Evan Arden 05 Irrevocable (12 page)

I spin her around so she’s facing me and push her up against the wall near the bed.  I glance down, admiring her sleek build, and lick my lips.  Staring into her eyes, I touch the side of her face with the tip of my finger, leaving a wet trail over her skin.  I lean in slowly, then hesitate.  I’m not even sure why.  This woman has been paid to sleep with me for two nights now, and I haven’t touched her—not really.  Not like this.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I shove the towel away from my hips and reach around to skillfully unclasp Alina’s bra.  She drops her arms to allow it to fall to the ground as I shove her panties down to her ankles.  She barely has time to kick them off before I’m lifting her from the floor and pressing her back against the wall.

I cover her mouth with mine, opening her lips and finding her tongue.  She wraps her legs around my waist as I lift her a little higher.  She brings her hands to the back of my head and grips me hard.  Turning my head, I devour her mouth again.

I hold her up with one arm as my other hand caresses her side, down to her hip, and then back up to her breast.  I thumb her nipple as my mouth moves down to her throat.  I lick the hollow there, and I can feel the thrumming of her heart.  Her hands grasp my shoulders as she tilts her head back and moans.

I can’t wait any longer.

I press her body against the wall with my hips before I reach down and grab my cock.  I run the head over her pussy lips a couple of times, but there is no doubt she’s ready to take me.

“Condom!”

“Fuck!”  I release my cock and set her back on the floor.  I pant hot breath and look at her through narrowed eyes.  I run my hand through my hair and growl.  “Get on the damn bed!”

Alina scurries into the middle of the mattress while I yank open the nightstand drawer and tear a condom from its wrapper.  I feel as if I’m going to come before I even get inside of her, and I’m just barely controlling myself.  I can hardly get the condom on because my hands are shaking so much.  I’m on her half a second later, pressing her shoulders to the bed and shoving her legs apart with my knees.

I sink into her.

Immediately after I’m inside of her, I hold myself completely still.  There’s an odd sensation of total darkness around me that has nothing to do with my closed eyes.  It’s not a frightening or foreboding kind of darkness.  It’s something different.

The peace I felt when I first woke has returned.

I’m dimly aware of her hands on my back.  She uses slow, gentle strokes over my skin, and I try to match my breathing to the motion.

Raising my head, I look down at her beneath me.  Her eyes are bright, but there’s a hint of trepidation in them.  Moving slowly, I press my lips to hers, kissing her softly.  She holds still as I gently kiss her and run my tongue across her lips.

I pull out slowly and then move back inside of her at the same rate.  I keep kissing her as I move, keeping the slow pace until she begins to move with me but pushing me to move faster.  I slide my hand down her side and then move up to cup her breast.

Alina wraps her arms underneath mine and up over my shoulders.  She holds tight as I rock against her.  The little gasps Alina makes as I stroke into her are enticing, and I speed up just to hear more of them.  She holds tight to my shoulders and wraps her legs around my thighs.

I want this to last.  I don’t care if I ever come.  I just want to stay like this.

I thrust into her in a smooth, steady rhythm.  She tenses around me, drawing me in with every penetration.  I try to focus on something other than the feeling of being buried in her flesh, but her sounds drag me back with each thrust.  My thighs tighten, and I have to pause to keep from losing control.

I take several deep breaths and ignore the throbbing in my cock.  I grit my teeth for a second to steer my mind in another direction.  It works—just barely.

I want her to come first.

Holding myself up with one hand, I stroke my fingers over her from neck to stomach.  I lean down and lick her nipples one at a time, then blow cool air over them as she shivers.  Using my free hand, I pull her arm out from around me and move her fingers down between us.

“Touch yourself,” I whisper in her ear.  “Show me what you like.”

With her eyes closed, she reaches for her clit and slowly starts rubbing.  I place my fingers over hers and time my thrusts with her movements.  I watch her face, view the tension around her eyes as pushes up to meet me, and match my breaths with hers.  When she reaches her tongue out to wet her lips, I meet her mouth with mine.

She moans against me, pushes up hard, and I feel her tense around my cock.  She tightens her legs around my thighs, pulling me deeper inside her.  I feel the contractions of the muscles in my legs and stomach, and it’s almost enough to make me lose my balance.  The orgasm hits me hard, and I moan against her as I let go.

My arms and legs are shaking, but I hold my position over Alina as I pant against the skin of her shoulder.  I feel her fingertips against my abs, stroking around to my back, over my hip, around my ass, and then back to where we are connected.  She wraps her hand around the base of my cock and the edge of the condom, gently pushing me out of her.

So professional.

My jaw tenses, and I shove off the mattress with my palms and land on my back, grasping the condom and ripping it off.  I toss it in the trashcan near the bed and stare at the ceiling.

I’m shaking ever so slightly, and I have to contract my muscles to keep the trembling from getting worse.  My head is full of random images—the look on her face as she came, the crosshairs through the scope of my rifle, explosions around dry, sandy ground, Jonathan laughing and smoking a cigarette, and that fucking Soccer Mom sticker on my car.

None of it makes any sense.  All of it pisses me off.

“Would you mind if I used your shower?”

“Suit yourself.”  I sound terse.  Any remnants of the calmness I felt when I first woke up are gone.  Though I’m no longer tired, I am as tense as I had been before I brought her here.

Alina disappears into the bathroom, and I get up and slam some dresser drawers, looking for clothes.  Apparently, I need to do laundry.

“Bullshit,” I mutter.  I grab the last clean pair of boxers and shove the drawer hard enough for it to shake the whole dresser.  My dog tags rattle in their dish, and I grab them in my fist.  Pulling the chain around my neck, I stomp out of the room.

I head into the kitchen in my boxers.  It’s too cold, but I don’t care.  I listen to the water in the shower as I make myself a piece of toast and devour it.  In the back of my head, I remember Alina making me breakfast.  I should return the favor, but I don’t.

Ralph is in the living room, leaning against the couch with his arms folded across his chest.  I want to walk over there and punch him.  Knowing how pointlessly insane that would be doesn’t make me feel any better.  I glare at him for a moment before turning away and grasping the edge of the counter with my fingertips.

I’m angry—not just annoyed, but completely consumed by unnameable rage.

I have no idea why.

Every muscle in my body is tense.  I keep clenching my hands into fists, but it doesn’t help.  My breath is shaky, and I realize I’m just staring at a plate full of breadcrumbs.

A moment later, I’ve hurled the dish, shattering it against the wall.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I tell myself to get it together.  I want to slam my fist into the countertop, but self-preservation won’t let me break my own hand on the granite.  I don’t know what to do with the boiling rage inside of me, and I can’t manage to shove it back down into my gut.

I’m also terrified.

I feel tears at the corner of my eyes.  I’m holding my breath, and the pressure in my lungs is causing my diaphragm to contract.  I want to scream, but I can’t open my mouth.  I want to pound my fists against the counter, the wall, the window—I don’t care which—but I can’t make myself move.

Breathe, Arden!  Breathe!

I gasp as I drop to my knees on the hardwood.  A huge wave of tension flows over my skin, and I almost fall the rest of the way to the floor.  I end up with my palms against the wood planks, rocking slightly.  I stare at the patterns made by the grain of the wood, focusing all my attention on the wavy lines and circles.

A minute later, the feeling has passed.  I glance up, and Ralph is still there, staring at me.

Little bastard.

I swallow, push myself off the floor, and go back to the bedroom to pull on a dirty pair of jeans and a T-shirt that doesn’t smell too awful.  As soon as Alina gets out of the shower, I inform her that I’m taking her back.  I don’t even offer her a fucking cup of coffee.

I really need to get my shit together.

“Evan, hang back.”

“I’ll catch ya later, brotha.”  Jonathan leaves with the rest of the group, and I stay in Rinaldo’s office to see what he needs from me.

Despite the sleep I’d had last night, I’m mentally exhausted.  It has been a while since I had a proper panic attack, but I’d had them often enough in the past to know just what they are.  Afterward, I’d be left in a foggy, confused state for several hours and sometimes for days.  When I have had them before, I had always known what the trigger had been.  This time was different.  I really don’t know what set me off.

I’d killed someone.  I’d slept well.  I’d finally fucked Alina.  Everything about the past twenty-four hours had been good, so why the freak-out?

There are things you don’t know.

Felisa’s last words echo through my head.  I have no idea what she might have meant, but I had been too impatient to have her out of the way to find out.

“What have you found?”  Rinaldo walks over to his desk and leans one hand against it.

“There’s definitely a connection to Seattle.”                                  

“Really?”  Rinaldo raises a brow.  “They are still scrambling and fighting with themselves.  How do you figure this?”

“I should say”—I raise a finger in the air—“that there is a connection to people
formerly
associated with the Seattle group.”

“Which is?”

“As much grief as you gave me for taking care of Justin Taylor, I was doing you a favor.”

“Justin was playing with the numbers.”  Rinaldo’s conclusion is correct but incomplete.

“Definitely,” I say with a nod, “but there’s more to it than that.”

“What else?”

“Look at this.”  I pull the laptop to the center of the desk, and Rinaldo sits down to check it out.  “Justin Taylor’s brother, Joshua.  Look familiar?”

Rinaldo studies the picture for a moment.  When he doesn’t see it right away, I bring up the picture from the surveillance video.

“Same guy?” he asks.

“It is.”

“Avenging his brother’s death?”

“That’s what I would have thought, but look at this picture.”  Clicking around at the screen, I find the picture of Landon Stark from the tournament files.  “He and Landon Stark go way back.  In fact, Justin trained with Stark for tournaments before he relocated here.  Sebastian Stark replaced him.”

“I knew that,” Rinaldo says.  He rubs his chin with his fingers.  “I’d forgotten, honestly, but I knew Stark was his original trainer.  Do you think he’s involved now?”

“I haven’t found anything concrete, but it might make sense.  Assuming he’s connected to the rest of the crime world at all, he’s heard I’m not dead.  He may confront Sebastian.  I have the feeling Sebastian would tell him about the deal we struck.”

“To get rid of Joseph Franks.”

“Exactly.”

“So it could be about revenge.”

“Possibly.”

“Sebastian could be involved as well.”

I’d only spent a few hours talking to Sebastian Stark when we were trapped in an avalanche, but I still feel I know him pretty well.  We aren’t so different, my half-brother and I, but I am positive his motives were focused on his family.

“I don’t think so.”  I shake my head.  “He wanted out, and Franks was the only person keeping him in.  He moved out to the burbs and has a kid to raise now.  I don’t think he’d put himself in the middle of this.”

“So Joshua is definitely involved,” Rinaldo says, summarizing, “but has to have someone on the inside working with him if he’s receiving money from my businesses.  Landon Stark could be involved as well.”

“I think so.”

“Find out for sure.”

“Yes, sir.”  I start to gather up my stuff, then pause.  There’s something else I really should tell Rinaldo, so I turn back to him.  “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I should probably mention something else I came across about Sebastian Stark.”

“What is that?”

“Well, he’s from the Chicago area.  Landon found him street fighting before he trained him for tournaments.  Before that, he was in the system after being abandoned by Alexander Janez—the same man who put me up for adoption.”

“What are you saying?”

“Sebastian Stark and I are brothers.”

Rinaldo looks at me for a long time.

“Is that how you talked him into letting you live?”

“No, sir.  I never told him.”

“You should call him,” Rinaldo says without hesitation.

“Why?”

“If you didn’t have me to call family, wouldn’t you want to know?”

I hadn’t thought about it that way.  If our positions were reversed, would I want to know?  What benefit could he possibly receive, knowing he’s related to the crazy hit man who tried to kill him?  If I were to contact him, what would happen next?  Christmas gatherings with his family?  Birthday celebrations?

As stupid as it sounds, the idea isn’t abhorrent to me.

Was some family, no matter how fucked up they were, better than none?

Rinaldo groans as he stands up, rubbing at his back and bringing me out of my thoughts.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“I suppose so,” Rinaldo says with a grimace.  “My back has been killing me the past few weeks.  I’ve been to the chiropractor Franklyn suggested, but it hasn’t helped.  Just getting to be an old man, I suppose.”

“You’ve got a few years left, I imagine.”  I grin at him.  “I’m going to get with Jonathan and start digging some more.”

“You do that.”

I grab my jacket from the wall hook and open the door.

“Evan?”  Rinaldo calls as I start to leave.  “Have you seen Felisa around?”

I pause a moment, pretending to think.

“I guess the last time I saw her was yesterday.  She was looking for you.”

“Where?”

“Here in your office.”

“Did she say what she wanted?”

“No,” I tell him.  I raise an eyebrow in his direction.  “Actually, she was hitting me up for information on myself.  Apparently, someone told her I needed to get my feelings out or something.”

“Guilty!”  Rinaldo laughs and holds his hands up in the air.  “She’s good to talk to.  I hope you take her up on it.”

“We talked a bit,” I say with a shrug, then let out a long sigh.  “I appreciate it, sir.  Really I do, but I’m fine.”

“You’ve never been fine, son.”  His words send a tingle down my back.

For a moment, I try to determine when I have been really, truly fine.  There have been a handful of good memories over the years, but I can’t come up with an extended period of time when I was really all right.  As a child, I wondered who my parents were.  As a teen, it was all about how to get Mother Superior out of her habit and into bed so I could blackmail her into letting me leave.  From there, I went straight into the Marines.

Maybe then—that first year—I was good.  I recalled going through basic training and feeling like I actually belonged somewhere for the first time in my life.  There was the initial moment when someone put a rifle with a scope in my hands, and I hit the target on the second shot.  I knew right then what I was meant to do, and the sense of pride in myself was something that has only ever been matched by hearing Rinaldo refer to me as his son.

He’d just done that again.  In addition, I’d taken care of something that was a threat to him and his family whether he recognized it or not.  In that sense, I did feel pretty good.

“I’m as fine as I have ever been,” I say with a half-smile.

He gives me a hard look, but I remain ever stoic.  I’m pleased the conversation was so easily diverted to me instead of Felisa, but I don’t want it going much further.

“Well, I hope you’ll talk to her again,” Rinaldo finally says.  “Let me know if you see her.  She’s not answering her phone.”

“Will do, sir.”

*****

Scratch, scratch, scrape!

“Stupid little bitch.”  The sound of metal on metal makes me cringe.

No matter what I do, the damn Soccer Mom bumper sticker won’t come off the Camaro.  I don’t know what kind of adhesive it has on it, but I’m convinced the stuff could withstand acid.  All I’ve managed to do is make it look worse.  I throw the screwdriver and bottle of Goo Gone across the parking garage and curse.

It’s nearly ten pm.  I’m getting a headache, and I’m going to need a whole new bumper because this damn sticker won’t come off my car.  I’ve also hit nothing but dead ends on my investigation of Landon Stark and Joshua Taylor.  I can’t find any trace of either of them in town, and I’m actually considering hitting up gang members for more information.

“Fuck this.”  I shove away from the vehicle and head back up to my apartment for a shower.  It doesn’t help my mood any.  I try to sleep, but I just stare at the ceiling.  After an hour of this, I shove out of bed and get dressed.

Looking for Alina feels like giving in.  I’m not sure exactly what I’m surrendering to, but the feeling is definitely there.  Felisa’s last conversation keeps running through my mind.  I’ve spent my life as a loner in one way or another.  I’d had Odin, my dog, and he’d always been enough company for me.  It seems out of character to admit that I don’t want to be alone, at least not at night, as if I were a six-year-old insisting on a nightlight before the door is closed.

I briefly consider the acquisition of another dog but ultimately dismiss the idea.  I’d become attached, and attached means vulnerable.

Alina’s not on her corner.

Again.

I’m not sure why I’m so pissed off, but I am.

Cruising around, I see the redhead who blew me a few nights ago but don’t approach her.  I watch Loretta getting into a silver Camry but still see no sign of Alina.

Maybe I should consider watching a porno on pay-per-view.

I turn the Camaro around and get back on I94, floor the accelerator with the intent of going back home, but then turn around and head back again.  Porn isn’t going to help me sleep, and I need sleep more than an orgasm.

This time, I see Alina’s long hair flowing around her shoulders as she gets out of a car up the street.  I stare at the back of the dark-colored sedan, memorizing the license plate and wondering how long it would take to find the john’s address.

Did she blow him?  Fuck him?  How many times?

Alina looks up as I pull the Camaro to the curb and stop.  She tilts her head, nods, and holds up a finger as she rushes over to a guy near the alley and hands him some cash.

I try to get a look at him, but it’s dark and I can’t see his features.  I haven’t bothered to ask her who her pimp is, but now I’m curious.  She speaks with him for a minute before coming over to me.

“Hey.”  She smiles as she leans over and peers through the car window.

“You ready?”  I realize I sound like I’m picking her up for a date.  “I mean, do you want to… or rather, are you free…?”

Shit, why do I sound like a fucking teenager looking for a prom date?

Alina snickers and licks her lips.

“Just get in,” I finally say with a sigh.

She checks the contents of her purse before she opens the door and settles into the passenger seat.

“How are you, Evan?” she asks.

I find the question odd.  I’m tempted to give a bland, standard response, but the look on her face tells me she really wants to know.

“I feel like shit.”

“Worse than usual?”

“Not really.”  I pull onto the highway but stay around the speed limit.  The last thing I need is to be pulled over with a hooker in the car.  “I’m probably ten percent better than usual.”

“Well, that’s something.”  Alina reaches over and places her hand on my leg.  She doesn’t squeeze it or move up toward my dick, she just lays her hand there and lightly rubs my thigh with her thumb.

We don’t exchange any more words, but when I pull off the highway and have to stop for a red light, I place my hand over hers until I have to move it back to the gearshift.  The leather is cold compared to her fingers, and I slow down a bit to make sure I end up stopping at the next light so I can lay my hand on hers again.

If Alina notices, she doesn’t say anything.

Unlike the previous times I’ve brought Alina to my apartment, sleep is not the only thing on my mind.  As soon as we are through the door, I pull her up against me.

With my hand cupping her chin, I press my mouth to hers.  Guiding her backside to the wall in the entryway, I lean against her, meshing our bodies together.  She reaches up and rubs the hair at the back of my neck.

Slipping my arm around her back, I bring our hips closer together.  There’s no doubt she can feel how hard I am, but I don’t grind into her.  I just keep kissing her—tasting her lips and tongue until I start to feel light-headed.

I move my lips to her neck, lick her just below her ear, and inhale.  Pausing, I notice a difference in the way she smells.  Tensing slightly, I understand why.