Page 80 of Ricochet

A moment of bliss in a dark world of pain.

A beacon of light on a shadowy horizon.

Love was the only thing stronger than hate. Fuck, if I didn’t already try hating her once. Something deep inside of me had awakened in the last few days. The moment we joined the same side, as I’d peered down at her brutal scar, was the moment an odd sensation clicked inside of me. I wanted to save her in a way that I couldn’t save myself. I’d found a reason strengthening my determination to follow through with my revenge. For her. For me. For my family.

The lingering question remained, though. What would happen in the end?

A blackness lived on the other side of my revenge—a future I’d never planned to live. Aubree couldn’t change that. I’d planned it for far too long, and with the grand finale of my vengeance, police, gangs, everyone who’d be looking for restitution for the deaths would be out to hunt me down if I happened to survive. I’d never endanger Aubree by putting her in the middle, making her an enticing object for retribution.

Her thumb traced the tattoo on my forearm. “I’ve had to wake up on guard for the last five years, always playing the game. Always watching that what I say doesn’t give away something that I’d be stabbed with later. Here, in this old, abandoned wreckage, I feel so calm and relaxed with you. For the first time in years, I’m genuinely content in my own skin.”

I nabbed the shampoo beside me and squeezed some into the palm of my hand before massaging it into her head. I didn’t know what to say to her. I’d made a promise, one I intended to keep. I didn’t know what that meant for Aubree and me. I certainly couldn’t promise her a happy home and white picket fences. That world had passed me by years ago.

“I love your hands on me.” She tilted her head back into the water, washing the lathered soap away, then twisted to face me again.

Her body felt almost weightless in my arms as I lifted her up and pressed her back against the wall, slanting my mouth over hers. Water trickling between our lips made for a wet kiss. I positioned myself inside of her, reveling in the sounds of our slick bodies beating against each other, her breasts bouncing. Her moans echoed inside my head, as I took her again like the selfish fucking bastard that I was.

I couldn’t help it.

I’d become ravenous for her. Fucking her wasn’t enough. I wanted to tear Aubree apart and claim all the pieces of her as my own. Even if the future was nothing more than a black splotch of ink on an unwritten page, in that moment, she belonged to me.

CHAPTER 34

Aubree

Staring up at the bedroom ceiling, I lay in Nick’s arms, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe. We’d had sex so many times, in so many positions, it was as if I’d opened the cage to a lust-hungry beast that lived trapped inside me. In spite of my scars, my bruises, I felt beautiful with him. Alive. Strong.

In return, I wanted to heal the broken, beautiful man within him. His pain surged through me with every passionate kiss that spoke of loneliness and desolation. The anger and fury beat through me in the same tempo as his thrusts. I wanted all of it. I’d take all those hours, minutes, seconds of his suffering and let them swirl and simmer inside of my body until I could give him the exquisite fusillade of release that he craved.

Somewhere in between our tangling, we’d eaten, showered again. Exhausted from climaxing so many times in a matter of hours, I should have had nothing left, but as he pushed inside me from behind, I found I needed him again. Despite my dry throat, aching muscles, and spasms trembling my thighs, he simply felt too damn good to deny. I’d never felt so sated, deliciously weak, yet craving more.

He remained unmoving inside me, as though reminding me of the potential in his rock hard cock while he kissed behind my ear. “You’re tired and hungry. I’ll get you some food and let you rest.”

“No,” I moaned, but my stomach answered with a growl.

Laughing, he pulled out of me, and suddenly my body screamed for him again. “Sleep now. I’m not done with you, yet.” As he pulled the covers over me and stood, the dampness of the sheets caught the cool draft that blanketed my battered muscles.

My mouth watered at the sight of his cock beside my face, and again when he turned to reveal a tight, muscled ass disappearing behind his briefs. With lids so heavy I could hardly keep them open, I closed my eyes.

I could’ve sworn only minutes had passed when he returned, but I awoke, lying on my stomach, to his fingertips gliding down my spine. When the sheet lowered, I instinctively flipped to my side.

“I’ve seen your scar.” His kiss landed on my exposed hip. “Many times now.”

“I know.” His touch right then had felt too intimate, though, and I didn’t want to feel like he was examining it.

His fingertips drifted upward, and when he circled the right side of my back, I knew he’d found the yellowing bruise from Michael’s abuse. “Men who do this are weak. Cowards. A woman should never carry scars of pain and suffering.” His soft lips caressed the bruise before he left another kiss there. “You were with him a long time, yeah?”

I nodded, hating the confession, dreading the next question, one I’d ignorantly issued to so many women who’d come to me, desperate for healing after suffering similar pain.

So why did you stay?

All those women had had their own crippling reasons for staying with abusive men—children, money fears, lack of confidence in their own survival.

In my case, it was lack of options. My husband happened to own the police, the judicial system, and the government. On top of that, he had connections that would assure I’d never get far—connections that could find me in the farthest corners and darkest shadows. Still, I hated myself for being so weak.

I also hated that Nick, a man who’d shown me how fierceness could co-exist with gentleness, might’ve seen me the same way I once saw those women.

“You’re a strong woman, Aubree.”