58. Clara
Chapter 58
Clara
T he blood on the floor of the van takes up ninety percent of my brain as we drive to a secluded business district, the guys stopping to peel off the Dick & Willy’s Sewer & Septic decal and toss it into a random dumpster. The other ten percent of my brain is occupied with the smell of gunpowder clinging to Trips.
We drive another five minutes to a different dumpster, and they switch the Illinois plates for Wisconsin ones. Two more minutes down the road and they’re cleaning the blood from the body of the van, wiping down the bumper, pulling off bloody clothes to add to the growing pile of bloody paper towels.
“Trips?” I croak, hoping I don’t have to toss my new boots.
He whips around, half stripped of his bloody clothes, his foggy ink across his chest dense in the half light of the parking lot. “Yeah? ”
I run the fabric of my skirt between my fingers. “Did you kill that guy?”
His hands clench and unclench. “No. But there’s no way he’s going to be thinking with his dick again. Mainly because he doesn’t have one.”
I swallow, not sure if that is better or worse than him being dead. “Good. Thanks.”
Trips takes a step forward, like he’s going to pull me in for a hug, but then steps back. “Of course, Crash. You’re going to need to lose the dress. There’s some…” He doesn’t finish, neither of us wanting to talk about the blood, even though it’s everywhere.
I nod, forcing myself to find something to change into. Upon inspection, the guys deem my boots clean, but I still wipe them down, just in case.
Once the van is unrecognizable, we drive back downtown, Jansen pulling me onto his lap on the floor, his heart loud against my ear. “Hey,” he whispers.
“Hey,” I say, tucking my nose into his shirt, his jacket and hat having vanished into the dumpster. Trips has on RJ’s van clothes, both the joggers and long-sleeve shirt too tight to leave anything to the imagination, his stocking feet as casual as I’ve ever seen him.
He’s wiped down his hands and face, but the iron tang of blood lingers under the harsh lemon scent of cleaner.
I’m wearing a dress shirt of RJ’s with a belt, reminding me of that awesome night at the club with RJ and Walker. Then I flash back to all the shit that came after, the heartbreak and weeks of worry. That devastation gets added to the mess of emotions swirling inside of me, like a sprinkle of salt and a bay leaf tossed into a stew of bloody overwhelm.
Jansen’s hands brush over my back, RJ and Trips working to stow everything away before we get back to the hotel, Walker driving. My fingers drum against my thigh, one two three four five , the tsunami inside me needing a pressure release, something, anything, so I can sit here and pretend I’m fine.
Jansen rests his chin on my head. “Do you want to talk, beautiful?”
Do I? Would talking help me piece through the mountain of emotions smothering me?
Or would it be better to light them all on fire? Burn them away so they never bother me again?
I know which one seems safer.
Twisting in Jansen’s lap, I straddle him, dragging his mouth to mine. Pouring gasoline onto the excess emotion, lighting the match with a kiss meant to devour, to ignite.
He meets me, hands grasping my ass, grinding my pelvis against his, both of us shuddering at the contact. Digging my hands into his hair, yanking out his ponytail, I direct him to my neck, his tongue and teeth playing along the sensitive skin as I rock in his lap, needing more.
The thump of the floor flipping startles me into looking over my shoulder. RJ and Trips both stare at Jansen and me on the floor, their eyes dark with want.
I bite my lip, glancing between the two of them.
Trips’ hands clench at his sides as he leans back, his voice static and anger. “How long until the hotel, Walker?”
“Just about there. What’s up? ”
Trips’ eyes don’t turn from me, even as Jansen slips his hands under the edges of the dress shirt and my underwear, sliding up and down the crease of my ass, my breath hitching as I squirm against him.
“Your girl is getting…impatient.”
Walker’s groan makes me whimper, Jansen tugging my ear between his teeth swiftly transforming it into a moan, and RJ’s soft “goddamn,” mixing into a sensual cacophony perfect for drowning out thought.
Trips breaks eye contact first, running his hand through his hair, wincing with the movement. “RJ, do you think you can get me some shoes before you join the orgy?”
I force myself to speak, to say what I’ve been thinking for longer than a good girl ever ought to. “Everyone’s invited, you know.”
Walker chuckles from the front as we pull into the underground garage. “That’s a whole lot of testosterone, princess. Are you sure you could handle all of us?”
“I’d love to try,” I say, Jansen’s finger spiraling around the pucker of my ass, the words more of a gasp than a statement.
RJ strides over to us, crouching on the floor and taking my mouth in a brutal kiss, so unlike my thoughtful hacker that my brain shudders completely, a sexual haze overtaking any lingering worries about the fact that I’m humping Jansen in the back of a spy van with three other guys watching.
He pulls back, and I try to chase him, to keep the flood of good feelings rolling through me. Snatching my chin, he forces me to open my eyes, to look at him. His eyes are hooded, and he keeps glancing at my lips as he speaks. “Sugar, I don’t know that I’m ready for what you have planned. But maybe, if it’s okay with you, I could watch?”
I bite my lip, the idea of him in the room, of putting on a show for him, making my body tingle. “I would love that,” I whisper, glancing at Jansen, who grins at RJ.
“Whatever makes our girl happy,” he says, running his fingers forward, coating them with my juices. With a hitch of his hips and a brutal kiss, he presses a finger into my asshole, and oh my God. The stretch and burn, followed by new nerve endings bursting to life at his touch, it makes me squeal and pant, rocking against him again, my panties wet through.
The van stops and Walker crawls into the back, pausing next to Trips, his eyes mirroring my lust back to me. “Damn. That is a pretty sight, isn’t it, RJ?”
RJ stands up, stepping back. “Gorgeous.” He watches as Jansen pumps his finger in and out of my ass and I whimper. It’s so good, so new, and almost too much. “There are sandals in the cupboard, Trips,” he adds, not turning or moving, but biting his own lip in anticipation.
Walker clears his throat. “Are we doing this in the back of a converted van? Or upstairs in our five-star suite?”
A breathy laugh falls from my lips. “I’ll take you all wherever you’ll have me.”
Trips’ soft “Fuck” drifts through the van.
RJ rubs the back of his neck. “Upstairs. But first, I need everyone’s earbuds.”
Walker and Trips fish theirs out and hand them to RJ, who puts them in the case before coming up to Jansen and me. I swallow, suddenly horrified. “Mine was in Trips’ shirt pocket. ”
RJ presses a kiss to my forehead, my temple. “It’s okay, sugar. I can make more.”
I melt into his touch, but the guilt is heavy in my chest. How could I forget about that?
Jansen sighs, pulling his finger from my ass, a moan snaking out of my lips at the loss. Plucking out the earbud with the other hand, he passes it to RJ, who tucks the case into the false bottom of the bench.
Walker scoops me out of Jansen’s lap, his maple syrup and pine scent coated with the hollow scent of tempera paint, and I press my nose to his neck, stealing some of his warmth.
Trips flings open the back of the van with one hand, leaping out. “I guess I’ll deal with Jasmine, then.”
Jansen and RJ jump down next, and I’m handed to RJ, my feet not touching the garage floor. RJ’s citrus scent mixes with Walker’s pine, and my nose is a happy little forest.
“It can wait. We’ll call tomorrow, set up the drop. Walker, do you think you could send a quick ‘we got it’ message for now?” RJ asks.
“On it.” Walker turns back to the lone laptop left sitting next to the mattress and types something quickly, shutting the computer before jumping out, slamming the doors of the van behind him.
Trips marches away, cursing to himself, as we all trail him to the elevator. My arms are tight around RJ’s neck as I twine my fingers into his coils, the soft strands enticing. He presses his nose to my forehead, a lull in the storm brewing inside me.
We make it up to the room, Trips stomping into the kitchen, filling up a glass of water, his back to the rest of us .
God. I’m such a selfish bitch.
I want him too.
But he won’t come with us. I know it. And I haven’t found a way to break his shell, to let him do what he so obviously wants to do.
I tap on RJ’s neck, and somehow, he understands I want to stop. “Trips?” I call. He doesn’t look, but he sets his glass down on the counter. “Thank you.”
His gaze burns into my own as he turns his head to me, a deep bruise forming on face. He nods, slowly, the same fire as my own in his eyes, but banked, locked down. Locked away, like all his emotions, always boiling under the surface.
Then he refills the glass and stalks to his bedroom, the door just shy of slamming behind him.
I chew on the inside of my cheek as RJ follows the other guys upstairs to the room they teased me in yesterday.
“He’ll come around, sugar,” RJ says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “He’d be a fool not to.”
Maybe.
Or maybe I’m the fool for wanting him to.