Текст книги "Storm"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Eight

RAYLIN

My thoughts are a tangle. I followed Storm upstairs to the shower, trying to sort them, to decide what I believe, and now I’m standing, razor and a can of shaving foam in my hands, my mind unraveling.

Again. Like every single time I look at him.

Face heating.

Again.

He’s only wearing a towel around his trim hips, tiny droplets glittering on his skin. His hair is wet and standing on end, and his lips are curling into a familiar, wicked grin. How’s a girl supposed to react to this sense overload, huh? I think I’m perfectly justified in drooling just a little.

He leans his head back, watching me under lowered lashes. Baring his throat to the razor in my hand. For a guy who’s been shot at and who’s been through an explosion and a car crash—accidents or not—this show of trust is touching.

He keeps doing that. Hammering at walls that he’s already torn down. Plus, he’s a total hottie. Completely irrelevant, that.

Yeah…

Swallowing down nerves, I put the razor on the counter and pour some foam in my hand. I divide it between my hands and reach up, spread it on his cheeks.

God, this is fun. And so hot. Feeling his stubble under my palms, under my fingers, feeling the contours of his face, the strong bones of his jaw and cheekbones, my hand brushing over his soft mouth, the contrast making me shiver.

His broad chest expands and contracts, his breathing shallow. The knot in his throat moves when he swallows.

I grab the razor and stand tiptoe, steadying myself with one hand on his shoulder. “Stay still,” I whisper, and his eyes flick between me and a point in the distance.

The blade glides over his cheek, leaving smooth, sun-kissed skin underneath. I blow out air and lower myself to run it under the tap. When I turn back to him, he’s clenching the edge of the counter in a white-knuckled grip.

Fear, I think, but then I see the bulge under the towel and realize it’s not that. Looks like I’m not the only one affected by this game.

He had fear in his gaze earlier, when he told me about the accidents, coincidences, whatever they might be. Looks like I’ve sidetracked him. Good. Gives me time to think about his words.

What if he’s right? What if those were no accidents?

I shave his jaw, his chin, then start on his other cheek. He snags an arm around my waist to steady me, pressing our bodies together. The shaving foam smells of pines, and it mingles with the citrus of his soap and the spice of his skin. The razor rasps over his upper lip, and it’s done.

I put the razor down and trail my fingers over his smooth face, nuzzle his cheek. He chuckles and turns around to wash off the traces of foam. Water splashes, and suddenly I’m drenched and sputtering, backing away.

“You…” I wipe the water from my eyes, and he splashes me again.

“You look hot.”

“I’m not. It’s cool in here.”

“I mean, you look really hot, Ray.” He grabs me around the waist and carries me, kicking and cursing, to the shower stall. He pushes me up against the wall and cranks up the water. I squeal when it hits me, cold at first. He presses his naked body into mine, the towel having fallen somewhere on the way, and grips my jaw. “Smoking hot. Sexy as all hell. Damn fine.” He licks at my mouth, his other hand shoving my soaked blouse up. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He finds my breast and squeezes. It’s a bit rough, but it’s more pleasure than pain, especially when he rubs my nipple into a tight, throbbing point. I’m still worked up from going down on him before, and the combination of his rugged body pushing me into the wall, his rough kissing and his clever hand leaves me breathless.

When he thrusts a powerful thigh between my legs and switches to my other breast, I moan helplessly. He breaks the kiss and licks a path down my neck. I throw my head back, shivering.

Warm water trickles over us. My eyes roll up, finding the huge showerhead that’s spilling a gentle tropical rain over us. My eyes close as he unbuttons my shorts, while sucking on my collarbone, the thumb of his other hand still lost under my blouse, flicking on my nipple.

Overload. I don’t know what to do, how to keep still. I writhe as his hand pushes into my shorts and parts my folds, two fingers pushing into me.

Oh God. I’m so ready, so close to the edge. He pumps his fingers in and out of me, once, twice, and I thrash, coming hard, moaning his name. I grip his arms, the pleasure drowning me.

Next thing I know, he’s ripping my shorts down my legs and then my blouse over my head, and murmurs something as he runs his hands over my naked body. His hard cock bumps into my stomach. He grabs one of my legs and lifts is, spreading me wide. His fingers are back, stroking me, rubbing over my clit, then pushing in and out of me.

“Fuck, if you could see yourself…” he whispers, his eyes dark, the pupils dilated. “So sexy.”

Then he pushes into me, in one, deep, long thrust, and I choke on a cry. He pulls my leg around his thigh, and then the other one, opening me up, filling me up so completely there’s nowhere to run. Filling my world, swamping my senses. I have to surrender—to his cock, his hands under my ass, his body rocking into mine, grinding me into the wall.

It’s rough, and wild, and oh crap, I’m coming again, stronger than before. Pleasure rips through me, and I convulse around his cock, clenching hard, barely managing to hold back a scream.

“Shit.” He hisses, his hips slamming me into the wall, his cock sliding in and out of me, hard and slick and hot. “I can’t… Oh fuck.”

He pulls out of me in one long drag that makes us both cry out, and then he comes all over my breasts and belly, shuddering. Jet after jet of cum hits me and runs down my body, down my hips and thighs, getting washed away in the gentle shower spray.

Braced with one hand against the wall, he’s still shaking with aftershocks, still pressed against me, his softening cock trapped between us.

“God, Ray.” His breath is coming in short gasps. “What am I going to do with you?”

I smirk up at him. “Make me breakfast?”

“I sure could do that.”

“And then take me to bed?”

He groans, the corners of his mouth lifting. “I’ll get rug burns on my dick if we keep doing this.”

“Rug burns?”

He presses his forehead to mine, his eyes closing. “My dick might fall off from overuse. But I’ll take the risk.”

“You’re taking an awful lot of risks lately.”

“You’re worth it,” he says, and wraps me up in his arms. “Told you, babe.”

I say nothing, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

***

“You really think someone is after you, huh?” My mouth is full of cheese-and-ham baguette, so it comes out garbled.

Yet he apparently understands, because he nods and puts down his own half-eaten baguette sandwich. “I know it sounds absurd.”

“More than my story? Please.” I swallow and take another bite. I’m starving. “Though I don’t get why anyone would be after you. Me, I have my dad’s debts on my back. But you?”

He leans back in his chair and taps a rhythm with his fingers on the tabletop. “Fuck, I don’t know. Can’t make heads or tails of it. I mean…” He wipes a hand over his mouth and glares at his plate. “Why? What happened a year ago to change everything?”

“If it’s true.”

“If it’s true,” he agrees. “Fuck. Ray, there’s—”

Thunder booms, rattling the windows, and I jump a mile, my chair crashing back to the floor. “Shit!”

“It’s just thunder.” He gets up and comes to me, drawing me into a bear hug. I cling to him.

“God, I hate thunder. But I love storms. Isn’t that weird?”

“You love other Storms apart from me?” He squeezes me until I yelp.

“You’re the perfect Storm,” I tell him, and he laughs. I love the sound. It makes me smile. I also love the fact he came over to hug me.

He’s easy to love.

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?” I let him drag me back to the table as the rain starts pelting the kitchen windows and lightning flashes in the night. He straightens my chair, and I sit back down, a little sheepishly.

I mean, who else is scared shitless of thunder at the age of nineteen?

Only me.

“How about you?” he shoots back.

“Yeah, well. I know I’m irresistible,” I wink at him, “but with all the running about, I haven’t been able to keep even a girlfriend, let alone a boyfriend.”

“You’re the prettiest girl on earth,” he says, and I snort, picking up my baguette. God, if I’m not careful, I might even start believing him.

“You haven’t answered my question.” I brandish my baguette at him. “You’ve only been hiding here for, what, a month?”

“A bit longer.” He rubs the back of his neck, mouth twisting. “Haven’t had a steady girlfriend since high school. I went out with girls, messed around, but it didn’t stick. I just couldn’t trust them.”

“You trusted me easily enough.”

His eyes flash at me, a brilliant blue. “That’s because you saved me from the storm.”

“You mean, from yourself.”

He smiles. “That, too.”

We’re both silent for a while, listening to the rain, with his words hanging between us, bright like stars. I don’t know what I meant, but he obviously does, and something about it is twisting my heart.

“Storm…” Another crack of thunder, and I jolt in my seat. Jesus.

“Yeah, it’s just a storm.” His eyes glint.

“And you won’t always be there to hold me.” God, I need to get my wits together.

“Come here,” he says, beckoning, and I find myself rising and walking around the table to him. He pulls me on his lap and holds me there. “We’ll get through this, together. Didn’t I say so?”

“You did,” I whisper.

“Do you trust me?”

So many objections in my mind. So many protests. “I do.”

“Good girl. I promise I’ll find a way out of this. I have a plan.”

“A plan?” I lean my head on his shoulder. Feels safe. Feels good. “And what about your accidents? Or non-accidents?”

“Let me worry about that.”

Unfair. I worry about him. I don’t want him to die, if someone is gunning for him. “Did I tell you that you’re totally nuts?”

“Many times.” He smirks a little, looking pleased with himself. I’m drowsy with my belly full and his warm arms around me, the rain drumming softly on the windowpanes. “Rest. We can talk more later. I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

A prick of unease in my drowsy mind, and I try to pinpoint it. Everything. Tell you everything.

He hasn’t told me everything yet.

But he will, I think, he promised, and I let myself sink into sleep, trusting him to keep me safe. Which goes to prove that I’m the one who’s crazy, after all.

STORM

She’s slumped on my shoulder, her slight weight sweet in my lap, her arms loosely looped around my neck. She’s letting me in, letting me hold her, soothe her.

It wakes up every protective instinct I own. I meant what I said: I’ll fix this. I’ll tell her everything, and then I’ll make myself go back and get the money to get the mafia off her back.

She’ll know who I am the minute I tell her my given name. These days, everyone knows. My family has been in the news time and again. Deaths, accidents, scandals.

The death of my parents. My uncle taking over until I turned twenty-one. Then me, taking off to live my life my own way, cruising from state to state on his motorcycle and taking odd jobs here and there. My uncle’s death. My so-called accidents.

What should I do? Go back, sure, okay. Talk to the guys, Hawk and Rook. And then what? Visit a shrink? Nobody believes my life might be in danger.

I sit there, Raylin in my arms, and ponder this. I told her I have a plan, but it only extends to paying off her debt. I need to be prepared for another attack on myself. On her, too. On both of us. Because the moment I return with her, her life might be in danger, too.

Fuck.

But what other way is there?

The guys come to mind again. They have connections, know people. Get things done. We’re distant cousins and have been best friends since we were toddlers.

If they believe me. Because right now they don’t.

I have just turned twenty-one, and I’ve come into my inheritance. Since my uncle’s death, the money was managed by his lawyers. Now I need to go and claim it. Who would benefit from my death?

My next of kin is Natasha, second cousin on my mother’s side. But she wants to be a professional hip-hop dancer, and has never shown any interest in being rich. Her parents are well-to-do and seem happy running their family beach wear business and surfing.

They wouldn’t. It’d be too obvious. Wouldn’t it?

Unless it’s not discovered. Unless it looks like an accident.

Dammit.

But why now? Why not years ago? Why wait? Christ. While I cruised the country, while I worked at joints and bars before my uncle’s passing, none of this mattered.

Tension coils in my shoulders, in the back of my neck, and Raylin shifts in her sleep, frowning and scrunching up her nose.

I relax my hold and let out a breath.

Damn, she looks so cute. I cradle her to my chest, a smile pulling at my lips. Having her here I feel… complete. Without her, I feel like a rusty sieve, full of holes, right down to my soul. Parts of me are missing, gone with the death of my parents, my uncle’s cold upbringing.

Fucking Uncle Tony. I know I was a handful after my parents died. He didn’t make anything easier for me, though. He didn’t care about how I felt. He was only interested in teaching me what he wanted me to learn, and taught me not to have friends. Not to rely on anyone. Not to want.

Now he’s dead, but the hurt and anger lingers, and I have trouble connecting with people. Getting close.

She’s changing me. I feel close to her. With her, I somehow feel whole.

Chapter Nine

RAYLIN

I’m floating on a warm cloud. A warm body that’s lifting me up into the sky, toward the sun. Somewhere below us, in the distance, there’s rain and wind and thunder, but we are far from it all. Safe. A promise hangs in the air between us, a smile and a touch of callused fingers that leave shivers in their wake. They drag over my face, over my lips.

I blink, and the light blue of the sky is replaced by a deeper blue. A pair of long-lashed cobalt eyes staring down at me.

Disoriented, I shift—on his lap, in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder. “What happened?”

“You fell asleep and I brought you upstairs.” I can feel his voice. It booms in his chest, like the roll of thunder, and I shiver. He frowns. “Are you cold?”

“No.” How can I be when I’m tucked under the covers, with his strong body wrapped around mine?

“Sleep.” He brushes a lock of hair from my face and leaning in, kisses my forehead. “You look tired.”

Maybe it’s because I’m relaxed, winding down after running for so long. Feeling safe for the first time since Mom died. I burrow into the bed and barely notice when I fall back into sleep.

When I next come awake, the room is dim, the sky beyond the French doors darkening, and I’m alone in the enormous bed. Rubbing at my eyes I go looking for the bathroom, relieve myself and wash my face. My body is still heavy with sleep, my head aching.

Where’s Storm? He’s like a storm himself, wrenching me away from everything I’ve ever known. Only he gives no clues, and I have no idea what’s going on behind his eyes.

I make my way down the stairs, squinting in the half light. The living room looks empty. “Storm?”

No reply. I look into the kitchen for good measure, then move to explore the other rooms. Two bathrooms, an office, a storeroom with a huge freezer, and then a huge sliding door.

I tug on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. Locked. I jiggle it, then look around for something I can use to pick it. Can’t help it. I’m curious.

The office is the most promising place. I check the drawers but they’re empty, except for one that is locked. I rattle it, but it doesn’t give. Solid lock.

Finally I locate a paperclip and return to the locked door. Straightening the paperclip, I push it into the lock and swirl it around until it catches, then push. I turn the handle, and the door slides back.

Another huge hall forms the front of the house, facing a private driveway and a garden filled with tall palm trees and bushes. I walk past window after window, taking in the enormous property. The lawn is overgrown, the bushes untrimmed.

A bird caws, starling me, then flies from a bush outside the window and vanishes into the evening sky. I press my hand to the glass, trying to see where it’s gone.

Instead, I see a guy leaning against a palm tree, smoking a cigarette. A rake is propped beside him. A gardener. I guess someone has to take care of the huge garden, though it doesn’t look like he’s been doing much lately. The place is in a sorry state.

He shifts and instinctively I step aside from the window, pressing myself to the wall, hiding in the gathering shadows. The man isn’t here for me, or he’d have caught me already, but that doesn’t stop my heart from hammering.

Then I hear my name being called from the back of the house.

Storm.

“Ray! Where are you?” He bursts into the long hall, turns left, then right, his eyes taking in the place. “Ray.”

I push off the wall, and he’s there in two strides, grabbing me in his arms and crushing me to his chest.

“Fuck, I thought you left. I thought they came for you.” He’s squeezing the air out of me, and it shouldn’t feel so good but it does—his hold, his concern. “I thought you were gone.”

“I’m fine.” I glance at the window, but I can’t see anybody. “Storm…”

“I went out running and when I came back I couldn’t find you. I was out of my fucking mind and I—”

“Storm, there was someone outside.”

“What?” He swings me around so that I’m behind him. “Who?”

“I don’t know. A gardener. I think.”

He’s silent for a beat, then, “Can’t see anybody. Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Storm’s back relaxes as he turns toward me, and even in the dimness, I can see the flash of his grin. “Okay then. How about watching a movie?”

***

We lounge in a TV room with a huge flat screen, watching Spiderman movies, eating microwaved popcorn and drinking beer Storm dug out of the enormous freezer I saw in one of the storerooms. Turns out he’s stocked the pantry with more than a couple of months’ worth of food.

I like that. That’s something I would’ve done if I expected to hole up in one place for some time. I toast him silently with my beer bottle.

“What?” He’s chewing on some popcorn, slumped back on the sofa cushions. He’s changed into a pair of dry shorts, and his hair hangs in his face. He pushes it back with one hand, peeking sideways at me.

“You’re a surprise, Mr. Storm.”

“Because I stock up on microwave popcorn?” He licks his lips and my mouth waters. “And beer?”

“Because you stocked up enough popcorn and beer to last you a year.”

He snickers. “Best movie food.”

“You watch up lots of movies down here?”

“I used to. Before you showed up.” He puts the beer and popcorn on the table, and leans toward me and slings an arm around my shoulders. “Then I got distracted.”

That makes two of us. “You spent a whole month here on your own?”

“Uh-huh. Two actually.”

“Sounds kinda lonely.”

He shrugs, long, dark lashes brushing his cheekbones. “It was.”

Then his mouth is on mine, and the sounds from the movie fade away. He tastes of salt and butter, his lips soft and his arm dragging me closer until I’m almost in his lap. He licks at the seam of my mouth, his hand sliding up, tangling in my hair, and when I gasp, his tongue pushes inside.

Sparks run over my skin. I moan as our tongues rub together and run my hands over his naked chest, over his sides, over the dark lines of his ink.

In a blink, he’s got me on my back. He grabs my wrists and pins them over my head, holding them there one-handedly. I’ve never seen his eyes go so dark. Need twists inside me, sharp and hot. I try to buck my hips, to reach him, but I can’t move, trapped by his weight.

“Fuck,” he whispers, one side of that long mouth curving up. “Look at you.”

His gaze travels over me like a flame. My breasts tighten, my nipples harden. Oh crap. What’s the matter with me? I don’t want him to hurt me.

Okay, maybe hurt me a little. Why does the thought make me wet? Jesus. I struggle against him, fighting him—fighting myself, the want that burns under my skin.

He shifts until he’s pressed between my legs, and I moan at the feel of his long hard cock where I’m aching for him.

“Do you want this?” He runs his free hand down his stomach and into his shorts, his cock and his hand now both pressing against my mound. “Tell me.”

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

“How do you want it?”

“In my mouth.” God, is this me? I only know I want to taste him again, I want him to fill my mouth first, my sex later. “Like this.”

“Fuck, Ray.” He lifts up, pushes his shorts down and draws out his cock. My mouth waters again as he strokes that hard length, his big fist running up and down in slow, even motions. Then he straddles me, guiding his hard-on to my mouth. His musk floods my senses. “Beg me for it.”

I shudder. “Please.”

The head of his cock touches my lips. Salty. Bittersweet. I lick at it, and he groans. “Oh yeah. Suck it, baby.”

His words, his taste, the feel of his cock in my mouth trigger shocks of pleasure that travel down my spine. His hand clamps hard on my wrists, holding them fast over my head, and I whimper, liking this. Liking this way too much. Heat blooms inside me, flooding my core, and my hips tilt, looking for friction.

His heavy cock slips deeper into my mouth, and I choke a little. He pulls back and I suck on him, loving the way my lips slide over his hard shaft, the silky skin and the thick vein beating underneath, against my tongue.

“Damn…” His head tips forward, his eyes closing. He lets go of his cock, the roll of his hips pushing it in and drawing it out. His hand caresses my face, traces my lips that are stretched around his considerably girth, and another groan escapes him. “This is so fucking hot.”

Hot is how I feel. Pressure is building inside me, and I clamp my legs together, spikes of pleasure tearing through me. I play with my tongue on the underside of his cock, under the head, lapping at his precum, salt and Storm’s spice, and oh God, I’m going to come from giving head.

Is that a thing? Does it happen to other girls?

Can’t think straight. Not when every nerve on my body feels alive, when the first pulses of an orgasm that will rip me apart are starting deep inside me. When he moans my name and rocks faster, the drag of my lips on his cock harsher.

Suddenly, he pulls out all the way. “Inside you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I want you to ride me, Ray.”

Poised on the edge of orgasm, I stare at him, willing my brain to resume function. He was so close to coming, I felt it on my tongue. His cock is swollen huge and twitching, glistening, bobbing against his flat stomach. As I watch, more precum leaks from the small slit at the top and trickles down the sides.

Just the sight of that might be enough to push me over the edge. I need to come. I reach between my legs to ease the throbbing pressure, but Storm has other ideas. He pushes my hand away, then tears my blouse and shorts off me.

“Finally.” He grins wolfishly at me, licks his lips. “You should never wear clothes, baby.”

“Then we’d never get out of bed,” I whisper.

“I like the idea.” He fumbles with his shorts and pulls out a foil. He tears it open and rolls a condom on. He settles back on the couch, one leg hanging off, the other stretching until it nudges me. He’s holding the base of his cock with one hand, his gaze heavy-lidded. “Come here and ride me. You’re gonna make me come so hard, baby. I won’t last long.”

A thrill pierces me. The thought of feeling him, seeing him come undone never fails to excite me. It’s a strange reversal of roles, I think—me on top, taking control—but I realize my mistake the moment I straddle him. His hands are on my hips, lifting me, then lowering me. His mouth fastens on my nipple, sucking it in, making me cry out. The tip of his cock pushes into me, slowly, and I’m so wet it slips inside easily. He controls my descent on his pelvis, on his hardness.

He’s still the one in control.

I shake as I take him in, inch by impressive inch. Damn, he’s big. I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out again as his rubs on my inner walls, a delicious, never-ending slither. He’s watching me, always watching, his hands clamped hard on my hips, keeping it slow and even. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his breath whistling out of his parted lips. His eyes are focused between my legs, where we are joined, and the muscles in his stomach contract, his cock twitching inside me.

More and more of him pushes into me. Too much. He’s too big. I can’t… My eyes burn—not from pain but from the overwhelming fullness.

I feel like my heart will burst.

“Storm…” My voice hitches. “It’s…”

Not sure what I want to say. I don’t want him to stop. I want all of him.

He says nothing, and I realize my descent has stopped. I open my mouth to protest, to say I can take it.

Looking down, I see I’m straddling his hips. We’re pressed together, pelvis to pelvis. He’s inside me from root to tip.

A whole-body shiver grips me, and he grunts, his head tilting back, his throat arching. If possible, his engorged cock swells again, until I lean forward to ease the pressure. I place my hands on his hard chest, rock my hips, and we both cry out.

He looks up at me, his eyes wild. “Goddamn… Do that again.”

And I do. I roll my hips, my breasts swaying, and he licks at my nipples, one and then the other, his body trembling as he tries to remain still. It’s so good, and my inner walls ripple. The pressure is cracking. I’m about to plunge into something dark and indescribable. His hands on my hips lift me and slam me back down, faster now. He releases my breast and his mouth opens in a long moan.

Oh God, I’m coming. I sit up, bracing one hand on the back of the sofa, and he slips in deeper, triggering my orgasm. A wordless shout escapes me as I rock on his cock, clenching around his thickness again and again, until he writhes underneath me, his breath coming out in a gasp.

His cock jerks inside me, and I clench again, trembling with the pleasure of it. His pelvis tips up, lifting me a bit, as a stronger spasm shakes him.

“Fucking hell…” He’s still coming as I bend over him, draping myself over his chest. “Dammit.”

Sweat is drying on my skin, sending shivers skittering over my skin, his hardness inside me setting off aftershocks that rattle me. It takes a long time for his cock to soften and for the sharpness of that pleasure to fade into a softer hum.

Sated, exhausted, I close my eyes as his arms come around me and everything’s right in the world.

STORM

I lie on the sofa, gazing at the ceiling, my arms full of passed-out girl and my dick still thrumming with pleasure. That was… mind-blowing. All of it. Her eagerness, her excitement as I fucked her mouth and pinned her down, her weight on top of me, the tightness of her pussy around me. Her orgasm, nipples taut, body shaking, tightening around my dick so hard I thought I was going to pass out.

We fit perfectly together, a lock and a key—and I love putting my key in her lock, goddammit. Fuck, my dick twitches, still trapped inside her, and she moans.

I’d better get up, clean up, get rid of the condom, but I can’t move, and not because she’s lying on top of me. Fuck, no. I love having her like that. Plus she weighs almost nothing. Girl needs to eat more.

I’ll feed her.

The image makes me groan again. If it was up to me, I’d never leave the bed. I’d fuck her all day and night long, only stopping long enough to eat something and catch a few winks.

Come to think of it, isn’t that what we’ve been doing since she moved here?

Grinning, I throw an arm over my eyes to block the light from the TV. Spiderman is still playing, the images flitting by, going fuzzy.

Why can’t we stay longer here? It’s not like anyone knows where she is. She’s not in danger, and neither am I. There’s food in the freezer. We could last for another couple of weeks.

The guys will be worried if I don’t report in soon, I think fuzzily, my eyes closing. Hawk will probably punch me when he sees me, and Rook will sit back and laugh, enjoying the show. Should I call them? Should I take the risk?

Paranoid, my brain informs me. You’re paranoid. That’s what everyone thinks. Just turn on your damn phone. Do it.

But Raylin believes me. Right? She’s seen her fair deal of violence and bad people, and she thinks you’re on to something. It’s okay to be careful. Your whole family is gone because they thought themselves invincible.

It was no accident. I had been there, with them, in the car, but I can’t… I frown, clutching at the girl in my arms. I can’t remember.

Bottom-line is… Be careful. Death comes for everyone, sooner or later—sooner for those who don’t believe in his scythe.

I doze for a while. I must have, because when I come awake, my head throbbing and my dick still wearing a condom full of cold cum, my arms are empty.