Pound of Flesh Page 2

  Or a bat into hell, as the case may be.

  After strapping me into the passenger seat with all the ceremony of tossing away an apple core—and a series of grunts—we’re now hurtling down the avenue leading out of town. I have no idea where we’re going, but common sense tells me it’s not the Ritz-Carlton. Or maybe it’s the mattress in the back that tipped me off.

  Yeah, on second thought, it was probably the mattress.

  “So.” Noticing my fingers are a bloodless white from gripping the seatbelt so tightly, I force myself to let go. “Nice ride.”

  A grating grumble. “Borrowed the van temporarily. We’re picking up my 69 Pontiac GTO tomorrow. She’s been parked at a garage up north.”

  I lift an eyebrow at him referring to his Pontiac as a female, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Did you make any friends in prison?”

  He shoots me a dark look. “You some kind of a comedian?”

  “No, I was being serious.” Sort of. “I watch Lockup. You have to affiliate yourself with a group for protection, right?”

  His snort is like a bomb detonating. “Do I look like I need protection, doll?”

  “Do you answer every question with a question?”

  Frustration lines his damaged face, seeming to deepen his scars as he cuts me another side glance. “Listen, are you scared of me or not?”

  “There you go again.”

  He’s not amused. Well, fine. Neither am I. I’m sure he walked into my house, took one look around at all the swank equipment and decided I was a spoiled princess. I’m not. My brother has a good heart, but he’s a world-class jackass when he sets his mind to it. It doesn’t help that he courts women and friends who like shiny things. When our mother died—Dad hadn’t been in the picture for years—Roger turned to crime, like a lot of young men in our part of town. Money was good in the beginning, but his spending habits, not to mention him being on law enforcement’s radar, meant the cash dwindled fast.

  As soon as I was old enough, I got a job at the yogurt shop and started paying half the mortgage, while keeping my grades above average in school. I’ve busted my butt to make up for Roger’s shortcomings, and now here I am, paying for them once again. This son of a Cyclops is kidnapping me, intending to use my body as a placeholder for the money he’s owed…and he’s bent out of shape?

  In the words of my ancestors: fuck that.

  “Yeah. I am scared of you.” Death must seem like a viable option for me at this point, because I reach over and poke him in his rock-hard side. “Does that make you feel like a big man? Scaring an innocent girl who’s done nothing to you?”

  His cheekbones…darken? No way. My eyes must be playing tricks on me. “I don’t have a choice when it comes to scaring people. I just do. All I have to do is walk into a room, like I did tonight.”

  “You kicked the door down!”

  “It was standing between me and you.” I start to respond to that growly, confusing statement, but he rushes to correct himself. “Between me and your brother, I mean. The money he was supposed to hold on to for me.”

  Something about the tight set of his lips makes me suspicious, but I let it go. “Still think you should pay for the damage to the door,” I mumble, crossing my arms.

  “Fine.” His voice softens. “Roger can take the repair cost out of my money.”

  “Wait. Really?” Victory tingles along my spine, but it’s short-lived. “Are you just pretending to be reasonable because you don’t believe Roger can come up with the money?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was very mean-spirited to get my hopes up like that.” I ignore the pressure behind my eyes. “And my brother is going to find the cash. You’ll see.”

  Oddly, Raider doesn’t seem to like that possibility, which makes no sense. Isn’t the whole point of this felony kidnapping to line his pockets? Maybe that murderous scowl is just his version of resting bitch face.

  My musings are cut short when Raider takes a sharp right, burning rubber as we pull onto a block I recognize as somewhere my brother has repeatedly warned me against venturing into alone. We live in a poor part of town. But this section is downright dangerous. The streets are empty except for blowing garbage, dumped furniture and appliances people didn’t want anymore.

  The dumped bodies are probably better hidden.

  Am I about to become one of them?

  “W-what are we doing here?” Discreetly as possible, I unlatch my seatbelt and prepare to make a run for it as soon as the van stops moving. Thank God I’m still wearing my sensible work sneakers. “Were you lying when you said Roger could have two days’ grace?”

  He starts to answer, but snaps his mouth shut. Confirmation that he lied?

  I grip the door handle. “Look, I’m really sorry I poked you, but…” We turn into a dark alley behind an abandoned building, and the vehicle jerks to a stop. “Please. You don’t need to do this.”

  “Yes I do. Need.” Raider reaches out, tracing the curve of my breast with a fingertip. An unwanted tightening starts between my thighs, but I don’t stop to examine how I could be attracted to my murderer. Hell no. Fast as possible, I shove open the passenger door and dive out of the van, trapping a scream in my throat when Raider’s bellow of anger ricochets off the alley walls. “Delilah!”

  If I were in any other neighborhood, I would run my ass into the nearest store and beg for help, but attracting attention from anyone in this neighborhood isn’t wise. Getting out first, finding a place to hide second, is the plan. Followed by the close third of figuring out how to keep my brother alive, too, now that I’ve made the decision to run.

  My feet pound on the pavement, my hoarse, fearful inhales rattling in my ears. It’s dark outside, and barely any of the street lamps are lit—and the working ones are flickering. In the distance, there’s a low hum of music and shouting. Dogs barking. Televisions blaring.

  A man steps out of a car to my right, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Hey, sweetie. Need a ride?”

  I sprint faster.

  The man curses, tossing his smoke away in a flaming arc, and gives chase.

  Shit, shit, shit. The streets are unfamiliar and winding. Every turn I take seems to lead somewhere worse and more deserted. The man is gaining on me, laughing, hooting. Why didn’t I grab my backpack before running? My cell phone was in the front pocket, dammit.

  An arm snags me around the waist and I’m pulled into a stairwell, just off the sidewalk. It’s deep, and the man crowds me into the cold metal, his face still hidden by shadows. Sour breath smacks me in the face, his hands going right for the zipper of my jeans, prompting me to lift my knee and connect with his balls. But my resistance only seems to excite him.

  His head twists sideways, his eyes go blank and he falls to the ground.

  Behind him stands a furious Raider, behemoth fists shaking at his sides, nostrils flared, chest rioting with labored breaths. Lord, he’s so massive, his body blocks out the whole night sky, and every sinewy inch of him is rippling with anger…and hurt?

  Before I can examine further, I’m picked up and thrown over his wide right shoulder, which could comfortably fit three of me. Defeat makes me go limp, my eyes gritty with disappointment.

  “Why? Why did you run from me?” His gritted question sends a sob rising from my chest and releasing hard, seeming to make Raider’s gait falter. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. But you should see the other guy.” Dangling upside down, I pinkie wave at the corpse slumped in the stairwell. “Can you make my death swift like his, please? I don’t want to see it coming, either.”

  His snarl rings in my ears. “We’re back to thinking I’m going to kill you?”

  “Why else would you bring me here?”

  Darkness swallows us and we stop abruptly. The world tilts once again and my feet find hard earth, twirling my equilibrium like a tossed baton. There’s an urge to feint right, then left and take off again, hoping my second attempt will be successful and won’t end in capital murd
er, but for some reason I hold back.

  As Raider unlocks the back of his van and throws open the doors, I once again glimpse the hurt I thought I imagined earlier. It’s in the slump of his shoulders, the wounded bear expression. He seemed genuinely worried that I might have been hurt. If he plans to off me, would he even care?

  Raider jerks his head toward the back of his van. “Get in.”

  Swallowing hard, I peer inside at the mattress, which I didn’t get a great look at before. It’s unexpectedly…clean. Dark blue sheets have been tucked over the corners, but they’re too small, so I can see the mattress beneath is pristine white. As if it was only purchased recently. Weird.

  “But…you set this up before coming to my house?”

  “No more questions,” he rasps, lifting me by the waist and tossing me onto the mattress. I bounce once, then scamper back as far as I can go, pressing against the cold leather back of the driver’s seat. My eyes are probably the size of dinner plates as Raider climbs into the van, dipping the groaning vehicle with his considerable weight. “Get those boy clothes off your little girl body now.”

  The double doors slam, making me jump. Raider’s mass inhabits the entire van, dominating every molecule of space. There’s a tiny sliver of flickering street light filtering into the van around the edges of black paint covering the windows. It illuminates the damaged planes of his face, wild green eyes alive with starvation. His pants are tented, his mile-wide chest fighting for breath…

  An image hits me of Raider in my living room. Before he took me. The way the hostility seeped out of his body when I touched him. You tamed the beast, my brother said. Added to the hurt he keeps forgetting to hide from me, I’m starting to wonder if this man is just scaring me…because he doesn’t know any other way.

  What do I have to lose by testing my theory? Nothing.

  Holding his gaze, I unzip my hoodie and push it off my shoulders. The tank top beneath is tight and low, something I usually only wear alone in my room. When the streetlight flickers and he glimpses my admittedly small but high breasts, his growl is so loud, I reach up and cover my ears until he’s finished. By the time my pants come off and I’m left in nothing but a tank top—no bra—and a powder-blue thong, Raider is seething with explosive energy. Violent, masculine need. Any second now, I’m going to be thrown down and devirginized, so I take a deep breath for courage and walk across the mattress on my knees toward the giant.

  I lift my hands, letting them hover above his suddenly still chest a moment before planting them there. Still, he doesn’t breathe or bat an eyelash. Carefully, I trace my touch up to his rough, scarred, unshaven face…and with a gruff, desperate sound, he turns into my touch, inhaling and exhaling rapidly. As I watch in awe, he nuzzles me, malice leaching from his expression in degrees.

  “There now,” I murmur, stroking his cheeks, his scalp. “You’re not so mean, are you?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Raider

  Late at night in my cell, I used to imagine the doll touching me like this. Every time, I battled to keep it pure. Battled to keep her imaginary hands on my face, or even my shoulders. Prison weakened my good intentions, though, as it does every man, and eventually I gave up the fight. Later in my term, when I thought of the beautiful blonde as I’d seen her that single time—riding around on her bike, licking a red popsicle—she went straight to her knees to lick something else entirely.

  Hell, there I was, locked up with the world’s monsters, and their crimes ranked far worse than taking my pleasure with a tight little teenager. So I took and took, yanking her off that bike and replacing that popsicle in her mouth with my dick. I’ve been burning to fuck Delilah for so long, I forgot how much comfort thoughts of these innocent touches used to bring me. How they used to calm me. Make me feel human.

  I wouldn’t call myself calm…or even human…right now. Not with this dripping rod rammed up against my goddamn zipper, calling out for this girl’s pussy. But the more her fingers skate over my skin, the war inside me stills. I’m under the spell she’s weaving around me. I’m lost to the sensations of her touch, the perfection of having her close. Isn’t she still scared of me? It makes me insane to think she’s afraid when all I want to do is protect her, but no one has ever been this brave around me before. What if it’s all a trick?

  Please don’t let it be a trick.

  She hesitates a second, then leans in and places a kiss on my stomach, burning me through my shirt. I have to grab my dick and squeeze until there’s pain to keep from coming, the show of affection is so unusual and unexpected.

  Delilah’s gaze lifts to mine, understanding and surprise swimming in those gorgeous light brown pools. “You don’t want to hurt me at all, do you, Raider?”

  I heave out the truth like forty tons of bricks. “No.”

  Do I have a choice? I saw her slim hips and thighs when she took off her pants. Those peachy little titties. Can fucking her with this freakishly large body of mine be anything but abuse? Fueled by need and hunger—calling her my due—I’ve disregarded those worries until now, but they’re flooding back, carried by the gentleness she’s showing me. One touch and she’s robbing me of a lifetime of hostility and hate.

  No. I need it back. I’ll drag it back kicking and screaming, no matter how she makes me feel. I can’t afford a vulnerability this damning. She’s damning me. Already my armor is dropping away, and I’m not even sure if she’s playing me for a fool. What girl in her right mind would be touching my haunted house face unless she was playing an angle?

  Her husky voice drifts out of the near-dark. “But you still want to…have me?”

  Have her? Such an innocent description for wanting to push open her thighs and slake my monstrous lust in her tight body, over and over. “I am having you, Delilah. I brought you to this place because I can’t keep my cock out of you long enough to make it home.” I circle my hand around her neck and apply only a hint of pressure. Just the possibility of hurting her makes my stomach turn, but I force myself to keep hold. It brings back a frisson of her fear, and I hate myself for being responsible for it. Hate. “I couldn’t risk bringing you to a motel or somewhere respectable, because anyone with a fucking brain would look at you, then look at me, and know you didn’t come along willingly.”

  Sympathy flickers in her eyes, and I bare my teeth to scare it away. But she only firms her jaw, refusing to cower. “Who cares what other people think?”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re sweet and beautiful. Something out of a dream.” I lean in, getting right in her face. “I come crawling out of people’s nightmares.”

  She kisses me.

  One minute, my mind is a sky full of rioting thunderheads, and the next, it’s clear and blue and goes on for miles. The softness of her lips pressed to mine, her small hand cupping my scarred cheek…they might kill me, the sensations are so phenomenal. I can hear her heart pounding, matching mine, and for a sliver of time, we’re not so different. I’m not a giant, hulking beast about to traumatize an innocent. I’m just a man kissing his girl. My little blonde princess.

  And she doesn’t stop with kissing. No, I can barely believe what’s happening when she slides up my bent thighs and wraps her legs around my waist. A tremor spikes through her when she seats her pussy on my dripping inches of flesh, but unbelievably, she doesn’t stop kissing me. Why isn’t she screaming? My dick is as long as her forearm, and nothing is going to stop me from pounding it into her. Doesn’t she understand that?

  With a hoarse expletive, I throw her down onto the mattress, planting my fists on either side of her head. “You’re trying to trick me.”

  My accusation comes out weaker than planned, because she looks so pretty with all that light hair fanned in every direction. “How is kissing you a trick? You have me locked up, Raider. My clothes are off. I can’t overpower you. I’m not escaping again.” She licks her swollen lips. “What would I be tricking you into?”

  “Thinking this is normal!” I shout the words
at her, but she doesn’t so much as flinch. “Thinking I’m normal.”

  Understanding breaks across her face, and I want to sink down into it. Lap it up. Gather it to my chest and crush it close until that understanding can’t ever leave me. The impulse to scare my beautiful doll is waning, vanishing into thin air. “You’re the one scaring me now, Delilah,” I whisper hoarsely.

  “A big tough man like you, scared of a virgin?” She peels down the straps of her tank top, rolling the tight material to her waist so her two little cherry-topped mounds are exposed to my hunger. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

  I explode down toward her like a wild creature, sucking her tits into my mouth, raking my tongue up and down her nipples. Each breast fits into my mouth completely, and I gorge myself on them, my hips pumping in the air, as if I’m already inside her untried cunt, molding it to my cock. Personalizing it.

  I’m braced on my forearms alongside her wiggling body, even though I want to pin her down, imprison her. But that would mean hurting the doll and no one—no one, not even me—hurts the doll. I can’t believe I even considered it. At this point, if she’s tricking me into thinking us being together isn’t a sickening sin, I’m going along for the ride. My cock is so thick and pissed off, I have no choice.

  “I-I-I…” Delilah breaks off on a moan. “I like the way that feels. I didn’t know…”

  “You better not know.” My tongue is moving everywhere now. Over her tits, along her shoulders, up the slope of her neck. I’m marking her. Claiming her. Figures I would accomplish it the same way an animal does. She tastes like spun sugar and I’m never going to get enough. Mine. My fucking doll. Mine. “You better not know how it feels having these titties sucked on, you hear me? I’ll kill anyone who’s thought about it with my bare fucking hands and leave them at your feet.”

  I chance a look at Delilah, worried the stone-cold murder in my voice will put the fear of God back into her, but she seems…hot for it? That can’t be right. This girl can’t possibly be more perfect than I already imagined.