SEAL The Deal (25 page)

“Love you,” she mouthed to Devon without waking Nick, who was snoring.

“Love you.” Devon returned silently. She held her hand over her heart. 

They stared at each other for several minutes, Sophie’s peaceful smile like a bow on a happy package she might have wrapped at the store. She looked younger. A pink glow developed on her cheeks and Devon was gladdened to see the color return to her face.

Devon continued to hold her gaze, smiling, nodding. She almost woke Nick to show him how beautiful and healthy Sophie looked…until she realized that Sophie’s eyes hadn’t moved or blinked for the past few minutes. When Devon sat straighter and leaned forward, Sophie’s eyes didn’t follow her, but stared on, unseeing, as empty as the smile that remained on her lips.

No. This can’t be. Sophie, not now. It’s too soon.

She heard Sophie’s voice replay in her mind, ‘
No, it’s too late
.’

‘
I don’t worry about you. I worry about him. Rescue him.’

She pressed the tears off her cheeks with her palms, licked her lips and took in a deep breath.
I can do this. I’ve lost her. I won’t lose him.

She stood up, folded herself behind Nick on the bed and kissed him on the ear, whispering, “She’s gone, Nick. Sophie’s gone.”

Nick bolted to consciousness with a start. He sat up, squeezing Sophie’s limp hand. He placed his palms on either side of her face, moving her open-eyed face back and forth. “Sophie, Sophie wake up. Please wake up.”

At the moment he realized she was gone, he threw himself over her body and sobbed. Devon rubbed a palm down his back, keeping up a gentle rhythm, feeling the power and strength of him and the depth of his sorrow.

“Oh God, Sophie. I wasn’t there,” he sobbed.

Devon looked into the blank stare on her friend’s face and suddenly realized that Sophie knew he couldn’t handle her crossing over to the other side, but knew Devon could. So Sophie shared the reality of her own death with her best friend so she wouldn’t be alone.

But now Devon was.

Chapter 26

Neither of them spoke on the trip back to Devon’s condo. Drained from watching as Sophie’s lifeless body was attended to, checked and certified, then covered, after her eyes had been gently closed by Dr. Harris, Nick wasn’t sure what he was feeling. It certainly was a mixture of rage, disappointment or guilt—all the things he recognized as signs of PTSD, except this wasn’t a battle somewhere in the middle of a scorched, dusty wasteland.

Devon was quiet, and he was thankful for that. He could tell she was a little afraid of him, and that instinct was good. He wasn’t going to be very safe company. He really didn’t want to expend the energy to reel himself in. He even wondered if he should be around her, since there was part of him that felt unpredictable and dangerous.

He didn’t have a problem with death. He’d gotten very personal with Dr. Death over the years. He’d taken lives, seen buddies get wounded or killed next to him and had the calm patience to wait for the bad guy and get the retaliatory kill. Didn’t bring his buddy back, but it had to be done. Just what he’d been trained to do. If his buddy was dead, it was time to calmly extract the price from the guy who made the mistake of thinking he’d get away with his kill shot . They never got away with it. Not when Nick was around. Not if they’d caused injury to someone on Nick’s side of the ledger. Every single one of them would pay.

But with Sophie, there was no enemy. Might have been easier if there was. He could blame God, but he’d never been a believer. He’d wanted to grow up and grow up quick. He hadn’t liked being a young, innocent teenager, vulnerable, with no bad-ass bigger brother or father to protect him. The Navy would and did do that.

Devon didn’t turn on a ton of lights when they stepped inside her condo. He was halfway surprised they’d made it there, since he didn’t remember the drive. Couldn’t even remember if he drove, or she did.

I did. I just fuckin’ put it on autopilot.

But this wasn’t home. He needed to go back to the mindless activities and strong friendships of his buddies. He had no business being here. He wanted to bury all the memories with Sophie. Two painful days, maybe three, and then he’d be gone. Maybe never to return. He hoped he wouldn’t have to.

He knew he should feel bad about Devon, but he couldn’t find the space in his aching heart. There just wasn’t any room. It was filled with blood and fury. Dr. Death sat on his throne and laughed at him. In time, he’d learn to laugh right back, and that’s when the sucker would take a hiatus. Go pick on some other poor soldier.

But that could only happen in the group workouts, the trash talk with his teammates, the swims in the inlet and Bay, the runs on the beach where he’d go until he collapsed. Midnight runs. Maybe some skydiving where he’d wait a little too long to pull the cord, just to make sure he was alive enough to feel the fear. Five or six jumps in a row would give him the rush of life he needed. Yeah, he missed the sea and the freefalling. Sailing through the sky until the warmth of the earth greeted him, unthawed him, and welcomed him back to gravity.

And he’d have to get himself straightened out before the next workup. A few months of PT, then a couple special trainings, and he’d be rock hard and solid. Emotions in check, locked down. Covered in nylon, Velcro and Kevlar. A hundred pounds of equipment on his back, legs and shoulders, running full into the firefight or waiting on top of a building. Slow breathing, calculating the mission. One, two, three kills would settle his nerves. He might even think of doing it for Sophie. Now
that
thought scared him.

Devon had brewed tea. He didn’t know how he got there, but he was sitting on a green leather chair when she handed him the warm mug. He took it without looking at her, aware that she wanted something from him, and he had nothing to give. Like he had numbed himself to anything on the outside of his boiling insides.

She put on some quiet music, came over to him as he held the mug on his thigh, staring at the floor.

“Nick, here, drink this. It will make you feel better,” she whispered as her warm hands guided the mug to his lips. He sipped and burned himself, but didn’t move a muscle.

He didn’t care.

She left her palms on his knees, rubbing his thighs like she was rubbing a child who had gotten too cold at the pool. He remembered telling her he was a polar bear. He was certainly one today. Cold as hell. Except for the thumping of his heart, beating loud, vibrating his rib cage.

He took a deep breath and another burning sip, and winced at the pain he was beginning to feel.

“Is it too hot?” she asked, still kneeling in front of him like a supplicant, her eyes wide and dark as chocolate.

He glared down at her.
You really want to pick a fight with me?

She didn’t back down, which would have been safer. For him too. But she kept up the annoying rubbing of his legs, bringing to life the rage and anger, the
I-hate-everyone-including-you
feeling that suddenly gripped him.

He focused on her eyes while setting the mug down on the floor.

You really want part of me? Really?

He grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck and tugged, exposing her neck to him. He slid off the chair onto his knees in front of her as he kissed her neck, then sucked, running his teeth over the soft tissues. He could taste a little of her blood from the welt he created.

He detached her from his chest, unpeeling her arms from his shoulders, holding her off at a safe distance, his fist still in her hair. He studied her. She’d closed her eyes. He could see her tears overflowing her long lashes and streaking down her cheeks. He wanted to see her cry. He wasn’t sure
he
could cry any more, but he wanted to see
her
cry, see her in pain.

“Open your eyes, dammit,” he bellowed.

When she did, it was exactly what he wanted to see. Her fear. Her pain. He lived off that pain. It was his lifeline. The red blotch on her neck from the deep hicky he’d caused inflamed him, and made him rock hard. The sight of her blood made him want to fuck her senseless.

He ripped off her blouse, tearing the fabric. She tried to scramble away and he caught her by the ankle and tugged her to him.

“You want to play with me? You want something from me?
This
is what I need, baby. This is who I am.”

She closed her eyes again and then, as if remembering his command, flashed them open again. She swallowed, waiting. He finished taking off the shredded blouse, jerking it loose from her arms without an ounce of tenderness. He removed her bra without tearing it apart but threw it across the room. With one hand he pulled at her pants and tugged them off her hips before he got her unzipped, while holding her upper arm roughly, squeezing her so hard he could feel her bone.

The scent of her panties was strong and she had sweat between her legs. She was breathing hard and he could feel her fear.  It was a benediction to him.

Still holding her arm even as she wiggled and made little whimpering noises, he clutched at the triangle between her legs and ripped her panties from her flesh and sunk his head into her lap. He bit her labia, sucked at her cunt, making it a meal, devouring it, owning all of her.

But then she did something extraordinary. She arched back, falling into the carpeting, and moaned into him. With arms outstretched and fingers clutching the carpet, she lifted herself up and pressed herself into his mouth, forcing his teeth on her, forcing his tongue deep inside her.

He didn’t want to see her pleasure. It actually inflamed him, made him mad. He grabbed the sash from the bathrobe lying over the chair and wound it around her wrists held high above her head, tightening them hard and making a knot.

She still writhed beneath him, moaning, which pissed him off further. He wanted to go down on her but his dick was crammed so tight in his pants it was causing him pain, which he welcomed. But he had to set it free.

He unzipped himself as she began to rise up, her bound arms coming to hook over his neck, but he shoved her back down into the floor roughly. Her eyes flashed at him and he smirked.

You want me, baby? You really want me? You see what kind of a man I am, and you want me?

He was rewarded when she shuddered and closed her eyes, more tears coming down her cheeks.

“I told you to open your eyes and see me. See me as I fuck you.”

Her brave expression bore the shame he knew he would feel later on. It was lurking right there, but it didn’t matter. He was on a kill mission. Nothing would get in the way of that satisfying fuck and debasement he needed.

His cock lobbed free and he stroked himself. He needed to sink into her deep. Her lips were tightened into an expression of pain as he plunged three of his fingers inside her. She arched her chest and her tits rose over her flat abs. She’d tried to put a leg up to his shoulder as he replaced his fingers with his stiff, aching cock. He pushed her leg aside roughly, aiming for fuller penetration.,

Devon’s eyes grew huge as she began to grasp where he was going. That he wouldn’t be able to stop.

His cock rammed inside her all the way to the hilt while his thumb kept up a steady pressure on her clit. He pushed as hard as he could, increased the pace until the sounds of the backs of her thighs slapping against his drowned out all sound.

His thumb pressed her nub harder as his cock began to spill.

Until he looked her in the eyes. He saw the cost of his fury looking back at him through tears of pain. Even some loathing.

His actions were sickening him, but he couldn’t stop.

Devon took in a deep breath and screamed, “No.”

Her voice echoed off the marble walls of the bathroom. Like he was hearing it from the television or some device, he looked up at the sound. He was acting in slow motion. His pumping action continued, until he felt her foot punch him in the chest, sending him backward.

She scrambled to her feet, covering her body up with her fallen dress. Her hands, still bound in the pink sash, clutched the black fabric as she backed up from him, the look of complete hatred coming straight at him, hitting him as hard as her foot had.

“Get out. Get out right now or I will call the police.”

He knew it was the right thing, but his head was foggy. He wasn’t sure if she had been talking him or to or someone else. Then, in a sudden wave of revulsion, he realized what he’d done.

And what he’d spoiled.

Chapter 27

Devon was used to being alone. She was not used to being violated, used as a pleasure doll, if that’s what it could be called. The shame of it all was that her body had responded involuntarily at first, just as his had. She had met him in that wasteland she didn’t know she had inside her.

Her instincts had told her to watch out, keep a safe distance from him, and she’d ignored those niggling voices with disastrous consequences. She didn’t want to look at him. She tried to will herself to transport someplace else, any place else. Maybe she should join Sophie. Maybe Heaven would be a safer place than any reality that had Nick in it.

He reached forward, grabbing her bound wrists and untied her. She fought against him though it was useless.

“Don’t touch me,” she yelled, trying to kick him to knock him off balance. “Just get out,” she mustered the bravado to shriek. Tears collected, threatening to wash over her, and her sobs would soon follow. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Just a little while longer and he’ll be gone. You can hold it together for just a little while longer.

She was going to carefully excise him from her heart with a rusty spoon, make it hurt, get a fever and perhaps die trying to heal. Or scab up so hard she’d never forget how life was not fair and people you thought you loved and trusted could hurt you in the worst possible way.

Devon would not look at him. She didn’t want to remember what he looked like, if he was sorry or not. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t make any difference, anyway.