My orgasm is hot and slow, like a forest fire inexorably gobbling up every small obstacle in its path. And RJ joins me, his murmured “Oh, God,” on repeat as he spasms inside me, coating me from the inside with evidence of what I’ve done to him. What I’ve taken. What I’ve given.
He collapses back on the mat, his golden-tinged eyes bleary, his hands stroking my thighs idly. Running my palms over the scrapes I’ve left on his chest, I bite my lip, uncertain once again.
But a smile stretches across his face, easing my momentary worry. “Not what I planned, but damn, girl, you know how to pass the time.”
Giggles erupt from me, his cock twitching inside me as my muscles squeeze him unintentionally, another “Oh, God,” falling from his lips.
Then, chaos erupts.
Chapter 30
Trips
Ihate the idea of tunnels. Of being locked underground, the echo of a brightly-lit concrete rat run covered by thousands of tons of dirt; it makes my skin crawl. Which is one of the main reasons I’ve never used them, even when the temps drop well below zero. The skyways downtown? Those make a hell of a lot more sense than scrambling underground like a damn worm.
As much as I hate this, though, it’s the best chance we have.
I wish I knew who’s following us and how well trained they are. The chance of us making it is slim, no matter who it is, though. I know that. And I’m coming to accept it.
Because no matter who’s following us, it doesn’t change the fact that my right hand is fully useless and pounds with every beat of my heart. What felt before like penance for my stupidity is now just plain stupid. At least my left hand only has bruisedbones, no need for surgery there. But I’m no southpaw. And Walker, he’s no fighter.
We both know it.
His hands are his money makers, but not in a way that helps us get out of this.
He, at least, needs to get to the rendezvous point. I’m nothing but a liability. Clara needs him, so I’m going to make sure he gets to her.
I’m not the priority.
I’ve been fucked since birth, learning early that hope is nothing but pending disappointment. For a few months, a future fully of my own making seemed possible. It was nice—until it crumbled like wet sand.
I sling the heavy bag of cat crap over my shoulder as Walker pulls into a spot, my personal shoulder bag slung over my other arm. Not a lot of stuff to run with, but I haven’t had a backpack since I learned to drive.
And I always knew I probably wasn’t making it out. So, no real loss. I take a second to jam a wad of cash in Walker’s pocket as he twists to grab his bag. They’ll need it.
Then we’re strolling into the concrete hallway, pretending this is totally normal.
But as soon as the tail careens in, slamming to a stop in a spot as close to the door as possible, I know we’re fucked. “Go, they know we’re running!” I shout.
Walker takes off, winding through the tunnel with confidence, and I rush to keep up. But just as we’re not ready to win a fight, neither of us are runners either.
As I twist to look, I see the worst option leaping from the nondescript SUV, phone in hand—Falk. Former special ops and my father’s best security guy. Someone who rarely leaves my father’s side. Shit. If my father re-tasked him, sending him out towatch our house? We were fucked before we even walked out the back door.
The only thing that might be in our favor is that Falk hates my father nearly as much as I do. I’ve never figured out what my father has on him, but it must be bad. Because it doesn’t take someone like Clara to see his hatred. Even Trevor jokes about it.
I follow Walker, my hand excruciating as my heart rate climbs, feeling like it’s bouncing even though I’ve got it braced against my chest. Sweat covers me under my coat, both from running in a full winter getup as well as from the pain.
But the muted beat of Falk behind me tells me that the man is going to outrun us. And we’re panting too loudly to take a surprise turn and disappear. Fuck.
“Walker, go ahead, I’ll hold him off,” I say, not knowing what else to do, halting around another winding turn. I’m never finding my way out of this rat run, even if I get a miracle and beat Falk.
Walker, though, won’t let me stop, grabbing my elbow and tugging me behind him, his grip surprisingly strong. “No fucking way, man.”
“It’s the only way. Get back to her.” I shake him off, tossing the bags on the floor right where Falk will come around the corner, hoping they’ll trip him and give me a chance to get off at least a few hits.
Only Walker’s tossing down his bag too, and it’s all I can do not to kick him. “Two on one,” he says.
And then Falk is there, hopping over the first bag, stumbling slightly over the second, but recovering his stride before he hits the third, blocking my best shot like he saw it coming before he even made it around the turn.
