by Keri Lake
“Forgive me.”
His warm palm cups one of my ass cheeks, and when he squeezes, I let out a quiet moan. Everything the man does is unwittingly sexual. “Forgiveness only comes with divine punishment, Ivy. Reparation for your sins.”
His knuckles jerk me forward as he tears my nylons, and I brace a hand on the wall to keep from tumbling forward. Once stable again, I grip my ankles as he commanded me to and lick my lips, imagining the sting of that paddle against my flesh.
A smooth, cold object brushes against the lips of my exposed pussy, and I dig my nails into my ankle bones, my muscles trembling with the added imbalance of the heels still strapped to my feet.
“I bought this in New York. The moment I saw it in one of those sex toy shops, it reminded me of you, pécheresse.”
“What were you doing in a sex toy shop?”
“Looking for a gift to bring home to you.” He spreads my ass and groans, running his thumb up and down the seam.
Eyes closed, I focus on his touch, the faint tickle of his skin over my sensitive flesh.
A hard thwack against my ass sends an outcry shooting up my throat, and I suck my lip between my teeth, concentrating on the delicious sting that follows. Another smack follows the first, creating jagged flashes of light behind my screwed eyelids, the hot wash of tingles chasing the fleeting pain.
“The Sacrement of Penance is the most beautiful act of obedience. It renews and washes you clean. And you are filthy, aren’t you, pécheresse?”
His thumb presses against my asshole, and I don’t realize I’ve bitten into my lip until the salty taste of blood hits my tongue.
Another hard crack smarts my flesh, and I cry out when the burn of my punishment trails over my ass. A cool breeze provides just enough tickle, and I twist to see Damon’s face hidden behind my propped ass, where he blows on the tortured flesh.
“Perhaps I was too rough that time?” The stern command in his voice gives way to the soft-spoken man from before, and I can practically hear the remorse in his tone.
“I’m fine,” I rasp, still wracked with lust.
He rounds my body, positioning himself between me and the wall in front of me. Something brushes my lips, and I look up to see his fist clamped around his cock. He drags the weeping tip across my cheek, the fluids drying as fast as he smears them there. On another sweep over my mouth, I strain my neck to suck the tip of him, keeping my hands at my ankles, and the sharp sting of his palm gripping a handful of hair has me breathing hard through my nose, exhaling the pain.
“On your knees.”
I don’t have to look up to know that strained voice is spoken past clenched teeth.
Releasing my ankles, I fall to my knees, grateful to be upright again, and take him into my mouth once more. Ridges and soft skin glide over my eager lips, as the ache from sucking him pulls at my jaw.
“On the bed, Ivy. I can’t do this anymore. I need to be inside of you.”
As he commands, I stumble toward the bed on wobbly heels, and the moment my knee hits the mattress, Damon’s palms are at my hips, drawing me back into him. Pressure hits my entrance before he slides inside, filling me, and I grip the sheets as those hands keep me still while he grinds himself so deep, I swear, he’s pierced my womb. Head buried into the mattress, I let the waning oxygen give just enough euphoria to feel high from the pleasure, and when he jackhammers against me, jostling my tits, my belly tightens with the first twinge of orgasm.
Tender flesh marks the spot where angry fingers dig into my hips, and his pace hastens with the rush of blood that swells his cock inside of me. “Ah, fuck!”
A cool rush chases after warm tingles as the climax explodes through me, and Damon’s fluids dribble down over my ass and thighs where he’s directed warm jets of cum. Probably the fastest, no-nonsense sex we’ve had yet.
“You really did miss me, didn’t you?” I ask through harsh breaths and the constant thump of my heart against my ribs.
The mattress bounces, where Damon collapses on the bed beside me, his skin glistening with sweat.
“More than I care to admit.”
“What does that mean?”
Hand stroking down his face, he looks like a man tortured by his desires. “It means the hotel sheet I slept under has probably seen better days.”
A chuckle escapes me, and I crawl over the damp, crumpled sheets of my own bed to lie next to him. “Did you look up an old girlfriend, or something?”
He lowers his hand and lifts his head off the pillow just enough to meet my gaze with a frown.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know priests masturbated in their free time.” Tracing a finger over his nipple, I glance up at him. “Is that what priests do when they’re alone in bed?”
“I wouldn’t begin to know what other priests do when they’re alone in bed.”
Again, I chuckle, but the laughter fades with a random flash of Calvin’s face in my thoughts. I’ll never get this bastard out of my head.
“I have to tell you something, Damon.” I don’t want to tell him, but staying quiet feels like a lie, and maybe it’s because he’s a priest, but that just doesn’t sit well with me.
“What is it?”
“I went to Calvin’s house—”
“Ivy …” he interrupts, slapping a hand over his eyes. “You can’t go snooping around like that. Someone might see you.”
“Um. Someone did.”
He jerks upright again, staring down at me.
“One of Calvin’s friends. A guy he plays cards with. I told him I was there to pick up my things. That we broke up.”
Head slamming back into the pillow, Damon’s displeasured groan only makes me feel worse.
“It was stupid of me to go back there, but he had the file from the hospital. If anyone came across that? They’d trace it right to my department. Right to me.”
He sighs, tucking his arm under his head. “You were able to retrieve the file?”
“Yes. And his computer.”
For the second time, his attention snaps to me. “Computer?”
“He had nudes of me. Again, not interested in anyone finding that shit. Could be motive. Don’t you watch crime TV?”
“I lived crime TV for most of my life. While I understand and appreciate your efforts to eliminate traces of evidence, the bottom line is, what you did was dangerous. Do you even know this guy? What he does? Because I’m guessing a friend of Calvin’s is most likely a business transaction.”
“I don’t even know his name.”
“Did he say, or do anything, threatening?”
“Only that he wanted to take me to the back of his car to help me forget about Calvin.”
His face morphs from concern to murder, and if I happened to be the reason for it, I’d be considering last rites right about now.
“I’m only telling you this because I think he might’ve bought my story. I declined, not exactly politely, but still, he let me go.”
Silence hangs between us for what seems like a whole minute.
“He let me go, Damon. And I promise you, I won’t go back there again.”
“Good. Because this guy who let you go? He’s damn sure he’s going to cross paths with you again.”
“What makes you so sure of that? According to Calvin, the guy fucks supermodels, or girls that look like one, anyway. He’s not going to waste his time on me.”
“He will if he thinks you know what happened to Calvin. And if Calvin is someone important to him, he isn’t going to wait for you to come to him.”
24
DAMON
It’s three in the morning, when I wake up from only two hours of sleep. After Ivy dozed off, I spent the next few hours thinking, contemplating my life.
Dryness in my throat begs for some water, so I push up from the bed, my attention catching on something at the window across the room. Rubbing my eyes, I squint against sleepiness.
The window is wide open. An object dangles from the cord of the shades.
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Sliding from the bed, I tip my head, padding quietly across the floor to keep from waking Ivy, and the object sharpens into view.
Philippe hangs by his neck, not moving, his vacant, glassy stare telling me he’s gone.
The rage starts small in my stomach, churning up sickness, before exploding into my muscles. With clenched teeth, I rush toward the window and find what I’m certain is his murderer, an intruder who broke in while we were sleeping, clambering down the fire escape. Heel slamming into the underside of the window frame, I widen the gap and climb through, racing barefoot down the stairwell after the asshole. The metal structure sways as I hustle down each flight, and that’s when the bastard glances back at me.
I don’t recognize his face, but now I’ll never forget it, with his dark hair slicked back and pretty boy features that tell me he probably spends more time primping than killing. Which is why he opted for an innocent cat, instead of killing Ivy and me.
I haven’t even broken a sweat when I reach the bottom stair and hop over the railing to the sidewalk. Cold pavement slams against the soles of my feet, as I gain on him.
Not so much a runner, either.
Up the next block, I lower my shoulder and barrel him into the alley between the apartment building and a small strip mall. The two of us crash to the concrete, the surface scraping across my skin on impact. As he reaches down his pantleg for what I assume is a weapon, I scramble over top of him and hammer my fist into his face.
Once. Twice. Three times to the face.
Hot adrenaline takes over, and I take hold of his collar, lifting his bloody face to mine. “Who the fuck are you?”
He spits blood at me, and I drop him, cracking my knuckles against his cheek in a backhand smack.
Weary laughter breaks through his mouth on a spray of new blood. “You kill me, and you’re a dead man.” The nasally tone of his voice tells me his nose is broken.
“You killed my fucking cat. I have no mercy for you.” I draw my fist back for another punch.
“Neither will El Cabro Blanco,” he says, before I follow through with the hit.
“What did you say?”
“Your girl is marked. She’s been marked since she got involved with that dumb fucker, Calvin. He protected her. But he ain’t here to protect her anymore.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“You wouldn’t be sleeping in her bed, if he was.”
“What are you to this El Cabro Blanco? You’re obviously not a killer. Of humans, anyway.”
Head rolling against the pavement, he snarls his lip and flinches. “I’m the eyes of the goat.”
“Why kill my cat?”
“To send a message. Let her know they’re coming for her.”
“Where is he? Where can I find El Cabro Blanco?”
“You can’t. But he’ll find you. His pajaros are everywhere.”
The smug expression on his face is enough for me to want to snap his neck right here. He murdered my cat. The last living piece of my old life. “Do you know why that cat is special to me?” I don’t give him a chance to answer. “He belonged to my daughter. My murdered daughter.”
His lips stretch to bloodstained teeth. “I know. I was there the night Calvin killed them. Didn’t believe it was you until I saw you lying in bed with Ivy. Boss is going to shit his pants to know you’re still breathing.”
Tipping my head, I study him, my mind spinning with a million scenarios of what he could’ve possibly done to assist in their murder. What role he may have played prior to their deaths. Lookout? Tormentor? Did he hold Bella down while they brutalized her mother? The unknowns wind around my spine, awakening something dark and wicked, long forgotten. Shadows I buried years back, for fear of what they’d do to my mind.
Biting back the rage, I pound my fist into his face, which knocks him out cold.
The streets are quiet when I sling him over my shoulder and carry him back up the fire escape until we’re on the roof of the building. I discard his body onto the gravel and catch sight of a steel flask on the inside of his coat pocket.
“Damon?”
The sound of Ivy’s voice fails to deter me from my task. There’s a rag, left out beside a spray bottle filled with clear liquid, on the small table up there, and I use it to remove the flask and open it.
The scent of whiskey waters my tongue, and I dump some of the liquor into my mouth, before pouring it over the man lying before me.
Ivy comes to my side, and still, I don’t bother to look up at her. “He’s … he’s the one who—”
“Yes.”
The stranger sputters a cough, sending whiskey down the front of his shirt. Too woozy to know he’s going to die tonight, and instead he rolls his head back and forth on the gravel, moaning.
Pushing to my feet, I grab hold of his arm and drag him across the gravel to the wall of the roof.
“Damon, what are you doing?” Ivy’s voice is low, almost a whisper trailing after me.
“Go back to your apartment.”
“Wait. I’ll call the police. I’ll tell them he broke into my apartment.”
I finally turn to face her, studying her eyes to see if even she believes that calling the police will do any good. After all the times she attempted to get Calvin out of her life, surely she’s lost her faith in them.
“I just don’t want this traced back to you. Just leave him, and we’ll go. We’ll get out of here. Out of this city.”
“They’re after you, Ivy. Whoever Calvin worked for, is after you now.”
Her eyes fall to the stranger for a moment. “He told you that?”
“They work for the same man. One who has links to cartels.”
“Who?”
It’s better if she doesn’t know. Asking about him could get her killed, if the rumors are anything to go by. “Take whatever money you have. Get out of here. Don’t tell me where you’re going. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going.”
Eyes wide, she throws up her hands and shakes her head. “Whoa. Wait. What are you saying, Damon? You want me to just up and take off? Without you?”
“Yes. And don’t tell me where you’re going.”
“I have a job. An apartment. A life.” Her hands fly to her hips. “One I thought you wanted to be a part of, but if you don’t, that’s fine. Either way, I can’t just up and leave.”
“You don’t have a choice. You stay, and you die. These cartels don’t fuck around. Whatever connections Calvin had afforded you some immunity, but now that he’s dead, you have to leave.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m not staying, either.”
Another moan warns the stranger’s slowly coming to, and I knock my fist into his face again to silence him. When I look up, Ivy has tears in her eyes, arms crossed in what I’m guessing will be a stubborn attempt to fight me on this.
“I’m not going anywhere, Damon. I’m sorry about Philippe. That’s on me, and I take full responsibility for what happened to him. I should’ve never gone to Calvin’s that night. But you’re … you’re not being rational right now. You’re making fast decisions, and it’s scaring the shit out of me.”
Striding toward her, I note the few steps she takes back, but I reach out to grab her arms, and she stills, casting her gaze from mine. “What happened to Philippe wasn’t your fault. They’re coming for you, regardless of Philippe.”
Her gaze finally lifts to mine, and I can almost see the realization dawning in them. “You’re going after him, aren’t you? You’re going after the man Calvin worked for.”
“He doesn’t know I’m alive. But the moment he finds out, I’m as dead as the rest of them.”
“Take me with you.”
“No. You need to find somewhere safe and lay low for a while.”
“The only place I know that’s safe is with you.”
“Not anymore, Ivy.”
“Well, I’m not leaving.”
“You no longer have that choice.” Eyes o
n her, I back myself to where the man still lies passed out on the gravel. I lift him up onto the wall of the roof and roll him over the edge of it.
He doesn’t even scream before he smacks against the cement below in a pool of blood and cracked skull, but the gasp from behind tells me Ivy is one breath away from freaking out.
Twisting to face her, I find shock plastered to her face behind trembling hands. “This is a crime scene now. Cops will be all over the place. You need to leave.”
The expression on her face, brows drawn tight, is a cross between confusion and disturbance. “What have you done?”
“What I had to do to buy you some time. If he hasn’t already gone back to his boss, whomever he’s affiliated with will eventually show up, too.” In three long strides I’m standing in front of her again, noticing the white pallor of her face. Gripping her shoulders, I want to shake the shit out of this woman, to make her understand the gravity of the situation. That the stories I’ve heard about this man would send her straight into the arms of a straight jacket. “I care about you. I won’t let someone else I care about end up in a coffin.”
Eyes vacant, she stares off at the wall behind me and shrugs. “Where do I go?”
“That’s for you to decide.”
“It doesn’t matter where I go. They’ll find me. Won’t they?”
“You wanted to go to France, Ivy. Go. Get as far away from here as you can.”
“You’re asking me to give up everything. To leave everything that means something to me.”
“I know it’s not easy, but yes.”
“I don’t even have enough saved for once I get there. I’ll be living on the streets!”
“You’ll figure it out. The clock is ticking here.” I drag her behind me, through the door and down the stairs to her apartment. Her hands shake and fumble as she stuffs the key into the lock and opens the door. Once inside, I stride ahead of her to the closet and yank down the suitcase stored on the shelf, toss it onto the bed. Peeling away clothes from their hangers, I fill the suitcase with as much as she can handle carrying, while Ivy pulls pictures tacked to her corkboard, of her grandmother and a few people I don’t recognize. From a drawer inside her desk, she pulls out a jar filled with cash and dumps it onto the bed.