Target 84 (4 page)

“Send us on a vacation, baby,” Clara coos. Dominic rolls his eyes and chuckles.

“Sorry, but Pepper is one of the best assistants I’ve ever had. She sticks around for a bit, love.”

“We could have a girls’ getaway, Allie too! It’d keep all your precious women out of harm’s way. Come on. I could use a vacation.” She bats her eyelashes at him and pouts.

“I think we’re done here for now. Dominic, you and I will meet tomorrow with Agent Douglas. If my email is correct, eleven a.m.?”

“Yes. That’s what Pepper scheduled,” he confirms.

“Does she know that they put me on this assignment?” I ask.

“Not yet. I was told not to mention it. I’ll be honest, though, she did ask, when she caught wind of the letters A,T, and F, if your name had been mentioned.”

“I’m off to talk to her and Sawyer now. I have a feeling that Agent Douglas told them
he
was coming. So no, she probably isn't expecting me.” I sigh.

“She’ll be happy, mostly, to see you, you know,” Clara says. I nod and let a small smile slip.
Mostly
happy. Understatement of the year. Every time my face shows up it’s followed by a shit storm and Pepper knows it.

I push out of the chair and walk to the door to see myself out.

“Bentley!” Clara calls out. I turn to face her. “If anything happens to Pepper, I will gut you. Got it?”

Damn
. Fine
and
sassy. Dominic Napoli is a lucky man. I like a fierce woman.

“Understood.” I smirk and let myself out.

Chapter Five

Greta Billings

“The earth, it rumbles, death is in the air. The city crumbles, death is everywhere. And from the burning sky we see the soldier fly, he mounts his horse of steel.” RIOT – “THUNDERSTEEL”

Hoot's brown hair is disheveled. He looks like an animal, wild and predatory. I use him. I shouldn’t but I do. A thrill shoots down my spine. “I’ve definitely found it,” Hoot calls across the room with a cocky smile on his face. I met him through Sawyer. Hoot is Sawyer’s Mayhem Motorcycle Club brother. Hoot’s nice enough but he tries too hard. I like the fact that he lets me just screw him. No talking. No personal business, just sex. In the bedroom, anyways. Outside of sex he jabbers on non-stop and I know that deep down he wants so much more than I am capable of giving. He proves this every time he asks me to stay the night. I stand before him in nothing but my underwear. I shiver at the primal look in his eyes. I smirk at him as he strips his clothes off slowly. I close my eyes when he drops his boxers. It’s always too much for me, the full nudity. I can never make myself take it all in. I breathe through my nose, trying to push the memory away, but it persists.

We are all led to a room. We are stripped of all our clothing. Our hands are tied to pipes above our heads. We are in a circle. All facing each other. I keep my eyes downcast. I don’t want to see.

We are left like this for two full days. A masked man brings us food once during that time. We were told that if we wanted to eat, we had to look at each student’s genitals and then look them in the eye. It was degrading. Being one of the few girls, it was mortifying. We’ve all been so private up until now. So closed off from each other. No room sharing, no real mingling or conversation. It’s terrifying to have all eyes roaming your most private parts. We’re all starting to develop physically at this age. I’m not sure I will make it until graduation. Years. Not like this. I can’t.

“I said I found it,” he repeats. I focus on his face. His eyes. On the satisfaction I am anticipating.

“You wouldn't be able to find pussy in a whorehouse,” I joke as Hoot’s penetrating gaze cuts through me, digging layers into my skin. I shift uncomfortably.

“Greta, Greta, Greta. What exactly makes you the expert on whorehouses?” he asks, stalking closer. I snort and smirk at him coyly.

He rushes me, pushing me against the wall of his dirty, one-bedroom apartment. His lips crush against mine fervently. I want him to fuck me. I like the intensity of it. I crave it. Need it. His palms lightly stroke my biceps as they move upward until he’s cupping my face. His lips move left, kissing up my cheek. He pauses at the faint scar on my temple, feathering his lips over the skin there, intoxicated by the suggestion of the evening. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me forward. His fingers bite into my neck, pulling at the hairs. He licks his lips. I shudder. Before I can form a coherent thought he grabs my waist and twists, tossing me to the bed. I bounce once and laugh. Something brushes against my right nipple. I gasp. I believe it is his finger tracing my nipple through the lace of my bra. I look down to confirm. He thumbs my nipple until it sticks out. Then his other hand finds my other one. He's flicking and lightly squeezing both my nipples. He does it in a pattern that resonates through my body. It makes me squeeze my thighs together and bite my lip. His mouth caresses my stomach now. He kisses and trails his tongue up my abdomen while undoing my bra and removing it.

His mouth clamps down on my nipple as his fingers continue the pinching and tugging of the other. He sucks and licks in a swirling motion. My stomach tightens. I'm getting lost in the sensation. "Are you going to come for me, Greta? Before I even touch your pussy?" His voice is warm against my wet nipple. I moan louder and squeeze my thighs so tightly that I lose my grip. "Come for me, baby." He sucks harder and tugs on my nipple. Yanking my panties down, he releases my nipple and moves his head between my legs. His tongue alternates between flat-pressed strokes against my clit and a swirling motion that drives me insane.

"Shit!" I sputter, feeling my orgasm coming on fast and heavy. My back arches involuntarily and I come right then.

“Hoot,” I say and breathe out harshly. I feel his erection seeking out my entrance. He rubs it up and down my slit and then thrusts into me with a grunt. I cry out as he pulls my hips up towards him, taking me deeper. His thrusts are furious and angry and I adore every second of my punishment from him. It doesn't take him long to finish. I’m thankful, actually. Hoot and our little romp in the sack were exactly what I needed to unwind. He rolls to his side and ghosts the pad of his thumb over my cheek. I shudder at his tenderness.

“Stay,” he says. Not this again. He knows exactly what we’re doing together. Sex. Pure and simple. Nostrings-attached sex.

“No,” I answer, sitting up. He tugs my hand, pulling me back to the mattress with him.

“Please, Greta. Just once. Stay.” His eyes plead with mine but I don't feel what he feels. I take his face in my hands and kiss him before shaking my head no.

Standing, I tug my clothes back on before showing myself out. He doesn’t speak a word until the door shuts behind me. Then I hear him curse repeatedly. A decade in my profession coupled with my childhood has left me so fatigued. My head and heart war with each other, struggling to find common ground. I’m ashamed at the way I use Hoot, but only because I desire a partner in life but know it’s not him. It could never be him. He would never understand the atrocities I’ve survived. He’d never understand how I function on a very basic level.

Unless you’re in my profession, you couldn’t possibly understand me deeply enough to proceed with romantic interest. Truths would always be a shade of gray and the word “killer” would always nag them. I’m not so naive to think that one can have a relationship without trust. Yet trust is the one thing I cannot afford in my professional life. Unfortunately, my professional and personal worlds are synonymous.

The drive home is silent. Surprise, surprise.
Solidarity is the air I breathe.
Being alone with my own notions always results in a profound silence. Pulling up to my apartment, I feel deflated; it is not exactly what I consider a home. I haven’t had a true home since I was eight years old, but I’m content to be here because it’s the closest thing to a home that I have.

Four apartments throughout the country--all in desirable areas, bustling with life--and the one I connect with most is the most recent location in a small town with small town people. I trudge up the two flights of stairs, unlock the door, and toss my purse on the couch before heading to the bathroom. Turning the shower on as hot as it will go, I wait as the bathroom fills with steam. I strip naked, step in, and let the hot water pour down upon my tired body. I begin to cry.
Home
, I can’t even remember where it was. I can’t remember what my parents look liked, smelled like, or sounded like.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the lady with the tight bun asks. This must be her office. It’s large and the furniture is all dark and oversized.

“No.”

“Because your parents needed money,” she says.

“Okay,” I answer flatly. I don’t really know what that has to do with me. We’ve always been a needy family. Mama works three jobs and Pop doesn't really leave the house unless he needs cigarettes or beer.

“Do you understand?” she asks, cocking her head sideways.

“I guess.” I shrug. “Mama’s always saying we need more money.”

“Your parents sold you.” She pauses. Her words sink in. “To me,” she finishes. This doesn’t make any sense. I’ve always been a good girl. Mama wouldn't sell me. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I have a feeling in my belly I’m not supposed to cry, though, so I hold them back.

“You are now called Thirty-three. Welcome to Ravenbrook. This is my school. You are lucky to be here. The school is special. We will teach you how to be the best at what we do,” she continues. I’m still stuck at Mama sold me. Nothing makes any sense. Mama looked scared when the men showed up in their fancy black car to collect me. She gripped my hand tight. Pop told her it was one of the best schools in the country. I know that is the only reason she let go of my hand. I wasn’t allowed to take anything with me. I’d fallen asleep during the long drive and when I woke up I was in my room here.

Disoriented.

“That’s not my name,” I shout at the mean lady.

“It is now. You will forget everything, in time, about where you came from and you will answer to Thirty-three.”

“My Mama is probably on her way right now and she’s going to be real mad when she finds out what you’ve done,” I howl at the lady. She laughs this bitter, high-pitched cackle, fueling my anger. I lunge at her, ready to throw a full-on tantrum.

Her hand whips out faster than my Pop’s and connects with my temple. I flail to the ground next to her feet. My cheek stings white hot with pain.

“Thirty-three, there are rules to be followed here. You may call me Dee. Go back to your room and study your schedule. You will be expected to attend lunch in the great hall today. Out.”

I push myself back to my feet, my hand covering my hurt cheek, and glower at the mean lady. None of this can be true.

After the memory fades and I’m sufficiently clean and beet red from the scalding water, I wrap my robe around myself and plod to my room, utterly exhausted. I grab my pillow from the plush, Tempur-Pedic mattress and toss it on the floor furthest from the door. I can never seem to fall asleep on anything outside of a cold, hard surface. Lord knows I’ve tried. I have enough money to buy the best of the best beds. It never seems to matter. A shoddy cot and a limp pillow end up being the best way to get the most sleep. I refuse to buy a cot. I curl up on the floor in the fetal position with my pillow in my dark bedroom and pray to a thousand non-existent gods that tonight I won’t recall any of my childhood.

“Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable, and lightness has a call that's hard to hear. I wrap my fear around me like a blanket.”

INDIGO GIRLS – “CLOSER TO FINE”

The drive from the Napolis’ house to Pepper and Sawyer’s takes me an hour. I’m not used to all the back roads. I’m anxious about seeing Pepper in the flesh again. Not because I want her anymore but because I know that my presence means bad news has arrived.

I pull into their driveway and throw the rental into park. The living room lights are on and the sight I’m forced to witness has me wishing the car would swallow me whole.

Sawyer and Pepper are dancing together. His arms are wrapped around her waist, keeping her close, and her head is resting on his chest. They sway perfectly in sync together. The black hole in my heart wants to shrivel up and implode at the utter perfection of their moment. I’m supposed to go in there and probably ruin their night with news that yet again Pepper could be in danger.

I pound my fist on the steering wheel in frustration. All I want for her is a happy ending. Peace. She lifts her head as Sawyer’s leans down and when their lips meet I know this is the time to go in. Let me deliver crap news on the aftereffects of a passionate kiss. I toy with the key ring, unsure if this is the right move. Finally, decisively, I take the keys out and get out of the car.

Tap. Tap. Tap.
The door swings open. Pepper’s eyes bulge.

“Bentley?” she breathes in confusion. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Sawyer appears behind her.

“Hi,” he greets.

“Hi, guys. You look...well,” I offer, suddenly feeling awkward. Out of place. Pepper blinks.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Sawyer moves her aside gently and ushers me in. We all sit in the living room, me in the chair and Pepper on Sawyer’s lap on the couch. Her jet-black hair shines brilliantly in the lamplight.

“So I’m sure you’re wondering why the hell I’m here,” I start. Sawyer chuckles.

“Pepper probably more so than me.”

“Well, I wish it was good news, but, hell...I don’t even know if it
is
news.”

“Bentley, spit it out,” Pepper demands. “Your cryptic nature is pissing me off.” There she is. The Pepper I know and adore.

“Sure thing, Princess.” I laugh. Sawyer scoots Pepper off his lap so that she’s situated in the crook of his arm, snuggled deeply.

“Torren Delanti has propositioned Dominic Napoli.”

“What?” she shrieks.

“Shhh. Let the man finish,” Sawyer cuts in.

“He wants to partner with Dominic to open a slew of new clubs around the U.S. Word underground is that these will be used to move guns and drugs to more areas and to store them with Dominic’s name being the face of the establishments and Delanti being silent but fronting the real estate. Now I’m sure as you’re connecting these dots you have questions and I’ll be as ruthless as necessary to get to those answers for you. We’ve instructed Napoli to take the deal. Torren is a big fish, so to speak, and we may never have the opportunity to get him again.”

“Is this even
about
the guns or drugs? Torren surely must know I work for Dom. Are you sure this isn’t...”

“About you?” I interrupt. “No, Pepper. Right now we don’t know that. All we can do is hope that we can nail him once and for all through this business deal, and, in the process, keep you safe.”

“Screw that!” Sawyer booms.

“Listen man, I understand,” I answer.

“No! You don’t. She’s worked so diligently to be free of all this. To work through all this, and now...now you want to throw her right back into the mix! I won’t allow it,” he spits.

“Sawyer,” Pepper says amorously, squeezing Sawyer’s hand, a small smile playing at her lips. “It’s okay. If it’s about me, then we are, or I am,
not
free of all this. If this is somehow about me then it needs to happen. I can’t wake up tomorrow wondering, forever, if I am still in danger, if I am a loose end to be tied up on someone’s list. This has to happen, babe.”

Stunned, Pepper looks between us, one past lover and one current. She smiles at our identical expressions. I was sure she would spit fire at me--be mad, scared, or upset. She’s only compliant.

“Jesus, is it really that hard for either of you to believe that I feel this way?” she asks and giggles. Sawyer and I glance at each other. His expression is still matching mine. In this moment it feels as though we’re having some kind of moment. He’s accepting me. Accepting that I know
his
woman almost as well as he does. It’s a peace offering. I’m not so stupid to turn it down. I shrug at him. He bursts out laughing. Then Clara’s daughter pops into the room. She is a slight girl. Her eyes sparkle with all that life has to offer. She makes me think back to my school days.

“What’s so funny? You guys are
so
loud,” she says, hip cocked out with the brazen bitchiness that only a twelve-year-old girl can muster.

“Allie, meet Bentley James,” Pepper says.

“Hi.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reply, suppressing my laughter.

“Seriously, you guys are
so
weird,” Allie says, turning on her heel and stomping back to whatever part of the house she materialized from. She is the spitting image of her mother. The only thing missing is the onset of womanhood and a neon streak of color in her hair.

Pepper returns her gaze to mine, sighing. She’s too hard on herself. She loves her stepdaughter Allie and it’s obvious the kid loves her back.

“So, how does this work?” she asks when Allie is out of earshot.

“Can’t know yet. I meet with Dominic tomorrow to solidify details and hopefully set up a meeting with Delanti. We’ll go from there. Pepper, they pulled me from my current case to work on this, because of my knowledge of it all and our...”

“Connection,” Sawyer says. I nod.

“We have no plans to put you anywhere near Delanti. This will strictly be Dominic and Delanti working together. But because you work for Dominic, and because Sawyer and Dominic share a daughter, you are still all tangled up potentially. On top of that, we will see how Delanti plays this out. If he asks about you, if he makes one move, I swear to God, I will kill him on sight,” I vow. Pepper nods her head and sighs.

“Babe, you ready for all this bullshit again?” she asks Sawyer. He squeezes her tightly to him.

“We do what we gotta do, love.”

“Do we need to tell Allie about any of this?” Sawyer asks. I shake my head.

“I don’t see why. There’s no reason she should know or be bothered by it. She’s just a kid.”

Instead of overstaying my welcome, I opt to leave on a semi-good note, given the news, and head back to my hotel room.

Pepper looks me up and down, shaking her head as we stand on her porch. “You’ve lost weight, you look like you live on caffeine. Do you even have a life outside this?” she asks. I give her the best smile I can. She snorts and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. It’s comforting. I pat her on the back before making my way to the rental car.

Pepper waves me off from the porch with a tight smile on her face. I know this is killing her. I can see it etched in her expressions, no matter how much she’s trying to be levelheaded about it, it’s freaking her right the fuck out. As it should. I sink into the driver’s seat and turn the ignition. Thunderclouds are closing in from the west.

The oncoming rain will hopefully bring a little relief from the early heat spell March has given us this week. I need a drink, a shower, and to shave. My light, chestnut hair growth is past the hot-rough-manly-stubble look and more like haggard-I-live-in-a-sewer look. I’d had a brief moment years ago when I wondered if Pepper and I had kids, what they’d look like. Would it be her dark hair with my hazel-blue eyes? Or would they get my light, brown hair and her perfect, golden skin? I shake off the idea. It’s pointless to wonder about now.

The love Sawyer and her share isn’t anything less than epic. I don’t do epic. I do selfish. Find love to tame the loneliness, the silence. To tame the monsters from my past. That’s not love. That’s wishful thinking at best. It’s easy to be tricked into
thinking
that’s love. But let’s face it, it’s nothing more than lust with a dab of ambition mixed in. Love, to me, is nothing more than a hormonal, chemical cocktail that sends your brain into stupidity.

My hotel room is bland. Cream walls. Standard, tacky, generic painting hanging over the queen-sized bed. I pick up the phone and dial room service. After I order two beers and a burger I jump in the shower to rinse the day away. For the moment there are no time clocks to punch, no meetings to attend. Hours are unimportant. I let my shoulders sag under the weight of my thoughts as the water pounds my skin.

Upon one summer's morning

I carefully did stray

Down by the Walls of Wapping

Where I met a sailor gay

Conversing with a young lass

Who seem'd to be in pain

Saying, William when you go

I fear you'll ne'er return again

His hair hangs in ringlets

His eyes as black soles

I wonder weep and moan

All for my jolly sailor bold

Until he does return

The words my mother used to sing repeatedly invade and haunt my soul. For the longest time the words had evaded me. A terror-filled dream had brought the long-lost words back. It was October twenty-fifth, five years after I’d left school. I shrug out from under the recollection and let it roll off my shoulders.