Where the hell do we go from here?
What do we do?
My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I carefully slid it out, trying not to wake her.
“Dan the man…how goes it?” I whispered.
“Am I interrupting make-up sex?”
I smirked. “Negative. Not until she’s comfortable. She’s drooling on my favorite shirt.”
“Right. I’ll keep it quick, but I wanted to update you. With the hard drive, and everything you made out with from the pleasure house, added to what we figured out together…Jekhov Romanov and everybody he’s associated with have been seized in Russia.”
“Fuckin’ right,” I said, squeezing Bridget a little tighter.
“We’ve got enough to put them away for a long time, as well as the rest of the McKinley family for their involvement. Everybody goes to prison. I wanna be the first one to tell you this, Declan…your country thanks you. All of you.”
“Only half,” I smiled. “But I appreciate that. I guess we can’t really inhale Emerald Lotus as friends anymore, yeah?”
“Duty says no…but you’ll always be a friend to me, man. Not for what we accomplished together, but for the fluffy fucker on the inside that treated me like a human when anyone else would have let me eat out of a dumpster.”
Damn this guy and all his manhood.
I tightened my mouth.
“Call me if you’re ever in Maine. I know some friendly strippers.”
“Ha…I must have done my job well. I get more ass than a toilet seat, friend.”We both chuckled and Bridget stirred a little.“Take care of yourself.”
“Same. At ease, soldier.”
Call ended.
Bridget rubbed her eye and adjusted herself.
“Hold up,” she yawned. “That’s notDumpsterDan…”
I snorted, pulling her closer and she looked up at me in bleary confusion. “The very fuckin’ same.”
“Nuh-uh! The drugged out,sketchyguy that wore Mrs. Bronson’s pinkhouse slippers?”
“Yep. He was undercover.”
Her mouth hung open and I traced her bottom lip with my finger, taking her in like I haven’t been doing it for hours. “Okay, that guy needs medals. Cookies. Aquiche. Emmy award.”
“Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
I didn’t even really mean to say it. I don’t really know why I almost felt apologetic. Probably because we’ve danced too long around what we are to each other, and we might be past that point, but it’s still as foreign as the men we killed last night. We stared for a bit too long, and she leaned in to kiss me. I got lost in it. I didn’t mean to do that either, but I know without a fucking doubt that this is what I want. Forever if she’ll let me. Her legs tangled with mine and her fists tugged at my t-shirt…but she broke away and buried herself into my chest again, leaving me breathing like I just ran two miles.
It’s clear to me now.
She was raped. Or at the very least, forced to do things against her will.
It’s an unspoken clarification that I have absolutely no business questioning right now. So, what do you do to give them comfort, or lead their minds to something else? I clutched her against me and glanced up at the T.V. to see a commercial for a breakfast joint. Slow pour,food pornof syrup on a Belgian waffle. Hot coffee. Runny eggs. Leave it to me and my fucking relentless stomach to come to the conclusion that high-calorie food is always the answer.
“All you can eat pancakes and scrambled eggs with ketchup?” I asked, resting my chin on top of her head. It sprung up real quick-like.
“Oh, my God…yes.”
