Burn (12 page)

             
Tipsy Remy nuzzled his nose until he felt the skin on the back of her neck. Then he trailed it up to her ear, closing his eyes tightly at the warmth she was radiating into his being. This girl.

             
This.
              Fucking.
              Girl.

             
Her slight movement threw off his jive. Her head turned to him, and he could feel her breaths against his face. He opened his eyes and regarded his Birdy. To his surprise, she was wide awake and hardly an inch from his face. Her eyes looked right into his and then at his lips, emanating a vulnerability he couldn’t decipher fast enough. She’d purposely let her guard down for him. Was this her offering herself up to him? Was this permission?

             
He didn’t want to ask. He just wanted to take.

             
It seemed so natural moving in for the kiss. Tipsy, pussy-whipped Remy couldn’t help the groan that escaped his mouth the second his lips made contact with hers. They were so soft. So full.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He was falling apart within seconds. He brought a hand to her face, keeping her at level with his mouth so he could continue to taste the finest thing he’d ever touched.

             
She kissed back, opening her mouth wider to let him in. The second his tongue brushed against hers, he was gone. Absolutely fucking gone.

             
So this is perfection.

             
Suddenly Remy understood all that bullshit about love. Who would have guessed that those horrendous romance movies were right? You’d endure the worst kind of evil just to have a taste of this. He felt his heart explode into a million little pieces, and he didn’t give a shit that he was falling hard. In that moment, he was engulfed in a kind of bliss that was pure, uninhibited heaven. The angel beneath him was worth it all. He’d always known it, and now it was solidified.

             
She wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him further into her mouth. He didn’t want to stop, even when he needed to come up for air; he was happily drowning in her. He felt her other hand slide down his back and then she was pulling up his shirt.

             
Fuck. Yes.

             
He threw it off and grabbed at hers. He gently lifted it over her head, and by then she’d wrapped her legs around his hips. He was rock hard and the sudden friction she was trying to create against her pussy had just about made him come.

             
Fuck no.

             
He wouldn’t. He’d never been so undone so shortly into foreplay before. What was she doing to him?

             
Remy rested over her again, feeling her bare skin against his. He moved his hand up and down her body, stopping repeatedly at her breasts. He wanted nothing more than to tear the bra straight off and lap his tongue against her nipples, but he couldn’t get enough of her mouth. There was something about her kiss; it felt like he was pouring his soul into her and she was sucking him dry and owning him – which was fucked up because he’d always intended to be the possessor. But shit, who cares? He’d gladly be the bitch if she was the master.

             
Sara pushed his face away from her and harshly brought his mouth to her neck. She was gladly offering it, but for what? Did she want to be marked?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He licked her neck and then sucked fiercely, relishing in the softness of her skin. She moaned loudly and gripped his hair until his scalp burned.

             
Perfection. He moved back to her mouth, grinding himself against her.
Yes, yes, yes.
He was going to own this body. He was going to be deep inside that in a few moments time. He was going to hear her scream in pleasure and writhe for more, and he wasn’t going to hold back. He was going to unload within her and make her his forever. He didn’t give a fuck about the consequences, either.

             
He relished in the sweet taste of her. She was delicious to him. He sucked her bottom lip, lapped his tongue against hers, surrendering to the unbelievable taste of… salt?

             
What the fuck?

             
Breathing heavily, he pulled back and looked down at her face.

             
Tears. Everywhere. Flowing down her face from each eye like two little waterfalls. Why the fuck was she crying?

             
“Hey,” he whispered soothingly, stroking the tears away from her eyes.

             
He remained on top of her, but he certainly wasn’t moving, and although he was hard as a boulder below the belt, there was no way he was going to be inside a crying angel. He wasn’t
that
drunk.

             
“I’m sorry,” she apologized in embarrassment, lips quivering.

             
“Hey, hey, don’t be sorry. You got nothin’ to be sorry for, Birdy.” He continued to wipe the tears from her eyes, and then he stiffly climbed off of her. This was possibly the hardest thing he’d ever done. His whole body had shuddered with the need to be fulfilled by her.

             
This sucked giant elephant ball sacks.

             
She curled into a ball against his side, and for a moment he didn’t want to be anywhere near her. He didn’t think he’d have the self-control to stop. Any second and he’d be all over her again.

             
“You’re all I have. Please don’t hate me.” The sob-filled words took him off guard. Hate her? Fuck, what an absurd thing to say.

             
He wrapped an arm around her and held her hard against him. “I don’t hate you,” he told her firmly. “The last thing I could do is hate you. You’re fuckin’ incredible.”

             
“I don’t see how I am. I don’t even know why I did that.”

             
“No one sees the good in themselves first, Birdy. We see the shit we loathe. Take it from me, I know what makes someone bad and worth hating, and you’re far from it.” 

             
“I’ve done bad things in my life. Things you don’t know about.”

             
“You ever killed someone with your bare hands?”

             
“No.”

             
“Then whatever you did, it isn’t so bad.”

             
He listened to her breathe for a few minutes. He was still hard as a rock, but the need to jump her had long eased. He was comfortable with her like this. He felt whole, and life seemed to matter a hell of a lot more all of a sudden.

             
“Did you ever find out anything about that man?”

             
“Not yet.” Yet another lie. He wanted to be honest, but truth be told, the more in the dark she was about it, the better.

             
Remy reflected on the day he’d taken the guys to the bunker. The place was a fucking write off. There was no way he could clean that blood up without burning the whole place down. Logan had whistled in amazement and Fritz had nearly doubled over from the stench of the dead man – although, in Remy’s eyes, Fritz didn’t smell any better.

             
“What do you wanna do, Reap?” asked Logan.

             
“We’re gonna strip him,” Remy answered, quickly packing away Sara’s clothes in a bag to take back to her.

             
Logan and Fritz exchanged looks of disgust, but they didn’t complain. They’d done much worse as far as they were concerned.

             
“I’m gonna need a lot more booze for this shit,” Fritz muttered. “You nearly took his head straight off.”

             
He’d have preferred to keep him alive. Torture methods in the hands of Remy had always proven…
effective
. He could make a mute chimp sing long and hard with the right tools. Only this guy was massive and, in the moment, the attack had been so sudden with the clear motive to kill Sara, all he’d wanted was him dead.

             
After they’d stripped every piece of clothing off, Remy began inspecting every inch of the man’s body. He was looking for a mark. All he was seeing were tattoos of skulls and pin up girls.

             
“Check this out,” Logan said, kicking at the dead man’s leg.

             
Remy looked at the man’s shin. There was a black inked in square of a tattoo covering most of it. He gritted his teeth and angrily stormed to the other side of the room.

             
“Whatever he is, he’s not no more,” frowned Fritz.

             
Remy had hoped for a tattoo of an emblem – something to give away what gang he was affiliated with. The man had inked it over completely in an effort to hide his roots. It’d been an increasingly popular trend as of lately. Men that went up the ranks to become assigned killers were obligated to hide their markings so it wouldn’t get back to the gang they associated with if shit had gone sour.

             
“He’s obviously a Scorpion,” Fritz stated as he walked over to where Remy stood. “Who else would want to target that girl?”

             
“There’s no way Jaxon would send someone to kill her,” Remy refuted. “No way in hell. Besides, he wanted her for himself. It wasn’t the Scorpions.”

             
“Who else could it be?”

             
Remy had no fucking clue. They transported goods to ganglands in other cities and towns, and everyone operated peacefully as long as demand was met. With the Jackals doing all the cooking, they were essentially untouchable. They offered the best around, eliminated any competition and controlled every transport company this side of the country. Who would want to target the girl?

             
He hated himself for letting his guard down. He wasn’t even meant to be at the bunker that day. He’d had errands to run, business debts to settle…

             
Whoever it was had found out about its location, but, fuck, he was certain he hadn’t been followed during the trips he made there. How?! But most of all,
why?

             
That was a question that continued to plague Remy’s mind. He held her to him long after she’d fallen asleep in his arms. How could one little lady frighten him so much? If something happened to her… No, no. Nothing was going to happen to her. He’d make sure of it.

             
Her tears had long dried, but her nose was stuffy. She breathed quietly through her mouth. He rested her on her side and nuzzled his face into hers, taking in her intoxicating scent. He wondered why she’d cried like that. What would have crossed her mind in that moment to ruin what would have been the best night of his life? In the far reaches of his mind he knew the answer to that already.

             
Jaxon.

             
“Hey Remy?” Sara’s groggy voice stirred him out of his reveries. She was still awake, though her eyes were closed.

             
“Yeah, Birdy?”

             
“Why do they call you Reaper?”

             
Remy pressed his lips hard against each other. Fuck, he hated that name. With a sigh he said, “It’s short for Grim Reaper.”

             
Silence.

             
“Why do they call you it?”

             
“Why do you think, Sara?”

             
She opened her eyes and roamed his face inquisitively. “Is it because you… kill people?”

             
“No,” he replied. “It’s because I’m
good
at killing people, and they never get away.”

             
He saw a blaze of horror in her eyes and quickly rested his hand over her cheek, soothingly rubbing his thumb over it. “You don’t ever have to be frightened by me. I would never hurt you. The men are scumbags anyway.”

             
“Do you…” she hesitated. “Do you like doing it?”

             
Remy’s inhaled sharply as he admitted, “No, Birdy. I don’t. I hate it. I hate it every single time I do it. I hate the way they look at me. I hate their screams. I hate the fucking blood on my hands afterwards. I fucking hate blood period.”

             
“Then why do you do it?”

             
“Remember the first night in the bunker I told you I wasn’t a monster?”

             
“Yeah.”

             
“I lied.”
Yeah, fucking admit how shit of a man you are.
“I’m the worst of them. Even though I’ve known them for as long as I can remember, I officially joined the Jackals when I was sixteen, did what I could from the ground up, was willing to take on more work than I got. Early on they’d noticed how effective my skills were. I do the dirty and no one gets away unpunished. It’s like fear mongering – it sends a message not to cross us. Nobody climbs the club’s ranks at my age without doing the things I did. The club’s all I’ve known.”