Burning Kiss

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Burning Kiss Page 9

by Angela Addams


  “You never force a woman!” I repeated as I pressed my gun harder against his flesh.

  He sucked in a deep breath, shook his head. “Never again. Never again. Just don’t shoot my dick off. Please don’t shoot my dick off.”

  I thought about taking a shot into his seat but with the closed cab, I figured I would fuck up my ears really bad and I’d already proven my point anyway. “I’m going to get out and you’re going to drive away and never come back to this area again.”

  “No, never. I swear.”

  “The next time you even think about forcing a woman, you remember me and my gun against your dick.” I pressed down, knowing I was leaving a mark.

  He moaned like a wounded animal, terrified no doubt that I was going to blast him anyway.

  “Understand?”

  “I won’t force a woman. I won’t. I won’t.” Tears actually started running down his face into his beard.

  I smiled as I slid back and away, opening the truck door while still holding my gun on him.

  His eyes never left my weapon. The second I slammed the door closed he took off, tires screeching, almost running down a trashcan on the side of the road.

  I was smiling as I turned, simultaneously attempting to holster my gun. Something hit me in the gut, knocking all the air out of my lungs in a whoosh. My gun flew away from me as I fell backward, hitting the pavement, my head whacking hard enough that I saw stars.

  I blinked away the blurriness, panic seizing me. A woman stood over me, her fists clenched tightly, fury on her heavily made-up face.

  “You’re taking my business, bitch!” She kicked my thigh with her pointy heels, digging into the muscle. Then she pulled a knife. “You’re gonna hand over whatever that John just gave you and then you’re gonna get the fuck off my corner.”

  I scrambled to get up, pieces clicking together rapidly. I wasn’t more than halfway to standing on my shaking legs when a strong pair of hands scooped me under the arms and pulled me in close. The next thing I saw was my gun levelled at the prostitute, held in a hand that I knew very well.

  “Back up, bitch.” Steve motioned the gun to the left.

  “You her pimp?” The prostitute wasn’t falling for it, her eyes were on the gun but she didn’t lower her weapon. “This ain’t your territory.”

  Steve pushed me behind him so quickly that I almost fell again. He had the prostitute in his grasp a moment after that. The knife she had clattered to the ground and she screeched as Steve pressed my gun to her temple.

  “I told you to back the fuck up,” Steve growled.

  The prostitute whimpered, raising her shaky hands. Steve released her with a push back and then he nailed her in the gut with a swift uppercut. Her breath exploded in a strangled moan and she doubled over.

  “I better not see you around here again,” Steve said.

  The prostitute glared up at him, her arm protectively wrapped around her stomach as she tried to stand upright.

  “Get out of here.” Steve waved my gun at her.

  The prostitute shifted her glare to me before straightening as best she could and taking off down the street.

  I could breathe again, my heart on overdrive.

  Steve turned to me, my gun still in his hand. “This isn’t a Taser.”

  I shook my head, my hands unsteady as I motioned for him to give it over. “What are you doing here?”

  Steve looked at the gun, angled it so he could inspect it or something, ignoring my outstretched hand and my question. “You ever have to use it?”

  I closed the distance between us and took my gun from his hand. I holstered it after two tries, my body vibrating. “We should get the hell out of here.”

  He looked me up and down then gave a stern nod. He pulled me toward him, arm going around my waist, pressing me tight against his body as we walked. “We’re going back to my place.”

  “Like hell—”

  He raised a hand. “You can’t go home right now. She might be watching you. She may have gotten her pimp and he could be coming back for us. You’re coming to my place until tomorrow.”

  I gulped, hating that he was right.

  Shit.

  There were things to like about Steve. Totally superficial, money centred things. Like his Porsche with its smooth leather heated seats and his million-dollar condo. I’d always loved his place. There was marble and granite everywhere. He lived in one of the penthouses, of course, with a private rooftop balcony and a view of the entire city.

  I was caught up in the view from the living room when he came up behind me, slipping his arms around my waist, head on my shoulder. “Take your clothes off.”

  I stiffened, pulled away, surprised a little when he let me. “No fucking way!”

  He cocked an eyebrow, nodded to the couch where a small pile of clean clothes lay. “You can’t be comfortable in those clothes all night and you also can’t go home dressed like that. If that hooker gave a description to anyone, you’re dead meat. Take it off and I’ll toss it in the garbage shoot. It’ll be incinerated by morning.”

  I sighed, frowned and then realized how I must look to him. I pulled my wig off, mourning the loss of one of my favourites. “Are we just going to ignore the fact that the last time I saw you, you fucking hit me?” I wasn’t angry really. Another reason why Steve was bad for me was that our passion often led to injuries. Getting a black eye was not uncommon to me, nor to him. I could dish it out too. It’s not like I had been gentle when I’d bit him. An eye for an eye.

  He shrugged, tapped his shoulder. “You struck first. You know how I get.”

  It wasn’t an apology—I wouldn’t get that out of him. Besides, I wasn’t going to give one either and I had started it…at least with regards to the violence.

  I pulled my holster off, about to lay it on the top of the couch.

  As if he suddenly remembered I had the damn thing, Steve’s eyes got really wide and he reached for my holster, pulled my gun out like it was a poisonous snake. I snorted as he examined it, turning it this way and that.

  “It’s a gun, Steve, you’ve seen one before, I’m sure.” In fact, he’d handled it quite well on the spur of the moment when he rescued me.

  He chuckled then handed it to me. “Indeed. You know how the old man likes to shoot.”

  I felt a twitch of jealousy there. I hadn’t been shooting with Arthur for quite a while.

  “I’ve never seen one as small as that though. Not outside of the movies anyway.”

  “It’s a .38 Special, made for concealment.”

  “Illegal then.”

  “Very.” I’d smuggled it myself over the border a few months before. It’d been a risk when it came to border security but with my increasing urges to hunt, I needed some protection.

  “Why not the stun gun?” Steve moved over to the kitchen area.

  His place was open concept, a breakfast nook separating one room from the next. High ceilings. Stainless steel fixtures. Very modern.

  “A gun carries more weight so to speak.” I’d thought about using my stun gun; I’d bought it at the same time as my .38. But I wanted to scare the piss out of men not knock them unconscious.

  This wasn’t totally about self-preservation. I had to be willing to take some risks. The point was to send a message. A gun did that better than anything. The Taser did give me some peace of mind though. I carried it with me quite a bit, typically when I was feeling vulnerable or after I’d gone on a hunt and was a bit jittery coming down from that high.

  I picked up the pile of clothes he’d left for me and started for the bathroom.

  “I followed you tonight.” His words caught me like a rope pulled taut. “I saw what you did.”

  I turned slowly to face him, studying his expression.

  “I was coming by to see how you were, convince you to come out for a bite with me. Figured you’d be over the fight by now.” He chuckled as he rubbed his shoulder. “And then out you come, dressed like a whore.”

&nb
sp; I thought about putting the clothes down and leaving but I figured he’d catch me before I hit the door.

  “I was seeing red when your head went down on that guy. I didn’t understand at first what was going on.” Anger flashed across his face. “I wanted to rip his motherfucking throat out.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  He snorted at that, ignoring my words otherwise. “And then you pulled your gun and I got the idea.”

  “Well, thanks for stepping in.” I turned to leave, get changed, get the hell out of there.

  “What does the cop think of this behaviour?”

  This time I ignored him and left the room. I didn’t need to explain myself to Steve or to anyone. I was grateful that he’d come when he had. I would have probably ended up black and blue by the end of my encounter with that hooker. I needed to be more careful. Stick to the plan. Losing control of a situation was not on the agenda if I could help it, neither was being spontaneous. I’d made a hasty mistake and I wouldn’t be repeating it.

  The clothes he’d given me, yoga pants and a sweatshirt, fit perfectly. I wondered if he’d bought them for me specifically or if he just had a few pairs of extras laying around for his various flings. Either way, they were comfortable and clean. I bundled up my blouse and skirt, dismayed once again at the loss. He was right though—the clothes would identify me too easily. It was another good reminder to stick to neutral colours and be discreet. Burning them seemed like a waste but it was better to be safe. Knowing me, I’d have them back in rotation too soon. Getting rid of them would remove that risk.

  He was cooking when I came out. Something delicious was sizzling away. If there was anything redeeming about Steve, it was his culinary skills. That and the fact that he liked to see me well fed. Whenever I joked about him fattening me up, he’d always said we fucked too much for that to ever happen.

  He motioned for me to sit at the island while he poured a glass of red. “How often do you do that?”

  I thought about feigning ignorance but he wasn’t going to let it go, so unless I was set on leaving—which by the growl of my stomach, I wasn’t—I was going to have to play the game. “Once a week, maybe.”

  “And you pretend to be a hooker?”

  I snorted on my wine. “No!” Then wiped my fingers over my lips. “Fuck no! Tonight was…um...an exception.”

  He nodded, not speaking, waiting for me to continue, his eyes going from me to the loaf of crusty bread he was slicing.

  “I entice them, then I scare them.” I raised my hand before he could speak. “And yes, I know what this is. Defence mechanism. Coping. Dangerous. Reckless.”

  “Empowering.”

  I flinched, not expecting that response.

  He speared me with one of his looks. “You’re a smart woman, Jade. I trust that you know what you’re doing. And if this has been helping you deal with your emotions, I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. After what happened, it makes sense.”

  I sat there speechless. Steve had never been an understanding man. Selfish, self absorbed, cruel sometimes, but never sympathetic to others’ struggles. It was why he’d never gone the therapy route. He was too detached for that. His scope was better suited to solitary work. Teaching notwithstanding, he didn’t play well with others and could not pretend to give a shit when he didn’t.

  “I’ve been reading some studies on rape. The culture, the attitude, the outcome.”

  Taking an interest in me or in my area of expertise? “Have you?” I took another gulp of my wine.

  He nodded as he set up the bread along with various cheeses, then pushed the plate toward me. “I’ve been looking at your research as well.”

  I grabbed a slice and smothered it in goat cheese. I’d published a few papers early on in my practice with a focus on rehabilitation of rapists. I’d been optimistic then. Naive. Delusional. I swallowed the bread and cheese, forcing it past the lump that was suddenly in my throat. “My research was flawed.”

  “You didn’t give it enough time.” He turned to the skillet, moving the meat inside around, sending a waft of garlic my way. It made my stomach rumble.

  “Rehabilitation doesn’t work. At least not the kind I was doing.”

  “And that’s what you’re doing now? With the gun? Rehabilitating potential rapists?”

  I shrugged. “No.”

  “How are you collecting the results? If this is a social experiment, how will you know if it works?”

  I frowned. Social experiment? I hadn’t thought of it that way. “That’s not what this is.” Or was it? I was seeking vindication—I was trying to right wrongs before they happened. Was I attempting to rehabilitate in some fucked up way? I’d been testing myself just as much as I’d been testing the men I targeted. See how far they’d go. See how easy it was to bait them. So yeah, maybe it was an experiment.

  And Steve was right, I had absolutely no way of knowing if what I was doing was having the desired impact. From a researching point of view, as an experiment, it had a lot of problems. And it meant that I hadn’t given up on rehabilitating, I’d just gone in a different direction. Fear therapy. Come to rape and I’ll scare the piss right out of you. Maybe you won’t do it again.

  He pulled a Caesar salad from the fridge, got out some tongs and then took the steak he’d been frying and dumped it on top. It looked delicious. One of my favourite snacks.

  Another thing about Steve? He knew my weaknesses. All of them.

  “You abandoned your research because it wasn’t working the way you expected it to. That’s not like you, Jade. You’re a brilliant investigator and you know damn well that you’re continuing the inquiry process, just in an unconventional way.”

  “My best friend was raped, Steve. Kassey. By my fucking ex-client. A rapist. One whom I failed to rehabilitate. One whom I helped to parole.” He’d come for me but had gotten Kassey. “I’m not continuing the research—I’m navigating the trauma. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

  It felt cathartic to spit those words out.

  Steve cocked his head, studying me. “Bullshit.”

  12

  He held a fork out to me and I contemplated snatching it and stabbing him with it.

  “You don’t know me.” I stood, totally intent on leaving.

  “You always run when I’m right.” He turned the fork and skewered a piece of meat along with some of the salad, then held it out for me just at lip level.

  Fuck this infuriating man! “I’m not running.”

  We glared at each other. Well, I glared; he twirled the fork, taunting me as I caught wafts of the deliciousness.

  “I have cheesecake in the fridge. Cherry.”

  “Damn you!” I slumped back onto the stool and grabbed the fork, wondering when I’d become so governed by my stomach.

  “We won’t talk about work, okay? Let’s just eat and drink and be merry.” He grabbed his own fork and started eating, motioning for me to do the same.

  I sighed, my stomach yowling. I dug in, convincing myself with every bite that there was nothing wrong with eating Steve’s offering. Nothing bad would happen.

  “You hear about Sean Ray?”

  I gulped down what was in my mouth, my appetite wavering. I shook my head.

  “He was declared a Dangerous Offender.”

  He wouldn’t be getting out in his natural life. Without a death penalty option in Canada, it was the closest thing to legal justice I could hope for. Without that designation, he could be out on parole in less than seven years.

  He grabbed my hand, palm up and rubbed his thumb there—tenderness that I was not accustomed to. “It wasn’t your fault.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.

  I was confused by his tone, by his action, like he actually cared. “Like hell—”

  “No, Jade, you blame yourself. Your quest to get revenge, it’s a testament to that. But you aren’t to blame. You’re an amazing woman, a skilled therapist. What Sean Ray did was not a result of
your therapy.”

  “I was instrumental in getting him paroled. My words did that. I vouched for him.” Anger bloomed in my chest. Mixed with sorrow so deep that I caught a sob bubbling up. It surprised me. “Of course it’s my fault. He wouldn’t have been out of jail if it wasn’t for me.”

  Much to my surprise, Steve came around the island and pulled me into his arms. I didn’t resist. I think I was in shock. “He came for you. He thought Kassey was you.”

  “Yes.” A terrifying reality. What had happened to her had been meant for me. And yet, in what he’d done to Kassey, he might as well have done to me.

  “But he didn’t.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “Right? He didn’t. He tried. But whatever you did stopped him from attacking you too. Your words. Your actions. Your version of rehabilitation that stopped him long enough for the police to arrive.”

  I snorted bitterly. “I couldn’t stop him from hurting Kassey though.”

  “That’s just circumstance and bad timing. Not your fault.” He kissed the top of my head. “If he had found you first, you would have talked him out of it. It was just bad luck that Kassey was there instead.”

  What an odd thing to say, and yet his words had some impact. Like for a fraction of a second, the constant guilt was lifted. Bad luck. Not my fault. Wrong place, wrong time. It was a nice fantasy.

  The truth was, he’d only stopped because the police had arrived to save me. Nothing I had ever said to him had any impact. Steve was wrong. He was wrong and yet it was comforting all the same.

  Steve held me and I let him. My ear pressed to his chest, my cheek rubbing the cashmere sweater he wore. His scent a strange comfort to me too.

  This side of him was disarming. And even though I knew it was dangerous, even though I’d been down this road too many times and should have known better, I just couldn’t stop myself.

  He pulled back a bit and I looked up at him, his eyes saying things that I could only hope were true. He leaned down and kissed my wound and then my lips. “My Jade,” he whispered and kissed me again. Long, deep, tongue entangling.

 

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