Chapter 15
Hayden
“I have a job for you,” Declan says once we’re back at the house. He leans against the door frame with his arms folded and one ankle crossed over the other. “It should be an in and out. I know you need to blow off steam. You’ve been fidgeting since we left the casino.”
“No offense, but that isn’t really how I want to blow off this excess energy,” I mutter and try to shoulder past him.
Declan stands firm and drops a hand to my shoulder. “This girl has really gotten under your skin, and I need you to dig her out. I need focus for this job. No distractions.”
“I am focused,” I snap and shrug him off. If he touches me again, I cannot be held responsible for the number of fingers that I might break. “No distractions.” I can’t bear the thought of admitting that he’s right. My leg didn’t stop jiggling the entire ride home, and even now my thumbnail is flicking against the pocketknife in my pocket.
“Hayden,” he says sternly and places his hand back on my shoulder. He squeezes my shoulder hard until I meet his gaze with a murderous glare. I’m already contemplating which finger to start with. “There will be guns, blood, and murder.”
“Well, why the fuck didn’t you start with that, Dec?” I smirk at him, but I know that it doesn’t touch the glint in my eyes. “Send me the details. I’m going to go get my gear.”
“I’ll text it to you. Have fun reaping,” Declan waves over his shoulder before his thumbs glide across his screen.
I smile a little wider now as I stalk down the hallway to our supply closet. Silas flattens himself against the wall to make room as I pass. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be home by sunrise.”
I drown out their muffled conversation as I pull out a black duffle bag and start loading up the essentials. Ammo. Small Guns. Large Guns. Extra magazines. More ammo. A hunting knife. Some grenades. A bottle of Gatorade and a bag of cheese puffs. In case I get peckish while divesting people of their souls.
“I’m out!” I shout as I push through the back door and drape the bag over my shoulder. My helmet slides over my head and my playlist starts blasting through the Bluetooth as I straddle my bike and rocket into the darkness.
*****
The air is thick with muffled sobs and pleas for mercy as I creep through the shadows of the three-level warehouse. Most of the lights are nothing more than shattered bulbs, but a few loose bulbs swing from the rafters by electrical cords. The constant swinging makes for an eerie setting as the shadows writhe along the walls.
The first level of the warehouse had seven men sitting around a bank of security monitors. They were too easy to remove. I picked four of them off with bullets before they even knew what was happening. The other three put up a fair fight, but they were no match for the tip of my blade.
Now I’m creeping down the main hallway on the second floor with a knife in one hand and a gun in the other, stalking. I can feel the blood spatter drying on my cheeks with each step I take, but I don’t bother to wipe my face. I prefer the war paint.
Before I make it to the stairwell at the end of the hall, chaos erupts from the third floor. I hear screaming, cursing, and gunfire. Then the building’s foundation trembles as an IED detonates somewhere above me.
“What the actual fuck is happening right now?” I mutter and dive into an office as the ceiling in the hallway crashes down. As the dust settles, I climb over the rubble and take note of the limbs protruding from the debris. Obviously, I’m not the only one that got this assignment. My temper flares because I don’t share, and these people were mine.
This is the second time someone has stolen a mark from me, and I’m starting to develop a complex about it.
The chaos above me rockets to another level as hysterical screaming and sobbing echoes off the walls. More gunfire explodes and I pause to listen. The bullets sound like they’re hitting drywall, metal, and occasionally soft flesh. Well fuck me, I’m missing all the fun!
I sheath my knife in the holster on my thigh and pull out a second gun. “Alright girls, let’s have some fun with these fuckers,” I whisper to the pistols in my hands and climb through the rubble and up to the top floor. The sight almost brings me to my knees.
Women are clawing to get out of cages, tears streaming down their dirty faces. Some of them have real clothes on, but some of them have nothing more than a dirty sheet wrapped around their frail bodies. There are at least thirteen women up here, hysterical and desperate to get out of this prison that they have been in for God only knows how long.
“Please. Please let us out!” One screeches at me between hiccuping sobs. Her hands are shoved through the bars and waving madly around like I can’t see her.
The gunfire is loud but growing quieter. They must be in pursuit of the bomber. I sink my teeth into my lower lip and huff internally. I wanted to play cops and robbers with the bad guys. Maybe go out in a blaze of glory and bullets. Not be the knight in shining armor and save the damsels in distress.
“Please,” a young girl whimpers to my right. I look over and if it were possible my heart would physically break. She is no more than twelve or thirteen years old. Her blond hair is flat and matted with blood. Her skin is gray and her face is sunken and thin.
“Ah, fuck,” I curse and make my way around the room, blowing the locks of the cages with my gun. “Go down to the first floor and lock yourself in the conference room. It’s the room with a long, wooden table and about fifty chairs. Lock and barricade the door. I’ll call for help. They’ll give you a password to open the door.”
A woman with short red hair pulls her jacket off and covers a young girl’s shoulders. The woman nods and starts gathering everyone to descend the rubble. “Password?” she asks shakily.
“Titty-Muffins,” I say after a split second’s decision. No one in their right mind would guess that. “Do not open that door for anyone unless they give you the password. Got it?”
“Got it,” she confirms and ushers everyone down. “Thank you. Tell the other girl, thank you.”
“What other girl?” I call after her, but she doesn’t answer. I spin back to the sound of a gunfight and pull out my phone. “Declan. The girls are heading down to the first-floor conference room. I need to wrap up the loose ends here.”
“Tell them to lock the door?” he asks and stifles a yawn. I look down at my watch. Oh shit. It’s two. “Password?”
I grin and shift the phone to my other ear, bracing it with my shoulder as I make sure my guns are loaded. “Titty-Muffins.”
“There is something seriously wrong with you,” he mutters after a pause. “I’ll get the medics down there.”
“Thanks.” I hang up and sprint out of the room and back into the darkness. It’s not hard to follow the sounds of men cursing and bullets pinging off metal rafters and walls. At least, it wouldn’t be if the building wasn’t a fucking maze.
I turn down a hallway only to find a dead end. Then I try a room to my left only to find a storagelying halfway in the room. At least I know I’m going in the right direction.
“I feel like Hansel and Gretel following the fucking breadcrumb trail through the woods,” I mutter and jog around the next corner. As soon as I round the corner, I see a dark shape barreling towards me, but I can’t stop. I take the body-check to the gut and my back slams into the wall. The air momentarily leaves my lungs, and I can’t seem to pull it back. As I struggle to inhale, I raise my gun and aim.
“Oh, for fucks sake. How many are there?!” A feminine voice cuts me to the bone. I stop short but don’t lower my weapon. I’m looking down the barrel of a purple silencer and into the green eyes of my goddess of death. She blinks twice and then hesitates. I can see the war behind her eyes as she contemplates whether or not she should lower her gun. “Hayden?”
I take a moment to absorb the details of her. She’s wearing a black bodysuit that hugs her figure and leaves no curve to the imagination. Her long hair is braided and swinging loosely down her back, but it’s messy and sticking in all different directions. Her pale face is flecked in crimson, reminding me of the first night I saw her in that alley. Her lips are quirked up into a small smirk as I drag my eyes down her body, searching for injuries. She’s positively covered in blood.
“I’m finding it very hard not to just drop down to my knees right now,” I admit quietly and pull my eyes back to hers.
“In surrender? That’s probably for the best. I’ve already dropped ninety percent of your men,” she responds with a shrug and lowers her gun from my forehead to my chest.
“To surrender? No.” I drop both of my hands to my sides and remove my fingers from the triggers. I could never snuff out this angel, no matter if she came to claim my soul for herself. I would rip my own heart out for her. “To propose? Yes. To worship? Absolutely. To beg? If that’s what you want from me.” My voice lowers with each example, and I watch the shiver snake down her spine.
“This isn’t mine,” I continue quickly and gesture around broadly. “The women are safe and there are medics on the way. Are there still more?”
She inhales sharply, and her eyes take in my attire and equipment. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I suppose. I got a tip. I had some time.”
“Do you make a habit of murder?” she asks lightly and finally lowers her gun to her side.
“Do you?” I retort with a raised eyebrow.
“Fair point well made,” she concedes. “I lost a few in the stairwell. They went up to the roof. I was on my way to head them off when I literally ran into a distraction.”
“A distraction? I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment.” I cover my heart with my gun and act insulted, but I can’t fight the smirk on my lips. “I slashed the tires of the vans in the parking deck so they’re probably still here. Care to share? I haven’t scratched my itch yet.”
“I guess I could spare a few,” she mutters and bites her lip to hide her smile, but I catch it anyway.
As we jog back down the flights of stairs, I make a mental note of local jewelers to start looking into. We round the corner of the parking deck and five men charge at us with open fire. We duck behind concrete pillars, and I drop two in quick succession.
Emelia drops another two with ease, but the last has disappeared. We walk in a slow circle but see no signs of movement. “Maybe he died of a heart attack?” she offers quietly. I watch her body move from the corner of my eye, taking in how her muscles coil beneath her suit.
“Right,” I mutter and spin a second too late, distracted by the hypnotic motion of Emelia’s walk. The last man lurches from the shadows with a wicked looking blade and swings wildly. “Fuck!” I shout and stumble to the side.
He bypasses me and swings at Emelia. She immediately drops her gun and pulls twin blades from her thighs. I watch in complete awe as she spins, ducks, twists, and flips around this man’s assault. Lust pulses through my veins and my cock hardens as she maneuvers around him and sinks both blades to the hilt between his ribs. He falls to the ground with a dull thump.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she inhales deeply over and over, trying to calm the high that I know is coursing through her. I fight every dark desire to lunge forward and take her against the bullet-riddled concrete pillar behind her.
The wail of sirens pulls us from the haze of slaughter that we find ourselves trapped in. “We need to move. They’re going to torch it,” I say and reach for her.
She jerks her arm away and turns without a word, heading for a bike parked in the shadows. “Fuck me sideways,” she curses when she pulls her helmet on and goes to sit on the bike.
“Is that a request?” I call after her. I’m only half joking because a part of me wants her to be serious.
“They broke my chain!” she screeches and actually stomps her foot. Adorable. My chest swells and I’m nearly overcome with the desire to wrap her in my arms.
“Walk it to the back alley. I’ll give you a ride.” Thankfully she doesn’t argue because the sirens are blaring now, and I know that there are people all over this building. We disappear into the shadows of the alley. “Where to?” I ask her as she climbs on the back of my bike and cradles my body between her thighs.
She directs me to a vacant lot eleven blocks to the east. When I pull in and kill my engine, I spot a blacked-out sedan parked beside a dumpster. I peer up at her as she climbs off my bike and pulls off her helmet. She thought of everything, including a back-up plan to her back-up plan. I want her to be mine. This beautiful, devious, chaotic woman. Images of her from my security feed dance across my mind, and I can’t hold it any longer.
I stand and take her helmet from her, dropping it to the ground with a thud. She watches me with a wicked glint in her eye as I place my hands on her hips and pull her until she is flush against me. I can feel her heavy breathing and see the way her pulse is fluttering in her neck. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline, or maybe she feels it too. Either way, she doesn’t fight me.
I guide her back to my bike and she straddles the seat, sitting with her back to the handlebars. I sit down in front of her and drop my own helmet to the dirt. Her eyes drag a line of fire along my face as she takes me in. My fingers twitch with the desire to wrap around her braid and tug, but I don’t move. Instead, I wait patiently for her to size me up and decide how she wants to play the game. Her legs brush against the inside of my thighs as I cage her in and she reaches out to trace her fingers up both of my bare forearms.
A shiver racks my body as her light touch glides across my skin. Neither of us speaks as we’re drawn closer to each other, wrapped up in the moment. Emelia’s eyes flutter closed and her chin tilts upward. That’s all that I need to surge forward. My lips slant over hers and my tongue traces a line along the seam. She opens with a breathy moan and then our tongues are at war, battling for dominance.
My cock throbs against the seam of my pants, but tonight isn’t about me. I want to show her how I would worship her. I pull away and she whines quietly. Chuckling, I press my palm against her chest to guide her back and hook my fingers in her waistband. My eyes find hers in a desperate search for approval. She nods once and bites her lower lip. It takes all that I have not to explode in my pants right then and there.
We awkwardly shimmy her pants down her legs until she is bare to me on the back of my bike. My eyes travel slowly up and down her body as she repositions herself on the seat, taking note of all the scars and bruising. Then her legs fall open again and all my coherent thoughts leave my body. I can’t focus on anything other than my need to taste her. I grab her hips and drop open-mouth kisses to her inner thighs, climbing higher until I reach her center.
Emelia cants her hips upwards in a silent plea for the friction that I know she’s desperate for. I oblige, because I am ever the gentleman. My tongue finds her slick folds, and I shudder as the first taste of her hits my tongue. My hips surge forward as I lean over the back of my bike and press against the metal. She lets out a quiet moan as I move the tip of my tongue in slow circles around her clit. I close my eyes and fight the tingle traveling down my spine.
She’s so wet and ready for me. It would be so easy just to push inside her, pump her full of me, and claim her as mine, but I shove my lust aside and ignore my dripping cock. I slide my left hand up her body and press my palm into the valley between her breasts, holding her in place. My other hand travels down and I slip two fingers into her core. Her muscles quiver around my fingers and I feel my cock throb harder. I’m not leaving with dry pants, that much is clear to me.
I take up a steady rhythm with my tongue and curl my fingers inward, finding and stroking that spot inside her that sends her back arching and her fists tightening in my hair. “Oh fuck,” she hisses and breaks the silent spell surrounding us. Her hips buck up against my face and mine jerk forward, pressing my cock against the hard metal of the machine underneath us again. My cock throbs heavily and I feel a small jet of cum pulse into my boxers. I freeze and clench my jaw so tight that it pops. The pain in my groin is almost unbearable as I fight my impending release.
“That’s it, Angel, come apart for me. Let me see you break on my fingers. Let me taste your release,” I coax her. My voice is low and gravelly with unbridled lust. She pulls my face back down to her and writhes beneath my touch. I feel her walls spasm and clench around my fingers as she plummets over the edge, and I can’t stop myself. My hips pump forward slowly, the friction of grinding against my bike enough to send me spiraling. My cock jerks, and I feel my cum soaking into my boxers. Fucking fuck. I stand and brace my palms on my seat, watching her struggling to catch her breath.
After a few moments, she pulls her pants back on and picks her helmet up. “That was probably the most fun I’ve had in a long time, and the orgasm wasn’t too bad a way to end the night.”
I chuckle and pull my helmet back on, tracing my tongue along my lips and savoring the taste of her. “Let’s do it again soon.” It isn't a request. I will physically need to do this again soon. She is like the worst drug, and I am the addict who needs that hit as often as possible.
She starts walking toward her car and a feeling of deja vu hits me as I watch the sway of her hips. The sirens pick up again and on my next inhale I smell smoke. The warehouse must be blazing now. I tug on the wet crotch of my pants and kick my bike into gear. Emelia gives me a salute as she pulls out and disappears into the night.
I, on the other hand, sit for a few moments and try to make sense of what just happened. I found Emelia, a secretary for a wealthy businessman, elbow-deep in murder and gore. Then I proceeded to help her continue to murder, followed immediately by feasting on her on the back of my bike. I came in my pants like a fucking teenager, and then she just left. And I let her go.
“What the fuck just happened?” I whisper to myself as I head back home in search of relief for my still aching cock and some dry pants.