The Redemption (9 page)

Now he looks shocked. And hurt. But it’s too bad. I’m on a roll.

“You saved my life, Jonas—get it through your thick, tortured head. You’re my hero, baby—my savior. It’s the objective truth, but it’s also the truth I
choose
. Don’t you understand? I
choose
to be with the man who saved my life, not the man who’s forever trying to undo yet another ‘horrible failure’ that isn’t his fault. Enough with that tormented guy—enough with that self-blaming,
mea culpa
bullshit. In this fairytale—
our
fairytale—you’re the guy who rides in on a white horse and kicks ass and takes names and loves me like nobody ever has—because you
are
that guy, Jonas Faraday. This isn’t going to work for me if you’re going to seek my forgiveness forevermore for something you didn’t frickin’ do.”

He swallows hard.

“If you insist on talking about blame, fine. Let’s talk about it.
Once.
”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my index finger to stop him.

“If anyone’s to blame here, it’s me.
I’m
the one who broke the rules and contacted you in the first place.
I’m
the one who went to spy on you and the software engineer, making it so damned easy for Stacy to put two and two together and rat me out. And
I’m
the one who refused to let you follow me into that bathroom because
I’m
the one who thought my brilliant and sensitive boyfriend was just being
paranoid—
and maybe even hallucinating.”

He winces at that last word. Yeah, Jonas, I just called you crazy-pants.

 “And all that’s on me. Shame on me, Jonas.
Shame on me.
I’m the one who gave you a hard time for not trusting me completely—not leaping off a waterfall for me—and then I turned around and didn’t trust you.”

He looks like he’s going to cry.

“But I forgive myself for all that, Jonas, and I hope you will, too, because, otherwise, it’s going to eat me alive and doom our relationship.” The expression on his face is breaking my heart, but I barrel ahead, anyway. “Jonas, I get the whole self-blame-thing when you’re seven years old and your dad does a number on you your whole effing life. But when it comes to you and me, moving forward as adults, as equals, the tortured-guy routine isn’t gonna end well, I guarantee it.” I pause. “I’m not going to be in a relationship with a man who thinks everything that happens is on him. I mean, I know you’ve got a God complex, but that’s taking things too damned far.”

His eyes flicker.

“No more blame, Jonas. No more ‘I don’t know how you’ll ever forgive me’ bullshit. We move forward without blame or we don’t move forward.” I jut my chin at him. “Because I’m ready to do this shit, man—kick some ass, baby.”

His chest heaves in cadence with mine. His eyes blaze.

“Just as soon as I get the staples out of my head, that is.”

His mouth tilts up into a crooked smile.

I raise my hands. “So what’s it gonna be, boyfriend? Decide. Are you in or are you out?”

He rises from his chair, his eyes smoldering, and wraps his bulging arms around me. All it takes is one kiss and, in a flash, we’re mauling each other, pulling our pants down, consumed by the sudden electricity coursing through our veins. Without hesitation or wind-up, he pushes my back up against the balcony railing, plunges his fingers inside my wetness to find his target, and then enters me deeply, whispering “I love you” and “so fucking hot” and “baby” in my ear as he does it. Oh. My. God. Divine.

I could be wrong—I could be way off-base here—but I’m pretty sure this man right here is telling me, emphatically, that, yes, he’s in.
All in.
Inside me, that is, nice and deep and all the way. In, in, in, in, in, in, in.

Sarah
 

A noise next to the bed wakes me with a jolt. I squint into the darkness of the bedroom, my eyes slowly adjusting to the surrounding shapes and colors. My heart lurches into my throat. Oh my God. John Travolta from
Pulp Fiction
stands in a far corner of the room, gripping a large knife. When our eyes meet, he grins. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. He walks slowly toward me, smiling wickedly, the blade glinting in his hand.

I find my voice. “Oksana!” I yell.

He shakes his head. “Not this time, bitch.” He raises the knife high over his head, his eyes cold, and plunges the blade into my heart.

I sit up, screaming at the top of my lungs, clutching my chest.

“Shh,” Jonas says, gripping my jerking body. “It’s okay.”

I thrash against his grasp, my throat burning.

“You’re dreaming, Sarah. It was just a dream.”

I burst into tears and go slack in his arms, my entire body shaking violently.

He pulls me close.

I hiccup, trying to control my sobs.

“It was just a bad dream,” he says. “Shh.”

A soft rain batters the roof. My heart is racing.

“I’m here,” Jonas says. “I’m here, baby. It was just a bad dream. I’ve got you.”

His body is warm against mine. He pulls me close to him and kisses my wet cheeks. I can’t stop shaking.

“We have to go to Vegas,” I blurt, my voice trembling. “It’s time to kick some bad-guy butt. I have to
do
something.”

He brushes a chunk of hair away from my face and kisses my cheek again.

“Tomorrow I get the staples out of my head—and then we go,” I say.

He pauses a long time. The sound of rain pelting the window fills the silence. “What about your classes?” he finally asks.

“Finals are in five weeks,” I say, sighing with resignation. “I’m so far behind, I’ll never ace my classes like I wanted to, no matter what I do.” I’m sure he can hear the disappointment in my voice. “But on the bright side, I’ve studied so hard all year long, I could take my finals tomorrow and at least pass every class.” I breathe deeply, still trying to steady myself. “I guess finishing middle-of-the-pack is just going to have to be enough for me, whether I like it or not.”

He exhales. “You know you don’t need that scholarship, right? Whatever happens, I’m gonna take care of you.”

I nuzzle into his neck. “I know. Thank you.” I want so badly to tell him I love him again, but I bite my tongue. So far, we’ve only said those three little words to each other during sex—and I don’t want to push him too hard. I know it was a big step for him to say those words to me at all, so I settle for my usual three little words. “My sweet Jonas,” I say softly.

He squeezes me. “You sure you’re feeling up to tackling this?”

“Yep, I’m ready. It’s time to kick some butt.”

“Well, okay, then.” He exhales loudly. “Let’s go kick some bad-guy ass. I’ll call Josh in the morning and tell him to grab his hacker buddy and meet us in Sin City.”

“Why do we need Josh?”

“Josh and I share one brain. Plus, he’ll bring the hacker to the party, and we need the hacker.”

 He’s right about that. Yesterday, we discovered the bad guys had deposited Jonas’ two hundred fifty thousand dollars at a small bank in Henderson, a town just outside Las Vegas—and Jonas immediately put the hacker to work poking around the bank’s mainframe. If we hit pay dirt—if it turns out one of the Oksanas on our post-office-box list has an account at that particular bank—we’ll be in butt-kicking business.

“Okay, that sounds good. I’ll call Kat and we’ll go frickin’
Ocean’s Eleven
on their ass.”

“Why do we need Kat?”

“Kat always comes in handy in any situation. You’ll see. We might not know why or how we’re gonna need that girl, but we will.”

“But why involve Kat in this stuff? I’m pretty sure I convinced Stacy that Kat’s totally clueless about The Club—and odds are high Stacy passed that information along up the chain. Let’s just keep Kat off the bad guys’ radar from now on.”

“No, you don’t understand. Kat’s the female version of you, baby—people fall all over themselves when she bats her eyelashes. That’s a powerful weapon to have at your disposal. And, anyway, come on—we’ve gotta have a bunch of good-lookin’ people on our team to pull off a Las Vegas heist. Haven’t you seen
Ocean’s Eleven
?”

He exhales in frustration. “We shouldn’t get Kat involved.”

“I need her, Jonas. You need your Joshie-Woshie—I need my Kitty Kat.”

He sighs. “Okay. Fine. Josh, Hacker, Kat.” He rolls his eyes with mock-annoyance. “Who else do I need to fly out to Vegas on a moment’s notice for you, boss? George Clooney? Brad Pitt? Matt Damon?”

“Yes, please. All three. Oh, and Don Cheadle, too. I love that guy. How about Ben Affleck, too, just to keep Matt Damon company? If you and I get to have our besties with us, then it’s only fair Matt should, too.”

“Aw, how sweet,” Jonas says.

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m a giver.” I shrug. “It’s just how I’m wired.”

He laughs. “Even when you’re plotting world domination, you make me laugh.”

I sigh. “Sometimes, laughing’s the best way to keep from crying.”

He squeezes me again. “There’s no reason to cry, baby,” he says tenderly. “We’ve got this. You and me. Well, you, me, and Clooney.”

I squeeze him back. “And Brad Pitt.”

“And Matt and Ben.”

“And Don Cheadle,” I say. “And Joshie-Woshie and Kitty Kat and Hacker-Guy.”

“We’re a motley crew,” he says.

“And a frickin’ good-lookin’ one, too.”

“We’re unstoppable.”

We listen to the rain battering the roof for a minute.

“God, I hate Vegas,” Jonas mutters.

“Why?”

“
Why
?” He says it like I’ve just asked him why he hates the Ebola virus. “Crowds. Neon lights. Cigarette smoke. Club music everywhere you go.
Dancing.
” He grimaces like that last item is the worst offender of all. “Not to mention mindless zombies throwing their hard-earned money away on nothingness in a desperate attempt to
feel
something, if only for a fleeting moment, and then trudging back to the bleak reality of their real lives without their fucking rent money.” He grunts. “I hate everything about that fucking place.”

All this coming from a guy who recently threw his hard-earned money away on nothingness in a desperate attempt to
feel
something, if only for a fleeting moment? I love this boy, God knows I do, but he sometimes slays me with his lack of self-awareness. But I’m in a saintly mood today so I’ll refrain from pointing out that bit of irony. “And here I thought Vegas sounded like fun,” I say. “Silly me.”

“You haven’t been to Las Vegas?”

“Nope.”

He’s surprised.

“Not everyone has been everywhere like you, Mr. Money Bags.”

“But Las Vegas isn’t an ‘oh, I’ve been everywhere’ kind of place. Belize, yes, I understand that, but Vegas? Everyone’s been to Vegas.”

“Apparently not.”

“Huh.” He exhales. “Well, then. Hmm.” He kisses my cheek. “I guess I’ll just have to hold my nose and show my baby a good time in hell, won’t I?”

“That’s the spirit. Just ‘cause a girl’s busy taking down a global crime syndicate doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to have a good time while she’s doing it.”

“Okay, then. It’s settled. Tomorrow we gather our motley but good-lookin’ crew and figure out how to fuck these motherfuckers up the ass.”

“Sounds like a motherfucking plan,” I say.

He kisses my neck. “First things first, though, let’s get those staples out of your head tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, please. Thank God.”

“Although I happen to think those staples of yours are kinda sexy.”

I feel his erection against my thigh. “Ew. You’re depraved, Jonas.”

He nips at my ear. “Everything about you is sexy, even the gross stuff.”

“What gross stuff? I don’t have any gross stuff.”

“Sure you do. Staples...  and staples...  The list goes on and on.” He kisses me again. “And staples.” His hand skims the curve of my hip. “And staples.” He reaches around and grabs my ass. “How ‘bout I get me one last piece of Frankenstein ass before those staples come out tomorrow?”

“You’re a sick puppy,” I say, laughing. “I like that about you.”

Jonas
 

Sarah’s running through our Las Vegas hotel suite, shrieking and squealing.

“Did you see this?” she yells. “Look at the view! Woohoo!” She starts singing “Fancy” by Iggy Azalea at the top of her lungs.

I exchange a smile with the bellhop. “Over here, sir?” he asks me, motioning with our bags.

“This place is three times bigger than my entire apartment!” Sarah screams, laughing and twirling around. “It’s unreal.”

“That’s fine,” I say to the guy. “Thank you.”

“Jonas!” Sarah yells from somewhere deep in the bowels of the suite. “Come here.”

I tip the bellhop.

“Thank you, sir,” he says, smiling broadly. “Would you like me to open the champagne for you, sir?”

“No, I’ve got it covered.”

“Would you like me to describe the full panel of amenities at your disposal here in the penthouse suite or perhaps in the hotel in general?”

“No, thank you. We’ll figure it out.”

“Very good, sir. Enjoy your stay.”

“Jonas Faraday!” she screams. “Get your booty in here.”

Damn, I love this woman.

I follow Sarah’s voice into the bathroom. She’s sitting fully clothed and grinning like a Cheshire cat in an empty bathtub the size of a small Jacuzzi. “Can you believe this?” she says. “Who needs a bathtub this big?”

I can’t suppress the leer that flickers across my face.

“Oh,” she says, her face turning as lecherous as mine. “I guess
we
need a bathtub this big.” Her eyes gleam. “You know, I should warn you, this city’s already bringing out the dirty girl in me. I can feel it.”

“Oh yeah? I like your dirty girl.”

“She likes you, too.” I smirk. “Yep, I most definitely feel another addendum item coming on.”

“Just as long as it doesn’t involve tying neckties around my limbs.”

“I learned my lesson about that, don’t worry.”