Selling Out (26 page)

There was violence in his movements, pain in my response,
but there had never been a more pure expression of his love. There was no
better gift from a man of meticulous restraint than letting go. No greater way
for me to thank him than to give myself, unhindered by payments, free of the
cool ice shell that always encased me. I was more naked than I had been a
hundred other times, a hundred other beds. I was exposed, raw—and vulnerable.
He could break me this way, if he chose to.

Impossibly, his thrusts grew more powerful, more frantic, as
if he wanted to reach the farthest place inside me, and God, he had. He
squeezed his eyes shut, and I knew he would come soon. I reached up and mouthed
the skin at the base of his neck. A flick of my tongue, and he shouted his
climax, the cords of his neck vibrating against my lips. At his orgasm, he pushed
into me once, twice, then again, stroking himself with my body. I whispered
words of encouragement and praise, wishing he might never stop.

He slumped down on me, heavy and supple. The most vulnerable
time for a man, I’d always thought. I found myself protective of him in this
moment, that he would expose himself this way—not the baring of skin, which I
was too familiar with, but the lowering of his guard. He didn’t have to be wary
of me. No, I would guard him. At all times, and especially when he was made
slack and unseeing with bliss, I would watch over him and keep him safe.

Placing kisses over the tops of my breasts, he leisurely
pushed inside me and then out, as if he wasn’t quite ready to end it.

He froze when he saw the scar.

I lay still, allowing him to look his fill, to pass
judgment. The reddish skin puckered just under my collarbone. Almost perfectly
circular, a clean shot with no additional scarring from when they had pulled
the bullet back out. It might fade in a few years, the doctors said. It might
not.

“Does it hurt you?” he asked hoarsely.

“Not really. Not on the surface anyway. Sometimes deeper, if
I move the wrong way.”

I expected him to pull out, to pull away after seeing the
scar. It was ugly, but worse than that were the ugly memories. I knew he blamed
himself. Everyone blamed themselves for my mistakes, first Allie, then him. But
he didn’t move away; he stayed inside me. His eyes were on that scar, filled
with a kind of mourning.

He touched the space beside it, the pale, unmarred skin. “So
strong.”

I turned my face away. He kissed my cheek, capturing a tear
on his lips.

“What would it take for you to believe that?” he asked.

“What would it take for you to stop searching for your sister?”
The words were meant to push him away so that he would stop pushing me. But
they came out with no bitterness, no rancor, only an earnestness that revealed
too much.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m here now. That’s
something, right?”

“That’s something,” I whispered.

He replaced his condom and entered me again. I was tender,
sore from our previous rough session, but he moved slowly, soothing me until I
felt a soft glow of pleasure. There was no bruising grip or frenzied thrusts
this time, only the smooth glide of his cock inside me, the steady rise of his
broad shoulders over me. Only the press of his temple to mine, as if we were
connected by more than our bodies—we were. He came with a soft expulsion of,
“Oh, shit.”

We fell side by side, limbs entangled and hearts beating
rapidly.

This was what he’d always wanted, if his declaration in the
kitchen was to be believed. We had always been heading to this—to ruin, for a
prostitute and a cop had no future. Neither of us had a future, caught as we were
in the past. Still, I couldn’t help feeling that something else drove his
fascination with me. So bent on saving me, as if a guilt much older than the
past year propelled him. There were too many similarities to ignore. His sister
was a prostitute with Henri; so was I. His sister was blonde; so was I—well,
usually. Now my hair was dyed brown, and to his credit, that didn’t seem to
slow him down. But maybe the strongest sign was that his sister had paved her
own road to destruction…just like me. A decade younger. The do over.

“It wasn’t your fault. I brought this on myself. This
gunshot. My entire life.” More softly, “I’m not your sister.”

“I…I think I know that,” he said drily. “Considering what we
just did? Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“I don’t mean literally.”

“I know what you meant.” He spoke in a low, almost teasing
tone. “You aren’t trying to diminish me, are you? By taking away my choice?”

I laughed, recognizing my words from last night. Then, I had
been self-righteous and defensive, aggressive and fearful, but now… “God, no.”

He continued. “Because I seem to remember you telling me
that no matter what had happened in the past, you could choose your present. No
matter how broken you were, it didn’t take away your right to consent. It seems
only fair I should get the same treatment.”

“You are very pleased with yourself right about now, aren’t
you?”

“Very. But that probably has more to do with the two amazing
orgasms I just had.”

The trill of a cell phone sounded from the kitchen. An
echoing alarm rang in my chest. It was happening, dissolving in my hands, and
nothing I could do would stop it.

“I’ve got to check that.” He ducked into the bathroom and
emerged, slinging on his clothes. “There might be news on Henri.”

“What if there is?” I sat up, pulling the sheet to cover me.

“Then we’ve got to get over there. I do, anyway. You can
stay here.”

I frowned. “You’re not going without me.”

He made an impatient motion as the phone abruptly cut off,
probably going to voice mail. “We can figure that out later.”

“That means you can tell me no later. I’m going.”

“Look, for all I know, it’s a wrong number,” he said, though
that seemed more unlikely as the phone rang a second time. He gave me a curious
look. “What’s wrong, Shelly?”

Everything. “I’m just trying to figure out if that was our
last time, that’s all. If we go back to Chicago and confront Henri, then what?
Will I go back to being your informant? Or not even that? Will you call me and
leave voice mails about how your day went? Just tell me where we’ll stand.”

A frustrated sound left his throat. “I don’t know, but if we
don’t find Henri soon, we’re all fucked. That has to be our first priority.”

Priorities, responsibilities. There was Claire and the
shelter. So many girls who needed help, when our failure was all but guaranteed.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” I heard the pleading in my
voice and hated it. I knew it was unreasonable, but we were flying here. Almost
delirious with weightlessness, I would rather burn up in the sun than fall in
the grit of the earth. “You said that it’s safe. Undetectable. Why do we need
to go back?”

“And never leave?” The doubt in his voice conveyed just how
ridiculous that idea was.

“I don’t need anyone but you.”

His face softened. “I understand it’s scary. But this is the
best way for everyone. What about Ella?” He paused. “And I thought you
understood. This is my best chance to find out what happened to my sister.”

Tightness formed in my chest, one I recognized well. The disgrace
of selfishness, the feeling of inevitability. Like staring out the window,
looking over the houses of my friends, feeling cold hands lift my skirt. I
couldn’t stop any of this. Once upon a time, I had tried to escape my fate. To
my eternal shame, I had been willing to use my friends as an excuse. I had
pretended to help Allie so that I could be free. Here I was, years later, doing
the same thing, desperate to stay with Luke at his expense.

I swallowed. “I know where Henri is.”

“Right. We’ll find him and— What?”

“Or at least a clue. The girl in the bathroom said he was in
a building called the Barracks. It might be an old airport just outside
Chicago.”

He blinked. “You’re just now telling me this?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Christ, Shelly. I don’t need an apology.” The anger in his
voice made me wince. “Tell me why.”

I’m a coward
. I
angled my head, looking up beneath my lashes. “I wanted to spend a little more
time with you.”

He made a slashing motion, green eyes flashing. “I told you
not to play the hooker with me.”

“Don’t play the hooker? This isn’t a game, Luke. It’s who I
am. Don’t you get that? I can’t stop being one any more than I can cut away my
skin.”

His harsh breaths filled the space between us. The shrill
tone of his phone broke the spell. He turned and left the room.

Naked on the bed. How many times had I found myself this
way? I was tired of it, so weary of being used and discarded. It was my own
fault for flying so close to the sun. Maybe this was what Allie had been trying
to protect me from. I lay in bed alone, listening to the timbre of his voice as
he made plans without me.

Luke got everything together quickly, just like I knew he
would. They had a vague idea of the location, and his buddies were tracking
down schematics and anything else they could find. An hour later, I was back in
my clothes from the club, high heels and all, and we were on the road. A few
minutes more, and it began to thunder.

Slashing rain battered the car window. I had passed out on
the ride out here, with no inkling how far we really were from the city. The
storm slowed us even more, turning a two-hour drive into three. The steady
back-and-forth of the windshield wipers was a metronome to the tension within.

“I’m sorry,” I said. Again.

He stared straight ahead. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. If it were fine, you would look at me. Talk
to me. Something.”

“I am talking to you. I’m not looking at you because I’m
driving.”

“Bullshit. You haven’t looked at me since you found out I
didn’t tell you. It was a mistake, okay? I’m not allowed to make mistakes?”

“You’re allowed to make mistakes,” he said evenly.

I faced away, watching a drop trail from the top of the
window. It darted from one drop to another, joining and then separating, never
staying long in one place. It was at the whim of the wind, of this car—of
everything. No will of its own.

“I’m sorry.” My voice broke on the end.

He muttered a curse and pulled off the road. I peeked out
the window, seeing only driving rain and grass and a line of trees in the
distance.

“If you’re going to dump me, can you at least find a rest
stop or something? I don’t want to get my hair all wet.”

“Jesus, Shelly. Some of the things that come out of your
mouth.”

“Is that a request?” I eyed the space beneath the steering
wheel. “Because I don’t normally do drive-bys, but I might make an exception
for you.”

“I just want to strangle you. Or make love to you until you
stop baiting the world.”

I smirked. “Kinky, with a touch of philosophy. I like it.”

“I can’t stand the idea of letting you go, okay? That’s why
I’m not talking about it. It’s why I’m not talking to you. I’m not mad.”

“Then don’t let me go. Take me with you.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant after. I can’t bring you
with us.”

“I have to go.”

“You would just get in the way. We’d be watching out for you
instead of focusing on the job.”

“I know Henri better than you or anyone else you have
working for you. What if things get tough and you can’t find him or can’t get
close? I can. He’ll see me. He’ll talk to me.” It was a low blow. “If it comes
to getting information about your sister, no one has a better shot than me.”

He stared straight ahead. “I don’t know if I can do that.
Put you in danger.”

After what happened last time, he meant. “I won’t get shot
again.”

“You can’t know that.”

There was real worry in his voice, and it shook me. So of
course I had to lighten the mood.

“I promise I won’t get shot. Cross my heart and hope to
die.”

“Surprisingly, that isn’t giving me confidence.”

I sobered. “I need to go. For me, to get closure. There are
some questions of my own I need to ask.”

He considered that, watching the rain batter the windshield.
“Okay,” he finally said. “But you need to understand there’s no guarantee
you’ll get to ask them. I might just shoot him on first sight.”

“As long as I get to watch.”

“Bloodthirsty woman.” He sounded approving.

* * * *

We drove straight to a hotel, where purple beaded lighting
and black leather couches adorned the lounge. Bypassing the check-in, we took
the elevators up.

I tapped the art deco paneling. “Why the fancy place?”

“Not my choice. Major doesn’t like anything affordable.”

“Major?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about bringing another
person in on this, even though it seemed a little late for shyness. Mostly I
didn’t want to share Luke in the time we had left.

“A guy I know. A few guys willing to help. They’re friends;
don’t be nervous. What am I saying? They’re the ones who need to be nervous.
Don’t bite.”

“Don’t worry. That costs extra.”

His frown was very intimidating. I wondered if he used that
on perps. I considered asking, but that would probably just aggravate him
further.

“Okay, okay.” I put my hands up. “I can behave. You know,
GFE. The Girlfriend Experience.”

He grimaced. “If you actually were my girlfriend, then we
wouldn’t have to pretend.”

Girlfriend? That sounded so high school. Which was easier to
focus on than the flutter of happiness in my belly. “I’m sorry, did you ask me
to be your girlfriend? Because I feel sure I would have remembered that.”

“What are the chances of you not mocking me for this?”

“Are you going to ask me to prom too? I don’t think I have a
dress, but maybe we can go shopping together. That’s probably best. What color
is your tux?”