Charity's Secrets (39 page)

Justin
licks me until I'm too sensitive to be touched at all. Then he unfolds his arms
from my legs and brings his proud face up near my beaming, satisfied smile.

His
chin is covered in us. Before he has a chance to wipe it clean, I grab the hair
on the back of his head and pull him closer, jutting my tongue out and licking
his chin clean while I stare into his stunned eyes.

I feel
his still hard cock jump on my stomach and I reach down and take it into my
hand. My climax has turned him on again, fueled him.

Justin
isn't fighting me now. He lets me stroke him, lets me push him to his back on
the floor and climb over him. One hand jerks him off, the other cups his warm
sack, playfully rubbing his flesh.

I look
into his eyes longingly as I devour his hardness, letting him watch it
disappear through my lips until my hand is tapping against my own face.

Justin's
breath quickens minutes later. I squeeze his balls lightly, ushering him to
fill my mouth. My hand spins around and tugs the root of his huge manhood and I
stuck hard on him.

"Oh
God!" he moans. "Oh God! Oh God!"

He's
there again and after what he did for me I'm only happy to return the gesture.

"I'm
cumming!" he growls. His hips thrust despite his efforts, but I know his
body now too, and I ride his thrusting cock with my mouth until his heat spills
into my swallowing throat.

Like me
not long before, Justin slows into a softening, twitching, and very satisfied
glow.

"
S
o what's changed, what do we know
now?" Franco Cecere asks as he leans himself against his black E350, right
beside John Roberts.

Justin
adjusts himself to get comfortable as they stand between the cars in a far,
dark corner of a parking garage that Justin owns in Hoboken. The way sounds
bounce off the walls and the dim lighting reminds me of when I first came to
the city and Justin had me in the garage of my hotel, sprawled out across the
hood of an Alfa Romeo.

That
seems so long ago already, a lifetime. Maybe it was about time for us to do
that again.

Garrett
is still in the truck with me, sitting in the front seat where he is fully
visible to everyone. They're not nervous by that at all—if he's with Justin,
he's okay.

Lena
and I are in the back, more obscure by the tinted windows. They know someone is
back here, but they can't see who. That's fine too. They have their own people
around most of the time, they get it.

"A
few things," Justin replies. "For sure, we finally know who their
candidate was."

"Was?
Past tense?" Mr. Roberts asks smartly.

Justin
nods. "Still could be—if we're not careful. He's still in play, just not
for them."

"Son-of-a-bitch!"
Mr. Roberts snarls. "They wanted Lewis, didn't they?"

Justin
nods again. "Looks like they were figuring out his gambling problem about
the same time we were. They saw Senator Wilkins' slot opening and they were one
step right behind us."

"So,"
Franco barks, "we got him first, that means game over, right?"

John
Roberts laughs. "Fuck no, it ain't game over, not with Arthur Shea. The
game changed, that's all. We made it easy, we did the leg work to get Lewis
exactly where they wanted him. They're probably even opening doors for him already,
getting ready for when he's theirs." Mr. Roberts crosses his arms over his
chest in aggravation. "Once they found out someone already owns Lewis,
their plan would simply change, let us get him in—then get rid of us."

I
glance at Lena because we know what's coming next. They don't have to kill
everyone in the group, just us, just the security, unless we get theirs first.
That's all this has become, a race to see who can kill who first.

"You
need to be watching your back, JP," Mr. Roberts says.

Justin
smiles. It's not condescending at all, more appreciative for the concern.
"Always," he replies.

"So
we're back to where we were months ago," Franco growls. "Bail out and
let them have him, or find out who they're using for security and get rid of
them."

"I
think we know who they're using, not specific names, but close enough. We just
need to find out who's at the wheel," Justin informs them. Mr. Roberts
perks up, tilting his gaze into Justin's face as he waits for the rest.
"We've tied Bill Canon to Dr. Drake Rutherford. Blake Adams shows up with
the doctor recently as well."

"Finally,
a name I know," Franco says. "Dr. Drake is a retired CIA profiler.
They use him for authenticity research on TV and in movies. That's how he makes
a living now."

"Not
recently," Justin says with darkness in his tone. "Lately he's been
helping the CIA again, working at their academy profiling their students. Best
we can tell, Arthur Shea brokered that arrangement for him. It looks small and
unassuming, like a little internal record keeping. He finds people that might
be a little too
much
for the CIA so he can redirect them."

Franco
shrugs as if wondering why that matters.

"Think
about it," Justin offers. "Where do you think guys like that go, guys
with all that training and military background, but are hard to control? Dr.
Drake has a solid list of candidates for Shea to build his own trained army.
They can hand pick members trained with the specialties they need—CIA trained
soldiers."

"Shit!"
Franco says nervously. "Are you sure this is what they're doing?"

"A
few names have already been confirmed," Justin tells him.

Mr.
Roberts laughs confidently. "Franco, why the fuck do you look so
scared?"

Franco
looks embarrassed. "CIA trained soldiers?" he defends.

Mr.
Roberts laughs again. "Where the hell do you think Mr. Collins here gets
his
men? You think he takes out an ad in a local mercenary’s magazine or
something? His soldiers have the same training, plus experience—not just some
training school rejects."

I see
Justin smiling proudly.

"You
got this?" Mr. Roberts asks Justin directly. Justin nods confidently yet
again. "Good enough for me. So, tell me, what do you need from us to
help?"

Justin
tells Franco and John Roberts that he wants them to do nothing for now,
business as usual. If Shea's crew is riding our coattails to develop Senator
Lewis, we can do the same. He wants to play dumb and see what doors open for
Lewis before we end this. With Arthur Shea's political weight, it would be to
our advantage.

"That's
dangerous as all hell, JP," Mr. Roberts says, sounding nervous for the
first time that I can recall. "They're going to try to take you out. The
longer you wait, the more chance they have."

Justin
shrugs. "That's true, but what do you want more, a Senator, or a
President?" John Roberts is silent. "How many Vice Presidents do you
have in your pocket to help get Lewis the exposure he'll need to speed this
thing up by years?"

"You're
going to gamble with your life?" Franco asks.

"Isn't
that what you need and pay for?" Justin fires back, making both of them
silent for a few minutes.

I see
that they are nervous and greedy at the same time, but I'm only nervous. All I
want to do is scream for Justin and Garrett to end this fucking ride now. They
wanted a Senator and Justin got them exactly that.

"Okay
for now," Mr. Roberts says at last. "But just for now. Any hint that
they are on you and I want this fucking thing done. You understand me?"

Justin
agrees, but that doesn't make anyone feel better, especially not me.

"How
is Lewis doing?" Franco asks, desperately wanting to change the subject.

"Great!"
Justin tells them. "He keeps himself under his limits better than I
thought he could. I think it's because he knows we're watching. If it was his
own money, it would be gone already and he would be screwed, divorced for sure
and out of politics by now. We've given him something to work for."

They
talk for a little while longer but I find it hard to listen to any of it. My
anxiety has swelled behind my control, and I'm full of worry. There is no life
without him and he needs to be done with this work soon. Only I can't be the
one to tell him that; I don't want him resenting me. Justin gets back into the
truck eventually, and we watch Franco and Mr. Roberts drive away before he
starts the engine.

"Everything
went well," he tells us. He turns and focuses on Lena for a moment, some
unspoken conversation takes place right in front of Garrett and I. "We got
everything accomplished that we wanted to."

She
agrees and we leave the garage.

We had
just pulled out, the sunlight filing the truck through the windows. "Did
you see it?" Justin asks.

"Yes,"
Lena answers. "Silver Chevy about a half a dozen cars away."

"What
about it?" Garrett asks curiously, looking back and forth from Justin to
Lena like a tennis match broke out.

"It's
a plant," Lena explains. "A transmitter listening to our conversion
and sending it on. Right now there's one or two in every garage Panther has on
the books."

"You
knew? You knew they were listening and you still let them know how much we
know?" Garrett asks in a very confused voice. "Why would you let them
know that we're onto them?"

I have
the answer already. "Because they know who we are and what we do. They
know what we are capable of, so if we try to pretend like we don't have
anything by now, they'll know its bullshit. If we're any good at all, which we
are, then we should have something by now."

"Exactly!"
Justin agrees. "So they know we're on to them but they also believe we're
not going to do anything about it for a while."

"The
only way that works—and we gain an advantage—is if you're not planning on
waiting like you said. We need to hit them much sooner then they're expecting,"
Garrett says confidently.

"What
about letting them raise Lewis's popularity, we're not doing that?" I ask
when I see Justin nodding like he's planning exactly what Garrett is
suggesting.

"We
can get Senator Lewis where we want him without any damn help. We've already
made him a senator." Justin points out.

"So
we
are
hitting them soon," Garrett says, satisfied.

Justin
doesn't say another word, but a wide grin spreads across his face.

FOR SOME TIME NOW
I've been listening to him breath and fighting back an
onslaught of tears. Merely thinking about losing him is beyond comprehension.
It makes my heart hurt and my stomach twist. I'm fucking scared and this is all
too real. I want him out of it, not dangling himself like a worm on a hook.

My
right leg is thrown across him along with my right arm. His strong lungs make
my head and upper body rise and fall with him. The heat of his body is keeping
me warm and comfortable, but my fear is a sheet of ice thickening inside of me.

Jesus
Christ! I love you. Why would you risk that?

"You
should talk to me about it instead of keeping it bottled up inside,"
Justin suddenly whispers.

"I
didn't know you were awake," I admit to him.

"Just
for the last few minutes," he says. "How long have you been staring
at me?"

"Just
for the last few hours."

One of
his strong hands begins to stroke my back under the sheet. "Tell me what's
bothering you. What's keeping you up?"

"You
already know what it is," I whisper.

Justin
inhales deeply. "That doesn't mean that you shouldn't say it, that you
won't feel better expressing yourself in your words and your way. You are half
of me, Charity. I want to hear you, so tell me."

Tears start
already. I don't even know where the fuck they came from. Justin uses his
muscular arms to curl me up on top of him, wrapping both arms around me to make
me feel safe. "I don't want you to do this," I cry softly. "I
don't want you doing any of this shit any more, but I really don't want you in
this political thing. I'm going to lose you because of it Justin, and don't
give me the bullshit that you'll be fine. You can't make guarantees and
promises because you don't know what's going to happen. This is real, this
thing between us. It's real and I want it to last for the rest of our lives and
the rest of our lives doesn't mean a few months before you're murdered. I want
you out!"

He
fixes my hair and rubs my back, not saying a word.

I keep
going, desperate to make my point, "You don't love me any more than I love
you, Justin, not a bit more. You don't want me anywhere near this danger. You're
too worried about me and my safety because you don't want me to get hurt—or
worse. Well how the hell do you think I feel about you and these things you do?
This is what I want," I say angrily. "Don't do anything you won't let
me do! If you can't bear the thought of me doing it, then give the same God
damn respect for me!"