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Dad had written in shorthand under each photo in a code that we used sometimes for note taking. Dates. The David pic was from before I was born. The Bailey one from when I was six or seven. Martin’s photo didn’t have a date but an address. I memorized it and then flipped the folder closed, put it back in its spot then opened the next one.
More pictures. Just—pictures. No notes.
Every folder in the box I went through had pictures. There were people I recognized from the network, at least two that I hadn’t seen in over a decade. Daddy used to limit my contact with them, but he always made sure I could put faces to names.
"Drew,” Fletcher said my name with the kind of emphasis that dragged me out of the images in the folders and I found him squatting next to me and as soon as my gaze latched on him, he dipped his head and kissed me.
At first, my brain couldn’t process the sizzle at the contact of his lips moving against mine or the warmth of his fingers on my neck. His grip wasn’t tight or demanding, if anything, it was tentative and almost sweet, until my lips parted.
Then his tongue swept inside and the first tickle of his piercing over my tongue and I let go of the folder I’d been holding. The paper fluttered down and landed with a rustle, but I put my dusty fingers against his face. A portion of my brain said to push him away, but I only curled my fingers against his jaw as I leaned into the contact. I swore the charge of the contact ping-ponged through my system, like the zap of an electric shock.
When he stood abruptly and dragged me up from the floor, I had my arms wrapped around his neck and his hands slid down my sides to cup my ass and he carried me up the rest of the way, until my head was tilted over his and he widened his mouth. Thank fuck, because I wanted to chase that piercing. Every time he rolled it over my tongue, I swore my pussy gave a little spasm.
The dig of his fingers into my ass was damn near bruising, but I needed it. The action grounded me even as his kiss demanded everything I had. The ache and the loss vanished into the flames he ignited and the despair that had begun to unfold in my chest exploded like confetti shot out of a cannon.
A moan vibrated my throat as I slid my fingers into his hair. It was so fucking soft as it spilled around my grip. His answering groan sent a flash fire of heat booming through me, until my skin flushed to near boiling. Fletcher lifted his head and a gasp escaped. That didn’t sound like me at all. I blinked slowly and found Fletcher staring down at me with so much intensity, I swore his eyes had to be glowing.
Shuddering, I pressed my forehead to his. My chest rose and fell as my breathing shallowed. As it was, if Fletcher dipped his head forward, he would be burying his face into my breasts and I kind of wanted to know what that piercing would feel like everywhere.
With care, he raised one of his hands to my cheek. It seemed so cool against my skin. “There’s my Drew,” he whispered and I frowned. But Fletcher didn’t explain, he just kissed the tip of my nose then brushed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Tell me what you need.”
Him.
Rick.
Rick… Shit.
I made myself let Fletcher go, slowly, and without question or argument he lowered me to standing and kept hold of me until my wobbling legs were under me. Another caress of my cheek and he let me go.
Still trying to get my erratic pulse under control along with my breathing, I held his stare. It did ground me almost as much as the memory of how his fingers dug into my ass. I didn’t understand Daddy’s file or the message in them—if there was a message. Not yet.
But I had them and Fletcher.
“I need to take these with me and then we need to go hunting. There’s someone I need to find.”
Someone who was going to answer my questions.
The inherent violence in this plan sent another wave of tingles through me and my scalp lit up. Oh, yeah. I needed a little action. Fucking and killing had that in common.
“Should I be jealous of this guy you need to find?” Fletcher’s question gave me pause, and I glanced back to find his gaze as hungry as I felt.
“No,” I promised him. “Trust me.”
The quirk of his lips surprised me but not more than his next words, “Fuck me gently, Drew, I already do.”
30
Fletcher
Three hours later, I was still thinking about that kiss. Probably not the smartest thing I’d ever done, but Drew had paled as she started methodically flipping through the folders. Her eyes had taken on a glassiness that worried me more than I cared to admit. A glassy distance and a sadness that threatened to gut me. Twice I’d said her name and she’d not even glanced up. When kids appeared in those pictures, I was like yeah—nope. My girl did not need to be looking at that, so I touched her gently and said her name louder, I kept the contact light because I didn’t fancy losing my hand all over again.
Not only had she not ripped my arm off and beaten me with it, she’d kissed me back and fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever had a kiss imprint itself on my soul. That was some Shakespearean levels of tragedy just waiting to happen and at the same time, I wouldn’t trade it for any other moment ever. After, we hadn’t discussed the kiss at all, and I sure as shit wasn’t bringing it up. I tucked my vagina back in my pants and just followed her like some lovestruck puppy out to the car and carried all her boxes for her.
She’d taken one last look around the empty storage room and I had to bite my tongue to keep from offering her some ridiculous platitude. Whatever she’d expected to find here,thiswas not it. I scanned the room, the light from outside hid no shadows from us and even if there was just some weird lightbulbs in the fixture above, we didn’t need it.
“I’m sorry,” I told her and Drew cast that look at me that had me willing to open a vein if she asked and I held my breath.
“Don’t be,” she insisted. “But we need to go.”
