Page 49 of Ballistic

Ugh. The man wore masculinity like a fine tailored suit that clung to every inch of his perfectly carved body, which was frustrating in more ways than one.

“You’re obviously drunk. And quit calling me baby. I don’t care how much you think I need you, or how may stabs you take for me, I’m not turning into one of your little co-dependent groupies who like to call you daddy because they have issues.”

He shrugged and ran his hand over the dressing at his side. “Some just didn’t get hugged enough as kids. ‘Sides that, what makes you think I took a stab for you?”

“I’m sure you didn’t. Never mind.” I threw the towel onto the counter and spun around to leave, but Dax caught my arm, yanking me back to him. All the twisting and tugging made no difference in his steely grasp, and I fell awkwardly onto his lap, just short of the bulge sticking up from his thighs.

“You want to know the truth?”

“No,” I gritted, kicking myself off him while avoiding his wound. “I want you to let me go!”

Cupping my bottom, he dragged me back onto his lap, and my core hit his hard cock, sending a flare of excitement up my spine. Not like earlier, with Ricky, when my body reacted on some superficial conditioned response. The effects Dax elicited felt more natural, derived from something deeper, more carnal. “If he’d taken you away from me, I’d have gone fucking ballistic, because let me tell you, Lynx, you’re all that’s keeping me from taking a leisurely stroll over the edge of Book Tower right now.” The whiskey on his breath told me it was the alcohol talking, but that didn’t change the effect of his words. “So, as selfish as it may sound, I did it for myself. And I’d do it again. For myself.”

In spite of how he said it, it was his way of letting me know he needed me, too. Hell, maybe Dax needed me a lot more than I needed him. Maybe it wasn’t about finding girls that he could care for, like little playthings that he’d eventually discard, but finding girls who made him feel alive. Who gave him reason to keep going, when the world kept handing him bullshit. Perhaps the two of us were more alike than I cared to admit.

I ran my finger over his hairline and down the plum-colored bruises across his cheek, drawing in the hypnotic energy of his stare. Those deep brown eyes that carried a world of sadness and pain. Pain I wanted to reach inside to touch, to feel what gave the steely guy such vulnerability when it came to women. The instinct to nurture him, care for him, surprised me. Then again, seeing him charge out of that club after me, those mercurial eyes set to kill the bastard who’d taken me, had sparked a strange desire I couldn’t begin to understand. One that left me wondering if he could feel how wet I was right then.

With my hand splayed across his jaw, I leaned forward, only brushing my lips across his.

The pinch of his fingers digging into my thighs told me how desperately he was clinging to self-control. His big hands slid up the sides of my legs, and he clutched my hips, as if bracing himself to push me away. “Nic,” he warned.

I silenced his argument with a kiss, feeling his fingers curl into my flesh. His mouth tasted like whiskey and sorrow, wrapped in guilt. A familiar cocktail. Threading my fingers through his hair, I pulled him tighter, reveling in his taste, wanting to suck every last drop of shame from his lips. And just like that, my mysterious cravings had a name. Dax.

Grinding against him elicited visuals of his large body rocking against mine, pinning me to the bed.

Fucking me.

Something dark and fervent rose up from my belly, as I kissed him with the same frantic need as a junkie who couldn’t quite get enough of him. My addictions took over, oxygen waned, and my head felt light with dizziness.

Hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me away, breaking the kiss on a pop of suction.

Dax breathed hard, his chest rising and falling with every exhale that filled the space between us. “I can’t do this. I want to, but I can’t. And if you think kissing me is going to get me to change my mind about taking you with me, you’re wrong.”

Any other man and that might’ve been the case. After all, I’d grown accustomed to offering my body in order to get what I wanted. Smile painted on my lips, I slid from his lap, my body trembling with the sudden withdrawal.

At the doorway, I paused to look back at him hunched forward, still trying to catch his breath. The sight of him taunted me to sit back down on his lap and test his resistance, to toy with my restraint.

“I didn’t do it for you, Dax. I did it for myself,” I said, and left the room.

18

Dax

Knuckles white, I gripped the steering wheel, staring off at the building across the street from where I’d parked.

I thought I’d been in just about every abandoned building in Detroit, but I’d never seen the one stood on the corner of the surrounding shithole neighborhood, like something straight out of a horror flick. Some carried an aura about them—sad, abandoned, lonely. The one across from me screamed of bad shit. Evil vibes, like it’d swallow a passerby who’d never be seen, or heard, from again.

The fuck was I doing there?

I tossed my gun into the glovebox and double-checked the blade stuffed into my boot by running my finger over the hilt of it. The gun would be obvious, but the blade? Hopefully, not so much, or I’d be a dead man before night’s end.

Earlier in the day, I’d moved Nicoleta and myself into an apartment owned by an old friend of mine, Frank Bojanski. He and his brother owned several buildings throughout the city, most of them designed for laying low. Single units located in areas with little traffic and small conveniences, like the party store a block up, where I could buy my liquor to deal with the fact the place only had one bed. A discovery that didn’t seem to bother Nicoleta anywhere near as much as it did me.

Seemed like every day took me one step closer to losing my grip. Each day—as the bruises healed, her eyes beginning to shine, her body to fill out in all the right places—was another day I had to remind myself to control the urges burning inside of me. I couldn’t give in to the temptation. I wouldn’t.

I knew myself well enough to predict just how much that woman would fuck me up, if I allowed even one small slip. Like that kiss in the bathroom. I could still feel her lips on mine, that sweet poison like sugar on my tongue.

No, I had to stay focused. Get her what she needed, so I could get what I needed, and the two of us could part ways afterward.