Time slipped by that way without me noticing. One second I turned on some random reality show with crazy southern idiots getting way too wasted and the next it was night outside, dark and quiet, and I didn't even recognize what was playing on TV.
I look around the room, feeling groggy. Did I fall asleep? I must have.
"Liam?" I called out loudly.
There was no response. The creepy, empty safe house just echoed my words back to me. I briefly wondered if the place was haunted, which made me laugh softly to myself. I must have been pretty messed up, wondering if the house that was keeping me alive was also haunted.
Ghosts and gangsters. That was my life.
I got up from the couch, worry beginning to take hold of my chest. He was supposed to be back already. I walked into the kitchen and looked at the time: two hours had passed and he was still missing. I felt something inside me clench up. What if he never came back? I had nothing and no way to survive on my own. I couldn't go back to my apartment or the Mob would kill me. I shook my head, on the verge of panic.
I couldn't break down, not yet. He might just be running late.
I walked back out into the living room, my heart beating hard, and walked up the stairs. I checked the bedrooms one by one, wondering if he maybe fell asleep somewhere, but they were all empty. I was alone, completely and utterly alone, and the only person in the entire world that knew what I was going through and was trying to keep me from a bullet to the face was missing. Maybe he was dead for all I knew.
I hated it. I hated the waiting and the fear, and above all I hated being powerless.
When I was an addict, I was powerless. I was weak and I would do anything to get a bump when I needed one. I was out-of-control fucked up most of the time, and I had no power to change it. Until, one day, I woke up alone in a strange apartment, my bra and panties missing, as flashes of the night before slowly came back to me. Gyrating on the stage, slowly stripping out of my clothes, people throwing money at me; later, stumbling around, getting higher, and, finally, the dude that actually helped me, for once in my miserable life. He dressed me and let me crash at his place. If I couldn't even fend for myself anymore, I was practically dead. At least that's what he had said to me the next morning, the only guy I ever trusted with all of my problems, Noah Carterson.
So I refused to be powerless anymore. Sure, I gave myself over to the program, worked all the steps and kept going to meetings, but it was through my own ability to take action that I figured anything out. I had trouble getting close to people, since I had been taken advantage of so many times when I was a disgusting, fucked-up mess, but at least I was finally living the life that I wanted to live.
At least I was until some mobsters decided they wanted to murder me.
I walked back downstairs, practically shaking with worry, and dropped back down on the couch. I didn't know what to do; there really wasn't anything I could do, other than wait. I had to practically physically force myself to stay seated, my jaw clenched and my hands gripping the cushion.
Worst-case scenarios kept running through my mind. If he was dead, I was probably fucked, too. Maybe they already knew where the safe house was, and they were on their way with huge men who wanted nothing more than to shoot me down. Or maybe he had decided that I wasn't worth his time or his loyalty or his life, and he was turning me into his boss and begging for mercy. That last part didn't seem like him, actually; I could imagine him cursing the guy out and killing me himself, but never begging.
As the thoughts swirled around my mind, I heard something scratching against the front door. I froze, terror in my chest, as the doorknob slowly turned. The door pushed open; I clenched my jaw, waiting for the guns to follow.
Instead, it was a green cardboard box, with Liam lugging it.
"Liam!" I yelled, jumping up from the couch.
"Hey-" he said, but it was cut off as I practically tackled him.
The box fell to the ground and papers spilled out of it as I wrapped my arms around his strong chest, his perfectly ripped body, and pushed myself against him. I wasn't crying, couldn't cry, wouldn't let him see how weak I was, but I needed to feel him. I was desperate for him.
"It's okay," he said softly, wrapping his arms around me. "It's fine. I'm sorry I'm late."
I looked up at him. "I was worried, asshole."
He grinned. "Miss me?"
"Only because you're the only person I can see right now."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's it."
That was the cocky man I was used to. Slowly, I disengaged from him, and it felt like I was giving up a life preserver in the middle of a stormy ocean. I looked down at our feet, at the papers all over the floor.
"What's this?"
"That's our ticket out of this fucking shit."
I nudged the papers with my foot. "Looks like nothing."
He bent over and began to shovel it all back into the box, and I helped. When we were finished, he hoisted it up again, shutting the front door and locking it.
"Doesn't look like much, but it is."
He walked upstairs, and I heard him toss the box into one of the empty rooms. I followed him up, leaning against the doorframe as he pulled the lid off and began to spread the pages out on the floor gingerly, like they were some sort of precious treasure. I made a face at him.
"Never pictured you as a paper pusher," I said.
"I'm not, or not usually, at least. I do some financial stuff for the bosses, or at least I used to back before Colm took charge. I guess they saw how successful my business was and wanted someone with half a brain to do this shit for them."
That surprised me a little bit. I didn't picture him as the type to be good with money. Maybe good at getting it and spending it, but investing and accumulating are two very different things.
"So that's what, bank statements?" I walked into the room and peered over his shoulder.
"Yeah. Some of them are. Some of this stuff is useless. But buried in here somewhere is exactly what we need."
"What are you going to do, blackmail them or something?"
"Something like that," he murmured.
He was so fucking frustrating. All day I waited for him to come back, all day I was cooped up in this shitty safe house with only the crappy books he brought me, plus the television. And now that he's back, all he wants to do is go through his papers. I knew it was important, but at the least he could include me, maybe tell me was what going on. Instead, more fucking mysteries.
I was done with mysteries.
Without thinking, I walked over to him and shoved, hard. He rocked over to the side and sprawled over onto his back. He looked at me, surprised.
"What the fuck?" he grunted at me.
I followed immediately, straddling him. I grabbed his hair and pulled it hard, and he grunted with pain, anger, and something else flashing through his eyes. I wanted to hit him and scream at him and beat the living crap out of him. Instead, I pressed my lips against his, hard, and kissed him deeply. At first, he didn't respond, but he quickly relaxed into me, letting our tongues press together, his warm taste flooding me. Desire shot through my core as his strong arms wrapped around me and he twisted himself to face me more easily.
Suddenly, he moved and rolled me over, down onto my ass, and he pressed my back down against the floor. He pinned me easily, grinning at me, his eyes full of joy and hardness. I could feel his shaft pressing up against my core through his jeans, and I worked myself softly against it, moving my hips slowly back and forth.
"Is this what you want?" he asked me.
I shook my head. "No, asshole. I want you to tell me what's going on."
He held my hands above my head as I continued to work my hips against him. I couldn't help myself; I let out a gasp as he adjusted himself, pressing the full thickness of his cock against my core.
"What do you want to know, sweetheart?"
"What are those papers?"
He pressed his lips against mine, kissing me fiercely, almost painfully, and he began to work his hips in time with my own, adding to the friction. I was soaked through already, I could tell, and he kept me pinned down, kissing my mouth hard, our hips moving in tandem. When I felt like I couldn't take anymore, he pulled back, smirking at me, a look full of lust.
"Why should I tell you?" he asked.
"Because you're not a total piece of shit."
He cocked his head. "What gave you that impression?"
I let out a gasp as pleasure flooded through me. "I hate . . . being stuck in here," I managed to say.
He let go of my hands, moving down to cup my breasts. I ran my fingers along his rough cheek, loving the stubble, and laced my fingers behind his neck.
"And you think my plan will help you?"
"At least I'll be a part of what's happening to me."
He grunted as I pulled myself up to him and began to kiss his neck. I had meant to pull him down, but he was like a rock wall. I felt his hand run up my chest and through my hair, pulling it gently.
"That's what this is?" he asked softly.
I bit his ear. "No, prick."
He pulled my hair, forcing my chin up and my head back. I gasped, loving the rough way he moved me.
"What is it, then?"
He relaxed his grip and I looked him in the eye. "This is because I want to."
"That's what I wanted to hear."
He pressed himself back against me and began to kiss me again, this time without any hesitation. Our bodies wrapped up into each other, I dug my fingers into his back as he kissed me with force. He began to undo my jean shorts, tugging them down over my ass, exposing the bright pink panties. He grinned at them as he softly began to rub my spot, kissing my neck. I moaned into his ear.