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ChapterThree
DAMIEN
Iwasn’t feeding her lines, even if she thought I was. I’d walked away from her five years ago because I thought it was the best thing to do for her. If I had stayed, or brought her back to our hometown with me, I’d make her a housewife, but it was more likely I’d have made her a corpse, with the line of work I’d been in back then.
I was a little more on the straight and narrow know, although I did still deal with stolen treasures and goods that were banned from the country for health risks. Things like unpasteurized cheese from France brought in a good deal of money and I wouldn’t end up dead at the end of some other drug dealer’s gun over a carton of brie. I hoped.
And besides, if rich people wanted to take a chance on consuming a deadly bacteria who was I to judge? Especially when it brought me in so much money. I still had to deal with some of the same channels I did with my other business ventures, but my new line of work came with less threats and less jail time. Drug lords didn’t care about who might be selling banned food, and maybe some stolen art every now and then, in their territory.
There was a lot less danger in my life now, and from the moment I first spotted the woman I thought was Ginger, my mind had changed about the decision I’d made long ago. There was still plenty of danger in my world, enough to keep me excited enough to stay in business, even if I could retire now and never look back. That was what kept me going every day, a need for excitement, but when I saw Ginger again, I realized maybe that had been my unconscious plan all along, to get to a point where I wouldn’t have to worry about her dying. At least, not over the small amount of drugs I kept flowing into my neighborhood. I could hope.
I’d come to town this morning, working on a deal with the Wolves of Chaos to bring a new, but very small, shipment of hash to my hometown for me, as well as the transportation of a certain painting I’d managed to get my hands on. Stolen, but then, could you really own art? I almost rolled my own eyes over that and focused my mind back on the woman that had kept me in Chicago long after I should have headed back to my own home.
I couldn’t forget the young woman she used to be, the one with eyes that followed me around with a kind of hunger that no girl her age should have felt for a man like me, or as much trouble as me. Her dad and I had been friends at one point in time, buddies even, until her dad found God and turned into a holy roller. I’d all but watched Ginger grow up, then she’d blossomed into a woman that had utterly captivated me.
I’d found her in a club five years ago, selling her virginity. If it had been any other young woman, I’d have walked away but Ginger Rose was something special. I’d bid the highest bid just to make sure the girl had the kind of first time she’d deserved. I’d fucked up when I’d lost my head and promised things I shouldn’t have, not when I was constantly on the verge of losing everything, even my freedom.
I hadn’t done it on purpose, changed my life for the better, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d wondered if I’d ever run into Ginger Rose again. If I’d find her back in our hometown, with those big green eyes and everything about her smelling like innocence. Although, she hadn’t been that innocent when I’d left her the morning after our night together.
I didn’t want to think about how hurt she must have been right now. I’d tormented myself enough over the years with that same worry. But I saw that pain and anger now, in the way her eyes had turned to green ice and her smile became a brittle thing, on the verge of shattering. She’d become hardened over the years, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was down to me.
“Do you really expect me to believe any of this, Damien?” She scoffed, her cheeks flushing with anger. “You really should leave. There’s nothing for you here. I don’t believe anything you say.”
“No, I’d rather stay here with you, because yes. I do expect you to believe me, Ginger. You know what line of work I’m in. Orwasin. Not so much these days. I’ve phased out most of the harder stuff I used to deal with and, well, the target on my back is a little smaller. I’m serious, stop laughing like that,” I reproached her, stunned that she was laughing at me.
“You really,reallyexpect me to believe that, Damien?” She shook her head as she spoke, stinging my pride just a little bit more, her eyes full of sarcastic laughter, enhanced by the way her lips twisted in doubt. I might have to think about getting pissed off if she keeps this up. “You expect me to believe you’re a changed man? Really?”
“For fuck’s sake, Ginger, yes!” I snapped, losing my patience and running a hand through my hair. This was not going at all as I’d imagined it would. I’d walk into the club, explain to her that I regretted my decision, and walk out with her in my arms. But, turns out, she owns the club and she’s turned into one hard woman.
Ginger shook her head and waved a hand at me. “Go on, get out of here with that. You’re done as far as I’m concerned, Damien. Over. Finished. Stop trying to change my mind.”
I gripped my hands into fists, a low growl coming out of my throat as she…shooed me away. Fucking shooed me!
The chuckle that came out of her throat over my frustration nearly had me spitting mad, but I clamped down on it. I’d never get her to give me a chance if I blew up at her. I can’t believe she’s become so cold. She was so warm, so ready to be loved when I knew her before. Had I killed that? Was it me, or time that had changed her so much?
Back home, she’d been quiet, always respectful of others, and kind. Now, there was a woman that took no shit, that laughed in your face, and treated you with condescension in her place. Could it be just me that had caused that? No, there was more to the story than that, and I guess I had the answer, considering where I was standing. She owned the place, she’d lived this life that I’d never wanted for her, had avoided her tying to protect her from. And now she hated me for it.
Fuck.
“I tell you what, how about you hate fuck me? Maybe we can get each other out of our systems. Because I can’t get you off my mind, Ginger. I’ve tried for five years, yet here I am, pleading you with you to give me a chance.”
That shut her up and her eyes turned from a mirthful light green that bordered on light jade, to a darker almost emerald color in an instant. “Hate fuck you?”
“Yes, hate fuck. We either fuck the hate out of each other or just fuck and still hate each other later but at least the sexual tension will have eased.” Ginger’s eyes darted around in panic as I spoke, but I’d already made sure our conversation was private. Which is why I’d stepped between her legs, so she’d have to look up at me as I spoke now. The only other man in the place was watching the dancer on the stage and the bartender had disappeared minutes ago. “I really, really want to fuck you again, at least once in my life. Do you think we can make that happen?”
I saw her pulse jump in her neck and the way her lips parted, as if she’d just gasped out a breath. I couldn’t hear from the music pounding around the stage area, but I suspected that was exactly what had happened. Her eyes moved down, to my lips, but she didn’t say anything, didn’t tell me to fuck off or tell me that she’d rather deep-fry herself in lard than fuck me. She just…watched me. Did she want me to convince her, was that it?
“You see, since the last time I had you, I dream about you every single night. You’re there, always, whether I’m alone or not, in the back of my brain, this throbbing memory that won’t go away. I can still taste you on my tongue, do you know that?” Of course, she didn’t know that, but she did now. “All I want is a chance to prove to you that I’m not the liar I made myself out to be when I left you, Ginger. Please? One chance, that’s all I’m asking for.”
I saw her throat move as she swallowed, her eyes big and round, waiting for something, but I didn’t know what? For me to tip her over the edge with nothing more than words and light touches? I wanted to touch her, wanted to feel that silky smooth skin that begged to be kissed, but I wanted to keep my fingers intact too. She still had that edge about her, a very sharp edge that could spell disaster for my fingers. But the way she looked at me now, as if she really wanted to be convinced to let me touch her,reallywanted it, made me dare to do just that.
I reached out to stroke a finger down her jaw, along her neck, and around the curve of the black blouse she wore. What would her answer be?
I inhaled the scent of floral perfume laced with a citrus scent, a smell that was heavenly when it was mixed with her own scent. I was leaning forward, my face near to hers, but she put out a hand to stop me. I closed my eyes, miserable that I’d been so close to her soft lips when she forced me to stop. I pulled away, a fraction of an inch, to look into her eyes with a questioning look.
Something changed in her eyes, and I knew, I just knew, that if she had a gun or a knife in her hands, I’d be dead. I might have majorly fucked up. But the way her lips parted, inviting a touch, and her cheeks flushed, told me that she wanted me. She wanted me as much as she’d wanted me back then and I could see it. The good part was, I still wanted her. If I could get the murder out of her eyes, I might be able to make both of us happy.
