Love and War: Part One – Chapter 11

I jump out of the truck as he pulls into the garage, my heart pounding in my chest, still scared shitless. I can feel him at my heels all the way to the door. He unlocks it and I walk inside, angry. I haven’t said a word the entire ride back to his house. It takes a lot to scare me, but I was fucking terrified back there and I had no prior warning of what I was walking into.

I stared at that roll-up door with the truck locked, hand on the button waiting for him, wondering if he was dying, if they were going to come after me, what they would do to me if they did. Between this fucking high I’ve never experienced and the fear of what could have happened, I’m wound up.

“You ready to run yet?” his voice booms from behind me. “Not the good little tattoo artist you thought I was, am I?”

I stop in my effort to go to my room, my breathing heavy and my emotions running wild. I turn around, wanting answers. “You’re a fucking arms dealer? A gunslinger like the shit we see on TV?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the point in your tattoo shops then?”

“Part cover-up, the other part legit. Tattooing is real for me. I just use it to my advantage. That’s all you need to know.”

“Here I was thinking you’re this special brand of man gifted by the tattoo gods, and the entire time you’re just a criminal in disguise?”

“That’s your problem, not mine. Don’t remember telling you I was clean. I didn’t seek you out. You came to me. You walked into my world, baby.”

I’ll admit that stings a little. But it’s true. Now here we are, and I feel like I’m drowning at the thought of walking away. I need to know what I’m dealing with if I stay. I’ve never been in trouble with the law.

“What else do you deal? Drugs? Women? Please say no.”

“No. Not anymore. Drugs got boring. And do I look like I get off at the idea of selling pussy to the highest bidder? Human trafficking isn’t interesting to me at all.”

My hands go to my face. I feel like I can’t breathe. My chest hurts. Is this what a panic attack feels like? “Fuck. Not anymore? How often do you use drugs, Kross? Because you didn’t look like an amateur back there.”

“Just like you didn’t look like an amateur on that pole.”

I feel like I was just kicked in the stomach, but I fight to ignore it. “How often?”

“When I need to. I have an image to keep. It’s no different than undercover cops in the middle of drug rings. They do it all the time to slip in unnoticed. That’s why they wanted to make sure you weren’t wearing a wire. There is no such thing as a clean dealer. It’s part of the life. You can’t have one without the other.”

I laugh, my body heating. “You’re comparing yourself to a cop? Someone trying to get crime off the streets?”

“I told you I was a bad guy. You won’t change me. There is no way out for me. I’m in too deep and I like what I do. From the first day you walked into my shop, I’ve been the same. I never pretended to be the fucking guy a girl falls in love with or rides into the sunset with like the lame ass movies. I’m the kind of guy that leads you to an ending like Bonnie and Clyde.”

Thoughts race to find their place. “At the club were you . . . when we . . .”

“Was I high when I fucked you? Yes. Doesn’t mean I don’t remember it.”

My heart sinks a little. I’ve always been told you do things you wouldn’t normally do when high. God knows I have drunk too many times to count. Drugs are a foreign place for me. Would he have still fucked me had he been sober? Would it have been different if he had? I think a part of me would die a little if the answer to question one was no.

His massive body takes up so much space. Every muscle has volume under his skin. I stare into his brown eyes, the fear-driven adrenaline pumping through my body. Feelings I don’t understand are going on inside of me, creating a whirlwind effect.

Even high out of my mind he’s still the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. The risk of becoming an accessory to God only knows what kind of charges doesn’t even make me want to end this. I think it’s going to take a lot more than drugs to change the way I see him. And I don’t know why. I’ve always played it safe where Lux liked risk and adventure.

Regardless of how much I want him physically, I have to be crazy to stand here and listen to this or to continue any sort of involvement with him knowing everything I do now. The words fly out of my mouth before I can think of them. “Why did you take me there? Was this a test? To see if you can trust me?”

“Yes. You said you wanted to stay. This is what it requires if you do. You need to know what you’re walking into, but even if you leave, I meant what I said back there. If you open your mouth it’ll be the last time. I don’t trust people. I’m giving you one chance. There are some things I can’t let go in the position I’m in.”

My hands go to my hair and my eyes close, my fingers nervously twisting the black locks. These are the women that end up on Unsolved Mysteries or the news, or worse, missing without anyone noticing. God knows my mother wouldn’t. When my eyes open he’s standing right in front of me. “Does Kaston and Lux know?”

“Kaston, yes. Lux, likely. If I know Kaston she’s already been threatened. Those that live lawless have certain rules to stay that way.”

“Is Kaston?”

“A client.”

“What kind of client?”

“That’s not my business to tell.”

“She’s been keeping secrets from me?”

“Just as you would be. You’re either by my side or not in this at all. The choice is yours, but you can’t be on the fence. She made hers months ago.”

My lungs are closing off. I feel so betrayed. I’ve never kept anything important from Lux. I’m a little insulted she wouldn’t confide in me. We’ve always told each other everything, bad and good. I’m hurt that they’ve all had secrets I was left out of. “Have you ever killed someone?”

“Yes.”

That is a terrifying revelation. I think somewhere I was hoping he’d say no. “That guy back there?”

“No, but I wanted to. He touched you.”

My lips tremble. “Would you ever hurt me?”

“Only if you betray me. But you always have a choice.”

Through each question his eyes remain locked with mine, never swaying, never hesitating, proving they’re truthful answers whether I like them or not. “Would you ever let someone else hurt me?”

“Never.”

My heart rate increases again, my body humming in awareness that he’s near. The questions continue to come, even though I should just shut up. “How many girls have you done this with? And what did you do to them when it was over?”

“None.”

My shoulders fall. I’m becoming more defeated with every answer. “And how long have you been a criminal?”

“I started at fifteen. But before, I was into other stuff.”

“Then why now? Why take me?” It comes out in a whisper; not at all how I thought.

“You appeal to me. I want you. Even when I told myself no.”

“How long have you wanted me?”

“Since the night you walked into my shop.”

My jaw locks, trying to understand him, and unable to stop while he’s actually giving me answers. “So, the hot and cold?”

“How I deal with things.”

“And if I stay, knowing all of this?”

“I don’t know. Best case scenario, I’ll never let you go.”

“Love?”

“War.”

“Meaning?”

“Neither have predictable outcomes. That’s not a question I can answer. I can’t promise feelings I don’t understand.”

“If I show you?”

“I guess you’ll see. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“Okay.”

“You should get some sleep.”

“No.”

“It’s late.”

“You proved you didn’t care about that when you woke me up. Show me you want me. I want to know I turn you on too.”

“I thought that was obvious last night.”

“You were high.”

“I still got up.”

This is not going the way I wanted it to. I hate the way this feels. It’s one reason I gave up sex. I hated trying. There are so many things I’m sure of myself in, but this—initiating things with a man I want—I’m insecure.

The guys that wanted me bored me, and the ones I wanted were the ones that never gave me a second glance. I’ve had attention-seeking issues my entire life. I craved male attention. I have no father and a mother that doesn’t care. It’s how Chuck and I started. He gave me attention when I needed it the most. Maybe it was wrong, but then again, maybe there’s something wrong with me. Either way, I was left alone a lot. My mom wasn’t as bad as Lux’s mom, but she wasn’t in the runoff for the mom-of-the-year award either.

I’m just the result of a bad decision she made in life, and she didn’t mind telling me on a regular basis after consuming several glasses of wine when she had no plans. I never knew my dad. A drunk weekend in a military town full of training soldiers and nine months later I was born. She didn’t even know his name, if he was married, or if he had other kids. By the time she found out she was pregnant he was long gone to wherever he came from.

Between working and her social life, there was little time for me, so every person that threw me a bone I clung to. It’s the part of me that I hate. Lux was always so sure of herself and what she wanted, despite every shitty thing that happened to her. Once we left home she blossomed, became assertive; the bitch on heels that took life by the balls, regardless of what it made her look like. She is a female alpha extreme. Used her body as bait. I envied that about her. Me, I’ll always be a beta, second best, regardless of what I wish I could be. My insecurities will come out no matter how hard I push them away.

“If you don’t want to just say it so I’m not wasting our time and I’ll go to my room.”

He’s just standing there, staring at me, making me feel fucking stupid. Rejection is what feels the worst being a girl. Wanting someone and them seeming completely unaffected is an ego-kill.

I roll my eyes and turn for the stairs. He grabs my arm, almost pulling me down as he jerks me backward. “You need sex to know I want you?”

His question is not making matters better in the insecurity department. But the curiosity in his tone and the heaviness of his eyes makes me feel even worse. Maybe we both really do have issues. I just don’t know what his are yet. As bad as I don’t want to admit it . . . “Yes.”

He walks me backward until I’m pushed down on the dining room table, taking off my shirt as he goes. I never put on a bra earlier and my pants take no effort for him to remove.

I prop up on my elbows, watching him as he removes his shirt. My eyes always get lost in his ink, trying to study what they mean or how they came to be.

He unbuckles his belt and drops his jeans quickly, stepping out of them. His hand goes for his dick, covering it—at least trying to. I don’t know why a man with a dick that felt like his did would be trying to cover it, as if he’s modest of his size.

His hat gets tossed on the floor with his pants. It’s the first time I’ve seen him naked. I sit up, mesmerized, my eyes slowly memorizing his body and fixated on every dip and bulge of his muscles. He grabs my hand and wraps it around his erection as he steps between my legs. “Is this proof enough?” he bites out, his voice deep and rich.

I stare at it in my hand, as if it’s not real and this is all a dream. “Were you hard when you went down on me?”

“Yes.” My eyes never falter as my hand slowly becomes acquainted with it. “What are you staring at?”

“You’re big.”

“And this is surprising why? A lot of guys are.”

“You’re buff.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, it’s just that in my personal experience the guys with the biggest muscles are packing the smallest punch down there.”

He grips my legs and pulls me to the edge of the table, leaning over me until my back is flat against the wood. He pushes inside me much slower than he did last night. “I will never be like any of your experiences.”

My hands rub along the tattoos on the side of his neck until they lace together at the back. I pull him toward me, but before our lips meet, I return, “I’m kind of hoping for that.”

He doesn’t go slow, but he goes slower than he did last night. I wrap my legs around him, my feet settling on his ass, and with each thrust my black nails scratch against his skin, the moans smothered between our lips. His hands dig into my ass and he lifts my bottom off the table, driving inside of me at an angle.

My toes curl. My breathing is out of control, forcing our lips apart. “Fuck. Right there.”

His lips close around my nipple and he sucks. “Holy shit. Please don’t stop.” The bliss I haven’t felt in so long overtakes my body. He hits against it again. “Fuuuuck-ing finally.” The words turn into loud moans and my breathing stops. I’m sweating, my eyes rolling back in my head. He bites into my nipple before my orgasm ends completely, his movement ceasing, and as it does, his fingers relax from the pain they are causing clenched into my skin.

He kisses me first this time and slowly pulls out. Before he stands and helps me off the table, I notice his erratic heartbeat, saying what his mouth can’t and putting my mind at ease over his anti-theatrical orgasm. “Meet me in the kitchen at 9AM.”

And then, just like that, the coldness is back. He walks away, disappearing down the hall until he walks into a room and slams his door. One step forward two steps back, because every part of me wanted him to invite me into his bed, but instead, I end up climbing the stairs until all I can do is pick my comforter up off the floor and bury myself under it, because I know for sure that for me, this is going to end beautifully or like the remnants of war with no survivors.