All the Sky (16 page)

Somebody grabbed her hand just before she got there. She turned, half expecting to see Havoc, but instead she was face to face with a man she’d met earlier in the day. Once of Isaac’s artisan friends. A glassblower. Irish, she thought. She had all that, but not his name.

He leaned close to her ear. “You dancin’?”

“Yeah. Hi. I don’t remember your name.”

“Glen. Isaac’s friend. Like a dance partner?” Glen was probably pushing sixty, but he wasn’t bad looking. And his voice was great, even shouted in her ear over the revelers’ din.

“You really dance, or just do the guy shuffle? ‘Cuz if I’m gonna dance by myself, I’ll just dance by myself.”

He laughed at that and then did a little jig or something. That was lame. But cute enough to be convincing.

“Okay, dance with me.”

He bowed and took her hand.

Glen the Glassblower was a pretty decent dancer. Good enough for Cory, at least. It wasn’t as if she had any special training, and she hadn’t really danced in a long time. But she was confident in the way her body moved, and she could follow a lead. So she and Glen had a good time dancing the rest of the set. They’d even worked up a sweat.

Then the band announced that they were about ready to take a break, and they slowed it down with a ballad. Cory was set to thank Glen for the dances and head back for another beer—and to make sure her group hadn’t left her.

But Glen grabbed her and pulled her close. His mouth against her ear, he asked, “Where ya goin’, lass?”

At first, she didn’t think anything of it, just crossed signals. She expected him to let her go when she pushed away. But when she pushed, he tightened his grip.

“Hey! Back off. I’m done dancing.”

Glen let go, looking over her shoulder rather than at her. She turned, wanting to get some distance between them, and saw Havoc coming onto the dance floor. He was looking past her, and at first she was confused. Then she realized that he was looking at Glen.

He grabbed her arm and said, “Night’s over.”

He still wasn’t looking at her, but he was definitely taking control of her. He pulled her through the crowd, not even stopping at their table, and off the patio. Once they were on the street, he kept pulling her down the sidewalk and across the street, to a little motel, its architecture in a pseudo-Bavarian style.

As soon as they were clear of the noise, she asked, “Hav, what the hell?” He ignored her and kept walking. She could barely keep up, and she didn’t seem to have any other choice, so she focused on keeping her feet.

He dragged her like that all the way to a blue door, one of the rooms of the motel—number 9. Without letting her go, he fished a keycard out of his pocket and slid it into the lock. The door released, and he pushed it open. Then he pushed her inside and handed her the keycard.

“This is your room. We have rooms 3, 4, 5, 9 and 10. Your pack’s on the bed. Stay put. I’ll see you in the morning—breakfast at the diner next door at eight.”

She knew she was staring at him with her mouth open, but she was too stunned to do anything else. When she didn’t move from the doorway, he stepped in, pushing her back into the room with his hands on her shoulders.

“Stay. Put.”

He turned and left, closing the door as he went.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Havoc stood in the middle of his own room, his keycard in his hand. He was sure his head had never fucked with him this hard before. He was so turned around and upside down he was practically seasick.

He tried to think through whatever was going on in his head, his gut, his goddamn traitorous cock, but thinking just made him more angry and confused. He knew what he wanted. But fuck, he didn’t want to want it. That way led straight to nothing but bullshit and drama. Ruin.

Chicks ruined everything. He saw it everywhere. Isaac shot. Show’s daughter dead. Brothers meeting their Maker.

Bart. Bart in fucking Los Angeles, a Scorpion instead of Horde. It was an outrage.

And then today, in smaller but still significant ways. Isaac pushing a goddamn stroller, going back to the motel before it was even fucking dark. Show acting like a teenager. Badger blushing all over that little blonde.

But watching all that today felt different. It still pissed him off, but in a new way he didn’t understand. As did watching Cory, in her soft, tight jeans and those red boots, that sweater that covered everything up but still managed to show everything off, her hair soft around her face, watching her rake her hand through it and then watching it fall back. Watching her laugh and eat and drink. Watching her move to the music.

Watching that piece of shit put his hands all over her.

He needed to think. Or drink. Drink was better. One glance at what passed for a minibar in this little motel, however, told him that he’d have to find himself a liquor store. One tiny bottle of Jack, one of Stoli, and one of Malibu rum was not going to cut it.

Good plan. He turned on his heel and went back out, intending to find a worthy bottle of Jack. But instead of walking into the lot to his bike, he turned and retraced his earlier steps, until he was standing in front of room 9.

No way was he doing this. No fucking way.

He knocked.

No fucking way. No.

Cory opened her door, just a few inches. The security slider wasn’t engaged, but she didn’t open it any farther than she needed to peek her head out.

“What do you need, Hav?”

“Let me in.” He put his hand flat on the door and pushed. She resisted. “Let me in.”

“Why?”

He was tired of being angry, tired of being confused. He should do what he’d planned and go get a bottle of Jack. Or two. Maybe three. Drown the confusion.

“Fuck, woman. Why do you think?” He put some shoulder into the next push, and the door swung out of Cory’s grip, opening wide. She took a couple of quick steps backward, but his strides were longer, and he caught her in his arms and kissed her before she could do more than take a deep breath. Maybe that breath would have fed a scream, or maybe it was just a gasp. He didn’t care.

As soon as his mouth was on hers, memories he’d been trying to lose for more than two months exploded in his head. The way she tasted, the way her soft lips fit under his mouth. The crush of her tits against his chest. The smell of her hair.

She wasn’t kissing him back. She was fighting him, her hands on his shoulders, trying to wedge herself free of him. He couldn’t let her—he was fucking tired of his head spinning like it was revving out of gear.

And then she bit his tongue—hard—and he reared back and released her.

Holding out one hand like a shield between them, she put the other to her mouth. “Jesus Christ! What the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to rape me?”

“What? No! What the hell?” The engine in his head revved.

She walked backwards, putting the bed between them. He stayed where he was, shocked by what she’d accused him of.

“I don’t know what your deal is, Hav. But you can’t just push your way into my room, grab me, and do whatever you want. That is rape.”

“Stop fucking saying that.”

For what seemed like whole minutes, they were quiet, Havoc staring at her, Cory looking downward, her arms crossed over her chest. Maybe he owed her an apology. Definitely he should leave. But he felt bolted to the floor.

When she looked up, her blue eyes were dark, and her brows were drawn. “You confuse the fuck out of me, Havoc. What is it you want?”

Able to move again, he took two steps toward her; she mirrored him, backwards, until her legs bumped up against a flimsy little table.

“I don’t know. You fuck with my head. Right now, though, I want you. It’s like I don’t have a choice.”

“I’m not club pussy, Hav. That’s not…that’s not me.”

That struck him funny, and he laughed. “I know. If you were club pussy, you wouldn’t fight me.”

“Jesus. You are barely human, you know that?”

He took two more steps toward her, leaving not much more than the spans of their arms between them. She leaned away but didn’t retreat.

“You haven’t told me to leave.”

Another step.

“Do you want me to leave?”

The last step. Now he was right in front of her. Her arms were still tight across her tits, and her breath was coming in deep, quick bursts that lifted her chest. He watched that for a couple of breaths, and then laid his hand on her chest, his fingers hooking over her shoulder, the blade of her collarbone pressing into his palm. She’d taken off her necklaces. He returned his gaze to her eyes. Her pupils were huge, almost like she was stoned, though he knew she wasn’t.

“Tell me to leave, and I’ll go.” He was pretty sure he was telling the truth.

But she didn’t. What she said was, “I’m not club pussy.” A whisper. Almost a plea.

“I know, honey.” He put his hand to her face, his fingers pushing into her lush, thick hair, and kissed her.

This time, for the first time, she kissed him back, opening her mouth to meet his tongue with hers. Then she sighed, and her arms relaxed out of their knot between them. She pushed her hands around his waist, and he felt her palms flat on his back, under his kutte, over his shirt. With his free arm, he circled her waist and brought her hard to his body. She relaxed totally against him, pulling herself even closer. The pressure on his straining cock was a kind of torture.

It was all a revelation. He felt her everywhere, even where her body wasn’t touching his. He didn’t understand it. It was so fucking intense, he didn’t know what to feel first. And then she moaned into his mouth and lifted his shirt to put her hands directly on the skin of his back. His lower back.

She might as well have hit him with a cattle prod. He felt the heat of her touch like a hot bolt up his spine, into his head, and down, into his balls. But he felt something else, too, the shame of memory. He broke the kiss and pushed her away from him, suddenly fighting to breathe.

“Fuck!”

She was gasping, too. “What? Are you okay?”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t think. His head was roaring, crashing. He stepped backwards, and his legs hit the side of her bed, so he sat heavily down.

“Hav, are you…” He looked up at her question and saw a light dawn in her eyes. “Oh, Jesus. When you said you didn’t kiss women, you meant…Jesus. You really are fucked up.”

“This whole thing is fucked up. I need to get outta here.”

“Wait. Wait.” She sat next to him on the bed and put her hand over his, and Havoc had the feeling that the tables had turned on him somehow. “Hav, when was the last time you let a woman touch you? Not your sister or your mom. Not that kind of touch.”

That was a colossally stupid question, and he scoffed. “Last night. LaVonne sucked me off. And she’s damn good at it.” He looked at Cory, hoping to see hurt or disgust or something, but her face was smooth. Intent, but smooth.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You think a bitch can give me head and not touch me?”

“I think I’m starting to be a lot less confused by you.”

Well, that made one of them.

Then she stood and, without hesitation, she straddled him. Surprised, he didn’t think to push her away until she was already on his lap. Havoc didn’t like any of this. He didn’t like the way his heart was pounding, he didn’t like the way desire and need sat in his belly like lead, making his balls tighten and his cock throb.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Shut up, Hav. Just shut up.”

She lifted her hands, and he felt her fingers on his scalp. It was all he could do not to flinch. Her touch feather-light, she traced lines from his brow, over his head and down, then around his neck, until she could push her fingers through his beard.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His hands wanted to hold her, his arms wanted to wrap her up, but he squeezed the edge of the bed. Whatever game she was playing, he wasn’t going to fall for it. She wouldn’t make him a fool. Not more than she already had.

“I told you. Sweet is good. Sweet can be better. I don’t think you know that.”

Her hands were around his face, and it made his chest tight. He didn’t understand that, either. Coming here had not eased his confusion; he was more confused now than ever. Maybe ever in his whole motherfucking life.

“Fuck you.”

She smiled. “Maybe. But sweet.”

And then she kissed him, brushing her mouth lightly over his. Her tongue traced the seam between his lips, and he groaned, and his hands forgot not to touch her. His arms came up and circled her, pulling her close and holding her firmly. He tried to take the kiss over, take it deep, but she tipped her head back, away from him. Doing so exposed her throat, though, and, remembering the sweet smell of her, Havoc pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

When she moaned, Havoc had had about enough.

“Fuck sweet.”

He stood, carrying Cory with him, and turned, putting her down in the middle of the bed, lying on top of her. And then he took her mouth the way he wanted to. The way he needed to.

She’d cried out a little when they landed on the bed, but she didn’t resist, and when he pushed his tongue deep into her mouth, hers was there to dance with him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed a woman—other than Cory. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d taken one face-to-face. He used to, sometimes, but it had probably been years. It was just easier to turn a chick around and get busy. Or just push her to her knees and let her do the work. They were always trying to look into his eyes or some shit, and he wasn’t trying to have a relationship, he was just trying to get off.

But fuck, kissing Cory made his throat tight. Feeling the sinewy writhe of her tongue against his, the slick silk of her lips. Hearing the sound of her breath, shaky and fast, feeling it on his cheek.

He wanted to feel her. He wanted to be skin to skin with her. This was stupid. It was crazy. Havoc could see the disaster ahead of him; he could feel that he was getting invested in ways he never wanted. He didn’t
want
to care about a woman. The life he wanted had no room for extraneous conflict and drama. He was glad that they’d voted in this new gig from Becker, no matter how dangerous it might be, and he didn’t want to give a shit about what he was leaving at home if he didn’t come back.