Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
JENSEN
We fuck again, like we’re trying to put a bandage over our wounds.
She’s hungry to have pain with her pleasure, so I take the clothespins from downstairs and pull her into my lap, back against the headboard.
Her brow furrows in concentration, watching me twist her nipples and pinch them into place.
If we get out of this, I’ll get her real nipple clamps, but for now, these have the desired effect.
Her eyes meet mine, big, vulnerable. I spit in my hand, wetting her bare pussy, and guide myself inside.
She gasps, lids flickering. “You feel good,” she whispers.
My cock slides in deeper, and there are no words for what it’s like being this deeply connected.
This is coming home to somewhere brand new.
In the half darkness, I fuck her, and she rides me with her hand braced on my chest. Her nipples pink and tortured. Pussy so wet, I can hear it as she takes me. I don’t feel anything but arousal, what I should feel during sex.
She comes, and I come right after, filling her up and laying her down. I know she’s on the shot, but I like the thought of my cum inside her all night.
“You like that position,” she murmurs.
I keep my eyes on the peeling paint overhead. “With you, I do.”
She shifts, snuggling deeper into the pillow. “Were you really claustrophobic?”
“No,” I say. “That’s how she used to fuck me.”
“Holly?” Her whisper is weak, sleepy.
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. She understands.
The soft tip of her finger touches the tattoo on my ribs.
A flash of pain ripples through my memory.
It’s a brand, underneath the ink. I watched grown men cry when the iron touched their skin, but I was so used to pain for pleasure at that point, I just got hard.
All my cum is inside her already, but I still feel the pressure of arousal beneath the quilt.
Goddamn it.
“I’m sorry, Jensen,” she murmurs, barely conscious. “I’m sorry.”
Her breathing deepens. I’m grateful she went right to sleep. The last thing I want is sympathy for her over something that happened twenty years ago. I’ve always hated when people say sorry for the past. It’s awkward, and I’m usually pretty over it at that point.
Something is different tonight.
I think coming back here and facing down my past is changing me, giving me back my control. Back then, I got hurt before I realized what was happening. Now, I have my guard up. I’m used to defending myself.
Rolling my head to the side, I study the curve of her body.
I’m also defending her. Out in the swamp, I was on high alert flooded with adrenaline at the thought she might get hurt.
Up until that point, I’d wondered how Della was with Leland.
She talks about him like he’s Satan himself, but she’s so plucky with me.
Now I know she gets scared, and that makes me pretty fucking angry at the man who hurt her.
I close my eyes.
I thought we could get out of this state without spilling blood. Now, I’m not sure I want to.
Sleep comes quickly, and it feels like just a moment before my eyes snap open.
It’s still dark, and Della is laying against my body, burning up at about a hundred degrees.
Gently, I untangle her limbs and push myself up against the headboard.
The clock says it’s five in the morning, still dark.
Residual rain drips from the trees to the roof.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
There’s something outside.
Moving gently, I get up, covering her, and take my pistol from the bedside table. The extra magazine goes into the pocket of my sweatpants. Stepping on the sides of my feet, I cross the loft and lift the curtain an inch.
A flashlight sweeps over the woods.
What the fuck?
Did Brothers send someone after us? That doesn’t make any sense when he can call my phone if he wants to talk nonsense in my ear again. Narrowing my eyes, I squint into the darkness, waiting.
An engine revs on the other side of the clearing behind the barn.
Alright, time to go. I don’t want anyone setting foot in the house with Della inside.
Moving quietly and swiftly, I get dressed, grab my boots, and climb down the ladder.
I left my canvas bag sitting on the kitchen counter.
Inside is my AK, my revolver, and two bags of ammo.
I rummage through it until I find a suppressor and screw it onto the pistol in my hand.
I put on my boots and turn out the light over the stove. Softly, I unlatch the door and crack it, listening. There’s a truck idling on the road to the left side of the yard. Men are moving around the backside of the barn. I can hear them talking in low tones.
These have to be Caudill soldiers. They must have found the wreck and tracked the truck into the gorge. That’s the only thing that makes sense.
Brothers wasn’t fucking around when he said the state was crawling with these motherfuckers. It’s no wonder he’s trying to get rid of them. The way they clocked us immediately and ran us down in the swamp is concerning.
Them finding us here is even more concerning.
I move out, keeping to the front wall as I move to the side.
My senses are wide awake, the way they were in the swamp.
There are four men at the barn. I can hear the slight changes in their voices.
That puts me between them and their getaway vehicle, unless they have another car hidden somewhere.
But I can take them before they get that far.
Gun at the ready, I creep around the west side of the house. To my right, I see their shadows in the pale light of the barn. Yeah, there’s four of them motherfuckers, all in familiar security uniforms.
They’re talking, real low. I wait until they turn their back to the house to make the quick dash to the front side of the barn. Back against the wall, I listen. They’re talking, but it’s so quiet, it takes me a few minutes of listening to realize I was right.
They’re looking for us.
I know it’s a rental, but I’m ripping the license plate off that truck in the morning.
The truck hums from the road. The men are still conversing, not moving off.
I start edging back until I can slip through the side opening and into the dark barn.
The horses are outside, sleeping. That’s a relief, because Godspeed would be throwing his head, begging for food the second he laid eyes on me.
Their backs are to me. I could take them out with my pistol, but if there are others in that truck, it’ll blow my cover, leaving Della exposed.
I push my gun into the front of my pants, beneath my belt. Moving silently, I leave the shadow of the barn.
“Hey,” I grunt.
They turn, and my instincts kick in. The way they always have.
The way Brothers trained them. I close my hands on the nearest man, ripping him back into me, and take his head between my hands.
There’s a moment when I see horror on the three men’s faces.
Then, I jerk my arms, snapping his neck, and his body falls like a wet rag at my feet.
They raise their guns, but they have the disadvantage of being barely a foot from me. I grab the barrel of the closest AK, jerk the owner forward, and slam my forehead into his nose.
Crunch.
He goes down, and I swing the gun around, whipping the man next to him across the face. The final man has the advantage. He stumbles back as I reach for his gun, pulling it from his body. Then, he spins and takes off running across the yard.
Livid, I take off, overtaking him by the tree just off the porch. He goes down, kicking hard. We both tousle, rolling and grunting until he manages to wriggle out from under me. It’s dark as fuck under the tree, and I can’t see well enough to know what I’m trying to hit.
He starts running at the house this time, taking a pistol from his belt.
Nope, that’s not going to work for me.
Fear is a strong drug, and the second I think of her face to face with that pistol, I’m up and after him. He stumbles on the side steps. I swing and hit his elbow, sending it flying. My fist closes on the front of his shirt. I yank him up, using my head as a battering ram to slam his nose.
Blood pours over us both.
He’s sputtering, begging.
Fist tearing into his shirt, I haul him up to shoulder level and slam his head into the porch railing. It’s the kind of crunch I never get used to, no matter how many times I hear it. Just nasty and grisly. I’m impressed by how well the ancient railing holds up. It must be reinforced by metal.
His head is less lucky. It smashes in at the temple, blood and something thicker seeping out.
I haul him back and slam him into it again for good measure, mostly because I’m pissed. The white railing is deep red in the moonlight. His body slumps, tumbling past me to the dirt. An engine revs in the road at the same moment as a light goes on in the house.
No, no, stay inside, Della.
Heart pounding, I crash in through the front door. She’s standing by the stove in her nightgown. Her face goes white, and she backs up as I burst in, soaked in blood. Swiftly, I move past her, taking up the AK from the counter.
“Caudill soldiers,” I say, keeping my voice even. She’s already scared enough. “You take that revolver and go up into the loft. Do not come down until I say.”
Her lips tremble.
“Della, get your ass up into the loft,” I order.
She nods, scrabbling in the bag, trying to get a hold on the revolver. I pause in the doorway.
“Della.”
She turns, revolver at her side, fists clenched, shoulders back.
“Good girl, you got this, sweetheart,” I say, giving her a wink like we’re not about to get gunned down if I don’t move my ass in the next second.
The truck revs, spinning around and barreling across the yard, heading for the house. There’s no time. I step out onto the porch, brace the AK, and start unloading.
The truck veers, then straightens.
It speeds up.