The Bloody City (32 page)

Micha pulled away from him.

Aaron walked to the truck. Trina followed.

“You’re letting me go too?” June asked. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll skip town?”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Occam smirked. “You won’t leave this city anytime soon. We’ll see each other again. Maybe much quicker than you’d like.”

Aaron and Trina got in the truck, Aaron behind the wheel. Trina left the passenger side door open.

“You don’t have to do this.” June gripped Micha’s wrist. “We can find another way.”

“If there were another way, we would have found it.” He squeezed her hand. “Be careful, and stay in hiding for now, so you don’t get hit by the fallout. If everything goes as planned, we’ll see each other again soon.”

“I don’t have a lot of faith in our plans working out.”

“Yeah, neither do I.”

“Micha.” She squeezed his wrist. “Don’t let them hurt you.”

He smiled a slight sad smile. “I don’t know what my fate is, but I’m glad we got to share some of this road together. I’m sorry you ended up in this mess, but you’re strong and you’ll make it out. I promise.”

He leaned down to her. She lifted her mouth for a kiss, but he missed her lips and kissed her cheek instead. She stared at him as he drew back.

“Take care of him,” Micha whispered. He glanced at Sam. “He’s smart, but he’s not as tough as he acts.”

Micha walked to the truck. She was stunned, her heart aching. After he closed the door, he gave her another sad, winsome smile and waved.

Sam stepped up beside her. “God speed,” he whispered.

She reached out and took his hand as the truck pulled away from the curb. Aaron honked once.

Occam cleared his throat behind them.

“Don’t just stand there. Let’s get you to your hideout before the shit hits the fan.”

Another clean white penthouse high above a downtown street, surrounded by massive stone and glass towers—removed once again from the world by height and anonymity. A well-stocked kitchen and every need fulfilled, showers and beds and clothes. A prison that wasn’t a prison.

Cindy stopped by, and she cried. Sam didn’t want to talk to her, so June had the necessary conversation. June hugged her before she left and promised to pass her condolences on to Sam, who was sequestered in the bedroom he’d chosen.

After Cindy left, June sat in the kitchen at the island counter, nibbling on a carrot and drinking water. Dawn approached, paling the dark sky beyond the huge walls of windows. She was tired to the bone but sleep wouldn’t come easy.

She approached the closed door of Sam’s room. She knocked once, received no answer, and let herself in.

Take care of him
.

The lights were off. He wasn’t on the bed, or on the couch in the room, or in any of the chairs. The door to the bathroom was open and the light off.

The door to the balcony was open as well, and for one awful, heart-stopping moment, she feared the worst. However, he sat in a chair out there. She stepped outside.

The air was warm and humid, ruffling her freshly washed hair and new clean clothes. The buildings around them reflected the dull pre-dawn light.

“I just wanted to check on you before I went to bed,” she said.

Sam had one bare foot propped on the short glass table in front of him. He still wore his jeans, red splatters across the denim. He was shirtless. He’d cleaned the blood from his skin.

“Maybe you should try to get some rest too,” she said. “I know it won’t be easy, but you must be exhausted.”

He didn’t move. She couldn’t leave him sitting out there, even if she had to stay up and watch over him.

He stirred and rubbed his temple. “How could so many terrible things happen in one twenty-four hour period?” He didn’t sound like himself, stripped of everything vital and raging and brilliant, whittled down to bone and emotion and vulnerability.

“Seems to be the way of things.” She gazed over the city. “It only takes a second for everything to fall apart.”

He didn’t reply.

“Cindy was here,” she said. “She gives her condolences. She said anything we need, just contact her.”

He dropped his leg and got to his feet.

“Sam?”

He approached her, his gaze fixed intently on her face. He stopped in front of her, towering over her.

“Get some rest.” She gently gripped his arm above the elbow. “When you wake up, we’ll try to…figure this out. Maybe you should eat something first, though. I know it’s hard, but—”

He leaned forward, closing the small gap between them, and slid his hand onto her waist, into the curve of her side where it met her hip. His touch was light and yet overwhelmingly possessive.

“Sam,” she said softly, warningly. “You should rest.”

He tilted his head down, his hair sweeping around his face. She stretched up to meet him, despite her misgivings, too tired to fight what was probably the wrong thing to be giving in to at this moment.

The kiss was different than any kiss they’d shared before—not stolen or forced, but deep, willing, and consuming. A gasp gusted out of her and into him.

He moved his hand around to her lower back, up under the tank top she now wore, and up the curve of her spine. She arched toward him and gripped the thick muscle of his hip peeking over the top of his jeans. He pulled her against him, tight against the solid heat of his body.

They broke the kiss and she sucked in a breath. Her lips tingled.

“Sam, is this really what you want right now?”

He answered with an even more powerful kiss and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off her feet.

Guilt surged through her, chased by desire. She didn’t deserve such a good, vibrant, alive feeling, when they were still so close to tragedy and grief. She didn’t deserve him, like some spoil for a battle she hadn’t fought.

This didn’t stop her from undoing his jeans when he placed her back on her feet. She didn’t tell him to stop when he tugged at her nipples through the thin fabric of her top, sharpening her desire. She didn’t keep her tongue from meeting his as he devoured her mouth again. Through the guilt, she burned for his hands on her. She wanted this to happen.

He gripped the bottom of her top and pulled it up over her head. The warm air caressed her bare skin, adding to all the lovely sensations she didn’t deserve to feel. He dropped the top on the balcony floor, and she grabbed him by the belt loops.

They stumbled inside, into the cool darkness of the bedroom. Guilt rose sharply one last time, trying to talk some sense into her, but she pushed it aside and continued dragging him toward the big perfectly made bed. They had to mess it up, destroy it, like they were destroyed, like everything in the world was messed up.

The bedspread was soft and silky against her back as they tumbled onto it. She had on lounge pants, and he dragged them down over her hips. He moved so quick and confidently, making her more eager, more willing to ignore everything else for him.

He pushed his jeans off. He wore dark-colored boxer briefs, and she gripped him through the soft, sweat-damp cotton. The hard, thick heat that filled her palm snapped the tension inside of her, a powerful longing born of something kindling for a long time. That thrill of wanting so bad, so deep, for so long in secret.

She hooked a finger beneath the elastic of his briefs and tugged them down.

Unless Sam was overcome with remorse and stopped this, she would not fight any longer. If he did stop, she would probably wither from sexual frustration, but she would understand.

Thankfully, he didn’t stop, and she emitted a soft relieved moan when he pushed his fingers into her. She was soaked. Ready. He smoothed his thumb over the ring, and his touch was perfect, not too rough, not too gentle.

They’d wasted too much time in the past few months to stall now with more agonizing, pointless hesitation. She pressed her knees against his sides, and with every inch of her body, begged him to end the senseless circle they’d been dancing around each other.

The thought of protection flashed through her head, and she wondered if there were any condoms around, but they were already so hopeless and shameful it didn’t matter anymore.

He slid into her, filling her at last, the sensation so intense it was nearly painful. She gasped, arching beneath him, gripping a handful of his hair. He breathed raggedly against her neck.

She dug her knees into his sides. “Sam.”

He thrust into her. Slow, and then faster. Harder. He braced his arm above her head and gripped her thigh with his other hand, pushing her leg up. Getting in deeper.

They didn’t talk, just gasped and moaned and begged each other silently with touches and kisses and the rolling of hips for more. Talking was pointless. What they wanted was obvious, finally laid bare for each other.

She usually couldn’t get off without a little extra stimulation, but this time, to her breathtaking surprise, his cock inside her was enough. He had the right angle, coupled with the much longed-for weight of his body above hers, his desperate gasps in her ear, the scent of him, and just him. The reality merging with fantasy was enough.

She cried out helplessly against his shoulder as she clenched around him, the orgasm so deep and hard her vision went gray. She dug her nails into his back, pressing them into his taut, sweaty skin. He tangled his fingers in her hair and licked over her jaw.

He worked her harder, his muscles tense, his shoulders flexing beneath her gripping hands.

“Sam,” she panted out, scrambling for some sense of practicality. “Now would be a really bad time for us to become parents.”

“I know,” he grunted against her ear.

A moment later, he abruptly pulled out of her. She shivered at the sudden burst of sound from him—deep, delicious, satisfied groans, very much like him, like the Sam she knew and wanted for months. He shivered above her, and she stroked her hands across the quivering muscles of his chest. Wet heat slicked her stomach.

He slumped, his hips lifted delicately above hers.

He rolled off, leaving his scent hanging above her—sweaty, raw, masculine, a faint trace of that musky cologne he always wore, even when they were in hiding. To impress her, maybe? She was impressed.

She got up and went to the bathroom, her legs weak and body buzzing. She brought him back a towel.

They lay in the blue light of early morning, naked, still not speaking. Her guilt expanded to touch other things, other people she had betrayed by doing this. The kiss Micha had placed on her cheek blazed in her memory.

Apparently, she had a thing for screwing guys who had recently lost the woman in their life.

Sam lay on his back. She was on her stomach, her face turned toward him. He reached out and stroked her shoulder. The moment seemed charged and yet unspeakably sacred and humble.

“Sam…” she whispered.

“Get some rest.”

“You should too.” She reached over and stroked his hair back from his face.

“Help me,” he murmured. “Help me rest.”

She didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“Forget what’s happened, until you wake up.” Heat rose from her chest to her throat. “Be at peace until your body is rested.” She chose her words carefully, so she didn’t have a repeat of Micha.

His eyelids drooped, and his hand sagged against her shoulder. She rolled onto her side and took his hand and held it between hers.

He faded out, and he wasn’t like himself at all again as he sagged into the bed—too vulnerable, too human. The slickness between her legs reminded her he was still Sam, the man she’d fought alongside, the man who was perfect for her.

The sun rose, golden and bright, driving back the long, terrible night. As the dazzling rays warmed the room and chased out the demons, she finally closed her eyes and joined him in sleep.

* * * *

The room was still filled with sunlight when June opened her eyes, and for a second, she didn’t remember how dark the world really was. Sam sleeping next to her brought her back to reality. He was sprawled on his stomach, the sheets gathered around his waist, the light tracing the curve of his spine.

She’d dreamed about waking up to this. She did not dream about waking up to it under these circumstances, however.

Her old friend guilt sat on her chest like a nightmare hag, driving her to crazy thoughts.

What she’d done to Micha earlier that year, making him forget, screwing up his mind, was not something she could ever put someone else through. Still, part of her considered getting up, dressing, and making it seem like she had never been in the bed—and then speaking to Sam immediately when he awoke and making him forget what they’d done. He didn’t need to feel guilty on top of everything else.

She couldn’t do that. She rolled toward him and rested her hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm.

He stirred, shifting against the pillow, and opened his eyes.

She held her breath. The command she’d given him to forget and sleep seemed to fall away as he lifted his head. One moment his eyes were wide and placid, and then they darkened and his eyelids drooped.

“Hi,” she said softly. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t completely erase your memory last night.”

“No.” He rubbed his face. “I remember, trust me.” He looked around the room. “What time is it?”

“A little after two.”

He grunted and dropped his face in the pillow. “It’s late.”

“Not like we have anywhere to be.”

“No, I guess not.”

They lay in silence for a few minutes. The room was cool, even with the balcony door still open. The dull roar of the city drifted in.

“Thank you for helping me rest.” He turned his face to her. “My body needed it.”

She was thirsty. Hungry. She was used to being hungry, which would be helpful in the future, apparently.

“Sam…” She had to get the words out. “We were both emotional last night and we needed comfort. I don’t want to hurt you or make this any more difficult for you.”

“You didn’t make it difficult. Don’t apologize.”

“I thought she was an amazing person. I liked her. I respected her. I still do. Even now, I don’t want to step on her toes. I seem to have a flair for this.” She winced. “I swear I don’t have a fetish for other people’s loss.”