Target 84 (26 page)

“I scream for everything that has gone wrong. I scream for everything broken in our lives.
”―
Marie Lu
She’s curled up on the bed with me. Before I even open my eyes I feel her warmth, smell her scent. I want to be lost in the smell, sight, and feel of her forever. My mind wanders, trying to sort out how lucky I am. When my luck changed. How it happened. I’m not going to waste one more second wondering how I got so lucky, though, because she’s in my arms. She’s here with me. She smells like burnt cinnamon and honey. The thought of her warm lips against mine calms the chaos deep inside me. It makes me smile, until I realize that smiling hurts. My face is burning, throbbing with a radiating sear.

Greta lifts her head.

“Don’t move,” she urges while she unhooks her body from mine. Padding across the room, she brings back a glass of water for me. Placing the straw between my lips she nods, encouraging me to drink. I lift my arm when I’m done and notice the cast encasing it.

“Hit the bone apparently,” I say sheepishly, lifting my casted arm.

“Shattered it. Your leg too,” she informs.

“How bad is my face?” I ask.

“Can’t know yet,” she answers. I groan.

“Bent, we have a situation here. As soon as you’re able we need to get out of here.”

“Why?”

“I may have killed a security guard and threatened a doctor to keep certain information out of their chart.” My lips curl up into a smile despite the pain.

“That’s my bird.” She lifts my good hand and kisses the palm and the inside of my wrist.

“I don’t want to stay twenty-four hours,” she says.

“You’re really nervous about this doctor.”

She opens her mouth to speak then snaps it closed and pauses.

“I am,” she admits. “They were talking about detaining me, GSR, and bullet wounds. That would kill your career, Bentley. It would kill me to have you taken from me when I’ve just only admitted that I need you.”

“Bird, no one’s taking me anywhere.”

“They have your name, Bent. They could report you. Luckily that’s it because I didn't know your birthday or Social Security number. I didn’t know if you were allergic to anything, I didn’t know
anything.
”

“I’m sure we can make a simple medical record of this instance disappear,” I assure her. “July fifth, 1980. No allergies and I’m not telling you my social yet.” I attempt a smile but it’s painful.

“Fresh much?” she asks, smirking.

“Must be all those painkillers.”

*

At five a.m. we’re up and I’m discharging myself from the hospital despite the nurse’s complaints to my
doctor
about healing, medication, and rest. A grumbling nurse hands me a clear, plastic baggie full of pills to take. One to ensure I don’t get an infection, an ointment for the burns on my face, painkillers to get me through the worst of the healing process, and a course of antibiotics. Greta lurked behind me the entire time, glaring at the nurse’s protests and eyeing the doctor. I’ve never seen a man look so terrified of gorgeous blonde before. The purpling surrounding her eyes looks angry and painful but she hasn’t yet complained of being uncomfortable. Greta refuses to let anyone else wheel me out of the hospital. On our way to the parking lot she swings into the doctor’s office where he hands over my chart with shaking hands. She gives him a kick between the legs that will still hurt like hell in a week and I can’t help but chuckle. As the door closes softly behind us, she tells him it’s been a pleasure doing business with him.

“I think for him, it was anything but a pleasure, Greta,” I jest.

“I’d swat your head for the lame display of wit but I’m afraid I’d hurt you,” she throws back at me.

“Where exactly do you plan on taking me, looking like this?”

“We’re going back to the cabin,” she answers. I’m not sure how she plans on getting me from the truck to the actual cabin, but it sounds like heaven. A quiet piece of heaven where only the two of us exist.

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
”―
Rumi
From the various medications Bentley’s taking he’s been asleep or dazed much of our drive from Pennsylvania to Virginia. I don’t mind the quiet. Much of the snow has melted since we left yet the sky is gray, covered with thick clouds threatening to open at any moment the closer we get to our little mountain town. Pulling into the parking lot of the only grocery store, I rouse Bentley. His beautiful, sleepy eyes pull open and focus on me.

“I’m going in to grab some things.” He nods and rests his head against the passenger side window. He looks worn. Leaving the truck running so he’s warm, I hop out and head in. I’m in and out in twenty minutes. Bentley’s fast asleep as we make our way up the winding mountain road.

“How in the hell are we going to get from here to the cabin?” Bentley asks, staring at the lightly snow-covered trail ahead of us.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, sir, I’m going to pull you.” His head snaps round to me.

“Pull me,” he states.

“Pull you,” I repeat.

“Bird,” he squawks, making me laugh. His eyes warm at the sound.

“What?” I ask, feeling slightly self-conscious.

“I love the sound of your laugh,” he says. I smile and hop out of the truck.

“This is your plan?” he grumbles as I haul him up the trail in a sled. He looks utterly ridiculous sitting in the red, Tobin-style sled I bought at the store. He’s got his crutch resting next to him in the sled and our groceries piled high in his lap. I laugh.

“Well, yeah. Try to enjoy the ride.”

“I think my man card has been permanently revoked at this point,” he mutters, shoulders sinking.

“Aww, Bent, you can get it back still.”

“Not. Funny. Greta.”

“Lil bit.”

“Notta bit,” he bites out. As we approach the cabin, he perks up slightly, and I can’t help but wish we had a little longer to go so I can revel in his grumpiness at being pulled along like a child.

Once inside I redress the gauze on his face and repeatedly reassure him that he’s still handsome as ever. I drag the cot from the back room to just in front of the woodstove. He lays down to rest and I set about making dinner for us.

After we’ve eaten, I’ve cleaned up and made sure Bentley’s taken all his necessary medication, I stoke the fire and lay tucked under his arm.

“I feel useless,” he admits.

“You’re far from useless.”

“Strangely, when I imagined the victorious aftermath of Ravenbrook, I did not imagine myself in this state,” he says and sighs.

“What exactly is ‘this state’?” I question.

“Laying on a bed watching you do all the work.”

“You can still do stuff.”

“Oh? Do tell, bird.”

“Hmm.” I look up to him and smile. “Read to me.”

“Read to you.”

“Yup! It’ll be the best. Your velvety, deep voice narrating one of my books. YUM! I’ll make a treat and let you set the scene. A mind movie night,” I explain.

“You’re strange, bird.”

I swat his chest and pop off the cot. Grabbing the Jiffy Pop from the cupboard, I place it over the gas burner to get it going. I pull the new paperback I picked up from the grocery store from the shelf near the table and toss it in Bentley’s direction so I can tend to the popcorn. I’m giddy with excitement. The thought of Bentley’s voice narrating a guilty pleasure romance novel sends shivers down my spine. The fire gives off warm waves of air. I dump the popcorn into a bowl and add in a box of Tamales candy. My favorite combination. I grab a beer for Bentley and pour myself a glass of wine. Setting the bowl of popcorn-tamale goodness down between us, I wait for him to start.

“There’s not some other book you’d rather read?” he asks as he skims the pages over.

“Come on, Bent. It will be awesome I promise.”

“I had no idea you were so into overt displays of romance. You don’t exactly seem like the rainbows-and-unicorns type girl.” I shrug.

“Guilty pleasure. I like flowers, but the rest, in real life, seems kinda artificial.” Bentley chuckles at me and stabs his hand into the popcorn bowl, popping a handful in his mouth. His face morphs from calm to worried as he chews. Spluttering, he talks over his mouthful, “What the hell is this?”

“Tamales and popcorn. My favorite.” I laugh. His face twists in amusement. Swallowing finally, he smiles.

“It’s kinda delicious,” he says.

“Told you,” I say and smile. “Now please, start reading.”

He takes a swig of his beer and opens the book. His deep voice wraps around me, soothing lingering aches and pains, relieving all my stress as he dives into the story. Listening raptly, I glance around the cabin. Gas lanterns burn, casting a dull light here and there. The woodstove blankets us in delicious heat. I can’t focus on the actual words leaving his lips. I watch him. The way his mouth moves. The way his tongue darts out to wet his lips once in a while. His eyes: they crinkle in the corners when he smiles at something he’s read. His brows knit together when he reads a word he isn’t sure of. I feel as if I’m in an alternate universe, one where my lover and I exist without sadness or anger or conflict. I feel...at peace.

His voice finally becomes gritty from reading out loud for so long. I take the book from him, dog-ear the page, and pick up the empty bottle and bowl. Setting them on the counter, I head to the bathroom to wash my face. I help Bentley to the bathroom when I’m done,
leaving him to do whatever he needs. He approaches slowly minutes later.

Naked and perched on the edge of the bed, his eyes rake over my body. A shiver wraps around me when he lifts his gaze back up that exposes a raw heat that no one but him has ever displayed for me before.

“I want you,” he grunts. My chest heaves as his tongue sweeps his bottom lip slowly. His open perusal of me, the raw want, lust and need shining in his eyes, squeezes at my heart. He hobbles to the bed and lowers himself. Reaching out, I place my hand on his arm, appreciating the hard muscle as his lips brush against the curve of my shoulder.

A rough finger brushes against my right nipple. I gasp. It is tracing my nipple. He thumbs my nipple until it sticks out. Then his other hand finds my other one. He's flicking and gently squeezing both my nipples. He does it in a sequence that resonates through my body. I'm squeezing my thighs together and biting my lip as he continues tormenting me. His mouth caresses my stomach. Clamping down on my nipple with one hand as his other continues the pinching and tugging my other nipple. He sucks and licks in a swirling motion, moving south. My stomach tightens. I'm getting lost in my pleasure. I moan louder and squeeze my thighs so tight I begin to lose my grip. "Come for me, bird." He sucks harder and tugs on my nipple. Palming my chest, he pushes, lying me down. He moves his head between my legs. His tongue alternates between flat-pressed strokes against my clit and a swirling motion that drives me insane.

"Yes!" I sputter, feeling my orgasm coming on fast and heavy. My back arches involuntarily and I come at the next brush of his tongue.
A force gripping my body between my legs so hard that I can’t get my lungs to work for a moment.
“Bentley,” I breathe out harshly.

I feel his erection seeking out the moisture. I watch the rise and fall of his shoulders as he takes weighty breaths. He rubs his shaft up and down my slit and then drives into me with a grunt. I cry out as he pulls my hips up towards him, taking me deeper. His fingers dig into my skin. He moves faster now, more keen. His momentum is breakneck, raw and angry and I adore every second of the pounding he’s treating me to. My belly flutters with excitement. It doesn't matter that one casted leg makes our movements awkward. It doesn't matter that his casted arm scrapes my skin. Putting his weight on his forearm and moving the arm scooped under my hips, his long, thick fingers come to rest at my throat. They tighten slightly, firm and warm on my delicate skin. I tense and still under his possessive grasp. His eyes bore into mine. I let the muscles in my neck relax slightly, proving my complete trust in him.

Submitting to him fully, my pleasure skyrockets with his next thrust. Like a sonic boom I finish yet again. It doesn't take him long to follow.

He stretches like a lazy cat next to me, a sated smile playing on his lips. He looks to me, a triumphant expression etched in his face.

“Your ego is astounding.” I laugh at him. He growls and rolls on top of me clumsily.

“It’s not ego, bird, it’s manly satisfaction. It’s knowing my woman is willing to give me anything because she finally believes she’ll get
everything
in return.”

His simple statement renders me speechless. I simply want to bask in the light he sheds on my soul. I want to let it penetrate every last shadowed crevice until I’m nothing but a reflection of his perfect light.

“Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us.
”―
David Richo
I’m groggy when I finally wake up. The last two days have been bliss, outside of my injuries. Greta and I doing nothing at all but enjoying each other. Reading, eating, screwing, and talking. The essentials. Without the distraction of T.V.s, phones, computers, or any real convenience, we’re forced to just be. To only focus on each other.

It’s late morning judging by the sun pouring in the small windows. The cabin is silent. The smell of coffee perks me up. The absurd thought hits me full force, if she were to go, I’d lose my soul. The door swings open. Greta stands in the doorway, arms loaded with wood.

“You’re up.” She smiles. My heart stutters at the sight of her before returning to its normal steady pace. “Bent? What’s wrong? You feeling okay?” she asks, dropping the wood and rushing to my side. I force myself upright.

“I’m fine, bird. Happy to see you is all.” Her eyes devour me, scrutinizing every little detail available to her.

“You thought I’d left?” Damn. Not sliding anything past her.

“Bent, I couldn't. Not now. You breathe out love, I breathe it in. You’re my air.”

I pull her face to mine and crush my lips against hers. She chuckles into my mouth and deepens our kiss. Pulling back, I let me head rest against the wall behind me.

“Coffee.”

“Get up and get some then,” she quips.

“What?”

“You need to move around. It’s good for you. Get up.” She laughs and moves back to the scattered wood at the door. I make a face as I watch her pick it up and stack it near the stove. Maybe I shouldn't have complained about my man card, there’s something to be said for being babied.

Grumbling, I raise myself from the cot and walk lamely to the kitchen counter. I pour myself a mug from the percolator and hobble, mug in tow to the table. The chair creaks when I plop down into it. I groan as the first delicious sip of caffeine filters through my system.

“I’ve never seen anyone appreciate coffee the way you do,” Greta says and laughs.

“It’s the stuff dreams are made of.”

“I thought I was the stuff dreams are made of,” she says with snark.

“You and coffee,” I say. She humphs in the most adorable way. After letting me enjoy one mug of liquid energy, she changes out the bandage on the side of my face and for the first time lets me look in the mirror. The skin is shiny and tight looking. It’s pink and raw still. There is one large section of burned skin that runs from the corner of my eye towards my ear that will definitely scar. Greta tells me it’ll be sexy but I’m not convinced. It’s still too early to tell. She picked up some vitamin E ointment that we can start using next week once it’s more healed. Apparently it will help reduce the scarring. If she says so, I’ll go with it.

Snow falls steadily outside. I’m on coffee number three. The afternoon sun is diminished by the thick clouds overhead. Greta brings in and stacks enough wood for a couple of days.

“What day is it?”

“The fourth.”

“Tomorrow is the baby shower isn't it?”

“It is.”

“Why are you still here then?” I ask. She gives me an expression that alludes that I’m crazy.

“I’m not sure you can manage alone while I’m gone.”

“Bird, I’ll be fine for day on my own. You’ve already got enough wood in here to keep the fire going for a solid week.”

“I don’t know, Bent. It doesn’t feel right leaving you right now.”

“Will it feel right skipping Pepper’s shower?”

She stops mid-step and turns to face me.

“No. It won't.”

“Then tomorrow morning leave early and get there.”

She’s silent for a drawn-out moment, scrutinizing me.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, bird. You need to go.”

“I’m not so sure of that. I don’t know what the hell they all think of me at the moment.”

“Better to face it then. Show up. If you’re not welcome come back here and I’ll make you feel better.”

“Bentley!”

“Greta, you won't ever know unless you go. By your own word, Pepper is someone who is important to you. You’re invested in her well-being. Go. Make sure you don’t burn that bridge. You’ll regret it otherwise.”

“You’re a cocky know-it-all.”

“You’re only now just picking up on that?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Shh,” she snits. I laugh, ball up my napkin, and throw it at her.

Catching it midair, she throws it back at me. It lands in my coffee mug. My eyes bug out in mock horror at the ruined coffee. I push myself up from my chair. She doubles over laughing.

“What’re you doing?” she squawks.

“Getting up and moving around like you told me to,” I say with a smirk, leaning heavily on my good leg.

“Bentley,” she scolds as I trail my hands down her waist, past her ass to the back of her thighs.

“Punishment for killing my coffee.” I lift her off the ground.

She wraps both of her legs around my narrow hips as I plant her ass on the kitchen table. I wrap my casted arm behind her lower back and plunge my good hand into her leggings. She sucks in a sharp breath. I slide one finger through her wetness before pulling back to circle around her clit. Her breathing spurs me on as it becomes frantic. Her fingers dig into the flesh of my shoulders so strongly that I’m sure she’ll draw blood. She starts to mumble incoherently as I slow down my fingers. She bucks against my hand and shrieks and I know now to lighten my pressure to almost nothing and cup her as she comes down. Her eyes are glazed and her skin glows.

“I want you,” she says, resting her head on my shoulder.

“You have me,” I answer. She barks out a laugh and scoots off the table.

“No, Bent. I want you,” she states, pointing to the cot. Who am I to say no? To deny her more pleasure? Using one crutch, I hobble to the cot and lie down on my back.

Greta’s face is a mixture of carnal bloodlust and fervor. Any sane man, given her
talents
, would be terrified for their life. Like a praying mantis who kills their mate, she stalks towards me. I know better. I know her. I know what she desires, craves, needs, and I let her take it. I let her take it anyway she needs to. It turns me on never being able to predict whether or not our passion will be rough, gentle, loving, or loud. Anticipation is the best kind of foreplay.

*

At eight the following morning after I reassure her a thousand times that I will be fine for twenty-four hours and I kiss her goodbye thirteen times, she finally steps out the cabin door.

It swings back open abruptly.

“Christ woman! Just go!” She laughs, trots to me, and finally, with one last kiss, turns to leave. I swat her ass before she moves out of reach. Tossing me a look over her shoulder that says I’m in trouble, she says, “You’ll pay for that later.” The door clicks softly closed behind her as I laugh.

I listen for the soft snow crunch of her footsteps until they fade away. I know Pepper will accept her back into the fold. Pepper is a forgiving person by nature. I just hope Greta accepts that acceptance with ease. The last few days have been easy. A weight has been lifted from both our shoulders. Burdens have floated into the abyss. I’ve watched her nap, cook our meals, and dote on me. I’ve watched her cold, calculating nature develop into nurturing love. I have no doubt that she will return with renewed enthusiasm for life. The cracks in her soul and mine are now filled with each other and I’ll be damned if I won’t do everything in my power to keep that woman smiling and satisfied for the rest of time.

Gimping my way to the cupboard, I pull out a Jiffy Pop and a box of Tamales. There’s no reason I can’t have a treat for breakfast today.