Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) (29 page)

“Shit!” Pain radiated out from her shoulder and she forced herself to breathe and
think
.

“Want to apologize now, or after I spank you for that little remark?” Smith’s voice was a rough snarl against her ear, and even through the aches and bruises she knew she was wet.

“I don’t apologize, Smith.” She smiled as she reached around and grabbed onto his head, buckling her knees and pulling him down with her. As soon as they hit the ground his grip on her arm faltered and she slammed her elbow back into his temple – but he countered instantly with a palm strike to the middle of her back, and then he planted his knee in the same spot and dropped his weight.

Her ribs creaked under him and all the air left her on a curse. When she tried to push up with her hands he snagged both wrists and yanked them back, high over her shoulders until she had no choice but to press her forehead into the floor and try her best to ease the pressure. “Are you
sure
about the no apology thing?”

“We never give in, right?” Camille spoke through a groan as he increased the strain on her shoulders a little more, the muscles and tendons screaming, but she bit down on the urge to cry out.

“So tough,” his voice purred, and suddenly he shifted his weight down to her thighs, straddling her so there was still no hope of movement. “You know if you were still training I’d keep this up until you relented.”

“Too bad you made
graduation
my birthday present this year.” A yelp slipped through her teeth when he switched her wrists into one of his hands, further twisting her right shoulder.

“Yes, but you’ll never stop learning, C. Every fight can teach you something. Every job will show you something new.” The flick of a knife behind her made her muscles tense and she went still, forcing slow breaths against her bruised ribs. Carefully, Smith stroked the blade’s edge down her arm, and she fought the urge to struggle because she knew
exactly
how fucking sharp that knife was. When he caught the neckline at the back of her shirt she almost argued, but then the sound of fabric tearing filled her ears.

“I fucking liked this shirt,” she growled, but then he let the tip of the blade scratch her skin and she shut up.
Asshole
.

“Shhh, C. I’m working.” Smith even said it in his cold, work-mode tone, as if he were bored while keeping her pinned to the floor, slowly cutting her clothes away. Her sports bra was next, and when she flexed her shoulders he lifted her wrists a hair higher.

“Shit”, she muttered against the floor, refusing to acknowledge the way the heat was pooling between her thighs.

“It’s cute that you still think you can kick my ass, after all this time.” Two sharp cuts and her sleeves were useless pools of fabric under her.

“I can, and I
have
kicked your ass.”

A low chuckle came from him just before he grabbed her wrists and rotated her arms out and down again to pin them in the small of her back, giving her shoulders a welcome respite, while still leaving her immobile. Digging the toe of her shoes into the floor she tried to push forward and break his grip, but he fisted her hair and arched her painfully. “Where do you think you’re going, C? We’re having a discussion.”

“I am
not
quitting Manny’s gym, Smith.” Her voice was strained with the angle of her neck, but he climbed off her and pulled her up by her hair and it eased. When she tried to swing her arm to break his hold he caught it and then kicked the back of her knee – catching her around the waist. He held her up and graciously swung her onto the end of the bed instead of letting her hit the floor.

“I get it. You like having your own place to go to.” Pushing her down with a hand between her shoulders he pinned her thighs against the end of the bed with his.

“Then why, exactly, are you being such an asshole?” Turning her head to the side she blew at the hair in her face, unable to see him.

“Because…” His breath blew across her shoulder just before he placed gentle kisses along her spine, another contradiction to the incredible pain she knew he was capable of delivering. “I really,
really
hate that he flirts with you.”

“You could always take him up on the offer to come spar at the gym. Be an alpha male douchebag and put him on his ass.”

Smith tugged her workout pants down, his thumb hooking into her underwear to pull it down as well. A shiver rolled through her as he nipped at her ribs. “Now, that wouldn’t be fair to Manny.” He squeezed her ass, the hard press of his cock evident even through the loose jeans he wore. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass your BFF in front of his own gym.”

“He’s not my best friend.” Hissing through her teeth she tried to sit up, but he held her to the bed as he nipped his way down to her waist. Sometimes biting harder, sometimes kissing her softly – a constant contradiction that had her more tense than when he’d run the knife over her skin.

“Then who is? Bill?” There was laughter in Smith’s voice, and she rolled her eyes.

“I would never take your bestie from you.” A hard spank landed on her ass, burning bright for a moment before the heat settled, then another swat to her other cheek, just as hard. “Fuck!”

“Not yet, C. I’m still waiting for an apology.” Smith locked her legs in place with one of his, keeping his hand firmly between her shoulders, and then he really started the spanking. Hard, firm swats that felt like bursts of fire, growing worse as one handprint overlaid the last. If she had her choice, she’d have him kick her ass any day before she’d take a spanking like this. Twisting her hands into the comforter she bit down and refused to make a sound.

And there was no way in hell she was apologizing.

Or quitting Manny’s gym.

Finally, Smith stopped, his breathing a little harder above her and she swallowed down the groan in her chest – the wetness between her thighs no longer a surprise. She just had to hold out a little longer and he’d fuck her.

“C?”

“Smith?” She smiled into the bed when he laughed, tracing his hand down her spine as he released his weight from her and spread her legs.

“You are so incredibly perfect.” The hint of a blush in her cheeks had to be a result of the spanking, and losing the sparring match, and not because he’d said those magical words again. She was a lot of things, but she was
not
some fucking girly girl to swoon when he said sweet shit. He flipped her over effortlessly, tugging her shoes off along with the pants and underwear – and that was when she realized he’d removed his jeans.

Nothing but naked, toned flesh as far as she could see.

“Move in.” He tilted his head up and she moved back as he climbed onto the bed between her thighs, kissing his way up her aching ribs, flicking his tongue over her nipple, and then capturing her mouth. His tongue met hers with a moan, and she melted under him.

Smith could be cold, violent, and deadly – she’d seen him pull a trigger without flinching too many times to think otherwise.

But he was only like
this
with her.

The same hands that tortured information out of targets were running up her waist to cup her breast, his thumb brushing delicately over the hard bud of her nipple. He spread her thighs gently, deepening the kiss as he lined up and slid inside her torturously slow. They groaned against each other’s lips, and she gasped as he caught one leg behind the knee and bent it towards her chest, his next measured thrust driving in just a little deeper as he captured her lips again.

Damn him
.

If he asked her anything in this moment she’d give it just so he wouldn’t stop the devious friction between her thighs. The heat from her ass was only making it worse as he drew back and thrust forward again, just as measured and controlled, like he was savoring each sinful inch.

“C…” he whispered against her lips, and she gasped a moan as he dropped his forehead to the bed beside her, driving in just a little harder with the next flick of his hips. It was slow torture, more effective than any blade in his devious little kit, and she ran her nails down his back, digging in when he thrust forward again.

“Please,” she begged on a breath, lifting her hips against his, but he pressed her back to the bed, holding her where he wanted her.

“You make me feel so out of control sometimes.” A sharp thrust followed that had her swallowing a moan so she wouldn’t miss a single word. He growled low, turning his head so he could nuzzle against her neck, pressing urgent nipping kisses as he started to pick up speed between her thighs. “I can’t think straight when I’m with you…”

“Smith, I -” As the heat started to ratchet up, she almost apologized. Apologized for Manny, apologized for being the problem child he’d picked up off the street and taken years to turn her into the strong woman she was now – but none of those words were making it through the steady gasps and moans as his cock filled her again and again. It was too perfect, braids of light winding up her spine to wash out all thought from her mind, electric tension that made it impossible to form words on the tip of her tongue. Soon, it was just his name, repeated over and over, in higher and higher pleading tones until she felt like she might snap if he didn’t let her come.

“I want you. All the time. I can’t help it.” His hand slid under her head to tighten in her hair, holding her still so he could kiss her once more before another thrust shattered her and she came with a cry against his lips. Tightening around him in blissful waves, sparks flashing behind her eyes as she dug her nails into his back to hold him against her – and then he came too, flooding her with his heat to wind her tighter and into an aftershock of an orgasm that left her shivering underneath him. Breathless. Weightless.

Floating in some place between waking and dreaming that only existed because he was with her.

“Camille…” he whispered her name against her shoulder as his other arm slid under her to hug her to him. She held him tight, unable to speak or put words to whatever had just happened, but it had been – to quote Smith –
perfect
.

Chapter Twenty-Four

They woke up slowly, still wound up with each other, a tangle of limbs sticky with sweat because the heater was steadily pumping out warm air to fight the frigid temperatures outside. Smith’s eyes were already open when she arched her back and leaned away from him, desperate for some space to cool off – he felt like
he
was putting off enough heat to challenge a furnace. “How are you?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

She laughed bitterly as she rolled one shoulder, the aches and pains of his devious hold waking up when she forced the stiff joint to move. “I’m fucking fantastic, and you?”

Smith grinned and brushed his thumb over her ribs, pressing in just enough for her to feel the bruise that would soon develop. “You and your mouth.”

“You always complain about my mouth until I’m using it to suck your cock.” She reached between them and ran her fingertips down the soft length of him, cupping his balls in her hand until he groaned. With a growl he leaned forward and captured her by the back of the head, pulling her to his lips for a series of kisses that ran the gauntlet between deliciously sweet and devilishly tart.

“That is a complete lie,” he whispered as he pulled away. “I never complain when you’re kissing me.”

“So, just as long as I’m not talking.”

A smirk tilted his lips, a playful light dancing in his eyes. “Pretty much.”

“You are such an asshole!” As much as she tried to keep it in she still ended up laughing as she pushed him back and rolled out of bed. The layers of sweat and grime on her skin had her scrunching up her nose in disgust. “Ugh, I’m actually sticky. Can you turn down the fucking heater? I know it’s December, but seriously, we don’t need a sauna. I’m grabbing a shower.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” Smith’s voice was serious again, and he sat up in bed to face her. “I was on the phone when you came in. With Lacroix.”

“Right. You said that. Does he have a job for us?”

“Sort of. He found Roger.”

“No fucking way.” Her head spun a little, and she stepped back to slide into the chair in front of the desk, which was still angled funny thanks to their spontaneous sparring session. “I thought we’d given up on him, that he was a ghost. Didn’t Lacroix say there was a good chance he was already dead?”

“He did, and he thought so too, but he’s had a flag out on a man fitting the description you gave, and –” Smith shrugged, his eyes flicking towards the bed before meeting her gaze again. “One of his friends in the Detroit Police Department buzzed him about a low life drug dealer they had to catch and release. Didn’t have anything on him when they collared him. According to the fingerprinting they did – his name is Roger Hendricks.”

“How can Lacroix be sure it’s the same Roger?”

“The same way he always is, he’s going to send us over the material he got from his cop friend.”

“And this cop friend is going to be okay if
Roger
suddenly turns up dead?” Camille pushed a hand through her hair, grabbing it at the roots as she tried not to get excited about finally crossing the last name off her list – something she’d all but given up on in the year since they’d tortured and killed Barry. “How do we know they’re not watching him? Waiting for him to fuck up with the drugs?”

Smith blew out a breath and leaned back on his arms, naked and impossibly gorgeous – but her mind was on other things. Bullets and guns and meddling cops. “I guess we don’t, not really. We’ll need to watch him, and watch for people watching him. But Lacroix is pretty confident it’s him, apparently he’s a big guy. Six four, six five.”

A whisper of memory surged inside her, but she locked it down. It had taken a long time to be capable of boxing those fucking horrors away, and she wasn’t going to let the monsters out to play just because she
might
have the last living one of them in her sights. “Sounds about right. What about the tattoo? The snake and skull on his forearm?”

“Cops always photograph distinguishing marks like that. If it’s there it’ll be in the documents Lacroix is sending.” He tilted his head, his dark brown hair brushing over his forehead as he did. Smith needed a haircut, but he was still pulling off the messy look – hell, there wasn’t much he
couldn’t
pull off. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know. I was going to tell you when you came back, but…”

“I picked a fight.” She nodded, but he just chuckled.

“I think you were wound up. Did it help?” Smith had that cocky smile on his lips again, his tone reminding her just who had won that fight.

As if she’d fucking forget
that
session anytime soon.

“It did, actually.” With a wink she walked towards the bathroom door. “Any other surprises for me before I grab a shower? Did you fuckers find proof of aliens too when I was out?”

“No more surprises. You want company?”

Camille laughed and stepped into the bathroom to flip the light on. “No. I’m taking a quick shower, and then I want dinner. I burned a fuckton of calories earlier, and I was starving
before
the fight and the sex.”

“Sandwiches at Gino’s and then drinks with Bill?” Smith suggested, and then he shrugged. “He asked about you yesterday.”

“Sounds good, and then I can tell Bill all about you being his bestie.”

“You will say no such thing, C.”

“We’ll see!” Shutting the door with a laugh she flipped the little lock mechanism even though it was pointless. Smith could pick the lock if he was feeling patient, or kick the fucking door in if he wasn’t – but he wouldn’t do either. The sound of him muttering to himself in the room had her smiling as she turned the shower on.

While having him join her would be a nice distraction, she needed to think because there was no fucking way she would face off with Roger. He was impossible to predict, guaranteed to be armed, and not afraid of killing anyone. That, along with the cops, meant a lot more planning was necessary before she could take him out –
if
it was even him.

The hot water landed on her back and shoulders and she moaned as the brutal tension started to ease. Smith had reminded her in the clearest fucking way that he was still stronger, still more skilled, and still had more experience than her – but he always would, and it didn’t really matter.

Just the fact that he could still surprise her with a new move after three years of constantly being around each other was good to know. It meant she was still learning from him, that she’d always be learning something new, and when even killing had become routine
that
was something that kept life exciting.

“You’re sure about using the rifle? Where will you even find a nest that won’t be covered by cameras?” Smith was putting the gun together as Camille focused on keeping her hands warm, shoving them under her armpits to fight the biting cold of upstate New York in winter. The snow was deep, the air was harsh, but they had still hiked all the way out to this empty land so she could brush up on her long-range skills.

“Yes, I’m sure, I’ll find a spot. Getting close to him is fucking stupid, Smith. He could have friends, he’ll most definitely be armed, and as you saw on the docs – he’s a big sonuvabitch.”

“I noticed.” With a quick flip the gun was upright and he pulled the bolt to the rear, loaded the rounds into the magazine, and then pushed the bolt forward and closed it. Then he held out the rifle and she took it, the metal already freezing cold. “Safety’s on.”

“I know. What do you want me to aim for?” Flicking the safety off she lay down on the thick blanket they had brought, the underside a kind of plastic that would keep the damp of the snow out, which helped a little even if the temps were still mid-30s.

It’s good practice. Detroit won’t be much warmer next week.

Smith lay down next to her, shuffling backwards on his stomach until he propped himself on his elbows and looked through the separate sight, shoulder to shoulder with her. “Alright, twelve o’clock, there’s a tree shadowed under some others that isn’t coated in snow. Has three branches from the trunk. Looks solid enough to serve as a backstop.”

Two deep breaths and Camille settled in to look through the scope, scanning the tree line until she saw the tree he described. “Got it.”

“Alright, go.”

Slow breath in, slow breath out – trigger squeeze. The sniper rifle jerked against her shoulder, but thanks to the suppressor the sound was muffled. She kept her focus through the sight until the spray of wood fragments confirmed the shot. “Hit.”

“Good. Alright, four trees to the right along the tree line. Aim for chest high.” Smith didn’t move as she cycled the bolt, keeping her cheek to the stock, and then she looked for his target. “I’ll know if you aim too high or low, C.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Another slow breath, another exhale, another trigger squeeze. “Hit,” she called the shot just before the bullet tore into the tree about five feet off the ground. There was no stifling the proud grin on her face, but Smith kept his eye to the sight scanning for a new target. Leaning up she ejected the last shell and reloaded the rifle, pushing the bolt forward and closing it as she settled back onto her belly.

“Alright, prep for a miss. Two trees to the left of the original target, hit center mass, then cycle and hit the tree just back and to the left. Imagine him running.”

“That will be fun to picture.”

“Focus, C. Speed will matter once he’s visible, and even more if you happen to miss.”

“You think I’m going to miss? With this asshole?”

He sighed beside her. “Go.”

“Fine.” She took her time finding the tree, checking her count to ensure she didn’t shoot the
wrong
tree. Slow breathing, careful trigger pull –
hit
– then she cycled fast, keeping her chin firm against the stock, and pushed the bolt forward and down in a smooth arc. Left, back, squeeze. The bullet clipped the edge of the tree, still sending splinters of wood, but it wouldn’t have been a kill shot.

“Miss.”

“That was
not
a fucking miss!” With a growl she leaned up onto one arm and he broke off from his sight to level his gaze at her.

“Really? Where’s that round?”

“Not in the tree, but I still would have wounded him!”

“And you’d need to reload, which would take time. He could get out of view in no time.” Those jade eyes were merciless as he tilted his head towards the tree line. “Again.”

“Fine,” she growled, reloading and doing her best to release her anger as she settled behind the sniper rifle again. “How many trees deserve to die today?”

“As many as it takes for you to do it right.” Smith’s teacher voice rolled out like an old recording. This wasn’t the guy who kissed her like she was the only woman on the planet, or the sinfully perfect one who licked her until she came screaming his name – no, this was the killer. The perfect angel of death who had never given her an inch when it came to
work
.

“Just pick a fucking tree.”

There was no laughter in his voice as he named the next two targets, and the next set, and the next. Steadily widening her angles until she had to adjust for bullet drop, wind, temperature – a fuckton of variables that made her work harder and harder for a hit.

But, finally, frozen to the bone and fighting the urge to shiver so she wouldn’t blow the target completely with an inconvenient shudder – she showed consistency. At least, she showed it enough that Smith was no longer questioning whether she was a fool for wanting to use the rifle.

“Alright, last shot. I got you some boat-tails for the actual job.” He sat up and dug in the duffel bag, pulling out a box of rounds with tapered, flat bases. “Here.”

Blowing warm air onto her fingers she propped the rifle on her shoulder and rubbed her hands together before she took the single bullet and cycled the bolt one last time. Settling in as she closed it and returned to position.

“Make this, and I’ll get you spaghetti.”

“And vodka.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “And vodka. Medium trunk, branches coming out pretty low, twelve o’clock, three trees in. See it?”

Blinking a few times Camille focused through the scope. “I think so.”