Wicked Lies: A Dark Mission Novella (11 page)

And a want so bad, he’d never get over it. “Fix you?” he repeated, incredulous. He sank to his knees in front of the chair, elbowed Jonas’s legs wide so he could tuck between them. He braced both hands against the back of the chair, trapping him, entangling him, and leaned in close enough to drown in his mottled green eyes. “I don’t even know what you think is wrong with you. I don’t know where you come from, how you grew up. Why you’re so scared.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to
fix you
, Jonas. I want a shot at being your one.”

Those eyes widened. Panic.

Danny let him. Watched as thought after thought flitted in those depths, rippled underneath his fractured mask. He smiled, slow and wicked, as Jonas’s gaze slid to his mouth.

“I’m not asking for forever,” he continued huskily. “But you can bet your ass I’ll spend every second with you trying to prove that forever’s exactly what you want.”

“Danny, your grandmother—”

“This isn’t a corporation,” he said, his smile sliding crookedly. “There’s no fraternization rules. Grams knows exactly who and what I am. I’ve never hidden it.”

And then he saw it. The fear. The visceral terror lurking beneath the surface protestations, razor sharp. Danny sucked in a breath. “But you have, haven’t you? You’d have to.”

To his credit, much to Danny’s respect, he didn’t look away. “The Church frowns on it.”

“
Fuck
the Church,” Danny replied tightly, and caught the back of Jonas’s head, fingers firm on his nape. His soft, silky hair drifted over his knuckles. “You’re one of the most amazing men I’ve ever known, Jonas. You’re strong and brave and skilled. You’re so kind, you’d rather live a lie than worry people with your needs. You do things I thought only my grandmother could do with her magic.”

Jonas reached back and grabbed Danny’s wrist. It didn’t work. Danny wouldn’t let go. Not now, not ever.

He owed Jonas that much.

“I will never ask you to be something you aren’t.”

Jonas stilled, fingers tight at his wrist.

“But I will ask you to push the boundaries you’ve set for yourself,” Danny continued, low. Intense. “Because you don’t belong in a cage, angel. Not even one you make for yourself.”

His eyes closed. “I’m not you, Danny.”

“No, you aren’t.” Another crooked smile, he couldn’t help it. “Which is good, because I can only handle so much of myself.”

Jonas’s eyes snapped open. “That better not be innuendo.”

“It might be.” Danny’s hand slid from around the back of his head, settled at his jaw. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Why?”

And in that single, plaintive syllable, Danny heard a thousand questions.

His smile gentled. “Because I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with you.”

“Oh, God.” Jonas flinched. “You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can. Just like I know that you feel something for me.”

“Don’t ask me—”

“I’m not,” Danny interjected softly. There’d be plenty of time to come to terms with everything. Plenty of time to share and talk and laugh. “But in the interest of full disclosure, I’m well aware that your brain short-circuits when I kiss you.” He leaned closer, slowly. Deliberately. “You need to think less,” he whispered, his lips brushing Jonas’s with every syllable.

Jonas shuddered, a full-body tremor that Danny felt all the way to his soul. “Okay.”

It was barely even a breath of sound, but Danny felt the shape of it on his lips. Tasted the sweet bliss of surrender as he touched his mouth to Jonas’s and drank in his surprised, yielding sigh.

The concrete floor hurt his knees. The chair wasn’t made for two, and it was all he could do to keep from over-balancing the swivel seat and tossing them both into a spin. The garage was chilly, dark, and the constant boom of too-loud bass thudded through the blacked-out windows.

Danny didn’t care.

Jonas’s lips opened beneath his, his tongue darting into Danny’s mouth to glide intimately over his, and there was nothing in the world more important than this kiss.

This man.

Jonas’s body relaxed into the chair. His legs opened wider, allowing Danny to settle against his chest, to slide one hand under his thermal shirt and find the warm skin of his left hip. Jonas whispered something encouraging; it didn’t matter what. Danny tilted his head, deepened the kiss. Claimed his mouth—claimed the man who’d taken him from hell.

If he had to spend every waking moment proving to Jonas Stone that there could be a happily ever after for them, he’d do just that.

There’d be time to sort out the details later. To call his grandmother and check in, to go visit Parker, who’d been arrested beside him all those days ago, and assure her that he was fine.

This, right here, was more important than anything else. Right now, he had an angel to love.

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

Every day, thousands of LGBTQ teens are subjected to horrific bullying from peers, met with silence from the adults that should be protecting them, and forced into a miserable existence of denial and shame. Parents who won’t try or can’t understand how to help and teachers who are gagged by school policies or fear of litigation can turn a child’s life into a waking nightmare of self-doubt, -incrimination, and -harm.

As an adult who found her place after high school, I can’t imagine what it must be like for these teenagers. The culture of bullying in school is so prevalent that even the straight kids, the “normal” kids, feel the bite. It can be so bad for those considered “different” or outcast that suicide is often seen as the only sure way out—studies show that the risk of suicide or the attempt by LGBT teens is systemically higher, and that’s just not okay. Not when we have the means to reach out.

Like Jonas, who needed help finding the courage to accept himself and to allow himself to take a shot at happily ever after—there are kids out there who need someone who understands.

The
It Gets Better Project
is committed to helping at-risk youth, raising awareness for LGBTQ teens and funding for resources to help them. To that end, I will be donating the proceeds from this book to the It Gets Better Project. With the purchase of
Wicked Lies
, you are helping me give money and support to a wonderful and valuable cause.

From the whole of my heart, I thank every one of you who gave this book a chance, Avon Impulse for publishing it, and Esi—the editor who didn’t just get behind this, but made it even better. Together, we can make a difference in so many lives.

Yours with so much pride,

Karina Cooper

See where it all began,

in Karina Cooper’s

BEFORE THE WITCHES
,

the prequel to her Dark Mission novels.

Available now from Avon Impulse.

An Excerpt from

BEFORE THE WITCHES

“W
HAT’S HER NAME
?”

The voice came as if through a fog, each syllable laced with a leer so thick she could practically taste its acid on her tongue. Ekaterina Zhuvova blinked away the thick cotton of exhaustion filling her head, gaze focusing with some effort on the two men standing at the back of the small living room.

“Elena,” Ivan said, nodding with almost paternal-like pride at the red-haired woman leaning back against the couch, her full breasts pushed up by her position. She raked a lascivious gaze over the stranger’s tall body. “She is most experienced with making a man forget a few hours, eh?”

This man wasn’t like the others Katya had seen come and go from this house before. He wasn’t as tall as some she’d entertained, but he was clearly strong enough to hold his own and still a foot taller than her petite five feet and two inches. His shoulders were broad, chest tight with muscle beneath a navy blue cotton T-shirt and a button-down open flannel shirt. Long legs encased in worn denim planted with near military precision, though his shaggy, slightly spiky black hair told her whatever his demeanor, he wasn’t active duty. Ex-military? Private contractor?

A taste for foreign girls developed overseas and couldn’t kick the habit? She knew
that
type, all right.

“Her?” The man’s gaze settled on her, and Katya looked away.
Please, don’t pick me.

“Katya,” Ivan said, and the warmth left his voice as he turned his head. She lowered her eyes before he could see her anger as his mouth worked, but he didn’t spit. She knew he wanted to.

“No good?” the man asked, his tone lazily assessing.

“Ved’ma
,
”
Ivan explained with a shrug. She barely kept from wincing, schooling her features into calm.

“Is that her name?”

“No.” Ivan eyed her. “She is strange one, even in my country.”

“Strange.” One eyebrow raised.

Ivan grinned. “She is knowing exactly what a man likes. This is both good thing and bad. I save her for the men who are less sure of self. She is very good with first-time, eh?”

She was beyond blushing, but the flush staining her cheeks now was anger. She ducked her head before she said something guaranteed to put her in lock-up.

Ivan was half-right. She’d always been good at reading people. She didn’t know how or why, but she always knew when a person was lying. It wasn’t the same as what Ivan was suggesting, but she’d gotten damn good at that, too.

Her talent wasn’t the gift he made it out to be. It had made for a rocky childhood in St. Petersburg’s destitute streets. Cast out by the neighborhood children, they’d hunted her into the desperate sanctuary of her mother’s single-room flat. Their jeers still haunted her dreams.

Ved’ma, ved’ma! Ubyei yee!

She’d found no solace from the adults who felt threatened by a little girl with an uncanny grasp of deceit. It was no wonder she’d bartered everything she had, including her own body, to get to America.

In America, they didn’t care about witches. That belief had proved true.

They were too busy paying for her physical prowess to care about any other talents, and the time they spent lying to her meant she got damned good at reading between the lines. She knew a lot. She knew what was truth and what was lie. She knew how to ask the right questions, and how to translate the half-truths and lies. Men spent a lot of time lying to themselves. Especially when screwing a strange girl in a dingy house.

Her gaze flicked back to meet the client’s, and this time, she didn’t look away.

His mouth tightened. “What about the one in the chair?”

Dismissed. Thank God. Katya angled her shoulder against the wall. If she sat, if she so much as perched on the end of the couch by Elena, she knew she’d fall asleep. She was beyond fatigued. Brutal nightmares had filled her dreams all night long, and she’d dragged herself out of bed this morning feeling as if she’d been awake for years.

Every time she closed her eyes last night, she’d dreamed of death. Fires, floods, scenes of wildly absurd apocalyptic chaos. It was as if her brain had taken all of her plans and launched off into a thousand worst-case scenarios, each culminating in the ludicrously detailed destruction of the world. She woke up at least a dozen times, sweaty and shaking.

Now, it was all Katya could do to keep her eyelids open as a Russian pimp and a stranger discussed human beings like they were at some kind of flea market.

Tomorrow was the day. The day she and all the other immigrant girls trapped in this hellhole would be free. The day that all her plans would come to fruition. Almost everything had fallen into place, with the sole exception of the police aid she’d tried to ask for only this morning. They’d denied her. Refused to believe her.

She hated this country, sometimes. It would be different once she was free. Once they were
all
free. The girls knew what to do. They were ready.

Terrified, but ready. One more day.

And every hour closer made moments like
this
feel impossible to handle.

Another man. Another sweaty session on a stained mattress. Another lie batted through her lashes and strained through a smile she’d long since learned to cultivate. She didn’t think she could do it.

“I want her.”

She was sure she looked like hell warmed over, so even with Ivan’s impatient gestures, it took her too long to realize that the mysterious man with the dark hair and five o’clock shadow had chosen her.

Katya straightened again, keenly aware of the client’s assessing gaze as she approached the men. She didn’t dare say anything. This was the bargaining moment, the time when only Ivan could speak. Business, he called it.

Human trafficking was definitely a business.

Ivan was a large man, more girth than height, but he was as hard and worn as brick and not given to patience. His thick jowls and caterpillar eyebrows gave him the appearance of a bull dog—a reputation equally as earned. He was their warden. Their money-handler, and their guard.

Only he didn’t guard
them
. He guarded the men who paid to screw them.

And occasionally skimmed from the honey himself. He lowered his head and glared at her in silent warning.

Behave, or she’d live to regret it.

“You tell her what you like,” he said, snagging Katya’s arm. “She will do it.
Anything
.” She bit her lip, swallowing a startled sound as the large Russian swung her around, then shoved her hard into the other man’s chest.

Large, strong hands closed over her shoulders.

“She is hellcat,” Ivan leered, one fleshy eye closing in a wink.

“Good.”

The only two other girls not already occupied watched with impassive faces as Ivan shook a finger under Katya’s nose. “You be good girl for this one, eh?” he told her, his accent thick enough to serve borscht on.

Unlike hers, his accent was all natural.

Katya nodded, forcing her lips up into a wide, wicked smile. At the same time, she arched her back, forcing the curve of her backside into the stranger’s groin.