Target 84 (23 page)

“A rare, deep and passionate love.
”―
Guillaume Musso
His fingers bite into my neck, pulling at the hairs. He licks his lips while walking us backwards. I shudder. My sweatshirt is yanked up and off. It drops to the floor. Before I have time to turn over a new thought, he grabs my waist and twists, tossing me to the bed. I bounce once and laugh. He towers over me. My laugh dies. He’s observing me like I’m the most fascinating thing that’s ever existed. He kisses and trails his tongue up my abdomen as he removes my bra. He removes my leggings and then strips for me. Lean muscles carve his stomach where his skin is as smooth as satin. There is a swallow in flight perched under his left arm against his ribs. An anchor, the chain floating up his side, is attached to the small bird’s feet. Its wings are extended as if it’s flying. I’m his bird, carrying the weight of the anchor, keeping him from drowning. Me saving him, him saving me. I sit up, reaching out to touch it. I let my fingers trace the outline gently.

“It’s us. You and me,” he says, dropping to his knees before me. I stare at him, wondering how this will all work out, how we will get through all the ups and downs without killing each other and then I think, I don’t care to worry anymore. I want nothing but the man in front of me any way I can have him.

I trace my fingers up the front of his stomach, which flexes and sends warmth shooting through my body. My hand pauses on his chest before traveling to his shoulders then around his neck. He nips and sucks a path of kisses across my jawline, down to my neck, and when his mouth covers my nipple, I groan with pleasure. Moving south, he spreads my legs, the warm softness of his tongue flicks across my skin, sending an eruption of sweltering need throughout me. He’s worshipping my body, filling every need with every last part of himself.

He moves his tongue and drives me further into blissfulness until I can’t breathe. I clutch onto him while my body bucks against his mouth. Every part of me throbs as I climb higher, drifting into oblivion. I never want to come down. I never want this feeling to come to a close.

He moves slowly up my torso, holding himself suspended over me. He lowers his body closer to mine in a push-up motion and I grip onto his shoulders as his mouth reaches mine. My heart leaps inside my chest at the lust blazing in his eyes. Then, with one swift thrust, he sinks deep inside me as he pins my arms beside my head and kisses me fiercely.

I moan as he rocks into me. Want, desire, and passion potently flood through me and I can barely catch a breath. We continue to move methodically until our skin is covered in a sheen of sweat; until neither of us can breathe. Until we’ve drifted away from the harsh realities of the world, until we’ve come undone together yet still hold on to each other.

Moments later, he slips out of me and rolls to his side, his arm slipping around me. He pulls me against his chest as I lay sated and limp. He leans in to kiss me. I lift my head enough that our lips meet in the middle.

Hours later we finally decide to leave the bed. Coffee and breakfast are in order. I notice the way he looks, his long legs stretched out over the length of the bed we’re sharing. The strong powerful lines of his muscles. The stubble on his face. The tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. The way his chest rises and falls with his breathing.

Bentley’s up first, claiming he really needs more caffeine since I depleted his energy. I follow lazily, reveling in the sated feeling he’s left lingering in me.

“The human body is the best work of art.
”―
Jess C. Scott
She’s wrapped in a bed sheet that covers just the right amount of not enough sitting at the small, wooden table. A box of croissants is between us. She pushes the box towards me. I reach for a croissant. "Breakfast, too?" I tease.

"Full service contract killer," she says with a wink. Snow has been falling steadily for several hours now and it’s already quite thick. Greta and I have been thick in the thrall of the continuously-touch-each-other-because-we-love-each-other-madly stage.

“Why here?” I ask. She finishes buttering her croissant and sets the knife down and gazes out the window.

“It was far away from everything and everyone.”

“What have you been doing all this time?” I ask.

“Moping over you, over life,” she teases, although I suspect there is truth behind her words. “I’ve hiked a lot, tried to fix what I could inside and out and started cleaning up the garden. I’ve just been...existing. Reading. Trying to figure out who I am,” she says. “How’d you find me?”

“GPS. Your cell might not get service here, but you turned it on and charged it in town, got a ping.”

“How many favors did that cost you?” she asks.

“Too many.” I chuckle.

“I’m glad you came,” she says mutedly.

“Bird,” I call. She looks up from her coffee cup. “Happy Birthday,” I say, sliding a thin, wrapped gift across the table.

“What?”

“It’s October twenty-fifth. Your birthday. That is what they call a
gift
,” I jest. She stares at the wrapped item and blinks twice before looking back up at me.

“Bentley, the last gift I got...was from you. I’ve never celebrated a birthday since.” A tear wells up in her eye but she blinks it back. How could I have known? I drag my chair to her side of the table and sling an arm around her shoulders.

“Open it,” I urge. She gives me a half smile before tearing into the wrapping.

“Oh my. Oh... \oh!” she sputters, pulling the drawing into gas lamp light.

“My God, Bent. It’s...it’s stunning,” she gushes.

“You’re stunning. I just drew you. I drew you how I see you now.”

She holds the paper up, studying it intently. I nailed the lines of her body, the gentle nuances of her face, her eyes, those small, perfect ears and nose. Her hair I may have taken some liberties with, making it longer and flowing, ending under her breasts. She’s wearing a simple white gown and I’ve drawn angel wings sprouted from her shoulder blades. Red angel wings.

“I don’t know what to say?” she breathes after moments of silence.

“Tell me you love me again.”

“I love you again.” She laughs as tears fall freely now. I growl in response.

“Bentley James, I love you. I think I loved you even as a little girl, I love you, I love you, I love you!” she squeals, straddling me and planting hungry kisses from the top of my head down to my neck. I hold her to me. My angel, my bird.

“Can you fix the original? Can we frame them together?” she asks, sending my heart soaring.

“Bird,” I gasp.

“What?”

“You said we,” I answer. Her blue eyes brighten.

“Maybe I’m not a lost cause after all.”

*

Greta cooked dinner while I built the fire up again, the snow essentially keeping us confined to the cabin for the day. Now she’s reading, stretched out on the cot, legs flung over mine. I’m working on recreating the original drawing from years ago for her. There is an ease between us that didn’t exist before. Power is a fragile thing and the power struggle between us has been laid to rest finally.

When it’s time to add some more wood to the stove, she puts the book down, dog-earring her page. I watch her bend, open the grate, and feed the fire more logs. The Greta before me is so different than what I pictured when I’d learned her whereabouts.

“You know, I was worried what I’d find when I saw you were here,” I say.

“What?” she questions, looking over her shoulder at me.

“I thought you were planning a coup or something being this close to Ravenbrook. I thought I’d find you heavily armed and strategically planning an assault.”

“Oh,” she states staring at me.

“Oh?” I ask. That’s all she has to say?

“I never really thought about my proximity.”

“Really?” I ask. She nods, closing the grate to the stove. The gentle light from the gas lanterns lit make shadows dance across her face.

“I have so much hate, Bentley. So much. And now I’ve gone off the radar and I’m sure they’re looking for me.”

“What?” I ask, feeling panicked.

“I closed my linked accounts. Smashed my work phone. Off grid,” she says, frowning with a shrug.

“Greta, you kept one apartment in your name. You are leading them directly to Christiansburg. What about Pepper? What if they dig, look hard enough at your life there to find connections...what if they interrogate everyone you left behind?” I say, frustrated that she hasn’t already considered all the angles. Her eyes widen and her expression falls flat.

“I didn’t think about any of that. I was so wrapped up in...in you, in us, in my
own
guilt that I fled but I didn’t really think about the backlash. There’s never
been
anyone to leave in my wake before!” She pauses, clearly considering all the angles now. “We need to leave, Bentley. I need to get a phone, contact Dee.”

“No,” I state.

“No?” she questions. She’s not seeing the opportunity that’s laid out before us.

“Stop. Think, bird. You have an upper hand, a way out now. We both have a motive. This is your way out. Our freedom. Our future. A clean slate.”

“What are you going on about? This is disastrous,” she squawks.

“We can take down Ravenbrook,” I say. We have to. It’s the only way. It’s the only way we come out on top.

“LET THE FLAMES BEGIN!
”―
Hayley Williams
Kill Ravenbrook
. The idea appeals to my rage-filled, vengeful side. I can’t believe that Bentley James is sitting across the room suggesting we take down an entire school. It’s a brilliant idea in theory, but execution...too many moving parts.

“That’s...impossible,” I finally tell him.

“Is it? Really?”

“What about all the teachers? Students? It’s not just Dee,” I say.

“I know.”

“And the cameras, the wall. How the hell would we get in? We’d be dead before we even stood a chance,” I scoff.

“Shed in woods,” he says.

“What?”

“My shed in the woods. It’s close enough to stake out our attack and store weapons, and ourselves. It’s where I lived. We get in through the hole I escaped from.”

“Bentley, you can’t think that hole is still there. Even if it was, the cameras.”

“We take them out the day before. Sniper rifle, from the woods. They won’t have time to replace them before we move in.”

I contemplate his theory. It works. There are still other issues, though.

“Flood lights, students, teachers.”

“Daytime attack, and...”

“We can’t kill the kids!” I shriek, cutting him off.

“Bird, calm down!” he says, grabbing me and pulling me down to him. “We kill the administration. We let the kids run. We kill the ones who will most certainly try to kill us, only. Then, we burn the school to the ground. Nothing left.” I let his ideas sink in. Marinate.
Leave nothing behind
.

“Burn it down. I like that. I like that a lot. But, I’m not sure this is something we can do alone. There are ten staff members including Dee. That’s a lot for two people when there are psycho-killer students waiting for us.”

Bentley appears deep in thought. I can practically see the wheels turning over, developing a strategy.

“You take down Dee first. Kids will start to scatter. Chaos will break out. I will hit the teachers’ lounge. Did the schedule deviate after I left?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“During lunch, two staff held down the cafeteria while the rest ate in the teachers’ lounge.”
Oh, I think
.

“No, that was how it always was. I can’t be sure now, though,” I confirm.

“That leaves seven in one spot. I think I can manage to take them out if they’re all wrapped up in one room together and unsuspecting.”

“So I get the two in the cafeteria and Dee.”

“Find Dee first. I don’t want her giving orders before I have a chance to hit the teachers’ lounge.”

“It sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“I’ve been dreaming of ways to torture them, make them pay for months now. Bird, if we don’t do this the only option is to run. We can’t have a life together if we’re always looking over our shoulders.”

I nod at him. It’s the truth.

“So, are we doing this?” he asks.

“I have a baby shower on November fifth,” I say. The statement sounds so ludicrous given the conversation. Fear and sadness roll around my belly as the thought really kicks in. “Oh god, I could die. And--and the person whose friendship I value most in life would think that I'm nothing more than a
killer
. Do you have any idea what that feels like?” I say, the weight of my missing friendship with Pepper hitting me square in the heart. “Pepper.”

Bentley wraps his arms around me tightly. It’s as if he can sense when I might fall apart and is compelled to hold me together.

“Bird, you are so much more than just a killer. Anyone worth having in your life knows that. Pepper included.”

I don’t respond. I let the weight of his words take root. “If you want to be at her shower, you will be. Let’s plan for Halloween. That gives us a few days to recoup before needing to be back to Virginia for this shower.”

“And a few days to gear up,” I state.

“So?” he asks.

I push all my fear aside.

I push all my indecision aside.

I push all my negative thoughts aside.

I give myself wholeheartedly to the rage deep in the pit of my soul at Ravenbrook. I give in to my gut instinct.

“Yes,” I answer. “We’re doing this.”