’t have any.”
“Fuck you.”
“Well,” Mac says with a slight laugh. “I guess you’re part of them too now, Shrike. Because like it or not, you’ve been doing their dirty work for a decade. Your fingerprints are all over this bullshit. And how much do you want to bet that they’re setting you up for a real big fall right now?”
I don’t take that bet. Just nod my head and agree. “So tell me what to do about it. Because if I go down, you go down too.”
They all look at me like I just threatened them. Even Pax, which kinda hurts since he is my best fucking friend.
“You can’t possibly believe this is about me,” I say. “It’s about us. So you guys had better come up with a plan real fast, or we’re all going to prison. Because they’ve had ten years to set us up. Ten years to plan their end game. And Five isn’t coming to save us this time. This time… we’re on our own.”
Chapter Twenty-Four - KATYA
“Well,” Ariel says in the ground-floor office of Hook-Me-Up. She’s holding her winter coat, just about to hang it on a hook off to the left of the lobby. “I thought you were in the shower.”
I look around, trying to determine if anyone is close enough to hear our conversation, and then decide I’m safe. “I had to get permission.”
I expect a ton of questions about that statement, but Ariel’s nod and acceptance reminds me that she is a professional. “Follow me.”
She slips the coat back on and pushes her way through the front door. I do follow—I don’t have much choice—and catch up with her at the curb.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Ariel says nothing. Just looks left, then right, and steps off the curb to cross the street.
Again, I follow.
Thirty seconds later I realize where we’re headed. Sick Boyz tattoo shop. As soon as Ariel pushes the door open the buzzing of tattoo machines fills my ears. I follow Ariel down a hallway. One side is nothing but floor-to-ceiling examples of tattoos, the other side is a line of private tattoo rooms, four of which are filled with customers and artists.
The last room is empty and once we enter, Ariel starts talking. “No one can hear anything in this place. Lucky, huh.”
She’s right. If I were wearing a wire—and I’m not—the audio would be useless with all the buzzing.
“OK, tell me what we’re up against tomorrow.”
I screw up my face as I consider her question. “You’re not going to question my loyalties or accuse me of being a spy?”
“Are you loyal?”
I just blink at her for a second. “No. If I’m not fucking someone over I’m the one getting fucked over.”
“OK,” Ariel says, considering my answer. “But you are honest. So this meeting tomorrow. They set it up? These Silver people?”
“How much do you know?”
“Look, you’re back in town after four years and you’re trying to hook up with my brother. You’re his ghost. Can we at least agree on that?”
“I’m not here for him. I mean, I want to be here for him. But I’m here for Weston Conrad. The people—one of the people I work for. He wants something from Weston. Something to do with gold. And before you ask anything else, I don’t know any more. I work by direct order only. When you rang, I texted them, and their answer was to meet you. I’m assuming they thought they’d get some kind of intel out of it.”
“They won’t,” Ariel says. But then she says, “Is this about Weston Conrad’s secret treasure?”
“So much for not giving me intel, Ariel.”
“I’m pretty sure everyone involved already knows something about the treasure. And we’re not giving up shit. Clearly they don’t understand how many resources we control in Fort Collins. Believe me, we cover our bases.”
“You don’t cover your bases well enough to fool them, Ariel. I’m telling you—”
“Regardless,” she says, waving a hand. “What do you think will happen tomorrow? Do I need snipers?” She says this casually. Like she’s asking if I’d like fries with that.
“You have snipers?”
“Not on me, obviously. But I can get them. Do I need them?”
I consider her question for a moment. “I don’t think they’re going to make a move tomorrow. I think when I get back from that meeting they’re going to ask me what I know. And I’m going to tell them something and they will give me another order. That’s how it usually works.”
“Is this how you make money?” Ariel asks. “Oliver wasn’t too keen on telling me what you do for a living.”
“No.” I almost laugh. “I don’t take their money, for fuck’s sake. I’m their prisoner. Whatever they pay me stays in the bank account they set up. I’m not stupid enough to actually use it. I make money as an erotic artist.”
“Uh-huh,” Ariel says.
“Don’t call the kettle black, pot.”
She smiles. A small laugh comes out. “I’m not judging. I’m just curious what an erotic artist actually is.”
“Ask your father.”
Her face. Jesus Christ, her face goes from friendly to I-will-kick-your-ass in two seconds flat.
“It wasn’t a derogatory remark. I’m just saying your father used to paint naked women, OK? He’s what I’d call an erotic artist.”
“So you paint naked women?”
“I paint myself,” I say. “Naked.”
“Hmmm.”
“Is that enough small talk for you?”
“What’s your end game here? Get Oliver? Me? My parents? Who?”
“You’re asking the wrong person, Ariel. I’m not driving this car. I have no clue what they’re doing. I just want to save my little sister from being indebted to these people and I’ve worked my ass off for the past four and a half years to get her to this point. I don’t even know your secrets, OK? I have no clue why they’re interested in you.”
“But you’re here to find out secrets about Weston Conrad? Who hired you for that?”
“You don’t need to know that,” I say. “And I’m certainly not going to tell you.”
She looks away, focusing on something over my shoulder. “OK, then. Good talk.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“You have something more to say?”
“I don’t know. Some support would be nice.”
“Support?” Ariel looks at me like she’s truly confused. “Oh.” She smiles. “I get it. Team-building. Well, Kat, I wish I could say welcome to the family, but I’m afraid I’m going to take your advice and not trust you. I’m going to assume you’ll be wired tomorrow, or you’ve told them the location—”
“I won’t be. And I didn’t.”
“—or you’re going to take our plan and find a way to fuck it up once you know about it.”
“I don’t think this is about your plan. There was never any mention of a plan. I think this is about gaining your trust. Getting you to let your guard down so I can—”
“Fuck me over. Well, I’m the fucker, Kat. Me. Not you. But we’ll go through with this and see what happens because Tori insists on it. I’ll walk you out.”
I wonder if I should try to keep the conversation going. Or ask if maybe Ariel might bring Tori over here right now so we could have a chat.
But a tall guy, with even more tattoos than Oliver, appears in the open doorway. “Excuse me,” he says. “You’re in my room. Is there something I can help you with?”
I look around for Ariel, realize she left me standing there, and then shake my head and make a run for the front door. When I push through, Ariel is just disappearing into her building down the block.
Good talk, Ariel. I hope we can do it again some time.
But in the meantime… I need to figure out a way to get Oliver’s attention tonight.
If my life is going to fall to pieces, then I want to spend every minute I can with the only man who can put me back together.
Cha
pter Twenty-Five - OLIVER
“I’m outta here,” I say, calling to Ariel as I make my way down the stairs to go home. “Longest two fucking days of my life.”
“OK,” she calls back. “See you tomorrow.”
I wish I could take tomorrow off. I wish I could take the rest of the week off, to be honest.
Ever since the guys left I’ve been checking my window for signs of Katya. Relentlessly.
Not even a light on in that place. In fact, I don’t even know if that’s her apartment, so spending an entire afternoon pining for her is stupid.
When I get outside I remember I drove the Camaro instead of the bike and a wave of disappointment rolls over me. I love the car and all, but the bike always makes things better.
I get in, start it up, and make my way down the alley. My house is less than two minutes away, so I turn right and start rumbling down Jefferson. I’m just about to get in the left lane so I can turn into my driveway when I catch a glimpse of a girl sitting at the bus stop bench across the street.
“Katya?” I ask out loud. I swerve the wheel and pull up next to her, tabbing the window down. “Kat?” I call.
She smiles.
And then I realize what she’s wearing and I smile too. Her makeshift Parson School for Girls uniform—complete with unauthorized tartan skirt, white knee socks, and blue blazer.
“Do you need a ride?” I ask. It’s almost dark but there’s an orange-red sunset off in the west that makes her whole face glow.
“I’m waiting for my brother to pick me up from school. And if he sees you talking to me, he’ll kick your ass.” She twists her hair and bites her lip as she says this.
“Is that right?” I say, trying not to laugh. “What if I said your brother told me to come get you and take you home and keep you safe?”
“He did?” Kat says, standing up and straightening out her skirt.
“He did. Get in,” I say, leaning over the passenger side to open the door for her.
She grabs her purse and slips into the seat. I rev the engine as I drive off and then go around the block so I can enter my place from the back.
Maybe I do get lucky every once in a while. I could’ve picked her up on the bike, but it’s not nearly as sexy as the Camaro.
“So you were waiting for me, huh?” I ask.
“I was hoping for dinner. Did you already eat?”
“No. I just left work. What did you do today?” I cut the engine and look at her in the approaching darkness.
“Painted. Took some photos. Sold one online. Packaged it up to mail tomorrow. What about you?”
I smile at her. “Same old shit. Sister meeting. Mister meeting. Paperwork. Stalked your building from my office window hoping for a shadow in the curtains. Assuming that’s your apartment.”
“Peeper,” she says, sliding her hand onto my leg. It’s hot. Or maybe it’s not. But it feels hot through the denim of my jeans. I look at her hand for a second and then find her eyes. “Can I stay here tonight?”
“You bet,” I say, placing my hand over hers.
“Not afraid of me?”
I shake my head. “Never.”
“Did you talk to Ariel this afternoon? About me?”
“No,” I say. “Why?”
“If you do,” she says, ignoring my question, “don’t make any rash judgments before talking to me first.”
I pat her hand. “Deal. Wanna eat out or in?”
“In,” she says. And even though she usually has an air of strength and control about her… tonight Kat just looks… vulnerable.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Not yet,” she says.
“But you’ll let me know if something does go wrong?”
“You’ll be the first, I swear.” She crosses her heart with a finger.
“OK,” I say, giving her hand a final squeeze and then getting out of the car. Kat gets out too, and follows me towards the back door of the building. We stop so I can disarm the alarm, and then I wave her inside and flip on the lights.
“Don’t you feel exposed in here?” Kat says. “With all these massive garage-door windows?”
“They’re mirrors at night,” I say, taking off my jacket and throwing it over the seat of a barstool lined up next to the kitchen island. “You can’t really see in. Unless you put your face right up to it. So what do you want to eat?”
Kat looks at me with a sly grin. She walks forward slowly, her little skirt swishing against her long legs. “You first,” she says. “Food later.”
When she gets directly in front of me her hands are on my belt buckle, making it jingle as she flips it open and goes for the button on my jeans.
I let out a long breath and lean back against the counter as she drops to her knees. “What if your brother finds out?”
She laughs, a real smile that warms me up even more than I already am. “Don’t worry,” Kat says, busy pulling my cock out of my pants. “You can take him.”
And then she puts her mouth on me. Her wet tongue and hot breath. Her hands squeezing my shaft. Pumping up and down.
“God,” I say, my fingers automatically going to her hair. I fist it tight. Urging her to take me deeper. “I’ve missed you.”
She pulls back just enough to say, “‘You express me better than I express myself. You shall be more to me than my poem.’ Everything is OK for now.”
“Katya,” I say, touched when she recites the last words I ever put on her body.
“Just let me have my way with you,” she says. And when her mouth resumes on the tip of my cock, I let her have her way.
She is more to me than my poem.
Chapter Twenty-Six - KATYA
I look at him. My lips gently sliding over the tip of his cock. My tongue licking seductively before I take him deeper into my mouth. His hands in my hair urge me on, but I pull back and say, “I want you naked.”
He smiles first, then laughs as he reaches behind his head and lifts his shirt. I stare at his stomach as more skin appears.
The tattoo across the full length of his abdomen is a lone man on a motorcycle ringed by scripted words. They are hard to read but I don’t need to read them. I know them by heart.
Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
When I gaze up at him again he’s shirtless. Full attention on me. “I choose you,” he says. His fingertips gently brush against my cheek. “It felt like you were gone forever and now it feels like you never left.”
“It’s funny how that works,” I say.
But he shakes his head slowly as he plays with my hair. “There’s nothing funny about it. It’s just chemistry, Katya. There are so many open roads and we ended up walking this one together. If you think it’s an accident, then you hurt me. There’s no greater purpose for this life than to find the partner who understands your soul.”
I want to close my eyes and fall into his tenderness. It’s the one thing I could always count on with Oliver. He always knows just what to say. He always knows how to make me feel special.
“You understand my soul.”
It’s true. The first day we met, it felt like a reunion. “You always did have a way with words.”
His fingertips pull my hair back and expose my neck and my ear. He plays with the thin white line and then begins to trace the letters he put there four years ago as he bends down to kiss my lips.
“Don’t go,” he whispers into my mouth. “Don’t leave again. No matter what happens, you have to stay.”
“I won’t leave,” I say back. “I promise. This is where I make my stand, Mr. Match. Right here with you.”
He smiles as he kisses me again. Soft, small, fluttery kisses. His lips barely touching mine. “I don’t feel right,” he says. “Things are going to spin out of control.”
My hand comes up to his scratchy cheek and I place my palm flat against his face
. “It’s OK,” I breathe back. “You’ve been in control long enough. I got this, Mr. Match.”
His laugh breaks the moment. And when I stare into those thunderstorm eyes they are bright and happy. “You got this?”
I nod. “I do. You have nothing to worry about. I came back to make things right and I don’t care what it takes, I will make things right.”
“Promises,” he says in a low voice, “can always be broken. So if it comes down to me saving you or you saving me, I’ll expect you to step aside.”
“Deal,” I say, my eyes locked on his.
And with that promise, every secret we have, shared and unshared, is laid bare and no confidences are broken.
“You are the sweetest part of my day,” Oliver says, standing back up again. And then his hands are on the back of my head, urging my lips towards his cock once more. It’s like we’re part of a script or a movie, or a dream that was paused for this one very simple conversation and we are ready to resume once more.
I take him fully inside my mouth. Pressing my head forward, even without his urging. His cock presses against the soft palate of my throat and his urging is back. He grips my hair in his fists, forcing me to lean forward, open wider, and breathe deliberately through my nose.
His hips begin to rock against me, making his balls hit my chin with each thrust. I don’t consider myself any kind of sexual expert. I’ve spent the better part of my time away from Oliver trying to forget great sex ever existed. But because he is who he is, I try hard for him. I give it everything. I close up my mind and concentrate on his pleasure. I do this willingly because I know when it’s my turn, he will do the same for me.
I tilt my head up, letting him slide even further into my throat. A small gagging noise escapes and the saliva pools in my mouth and drips out, coating his cock with slick wetness.
Oliver hisses through his teeth, gripping my hair tightly as he lifts his head towards the ceiling and closes his eyes with a moan. “Katya,” he whispers.
I seal my lips around his shaft, sucking in as I wrap my hand tightly around his length. Now both hands, twisting lightly in opposite directions. I want to make him come first. Right now, before we do anything else, I need him to be satisfied. Seconds later his whole body tenses. His hands move from my hair to my shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to leave red marks as evidence.