Target 84 (19 page)

“Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.
”―
Marthe Troly-Curtin
She said yes. I was only fifty percent certain she’d say yes. The other fifty percent was convinced she would say she doesn’t date or some other half-assed excuse.

I button up my dress shirt and look myself over. There isn’t much I can do about the circles that underline my eyes but eventually, one day, those will go away with sleep. Tucking my wallet into my back pocket, I head out to pick up Greta.

“You look great, bird,” I offer as she stands in the doorway of her apartment. Sapphire blouse, khaki-linen pants, and heels that make her ass look absolutely perfect. She raises an eyebrow at me.

“I think we’re past that, Bentley,” she says and laughs.

“No. I think we’re supposed to, as men, never be
past
that.”

“Well then, thank you,” she says. I offer my elbow to her, which she surprisingly takes, and lead us down the stairs and to the car.

“So where are we eating?”

“Summit?” I say.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“I was hoping your answer wasn’t going to be ‘I’ve been there.’”

“Well, honestly, I don’t really go out to eat alone much. I cook at home or am with Pepper, so no, I haven’t been there.”

“What do you do with all your time?” I question, thirsty to gain any insight into her life.

“Save it for dinner, Bentley, I was just starting to enjoy you.”

I laugh and let her continue making small talk until we pull up to the Victorian era home that houses the restaurant.

We’re seated almost immediately at a private table on the balcony. Drink orders are taken and fresh bread slices are delivered to the table with warm cinnamon butter. I watch her as she spreads a lump of butter over the bread, her delicate wrist moving fluidly back and forth. I wonder if that movement could be sped up and gripping my cock instead.
I’m going to Hell for that thought.

“Okay,” I say after we’ve ordered, “what do you do for fun?”

“I like boring things honestly. My life is...bland, I guess. I mean, I can’t exactly draw in too many people who would miss me, or draw attention to myself, so I read a lot, work out daily, and watch a lot of T.V. I have a cat too, although, I’m not sure I’d count him in the things I
like
column.” Her smile is coy.

“A cat? You?” It seems like the most preposterous idea in the history of history.

“Yes. Allie found a stray. He needed a home, so I ended up with him,” she states simply.

“What’s his name?” Her eyes snap to mine, embarrassment obvious.

“Stray,” she says, cringing.

“Really?” I ask. She nods her head before hanging it in shame and I can’t stifle the laugh that bursts out of my mouth.

“I know!” she says, hands up in retreat. “Unoriginal.”

“Seriously. I really pictured this whole life for you. None of it included a cat. I pictured jet setting, shooting ranges, fight clubs and shit.”

Now she's laughing. That’s a good sign on a date, right? It’s been so long since I’ve taken anyone one out with the intention of being with them, of wanting to know more.

“Seriously? Wow. Well, hate to break it to you, but it’s not really a glamorous life. I train at the gym five days a week. I research my targets when they’re assigned and I read a lot and watch cheesy movies. It’s actually pretty lonely. I’m lucky I found and clicked with Pepper. She didn’t ask many questions. We just trained and drank together, danced together to let off steam a couple evenings a week at local bars. It was perfect. Then she got all...emotional, and folded me into the family mix that is the Napoli/Crown/Mayhem MC.” She shrugs.

“So, just out of curiosity, how much per hit? I mean, how rich would I be right now?” I ask.

“Sixty thousand,” she answers easily.

“Jesus! How do you keep all that money in the bank and stay off the radar, Greta?”

“Offshore,” she answers.

"You don't keep your money here?" I can picture a mattress filled with dollars instead of springs.

"No. I like turning a profit,” Greta answers simply. My brain makes quick work of the math: she’d only need twenty kills to bank a million.

If I had stayed. If I had graduated, her words would be mine. Her reality would be mine. Her bank account would be mine. It's a sobering thought, so I go for my glass of whiskey. Our meals arrive, steam wafting off the plates. Greta takes two bites and moans. I realize I want to be the cause of those moans.

“What was your life like? You know, after?” she asks.

“Complicated.”

“Bentley. I just told you...
everything
,” she says, pushing her plate away.
Diffuse
! I think. I have seriously high hopes for the end of this date.

“I had no home, Greta. I left and had no name. No identity, nothing. I found this abandoned shack way out in the woods and lived like a feral animal for months. A girl wandering found me one day and basically ‘tamed’ me. I didn't understand so many things, like how to react to normal conversations, emotions, all of it was foreign. I ended up living with and eventually dating that girl. I think if it wasn’t for her I would have lived like a rabid wolf forever in those woods.”

“Wow. What happened to her?” she asks, fidgeting with her bracelet.

“We broke up. I dated someone else. I got an identity. I got it in my head that I could be some form of law enforcement. Use my
skills
but for good.”

“Ah, and how’s that working out?”

“Some days, great. Others, I wish I didn't have to follow the law,” I admit.

She nods.

“And all this time, you’ve never...never married? I mean, it’s feasible. You escaped. Free and clear.”

“Yeah, if you like an emotional retard. I still have my moments, my nightmares. But I did marry,” I say with a snort. The thought of Rachel now seems so far removed from any part of my life, it’s strange.

“And...”

“We divorced. I wasn’t a great husband. I’m not really a
great
anything.”

“I’m sure you’re great at something.” She winks, forking another bite into her mouth.

“I like books, beer, and booty,” I boast.

“Wow. Total catch,” she mocks playfully.

“I know, right? I’m the whole package.”

“Well, your package is fine by my standards,” she quips.

“Greta Billings! How un-ladylike of you,” I scold. Sitting on the small balcony, finally having a conversation with her outside of Pepper, Allie, or Ravenbrook, is better than I thought.

“Aww, girls never get to have the fun. It’s always be classy, be graceful.”

“I’m fine with a little smut in my lady, as long as she’s still a lady.”

“I can assure you, Bentley, I do not have a penis.”

My laugh rumbles in my chest before exploding outward. My bird is funny and gorgeous and lethal. The perfect mix.

After we’ve finished meals, had a nightcap, and I’ve paid the rather expensive bill, I escort Greta back to the car. Nerves consume me. Going to a bar and getting ass is one thing. It’s easy. There are no personal emotions involved. Bringing a woman home that makes you perpetually feel the need to catch your breath is an entirely different ball game. One wrong move--one wrong word--could send me home without so much as a kiss. That kind of torture is not something I want to experience.

“How did Summit live up to your standards?” I ask once we are en route to her apartment.

“Hmmm,” she says and taps her temple. “Sophisticated but not stuffy...tasty food, good service, and the company wasn’t irritating.” She smirks playfully.

“Well that’s a start, eh?”

“Bentley, we don’t have to do this dance, you know. We’ve already fucked.”

“What if I want more than a fuck?” I ask, slightly perturbed that she thinks I’m only interested in getting in her pants. I do want in, but that’s not
all
I want.

“I don’t really know. I’ve never had the luxury of allowing a romantic relationship. I don’t even know if I can truly fall in love. What if I don't have the capacity?”

I have no response for that so I say nothing. She doesn’t try to fill the silence. Seconds become minutes and finally I’m pulling up to the curb at her house.

She turns to me. Her blue eyes are bright, a thousand thoughts racing behind them. Leaning in, I softly kiss her neck, and slowly whisper against the skin there. “Bird.”

She breathes in, feeling the cold where my lips were a moment ago. The moonlight traces shadowed tree tops across her face. She’s stunning, even in shadows. I'm tuned in to her. She won't say it but I know her body language, she doesn't need to translate it. I let it talk to me until she can't take anymore.

“Come up,” she whispers.

I nod, pulling the keys from the ignition. There is a rush to get into her apartment. It’s dark. A rust-colored cat moves against my leg, rubbing his head against it. She fumbles with a lamp on the other side of the small living room. It casts a soft glow. Her purse is dropped on the couch. Her shoes are kicked off one at a time as I follow her into the kitchen. Her hair falls down with the flick of her fingers, blonde waves begging to be touched as she steps backwards into her bedroom.

I follow her in. Bed. Dresser. No pictures. Warm but impersonal. I stop when I reach her. “I want to touch you, bird. I want to breathe in your soul.” I run my fingers up and down her arms lightly.

“I’ll drag you into my Hell.” Her voice is a gritty groan as she shakes her head.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” I nip her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. “I want to feel you deep in my bones.” I drag my tongue across her clavicle. “I want to tear into your soul, Greta.” I nibble a path up to her ear. Her breathing is erratic now. “I’m going to break you.” I nip at her skin and she moans at the feeling as I continue my path up the other side of her neck. “I’m going to feel you, I want
all
of you tonight.” I breathe into her ear, moving behind her. She turns, breathless, to me.

“How do you want me?” she asks with a shudder.

“Kneel.” I pull my shirt off, hers quickly following, balled up and tossed away like wrapping paper from a gift. It is in my way. She drops to her knees and unbuckles my pants.

“Maybe ever’body in the whole damn world is scared of each other.”

―
John Steinbeck

He tastes salty. My hand grips him tightly as I pump him in and out of my mouth. His hands fist in my hair, tugging every so often. His command over me makes me shiver. I
want
to please him. His groan spurs me on. I suck him harder and deeper, over and over until he comes. I lick my lips before smiling up at him. I’ve never had the wherewithal to care if the man I’m with is satisfied. My only concern in general is
my
pleasure in the bedroom, but this is oh-so-different.

This man is going to ruin me. Standing, my back to him, his hands move deftly, tormenting me in the best way as they move over my skin. His lips. His lips are like the softest feathers. I can’t seem to get close enough to him. I can’t get enough. His words ripped through me and shredded me in the best and most insane way possible. All my barriers are down. I’ve been infiltrated by him. I don’t hesitate, standing nude in front of him. I have no desire to avert my eyes when faced with his nudity. It’s freeing.

I wince as he nibbles at my back.
Teasing
. His are hands rubbing lightly over my stomach but he doesn’t touch or do anything I
want
him to. His lips finally reach my panties. His fingers trace the fabric along my rear. It tickles, making me squirm, but I don’t move. Fingers dip into my underwear, trailing their way around my waist.
Torment
. I feel him stand and lean against me. I feel his body bend over mine, forcing me to bend in half as one finger plunges in then out.
More.
He grabs my shoulder and pulls me back a bit, arching my back more. It’s forceful yet I like it. He's pumping in and out and I'm clawing at the bed. It’s insane, the things this man can do to my body. I orgasm so quickly it makes him chuckle. I’m not embarrassed, though. I’m ravenous for more.

Moving between my thighs and pulling my butt into him, he rubs himself up and down me before slipping only the tip in. I try to push back, to get more, but he won't let me. His hand slides up the back of my head. He grabs a fist full of hair and pulls my head back. I like it. Men rarely take control in the bedroom. His power over me only spurs on my want. Then he starts to buck. He's slamming me and pulling my hair like a savage. I'm crying out and clenching him. "Faster," I mutter breathlessly.

His thrusts are slapping his body against mine. The sound sends me over the edge. I orgasm a second time, forcing his own orgasm. He cries out and finishes. He unravels my legs from around him and collapses onto me. I grunt with an exhale as he does. Now that we’ve finished, my truth comes crashing back into my brain. A relationship. Can I have one? Would I be any good at it? What if it ends badly? What if Dee finds out? There are so many unknown variables and I don’t operate under unknown
anything
.

J
ust take the leap. Fuck the leap. Take a baby step. Just one fucking step, Greta. You want it.

“Bird. For one second, just shut that brain of yours down,” Bentley coos into the shell of my ear. It’s as if he can hear my thoughts. That nickname, each time I hear it, makes my heart squeeze with fondness. I tilt my head upward towards his.

“I just...”

“Don’t ruin perfectly mind-blowing sex with a conversation right now.”

He kisses me harshly. Silencing me. Silencing the haywire thoughts sparking in my brain. He pulls his lips from mine, his eyes hungry.

“More,” I growl.