Blood to Dust (26 page)

Maybe one of Godfrey’s guys got to him. Shit, maybe I’m next.

After checking my backpack and making sure that everything I brought along is still with me, I pace the room back and forth. We’re only using one burner phone, and it’s on me, so I can’t call him. I check the window overlooking the street. Nothing. Slipping into a pair of flip flops I’m not even sure belong to me, I get out of the room with my backpack in tow, cursing him for taking the key because I can’t lock the door behind me.

I’m sweating buckets as I get close to the lobby, fearing I’ll come face to face with my English enemies. With every step, my prayers become louder. At first they’re just in my head. Then, they come out as whispered chants. Launching into the empty reception area, scanning, searching, hyperventilating, I pass by the small pool the place offers and a blue shadow dances in my periphery. I twist my head in surprise and stop with a screech.

Nate.

He’s swimming to and fro, slowly, gracefully.
Taking his time
. I stare at him, allow my pulse to slow down and wipe the cold sweat from my brow before I snap out of my stupor and walk to the pool, not making a sound. The motel is practically deserted, the only noises that can be heard include the surprised swooshes of a pool that’s probably never been used before, and the whimpering of a faraway coyote.

I’m still wearing my red number and a small leather jacket when I walk over to him. He has his back to me but when a twig snaps under my flip-flops, he turns around sharply. His expression relaxes from tight back to peaceful when our eyes lock.

“What in the actual hell, Nate?” I disguise the panic that swirled within me moments ago by burying my hands in my jacket’s pockets, even though it’s hot outside. I always dress up in cute clothes. It reminds me of my previous life as a Blackhawk princess. But I always wear something on top to hide my body. That, however, is all thanks to the second part of my life, the one after the Archers bulldozed into it. “I thought you said you were bringing food!” It’s supposed to be a question, but it comes out as an accusation.

“And I did. You were snoring. What was I supposed to do?” his eyes narrow into dangerous slits. I can see it from here. Even in the blackness of the night. He’s only wearing his boxers, and looks delicious bare-chested.

“You were supposed to not get out and swim in the open, where everybody can frigging see you. Should I remind you that you’re violating your parole, and that we’re running away from kingpins with blood on their hands?”

Hysteria consumes me. I’d be shaking if it wasn’t for the fact it’s 300 degrees outside and I’m wearing a goddamned leather jacket. Nate shrugs inside the pool, disregarding me completely. I shake my head, exhaling.

“You’re so stupid, Nate. You act like it’s the first time you’ve even been to a pool,” I turn on my heel, about to walk away.

“It is,” he says. I freeze, spinning slowly. His eyes follow the hand he uses to splash the water around.

“Huh?” I ask, dropping my backpack on the floor. My face pinks but the night blankets my skin, keeping this our secret.

“Yeah,” he repeats louder. “I’ve never been inside a pool, even though I clean one regularly where I work in Blackhawk. Grew up in California, twenty-seven years old, and this is my first time.” He barks out a laugh, but it’s not bitter. He doesn’t give a damn about what people think, me included. Nate seems like he’s always been keenly aware of his circumstances. “Anyway, thought I’d check it out. See what all the fuss is about. Just in case. . .”

Just in case they kill us
. I nod, offering him a small, knowing smile.

“Why is it that you only tattooed one side of your body?” I stand at the edge of the pool. I want to change the subject, but am also genuinely interested in the answer.

“The bare side represents my virtue. My ambitions. My good intentions. And the other side. . .that’s the dirty side of me. Violent and primal. It’s the side that kills without blinking.”

“You’re good,” I whisper.

“And bad,” he argues. “I’m the guy who took you as a prisoner, to be murdered by sacks of shit, remember?”

“But also the guy who ushered me out, and promised to help me seek revenge,” I maintain.

“And that, gorgeous, is why I have a clean part. Even on my skin.”

Even in your heart.

I shake my head. He may enjoy my words. . .but I’m mad about his.

Bending down, my knees touching the damp floor, our eyes level silently. His lashes are dark wet curtains and his mouth is even more perfect dripping with water, bathed in the moonlight. He breathes heavily. I don’t dare breathe at all. Complete opposites, with so much to give to each other. A storm and calm waters, we can create a natural disaster, but it would be beautiful and broken and ours.

Kiss me
, my heart sings as my stare falls to his lips.
Please, want me.

“I got scared when I saw you weren’t in the room,” I admit. He rests his head against mine, our bodies inches from one another.
Pull me in.

“You ain’t listening when I talk, are you, Baby-Cakes? I told you to trust me.”

“I can’t trust a guy who wants to sleep with me. But I can trust a guy even less when he
doesn’t
,” I half-joke. But I’m scared. So scared. Because the odds are against us. Hell, everything and everyone is against us.

His lips laugh into mine, and the rumble of his wet chest dampens my dress. My underwear too, despite the fact he’s nowhere near them.

“You know, Pea, even though it’s been years since you and Camden broke up, I know that on some level, I’m still the goddamn rebound. This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to get sucked into something that even vaguely resembles companionship. I need to tread carefully, figure out what you’re willing to give me on this short journey of ours. You wanna know the truth? I don’t know how. No one’s ever been careful about
my
feelings, about
my
trust. You’ve been sexually abused. I can go and spit some ‘I understand’ bullshit, but you’re too smart and I’m too honest. I
don’t
understand. So I’m letting you make the first move. If I touch you, I need permission, but make no mistake,” he says then catches my lower lip between his teeth and pulls, at first softly, and then hard enough to suck me into the pool with him. I willingly let my body drop forward but he catches me at the last minute. “I want you. I want your words and your body and your brain and your little stress ball bouncing against my face, even though it’s annoying as fuck. I want more than you could ever give me, so don’t worry about that part, Cockburn.”

Our chests are so close now, I feel his heartbeat in my own ribcage. And his words. I feel them, too. Everywhere. I’ve gone and done it again. Only this time, it’s ten times worse.

I fell in love.

I fell in lust.

I fell in stupid.

I nod, my forehead bobbing against his, feeling pleasantly yet sickly light-headed. “Thank you.” My voice croaks. “For asking for what they demanded. For what they took. But it’s unnecessary with you.”

Silently, I plead for his touch by beginning to peel off my clothing
. He takes a step back in the blue pool, watching me through eyes heavy with desire. The jacket falls to the ground first, my armor against men. My red dress and flip-flops follow and are discarded near a stripy yellow and white lounge chair. I slide into the pool, clad only in my bra and panties, and straight into Nate’s arms.

The water is cold, but all I feel is his heat.

He takes my mouth with his and kisses me desperately, my legs wrapped around his waist. I feel his want for me, and again, am surprised by my reaction. It doesn’t feel sleazy or scary. It doesn’t hold a promise of something devastating.

I drag my tongue along his neck, sucking his pulse and his life into me, my back still pressed to the edge of the pool as his erection moves up and down my stomach. A muffled groan disappears into my hair every time our groins touch. He tastes salty and male and like my own, personal heaven.

“Cockburn. . .” He bites my earlobe, his shaft digging between my legs. Our lips find each other and our tongues move together erotically. I don’t even care if people can see us from the dozens of windows overlooking the pool. Let them look and eat their hearts out. Life’s too short to care about what other people think.

Time.

I want to use it wisely as long as he’s around.

“Delaware,” I tease back into his mouth, panting with what’s beginning to feel like an orgasm building between my legs like a hot Saharan sandstorm.

“Tell me something beautiful, Cockburn,” he whispers behind my ear, stroking my lower back, igniting something sinful. “Tell me something pretty like you.”

I sift through my thoughts, even though it’s damn hard with his hands roaming all over me.

“’A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.’ Robert Frost.”

Hot lips land on my collarbone.

“How rough do you want me tonight, Little Poem?”

“Rough,” I pant.

“Turn.”

I spin around and he lifts my upper body so that I’m lying flat on the concrete next to the pool, my cheek resting against the surface. I feel his fingers peeling down my underwear, my ass facing him. I grin into the cold tiles under the hot night.

“What are you doing, Delaware?”

“I don’t have a condom here,” he says, dodging my question, spreading my ass cheeks with his firm fingers. Embarrassment tickles at the pit of my stomach. I’ve never done this before. Not willingly, anyway. Godfrey sodomized me, but I wasn’t there when it happened. I blanked out. Now, I’m here completely, ready to feel it.

I get over my doubts and worries by reminding myself that it’s Nate Vela. Or Christopher Delaware. I’d let both versions of him do anything they wanted to me. Hell, I’d even let Beat tap it any time of the day.

“That could be a problem.” I feign innocence, my teeth crushing gritty, salty sand from the floor. Nate digs one finger into my pussy, borrowing my wetness and rubbing it against my anal rim in circles.

“I’m clean,” he continues. “Checked myself when I got out of prison, and haven’t been with anyone on the outside.”

That’s a surprise, unless you really know Nate. Women don’t interest him.

Storms do.

“And on the inside?”

He smacks my ass hard, a slap that lands on my left ass cheek and makes my face crash against the floor. The boom of his palm on my skin ricochets between the palm trees, and a red sting follows.

“Watch it, Cockburn.”

I chuckle, knowing that this guy is way too intelligent to be a homophobe. I love when he hurts me. Pain feels different under his touch.

With him, we’re sharing, not distributing.

With him, pain is just another way to feel.

He spreads my ass again and places his hot tongue on the flesh between my ass and sex, giving me a thorough, warm lick. I shiver, feeling my erect nipples grinding against the concrete, and lift my ass to his face, asking for more.

Sinking his head into the pool, he comes up with his mouth to my pussy and starts fucking me with his tongue. Thrusting his hotness between my folds hard and fast from behind, his nose buried in my ass. I whine in need, my hips bucking, rocking, circling,
searching
. His square jaw scratches my thighs, the stubble burning my skin in a way that’s almost too painful if it weren’t for the cold water splashing over them with every move of his head. After a few minutes, his mouth moves north to my ass crack. His tongue swirls around my hole, and I’m quaking all over, jerking into his face every time he presses his tongue hard against my skin, applying pressure on my sensitive spot.

I’m soaked. So soaked.

“I’m clean too,” I cry into the ground. Before Nate, I hadn’t had sex in a long time, and had visited a clinic since. I feel his hands ghosting my waist as he drags me back down into the water, his mouth on my shoulder.

“You’re a delicate flower I’d like to smash to pieces, Pea. But only with permission.” He pushes his boxers down and off. I see them floating beside us.

“Smash me,” I groan.

And he does.

He smashes me.

The first thing I notice is not that he slams into my ass—not starting with the tip—going all the way in, but the fact that my face hits the edge of the pool and my lip splits open. The exact same place Seb left me bleeding. But the experience is anything but similar. I suck on my own blood and shriek in a mix of pain and pleasure as he guides my face up, his palm on my neck, so my head is flush against his chest.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Not in this way.”

Slam.

“Fuck, Prescott, fuck.”

Slam.

“You’re killing me.”

Slam.

“And I’m loving it.”

Slam
.

Words so beautiful, spoken in such an ugly place, under the same stars that are watching the people who want us dead. He drives into me like he’s trying to mold us into one, and with every thrust, I’m beginning to believe that it can actually happen. My heart cracks open a little more with every push.

I’m falling in love with this guy.

I’m going to kill two people with this guy.

Soon, this guy will hate me when he figures out that I have no way to pay him and fulfill my commitment to him. That I lied to him about the money, and kept the truth from him when he asked me about other things, too.

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

We need to hurry up and go our separate ways before it backfires on us both. Nate Vela is not an easy guy to read, but our ending is still written in the sky. It reads
heartbreak
and
death
.

Slam.

“I’m coming,” he says, and I arch my back in response. I would have probably come too, had I not been so occupied with my stupid feelings for him.

“Are you close?” he produces a guttural hiss through his teeth. I shake my head, no.

“Come inside me, Nate.”

He slams into me a few more times before stilling, and I feel his warm release pouring into me. We stay like this for a few moments—him standing on the pool’s floor, holding my ass against his groin, his favorite position, before he spins me to face him and nails my back to the wall. My ass is sore and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to sit down for at least a couple of months.