Selling Out (25 page)

“He wouldn’t have skipped town, not with his entire business
running out of Chicago. He’d stay near the money, which means he’s around here
somewhere.” Lines of tension appeared in his forehead. “We need to find him
soon. He’s already running. It’s time to go in for the kill.”

Guiltily, I thought of the Barracks. For all I knew, it
might not be a good lead. It could even be a trap. Maybe I was protecting him
by not telling him. But that was a bunch of bullshit. He’d want to know. As it
was, he would be pissed at me for keeping it from him.

I was distracted from my guilt when he pulled out a gun and
set it on the table. It was slightly smaller than the one Marguerite had given
me but shaped the same.

“Why’d you bring a gun to the club?” he asked, his voice deceptively
mild.

I shrugged. “A girl’s gotta stay safe.”

He made a noncommittal sound. “Speaking of safety, do you
know how to use the safety?”

I gave a nervous laugh. “Duh.”

Marguerite had showed me a little metal ridge before I left.
I couldn’t have reproduced her smooth actions, though. I had been too scared to
touch the thing. From the look on Luke’s face, he knew that too, and he didn’t
seem very happy about it.

“I’m going to teach you how to use this.”

“Really?” I was sure he’d tell me never to touch one again,
not encourage the behavior.

He shook his head. “I don’t like you with this, but if
you’re determined to have a gun, I know you can just get another one. I’d
rather you know what you’re doing with it than shoot your leg off.”

We spent the next hour with him showing me how to load and
unload the subcompact and covering the many safety rules. When I had passed
each of his instructions and questions multiple times, he took me outside,
armed with rubber earmuffs and eyewear. Red concentric circles had been painted
on a couple of trees. With me standing behind him, he took aim and shot. The
report was loud even through the earmuffs, and a small tuft of tree bark flew
out from the center of the red circle and fell to the ground.

He handed the gun to me and stepped back. I looked at the
gun, then back at him, but he only waited. Right.

I tried to remember what he’d told me. Widen my legs for a
firm stance. Left thumb on the side, not wrapped around the back. Aim using the
sights. Finger off the trigger until I was ready to shoot, and then pull,
slowly, steadily, until—I blinked. A new hole had been created in one of the
outer circles. Not even close to the center, but…I had hit a tree. That was a
hell of an improvement over barely being able to look at the target. I laughed,
giddy.

He was smiling too, but he nodded again toward the tree. I
turned and shot off the rest of the clip. A few of them even landed inside the
smallest circle.

When I was done, I set the empty gun down and jumped at him.
It felt…freeing. Violent too, but maybe a little violence was what I needed in
my life, perpetrated by me this time. It was exactly like Marguerite had said.
I felt empowered, like I was doing something more than running, like I was
finally fighting back. I knew that a single shooting session wasn’t enough to
combat all of Henri’s men, but the real value was the power that coursed
through me. I could fight back.

His grin faded slightly. “How’s your shoulder? Did the kick
bother it at all?”

He was referring to my gunshot wound.

“It’s never felt better,” I said honestly. That small radius
had always made me feel like a victim. Maybe it didn’t have to be that way.

“Listen,” I said. “Do you remember when I went in the
bathroom with that girl?”

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that.” He got a faraway
look. “I’m sorry I waited until you were gone to ask about Daisy. That wasn’t
fair to you.”

Deep breath. “She told me something about Henri while we
were talking.”

He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “We were partners in
there, and you should have had all the information.”

“There’s a warehouse or airport hangar or—”

“I just didn’t want you to think less of me,” he said.

Distracted, I asked, “Why would that make me think less of
you?”

“The way I grew up.” He focused on me. “There was a reason I
fit in so well at the club. I know you noticed.”

I had. “I figured it was your cop prowess.”

He laughed shortly. “Not exactly. I grew up dirt-poor, in
the scariest fucking neighborhood around. It’s gone now. They razed it down,
built some fancy houses on top. It was for the best. That place needed to go.”

My hand found his.

“We lived in the basement of this house, renting, but my mom
was a nurse, so she was gone for full days at a time. The guy who owned the
house was a real jerk. It was worse when I got a job after school. Daisy would
lock herself in her room until one of us got home.” He looked down at our
linked fingers. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

I squeezed gently. “Because you can. Remember? You don’t
have to pretend around me.”

A faint smile brushed his lips. “That was supposed to go the
other way. So that you could relax.”

“I’m relaxed. And I don’t think less of you.”

“It got worse.” He grew grim. “My mom died when I was
fifteen. Some lunatic came into the ER, waving a gun around. Shot her and three
other people because his wife had died there. How does that make sense? What
kind of logic is that?”

“I’m so sorry.” My heart ached for the grief on his face.

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, the guy who
owned the house ransacked our rooms. He took the money, any documents,
everything important. When the police came, they said Daisy and I should stay
there, that he had allowed us to live there and continue going to school until
they determined a permanent solution. I guess he was supposed to be our
temporary guardian, but we knew it would be bad. Maybe if I had said something.
If I had spoken out against him then, they might have removed us from the
home.”

The way he spoke, it was clear he’d been down this line of
questioning before, that the path was deeply rutted with guilt and what-ifs. I
knew how dangerous that path could be. “You did what you thought was right at
the time. You were a kid.”

“That night when he came for Daisy, I fought him. I punched
him, and he went down, hitting his head on a table. There was blood everywhere.
I thought I’d killed him.” He met my eyes, a little dark, a little rueful. “I
was sure I had. Only years later I looked him up and found out he’d lived
another six months before his liver gave out.”

“It was self-defense,” I said, stating the obvious, knowing
it wouldn’t have mattered to a scared kid protecting his little sister.

He stood up and paced, as if unable to stay still. “We
didn’t wait to see if they’d believe us or where they’d put us next. We ran.
For a while it wasn’t too bad. I was motivated. I worked all day and all night
instead of going to school. I made enough to buy food, and that was about it.
I’d bring her library books to read, but she had all day to sit around in the
abandoned house we were staying in. She was bored and restless, like any
twelve-year-old girl would be day after day.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said, heart heavy. After all, I
already knew the ending to this story.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, but I knew he didn’t believe it.
“She just wanted to make friends. But the only other street kids around stole
shit and did drugs. She got caught up in it. We argued all the time, but I
wasn’t there. I was out working for us so much of the time, and then when I was
home, I was exhausted.” Regret stained his words. “I didn’t have enough
patience with her, nor did I try to see her side of things. I just yelled at
her to stop seeing them.”

“A fifteen-year-old boy is not ready to parent a teenage
girl. He’s not supposed to be ready to do that. That’s what parents are for.”
Although it seemed like we’d both got the shaft in the parental department.

“Then one day, she disappeared. She had gone missing a
couple of nights and come back in the morning. The first few times, I had
looked everywhere and given her a bunch of shit when she came back. This time I
was going to be tough. I was going to tell her she had to shape up, or I
wouldn’t help her anymore. No more giving money to her so-called friends for
drugs. When she came back, I was going to cut her off. Only she never came
back.”

I hugged him, and he wrapped his arms around me and rested
his chin on the top of my head.

“I looked for her, of course. Beat the shit out of a few of
her friends; they told me she’d started hooking. Didn’t get very far on my own.
I got my GED and enrolled into the academy.”

“You’ve never stopped looking,” I said softly.

“I can’t,” he admitted. “Even when I tell myself I’m done,
that I’ve moved on, I find myself pulling up Jane Doe records. I hadn’t even
planned on asking about her last night. Or maybe I knew I would. I don’t know
anymore. But the guy told me he’d been with Henri from the early days, and the
timing was right. Next thing I know, I’m questioning him and risking the whole
damn operation, risking your safety, on a lost cause.”

Frustration rolled off him in waves. Like a lion caught in a
trap, he would pull and gnaw until he’d torn his paw off just to be free—maim
himself to escape his demons.

“Of course,” I said. “Of course you should have.”

“I risked my cover. I put you in danger.” He vibrated with
guilt.

It would tear him apart—guilt for his sister, for me. “I’m
glad you asked about her. At least now you know for sure she was with Henri,
right?”

“Yeah. I had suspected as much, but now I know for sure.” He
pressed his lips to my temple. “You’re sweet.”

I laughed softly. “All I did was listen.”

“Always undervaluing yourself.”

“I assure you, my price is very high,” I said in a mocking voice.
“Don’t assume that because I gave it to you for free that I’m cheap.”

“Hey.”

He turned me in his arms so that I faced him. When I
wouldn’t look at him, he raised my chin. Solemn green eyes met mine.

“You honored me.”

My eyes burned; my throat tightened. I was seconds away from
embarrassing myself. I kissed him, using my sexuality as a shield like I’d
always done. He responded at once, taking the lead with his hand on the back of
my neck, holding me open. His grip on me was implacable, inescapable, but his
lips were infinitely gentle. He ran his tongue along my lips, soothing,
calming, and it felt like gratitude. I hoped he did feel lighter, having shared
his burden. I hoped he would slake any remaining tension with my body. All of
it food for my ramshackle soul. To be wanted, needed—even adored. They praised
me, they used me, and so I found sustenance. He deepened the kiss, grew
rougher, more demanding.

“Come into the bedroom,” he said, both question and demand.

It didn’t matter. Anything, always. “Yes.”

We tumbled together, bare skin against abrasive ruffles,
naked bodies to streaming sunlight. Playfully, I pulled away. He pounced,
trapping me beneath his. I lay my cheek against the bed in surrender.

“Stay,” he said. His weight lifted, but I felt the light
pressure of his hand on the small of my back.

I remained bent over the bed, with my feet touching the
floor and my face turned into the sheets. Cool air brushed my backside, and I
knew he was watching me. I had very few qualms about my body. My waist was
slim, and the five pounds I’d gained in the past year went straight to my hips.
My skin was waxed and shaved with careful precision, and I had a small blue
vein running down my left thigh. I couldn’t shake the nervousness about what he
thought. I already knew I turned him on; shouldn’t that be enough? But this was
Luke.

Nervously, I shifted on the bed.

He hissed a breath. His hand on me moved lower, over the
curve of my ass, down the sensitive stretch on my thigh. Between my thighs, I
felt his hot breath. Probing, possessive fingers spread me open, exposed me to
his tongue.

I moaned at the touch and ground myself against the bed. My
thighs quivered as he spread them farther, reaching deeper.

His exploration was so careful, so slow. Far too slow. Not a
manipulation but a lesson, as if he was learning what I liked and where I liked
it. It should have felt clinical, but instead my arousal reached a fever pitch.
Being desired by a man who knew me inside as well as out, being helpless to a
man who would never hurt me. It was foreign—and addictive. I wanted to lie open
to his emerald gaze, to his careful fingers, to his sweetly curling tongue
until eternity. I wanted to shake and cry out and come against his mouth
forever. And then I couldn’t want anymore, couldn’t think at all—just feel. Oh
God, the things I felt. There was anguish and ecstasy; there was anger and a
sublime sense of connection.

The tear of foil pierced my haze, but I didn’t move, not
until he turned me over. I spread my legs, eager and hopeful. He entered me in
a smooth, painless thrust. A gasp escaped me at the shock of being filled, at
the pure joy of being filled by him. His answering groan sent shivers down my
arms.

We moved together in an ancient dance, a universal
rhythm—one I had done a hundred times, more, and each one had been a sham. A
parody of this act and this intimacy. I hooked my legs around him, pulling him
closer, forcing him deeper. His lips found mine with no hesitation this time.
He was joined to me at every point—my mouth, my sex, the hard planes of his
chest against my breasts, and still it wasn’t enough. I scrabbled at his back,
desperate and clawing, like some sort of wild sex animal, and he responded in
kind, shoving his hand into my hair, holding down my hip, and growling a low
sound of approval into my mouth. I spasmed and clenched around his cock, coming
countless times, my orgasms bleeding together to form one long litany of
sensual rapture.