If life can get any stranger than playing soldier for hire in a mercenary corporation stuck in the middle of Africa, I'd almost welcome the chance to see it.
Javier pulls two beers out the fridge and hands me one. "My name's not actually Irish, you know."
He grins at me. "I figured your mama wasn't that mean."
"You've clearly never met my mother."
We both chuckle as we sip on the cold beers, looking out from the porch over the dirt boxing ring and the jungle past it.
"It's just- you know, I feel like a lotta guys here who signed on with Blackriver come from some pretty hardcore backgrounds."
"Like you and your two buddies? The drunk and the junkie?"
I grit my teeth at the mention of Hudson and Byrce and shake my head. Hudson's trying - kind of. But Byrce, shit. Bryce's addiction is getting worse every day, and the fact that you can literally buy smack for cheaper than a bottle of clean water in this place isn't exactly helping things.
"Yeah, well, we've seen some shit."
Shit like one too many drone strikes on innocent people. One too many bombs dropped on fucking schools or villages back in Afghanistan. After that last one, where we all almost died, we snapped. I guess we all broke in different ways.
Which is why we're here, in some God-forsaken part of the world playing soldiers for hire, because there's just no going back home after you go AWOL from the Marines during active duty.
Javier nods. "Seems like it. I've seen some shit too, amigo," he shakes his head. "But Papi, you got that cold hard cowboy look on your face like I've never seen before."
I force out a laugh and sip the beer. "Well, I guess we all get the shit we carry from wherever we come from."
"Yeah? And where's that, Irish?" Javier clinks his beer against mine and peers at me curiously. "Where'd you come from?"
"Hey, wake up, Irish!" Javier snaps his fingers in my face, startling me from my daydream, and his grin widens as he sees the bottled up hate behind my face. He narrows his eyes as he leans in closer, as if daring me to hit him. "Don't fucking forget, buddy, you get to win this one tonight, comprendes?
"Yeah, fuckin comprendes."
His eyes narrow again and he looks quickly at the girl still standing there and jerks his head for her to leave.
"Listen, Logan," he hisses at me after the door closes behind her. "Don't get all soft on me."
"I'm not, fuck off."
Javier nods slowly. It's the same calculating look I first saw in Ghana, back when he was teaching me to fight. Back when he knew who I was, which consequently means he still knows who I am. Not Logan Dempsey, billionaire finance manager at Archer Holdings. Not the man working to rebuild the future from the wrongs of his past, brick by fucking brick. No, he knows who I really am, which means he owns me.
And I fucking hate feeling owned.
"Don't go forgetting our arrangement, Logan."
"I'm aware of it." I growl out.
He chuckles. "Aww, now don't get all mad like this is my fault, Papi." He spreads his hands wide. "I'm a businessman, and you were just too good a business opportunity to let go of!"
Years ago, back in the jungle, he'd mentioned wanting to figure out what made me "burn" inside. What made me snap and made me a demon in the ring.
… I guess neither of us could have predicted that it'd be him.
"Now don't get all sore about it Irish, get mad. Get mad, get out there, and you hit that motherfucker."
I can hardly stand afterwards, and all I'm barely aware of is pushing Javier away and stumbling back to my dirty changing room. The girl is there, of course, and she's taking her top off, but I'm pushing her out the door too. It's not just the pain - which is real - either. It's the fact that through the whole fight, I've had one face in the back of my mind, keeping me standing, keeping me sane, and keeping me from fading out. One perfect, beautiful, untouchable face of the last girl on Earth I should be thinking about. I realize suddenly with a sobering thought that there's only one place I want to go right now.
Chapter Ten
Quinn
Long, hot baths are supposed to be relaxing. They're supposed to de-stress you and wash away whatever burdens you're carrying with you as soon as you step into that glorious sudsy water. And yet somehow, despite the tea-lights, the stupid lavender bath-oil that Chelsea got me for my last birthday, and even the glass of wine in my hands, I'm still tense.
And I'm still tense because I can't stop thinking about Logan fucking Dempsey.
Yikes, okay, I certainly don't need to use the word fuck and his name together in the same thought. Nope, not at all.
Whatever that little encounter on the plane was, whether he set that up or if it was just plain happenstance, it doesn't matter. Either way, I can't get the lingering thought of it out of my head.
Because just that brush of a touch, the heat of his body close to mine in the tightness of that plane, and the way his eyes burned into mine had me thinking about that night. That first night full of heat and anonymity. Yes, he's a rich, entitled, pompous ass, but God would I be lying if I tried to tell myself it hadn't been amazing. Like, mind-blowingly amazing.
And then before I know it, I'm letting myself sink down a little further in the heat of the tub and letting my thoughts wander to that illicit, forbidden place where the memory of that night is stored. I'm thinking of the way his hands ran over the curve of my hip and up to my back, teasing the skin there with his fingertips. The way he was so primal with his need for me, and yet so teasing in the way he brought me to a damn boiling point before he touched me there.
There, where I realize my hand has crept beneath the bubbles of the bathwater.
I'm remembering the way his fingers finally delved down between my legs and slipped inside, making me gasp. The way he moved me around like I weighed nothing, and the way he brought me to his mouth, my legs straddling his face as he curled his tongue and his lips around my clit and sent shivering shuddering pleasure through my body.
I'm reaching for the waterproof vibrator sitting on the edge of the tub that I knew was a mistake bringing in here with me. It's mistake because then I'm bringing it back down beneath the water's bubbly surface and thinking of him and the way he felt so damn hard and so damn big as he slowly slipped inside of me.
His hands grab my ass as I moan into his mouth, and I gasp as I feel him start to physically pull me up his body.
"What are you- oh GOD-"
His mouth is kissing down my stomach as he drags me up his chest, pulling me closer until I can feel his breath hot against the cleft of my inner thigh. And then his tongue is tasting me, pushing thickly between my folds to tease around my clit and lap at my wetness.
I'm usually so passive and so quiet in bed, but that night, he ignites something inside of me. That night, I'm running my hands into his hair and holding him tightly to me as he licks me. I'm rocking my hips against that tongue of his. Riding his face as he makes me come again and again on his tongue.
And I want to tell him that I'm not like this. As if for some reason I need to tell him that this isn't something I EVER do. But instead I say nothing and just give in to the wild, animalistic fantasy of the single night of passion.
I'm moving down off of his lips, and it's then that I let my eyes fall to the massive-looking erection curving from his chiseled hips and abs, and I swallow heavily as my eyes go wide at the sight of it. I've been with a grand total of three men in my life, and I can honestly say none of them are even in the same league as this man who's bed I'm in right now.
He's tearing a packet open and rolling a condom down over his thick length, and I'm both nervous and excited for this. But then I'm straddling his hips, and moaning as I feel him press against me down there, his hands holding my hips tightly as he gently begins to slide me down onto his-
The sudden buzz of my doorbell clanging through the loft apartment has me jolting out of my reverie as my eyes fly open with a gasp. The buzzer sounds again, then twice more.
It's fucking midnight I hiss to myself through clenched teeth as I quickly step out of the tub to the sound of the bell going yet again. I'm wrapping my bathrobe around my wet body as I storm across the loft space to the front door, briefly wondering if any jury in the world would find me guilty for murdering whoever this is, given the circumstances.
I slide open the peephole, and I almost can't believe it, even though really, of course I can.
Dammit! Not him, and certainly not after what I was just doing in the bathtub thinking of him! But there's Logan, standing there with that cocky grin on his face even though he's holding a bloody-looking towel to his temple, and it's almost as if he knows I'm looking at him at that very moment.
"Little help out here, Doc?"
I can feel the heat bloom in my face in spite of the frustration of having him actually standing in front of me instead of just keeping to my bath-time fantasies where I need him to stay. "What do you want, Logan?"
He cocks his head to the side and gives me a look through the keyhole. "I'm selling fucking girl scout cookies, Archer. What does it look like."
"You live ten feet up from here, Logan, and I'm sure you've got a first-aid kit. Goodnight."
He rolls his eyes at me. Always so fucking self-assured, like he knows I'm not actually going to let him walk away in that condition.