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“See if you can hit the middle of the target.”
I redirect my focus to the target and fire again and again until the clip is empty and, for the first time in days, my mind is clear.
Jude
I’m losing my ever-loving mind in this cabin. I’ve had Gabe trying to help me track down Tom. Even the cartel can’t find the bastard. Although I did find one of his associates… and his head is currently in a garbage bag at my side.
A god-awful smell hits me in the face when I step into the cabin with the Hefty bag at my side. Marney’s at the stove, wearing a crab apron and frying something in a pan.
“Good God, old fuck, what are you cooking?”
“Tuna melt.” He turns around as I move through the kitchen. “What’s in the bag, boy.”
“The head of some guy named Dave.”
“A head?” He turns back to the stove to flip his sandwich. “What the hell kinda shit are you…” Now he’s glaring at me with a disapproving scowl. “The fucking cartel. I swear, boy. I told you getting your shit mixed up in that—” He hurls the spatula at me. “Next thing you know, you’re gonna have Sinaloa cartel tattooed on your balls.”
“Shutup, old man. He was one of Tom’s associates.”
Marney’s scowl turns into a grin. “Then by all means–” He shuffles to the fridge and throws open the freezer. “Chuck it on in. Make sure it’s good solid by the time we send it off.”
I pass the bag to him and pull the blood-splattered shirt over my head, then toss it in the fireplace. “I’m going upstairs for a shower.”
“You want me to save you a tuna melt?”
“Hell no.” Those things are disgusting. “It smells like a rotten can of cat food.”
“By the way, your name’s in the paper. Front page. National News.” Marney grins. “Blown to smithereens in your house, but shew at that number of murders they’re trying to pin a dead man for.”
“Good.” At least if it made national news, Tom may actually believe it. “I’m going to take bed,” I say on my way up the rickety stairwell.
Just as I close the bedroom door whimpers, tossing and turning in her sleep. I move to the edge of the bed to wake her. Carefully. Learned my lesson on that one when she pulled a gun on me.
“Tor.” I brush her arm and she sucks in a sharp breath, then jerks awake. Moonlight spills through the window, catching on her tears.
Her gaze seeks out mine, and the moment it lands on me, she’s kissing me. Not the careful kisses she usually gives me. This is hard and brutal, like she’s trying to climb inside my damn soul.
“Take it away. Please.” She kisses me desperately, grabbing my face as she shifts to straddle me. "I want you to make me forget.” Her words break me, but this is the closest her pussy has been to my dick in over a month. I grab her hips and thrust against her, kissing her like she’s my damn air. Because she is.
The longer she presses over me, the deeper I kiss her, the harder it is for me to resist the urge to grab her by the throat and toss her onto the bed, sinking into her in one savage thrust. But it can’t be like that. Not now. I stop. “Tor, look at me.”
But she doesn’t stop. She keeps grabbing me, kissing me, begging me to make her forget. My hand glides over her smooth thigh, creeping beneath the hem of my t-shirt she’s wearing. “Tor…”
“Do it. Just do it.”
I inhale, attempting to control myself when I slip a finger underneath the lace of her thong. And that’s when she stills. She makes tight fists against my chest. I go to move my hand away, but she latches onto my wrist. “I need this.”
But I can see the tears on her lash line. I can feel the erratic beat of her heart. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know you won’t. I trust you.”
Victoria
Jude sweeps his hand down my back, soothing, understanding. This isn’t about him though. I need to do this. I need him to do this. "Please," I whisper again against his mouth. "I can still feel him." And it is destroying me.
His breath catches, the movement of his hands on my back freezing. “I promise you.” He cups my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. "No one but me will ever fucking touch you again.”
I believe him, but the damage is already done, like a stain that won’t wash away.
His fingers move to the hem of my shirt, inching it up over my hips. Panic flares and I grab his wrists, halting him. I don't want him to see the marks–Tom’s marks– stamped all over my skin in ugly scars. "Leave it on."
