Saint:A Dark Mafia Romance(67)

His face darkens. "I told you, it's not that simpl-"

"Why, because of Africa?"

He stiffens and starts to open his mouth but I grab him by the shirt and lean in close to him. "Look, I don't care, Logan! I don't care what happened there, okay? I know my Dad was involved in certain things, but I don't care. I just want you to get out of it." The tears run down my cheeks then as I look pleadingly into his eyes. "Please."

I whimper as his lips crash into mine, and then I'm clutching at him like time or the world or even a strong wind might tear us apart. Then we're tearing at each other's clothes, and I'm gasping and clutching at him with the pure and undiluted need for him. The need to touch him and feel him. He pulls my t-shirt over my head and runs his hand down over my skin, and I'm shivering as my hands find the hardness pressing against the front of his gym-shorts. He growls as he flips us around and lays me on my back on the floor, his biceps and his chest rippling as he leans in to kiss me with fire and heat and growling, raging lust.

There's no foreplay this time, no teasing and no slow build because we're both desperate for each other in that moment. He's skimming my panties down my legs, tearing at the foil packet in his hands with his teeth, and slipping between my legs as I rake my fingernails down over his shoulders and kiss him with everything I have.   





 

I whimper as he runs the head of his cock over my entrance, looking up into his eyes to see them flashing green and gold at me. "You want this?" I bite my lip as I nod, and his grin only deepens as he leans down to nip at the lobe of my ear. "Beg me for it."

Oh fuck.

"Please," I breath out, my chest rising and falling with my gasping breaths as he sucks at that tender spot where my neck meets my collarbone as he runs his thickness over my wet folds. "Fuck me and never stop fucking me!"

We both cry out as he plunges into the hilt in one stroke, filling me up so tightly and so perfectly. It's like sweet release and relief as he grinds into me as I wrap my legs around him and draw him in deep. And when he starts to fuck me like that, right against the floor with deep, powerful strokes, it's raw, and primal, and animalistic, and he's got me moaning his name and scratching at his back as he nails me to the floor with that perfect cock of his.

"This is mine." He growls out, rocking into me and making me moan out loud as he shifts his angle to hit that perfect, secret spot just inside. "You're mine." He says thickly and dominantly as his lips crash against mine, and I know I'm lost in him as his words push me over the edge. We come screaming together, a release of everything that's been pent up, everything that we've held back.

"You know, I'm only yours if you can promise me about the fights."

I'm laying against his chest, listening to his heartbeat thudding against my ear through his skin, and I can feel him grinning. "Oh?" He says with some amusement.

I turn my head to look into his eyes "I'm serious, Logan. We really could just get aw-"

"Ok, fine."

I arch my eyebrows. "Fine?"

"Yeah, fine, let's get away."

I'm grinning but still looking at him skeptically. "Just like that?"

He shrugs. "I do own a private jet, darlin. Might as well use it."

"No, I mean, you're saying I just convinced you? Just like that?" I'm looking at him like I'm skeptical about how easy this was.

He smirks. "Well, the hot sex and the fact that your hand is still on my cock makes a convincing argument, darlin."

"You pig." I say giggling.

"So, let's go somewhere."

"No Peyton?"

He laughs and rolls his eyes. "No Peyton. Just you and me." He sits up a little and winks at me. "Actually, there's a place I've been meaning to take you."





Chapter Twenty-Five





Logan




"Well, I think it's a fantastic idea," Bryce nods slowly at me from across the conference table. "Not bad, Logan, really."

"I do have my moments, you know." I frown, watching him grin at me.

"What's your timeline?"

"The sooner the better, man. I'm going to ram this down the board's throat until they either sign off on it or choke on it."

Bryce gives me a look. "We really gotta work on your bedside manner, pal."

I laugh. "I won't even pretend to give a shit about diplomacy, that's your area." It works out well with Bryce and I. He's the carrot, and I'm the stick.

 … The stick with a chip on his shoulder, a mean right hook, and no patience for petty boardroom bullshit, I might add.

"It'll get through, don't worry." Bryce looks up and studies my face in that strange, quiet way he does sometime that always makes me feel like he's the oldest of us, even though it's the opposite.

"What?"

"This is because of Akazi, isn't it."

My jaw tenses and I meet his eyes for moment before I look away. Even the name of that fucking place just-

"Look, sorry, I shouldn't have ask-"

"Of course it's because of Akazi," I mutter, shaking my head looking at my hands in my lap.



When you look back on life, there are things that stick out as turning points. Places where the road split and you made a decision. And when I think over my own journey, there's one single place and one single fucking moment in time that ends up defining the course of my entire life from there on out.

And that moment is Akazi, Afghanistan.

War sucks, and I don't mean that in the slang sense of the word. I mean it in the sense that it sucks just about every single part of your soul out of you like some sort of vortex of pain and suffering and hardening of the spirit. And it's when you're there, amongst the flames and the heat and the death and senselessness of it all that you truly understand that war is literally hell.   





 

We're listening to Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf" that day in the second Humvee when the ambush hits. You'd wonder with all the shit that happened immediately following that how I'd have possibly remembered that little detail, but it's one of those bizarre things that'll stick with me long after I manage to forget the rest of it. Evans, our driver, is cracking some sort of crude joke about someone's sister while Simon Le Bon belts out a chorus through the speakers when the first Humvee in front of us just erupts into liquid fire. It fucking blooms into flame, and then it's just gone. The chaos of the moment hits like a shot of something strong right to the head, and there's screaming and shouting as Evans tears us off the road as metal rakes the side of the truck.

The actual sequence of events are blurry, but I can remember the sound of peppering bullets plunking like hail on the other side of the building I'm crouched behind. There are people everywhere - and I don't mean soldiers or guerrillas either, I mean fuckin PEOPLE. There are civilians and fucking children running right through the firefight and all I can think is how Goddamn UNFAIR of a world it is because of that. How in any rational, sane universe, no kid should have to cover his fucking head and run between two ideologies hurling metal at each other that he doesn't give a fuck about.

Guys who's names I knew but have now forgotten are getting shot - they're dying around me, and through it all, the guys from Duran Duran just keep on playing from the open door of the shot-up Hummer behind me.

"Mark target!" Our ranking Sergeant is screaming at me, his face tight as he pops around the corner to squeeze off a few shots. "Drone strike inbound, Irish! I need a target, NOW."

I glance over the wall, wincing at the spray of rock that scatters across my face as I eyeball the enemy position. There's a three story building at the end of the road with Taliban on the roof with mortars and two gun placements.

"Sir!" I yell, ducking back behind the wall. "Tall building, end of the street. Tallest one in town!"

He's radioing it in, but there's something lingering from my quick look at the building that's nagging at me, and I chance one more peep over the wall.

Oh, fuck.

It's hits me like a slug to the gut. The tallest building in town, with the empty flag pole, and the Taliban on the roof … .

 … And the playground right outside the front door.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Call it off!" I'm running, heedless of the metal flying past my head and exploding across the ground by my feet as I sprint towards the Sargent across the road on the radio. "It's a school! It's a fucking school!" I'm waving my arms at him, screaming. He must suddenly hear me, because he squints and looks up as he puts his radio down. Just in time for the bullet to catch him right through the ear and drop him like bag of cement on the ground.

Drones are noiseless, but missiles turning the school at the end of the street along with half the other buildings in town into pillars of fire are not.

And neither are my screams.

When it's over, I hear true and absolute silence. Everyone in our squad besides the three of us is dead, the pieces of shit using the school as a shield are dead, and I'm pretty sure anyone left in the town is dead as well.

It's in that very moment where I make my decision, and it's in that same moment where I convince Bryce and Hudson to come with me. It's then that we desert and just walk away from all of it. We're already dead, as far as intel is concerned, and from there it's over the border to China, and then to the Mediterranean, and then Africa and the mercenary work. And later, to William Archer.