Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) (11 page)

Bill blew out a breath slowly, nursing his bourbon like an old pro, while Smith was already halfway through his second glass.
Liquid courage, eh?
Leaning forward, Bill’s watery eyes lifted to him. “Listen, all these kids look young to me. I’m in my sixties now, even you look like a baby. What are you, twenty-three, twenty-four?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“You’re a baby yourself, what are you worried about?” Bill sat back and laughed, resting a hand on his stomach.

Smith flinched, remembering her screams in the night just before she’d wake up crying and cursing. It was worse now that he had even a flicker of what caused them. Steve, Joe Wilson, and the others… and the things they had done to her at God only knew what age. “It’s complicated.”

“You’re joking, right? She’s gorgeous. Hell, half the bar gets wood every time she walks in here. If I were your age I’d be -”

“Bill.” Interrupting him so he wouldn’t finish the thought, Smith kept his eyes on the last inch of amber liquid as he tilted it to and fro, trying to suppress the urge to gut the next man that looked at her with a gaze even halfway lecherous.

She’s not yours to be jealous over.

Raising his free hand up Bill shook his head. “I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, Smith. Mother Mary knows I’d be talking to you about something other than your love life if I wanted to interfere, but everyone sees how she looks at you. That girl is in love with you.”

“She does
not
love me,” Smith growled, and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Bill or himself.

“Fine. So, maybe she doesn’t, but she looks at you like you hang the moon in the sky, and girls don’t go kissing men they don’t like. Not for free anyway.” Bill chuckled when Smith glared at him. “That wasn’t an insult, C’s never been shy about her previous occupation. Is that the issue?”

“No.”

“You sure? There’s some free clinics if you’re -”

“I took her to a doctor right after I took her in. She’s clean. Healthy. As miraculous as that is.” With a groan Smith upended the glass, finishing it, but as soon as it touched the table again Bill was already refilling it. A good bartender to the core. “That isn’t the issue at all.”

“So, ask her how old she is.”

“She won’t tell me the truth.”

“You don’t think she’s eighteen, do you?” Bill cursed under his breath, speaking softly when he continued. “You’ve had that girl in here for the last couple of years, drinking my booze, and you don’t think she’s even eighteen? Shit, Smith.”

“I didn’t plan any of this.” He sighed and took another drink. “Do you even remember that first night when she walked in here? Skin and bones? Wanting to buy one off me like it was a normal thing?”

“Hey, as far as anyone is concerned I don’t know
what
you sell, or
what
you do when you’re not in my bar. You’re a steady, solid customer who always pays his tab. That’s all I know.” Bill glanced around him, checking on the bar and the other patrons who were too far away to hear his official answer. “But, I do remember. I remember being surprised that a girl like that went straight for you when there were plenty of easy marks at the bar. I figured she knew what she was looking for.”

“Yeah, she’s never been shy.”

“Shy is
not
a word I’d use for C.” Shaking his head, Bill finished his glass and braced his elbows on the table. “Listen, you picked her. I don’t know why in the hell you did, but you did. That is going to have some consequences.”

“I just wanted to make her strong.”

“You wanted to keep her safe.”

“Yes,” Smith whispered and they both fell into silence. The soft white noise of quiet chatter and the dull television filling the empty spaces between the clatter of glasses and bottles.

Bill refilled his glass and added a little more to Smith’s. “Well, she’s strong now. Safe. So what are you going to do with her? Because I don’t think her feelings are going to change.”

Smith had to stifle a smirk, because the idea that Camille felt anything outside of her own determination and rage was difficult to imagine. However old she was, she wasn’t childish. That had been stripped from her in the most brutal of ways, and she looked at the world through the eyes of experience.

But, could Bill be right? Could Camille actually want him, and could it even be
real
after everything she’d been through?

Shaking his head he poured more amber fire down his throat, trying to burn out the urge to return to the hotel and pick up after that kiss. To touch her in the ways he dreamed about, to make real the pictures in his head that he was ashamed to have. “I don’t know.”

“Shit, Smith –” he rolled his eyes. “Sorry about the language, I know you’re weird about that. Listen, I don’t know her story, but she doesn’t seem like the type to do anything she doesn’t mean to do. If she kissed you, she wanted to kiss
you
. I doubt that was an accident.”

“She’s just too close to me.”

“Tell yourself whatever makes it easier, but you came here to talk to me, and you knew I was going to tell you the truth. She kissed you, and that means something. You need to decide what you’re going to do about it.”

Just as Smith was about to respond he felt the buzz of his phone in his pocket. He’d never removed it from the jacket. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was a call from a number he knew by heart. “I need to take this.”

“Sure. You just think about what I said, and enjoy the bourbon. On the house.”

“That’s not -”

“On the house.” Bill pointed at the bottle and got up from his seat to return to the bar, leaving Smith with a ringing cell phone.

Why the hell is my life this complicated?

“Hello?” he spoke into the phone as soon as he accepted the call.

“Smith! I have good news. You’re going to be so happy you know me.” It was Lacroix, the PI he usually tasked with finding someone when he needed help through more technological avenues.

“Do tell.”

“The names you gave me a while back, I found one of them.
Clinton
, is Clinton Porter – at least I think. Lived in that area during the time periods you gave me, fits the general description you provided based on his DMV photo. I can send over the info if you tell me where you’re staying this week.” Lacroix sounded excited, energetic to have solved the puzzle Smith had laid before him. Nothing but three names, three physical descriptions, and the few random facts that C had been able to remember.

Clinton.

Roger.

Barry.

The last three names on her list, and now one might be in their sights. It was the perfect thing to distract her, distract them both from what had happened tonight. Taking a swig of the bourbon he focused on work instead of Camille’s age, or her body, or the kiss. “Yeah, I want it. Let me tell you where I’m staying – but I need you to be subtle. I need pictures if you can get them so I can verify with the client, and I can pay whatever you need.”

“Oh, trust me, you’re getting a bill for this stuff.”

“That’s fine. So, where is this guy?” Smith asked, and as Lacroix started rattling off information, Bill’s eyes met his from across the bar. Their conversation was over, but it still weighed heavy on him.

As soon as he ended the call, Bill made his way back towards the table. Smith finished the glass and stopped him before he refilled it. 

“I’ve got to head back.”

“Work?”

“Yes. Always another job to do.” Smith stood up, feeling the tingling rush of the alcohol thunder through his veins.

“Well, have you decided what you’re going to do? With C? With the kiss?” Bill tucked the bottle of bourbon under his arm and scooped up the empty glasses.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer, Smith. You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. She’s going to want more of a response than you heading to the bar.” For a moment he felt like he was being lectured by a parent, the chastising look in Bill’s eyes more than he’d expected from the older man. But, as much as he hated to admit it, he was right.

And, unfortunately, what Smith really wanted was to kiss her again, and tell her that he’d lied. That he
did
want her, and that it was tearing him apart, because he never wanted to be another monster in her life.

As pathetic as it was… he wanted to be her hero.

Chapter Nine

The alcohol was really thrumming in his bloodstream as he exited the taxi and walked back into the hotel. He had walked for a while, enjoying the Spring weather before the tormenting heat of Summer made even the evenings a challenge without air conditioning, but eventually he knew he had to go back. Still tipsy or not. He had to face Camille and talk to her. Not just about the new information, but about the kiss too, and about what it all meant. Maybe even about what he felt,
in vino veritas
and all that.

In the elevator he tried to run his fingers through his hair. Tried to look less like a barfly coming back from a bender, even if he had just drank the most he had in months. The ding came too soon and he had no choice but to walk back towards the room, rehearsing the things he wanted to say to her.

I’m sorry I got upset, it wasn’t about you. I do want you.

No. Too fast, too forward.

I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I just needed to think. And drink. How old are you exactly?

Smooth.

So, I have an address for Clinton, want to go kill him and then go on a date to talk?

Idiot.

Maybe he should have spent more time with Bill talking this through, because as clear as it had seemed in the bar, it felt thick as mud at the moment. Which could have been the alcohol, or just the deeply complicated, messed up situation they were in.

With a deep breath he plugged the room key in and opened the door – and then stopped dead in his tracks.

“Yeah, you fucking like that don’t you?” A man’s voice, low and breathy, and on the heels of it a long moan that ran like a cold chill up his spine.

Moving into the room he closed the door quietly just as soft, feminine noises joined the grunting and slapping of skin coming from the room.

“Fuck, you’re so hot. Yeah...” The male voice had Smith reaching for the gun he normally kept in the small of his back, but it was fortunately zipped into the duffel under his bed because he was
not
thinking straight and a gun wasn’t going to help the situation.

She’s not fighting him. If she were fighting him, he’d be dead.

Which only meant…

Smith swallowed, and closed his eyes, forcing one long deep breath to make sure he wouldn’t kill whomever he saw. Unable to listen any longer he stepped forward and caught a full visual of Camille on top of another man in her bed, her tanned thighs spread, her back arched, head back, breasts high on her chest. Her white blonde hair spilled down her spine as her hips rocked, and then the man grabbed her by the waist and flipped them, pinning her underneath him as he thrust hard.

A strange feeling was spreading from the center of Smith’s chest, one that he didn’t want to look too closely at, and when anger started to overwhelm it – he let the rage win. His voice was cold as ice when he spoke, loud enough to be heard over the moans and the sounds of sex, “You could have put a note on the door.”

“Fuck!” The man on top of Camille practically levitated with the speed he pushed off of her, twisting to rip a handful of sheet to cover his cock. There had been a condom, for what it was worth.

Camille didn’t even flinch. Laid out on the bed, her knees still slightly spread, she just propped herself up on her elbows and met his eyes. Ice blue into green.
She had probably known the moment he entered the room.
“Didn’t know when you’d be back,” she responded, not even a hint of emotion in her voice.

“Shit, man, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend -”

“I don’t.”

“She doesn’t.” They both interrupted him, their eyes never even flicking towards the intruder into their space.

“Uh, well, um…”

“You should leave.” Smith gestured at him, expecting him to respond, but Camille grabbed onto the kid’s arm – because that’s what he was, a kid. He looked nineteen, maybe twenty. Hell, his five o’clock shadow looked like peach fuzz.

“He’s not done.”

“Oh, no, I think I am. Sorry, you’re hot and all, but –”

“He’s leaving, C.”

“You planning to make him leave?” she asked, her gaze a steady challenge that he was not going to meet with an audience made up of one very naked idiot.

“No need! Absolutely no need, I’m out.” The guy stood up, cupping himself as he used his free hand to gather his clothes.

“Smith.” Her voice held a note of threat in it, but he just lifted a hand to stop her, waiting for the kid to gather his things. As soon as his arms were full, the idiot awkwardly moved towards the bathroom, which was right next to Smith.

“Hey, man, I just need to -”

“You need to get out,” he growled, grabbing the kid by the back of the neck, wrenching the door open, and shoving him out into the open hallway. The kid stumbled, shouted, dropped half his clothes, and then Smith slammed the door on him.

“This is such bullshit!” Camille shouted, moving onto her knees on the bed.

Naked
. Jesus Christ, she’s so naked.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” His temper snapped, his voice instantly matching hers in volume as he flipped open her suitcase with his foot and threw a handful of random clothes at her. “Get dressed, I’m not talking to you like this.”

“Fuck you! You can -”

“C!” He roared at her, and her eyes went wide for a moment before they narrowed. “Put clothes on. Now.”

Muttering threats and curses she dug through the pile of things he’d thrown at her and she started to pull on a mismatched set as he put his back to her, but it was a useless exercise. Her body was seared into his mind now. All those graceful curves, the rosy pink of her nipples, the space between her thighs so delicately obscured by blonde curls. Even in his rage he could feel the tugging weight of his cock as it wanted to come to life –
No.

“There! Dressed! Now why the fuck –”

Smith rounded on her. “Do
not
push me right now, C. Who the hell was he? Do you even know his name? Do you know
anything
about him?”

“It was Tyler,” she paused, her expression flickering, “or Ryan. Something like that. It doesn’t fucking matter!”

“Of course it matters!” Smith shouted. “You just fucked him!”

“Oh, so now it’s okay for
you
to curse?”

“Do you know another word for what that was?”

“Sex. It was just sex, Smith. I’m allowed to have sex! I’m not broken, I’m not damaged, it all fucking works!” Camille climbed off the bed, gesturing towards her body as she came around the end to face off with him, her words twisting his stomach into knots. “
That
was consensual. I wanted to fuck him, he wanted to fuck me – it was just sex.”

“You wanted him?” he asked, a flash of jealous rage making him unsteady. His mind rolled back to the conversation with Bill, to the things they had said to each other in this room earlier in the night, the things
he
had said to her.

This is my fault.

“He was cute. He was clean. He’s a tourist. From Tennessee or something like that, and yeah, I wanted him, and I would have fucking finished with him if you’d had the decency to wait five more minutes!” She screamed the last bit, and he had to take a deep breath to keep from losing his temper, from going off the deep end with her.

“So that’s what you want?” Smith gestured back at the door. “You want some random guy off the street in your bed?”

“I don’t need you to protect me from random guys!”

“Fine, then I won’t. Want me to go call him back? I’ll see if he’s done getting dressed, I could -”

“Fuck off.” She flipped him off, turning around to slip on her shoes, but that wasn’t going to happen.

“You are
not
leaving.”

“WHY?” She turned and glared at him, and he opened his mouth to answer but nothing would come out. A hundred answers were vying for space in his vocal chords, and nothing was actually making it through.

I don’t want anyone touching you.

I want to know you’re safe.

I don’t want you to leave.

I want to fix this. Let me fix this.

I can’t imagine you with anyone else.

I want you. I want you. I want you.

Do you still want me or have I ruined everything?

“Because,” Smith answered.

“Because?! Are you fucking kidding me?” She laughed and bent over to tie her shoe.

“Sit down, C.” He was more than effectively blocking her only exit, and she knew it when she turned to face him, her eyes narrowing like she might be thinking of a full on hand-to-hand just to get outside the room. But there were more important things than the drama of their evening to discuss. “Sit. Down.”

With a grumble she backed down and dropped onto the end of her bed, and the smell of sex in the air finally settled on him, ramping up his anger even more – but he pushed it away. There was no room in this part of their conversation for him to be irrationally jealous over Camille choosing to bed some stranger the same night she had kissed him. There were much more important things than the memory of her rolling her hips atop that stranger, those soft sounds escaping her perfect lips.

Damn it all.

“Well?” she asked, her tone still more than argumentative.

“I got a call while I was out.”

“Congratu-fucking-lations. Can I go now?”

“I might have an address for Clinton.” As soon as the words left his lips she seemed to deflate, all the anger leeching out of her like color from a painting. In one breath she had been vibrant, full of anger and passion, and in the next she was cold, empty, small.

“Where is he?” she whispered.

“Still in the greater New York area.”

She dropped her face into her hands, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. For a moment he wasn’t sure if she was trying to hide tears or not. “And it’s him?”

“We should get the documents from my contact tomorrow with a DMV picture, and he’s promised surveillance photos to further confirm, but I believe so.” Smith leaned against the wall on his side of the room. Maybe ten feet separated them, but it felt like miles. Miles full of brackish earth and landmines that he had no idea how to navigate.

“I get to kill him.”

“Of course,” Smith answered and he watched as she toed her shoes off, signaling that she had no plans to run tonight. “If this is him, his last name is Porter, does that sound right?”

“I don’t know.” All of the anger and righteous indignation in her voice from before was gone, she sounded hollow – and he hated it.

“C… I didn’t -”

“Stop.” Raising a hand she moved to sit on the far side of her bed, facing the windows, and he wanted to give her the space, but he couldn’t let the night end like this. Couldn’t let this wound heal over so crooked that nothing would ever be right again.

“Please, listen to me.” He swallowed and took a slow breath. “I have
never
thought you were broken. I don’t know what you’ve been through, and I have never expected you to tell me, but you are strong. You are probably the strongest person I’ve ever met, man or woman, and at no point have I ever looked at you and thought
broken
.”

Her shoulders heaved, whether from a sigh or a silent cry he couldn’t tell, but it made him sick all the same.

“I’ve only ever wanted to protect you, to keep you safe.”

“I know, Smith. I get it.” Without facing him she yanked the sheets back on the bed and crawled into it at the edge. She flipped the lamp off on her side, leaving only the bathroom light filling the room and the light from the city sneaking around the blackout curtains.

“C?”

“Good night, Smith.” Her words were final, and they were the ones he knew he had to respect. She was processing, and it didn’t matter if it was the choices she’d made that night or his information that she was thinking over, he wasn’t going to be able to help her.

Turning off the bathroom light he stripped down to his pants in the dark and slid into his bed, facing away from her. Trying to give Camille as much space as she wanted or needed – no matter how different he had imagined the night going.