Monster (8 page)

I had the barest of
seconds to realize that his beard tickled before my brain registered
his lips on mine. Hard. Demanding a response. And mine were all too
happy to acquiesce.

The second they started
responding, his hands tightened on the sides of my face as his teeth
dug into my lower lip. A whimper escaped me, my hands moving out to
grab at the shirt covering his sides, digging into the muscles of his
obliques. Because I needed to hold on. If I didn't hold on, I was
pretty sure I was going to fall. My legs (and everywhere else for
that matter) went liquid.

Breaker tilted my head
slightly, his tongue pressing into the crease of my mouth and snaking
inside. Not teasing mine. Not toying with it. Claiming it.

That was how I felt.

Claimed.

One of his hands
slipped from my jaw, moved back into the hair at the base of my neck,
curling into it, and yanking hard enough for me to yelp as his lips
slipped around my tongue and sucked hard.

And that's when my legs
gave out.

His other hand shot
down my body, grabbing me around the hips and hauling me against him.

But not for long. His
lips released my tongue. His teeth dug into my lower lip. And then he
was pulling away from me. Releasing my hair. Pressing me back against
the wall. And stepping away.

I took a deep breath,
my eyes fluttering open.

To find him standing
there.

Fucking eye-smiling at
me again.

“Dunno, doll,”
he said, and the smile spread to his lips, “might not like how
I look... but seems you like how I feel.”

Oh my god.

Okay.

I needed to not rise to
the bait.

I needed to, for once,
have control over my temper.

“Oh, get over
yourself,” I said, affecting a bored tone. “You don't
feel all that great either.”

The smile didn't
falter. He closed the space between us slightly, his eyes glued to
mine and it took everything in me to not look away. To not chicken
out.

“If I took my
hand,” he said, the offending appendage slipping down my side
slowly, “and slipped it inside your panties... how much you
wanna bet that sweet little pussy would be nice and wet for me?”

“You wouldn't...”
I started, then his thumb pressed into my hipbone hollow, making my
air rush out of my lips.

“Wouldn't I?”
he asked, the tips of his middle and ring fingers dangerously close
to toying with the material of my panties over my yoga pants. “I
wouldn't have to, though,” he said, lips twitching, “if
you admitted it to me.”

I swallowed hard, both
turned on and terrified of him... seeing for himself. But also
absolutely horrified at the prospect of admitting I was turned on.
“Admit what?” I asked.

“Admit that your
pussy is wet from me just kissing you.”

Just.
Just ?

That wasn't
just
anything.

I was pretty sure the
world bent off it's axis for the duration of that kiss.

“I'm equally
happy with the other option,” he offered, his hand sliding to
the waistband of my pants.

Holy hell.

Okay.

I needed to shut this
down.

Because if his hands
got down my pants...

No.

Wasn't letting my mind
go there.

Because if my mind went
there, I was pretty sure I'd want his hand to go, well,
there
.

I felt my cheeks
getting hot, knowing they were getting beet red. My eyes fell from
his. I could say it. I had the mouth of a sailor. I could push out
the words. I just couldn't look at him while I did so. I felt myself
leaning forward, my forehead bumping into his chest slightly.

“I'm wet from you
kissing me.” It came out as a strangled croak, but I got it
out.

His hand slid away from
my waistband and to my utter relief, he didn't laugh. He didn't rub
my nose in it.

His hand traveled up my
spine until it landed at the back of my neck, settling there for a
second, squeezing, then releasing me.

“Alright. Let's
go see Mallick.”

And then his body was
gone and he was moving toward the door, not even bothering to see if
I was following behind. But, with very little choice, I did.

“Um, Breaker,”
I tried as I made it to the top of the landing.

“Yeah?” he
asked, moving to look out the front windows.

“I don't have any
shoes.”

His head snapped back
to me, dropping to my feet where his (I was assuming they were his)
huge socks were swallowing up my feet. “Right,” he said,
making his way toward the door. “I'll be right back.”

“Ah... you're
just going to leave me here? Not locked up?”

He turned back, giving
me a small smile. “You didn't seem too keen on being locked up
when I wasn't around.”

“So you're just
going to... trust me to stay here?”

“Where else you
gonna go that Lex can't get to you?”

He had a point.

He nodded at me, then
walked out the door.

Alone, I considered
running. I wasn't an altogether unforgettable girl. I was average in
most ways. I could slip into a crowd and disappear. I could take off
somewhere. Lay low. Stop hacking so I didn't have a trail. Adopt a
new identity.

But, honestly, what
were the chances that I could give up the only thing that mattered in
my life?

If I got away, I'd
still try to take him down. And he would find me. And that time I
wouldn't have someone else (a big, hulking, bad guy) who obviously
wanted to help me. Or get me heroin to off myself with.

I wouldn't even know
where to get heroin.

Well, that's not true.

I knew where to get it.

The problem was that
all the places to get it were people who Lex, in one way or another,
owned.

I took a deep breath,
pulling my hood back up, putting my face into its depths, and moved
over toward a window to look out. There were none of Lex's cars on
the street. He had four different ones his surveillance guys used. A
early model Ford that resembled an old cop car, a slick silver late
model Mercedes, a teenager's typical orange hatchback, and a beat up
blue pick-up truck. A car for every kind of neighborhood.

But all I could see on
the street were people milling about. Teenagers mostly, obviously
skipping school. The cars that were around had no one inside them.

Lex wasn't keeping tabs
on Breaker?

That didn't sit right.

Something was off...

“I didn't have a
size,” Breaker said, coming in, a shoebox in his hands. “But
these should fit regardless. Unless you have feet like a man,”
he said, popping off the lid of the box and producing a pair of faded
brown combat boots. New, but they looked distressed.

I might have maybe
loved them a little bit.

“I'm an eight,”
I said, watching him move toward me, placing the boots next to my
feet.

“These are a
nine. They should be fine.”

With that, I slipped
into the boots and watched, in maybe a little bit of amazement, as he
laced them up for me.

I don't ever remember
anyone tying my laces.

In fact, I remembered
my shoes until I was almost a teenager having velcro straps. I'd
never even seen my mother bent over my feet when I was growing up.

He stood and I shimmied
out of his enormous sweatpants which slid easily over the boots, only
making me stumble slightly. I would take off the sweatshirt when we
got there. It was too cold to think about only being in a lightweight
tee any longer than necessary.

“Alright,”
I said, looking up to find him watching me, his eyes guarded.

He gave me a chin lift
and made his way to the door. “Keep the hood up until I've
driven around enough to make sure we don't have a tail.”

I nodded, but added,
“None of his cars are here.”

Breaker looked back
over his shoulder at me, brows drawn slightly in, but said nothing.

His truck was nice.
Something my chemical-induced unconsciousness hadn't allowed me to
notice the night before. New, black, expensive, massive. Breaker made
bank. As I climbed up, having to haul my body upward with the use of
the hold bar, I absently wondered about where a man like him lived.

Hell, for all I knew,
he had some kind of apartment in that warehouse somewhere.

That almost seemed to
suit him.

“You gonna get
out or sit there all day?” he asked, making me start.

I had been so lost in
my own little world I hadn't even realized he had parked and cut the
engine. I pulled my seatbelt and reached for the hem of my shirt,
dragging it quickly up and off.

“Sure you want to
go in there like that?” he asked casually, but it made a shock
of insecurity shoot through my system.

In typical me-fashion,
I turned that insecurity to anger. “What's wrong with what I
have on? If you don't like my clothes then maybe you shouldn't have
come into my apartment and...”

The sentence trailed
off when his big palm brushed over my breast, running over the
cold-hardened nipple that wasn't hidden beneath the protection of a
bra.

I felt myself gasp, my
eyes finding his, expecting to see amusement or teasing. But all I
could see there was heat. His gaze held mine, his thumb moving to
stroke over the point that was suddenly hard for an altogether
different reason.

“Breaker...”
I breathed and he exhaled his breath hard, letting his hand drop.
“Just sayin', his eyes are gonna be on your tits the whole
time.”

And with that, he got
out and slammed the door.

I took a shaky breath
and slowly lowered myself down onto the street, going around the
truck, and hurrying inside the building.

The tall, fit, drop
dead sexy blonde at the reception desk ran her eyes over me before
settling on Breaker and giving him a soul-crushing smile. Which, in
my opinion, was incredibly unprofessional of her. For all she knew,
he belonged to me. Hell, he had just gotten a little over the shirt
action in the car just seconds before.

“What can I help
you with today?” she asked, sounding like her services might
include a blow job if he asked real nicely.

“We need to see
Shane,” I offered and her eyes slid back to me, one of her
perfect blonde brows raising.

“Mr. Mallick
doesn't...”

“Tell him it's
Alex,” I cut her off. “And tell him it's important.”

She pressed her lips
together like she was trying to keep her opinion to herself, picked
up the phone, and started speaking into it.

“He will be right
out,” she said to me, then put her focus back on Breaker,
giving him a very slow, very thorough inspection. “Might I ask
how you keep in shape now?”

“He pounds skulls
together,” a familiar voice said, coming from beside her.

I turned to see Shane
walk up.

Now there's one thing
about Shane Mallick that everyone knows (aside from the fact that if
he showed up at your door with a crowbar, you needed to look down at
your kneecaps, thank them for a lifetime of service, and kiss them
goodbye), was that he was big. As in huge. A mammoth of a man. Yes,
because he was tall, but also because he owned a gym and spent a lot
of time in it. He, like all of the Mallick brothers, was ridiculously
good looking. All black hair and light blue eyes. And, also like all
of the other Mallick brothers, he was vicious, violent, ruthless,
foul-mouthed, and charming as hell.

“Shane,”
Breaker said, nodding his head at the man walking up.