Exploited (The Dark Redemption Series) (10 page)

Blair

I’ve just made it off the long, gravel driveway and onto the main, paved road when I hear the roar of a motorcycle behind me. My spine stiffens knowing I’ll have to deal with him even when I’m so freaking angry and hurt.

“Blair, get on the fucking bike,” he shouts over the rumble of the engine when he pulls up next to me. I continue to stare straight ahead, ignoring him. “Don’t be so goddamn melodramatic,” he adds.

At that comment, I scoff and stop walking long enough kick the back tire of his bike like a toddler having a temper tantrum before continuing my journey down the long road of contempt. Bastard. Why does he have to look so good naked? I love his tattoos, not all of which I’ve had a chance to examine. The individual pieces of ink are dark and dangerous, but put them all together and they transform his muscular body into beautiful, intricate artwork.

Brede speeds off down the road, and I quickly try to smother down my disappointment that he gave up so easily. Really it’s best since I don’t want to see him or hear his voice right now. In fact, with each gust of the wind from a car whizzing by, I consider stepping out into the highway. On this backroad, the speed limit is sixty, so everyone goes at least seventy. That should be enough to kill me on impact, right? But I haven’t recorded my message yet that will right my wrongs, and I don’t have a damn phone!     

As I walk, I decide my next stop will be to buy a cell phone or ask someone in town to use theirs. A mile or so later, based on the ache of my feet, I’m swiping the wetness from my cheeks with the heels of my hands when I’m suddenly attacked, completely blindsided by my assailant.

Strong arms band around my waist, and then I’m hefted into the air, kicking and swinging my fists because I’m emotionally raw, and how dare someone try to kidnap me! Don’t I have enough problems with a rebel biker and the breaking and entering intruder every night?

When I’m tossed over a hard shoulder, I see my attacker is wearing a plain, gray t-shirt and jeans covering an ass that looks familiar. Familiar because it’s the clothes I removed from Brede just a few minutes ago. My body sags in relief that it’s him, but I keep smacking on his back to try and make him put me down, still angry at him after his harsh words.

“Hope you know how to swim,” he says right before he jumps and then I’m drenched and gasping for breath underwater.

That asshole!

He lets me go, and I surface in the cool water with my arms swinging, trying to find and connect my fists with his head. Over the sounds of my splashing, I hear Brede’s deep laughter, so I start moving in that direction. Finally, I spot him through the slimy water dripping down my face, assuming he’s dunked us into a pond or a lake. My clothes are heavy and clinging to my skin. Certainly I must look like a drowned rat, and he’s still laughing at me.

I swim toward him, leaping for him the last few inches to press his shoulders down, trying to drown his handsome, mocking face, but it doesn’t work. The water’s not that deep, shallow enough that it only comes up to his neck, so he just stands there and grabs my wrists to halt my attack. As he pulls me to him, despite my continued protests, I notice for the first time how soggy his hair and beard are. Water droplets are dripping steadily from his chin into the water like a leaky faucet, making me giggle uncontrollably.

When I quit fighting him, Brede lets my wrists go to reach up and swipe away the chunks of my hair matted to my face so that I can see clearly again. I blink the water out of my eyes and grab onto his shoulders to keep my head above water. Of course, I can swim since my mom took me to classes when I was five, but now I’m chilly since it’s early summer, and his body is so warm.

We both take a minute to catch our breath from the jump and laughter, and then the silence starts pressing down on us, reminding me that I’m supposed to be mad at him. I watch as the humor fades from his pale blue eyes, leaving them serious, which makes me uncomfortable. Like he’s sensing I’m about to pull away, Brede wraps his arms around my back to hold me in place against him.

“When I was only a few weeks old, my mom killed herself,” he says softly, and all the fight I had left in me instantly floats away. “Her and my dad were young, barely seventeen, and unmarried, so they weren’t planning on having kids. Apparently she couldn’t deal with it…”

My mouth forms the shape of an O since now I understand why he flipped out earlier, and I feel like shit for being so childish when he lost his mother before he knew her.

“My dad never told me how she did it, but a few years ago I looked up her death certificate. It was a single gunshot wound to her head. So, yeah…”     

I cup his bearded jaw and stroke my thumb over his cheek to express my sympathy or more like my empathy. He and I might be complete opposites, but there’s one thing we have in common, we’ve both lost our mothers, him much earlier than even I did. I’m not sure which is worse, knowing her enough to miss her, or never knowing her at all.

“I’ve done a lot of horrible shit in my life,” Brede says softly. “But stealing that gun from you was maybe the only thing I’ve ever done right.”

And just like that, I’m able to forgive him for everything.

“See, if you would just talk to me, then I’d know why someone as beautiful and perfect as you would want to end your life, instead of making assumptions about shit I don’t know,” he tells me, softening me up to him even more. 

I kiss him because he does make me want to talk to him, to tell him everything, about how I lost my mother too, and how it all happened. But I can’t. So I wrap my arms around his neck and lock my legs around his waist to kiss him, making sure I don’t say things I shouldn’t. Brede’s hands grip my ass, grinding me against his growing erection, making our kiss go from sweet to obscene. I like the obscene more than I want to admit to him or myself. It’s so new and…exhilarating. I love the way my body instantly reacts to him, turning feverish and sensitive. Oh and needy, so freaking desperate for him to touch me again with his fingers or tongue, eventually his cock. His cock that is so long and hard that it feels like he’s penetrating my pussy through both our layers of clothing. Can you lose your virginity through denim? I never thought it was possible, but now I’m not so sure, as Brede tries his best to do just that.

Our obscene kiss soon turns frantic. I climb him, and he tries to impale me further. Teeth clash, tongues are bitten, but that only seems to make it hotter. No longer cold, it feels like my skin and lower belly are on fire. The warm pressure builds until I can’t take any more. My body tenses and I tear my mouth away from the kiss to cry out when my body shakes, possessed, overtaken again by a euphoria that only Brede can give me. Last night when I gave myself an orgasm with a stranger’s help it wasn’t nearly as good. And nothing compares to the ones he gave earlier today with his tongue.

“Did you just come dry humping me?” Brede asks against my lips. He chuckles when I nod in the affirmative. “Your clit’s still sensitive from my tongue, so it won’t take much to make you come over and over again for the rest of the day.”

My thighs clench around his waist just thinking about how amazing his mouth was. God, I want him to do it again. Right now. He has me craving his tongue. I lean forward and kiss him again just to feel that wonderful tongue against my own.

“Take my cock out and stroke it. Now,” he orders with a growl that does weird things to me. His words alone cause shock waves to vibrate through my pussy. Ever since he shoved his fingers inside me yesterday, and then removed them, I’ve felt empty. Empty and deprived of something I didn’t know I was missing.

Letting go of his neck with one hand, I reach down between our bodies and undo his pants to free his erection into the water. His excited cock bobs straight up before I wrap my hand around it and squeeze.

Brede closes his eyes and groans deep in the back of his throat, sounding so relieved by my touch that I can’t help but smile. His strong hand covers mine to speed me along, applying more pressure than I would’ve thought would feel nice. While I’m distracted, he leans forward and sucks on my hard nipple through the soaked cotton of my shirt, making me gasp. I even shriek when he gives it a tug with his teeth. But then his cock swells and jerks in my hand like it does before he comes in my mouth. I can’t see through the murky water, but I feel the warmth of Brede’s hot cum spilling out. His hand that’s still on my ass grips me harder as he curses through his release.

“Are you trying to drive me out of my goddamn mind?” he barks so harsh and so suddenly that I startle. But then his teeth nip playfully on my shoulder, and I know he’s not really upset. I nod in response to what I’m pretty sure was a rhetorical question. “I knew it,” he responds. “Ever since you sat your fine ass down on the seat of my bike and wouldn’t get off.”

I smile thinking about the memory of how annoyed he was when I didn’t listen to him. Lifting his head to look at me, Brede’s thumb brushes my top lip and then he pushes it inside my mouth for me to suck on it, which I do, keeping my eyes locked on his. The water doesn’t taste as bad as it looks, and I’m so thirsty. And really hungry now that I think about it. I want another burger with fries. Maybe a milkshake too.

“I’ll tell you one damn thing for sure,” he says softly. “I had no idea you would be so fucking sexy.”

I tug on a chunk of his beard to convey my thanks for his sentiments and just to aggravate him a little. He doesn’t even make a single grumble. I’ve noticed that he’s usually nicer when his cock’s not hard.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he asks, and I shrug. “Then where do you want to go?” 

My eyes drop to the work of art that can be seen underneath his wet shirt and running down his arms. I trail my fingers across his chest, over the beautiful ink.

“What?” he asks and then huffs. “Just use words, baby.”

I yank the collar of his shirt down and point a finger directly at the eagle.

“My tattoo? What about it?” he asks with a raised wet eyebrow.

I lift the side of my shirt and gesture to the naked skin on my ribs.

“
You
want a tattoo!?!” he exclaims. When I nod, he throws his head back and laughs. I tug on his beard to make him look at me again with my face blank, telling him I’m serious.

“I don’t know if I want you inking up your beautiful, flawless skin,” he says, causing me to tilt my head, trying to convey how hypocritical that statement is from him of all people. “Fine,” he mutters. “If you want a tattoo…I don’t know how the hell they’re gonna know what you want if you don’t fucking tell them, and it’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker on your ribs, but fine. Let’s go to your house and change out of these wet clothes first.”

Smiling, I nod in excitement that he’s really gonna take me to get a tattoo. One I’ve thought about for a long time and I’m finally gonna get. It’s a way for me to speak out about the two of them, permanently, and there’s nothing my father or anyone else can do about it. It won’t be obvious, but I’ll know, and so will Brede. Maybe not the whole story, but a piece, until I can fill in the whole puzzle. 

Brede

She wants to get a fucking tattoo of all things.

And I’m covered in ink; but for some reason, my first instinct was to try and talk her out of it. Her body is beautiful, unblemished, and I can’t help but feel guilty like I’m the one who’s influenced her to defile it. Ironic, yet there it is. The only reason I’m going along with taking her to the local tattoo parlor is that her face lit up like she was intent on doing this. And if she’s determined to do this, it means she’s not trying to buy a gun to off herself, which is a good thing. I still don’t know what to do about that sort of scary shit.

But I have to admit, there’s also a small part of me that thinks a tattoo over her side will be sexy as fuck. Okay, it’s a large part of me now that I think about it more, her naked body laid out before me, with ink along the side. Yeah, I think I could handle that.

While she sits next to me on the red, leather sofa in Carolina Tattoo’s lobby, sketching her tattoo, I’m doing the same. This new one I have in mind I want to put where I can see it every day, and so can everyone else. There’s enough space on my right forearm, the same arm as my weeping angel, so that’s where I’m gonna put it. Another sad angel I’m responsible for hurting, so the reminder belongs on my skin permanently.

After I finish the shading, I stand up, ready to give it to Seth, the big, burly, sumo wrestler looking dude that said he’d do my ink.

“You good?” I ask Blair. She glances up from her sketch that’s a thin, swirling vine with a few flowers and two small butterflies at either end. Nodding, she flashes me a smile, and waves me off, so I go on and tell Seth I’m ready.

“She’s beautiful,” he says when he looks over the drawing. “Come have a seat and I’ll be right back with the transparency.”

He leads me over to his tattoo chair, where I sit and wait for him to put the image on transfer paper, my knee bouncing and fingernails tapping on my thighs. I’m not nervous, never nervous anymore about getting inked. No, I’m in a hurry to finish my tattoo tonight because I want to go sit with Blair while she’s under the needle for the first time. There’s no doubt I think she’s tough, but a needle on the ribs is no joke. I cussed like a motherfucker getting the Army sniper snake done, and it only comes up to the lowest rib.

“Ready,” Seth says when he returns. I plop my forearm face up on the cushioned armrest so he can start cleaning the area. “This is her, right?” he asks, nodding to Blair when she comes to the back room with the only female tattoo artist in the building. I sort of insisted the girl with pink hair do her tattoo because I didn’t wanna see any other fucker’s hands all over her.

“Yeah,” I reply, my gaze locking with hers from across the room. “Don’t want to forget the moment I broke her.”

“She seems pretty damn happy now,” he says as he places the transfer on my arm and lifts the paper. “Look good?”

I tilt my forearm back and forth and hold it up closer to my face to check the placement. “Perfect,” I tell him, and a moment later the familiar buzz of the tattoo gun roars to life.

“Who usually does your ink?” he asks. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Just rolled back into town a few days ago,” I tell him. “Frank Johns over in Louisville is my usual guy.”

“Does good work,” he says as he starts inking the outline.

“Yeah, he does.”

“So what brings you to Lexington?” he asks, wiping away the blood and ink with his rag.

“Work.”

Not saying anything more, I watch as the image comes together, looking even better and more realistic than my drawing. I lucked up with this guy because he knows his shit. It can be a dice roll with tattoo artists, which is why I usually stick with my man Frank.

“Done,” Seth says about an hour and a half later when he turns off the tattoo gun and starts cleaning my skin.

“Thank you, she looks amazing,” I tell him.

“Glad to do it,” he replies. 

Once he tapes the bandage over the raw skin, I hurry over to Blair’s chair. She’s been facing the wall, her back to me the whole time so I couldn’t tell how she’s doing.

“How are you holding up?” I ask when I’m standing in front of her. The woman tattooing her pauses to wipe her skin and Blair’s eyes that were closed blink open. She gives a quick nod before her eyes close again at the sound of the gun turning on.

“She’s a trooper,” the pink-haired girl says. “Almost done, and she hasn’t twitched or made a sound.”

“Not surprised,” I say, brushing Blair’s hair from her face. I lean over to take a look at the design, and the room starts to spin when I see the vine actually spell out a word. “What the fuck does that say?” I exclaim, causing the girl to stop the tattoo gun.

“Valerie,” the woman answers. “See, there’s the I and the E.”

“No, the other side,” I say, pointing it out, although the name Valerie is also triggering some sort of fuzzy memory.

“Ben,” she says softly. “Is that your name?”

I’m stunned beyond belief because I do recognize that name, all too well. Not only has my past managed to catch up with me, but it looks like this whole time Blair’s been a key part of it too.