Chapter Two #2
“Maybe not,” she agreed, then tilted her head. “Will you be making any of our deliveries? Usually, not always, they send Alan. Do you know him?”
Vendetta nodded. “Alan trained me. And maybe so.”
The waitress leaned in a just a little closer. “If you are, I might have to start using a lot more gloves.”
Why the fuck did he have to meet her now? While he was on a quest for revenge? Why couldn’t he have met her after that?
Vendetta’s gaze held hers for a long beat. Oh, he fucking liked her. A lot. But this was dangerous. Those big blue eyes would make it way too easy to forget the reason he was really here.
Or was it possibly a good thing? Whatever was going on between them, it was real enough to make him forget the mission for half a second.
Since his own MC tried to fucking kill him, he’d been totally absorbed with his need for revenge.
The constant drag of it left him feeling broken, like his quest for payback was the only thing holding what was left of him together.
It left him drained most days, emotionally and physically.
Once he had his revenge, he was going to guaran-damn-tee every part of Cottonmouths and the motherfucking criminal network who bought them was dismantled, the victims set free.
But right now? The way she smiled at him, the way those big eyes took him in? It was the first time in a while he’d felt anything close to being human again.
Vendetta knew that the last thing he should be doing right now was to involve an innocent woman in the mess that was his life and resurrection. But maybe he could take it really slow, keep her out of everything until it was done.
“What time do you get off?” he asked her.
The smile she rewarded him was beautiful. “Nine tonight,” she said.
It was 8:45.
“We could go back to my place,” she said, as she finished with the glasses. “It will take me twenty minutes to help close everything down.”
Vendetta nodded. Going to hers was perfect. Pulling another twenty from his pocket, he slid it across the counter, finished off his beer.
She took it, getting in the register and appeared to be making change.
“Keep it,” he told her. “I can wait in the parking lot. What do you drive?”
“I walk,” she told him. “My place is a couple of blocks over.”
“You walk?” Was she serious? “In this town?”
“Yeah, that’s what my uncle says.” She shook her head.
“I’ll drive us,” he said in a way that didn’t leave room for argument. “Mine’s the white Transit in the lot.”
“I’ll be out there shortly,” she told him before getting back to closing the place down.
* * *
Dylan
Tall, dark, and mysterious drove them from the bar to her apartment building. The walk up the stairs to her apartment on the top floor didn’t take long, but she felt every step of it.
He didn’t say much, and she didn’t fill the silence. Not because it was awkward, but because it wasn’t. It felt oddly natural, like they were both saying plenty without saying a word.
Dylan’s building sat on the east edge of Oak Grove, tucked between a closed-down Laundromat and a vape shop that never seemed to be open.
It was three stories tall and built sometime in the eighties.
The hallway lights flickered, the carpet was worn and uneven, and the stairwell always smelled vaguely of burnt toast and someone else’s regrets.
It was her home now.
Dylan led him up to the third floor, down a narrow hallway that creaked underfoot. Hers was the unit with a weathered brass “3B” on the door. Dylan didn’t look at him as she unlocked it, just pushed it open and stepped inside.
Her apartment wasn’t much, but it was clean.
It had one bedroom with a small bathroom and kitchen and a decent-sized living room.
It held a thrifted couch with a throw blanket folded neatly over the arm, a secondhand coffee table she’d repainted herself, and a flat-screen TV.
The TV had been one of the few things she’d taken with her from her previous apartment.
There was no art on the walls, but there were a few framed photos on a shelf, just nothing recent.
There were pictures of her in college, with her mom.
A lake trip with friends she hadn’t spoken to in far too long. A couple of other photos with family.
The kitchen was tucked into the corner. It was tiny, but she kept it spotless. She kept a candle that she burned low on the windowsill, cinnamon and vanilla softening the lingering scent of takeout.
“I don’t have much,” she said, locking the door behind him. “But it’s mine.”
She didn’t say it defensively. She didn’t want to explain that she was someone who had tied everything up in someone else for too long. She was finally learning how to build something for herself. She had to start somewhere, right?
Tossing her keys into the bowl by the door, Dylan finally turned to her guest.
“So,” she said with a soft smile, “you want a drink or something to eat?”
Tall, dark, and handsome shook his head.
The lighting in her apartment was better than at the bar.
Her mystery man really was handsome. She turned toward him and found him standing near the door, just inside her space, still and quiet like he wasn’t sure if he belonged there.
He looked like trouble dressed in denim.
He was built like someone who’d carried weight, literally and emotionally, for a long time.
His dark hair brushed his shoulders, slightly damp from the night air, and the long beard only made him look more dangerous, but not in a way that scared her.
He wore his jeans with an old hoodie under a broken-in jean jacket. It was like he’d walked out of a backroad and into her life without warning. The cap shadowed his eyes, but not enough to hide the intensity in them. They were dark and sharp, like he saw everything and forgot nothing.
The man made her feel things she shouldn’t be feeling. It was rare that she took someone home on a whim. But when he asked when her shift ended, what was she supposed to do? She’d learned that if you said no to the right thing, you usually didn’t get a second chance.
He hadn’t told her much. She didn’t know his name or where he came from. And she hadn’t pushed. But there was something steady about him. Like whatever storms he’d walked through had taught him how to stay calm in the middle of chaos.
The only thing she was sure of? He wasn’t like anyone she’d met so far.
“Well, come in,” she told him, motioning to her couch. “You promised me conversation.”
That earned her a smile that made her weak in the knees.
Pulling off his cap, he hung it on one of the coat pegs next to her front door.
Then he shed the denim jacket for good measure.
Even with the hoodie he wore, she could tell there was a great body under there.
She knew there had to be. His thighs were thick and heavily muscled, straining the jeans he wore.
She watched patiently, thinking she’d be fine if he wanted to take more things off.
Walking around, he took a seat next to her on the couch. Right next to her.
Holding out a hand, she grinned at him. “I’m Dylan.”
He shook her hand, his gaze on her mouth now. “Jason.”
“Now that that’s out of the way.” She leaned into him, kissing his mouth. Yeah, she knew she could be reading the situation wrong, but she didn’t think so.
Jason kissed her back, slowly, not matching her hurried pace.
His hands came up to cup her face as he deepened the kiss and she let him, loving the way one hand moved to pull the tie from her hair so it would fall heavily around her shoulders.
He wasted no time getting both hands in it, clutching the strands to pull her closer.
And the man sure knew how to kiss. Damn.
Dylan was a curvy girl, but Jason let go of her hair, grabbing her hips and pulling her to straddle his lap like she weighed nothing at all.
While she was caught off guard, he began peppering kisses over her throat, over her chest. He wasn’t playing.
When those big hands slid up from her hips to her breasts, she pressed herself into him.
The scratch of his beard sent shivers down her spine.
The way his hands handled her breasts had her nipples rock hard as she tried to catch her breath.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she got her hands into the thick locks of his hair.
When he grabbed the hem of her peasant top and pulled it up and off her, she helped him, grateful she’d worn a nice bra and panty set.
Had she hoped things would go like this?
Yes. Jason’s hands went for the back of her bra, and she took the opportunity to grind down on him, not disappointed in the bulge she encountered.
Her panties were a soaked mess under her jeans as he got the bra off, got his hands and mouth on her breasts.
“That feels so fucking good,” she said with a gasp. The way his tongue danced over her nipple had her squirming on his lap. Little nips of his teeth pushed her desire through the roof.
Grabbing his hair, she just enjoyed what he was offering, hanging on tight.
Jason took his time with her, not hitting the gas pedal the way she wanted him to.
His touch was rough, but he didn’t cross the line to pain.
He started rolling his hips under her, wanting her to feel what she was doing to him.
Yes, she wanted that. Impatient as she was, she couldn’t hurry him, but the slow torture was what she needed and hadn’t known it until this minute.
It had been so long since she’d last had sex, and she couldn’t remember anyone working her up the way he was now.
He pressed warm kisses up her chest, over her throat. By the time his lips made it to her ear, Dylan was trembling with need. The brush of his beard over her ear made her shiver.
“Are we covered here?” His breath was hot in her ear. “I didn’t exactly plan ahead. Not that I’m disappointed by how this is going.”