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The feel of his thighs between hers as he parted them and lowered himself to her. Watching as one large hand gripped the shaft of his cock, nudging it against the hot, wet curls between her thighs.
“Wax your pussy,” he had growled, “so I can see your soft flesh gripping my dick. ”
Her womb clenched at the memory, as clear now as it had been the morning after.
And he didn’t even remember it. She still had to fight back the rage and the pain of that one. The bastard. He had seen her two days later and had looked right through her as she stood in her parents’
convenience store, her heart in her throat, certain that he had come for her.
But he hadn’t. He had smiled and flirted, and on his arm hung some stupid twit blond bimbo who cooed over his muscles as he paid for ice and snacks.
He had made some cheerful comment to Crista about her hair, and she glared at him. He had frowned, tried again, and she had turned her back and left Alex to take care of him. Because she couldn’
t look at him; she couldn’t bear remembering and knowing that not so much as a glimmer of that night remained in his memory. Knowing, that if he had her again, they wouldn’t be alone.
And then, weeks later, the knowledge that she hadn’t escaped that night without repercussions.
She had carried his child.
Her initial reaction had been one of anger, of resentment. He was partying, enjoying his life and his women and the dirty little sex games he and his cousins played, and she was pregnant.
But within days that anger had stilled. The knowledge that she would always have a part of him had consumed her young mind, her heart. The heart she had given Dawg on a sultry summer night. And that happiness had built, filling her, glowing inside her.
Until three months to the day after he had taken her. The day she had lost the child she had grown to love so deeply. She had left the clinic Alex had taken her to, packed her bags, and left for Virginia with friends who had been visiting that week.
And here she was, eight years later, her fingers curled into the leather of his truck seat, shaking, terrified as the sound of gunfire finally eased away and shouted commands filled the night instead.
Suddenly, the implications of her very precarious position slammed inside her head. She was at the scene of an obvious raid of some sort. Wasn’t that what they called it? A raid? A sting? And she had been right smack-dab in the middle of it.
Which meant she was about to be right smack-dab in the middle of a whole lot of suspicion.
FUBAR. That’s what this entire fucking night had turned into. Fucked up beyond all repair, and it was all his own damned fault.
He stared into the shadowed expanse of the warehouse parking lot, his brows lowered, trying to make sense of what he had done and why. The why of it more than anything else.
What had crashed through the hard core of training and beliefs in what he was doing long enough to rush Crista from the warehouse and hide her? What had made him risk his own soul this way for a woman?
Not just any woman though: Crista. The woman that had invaded his dreams for longer than he wanted to admit. The woman who had, somehow, wormed her way into his soul before she left Somerset eight years ago. And the why of that one had no explanation. Just as the dreams of her that had tormented him over the years made no sense.
“I moved her Rodeo,” Natches said, sidling up to Dawg as he stood guarding the warehouse entrance. “She was parked outside the range of the cameras, and her head was down as she came through the entrance. With any luck, we can cover her identity. ”
Dawg glanced at his cousin and best friend from the corner of his eye. He was half tempted to blame his cousin for every second of this madness. Following the vague warning he had given, Dawg had moved to find who they assumed was the female seller who had entered the warehouse. She was the only one unaccounted for now.
Dawg had moved to intercept her ahead of the rest of the team and reacted rather than thinking. If he had given himself time to think, she would be stretched out on the warehouse floor with the rest of the bastards they had arrested in the raid.
They had the buyers, the sellers, four missing experimental missiles, and their guidance chips. It was a damned good haul for the investigation. Except for the fact that the woman who had masterminded the deal hadn’t arrived.
That, or she was hiding in the backseat of Dawg’s pickup truck.
“Remind me why we’re covering her identity,” Dawg said softly, his gaze tracking the rest of the combined ATF and Homeland Security team.
Hell, he knew why, but damned if he wanted to admit to it. This wasn’t something Crista would do. He knew it wasn’t. At least, it wasn’t something the Crista he had once known would do.
“Because she’s not involved?” Natches hazarded a mocking guess.
“She was here,” Dawg pointed out, even as he ignored the hard mental flash of denial that Crista could be involved in this in any way.
“Uh-huh. ” Natches nodded. “Of which I warned you. You were the one who jerked her out like a wolf protecting its mate, not me, Cousin. I just covered your six. That’s my job. Remember?”
