Beg for Mercy (31 page)

He’d spent hours, days, years fantasizing about being with Megan, how it would feel to have her naked, under him, her body stretching around him as he went as deep as he could possibly go. No fantasy could do this justice, he thought as he buried his mouth against her neck and sucked a dewy patch of skin. Even the smell of her drove him crazy, flowery shampoo mixed with the tang of sweat and the sultry musk of sex.

She moaned and shifted underneath him, wrapping her arms and legs around him to hold him close. He propped himself up on his elbows and lifted his head to look at her. He held himself still, buried in her body, wrapped in her embrace.

He cupped her face in his hands, stroking the curve of her cheekbone with his thumb, feeling like his heart had lodged somewhere up around his throat.

This was all they could ever have, all they could ever be. The thought made something primitive inside of him take hold, an unfamiliar, territorial need to mark her, brand her so that no matter what happened, she would never forget what it was to be with him.

He bent and took her mouth like a starving man, drinking in her taste, reveling in the way her lips sucked greedily at
his tongue. He rocked deeper, twisting his hips so she could feel him from every possible angle. He hooked her knee over his elbow and shifted his angle, knowing he had it right when she gave a little gasp and her muscles rippled around him. He stayed that way, buried to the hilt inside her, twisting his hips to rub her in all the right places inside and out.

Soon she was chanting his name and rolling her hips, her hands sliding up and down the sweat-slicked skin of his back. She was close, so close, whispering “please” with every stroke.

He could feel his own orgasm building, his balls pulling tight against his body, his thigh muscles clenching as the tingling started at the base of his spine.

One last roll and grind, and she came hard, stiffening in his arms as every muscle in her body clenched and released around him. He rode her through it, fighting for control as every pulse, every ripple of her tight heat around his cock threatened to hurl him over the edge.

He clenched his jaw to hold back his release until the last wave had receded. Only then did he give in, letting loose with a harsh groan as he shot inside her. Weak, spent, he collapsed, rolling to his side at the last minute to avoid crushing her with his weight.

He gathered her to him and struggled to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her next to him.

Jesus, who knew s could make you feel like your whole world had been blown off its axis? He’d never put too much emotional weight into sex, viewing it as a fun way to pass the time with a consenting partner. But work kept him too busy to ever get serious with anyone, and after too many failures, he’d learned to keep it light.

Then Megan came along, and he’d immediately realized he needed to be careful. That whether he liked it or not, sex with Megan would have serious emotional consequences. Idiot that he was, he’d convinced himself they’d all be on her part. He was the badass who would be able to fuck her and walk away, and by not sleeping with her, he was protecting her from his own inability to maintain a functional relationship.

Now, lying beside her, feeling her heartbeat slow against his, he realized how foolish he’d been, thinking she was the only one who would get the raw end of the deal.

Emotionally overwhelmed, Megan had given in to temptation tonight, but no matter what happened, she’d never allow herself to be with him. A hot ache settled in his chest, creeping its way up his throat until it threatened to choke him.

He tried to shove it away. He was a grown-up, and he’d accepted a long time ago that what he had with Megan was over. One night of hot sex was no excuse to get all bent out of shape. But as he stared into the darkness, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was going to wreck him when he had to let her go.

T
he rain sounded like bullets on
his windshield as he waited in the parking lot.

He clenched and released his jaw, trying to evaporate some of the tension knotting the muscles of his shoulders. The neurons were still firing over what had happened in the hotel room, but now he had to focus or he would make a mistake. The remaining moves were so critical, so delicate, he needed every bit of concentration.

He blew out a breath, counted the too-loud raindrops spattering on the windshield.
One, two, three.

He clenched and unclenched his hands, cursing his stepcousin Carl for running late.

He had better fucking places to be.

Megan.
His soul cried out to be with her. He wouldn’t talk to her, not tonight, but he wanted—needed—to see her, to make sure she was okay after what happened.

A fist gripped at his chest as he remembered Megan’s throat under his fingers, the sound of her choking on her own fear. He’d hated to hurt her, but he’d also been elated.

He’d passed the test. He’d meant to only give her a warning, but part of him had feared that he wouldn’t
be able to stop himself. That once he held her life in his hands, felt her fear, the demon would tear free and take the decision from his hands.

He’d felt none of the usual urges, even after killing the whore in such an unsatisfying way.

Hefinally had his proof that she was different and that he could be different. He’d been wrong to avoid her all this time, to believe what they said about him.

He finally knew, to the depths of his soul, that with Megan it wouldn’t be a matter of passing for normal.

With Megan, he could be normal. She alone could put the demon to rest once and for all, give him a second chance at the life he would have had if Sarah hadn’t died.

He pulled himself from his daydream as headlights flashed in the distance. Carl’s black Mercedes pulled into the parking lot and slid between two semi cabs. He got out of his car and turned his collar up against the rain, forcing his face into a pleasant expression as he jogged across the parking lot to meet his stepcousin.

He heard the car door slam and saw Carl’s broad shoulders silhouetted against the hazy yellow parking lot lights. Though he couldn’t see Carl’s face, he knew his stepcousin would be wearing a faint sneer, his lip curled ever so slightly as the scar that bisected his cheek pulled at the corner of his mouth. But he knew the scar wasn’t the only reason Carl looked at him like he’d caught a whiff of shit. It was no secret that Carl didn’t like him; if his stepcousin had had his way, his uncle would have written him off years ago, left him to his own devices and the mercy of the justice system when his overwhelming needs finally got the best of him.

Which was why he loved greeting Carl with a bland
smile, like he was clueless to the other man’s feelings, too socially fucked up to notice the animosity radiating from the other man in waves.

“The shipment is running late,” he said to Carl with a smile, “but they should be here soon. It will be interesting to see what Roman sent us.”

“If it’s anything other than grade A, we’re sending it back,” Carl said.

A dark sedan pulled up behind Carl’s sedan and parked. Two men got out. Though he couldn’t make out their faces, their size and the outlines of their AK-47s held loosely at their sides marked them as heavies from his uncle’s security detail.

Another man emerged from the car, and a tremor of surprise shook him when he recognized his uncle’s thick head of salt-and-pepper hair as he came to stand next to Carl. At fifty-three, David Maxwell was still as strong as a bull, his muscular build similar to that of his nephew. Though his face was lined, it still had the same brutish handsomeness that had helped him charm his way into Margaret Grayson’s bed and secure his position in one of Seattle’s wealthiest and most influential families.

“David.” It was always just David, as he was careful to never publicly acknowledge their relationship. As far as he knew, other than David himself, only David’s wife, Margaret, and Margaret’s son Carl were the only ones who knew about their relationship. Seeing to his nephew’s care after the violent death of his sister was one of the few noble things David Maxwell had done in his life. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

Tonight it looked like David was regretting that long-ago act of familial charity. Even if his grim expression
didn’t broadcast his mood, the fact that David was here at all ouldn’t mean anything good. David liked to keep himself as far away from the deliveries as possible, as though his lack of presence somehow kept his hands clean.

“You fucked up today, big-time,” David said bluntly, his footfalls crunching on the ground as he approached. One of the heavies walked discreetly beside him, holding an umbrella to keep the rain off David’s two-thousand-dollar overcoat. “You were not sanctioned to kill the girl.”

He willed his fingers to relax. “She was going to talk. It was necessary.”

“Then you wait for the call and you do it discreetly. All this showboating, all this going off half-cocked on your own—it’s creating attention we don’t need.”

Exactly.
And very soon they’d realize that despite what they thought, they’d never been in control of him.

“You injured Megan Flynn and stabbed a fucking cop, for Christ’s sake. And not just any cop—the cop who arrested Flynn!”

His mouth tightened at the reminder. He hadn’t expected Cole to come bursting in like Megan’s personal guard dog, and kicked himself for not seeing it coming. But he hadn’t foreseen Detective Williams jeopardizing his career to sniff around Megan like a dog in heat. That Williams still wanted to fuck her was obvious, but risk his badge over it? Didn’t match what he’d said after Sean’s arrest about not letting his “casual” relationship with Megan interfere with his police work.

Even if it meant arresting Megan’s brother and wringing a confession out of him.

Williams had unintentionally helped him that night.
For that reason, he hadn’t driven his knife into his belly in the hotel room.

“After today, you’re done,” David continued. Disappointment deepened the lines bracketing his mouth. “We’re shutting down the operation at Club One, and you’re leaving for Amsterdam tomorrow. No more going out on your own, no more Slasher. You had your fun. Now it’s back to basics.”

He faked a meek nod. He’d listened to them once. Tucked his tail between his legs and fled, let them pack him up and ship him away, away from
her.
They’d tried to convince him he was a monster, not fit for human relationships, a barely tame beast who should be thankful they let him fulfill his darkest needs.

At the time he’d believed it. And though he’d known he’d had nothing to fear from the police—he’d done such a masterful job of giving them Sean Flynn on a platter that the police had never bothered to so much as look at another suspect—he’d let them convince him that he couldn’t have Sarah.

No, not Sarah. Megan.

Sarah was dead, but he could still have Megan.

Did his uncle really think he could stop him? He clamped down the urge to let the beast free. To show his uncle, show them all, he wasn’t some meek lapdog who took orders and licked their boots out of gratitude for the “protection” they provided.

Other than a little help he’d needed cleaning up after Evangeline Gordon, he’d never needed their help. He worked clean. He’d never be caught unless he wanted it that way. They didn’t know it, but he was calling the shots.

They wanted him out of town? They’d get it. He had new identities set up for him and Megan, passports to go along with them, and over ten million in a numbered Swiss account. Enough to keep Megan like a queen. Just a few more days until Sean Flynn was executed, and then he and Megan would disappear forever.

Headlights approached from the opposite end of the parking lot, and the low rumble of the diesel engine cut through the steady patter of freezing rain. A shipment from down south, courtesy of the Russian gangsters David had recently partnered with. David’s idea, to bring girls from out of the area into the operation.

He didn’t like anything about it. Not working with the Russians, not importing from who-knew-where, not using girls who were lured by promises of well-paying jobs or outright kidnapped. All it took, he told his uncle, was for one underage illegal to get busted by the cops for the whole house of cards to come crashing down.

Now, the girls they used, girls like Evangeline, girls like Bianca, they were smart enough to fly under the radar. Unlike the poor souls so desperate for a better life they were willing to leave their homes on a promise of a job as a chambermaid, the girls who worked the clubs knew the score. They knew exactly what they were getting into and what they wanted out of it.

David hadn’t listened, insisting that the practice of using the current stable of girls to get new recruits was too limiting, not to mention dangerous. These girls got the mistaken idea that because they’d gone in to it willingly, they could leave the business whenever they chose, and it was becoming a problem. Look how many they’d had to kill in the past six months.

The truck parked, and the driver and his partner went to the back of the vehicle.

“You’re going to have to take them back,” Carl said. “We’re shutting down the operation.”

The driver ignored him and opened the rear cargo area.

There was a shuffling sound, and his stomach tightened as he heard the muffled whimpers.