Reaper's Stand

“Will you suck my clit, Reese?”

“Why, yes, London. I’d be happy to suck your clit for you.”

“Gracious of you,” I muttered, but at least he was moving back down my body. His fingers found my folds again, and then his mouth caught me, hot and wet and completely amazing as he attacked my most sensitive place.

Within minutes I was moaning and squirming under him. When he started thrusting two fingers inside me, sliding up and along my inner wall, I lost the power of speech. Fortunately that didn’t matter, because I didn’t need words to scream when I blew apart into a thousand pieces.

I also didn’t need words to express my approval when he pushed into me hard and fast a minute later. Instead I wrapped my arms and legs around him, savoring the feel of him deep down inside because it was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

And he was wrong about using dirty words, too, because this wasn’t something dirty and it wasn’t fucking.

We were making love.

Under the circumstances, I’d rather fuck. The only thing worse than destroying the man you care about is destroying him after he makes heartbreakingly beautiful love to you.

I was still going to do it, though.

I didn’t have a choice.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“It’s not good enough,” the man whispered in my ear. “I told you to find me something or I’d cut off another piece of her. Did you think I was joking?”

No. I really, really didn’t think he was joking.

I don’t know which grip was tighter—my hand holding the phone or the one holding the steering wheel. Thankfully I’d been driving when he called, which was the only time I’d gotten any privacy since Saturday. Now it was Monday and Reese’s minion, Puck, was following me everywhere in the name of “extra security.” Fortunately, when I’d very politely told Reese that the minivan was off-limits, Puck quickly volunteered to ride his bike instead.

I could’ve cried with relief.

Puck scared the hell out of me. I knew he was young—probably only nineteen or twenty—but he had the eyes of a killer and that scar across his face wasn’t exactly reassuring. For once I was happy to have Painter around, because Puck was also weirdly sexy and I suspected Melanie would’ve fallen for him in a heartbeat if she weren’t already sighing heavily every time she saw Painter.

God, when had he become the lesser evil?

“There’s nothing else for me to find,” I said to the man on the phone, willing him to believe me. “I’ve looked everywhere I can. There’s always a prospect with me, or Reese. Even at work they follow me.”

“Why?” he asked. “Have you given yourself away? If that’s the case, you aren’t useful to me anymore and neither is this little teenage shit. Might as well kill her now.”

Oh God oh God oh God oh …

“No, please,” I whispered. “I’ll figure something out. There has to be a way.”

“One more day,” he said. “Then it’s over. Want to talk to her one more time? This’ll be the last if you don’t get me something I can use.”

“Please …”

“Stop whining. Nobody likes a whiny cunt.”

I heard a rustling sound, as if he’d put his hands over the mic. Then Jessica came on the line, her voice soft and weak.

“Loni?”

“Jess, how are you?”

“It hurts, Loni,” she said. “It hurts all the time. My hand hurts so bad and I have dreams and I want to come home …”

“I’ll get you home,” I promised, although I had absolutely no idea how I’d pull that one off. Maybe I should just shoot Bolt and raid his office. So what if they killed me? All I needed to do was get Jessica free—after that? Whatever.

“I need you to come get me,” she whispered. “I’m so scared, Loni. They hurt me. Last night they …”

She paused, and my mind raced, filling in the blanks.

“That’s enough,” the man said, his voice muffled in the background. The call stopped and I nearly drove into the ditch because I couldn’t stop the tears filling my eyes. Couldn’t see for shit.

I took a long detour heading home, wondering how I’d explain that to Puck, and then deciding I didn’t care what he thought. I’d just tell him I got distracted and didn’t notice I’d gone down the wrong road, or something like that.

He didn’t ask, though.

When we pulled up to Reese’s place, he just parked his bike and got off, following me into the house. Reese sat at the dining room table, flipping through a motorcycle magazine and drinking a beer.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, looking up at me. “Come here, sit on my lap for a while.”

“You need me for anything else tonight?” Puck asked, his voice bored but his gaze focused, taking in everything. That’s what unnerved me about him the most—the fact that if I made even the slightest mistake, he’d catch it.

“You’re free for the night,” Reese said as I came to a stop next to him. He caught me by the waist, lifting me easily to straddle him across the chair. His hands lifted and framed my face, those brilliant blue eyes of his seeming to stare right into my soul.

What did he see there?

“You can talk to me,” Reese said, and my heart stuttered. He knew. He had to know. Why else would he say that? “Whatever it is, if some-thing’s wrong talk to me, babe. It’s the only way I can help you.”

I felt like my face was cracking, but I managed to smile at him.

“What brings this on?”

“One of the girls down at The Line,” he said. “She got herself in some trouble a couple days ago, and instead of talking to us, she decided to sell us out.”

I closed my eyes, trying to force my pulse to slow down. Could he feel it racing under his fingers?

“What’ll happen to her?”

His eyes darkened, and he didn’t answer. I felt his hand slide around and into my hair, fingers combing through it lightly, and then he caught it up, twisting it around his wrist until it just almost hurt. He tugged my head back, exposing my throat. Then he wrapped his other hand around my neck lightly, caressing me.

“You don’t want to know,” he whispered. His hand tightened in my hair painfully and he tilted my head, taking my mouth in a hard kiss. It shouldn’t have turned me on. I was scared of him, scared of the men in San Diego.

Scared of everything.