BUFF (29 page)

“Tell me everything."

Luis doesn’t hesitate this time. “Promise me you'll spare me."

“Wow.” Kulich chuckles, full on, disbursing the morbid awareness that shakes between them.

Getting up, Kulich doesn’t filter his snicker and the amused sigh that follows as he makes his way over to the wet bar. Pouring himself a shot of brandy Kulich tips the crystal bottle Luis's way. Luis shakes his head and Kulich wastes no time in offering it again, gulping the burning liquid down in one shot.

“I underestimated you, Luis. You know the guys always said you're just some dumb biker bastard who shouldn't have been given the rank you are. But I didn’t listen to them. I saw beyond your limited mental capacity."

“I won't say another word, ” Luis says, stiff with fear. "Not unless you guarantee me I walk away alive."

Appearing still in a state of amusement, like Luis's theatrics of terror are meant for the entertainment value of Kulich’s benefit, the man shakes his head. “I don't owe you shit, Luis."

“I’ve been loyal to you for five years. Five fucking years!” Luis shoots up, but never moves an inch out of his spot. “I didn’t do this to go behind your back, I'm not Spencer fucking Appleton. Colt explained the problem, he trusted me and I agreed. Thought he was right… He asked for my help, I couldn’t say no. I owe him."

“What about me?” Kulich shifts, taking the hand away that’s leaning on the bar and resting it on his hip. “You could’ve come to me, asked me. I'm not a monster, Luis. No matter what those bastards say, your fear of me is compromising the truth here. I am a reasonable man. Colt could’ve said something—he didn’t! He told me he was okay with this. The problem needed to be eliminated. I asked him if he had issues with it and he fucking said no! What does that tell me? I'm not a fucking mind-reader." When Luis remains standing, stripped of words, his face a white sheet color, Kulich asks in a low drawl, “You think you did what you thought was right? Is that what you're telling me?" He almost sounds wounded.

The attempts Luis makes to recalculate his phrasing dies on spot in his need to act. Kulich is mad enough; the truth can’t hurt anymore. “Yes, sir. Mr. Kulich. But I never meant to betray you. It isn’t like that."

Kulich’s stare blips into his like a radar that has found its target. “I believe you."

“You do?"

“Like I said, I'm not the monster you think I am. Just like you're not the Neanderthal I've been treating you like."

Luis watches every step his boss takes, his eyes stalking Kulich as he treads back and forth. Deserting himself of everything that sums up the kind of pride a man basks in, Luis whispers, "Please."

“Why should I? Whether you think you’re right or not makes no difference to me. You still went behind my back, deceived me for weeks… that alone deserves death.” Vladimir crosses over to where Roman's body lays bleeding, giving Luis a glimpse of the fate he will suffer at his boss’s hands when the timing seems fit.

Mouth snapping open then shut, Luis goes on. “I did it for the right reasons, I—”

“The right reason…? This isn't some moral debate—we're not fucking politicians where you get impeached if you fuck up, leave office, step down. You knew the rules going in, Luis. No-one forced you to join me when I took Colt in. All the money, girls and fast living
I’ve
given you—it all comes with a fucking price!” His head slants to the side, his eyes aligning in such a way that his face is a ghostly shadow, unreachably eerie. “My rules have been enforced time and time again. You’ve killed for me, killed men for less. Fuck, the things you did in your pathetic biker gang didn’t exactly follow any fucking moral compass! So why should now be any damn different?"

Ignoring his instinct to jump bail and run, Luis forces himself to finish. “I'll walk away. You can send me wherever you want. Ship me out of the damn country, just please, please don’t kill me."

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Kulich’s head dips closer, his eyes vacant as he eyes Luis then leans back. The corners of his mouth pinch down. “Tell me what you know and I'll let you live."

“But Colt—”

“Everything.” Kulich’s sharp demand is irrefutable.

“You'll let me live?"

Kulich nods. “I'll let you live."

“Fuck… Colt came to me, told me he wanted to make it look like we’d carried out your orders just like you wanted, make it look like a robbery and then we'd send them away."

Kulich covers his mouth, soaking in the information.” Why?"

“The girl… he felt bad for her I guess.” He shrugs.

“Felt bad for her?” Kulich’s angry whisper ripples through Luis's spine. “He went against me—I fucking saved him from his fucking deadbeat of a father!—all because of
pity
?”

“Colt—”

“Colt doesn't do pity, Luis! Colt’s killed more people he's...” he trails off, shaking his head. “What aren't you telling me?"

“Sir, he didn’t get into specifics. Honestly, he said he didn’t want her family hurt that he thought it was wrong to kill a kid and that’s all there is to it. If there’s more going on between him and the girl he never let on. Colt would never tell me shit like that or anyone else."

Kulich sits, lets out a heavy breath. “What else?"

“We got there, we were gonna take them some place, hold them there for a while and send them away to live. You know, for good. But the fucking cops showed up so Colt took the girl as leverage for a while just in case the cops trailed us… and… that's where they've been ever since."

Nodding as if he agreed, as if he’s being let in on a plan he hasn’t been purposefully excluded from, Kulich asks, “And what does the next part of your plan entail?"

“Getting them out of the country. That's it."

“And Colt really thinks he can get away with this? That I’ll never know?"

Luis sighs, exhausted, weary from the fear that’s paying a major toll on his body. “He thought it was best you didn’t... He wanted to do right by the girl… I guess because she helped him when she saved his life so—”

“So he lied.” Kulich stares at some space in front of him.

Luis can’t think to say or do anything but nod. “Yes, sir."

“And who else is in on this?"

“Sir?” Luis gulps.

Kulich’s authoritative stare comes to rest on his. “Who else, Luis?"

Stumbling, Luis squeezes his eyes shut. Betraying his brothers. The very men who’d saved his life time and time again. The hate that rises and scatters is directed only at himself, but he needs to live. He has to live.

“Me, Colt, and… Jenson."

“I see."

Luis doesn’t like the conclusiveness of his boss’s tone. The way he seems to be preparing himself this whole time, waiting, and now he’s ready to execute the rest of his plan. “It wasn't like we were trying to go against you but—”

“But you did anyway."

“I'm sorry.” He watches in horror as Kulich dusts his shirt then pants off; flicking a piece of fuzz from his collar like a man who has more imperative business to attend to than listening to Luis's nervous ramblings.

The chill that goes up Luis's spine when Kulich finally plants his glare on him is one of cold, hard dread, unforgivable and unrelenting in its message.

Whispering as he cocks his gun, Kulich eyes blacken like two pieces of lint, remorseless and lifeless in their hold on him. “Sorry’s not good enough."

"I was… I thought… Colt—he was good to me. He gave me a family, a place to live, a fucking purpose when I had nothing!” His voice tears out, the burn of nausea grips his stomach and travels higher. "I wanted to make things fucking right for him. He’s never asked anything of me so—”

“So his loyalty comes above mine?” Kulich waves the gun as he speaks.

Luis shakes his head as he eyes the gun, sweat beading across his brow, on the planes of his cheeks. His eyes bleed out the undeniable truth of his fate and the tiny whisper that breaks from across his wobbly lips is one of desperation, “No, that, that's not what I meant."

“Then what do you mean?” Kulich’s voice dares. “Tell me, Luis, how am I ever supposed to trust biker trash like you after this?"

Eyes bulged, head quaking like a leaf rattling in a hurricane, Luis falls to his knees, the tears falling from either sides of his face. His ashen face distorts, quivering underneath the blackened two-inch hole that holds his fate.

“But you promised."

Kulich chuckles again, this time not veiling the perverted delight in his laugh. “You should know better than anybody, Luis…” He aims the gun, right where he had aimed it at Roman who now lays two feet away. Dead. Kulich’s eyes become possessed, scourging Luis with a fire only Hell can follow. “…First thing you learn in this business… everybody lies."

Kulich pulls the trigger and enjoys watching the blood pour out from Luis’s head.

Colt has betrayed him. There's only one thing to do now. Kulich leaves his penthouse.

Nothing will stop him from reaching Aston.

Nothing will stop him from getting payback.

SHE FINDS RAIN
standing in the kitchen, over the counter. His back is to her. She can read the heaviness of his thoughts.

He turns just as her bare foot grazes against the cold tile and she takes a deep breath as her eyes drink him in. Wrinkled white t-shirt, wrinkled jeans that he hasn’t bothered to button, and his hair is recklessly mussed. His eyes dim only to brighten when they fall on her.

She is going to miss him so much, it scares her to even contemplate the amount of anguish she’s going to be in. Eighteen years and she never missed or cared for one person enough to understand that emptiness. Until him. Her life before him is someone else's life and Becky can’t deny that there’s no going back. She doesn’t want to even if she can.

He watches her like he always does as she scoops herself onto the counter opposite him. His stare is captivating. He doesn’t hide the primal enjoyment that flexes in his sterling blues as he trails down her body with one heated sweep, only to go back up again even slower. She sees him lean his hip into the counter, his brow darken.

She wipes the corner of moisture from her mouth. “So… what comes next?” she asks.

“Next?” His eyebrow slants at her question.

“Tomorrow morning?"

His stare falls away from hers for a moment only to find her again, this time giving her a more serious look. She knows he’s trying his darndest to remain detached while talking. He fails miserably. They’ve been intimate now, seen sides of one another that neither have shown before—to anyone. Probably never will again.

Clearing the gravel in his throat, Colt says, “Jenson’s gonna have your family. We'll meet up with them and then the airport."

“Airport?”

His gaze fixes on hers, his mouth barely moves when he replies, “Yeah."

“Where…” It’s her turn to clear the mucky quality of her voice. "…Where are u sending us to?"

He steps closer. “Don't know. That's for you and your family to decide."

His answer reminds her of the way he was in her attic: distant, stoic. She doesn’t like it. “I don't understand."

Sighing, Colt steps even closer, a foot between them as he eyes her reluctantly. “No-one’s gonna know where you are. It's better that way. We hired the pilot and plane under assumed names. There not connected to us and once you board you can tell them where you wanna go. We'll never know."

She shakes her head, looking down at the frayed ends of her sweater cuffs. “Oh."

He stays where he is, doesn’t move, but he feels closer. It unnerves her. She doesn’t know what he’s waiting for and she has nothing to say. Nothing that he will want to hear anyway. He must have been reading her mind because he says exactly what she knows he will.

His hand comes up, stills, then rests next to her knee on the counter as he whispers, “Its better this way."

“You keep saying that,” she murmurs, in a shaky voice.

His head tilts sideways, his brow hooding over his eyes as he tries to read her. “Because it's true."

“God, I wish things were different.” She hears him sigh, harsher, fuller, like the weight of the world exists in that one breath.

“It doesn't matter. Either way."

Her head comes up. “What?"

He blinks, but easily masquerades his feelings. “Either way, I could never be with you, Becky."

Her lungs close off, but she squeezes by the pain to get the words out, “Because of the danger?"

“Because of who I am,” he states matter-of-factly, standing straight and away from the huddle he’s created between them. “It doesn't fit with who you are."

“How can you say that?” she says. “After everything that’s happened..."

“It's not that.” He runs a hand through his hair, grips the ends in a tug. “Becky, I'm not trying to hurt you but it’s the truth."

She goes to stand but he grips her thigh and keeps her in place. “I wanted to be with you because it's you, Colt. Don't you get that?

“No," he whispers.

She wipes the first tear with a hard flick of her finger. “Maybe it’s me, Colt. Maybe I'm not good enough for you."

“Stop.” His eyes close tight.

“I'm broken inside, damaged goods—”

“Stop!” he yells, letting go, only to crowd her in her seat on the counter. “Stop it,” he orders, lowly, into her face.

Their breathing hushes, hushes to silence, only to rise, deeper and darker like the rhythm of their body's together, inside one another. His eyes fall to her mouth, swirl liquid-blue as blaring desire unfolds. He leans in, licking his lips, as though tasting the flavor of her. His breathing hitches as his neck strains and his Adam's apple bobs.

The fuzzy sensation is coming at her in small doses. She wants to give in… give in and let him do what he wants to her. But she can’t. A very conscious part of her knows the bleeding feeling her soul has been punctured with isn’t going to end. It’s just beginning. And Colt can only subside it for a moment and then it will be back again. Stronger than ever.

She’s already lost.

“No… No.” She pushes at his chest and he withdraws. "You… Don't think you can just kiss me, take it away… I get it now."

“Get what?” He drives his hand through his hair. “That you drive me fucking crazy?"

“You know I dislike that word."

His features are fixed, deliciously arrogant and unapologetic as he eyes her straight on. “Too bad."

“Fine."

“Good."

“Good."

“I'm going to go pack.” She goes to move but his hand is back on her thigh, this time there is no caress in his touch. His hold dares her to move.

“No,” he murmurs, his mouth barely moves. “No you're not."

“You're an asshole.”

Nothing stirs behind his eyes. “I've been called worse.” He sounds slightly amused.

“Is that supposed to surprise me? Because it doesn't,” she says, with a little less fervor when she notices there isn’t a trace left of pleasure in his face now.

“Little Bit,” he whispers, hoarse, "don't hate me."

“I can’t… hate you.” She plays with the end of her cuff again. He tips her chin up with his finger. "This is better… like you said."

“I never said it was better, Becky, I'm trying to do what's right. And what's right, is for you to be away from me. For good."

“Right. Right, so this doesn't have to go on. This can end, that's better, right? What the hell is so better?"

”That you'll be safe,” he mutters, breathless. “Safe. Don't you get that?"

Becky sits and suddenly his agony becomes hers. One tear, just one, slips from the corner of her eye.

“
Safe
…” she whispers.

“You think I can walk around, doing my fucking job if I knew you were in danger? You think I can live like that?"

“Colt—”

“No. You listen to me. I can’t. I won’t have you in danger, like before…” he says, sternly, but it’s like he’s speaking to himself. “There's no two ways about it. You need to be alive, Becky. I need to know you’re safe. That you’re living, breathing—”

“But what if—”

“There are no what ifs”—his hand slices in the air—“You think I haven't thought about this? Haven't thought about any other options…? There aren’t any."

Her chest aches, it heaves in and out and she lets herself be overcome. Crying, she wipes her soaked cheeks, barely mumbling out her words that are clogged with tears, “I'm not strong enough to take this… I thought I was but I can't do this."

“Becky."

God, he sounds so wrecked up. “Colt, I can’t lose you. Not when I've just found you again."

Cupping her face he brings it up, right below his, as he leans over. She wipes the trail his tear has left. His eyes are glassy but he sounds determined. “I want you to do something for me."

“I can't."

“Shhh,” he whispers, his mouth against hers. “Listen to me.” She looks up at him, his eyes miserable, dangerously gorgeous in their temptation for her to get lost in them. “I want you to live, you hear me? Live for yourself. You've wasted so much time hiding away. Change that... I… lost the only good in my world a long time ago…” He raises his hand to the base of his neck as though reaching for something that isn’t there.

His cross…

“I died that day… She was my…” He closes his eyes as though a world of hurt just punctured his heart. Becky wonders if he’s referring to this ‘Olivia’ he has tattooed on his body. She’s always wondered who Olivia is. An ex-girlfriend, perhaps? She nearly goes to ask him who she is, but he opens his eyes and she see’s something she’s never seen before in Colt.

It’s hope.

“If I know you’re out there somewhere happy…” He falters again, taking a deep breath. “…that's all I need. I'll be okay… For once, I’ll be okay."

Her head twists to turn out of his grasp but he won’t let her. “I don't know how…” she says, looking down. “God, Colt, I need you—”

“No you don't. You don't. Let me tell you something. Look at me.” He forces her to look straight at him. “You’re fearless, Becky Appleton. Do you know that? Look at all you've been through. What does that say…? I’ve never met anyone like you—anyone half as strong.” He grips her face harder. “You don't even know—"

“Please stop—”

“Do you know how much you have to give? You…” He sighs, falling short on words.

She is watching him now. Moved to the point of pain from what he’s allowing her to see for the first time.

The man he is inside.

The man he never lets out. For anyone. She is unable to say anything but his name. “Colt."

“You're beautiful,” he confesses, as if he’s enslaved by his emotion. "You're so goddamn beautiful. The way you laugh, the way you smile, the way you shy away, even the way you
bite
... everything.” He murmurs the last word, softly. “Everything about you fits perfectly in me. That will never change, Becky." His thumbs rests on the plane of her cheeks, wiping away the rest of her tears. “Promise me." His stare locks her in to the point and downfall of her distraction. The rest of his fingers rest behind the shell of her ears, rubbing the sensitive spot, drawing her out. He whispers again, this time firmer, ”Promise me, you'll stop hiding."

What else can she say? She is hopeless, fighting a losing battle. She’ll do anything for him. Anything.

Her eyes close as she whispers, “I promise." His shoulders relax, his nose buries into her cheek as she whispers, “Promise me you'll be safe."

“I'll be fine."

“Colt.” She arches a brow, pulling back a smidge to fully look at him.

The slight crooked grin he gifts her with is marred from the ache that saturates his eyes. “I promise,” he vows, his voice husky and quiet.

She licks the residual tears that has plopped on her cheeks. She gulps them down, fixated on erasing the heaviness that lays in the air. If this is the last of their time together she doesn’t want to spend it like this. “You know you're going to end up giving in one day. You're going to find some gorgeous woman, make her your wife… get a house in the suburbs… I can see it,” she jokes, half-heartedly, placing the flat of her palm on the warm expanse of his chest, right where his heart rests.

He is still as he lets out, “That can't happen."

“Because of your job?”

There is a silence, a heartbeat of a moment where she has no idea what will come next. Colt seems on the edge of something, not breathing, a frozen statue under her.

He licks his lips. “Because it won't be you."

When she doesn’t say or even blink to counter his words he looks down, scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth. He swallows like it hurts to do it then locks his stare back on hers.

“You, right here—this… this is the closest I'll ever come to that wish. And it isn’t even something I knew I’d wished for."

‘Stop’ she wants to yell, scream for a stop to this. It’s torture hearing words like that knowing they can never be brought to reality. Colt reads her instantly, wiping his hand down the side of her face, nudging her chin up with his thumb.

“You're unwell.”

“I'm okay,” she says, weakly, too worn to fight the stubbornness she sees set in his jaw.

“No. You're not. We’ve got nothing here. I’ll be gone for five minutes."

She smiles, her eyes drowsy, her body shrugs into a hunch position, spent from their conversation. “Okay."

He leans closer. “Okay?"

“Yes,” she giggles. He is so cute sometimes. She pushes at his chest. "Go. I'll be fine."

“It'll just be twenty minutes."

“I know."

“First, do me a favor."

“What?” She glances from under her lashes.

“Kiss me.”

“Colt."

“Do it.”

He cups the back of her knee, massaging the skin with the tips of his fingers, his mouth already halfway down to hers.

And she obeys, willingly.

*     *     *

HIS PHONE IS RINGING.