Forsaken Page 8

  “Don’t look at me like that again,” I warn, tearing off my ankle holster and setting it in the sink, “or I might stop caring who hates who until after we fuck.” It’s crass. I’m crass and suddenly pissed off, and I don’t try to pretend I know why. I walk past her, so close in the small space our knees bump, and damn it, I jolt with the impact, and that pisses me off, too. I turn on the shower and adjust the water.

  “Me,” she supplies as I turn to tower over her. “Just in case you’ve forgotten how mad the kiss in the truck made you. You’ll hate me.”

  “If I end up hating you, Gia, it won’t have anything to do with how good you fuck or don’t fuck. I promise you that.” I step away from her, giving her my back and unzipping my pants. I shove them down my body and kick them away. Turning, I find her head on her knees, her long brown hair draped over her face.

  “Tell me when you’re in the shower.”

  This is not a seductress, or even an actress. No one is this good, and I have no idea why, but seeing her hiding her face is like a hammer cracking the ice I erect around me. I laugh, a low, deep, genuine sound I barely remember as belonging to me. I never laugh; I don’t even smile all that much. I’m really not sure what to make of it. I was just pissed off. I am pissed off. And aroused, my cock thickening uncomfortably, in a way that would scandalize this woman, and oh yeah, I want to scandalize her, and a whole lot more. I want this woman like I don’t remember wanting anything in a very long time. But I step past her, resisting the urge to touch her, because now is not the time for this. It may never be the right time.

  When I climb into the shower the hot water pours over me, erasing the odd combination of laughter and lust of moments before and soothing the ache of my many beatings. I sigh with relief as heat seeps into my weary body. I needed this. Oh yes. I really needed this.

  “Please don’t make noises, unless you’re going to sing something really silly that makes me forget you’re naked.”

  My lips quirk. “What kind of noises am I making?”

  “Pleasure sounds.”

  A full smile manages to find my lips. “I like getting dirty, sweetheart, but I enjoy cleaning up now and then, too.”

  “You’re just trying to embarrass me now.”

  “If I can’t fuck you right, I might as well fuck you wrong.”

  “You like the word fuck.”

  I laugh again, working shampoo into my hair. “I suppose I do.”

  “My father liked it, too. It surprised people.”

  “A fancy university doesn’t seem like a fuck kind of place,” I comment, rinsing the soap off.

  “Oh, don’t let the prestige fool you. It’s Texas, after all, and there were some redneck boys who held nothing back. And the thing is, my father was one of them, but he dressed and presented himself as very refined and proper, so it shocked people to see the other side of him.”

  I turn off the water and rip open the shower curtain, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist. “And what the fuck does that make me?”

  She laughs, keeping her eyes on my face, not my partially naked body as she says, “Very fucking different. And my father would be appalled that I used that word.”

  I grab another towel and dry my hair, struck by how fondly she talks about her father, and how difficult it’s going to be to get her to let go of her past life. Either Gia isn’t afraid of what the future holds or she’s in denial. Tossing the towel over the edge of the tub, I face her, closing my hand around hers where it holds the gun. “Do you want to survive this?”

  The light in her eyes fades. “I am going to survive.”

  “Good. Then the old you doesn’t exist. I’m your safe zone, the only person from this point forward who can know who you were or where you came from. Gia doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing you’ve done before now can ever be a part of your life again, or Sheridan will find you.”

  “But you said you were going to destroy him.”

  “Destroying Sheridan isn’t enough. He’s aligned with other very powerful, very rich people who want that cylinder. Assuming you’ve told me the truth, you denied them their prize by helping me escape.”

  Her eyes glaze over, but she doesn’t cry. “Tell me,” she says, her voice quavering, “that I did all of this for a reason. I need to know. Or maybe you understand better like this. Tell me that I did this for a fucking reason.”

  “The more you know, the more danger you’re in.”

  “That’s bullshit. My life is ruined. I’m on the run. I deserve to know.”

  In this moment, I believe there is more to Gia than meets the eye, but I do not believe she’s working for Sheridan. Or if she is, or was, it either wasn’t by choice, or it’s with the kind of gut-wrenching regret I feel over having made the same mistake. And I won’t make it worse by putting her in more danger.

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned,” I reply, “it’s that life is rarely fair. And death is the biggest bitch of all.” I reach down and untie her hands. “Stay here.” I walk out of the bathroom, setting the gun on the nightstand before grabbing all the bags with her things in them and returning to set them all on the floor in front of her.

  “Chad—”

  “There’s no window in the shower. The bathroom’s all yours. Make it quick, and be ready to leave suddenly if we have to.” I back out of the room and shut the door. Needing space. Needing to think and figure out what to do about her and with her.

  Leaning against the wall, I close my eyes, one clear certainty in my mind: Gia’s the newest addition to the list of people I fucked over when I made a deal with the devil and found that cylinder. I shut my eyes against the sound of a soft, muffled sob from inside the bathroom, as if Gia’s covered her mouth to try to hide any sign of weakness. But she’s not weak. She’s strong. The tears are a part of the process of acceptance she has to go through to survive, but they come with pain, and her pain cuts me. God, how it cuts me, carving out what’s left of my soul and leaving me to bleed the only thing I have left: vengeance. Sheridan knows I’m alive. He knows Amy’s alive. I’m not starting another hide-and-seek session with this man. This is war, and it’s going to be nasty—bloody too, if that’s what it takes to end this. After six years, I know there’s no other option with Sheridan.

  The shower comes on and it hits me that I am standing around in a towel, a dangerous way to be when we need to be ready to leave at any moment. I quickly dress in faded jeans and a black Coca-Cola T-shirt the kid at Walmart picked out for me. Tomorrow we’ll be able to tap into my many resources. Gia will have a proper fake ID, and we’ll be staying in a much nicer hotel room that includes two beds, not one to share—tonight is going to be interesting.

  The shower turns off and I sit down on the bed, setting the alarm on my phone for five hours from now. As much as I want to get to Denver and Amy, my body is going to force me to sleep, and I can’t risk making stupid mistakes out of exhaustion. The wall-mounted blow dryer in the bathroom turns on and I grab the phone book, looking for the closest car dealer and typing the address into my phone. By the time I’m done and leaning against the headboard, my booted ankles crossed on the mattress, the bathroom door opens and Gia appears.

  She’s dressed in a simple black sleeveless dress, and her dark brown hair has been dried straight and sleek, falling around her slender shoulders. Her face is clean of blood and mascara, her skin pale and beautiful, a hint of pink on her lips that she must have found in the Walmart stock, but her eyes are bloodshot, the look in them tentative, perhaps tormented.

  Fidgeting, she runs her hands down her hips. “The bags actually had some makeup and a few hair products. I was shocked.”

  “Nothing I’m sure you’d pick on your own.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she says, clearly meaning to fill the awkward space, but still I get the impression she isn’t cowering from our obviously difficult sleeping arrangements. She’s tough, and yet somehow still feminine.

  “Twenty-four hours from n
ow you can shop for yourself, and we won’t be sharing a lumpy bed.”

  “Where will we be in twenty-four hours?”

  “You know I’m not going to tell you that.” I scoot over and pat the bed. “Come here.”

  Her brows lift. “Right there. To that spot.”

  “That’s right. To this spot.”

  “Will it do me any good to argue?”

  “You either get me up close and personal, or you get tied up again. I don’t want to do that to you.”

  She inhales and walks toward me, tentatively sitting down on the bed. Before she even fully settles, I grab her and lay us both down, curling around her, one of my legs wrapped around hers. My arm comes down over the top of her and I scoot in closer, molding our bodies together so well that if she moves a muscle, I’ll know.

  “Go to sleep,” I order near her ear, her freshly washed hair a silky tease against my cheek.

  “The light is on.”

  “The sun is coming up anyway.”

  She’s silent a beat. “Most men would have—”

  “Don’t fool yourself, Gia. I’m not a good guy. I never was, and I never will be. Now. Do as I say. Go to sleep.”

  SIX

  ONE MINUTE I’M LISTENING to Gia’s soft, steady breathing, and the next I’m fading into sleep and with it, the memory of six years ago, in vivid, damning detail, the scent of smoke teasing my nostrils.

  I burst through the door of the house, screaming, “Mom! Dad! Lara!” and immediately I’m consumed by smoke, my lungs convulsing in protest. Coughing, eyes burning, I use my shirt to cover my face, fear for my family sending adrenaline shooting through me, making me shake. Sprinting forward, I cross through the kitchen—no fire in sight, and I know that means it’s all on the upper level. Rounding the corner, I reach the bottom of the stairs and see that flames cover the second floor landing. I launch myself up the stairs. “Mom! Dad!”

  “Chad! Chad!”

  The sound of my mother’s voice is a relief, but the flames that greet me as I turn right toward her voice in the hallway blast me with heat. Panic overwhelms me. I can’t get to her. There are too many flames. “Mom! Mom, you have to go out the window!”

  “I can’t! It’s covered in flames. Save Lara! Get Lara out of here.”

  “Get something to cover yourself and go through the flames.”

  “I can’t leave your father.”

  My gut knots at her words. “What’s wrong with Dad?”

  “He hit his head. Just get Lara out of here! I’ll figure this out.”

  Tears burn my eyes, and not just from the smoke—I’m not sure my parents are making it out of this. Coughing, I cover my face and turn to the left, racing forward and around the corner, praying I can rescue my sister¸ but it’s impossible. Flames cover her doorway, eating a path toward me.

  “Lara!” I shout, my voice raspy with smoke and desperation. “Lara!”

  My mother’s bloodcurdling scream pierces the air and it’s like a sword slicing me in two. “Mom! Mom!” I turn back toward my mother, rounding the corner and scanning for something, anything, to get me through the flames. There is nothing. I’m shaking and coughing, and tears streak my cheeks because I know it’s too late.

  Lara’s voice is a hard jolt as she screams, “Mom! Mom!”

  Lara’s alive. She’s alive, and I’m keeping her that way. I turn back toward her room, rushing forward. “Jump out the window, Lara!” I shout, stopping at the very edge of the flames. Could I run through them to get to her? “Jump now.”

  “Not without you and Mom and Dad!” she shouts back, sounding desperate.

  “You see the flames, damn it!” I answer. “I can’t get to you.” Behind me, fire consumes the hallway I’ve just traveled, leaving me only one escape: the spare bedroom directly in front of me. ”I’m going out another window. I’ll meet you outside.”

  “Mom’s okay?” Lara shouts. “Did Dad get to her? Did he get her out?”

  “Goddamnit, Lara. How many times do I have to tell you to jump out the fucking window? I’m running out of time. Get out, so I can get out.”

  She screams and my heart stops beating a moment; the helplessness of not being able to get to her is gutting me. “Lara!”

  “I’m okay. Just get them out, Chad. Please. All of you get out.”

  “Jump!” I shout, heat licking at my back. “Jump, damn it!”

  “What about Mom and Dad?” she stubbornly shouts back.

  “Do what I say, Lara,” I yell fiercely. “Jump!”

  The sound of my mother’s scream rips through the air again and I ball my fists at the agony in the high, pained sound, knowing that she’s dying. Knowing that I can’t get to her.

  “Mom!” Lara screams. “Mom!”

  Flames encroach on me and I’m out of time. “Jump now, Lara!” I shout, my voice guttural and fierce as I shove open the bedroom door and go for the window, hoping I can get to her and my parents from the roof.

  “Chad. Chad! Wake up.”

  My eyes open and the motel room comes back to me. I’m squeezing Gia so tightly that I don’t know how she’s breathing. I’m barely breathing. I ease my hold on her. “Shit. Did I hurt you?”

  “No, you just scared me. I was worried about you.”

  I release her and sit up, grabbing my head and willing away the scent of smoke that I can’t seem to escape and the echoes of my mother’s screams—those damn gut-wrenching screams. Made worse by that bitch named Guilt who lives in my head and laughs like a wicked madwoman at the effort I make to shut her out.

  Beside me, the bed shifts, and Gia scoots closer to me, her leg pressed to mine, her hand coming down on my back. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” I growl roughly, irritated at the way she gets under my skin, the way she seems to magnify every sensation in my body. “I am not fucking okay.”

  “I have nightmares. I understand.”

  I snap, turning on her, pressing her to the mattress, holding her hands by her head like I’d done before. “That wasn’t just a nightmare. It was a memory. I was in my burning house, listening to my mother scream as she burned alive and I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t get to her.”

  “Your sister was in the house?”

  “Yes. Amy was there. But she was Lara then. She thankfully survived the fire and I had someone help me hide her. Then I left her alone, or thinking she was alone. She doesn’t know I’m alive.” More guilt burns through me and I release her and stand to pace the room, cursing the beam of sunlight coming through a tiny gap in the curtains that irritates me for no logical reason, wishing for the darkness that an adrenaline rush gives me. But all I have is this tiny room and the memory of my mother screaming. At least my father didn’t know what happened to him, or her. I press my fists into the wall, letting my head fall forward and fighting the urge to punch a hole in the damn thing.

  “Chad.”

  Gia’s voice, directly behind me, radiates through me, and with it unwelcomed white-hot need. Desire. Lust. I tell myself that it’s wrong. She’s wrong for me, and yet for some damnable reason I can’t begin to understand, this woman feels right in a way that nothing else has in a long time. Every muscle in my body tenses in anticipation of her touch, and the moment her hand comes down on my back, that blast of adrenaline I desperately need burns through me.

  I grab her and pull her in front of me, stepping into her, my legs framing hers, my hands on her waist, fingers flexing into the soft flesh there. And when she looks up at me, I see none of the blame I feel toward myself. The understanding that I didn’t think she could have is there.

  And she’s here.

  Not offering words of sympathy that do me no good—offering herself. I see it in her eyes, her desire matching mine, and even if I believed she was still loyal to Sheridan, which I don’t, I’m not sure I would care.

  Wrapping my hand around her neck, I pull her to me, flattening her body against mine, bringing her mouth a breath away from the next kiss I’v
e denied myself too long. “I don’t care who’s going to hate who later. I just want to fuck you.”

  She curls her fingers around my shirt. “Then stop talking and do it.”

  “You can’t handle this part of me.”

  Her chin lifts defiantly. “Try me.”

  “Be careful what you ask for. You might get it.”

  “If you’re trying to scare me, it won’t work. In fact, it might make me want it more. Just like you want to escape your memories, I have a few of my own I’d like to forget right now.”

  That’s all the encouragement I need. My mouth slants over hers, tongue pressing past her lips, and the heady taste of her, all sweet honey and temptation, fills my senses. I deepen the kiss, drinking her in like a drug I cannot get enough of. But she is more than a drug. She is now in my care, and I cannot, will not, let her die because later she might be looking for a rush or a high that I’m not around to give her. But I’m here now, and I have this oddly possessive, entirely selfish need to be the person who gives her that escape, who shows her what I sense she’s never known: complete, utter sexual overload that leaves no room for anything else. The very idea has me deepening the kiss, licking into her mouth and demanding more. And when that soft, sweet tongue of hers, so innocent in its response, tries to match my command, it drives me wild.

  A low, raw growl escapes my throat and I turn her to face the wall, forcing her to hold herself up with her hands. For a moment I feel the pain of that nightmare, and I wonder why I never used Meg as an escape, why I always contained who, and what, I am . . . but this woman is different. Reaching for her dress, I yank it up her hips to find her backside bare but for a thong with a happy face on it. She glances over her shoulder, offering a breathless, embarrassed explanation. “I didn’t pick it.”

  “Good. I don’t like it.” I rip it away, leaving her gasping as I pull the dress over her head and toss it aside to find her braless, before stepping toward her. My hands cover her breasts, fingers teasing her nipples. Leaning into her, my lips near her ear, I say, “I’m going to own you before this is over.”