Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel) (9 page)

We break apart inside the underground parking. Noose had asked how long I'd be.

Long as it takes
, I'd replied.

Sara

I'm hours early. Lola volunteered to watch Jaylin because she knew I'd be later. VIP late.

I could have never anticipated Snare would show up.

And my life would implode.

I close my eyes for a minute, trying to control my breathing, my helpless spiral back into loving Snare. Wanting what I determined I didn't deserve. Behind my eyelids, my mind plays back the movie of him coming in and tearing me off the Dick.

He was so beautiful I can't erase him. The muscular body, lifting me out of my own filth.

My own despair.

His strong arms holding me tight—his familiar smell. It hadn't mattered where I lived. If Snare was there, I was home.

Finally I stop wallowing as I shiver in the hallway of my apartment complex and unlock my door. It feels wonderful to be home and out of The Crawl. I'm greeted with the smells of home: Jaylin's Play-Doh, last night's enchiladas. I close the door behind me and lean against the solid wood, closing my eyes again.

After a moment of pure, blissful relief, I walk to the kitchen sink, open the cabinet, and strip to my G-string. I toss my torn dress right in the trash can.
The Crawl can take it out of my pay.

If there's even a job to come back to.

The glitter covering the dress scatters at my feet, and the shimmering ebony fabric seems to mock me from the depths of the can. I slam the cupboard door shut and walk to my bedroom. I move straight to the tiny, three-quarter en suite bathroom and crank on the hot water.

I stare at my reflection. My mouth.

The first gag takes me by surprise.

The second brings me to my knees in front of the toilet. I slap up the lid and heave whatever's in my stomach straight up.

The toilet bowl sloshes with bile and cum. I wretch more as steam builds inside the bathroom from the running shower. I grab the corner of the vanity and heave myself to standing, running the hot water tap. I brush my teeth.

Twice.

I drop my toothbrush.

I gargle Listerine. Three times.

I still feel so filthy. After stepping inside the shower, I open my mouth, and the heated spray fills me, seeping out the edges of my lips and running down my body. I turn around, the water pounding my bare back.

My body aches. The wounds of my mind reopen.

Snare's face. His horror at how he found me. His handsomeness I can never forget. Don't want to forget.
Have to.

Why is Snare even here? How did he ever find me?

Fear slices through me as I steady myself against the tile shower wall.
Does he know about Jaylin?

I don't have answers to any of my questions.

But Jaylin has to come first. I—I'll have to leave The Crawl and get out of Seattle. Snare knows where I work;
Riker knows where I live.

The two men can't meet again. Snare can't feel responsible. I can't speak lies in front of a judge.

I turn off the faucet, listening to the drip, drip, drip as it echoes inside the shower stall.

My body is clean, but my soul is tainted.

The tears don't come. My body is a husk, drained dry by the events of the last couple of hours. I glance at my cell on the vanity and see it's almost eleven. I need to have my shit together before I get Jaylin at two a.m.

Wrapping my hair in a towel and clutching one around my body, I pad out into the living room. I'll have some water, get a snack, get my yoga pants on...

Snare's sitting on one of two overstuffed chairs in my tiny living room. All that black leather encased by floral chintz upholstery.

I'm so startled I squeak and almost drop my towel.

“Hello, Sara.”

I open my mouth. Shut it. My fingers cinch the towel tighter between my breasts. “Snare.” My voice is a threaded whisper.

Our stares hold so much mutual pain. I feel mine leaking out of my gaze—the pores of my body.

Snare just looks angry. His fingers bite the armrests of the chair, strangling the floral fabric.

My eyes move over his body in a hungry wave of desire. I didn't get a really good chance to look at him before. I only fled.

I can't deal with this again.

The shame of using Snare. Holding him back. Him taking the beatings meant for me. It doesn't matter that we're grown now. That we don't have to be in that house anymore. There'd always be Riker. And Snare would always put himself between me and harm. That's just the way he's hardwired.

“Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?” His words slam into me. One after the other, like punches. Stealing my breaths. My heartbeats. Leaving me stunned.

“What?” I finally ask.

Snare stands.

He's taller than I remember. More filled out. He walks around my furniture and towers over me.

I feel horribly vulnerable with only a towel separating my naked body from his eyes. Not because I'm afraid Snare will hurt me, but because I'm afraid of how much I still want him. I grip the towel tighter.

This is Snare, my protector.
“Looking at you like what?” I ask in a small voice.

“You look at me like I'm dog shit.” His eyes are deep wells of bright sapphire rage, pinning me to where I stand.

I couldn't move if I wanted to.

What?
I shake my head, my wet hair chilling my shoulders as the towel on my head drops to the floor. “I don't think that of you, Snare—I never could.” I reach out to touch him. I know I shouldn't, that I don't have the right. But I do, and he turns away, jerking away from my seeking hand. I let it fall to my side.

“Bullshit.” He paces away, then he comes back to me, his fists clenching and unclenching. “You fucking took off, Sara. Just when we could have made something together.”

I take in his body. The vest with a little diamond that has a 1 percent symbol inside. His presence overwhelms me, and my fingers tremble with wanting to touch him.
I need to be stronger than this.
“I don't want you to sacrifice your life for me, Snare.” My eyes travel the rough scar that bisects his handsome face, no longer pink and fresh like I remember. I know better than to touch it, but my fingers ache to erase the proof of what he did for me.

“Why didn't you let
me
choose?” He hits his chest with his fist, and I jump, stifling a yelp. This angry Snare is not the man I remember.

Of course,
I'm probably not the girl he remembers either.
“I knew you would always protect me. But I also knew it wasn't fair to you. That you couldn't be with me just out of obligation. Because you're just that good of a man.”

His laugh is bitter, and I step back from the ugly sound.

“You're the one that's good, Sara.”

He doesn't sound like he thinks I'm good. I shake my head, casting my gaze to the floor. “No.”

He makes a snort of disbelief, and I raise my head. His smile isn't nice, it's feral. “Good at sucking guys off,
good
at getting naked.”

My mouth falls open.
This isn't Snare.
This is some alien that's taken a hold of him. I shake my head. “No. I do what I have to do to make a living. I—what you saw isn't normal for me...” Heat infuses my face like my skin's on fire. There's almost no defense without explaining Jaylin. I clamp my lips together.

“Normal?” Snare laughs, and suddenly his fingers are on the towel where my hand is clenched.

“What—what are you doing?” My voice squeaks.

Our hands play tug of war with the scrap of terrycloth.

“Don't play me. You can be naked in front of fifty guys—you can be naked in front of your stepbrother.”

He rips the towel down, and my breasts pop out. The living room is cool compared to the bathroom, and my nipples harden instantly.

Snare tosses the towel across the room, and it lands in a damp pile by the door.

Shame flames through me, and I cover my breasts and sex from the only man I ever had sex with.

Snare growls and leans down.

Heartbeats tear through my chest like acid bullets.
He's going to hurt me.
Punish me for leaving. My stepbrother that was tender with every piece of me, every moment we were together.

“You fucking kill me.” His arms go around me, his calloused hands holding my shoulders, and he takes my nipple into his mouth. Licking, biting, and sucking on the pebbled flesh until my hands find their way to tangle in his short inky hair.

“Snare,” I breathe against him, forgetting his assumptions—his insults. The only things that matter are his hands on my body and his mouth on my nipple.

His hands tighten, and he engulfs my much smaller body against his own. I'm so tiny in his arms I feel like he's the sun and I remain in the shadow of his body, leeching his warmth as his fingers heat my body, his wet tongue licking my nipples to peaks of readiness.

He thinks you're a whore.

I move away, and his grip on me tightens. “You're not going anywhere. I've waited years for you. Wanted to forget you, couldn't. Now you're here, and we're fucking, Sara.”

“No,” I say, trying to push him away.
Save him.

His eyes meet mine, smoldering Caribbean seas in his dark face. “I won't force you.” He grabs my hand and puts it on a healthy erection.

“Oh God,” I murmur, remembering every huge inch inside me. My pussy floods with want.

“You want that inside your pussy.” Statement of fact.

I do.
Want it. I hang onto my sanity by a thread. My convictions. “No—I can't, Snare.”

He shoots away from me. “Why? Because I'm your stepbrother?” His eyes are vicious. His voice drops an ominous octave. “Because we're not blood, Sara.”

We are.
He's so deep in my blood I couldn't resist him if I tried. I
have
tried. And now Snare stands before me, and I can't deny him. I'm so wet from three minutes with his tongue on my boobs I can feel the wetness of my arousal running down my inner thigh.

He walks back to me and cups the side of my face. “I'm not talking about why your mouth was on some other guy's dick. I'm talking about us fucking and me owning your pussy. It's as simple as that.”

I jerk away from his touch. “Why are you talking like that?”

He grabs my arm, yanking me against him. Snare slams his lips on mine, crushing them.

I open my mouth to his, and he lifts me by one hand and inserts his thumb in my wet center and I gasp, my head tilting back in a pained sigh.

His lips move to my throat as his thumb works inside my entrance, and his four fingers hold me against him.

“Ah,” he moans against my neck.

My hips downstroke against his penetration, and Snare begins walking while I have my arms wrapped around his neck, hanging on for dear life even as I grunt, spreading my legs around his thumb.

Snare comes up for air, piercing me with his gaze. “God, Sara.” His voice is shaky.

He lays me down on my bed, his thumb slipping out of me. That other hardness that’s so huge in him is melting, but his gaze is still ice.

His eyes run down my naked body, and I blush. Hundreds of men have seen me naked. They've gotten a touch of my body as I bend for bills. But I never had a man's eyes on me that mattered. Until now.

Until Snare.

His hands peel my thighs apart, spreading me wide, my ankles hovering at the edge of the bed.

Snare's fingertips spread my labia apart, and I sigh. Tossing my arms behind my head, I grip the metal bars of my headboard as he sinks his finger between my slit, running it back and forth in an oval loop.

My hips lift, and he plunges his finger deep. I cry out, and I feel the weight of him as he gets on the bed.

My eyes open, and I look down the line of my body, his eyes just above my pubic bone. “Snare,” I whisper. Pleading for him to stop. Pleading that he never does.

Then he's eating me. Hard.

He sucks one side of my pussy into his mouth, and I shudder as he inserts a finger. He licks his way to my clit, flicking it continuously, without mercy, until a deep pulse clenches my muscles together. Snare's finger withdraws, and his mouth moves down the other side of my pussy.

When his tongue stabs my soaked hole and his thumb presses my clit, I burst. Deep raging pulsing sinks into my walls, grabbing at nothing, seeking Snare's cock to fill me.

I shout, Snare's tongue filling my entrance, his fingers tweaking my clit. I float away, shattered and needy, helplessly clenching around his tongue.

His hands slide underneath my ass, digging his wet organ deep, and he brings me again with a quick flick of his tongue at my clit then sweeps down to my entrance and presses inside me again.

“Snare!” I slap the sides of my bed. It's too much—it's not enough.

His tongue feels like all the food I'll ever need.