Текст книги "Devil Smoke"

Автор книги: Max Henry

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

HOMEWARD BOUND

Bronx

You know those moments that as soon as they happen you know it will be a defining moment in your life? Yeah, well walking in and seeing Ryan standing over Eddie, a knife in his shoulder and a gun tucked on her was one of those. Nothing could tell me more that she’d fit in just fine with what I do for a living than that image right there. Demented visions of what our domestic bliss could be like flash through my mind as we walk from the crack house out to my bike. I could fully see her washing the blood from my work clothes with a damn smile on her face, all while I drink a cold beer on our back porch. It’s like some sick and twisted 50s advert up in there, and it couldn’t look better.

“What you thinking about?” Ryan asks as we stop beside my Kawasaki.

“Huh? Nothing really.”

Ryan narrows her gaze on me, but the smile on her face tells me she’s happy to let it go. “How am I getting back to the clubhouse?” She looks around at Callum’s Harley, and back to the Kawasaki. “On that?”

“Yeah.” No brainer, darlin’.

“I don’t have a helmet.” Her eyes go wide with panic. The woman’s just shot up several shady underworld characters, and yet here she is, worried about road safety.

I give her a smile and pass mine over. “I wouldn’t dream of makin’ you go without before me.”

She takes the matte black helmet from my hands and stares down at it. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I was when I told the boys I’d be bringing you home tonight, or die tryin’.”

She doesn’t seem to like my answer very much, scrunching her nose up while she frowns at the helmet. “You know, that was the only thing that made me fight back.”

“What was?” I take the helmet out of her hands before she fidgets it to pieces, and place it over her head.

“The thought of you.”

My hands still, holding the skid-lid on her as I question her silently with my eyes.

“Eddie came close to choking me to death,” she states, a little too matter-of-fact for my liking. “But I thought of you, of us, and what could be, and I fought back.”

I drop my hands to the straps of the helmet, and look at the slight bruising on her throat hidden by the shading in her ink. I loop the straps tight on autopilot. The marks on her skin send a rush of heat through me, but it passes as soon as I remind myself the fucker’s already dead—there isn’t much I can do now.

“We ready to ride?” Callum asks, striking a match as he walks out the front door.

“Yeah, man.”

Shielding the flame as he turns, he flicks the flaming stick in the entrance, igniting a trail of flammable liquid that roars to life and runs into the belly of the house. Flames quickly grow, and I look across to find Ryan staring at the fire, mesmerized.

“Time to go, darlin’.” I swing my leg over the bike, and flick out the pillion pegs for her. “We need to roll out before those flames find anythin’ explosive.”

Ryan takes a last look at the house as smoke pours out the busted windows and door, and then climbs on behind, wrapping her arms under mine and around my chest. Her knees tuck up against my waist, her legs bent right up with the short distance between the seat and the pegs. I glance across to Callum’s bike with the level seat, contrasting to mine where the pillion sits higher than me, and make a mental note to check out the price of Harleys when we get home.

Callum turns his beast over, and before long the crack house is nothing but a plume of dark gray smoke on the burnt orange horizon. We ride into Sioux City, and too soon for my liking, we’re pulling up beside King, Vince, and Mighty outside an all-night diner. I could have ridden with Ryan wrapped around me until the tank ran dry, preferably somewhere remote and miles from a gas station so we’d have no choice but to camp out for the remainder of the night. Could still be arranged.

Ryan unwraps herself from me as I kick the stand down and rock the bike back onto it, her hands gripping my shoulders when she comes close to losing her balance with the movement. I wait for her to dismount first, offering her my hand to steady herself as Callum wanders over to talk to the others.

King gives us a nod when we approach the group, listening to what Mighty has to say.

“All in all, it’s swept for now,” Mighty tells the group. “As long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves, she can keep it buried.”

King turns his head my way. “Mighty’s just lettin’ us know what his good buddy at the DA’s office has managed to do. Ryan’s little shooting party is tied up in that much tape it would take a fuckin’ month to unravel, even if it were found.” His eyes coast across to her, and he smiles. “Congratulations, precious. You officially became more trouble than it’s worth for our boys in blue.”

“Thanks, man.” I extend my hand to Mighty, giving his a shake when he crosses palms with me.

Ryan threads her fingers in mine when I step back, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I’m forever in your debt, guys. Thank you.”

“Well, we’re still going to be hangin’ around for a bit lookin’ like half-sucked blackballs until Tuck gets in touch,” King advises, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Anybody else for a coffee?”

“I could go something stronger,” Vince grumbles.

“Don’t think old Maude in there would stock that.” King points through the window to the woman working the tables who has to be nothing short of ninety.

The boys chuckle, and head indoors. I go to follow with Ryan when she tugs on my arm and holds me back. “Hold up.”

“You right?” I ask. Maybe she’s not up to hanging out in public just yet. I never gave it much thought, but she’s still covered in spots of blood.

“Do I have helmet hair?” she says, fingers patting her squashed bun. “I need a damn mirror.”

“You look fine as hell, darlin’, but”—I hold up a hand and take a step back to strip my T-shirt off, leaving only my tank—“throw that on over yours.” I lean in close as I hand it over and whisper, “Don’t look now, but you’ve got a bit of blood on your shirt.”

She giggles, taking the offered T-shirt from me and lifting it to her face. “It smells like you.”

“I’d be fuckin’ worried if it smelled like someone else.”

She laughs and shakes it out, tugging the tee on over her head. The fabric pools around her hips, and she tucks it in on one side to lift it off her legs.

A rumble breaks from my chest, and I bite the side of my bottom lip as I look her over. “Fuck, that looks good. Better than any scrap of pointless lace could.”

She does a little twirl, a huge grin on her face as she says in her best southern drawl, “Why, thank you.”

I snag her mid turn and pull her flush against my front. Her eyes go wide as my obvious arousal presses between us. “Exactly,” I say with a smile. “You go causin’ that, the least you can do is hold on to me while I get it under control.” Although having her pressed against me—all tits and curves—isn’t really doing much to stop the blood flow.

Her lips tilt up on one side mischievously, her eyes hooded. “Can’t wait to crawl into a warm bed with you. Seems like the perfect end to a hell of a day.”

I tip my head back and growl. “Woman, are you tryin’ to kill me?”

“What?” she asks, all innocent as pie while looking wicked as hell. “You put suggestions like that”—her hips press into mine—“between us, I’m going to get ideas.”

“Carry on like that, and I can guarantee you’ll be fuckin’ begging me to slow down when you see how fast I ride when I’m in a hurry.”

She places a soft kiss on my lips and pulls back with her hand lingering on my chest. The flesh burns under her touch, the desire spreading like wildfire the longer she keeps us physically connected. I gently remove it, and give her a wink as I wrestle myself to a more comfortable position in my jeans. “Coffee first. We’ve still got a few things to wrap up before I can call it a night.”

“Killjoy.”

“Tease.” I give her a firm smack on the butt to get her moving. “Come on, git.”

I love seeing her like this—her old confidence returned enough to have her joking around. But I still worry. Before today, she’d never killed a man. Today, she’s taken down four. Most people wouldn’t be able to comprehend that, let alone get around acting as if it was no more of an inconvenience than having to change a flat. I’ve seen it before in returned vets with PTSD—the false confidence, and the determination to have the world think they’re happy as pie.

But they’re not, and I’m not entirely convinced she is, either.

Ryan slips in to sit beside Callum as I enter the diner and head for the men’s. The blond nuisance wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her in to nuzzle her neck, eliciting a squeal of surprise from her. The shithead’s doing it to wind me up, and as much as he has, I flip him the middle finger and turn away, knowing that at least for now she’s happy.

There’s not much more I’d wish for in life than knowing she’ll never have a reason to lose that smile again. Whatever the cost.

NEW WORLD

King

Ryan is safe, and Eddie is down—we’re halfway there. I swipe at my phone again, checking the messaging apps although none of them show any new notifications. The boys are oblivious to my compulsive habit, laughing amongst themselves as they run over the day’s events. I look up from the phone to find one set of clear blue eyes watching me with interest.

“Did you expect to hear from him by now?” Ryan asks.

I nod at her, spinning the phone on the tabletop.

She sighs and turns her head toward the waitress walking over with the coffee pot. The conversation dies while the old woman slides the hot drink onto the table, followed quickly after by clean mugs, sugar, and creamer. The waitress is barely two steps from the table before the boys are hollering over each other again.

I sneak a look at Ryan as she runs her finger around the rim of a mug, her eyes focused on the ceramic. “What will you do if you still haven’t heard from him in an hour or so?” she asks, her eyes still downcast on the cup.

“Not sure. Probably round up the extended family and head over to check things out.”

“Where is he?” she says. “What is he doing?”

Of course. I’m so used to only talking to people who are privy to the inner workings that I forget she doesn’t have a clue what our plan for tonight was. “I guess you’ll find out sooner or later, anyway,” I say to justify it to myself as much as her. Mighty caches my eye, passing silent approval before he dives back into conversation with the others. “Your old man’s gone to do the same as we did tonight—well, you mostly did. Only, it’s not Eddie; it’s Carlos Redmond he’s taking down.”

“Is that even achievable?” she asks quietly. “Bronx said he’s pretty crazy.”

“It’s achievable with the right mindset and experience,” I say, trying in vain to convince myself of the answer. “Harris is probably one of the best prepared for that kind of fight, plus I called in a secret weapon back when I sent Dog over with that message for him.”

“What?”

“Not what—who. Sawyer.”

She swallows, lifting her tired gaze to mine. “I’ve heard about him. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Yeah, except one’s rotten, and the other just thinks it is.”

“You think they have a chance, then?”

I stare down at my phone as I bring it to a stop from spinning with a finger on the screen. “I thought they did, yeah. Now I’m not so sure.” I push the damn thing aside, and reach for the pot instead, pouring a cup for Ryan and one for myself.

She adds sugar while I top up with creamer, and she stirs her cup, passing me the spoon when she’s done. I drop it in my brew at the exact same time as my phone starts ringing. The conversation between the other three stops, and in my haste to answer the call, I end up slamming my arm down on the handle of the coffee spoon, sending hot liquid spraying over the table and Callum.

“Damn, King,” he cries out, wiping his face with a sleeve.

I swipe the screen to answer and mouth a sorry as I do.

“Delivery is made,” Sawyer reports, using the lingo we’ve picked for open lines, “but we’ve lost some of the load.” Code for casualties.

“Which ones?” I ask, my gaze meeting Ryan’s.

“Consignments beginning with A, G, and N.”

N—our prospect Nathan. I knew I shouldn’t have allowed him to go, but the kid was determined to be of use. “How did we lose Consignment N?” I ask. “That one was supposed to be kept undercover.”

“Moved in transit.” Bastard kid never did do as he was told.

“Damages?”

“Five, but nothing a bit of tape can’t fix.”

“Good.” The intensity of four sets of eyes watching me burns into my skull.

“One of them is the money-maker.”

Fuck. Harris is hurt. “I’ll meet you back at the depot to assess the cost.”

“Sure thing. We’re runnin’ empty.” Code meaning they’re out of ammo. Had to be one interesting night for them considering how many boxes they rode out with.

I hang up the call and place the phone down on the table. “They lost three: Alvez, Grinch, and Nathan. On their way back to the clubhouse. We’ll meet them there.” The guys nod, the light banter they’d been enjoying shot to hell.

“What about Dad?” Ryan asks.

I swallow away the nerves at hearing her call him that, and gesture for Mighty to get out of my fucking way. “We better hit the road if we want to make it home today.”

“King,” she pleads. “What about my dad?”

“On his way back with them.” I walk away, pretending not to hear her asking me more questions as I strike up a conversation with Mighty. I’m feeling every bit the asshole I’m acting, but what should I tell her? Your old man’s got cancer, and so I don’t know how well equipped his body is to recover from battle wounds? Yeah, doesn’t sound right. Even if I did break the news, one, I don’t want a scene in public that’ll draw additional attention to our being in Omaha City tonight, and two, who the fuck wants to learn their parent is dying while they’re sitting miles from home in a damn diner? Where even is her home, now?

The least I can give the girl is the dignity of having her world broken further apart in private. At least in the clubhouse I can find a room for her and Bronx to shack up in and spend the night together, leaving him to do what he’s gagging to do and comfort her when she needs it most. After today, I don’t think he’s going to get a better opportunity to show the woman what she means to him.

I just wish I had the same support for myself when the dark days set in. Every time I think the dust has settled, a damn hurricane rolls in, stirring it back up. There’s nothing worse after a day of bloodshed than slipping into a cold bed and having your regrets amplified by the black chasm of loneliness steadily splitting your heart in two.

ENOUGH

Bronx

“I need to wash my hair,” Ryan says as we enter the common room after our ride back. “It’s like cement on my head.” She fingers the stiff up-do, grimacing.

“A shower sounds good,” I say, closing my eyes at the thought. “But you need to see Gloria about that shoulder.”

She glances down at the makeshift bandages. “Why was King being so evasive?”

I turn my head to where he pulls up a seat at the bar, accepting a drink from Dog. “Don’t know. But he’s not the kind of guy to keep something from you if he thought you needed to know.”

She glances to the door, longing clear in her eyes. “Do you think they’ll take long to get back?”

I shrug, genuinely unsure. “Who’d know for sure.” She turns her gaze to meet mine when I reach out and take her hand. “But like I said, you need to get that shoulder sorted.”

“Give me a minute to psyche myself up, okay?”

I grumble as Gloria crosses the room to talk to King. “You’ve got however long it takes for me to get over there”—I say, pointing to Gloria—“and back.”

Ryan hisses under her breath and leans on the arm of a sofa. “Make it quick before I change my mind, then.”

“Can’t leave whatever is in there,” I say. “It’ll get septic.”

“I know.” She rubs her temples, head hung. “Just hurry up.”

Forty minutes later, and Ryan sits pale and wide-eyed beside me on the sofa. She came close to passing out from the pain when her ibuprofen took longer than expected to kick in, but Gloria’s quite a deft hand after so many years, and the worst of it was over quickly. Still, I felt every pop of the needle through her flesh while Ryan was stitched up as though it were my own. She was incredibly lucky—the bullet sliced through the side of her breast and exited just inside her armpit. The majority of the damage was to the tissue, and after the inflammation subsides, it should be quick to heal.

I ease her T-shirt aside and eye the new bandage. “How does it feel?”

“It went numb ages ago. Only hurts if I bump it hard.” She takes a bite of the cookie Sonya gave her to stop the shakes. “Do you think this is it? The end?”

“Darlin’, there is no end.” I put an arm behind her and pull her in carefully, kissing her temple.

“One day at a time then, huh?” She finishes her food and rests for a while, her color slowly returning as she does. “So . . . about that shower?” She twists in my hold and smiles up at me. Her hand slides up the inside of my leg to rub the denim either side of my increasing bulge. The vibrations through the fabric taunt and tease the sensitive flesh beneath.

“What about it?”

“I was kind of hoping you’d join me.” She gently cups my crotch. “We kind of need to finish what we started.”

I run a hand over my face and groan. “I should wait until the others roll in.”

“But?” she prompts, her hand snaking under my T-shirt to rub across my stomach.

“But they could be a while yet.” I lean across and awkwardly hoist her around to straddle my lap. Her hands brace against my chest to save her falling over, and I slam mine over the top to hold her there. “I like havin’ you touching me.”

“Yeah?” she whispers.

“Yeah. Drives me crazy knowin’ I’m enough for you.”

“You were always enough, Bronx.” Her fingers twitch under mine as she smiles. “To tell you the truth, it hurt a lot at the start knowing how ‘enough’ you were and not knowing how to have it for myself.”

“All you had to do was ask, darlin’.”

“Can I?” she says.

“Can you what?” I prompt.

“Can I keep you all for myself?”

“Of course you fuckin’ can.” I take her face in my hands and pull her down to meet my lips. Her hands fist in my T-shirt as I tangle my tongue with hers, loving every inch of how she tastes. “Come on,” I whisper against her mouth. “Let’s get upstairs before the boys get a show.”

“I think they already are.”

I follow her line of sight over my shoulder and catch a few of the guys at the bar watching us with shit-eating grins. Callum tips the neck of his bottle our way, smiling. “Ladies.”

Cheeky fucker. I plant my hands under Ryan’s ass and hoist her up with me, forcing her legs around my waist as she sits on my forearms. She giggles, burying her face in my neck, and it’s the most heart-warming act ever. I’m her security—her safe place. A bolt of pride pushes my chest out as I carry her toward the stairs, and I praise the fact I haven’t trained legs in the last few days as I climb up with her still holding on.

She pulls her head away when we reach the upstairs landing and smiles sadly, placing a chaste kiss to my lips. “Thank you.”

I frown, and let her down to stand before me. “Why the sad smile, then?”

“Being with you is so nice that I’d forgotten for a while about Tommy. I miss our banter. I wish was still with us.” She squeezes her eyes shut and fans her face with frantic hands. “I’m okay,” she murmurs to herself. “You can do this, Ryan.”

Her eyes open as I place my palm to her cheek. “Darlin’, you need to let it out, then do it.”

“Not now.” She shakes her head. “I’ve got my whole life to grieve.” She lets out a short laugh. “I’ve spent most of my life grieving something or another: a person, an idea, or a dream of what I could have had. No more. I want to finally enjoy being happy.”

I move my hand to the back of her head and pull her in so I can kiss the top of her head. “I don’t think you’re quite there yet, but okay.”

She might be relieved or content, but she sure as hell ain’t happy. Until I can say with a hand to my heart that I can get this woman to wake up every day with a smile on her face, and until I can promise that the only sound filling our house—because there’s no way she’s living anywhere but with me after this—is laughter, she ain’t happy. Not really.

I fidget with her matted strands of hair as she looks up at me, cracking the dried blood to get them apart. “How about we get this shower done, yeah?”

Her hand covers mine, stilling it, and she brings it down to her mouth to kiss my knuckles. “Okay.”

I follow her to the end of the landing and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and locking us in. Ryan’s on autopilot, leaning in to turn the water on and methodically unwinding her hair from the knot she put it in. I step in behind her, holding her gaze in the mirror as I help unravel the mess that is her long black locks.

“I can’t believe I sat in a diner with somebody’s gore in my hair,” she mumbles.

“The way you had it up, darlin’, nobody could see a thing.”

“It’s still gross.”

“It is,” I agree. “But that’s just how life is when you take another.” I fan the ends out over her shoulders, watching her reaction in the mirror when I run my fingers down the tips sitting over her chest and slide my palms off the end to cup her breasts.

She leans into me, letting me take her weight as I run my hands lower over her stomach. Her eyes slip closed, and she lets out a low moan as I run my fingertips teasingly along the waistline of her jeans. The button pops free under my deft touch, and I ease the teeth of her zipper down, slipping my flattened hands inside the open denim and under her panties.

The material between her legs is fucking soaked. I rock my hips into her at the discovery, and bend my head to kiss behind her ear. “You want this, huh?” I taunt, running my index fingers along the soft flesh either side of her wet cunt.

“They’ve been drenched since I had to sit for hours with you pressed between my legs on your bike.”

“Jesus,” I breathe, slipping a finger between her folds, teasing, coaxing, and touching just outside of her core.

She squirms against me, seeking pleasure from my fingers, but I’ve got other plans. I pull my hands out and turn her around, blood rushing to my already strained cock when I catch sight of her hooded eyes watching me.

I grab a hold of my T-shirt and ease it off over her head. “As much as I’d love to fuck you in that, you can’t shower with it on.” I praise the fact she left everything else off after Gloria stitched and bandaged her.

She stares down at the puddled fabric on the floor as I let my eyes roam her naked torso. “I could put it on again later.”

“You will put it on again later,” I correct, lifting both hands to flick her hair over her shoulders.

She smiles, gripping the basin behind her and peeking out from under her lashes in a way that has me as hard as fucking granite. I lean down and suckle each nipple in turn, getting more moans in response, her hands moving to grip in my hair.

“We’re wasting water,” she complains feebly.

“We’re about to waste a fuckload more.” I strip her jeans off, tossing them aside and repeating the process with her panties.

She stands before me naked, bared, and as perfect as I’d imagined. Every curve, tattoo, scar, and mark is a stroke on her canvas. The resulting art is fucking mesmerizing.

“Get in the shower,” I order, kicking off my boots and moving to pull off my tank, jeans, and briefs.

She steps under the water, careful to keep her bandaged shoulder out of the flow, and watches me strip. The hunger in her eyes matches what I’m feeling in my gut. I get in behind her, my dick standing rigid between us as I run my hands over her back and down to her ass, committing the way she feels to memory. A groan falls from her lips as I slide a hand between her legs and rub my palm over her, bringing her nerves to life again. Coaxing her to turn around, I angle the nozzle toward the wall and slip my foot between hers, kicking her legs apart.

Her eyes go wide, her jaw slack as I drop to my knees and place my palms on her thighs, spreading her lower lips apart with my thumbs. “Jesus, that’s beautiful.” I give her clit a few circles with my thumb before leaning in and sucking the hood into my mouth.

“Shit . . . Bronx.” Her fingers grab hold of my hair, pulling hard.

Say my name again. I spread her again, lapping her with my tongue in long, flat strokes. She pants and squirms, but still, I don’t manage to get her to echo it. My tongue works faster, and I move my right hand to circle her soaked hole before slipping a digit deep inside of her. She begs me to work her harder, pushing off the wall to get more from me, but still—no name. I reach up and plant a firm hand between her heaving tits and push her against the wall, pinning her in place. Sucking her hood again, I slip another finger in, pumping her to the point where she’s begging for release.

And then I get it—the sweetest sound in the world.

“Bronx, I’m going to come.” She places two of her fingers over her clit and circles madly as I lick around where I’m working her pussy into a swollen mess. “Fuck, I need it harder.”

I suck her flesh, releasing it with a pop to ask, “You take the pill or somethin’?”

“Mmm,” she answers, her bottom lip turning white from the pressure of her teeth. “Yeah.”

“Good.” I drop my hand from between her legs and stand abruptly, hoisting her up the wall, taking care not to give her shoulder grief. She cries out, her eyes shut tight, and I worry that I’ve still hurt her until she opens those crisp blues on me and smiles. Her soft expression fades pretty damn fast when I line myself up with her and push inside, turning that smile to an open mouthed ‘oh’.

“Oh my God.”

“He ain’t here,” I grunt between thrusts.

“Bronx,” she moans, her tits bouncing as her body jolts against the wall. That’s better.

I lean in to her, shifting the angle I’m hitting as I lean down and suck one of her nipples into my mouth. She cries out as I flick my tongue around the tight bud, repeating the attention and care with the other. I pull back, repositioning my hands beneath her as I step us away from the wall and twist a quarter turn to the left so she’s got her back to the glass door.

“Grab the top of the frame with your good hand.”

Her head tilts back, and she watches what she’s doing as she reaches over her head and twists her left wrist to get a hold of the top of the door frame. She tucks her right arm across her front, wincing a little.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll let you know if it’s too much.”

“Try to hang on, darlin’.” Taking a step back, I angle her hips upward and loop my arm farther around so I can keep her up with just the one. Holding on beside her hand with the other, I brace myself and resume giving it to her, hard and punishing.

I fuck her for leaving.

I fuck her harder for putting herself at risk.

And I fuck her harder still for telling me I’m all she needs.

She moans, biting her lip as her body bounces with the force of my thrusts. Her eyes are closed, her eyebrows knitted, but by the way her pussy is clenching around my cock, I’d say she’s close. Her breasts heave with her breaths, and I curse the fact I can’t quite fucking reach to suck on one as she comes apart.

“Ain’t ever lettin’ you leave again,” I say, lifting her a fraction higher to hit her sweet spot better.

She moans, and cries out, “I can’t hold back any longer, Bronx. It’s too good.”

I slow my movement, remove my hand from the door, and stroke the damp hair off her face. She complains about the lack of movement between us as I run my hand down her chest, across both breasts, and rub her swollen and pulsing clit. “Don’t hold back this time. Show me what you got.”

Taking a hold of the doorframe again, I shift my foot to a firmer spot and slam my hips into her thighs, fucking her harder and faster than before. Her cries are cut off by the shock of my hits, her hands slipping on the door.

“Let it go,” I growl, tipping my hips a little. “Fuckin’ cover me in cum, darlin’.”

She screams loud enough that I’m certain every red-blooded male on the property heard, and shakes as her orgasm takes her. Ryan’s hold on the door slips, and I grab her with both hands, wrapping my arms about her as the last of my release spills on the inside of her leg.

“God, I’m sorry,” she says, looking down at my still twitching cock. “I ruined it for you.”

“Fuck off, you did,” I say, stroking the last drops out. “I’d go without to hear you scream like that again.”

Her face goes all shades of red, and she places a hand to her mouth. “I can’t go back downstairs now. That’s so embarrassing.”

“Sweet thing, they’ve heard and seen a lot worse than that.”

She simply responds by shaking her head and stepping toward the water, adjusting the nozzle so it flows over half her face and neck. I reach around her and rinse my hands off, before running my fingers through her hair. She passes me the shampoo from the shelf, and I squeeze some into my hand, rubbing it through her long locks and massaging her scalp as she leans under the flow. The water runs a shady pink color, eventually rinsing out to the creamy white of the shampoo, and then clear.

I continue washing her, paying attention to every scrape and bruise, working her sore muscles and leaving her leaning against the wall as she hums in quiet contentment. She reaches for the body wash, but I take it first, shaking my head.

“Hop out and dry off, woman, otherwise we’ll be here all fuckin’ night.”

She wraps her fingers around my semi-hard length and gives it a gentle tug on her way out the shower door. “Later.”

Later. It’s a promise that this thing isn’t temporary, and that she isn’t going to wake up in the morning and regret the decisions that brought her here with me. I watch as she towels herself off, paying special attention to the still puffy flesh between her legs when she bends over to dry her feet.

I always thought that a good woman was one who lived inside the constraints of the law, and that a good woman could never match up to a man like me because our worlds would be so vastly different. A man like me. I always thought I was the bad guy, the danger in the shadows, but as I smile at Ryan pulling my T-shirt back on over her inked torso, I realize one important truth.