Spent (Wrecked #2) (2 page)

Shit
. She was a smart one. He’d made up the name on the spot. Technically, he didn’t have one and Sephtis was Persian for eternal death. Instead of scrambling for a new lie, Lucien reminded Bailey of her end of the conversation. “Now it’s your turn.”

A low chuckle left her lips, tightening his groin. “Dupart.” Warm fingers brushed his bare back. Lucien bit the inside of his cheek. “I’d like to sketch this out first and get your approval before marring your skin.”

Lucien shrugged, uncaring. They’d never get that far, so it mattered not at all. “Whatever works for you. So, I take it by the name, you’re a true New Orleans native.” Even Lucien didn’t know why he couldn’t stop with the questions. He was opening the door for her to do the same. That was something neither of them wanted. Lucien didn’t care to keep lying. He ventured to guess—if she knew— Bailey would rather not keep swallowing a bunch of bullshit.

“It could be my husband’s last name.” Her jab pulled a snort from Lucien. Unfortunately, he realized too late how the derisive sound came across. Bailey growled. “What? I could be married.”

Lucien glanced over his shoulder, catching her eye and holding her stare. “Oh, sweets, I know you could, and what a lucky bastard he’d be, but you’re not.”

Bailey chewed on her bottom lip, showing her nervousness. She didn’t back down. “What makes you so sure?”

Lucien had no doubt the heat he felt in his gut burned his eyes as he dropped his gaze to her chest, slowly scanning the goods, before meeting her stare once more. “Not just any man would do for someone such as you. You’re a tattoo artist with no visible ink. Permanence is important to you.” A smirk he couldn’t control tugged at his lips as he added, “Plus, you’re not wearing a ring.”

“Neither are you.” The way Bailey boldly held his stare as she pointed out the obvious made Lucien’s mind go blank. Her palm flattened against his back. “How do you want it?”

“Hard.” At his answer, a blinding smile lit Bailey’s features. He knew then that he’d never met anyone more beautiful.

“Are we still talking about your tattoo?” He didn’t bother responding. They both knew he wasn’t. His watch beeped, reminding him of his chore. Tires squealed in the distance. Bailey’s features snapped closed. Turning her back to him, she headed for the door. “Fuck.” Snagging his shirt off the floor, Lucien followed at a slow pace. He pulled the material over his head as she peered out the front window. The sounds of someone tearing down the block moved closer. “This neighborhood. I swear to God,” Bailey bitched as she threw open the front door and stormed down the sidewalk. Lucien stayed five steps behind.

Headlights appeared, moving fast in Bailey’s direction. Loud shots filled the night air, followed closely by the yellow flashes of gunfire. Glass shattered beside them. Lucien leapt, knocking Bailey off her feet. Cement bit into his skin, tearing it away as he broke Bailey’s fall and covered her body with his. A bullet bit into his flesh, burning him. He could feel the torn seams pulling together once more, itching as it healed.
What had he done?

*

A cloud of smoke and the pungent scent of nitroglycerin hung in the air. Bailey’s ears rang from the loud gunfire and the blood pumping through them. Lucien had saved her life. Everything happened so fast, yet time had moved in slow motion. She could remember every detail. Not once had Lucien looked away from her face. He’d held her stare. She’d been his sole concern. She was awestruck.

“Would you like to have coffee with me?”

Bailey’s body shook with barely suppressed laughter at Lucien’s inquiry. The ridiculousness of his timing combined with the adrenaline pouring through her veins made it nearly impossible for Bailey to stop. Lucien smiled. The chuckles in her throat dried up in the face of such blinding beauty. Hyper-awareness of every place their bodies touched overwhelmed her. Against her will, Bailey’s nipples hardened. Her panties dampened. She focused on keeping her feet planted firmly on the ground. The last thing Bailey needed was to humiliate herself by wrapping her legs around Lucien’s waist and grinding her crotch against his erection.

Holy shit! He was hard and huge. The knowledge had juices filling her mouth. She didn’t know how it was possible he wanted her. The proof was pressing against the apex of her thighs. Lucien’s smile fell. His eyes flashed with wicked intent.

“I really want to skip the coffee and go back to your place. But I don’t want to insult you by saying as much.”

Bailey thought he intended for her to laugh. She couldn’t. Lust owned her. Nothing mattered except his body against hers. They were on the ground, surrounded by broken glass, and had almost died. Concrete bit into Bailey’s back, reminding her of all those details, and all she cared about was finding out if Lucien tasted as good as he smelled.

“I don’t like coffee.”

Obviously mistaking her statement as a shutdown, Lucien’s features closed. His weight shifted as if he meant to move away. Panic forced Bailey into action. Tightening her hold on his shoulders, Bailey shot upward and captured his mouth with hers. For a full awkward minute, she kept her lips pressed to his. Nothing happened. She didn’t think Lucien as much as breathed much less made any move to return her kiss. Humiliation came late to the game, but once it hit, Bailey’s system flooded with horror.

She tried pulling away. Lucien followed. No matter which way she moved, he matched it, as if their lips were glued together. Giving in, Bailey relaxed. The instant her muscles slackened, Lucien came to life. His tongue pushed past her lips, greedily stroking every place it could reach. She gave back every bit as fiercely. Her hands had minds of their own, going for bare skin—anywhere. They didn’t care where. Bailey tugged at Lucien’s shirt, clawed at his jeans, doing anything and everything to get closer.

The cold cement touching Bailey’s bare lower back let her know exactly how real things were becoming. She pushed at Lucien’s shoulders, whimpering at the strong muscles beneath her palms.

“We can’t do this here. My apartment isn’t that far.”

In a flash, Bailey was on her feet. Since it wasn’t her doing, it took Bailey a moment to realize Lucien had not only lifted her from the ground, he still held her upright. She tried standing on her own. Her knees refused to hold her weight.

“Not gonna make it,” Lucien growled, pulling her toward the darkened alley.

A tiny voice inside Bailey’s mind said she was behaving like a whore, but apparently, her voice of reason was a raging tramp because it also sounded extremely pleased with her decisions. Perhaps tomorrow, the shame would set in. For now, it had been so long since desire had paid her a visit. She embraced it with both arms. Lucien was sexy as sin. He wanted her. Most likely, they’d never see each other again. No one needed to know. Pics or it didn’t happen, right?

The moment they were hidden from view, Bailey snagged the button on Lucien’s jeans and tore them open. Diving inside, she skipped all niceties, going straight for the goods and palming his erection. Her clit pulsed with need as he moved against her hand, mimicking sex. The brick from the side of the building scraped at Bailey’s back as Lucien crowded her space, pushing her shirt higher. Not once in her life had Bailey allowed anyone to handle her the way Lucien did. She not only let it happen, Bailey reveled in the animalistic encounter. When Lucien kneaded her bare ass, lifting her off her feet, Bailey marveled over the loss of the bottom half of her clothing. She didn’t recall him removing it. A small sliver of good sense returned.

“Condom,” Bailey cried out against his mouth.

“Got you covered, sweets,” Lucien said as he reclaimed her tongue.

Seriously?
Bailey reached between them, checking for herself. Sure enough, he’d suited up. Her mind was a mess with Lucien touching her. There could’ve been a crowd of thousands watching them. She couldn’t focus on anything long enough to notice or care. All that mattered was having Lucien inside her. This time, when her feet left the ground, Bailey willingly wrapped her legs around his hips. Like a master, Lucien surged upward, impaling her.

Bailey’s back bit into the brick of the building as Lucien stretched her wide. He swallowed her cries. As if connected in mind as well as body, Lucien shoved his arm behind her shoulders, taking the wall’s punishment and protecting her skin. The move melted her heart. He ravaged her body. Bailey hadn’t felt so full in years. His cock pulled at her walls and bottomed her out. Lucien hit at the perfect angle, rubbing at her clit with every stroke. All she could do was cling to his shoulders and stare into his eyes.

Their connection was easily one of the most intense moments of her life. Usually, sex was something she did in the dark and with her eyes closed. Even while masturbating, she needed to concentrate. Lucien demanded her focus. She couldn’t look away. His features tightened. Her muscles followed. Pressure built inside Bailey, making her half insane. His lips parted. The image seared into her brain. Electricity surged through Bailey’s body, rocking her to the core. Her orgasm caused her greedy pussy to tug and pull at Lucien’s dick, attempting to keep him in place—almost as if her pleasure wouldn’t be complete without his. When he came, Bailey stopped breathing. The bliss written in Lucien’s every line rendered her useless. Time stopped.

He thinks I don’t get it. That I haven’t accepted there isn’t any hope for me any longer. Maybe he’s right.

– Bailey’s Journal, A.D.

Chapter 2

Now…

The underworld is exactly like reality, except for not at all. It looks the same. People mill the streets all hours of the day, going about their lives. It’s as if they know no other way to survive than to pretend they’re still among the breathing—as if they aren’t completely at the whims of the entities in charge. If nothing else, the powers that be have a sense of humor, even if it’s a cruel one.

Bailey’s apartment was located on the fringes of the French Quarter. A prime location. That is, when it was there. Yep. Sometimes it moved. On those days, Bailey hung out in the swamp, enjoying the knowledge that she couldn’t die twice. Thank God. Otherwise, the alligators, snakes, and who knows what else would’ve scared her shitless. Now, it was simply noise to fill the space when days and weeks passed in a blink of an eye. On the bright side, sanity was no longer an issue. Not that it had been much of one before her death. Lucien had stolen that a long time ago.

“You’re thinking about me again.”

The low rumble of Lucien’s voice rolled over her skin. In spite of the overwhelming desire to drink in the sight of him, Bailey turned her face away when he appeared. She couldn’t deny his claim. He was in her head. Even his scent coated her taste buds—man and spice. Her eyes fell closed as she swallowed past the lump of longing forming in her throat. His palm slid across her nape, moving her hair aside. Flames licked at her skin. Her nipples hardened.

“All bad things,” she said, only half lying.

A deep chuckle filled the space between them. It should’ve pissed her off. His fingers tightened, squeezing and leaving her no other choice than to obey his silent command. She turned her head. Her nose stung at the first sight of his eerie gray eyes. Lucien smirked.

“Tell me a few. Perhaps I can accommodate you.” Bailey’s mind went blank as she watched the demand fall from his perfect lips. They were full and firm. When his mouth twitched, she realized she was still staring at them. The memory of their flavor filled her mind to the point where she swore she could already taste them. Love and hate were two sides of the same coin. Sometimes, Bailey pictured herself holding that piece of silver in her palm. If she closed her fingers around it, both sides would touch her skin. That was what it was like to hold Lucien. She loved this man who she hated.

Prying her gaze away from his mouth, she tried holding his stare. He needed to shave. The scruff would burn her skin. It always did. She wanted it. Self-loathing clogged her throat. His nostrils flared, fascinating her. Her fingers clenched as she fought not to reach for him. It would be so easy. A strand of black hair slipped from the knot he’d tied at his neck. Lucien blew it away from his face. Pain bloomed in Bailey’s chest, giving her the strength to roll over out of his hold.

“You’ve already done bad things to me. Now I just want to be left in peace.” There wasn’t a soul anywhere who understood what those words cost her. Lucien came and went as he pleased, damaging Bailey in death in ways he’d spared her in life. That was saying a lot. To keep from focusing on him, she stared at the blank expanse of wall beside her. His foot brushed hers beneath the covers. He’d always been such a bed hog. It made it hard to ignore his presence. When Lucien palmed her hip, Bailey held her breath, wondering what he’d do next. His lips touched the back of her neck. Chill bumps rose on her skin. Why did her body have to betray her? The necklace Lucien wore shifted, hitting her between the shoulder blades as his mouth moved to her shoulder. She cringed away from the sensation of it brushing her skin. She swore it singed her. It had belonged to Bailey in life. Another reminder of all she’d lost. All he’d stolen from her. He hadn’t stopped wearing it since the moment she’d handed it over. Only a dumbass would think it mattered to anyone other than her.

*

There are billions of people in the world. None of them hold any importance. Their lives are short. Insignificant. In the underworld, the number of souls bordered on infinite. Each one was a waste of space. Lucien would go as far as to say they did nothing more than breathe up the good air, except they weren’t breathing any longer. Pity it didn’t stop the wailing. As with all things, there was one exception—Bailey.

Eternity was long. It clouded things—morals, most especially. There were other details Lucien saw with a clarity, Bailey—as a human—could never understand. Life was fleeting, death was forever, and she belonged to him. As death’s collector, this was his home. This was the way of things. As a psychopomp, Lucien had one duty—to escort the dead to the underworld. He’d never been a child nor did he have parents. All the experiences humans endured were beyond his comprehension. Perhaps that was why he didn’t understand Bailey’s anger. All he knew, when it came to her, was that it had taken one glance into her light green eyes for Bailey to capture his soul. He wanted to fix things, but she wouldn’t allow it.