Текст книги "Reaper's Fall "
Автор книги: Joanna Wylde
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
I stood slowly, then looked from Gage to the unconscious, broken man lying on the floor. “No offense, bro, but telling me no worries when we’re gonna torch a guy’s place before killing him is kinda fucked.”
Gage snickered, so I flipped him off. That set him laughing for real and then I joined him, because it really was kinda funny in a sick way.
“I’ll go grab the tarp,” I told him, standing stiffly. “And the duct tape. Knowing our luck, the fucker’ll wake up halfway to Bellingham and try to crash the car.”
“Can’t blame him for fighting back,” Gage said, shrugging. “I mean, he knew the minute he saw my face that we’d have to kill him. He’s a snitch but he’s not stupid.”
“Smart fuckers don’t snitch.”
“Fair enough.”
• • •
“Who ya workin’ for?”
I stood in the back of the room, watching as Rollins—the Bellingham sergeant at arms—smiled down at Hands. I’d met him a few times and he’d never struck me as overly sane, but watching him work on Hands?
Yeah, this was some fucked-up shit.
I’d pulled in around nine that morning, and we’d been questioning the snitch for close to five hours now. He hadn’t broken, which blew me away. The things Rollins could do with a razor blade . . . let’s just say the fucker scared me, and I don’t scare easy.
Hands was tough, though—he obviously knew we had to kill him just as soon as he talked, which meant we couldn’t get the information with false promises of safety. This was about making him suffer enough that he wanted to die. We wouldn’t let that happen until we’d gotten what we wanted and he had to know it.
Clearly the snitch wanted to live. A lot.
He screamed again as Rollins carefully peeled back the skin on his arm. For an instant I felt sick to my stomach, but I managed to steady it. He set Bolt up, sent him to prison. Not like he didn’t deserve it.
“Jesus, just fuckin’ talk already,” Rance muttered, frowning. “Hate this shit.”
The screaming continued, and then it abruptly ended. Fuck. He’d passed out.
“How far you wanna go with this, boss?” Rollins asked, stepping back and cracking his neck. Blood dripped from the gloves covering his hands. “You know I can break him, but I got a feelin’ it’ll take time. He’s strong.”
Rance cocked his head, considering. He had all the time in the world, but I was under a ticking clock. Pic’d told me to stick around, hear what Hands had to say . . . But we’d staged that fire at the fucker’s place, which meant I really should get my ass back to Idaho sooner rather than later. I wasn’t overly worried about them connecting me with Hands, but you never know . . . Best to play it safe—especially now that I had Melanie waiting for me.
“What’re your thoughts, Painter?” Rance asked. I considered my choices. Complicating everything was the fact that I’d been awake for nearly thirty hours now, which meant I either had to pop something soon or crash.
“I need sleep,” I admitted. “Maybe you could keep trying while I catch a nap . . . I know Pic wants me to hear what he says, but I’m dead on my feet. It’ll take me a good six hours to get home, though, and I need to make it there tonight.”
“There’s a bedroom upstairs,” Rance said. “You can rest for a while and we’ll see how things go here. I’m not sure this fucker’s information is worth keeping him alive long-term. The sooner we get rid of the evidence the better.”
“Works for me.”
I gave Hands one last look, then walked out the door. The Bellingham Reapers didn’t have a full clubhouse like the Armory, just a house outside the city on some acreage. Right now it was mostly deserted, but upstairs I found Jamie, Rance’s old lady. She was probably around thirty-five, and the woman was fucking gorgeous. I’d popped wood the first time I met her a couple years back. Then I’d watched as Rance all but murdered a prospect for checking out her ass, which pretty much killed any lingering interest I might’ve had.
She gave me a sympathetic smile. I don’t know how much club business Rance told her, but she had to have heard the screaming. Not only was she hot, she was a damned good old lady—whatever she might be thinking, she wasn’t giving away shit.
“You should let me take those clothes,” she said, nodding toward my shirt and pants. I looked down, startled to see they were covered in dried blood. Fuck. Must be more tired than I’d realized—hadn’t even occurred to me that I might need to clean up.
“Bummer. I really liked these jeans.”
She gave a gentle laugh, rolling her eyes.
“Let me find you something clean to wear,” she said. “Then go upstairs and shower. Leave your things in the bathroom and I’ll take care of them. There’s a bedroom right across the hall—just make yourself comfortable. Sound good?”
Sounded like heaven.
• • •
Half an hour later, I was clean. The clothes Jamie gave me fit surprisingly well, and she’d even left a sandwich, chips, and an apple (cut up and everything, like I was a little kid) on the bedside table for me. I wolfed them down, then lay back on the bed for some much-needed rest.
I’d just started to drift off when my phone chimed.
MELANIE: How’s it going?
I considered just turning it off, letting myself sleep . . . but then I thought about her soft lips and sweet tits, and I woke right back up again.
ME: Good. Was up late last night. Wiped. How did the carnival go
MELANIE: They won’t be asking me to paint faces next year. Ive decided to count that as a win.
I smiled, thinking about those poor ladybugs of hers. They say love makes you blind, but nobody could be that blind. One of my first art teachers told me everyone has the power to paint something beautiful—obviously she’d never had Melanie Tucker in one of her classes.
ME: Thats prob for the best.
MELANIE: Hey—thought you were on my side
ME: I didn’t report you for crimes against humanity did I?
MELANIE: Ha ha. You suck.
ME: You have no idea . . . I’ll be heading back to CDA, prob get there late tonight. Want me to show you just how good I can suck?
She didn’t answer, and I smirked . . . then my cell chimed.
MELANIE: You should warn me before you text things like that. Jessica tried to steal the phone when she saw me blushing.
ME: You at home?
MELANIE: Yup. Working on a paper
ME: Go to your room
Would she take the bait? Long seconds passed. Nothing. The phone buzzed again.
MELANIE: I’m on my bed . . .
ME: What are you wearing?
MELANIE: Are you sexting me?
ME: Do you want me to?
MELANIE: I want everything
And suddenly those borrowed jeans weren’t fitting so well after all. I reached down, unbuttoning my fly.
MELANIE: I’m wearing a pair of boy-cut panties with lace insets at the side. Baby blue.
ME: What else?
Please say nothing, please say nothing . . .
MELANIE: That’s too easy ;) You first.
I looked down at my borrowed clothes, considering how to answer. Telling her that all I had on were castoffs because my own clothes were covered in a dead man’s blood seemed less than romantic.
ME: Jeans and a shirt. Not gonna lie—I opened my fly when you said you wanted everything.
MELANIE: Are you hard?
If I hadn’t been before, I sure as shit was now.
ME: Every time I talk to you.
MELANIE: Aren’t you just romantic?
ME: So what else are you wearing?
MELANIE: Whats it worth to you?
ME: Dinner at my place when I get back—I make truly excellent ramen
MELANIE: How about dinner at your place but I cook? I make excellent foods that aren’t ramen
ME: Deal. Now tell me what you’re wearing
MELANIE: Nothing . . . and my nipples are hard. I was rolling one of them between my fingers but then I had to stop. Texting you one handed is tough
Oh Jesus. The blood was rushing downward, taking my ability to think with it.
ME: Woulnd’ tmind a picture of tha
Fuck. I’d lost the ability to type, too, and not even autocorrect could save me. This girl was dangerous. Reaching inside my briefs, I caught my cock, giving it a rough squeeze. If I closed my eyes I could almost imagine it was her hand instead of mine. I would never—for the rest of my life—forget the instant her tongue touched me the first time. She’d been so hesitant, so careful . . . Turned me on and drove me crazy, because it wasn’t enough. I’d had to teach her how to do it harder.
My girl was a damned fast learner, too.
MELANIE: I don’t send pics to strange men.
Goddamn it. She was right, of course. Stupid to send pictures, especially to a known asshole like myself.
ME: Guess I’ll just have to use my imagination. I know a way you won’t have to stop touching yourself to talk to me . . . call?
That was it. I waited for a minute, then another, imagining Mel playing with her nipples . . . fingering her pussy . . . Now there was a pretty picture. I hooked my thumb under the waistband of my briefs, lifting my hips so I could push them down. Then I grabbed my cock again, jacking it slowly as I waited for her to respond.
The phone rang.
“Hey you,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Please tell me you’re still naked?”
Melanie giggled. “Well, I’m not totally naked—still have my panties on. I feel kind of silly doing this.”
“Don’t,” I told her, dead serious. “This is right up there near the top on my Dirty Fantasies About Melanie List.”
“You have a fantasy list about me?” she asked, her voice catching. Shit, did she think I was a perv? Probably. Made sense that she would, because I definitely qualified.
“While I was in prison,” I admitted. “Thought about you all the time. Been thinkin’ about you from the first day we met, although I tried to keep it under control. Then they locked me up and you started writing. Once you sent me a picture, I was fucked. Decided I’d best roll with it at that point.”
“So what sorts of things did you fantasize about?” she asked, her voice lower. Huskier. My fingers slowed, sliding upward to catch the sensitive skin right below my dick’s head. Shit, that was good. Her tongue would be even better.
“Long list,” I told her, sinking back into the pillow. “Used to think a lot about your mouth.”
“Really? And what was I doing with my mouth?”
“Let’s just say I enjoyed the blow job,” I replied, opting not to share that the full fantasy involved fucking her face with her pigtails as handles. See? I’m not a total tool.
“Well it seemed like a good idea at the time. Friday was incredible, by the way. Just thinking about it makes me so . . .” She giggled. “Okay, talking like this feels weird—like I’m in a bad porno.”
“Melanie, believe me when I say it’s a very, very high-quality pornographic production,” I replied, catching my pre-come with my fingers to use as lube. “I like it so much I’ve got my dick out and I’m jacking off while you talk. Not sure how long I’ll last here, but probably not more than a few more minutes, so please finish that fucking sentence.”
“Okay,” she said, and I heard the smile in her voice. “Just thinking about it makes me so wet.”
I bit back a groan.
“How do you know you’re wet?” I asked, barely more than a whisper.
“Because I’m touching myself,” she said. “I started with my clit, then started to move lower. Now I’m going back and forth between my clit and my . . .”
Her voice trailed off as burning, twisting need tore through me. The hand on my cock moved faster.
“Jesus, I want back inside you,” I admitted. “You got the tightest pussy I’ve ever felt, Mel. Never been with another girl who felt half as good.”
“You’re not too bad yourself,” she whispered, her voice starting to sound strained. “I used to think about you, too. Before, I mean. I used to lay in my bed and read your letters, and then I’d do exactly what I’m doing right now—touch myself.”
My hips arched up. Oh shit. Close now. Just had to hold on to the fantasy that it was her fingers doing the work, and not mine.
“Did you make yourself come—when you were thinking about me, I mean?”
She didn’t answer for a minute, but I heard a little gasp.
“Yes,” she said, her voice rough. “I’d touch myself and come so hard, thinking about you. Imagining what you’d feel like inside me . . . What it would feel like if you took me from behind. Whether you’d tie me up. Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that.”
Fucking hell. Mel had a kinky side. I must’ve done something absolutely incredible in a past life to deserve this, because I sure as shit hadn’t earned it in this one.
“I could do that,” I said, my voice husky. “And a hell of a lot more.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice breathless and uncertain. “Painter?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you like, into bondage? Because I know I said I’ve thought about you tying me up, but I’m not really—”
I burst out laughing. She went silent and then I realized she was probably embarrassed. Shit. Needed to be more careful.
“Mellie, I’m into you,” I told her. “We can play whatever games you want, but that whole formal bondage thing isn’t my kink. There’s a lot of territory between having fun tying a girl up and whipping her to get off. We’ll do whatever you want, and I guarantee that so long as you’re naked, I’ll be happy.”
“That sounds good,” she said, still breathless. “Just so you know, if you were here I’d be licking the underside of your cock right now. You know that little notch? I didn’t get to explore it as much as I’d like yesterday morning . . . and I’ve never tried deep-throating a guy before, but I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot with you.”
Better.
Than.
Christmas.
“Are you still fingering yourself?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “And I’m getting closer. It feels like I’m all heavy down there, like there’s a string inside me spooling up between my legs . . . pulled tight . . . it hurts but it feels so good and I really, really don’t want it to stop.”
I was gonna get calluses on my hand at this rate. Goddamn it, but I wished that was her jerking me off instead of me. I was close, though—the pressure was tight in my balls, making it hard to think. Making it hard, period.
“What are you doing with your fingers?” I asked.
“I’m moving one in a circle, right over my clit . . . I’m pushing down and going faster, because I’m really close. I’m so wet I can feel it running down my crack—ugh. Did that sound gross?”
I licked my lips, holding back a moan.
“No, it sounds hotter than fuck,” I admitted. My balls were a pressure cooker, full of hot come just for her. I’d fill her up, keep her prisoner in my bed, just for me.
Suddenly the whole slave-girl thing was sounding more interesting.
“I’m so close,” she whispered. “Tell me about—”
She screamed abruptly. I heard shouting and a loud noise.
Then the line went dead.
MELANIE
Kit Hayes exploded into my bedroom, followed by Jessica. They were screeching and shouting, oblivious to the fact that they’d caught me in the act. I squawked in shocked horror, dropping the phone. Thank God I’d been under a blanket—wasn’t sure I could live it down if they’d caught me bare assed, wanking like a total perv.
Not after the whole shower thing . . . not to mention flashing my unpainted boobs at Taz.
Oh God. It was already way too late.
“What’s wrong with you?” I demanded, clutching the covers to my chest. “Have you lost your minds?”
“Dad and London got married!” Kit shouted, eyes wide. A grim-faced Jessica nodded, confirming the declaration.
“Married? But they were planning a wedding for December . . .”
“Dad said he didn’t trust me and Em with a bachelorette party,” Kit spat out. “We made a huge mistake by asking if we could use The Line—that tipped him off. He says he and London didn’t want any fuss, so they just went down to the courthouse and got a license. They did it this morning, at the wedding chapel. Nobody was there. Em’s in another state.”
“I cannot believe her,” Jess added. “Loni had no right to do this without us—so irresponsible and selfish. She was only thinking about herself.”
Oh, seriously? Now Jessica was lecturing people about responsibility? That was ridiculous on too many different levels to count.
“That’s unfair,” I insisted, even though I was a little miffed, too—I’d been looking forward to the whole bridesmaid thing. “Loni is always taking care of other people. She works all the time, she puts up with our shit . . . she’s already done the whole wedding thing once and it didn’t end well. We can’t blame her for wanting to take care of it and move on.”
“Of course you’d take her side,” Jess snapped. “You’ve always taken her side. I haven’t forgotten that you’re the one who ratted me out to her last summer. If it wasn’t for my fight with Loni, I wouldn’t have run off to California and maybe—”
I sat up, narrowing my eyes at her.
“You’ve got one hell of a nerve, trying to blame me for that,” I said coldly. “It’s not my fault that you . . .”
My voice trailed off as I realized they were both staring at me. What? A breeze hit my bare nipple, and I realized I’d let go of the blanket.
Well, wasn’t that just craptastic.
“You were on the phone with Painter, weren’t you?” Kit asked, eyes going from angry to speculative to flat-out dirty in a matter of seconds. How did she do that? “Oh my God, look at her blushing! You were having phone sex when we came in here!”
“Phone sex!” Jess screeched, completely forgetting her rant. “How slutty is that! I’m so proud of you—first you’re fucking him in the shower and now you’re getting off over the phone. For the record, I still don’t think he’s a good choi—”
“Wait, you fucked Painter in the shower?” Kit asked. I groped for the blanket, wondering what I’d done to deserve this torment. “So does that mean you’re together now?”
I shrugged.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, frowning. “He’s busy doing stuff for the club somewhere, but we’re exclusive. At least, that’s what we agreed before he left.”
Kit frowned, sitting down next to me.
“Painter’s not really good at the whole exclusivity thing,” she said. “I know I warned you off him, but that’s obviously a moot point and I want you to have fun . . . still, you need to be careful. You can’t take him seriously.”
Great, now Kit felt qualified to lecture me, too.
“You know, I’m really tired of everyone telling me what to do all the time,” I announced, not bothering to hide my anger and frustration. Kit pulled back, eyes wide. I glared at her. “You need to learn some boundaries. Both of you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything—”
“You push into my bedroom without knocking, you’re telling me who I can sleep with, and you’re even pissed at Loni and Reese for getting married. It’s their wedding, not yours, and I totally understand why they didn’t tell you. You couldn’t just be happy for them. No, you had to try and force them into things they didn’t want. No wonder they got married by themselves!”
Jessica was inching away, mouth open.
“I’m sorry, Mel.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “Just maybe try to think about how other people feel once in a while. Both of you. I’m sick of it. And that was a private call, which means it’s none of your damned business who I’m talking to, or why.”
Kit looked down. “You’re right. We should’ve knocked.”
I couldn’t help but notice the apology didn’t cover her attempted lecture or acknowledge that perhaps her father had a right to make his own decisions. That was his problem, though—I’d already said my piece.
“We’ll be downstairs,” Jess said. “And you should probably get a lock for your door . . . especially if you’re going to be having sex in here. Realistically, we both know I’m going to forget to knock the next time I get all excited.”
Music burst out of Kit’s phone and she grabbed it, looking down.
“It’s Em,” she said, shooting me a furtive glance. “Let’s go, Jess. We have plans to make. She’s already started driving over from Portland and we have a lot to get done before she reaches Coeur d’Alene.”
“You’re throwing a party, aren’t you?” I asked. Kit had the grace to look guilty.
“A surprise bachelorette party,” she admitted. “Tonight. I’m sorry. I know what you said about boundaries is probably true, but there’s no way Em and I can let this pass. We have to welcome London to the family right. It’s our job.”
“You’re welcoming her by pissing off your dad?”
Kit shrugged. “If you had any idea the shit Dad pulled on me and Em when we were younger, you’d get it. We can’t let him get away with this—we just can’t. It’s the principle.”
“You sound crazy.”
Kit sighed. “Yeah, I know. But he started it.”
They left the room and I started looking around for my phone. It’d gone flying, and it took me a good five minutes to find it wedged between the futon and the wall.
Six missed calls from Painter and one from Reese.
Shit.
He answered on the first ring.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice terse.
“I’m fine,” I said, and I heard his sigh of relief.
“Okay, give me a minute to text Pic—I messaged him that something was wrong at your place. He’s already on his way to rescue you.”
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry. I can explain—that was Jess and Kit, and they—”
“Of course it was Jess and Kit,” he muttered. “Give me a sec, then I’ll call you back.”
He hung up, and I reached for my bra. I didn’t know about him, but the mood was certainly dead for me. I’d just pulled my shirt on when the phone rang again.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “They pushed into the room and scared the hell out of me, and then I couldn’t find my phone and I guess we’re having an emergency bachelorette party tonight for London because she got married.”
Silence.
“You wanna run that by me again?” he finally said.
“Apparently he didn’t have time to tell you . . . Reese and Loni got married this morning. All by themselves—I guess they didn’t like how people kept making plans for them, so they just up and tied the knot without telling anyone.”
Painter burst out laughing.
“I’ll bet Kit and Em are pissed as hell,” he said. “They had all kinds of crazy-assed shit in mind.”
“I don’t know about Em, but Kit seems pretty upset. Oh, and just so you know, the girls figured out what you and I were doing and started giving me shit, so I yelled at them. Now they’re hiding downstairs.”
He started laughing again.
“That’s almost worth the heart attack you gave me.”
“I’m really sorry about that,” I murmured. “They scared me.”
“They’re scary girls,” he said. “I don’t suppose you want to pick up where we left off?”
I considered it, but the thought of Jess and Kit down below . . . it wasn’t working for me.
“No more phone sex until I get a lock for my bedroom door. I don’t think I can take another scare like that.”
“I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”
He sounded so determined I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Would it make me sound like a crazy girlfriend if I asked what time you’ll be back tonight?” I wanted to take the words back as soon as they left my mouth. I’d meant it as a joke, but guys like Painter didn’t have girlfriends. He’d told me himself he didn’t date. Now he probably thought that I thought he was my boyfriend and . . . “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Mel?”
“Yeah?” I asked, closing my eyes against whatever he might be about to say.
“I wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend like you.”
My pulse sped as I careened from freaked out to elated. I wanted to jump up, maybe do a fist pump or two. Instead I somehow managed to keep my voice casual.
“I wouldn’t mind having a boyfriend like you, either.”
“If I ask Pic to give you a key, will you sleep at my place tonight?” he asked. “I’ll be getting in late. Really late, probably not until early next morning, but I’d like knowing you’re in my bed, waiting for me.”
“Sure,” I said, feeling all warm and happy. “I’d like that, too.”
