Cocked: A Stepbrother Romance (12 page)

“How about Jasmine Briar?”she said from the bathroom.

“Sounds like a stripper.”

“Maybe Marcy Moorehead?”

“Sounds like English royalty.”

“Charlene Manson.”

I laughed. “Like Charles Manson?”

“Yeah. He can be my spirit animal.”

“That’s pretty sick.”

“What can I say, I’m a badass.”

“You definitely are.”

She lapsed into silence as she began to brush her teeth and I began to get changed into my sweats. Suddenly, I heard a noise outside the room, something that sounded like a strange clicking noise.

My pulse immediately rose. I knew that sound. I grabbed my duffel and pulled my gun out, checking to make sure it was loaded, and pressed my ear to the door.

Outside was the unmistakable sound of heavy breathing.

There were men on the other side.

I quickly went into the bathroom and grabbed Lacey’s arm.

“What?” she said. I pulled her over to the bathtub. “The names aren’t that bad.”

“Get in.”

“What’s happening?”

“No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, do not get out of this tub.”

“Camden. What the fuck?”

“Listen to me,” I said, looking her in the eye. “Stay here and do not move.”

She stared at me for a second and then nodded. “Okay. I’ll be here.”

I pulled the shower curtain closed and shut the bathroom door behind me as I quickly pressed myself against the wall next to the door.

Not a moment too soon. Another two heartbeats later and the door burst open, practically torn off its hinges. Wood and metal sprayed everywhere.

I brought my gun up. The first man inside didn’t have time to react as I squeezed the trigger and put a bullet in his head. He dropped to the ground, blood covering the wall. I didn’t have time to think about what I was doing, fortunately.

The guy behind him was smarter. He came in low, but I was already moving. I kicked my foot out, catching him in the gut. He dove forward, over my leg, and tackled me to the ground. We wrestled for a moment as my gun went skidding across the room.

I punched him again in the gut and twisted, getting away from his grip. I was bigger than him and used my size to wrench his gun away, sending it spinning. He pushed himself away, rolling back, and jumped to his feet. I scrambled up after him.

I glanced toward the door, but nobody else was coming. I looked back just in time to block a punch, taking a step backward. He followed, aiming another punch, but I dodged it and stepped in.

I hit him twice in the stomach before he brought an elbow down on my head. I stumbled to the side, stunned. He came at me, landing two more punches before I managed to grab him and pull him against me, tying his fists up. He beat uselessly at my back.

My ears were ringing from the explosion and from the elbow to the head as he began to try to knee me in the crotch. I blocked him as bed I could, holding him fast, catching my breath.

He was eerily quiet, not saying a word. I didn’t recognize him, but I knew what he was: a hired hit man for the cartel. The same sort of man that I was, back in the day. I knew he was willing to do whatever it took to survive this fight. And I knew I was the same way. He was highly trained, though, clearly not some novice thug.

Finally he wrenched free and began to attack me seriously. I blocked the first two punches but took the third in the face. I stumbled away and fell, the ground spinning.

A few inches away, I saw his gun sticking out from under the bed. I grabbed it, but he was fast, kicking at my hand and diving on top of me. I kept my grip but he quickly pinned my hand down.

I grunted and as he came close to me. I smashed my head directly into his nose, and I felt as much as I heard the crunch of bone. He groaned but held on to my hand, keeping the gun pointed away from him, and began punching me again in the face. He slammed my hand down onto a piece of wood from the door, breaking skin, and I let go of the gun.

I twisted suddenly, wrenching him to the left and down onto the ground, getting leverage. I was on top of him and used my weight to smash my head into his face again and again, violently slamming my forehead into his bloody nose. He tried to fight me but he couldn’t get enough power behind his blows. I reached forward and wrapped my hands around his throat, squeezing as hard as I could while he struggled.

I watched his hand reach out toward the gun. He was feet away but getting closer, but I kept my grip on his neck, squeezing tight. His eyes went wide with hate as he nearly grabbed the gun, his fingers reaching, reaching, inches away. I held on tight, my pulse racing, fear jolting through my body, adrenaline keeping the pain at bay. He nearly got it, but he suddenly went limp, his eyes staring up at nothing.

I released him and fell onto my back, breathing hard. The room was a mess of wood splinters and blood, everything broken and smashed from the fight.

As I looked up, my heart sank. Lacey was staring at me from the doorway, her eyes wide with fear and hate.

“Lacey,” I said. “Get your things.”

She stood there staring at me, her eyes wide, her breath coming in ragged starts.

“Lacey,” I said again, louder. “We have to go.”

I struggled to my feet and walked over to her. She backed away, fear plain in her expression. I knew that look from any number of people I had dealt with back in the day.

She was afraid I was going to kill her.

Who could blame her? She had probably just watched me strangle a man. I had no other choice, but it was still a hard thing for someone to witness.

“Come on,” I said softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

That seemed to snap her out of it. “I know that.”

“Let’s go.”

She moved then, seemingly on autopilot. I gathered up my stuff, grabbed my gun plus an extra gun from one of the dead men, and headed out into the night. Lacey followed me, saying nothing.

Even in the weak yellow light of the parking lot lamps, I could tell that she was white as a ghost. Her face was flat and she didn’t show an ounce of emotion, despite having just witnessed me kill two men, one with my bare hands not ten feet away from her. She was probably in shock, but I didn’t have time to deal with it. There were only two guys, and who knows how many more were on the way.

We got to the car and I threw open the door.

“Get in,” I said.

She hesitated by the passenger side, biting her lip. I started the engine and rolled down the window.

“Come on, Lace,” I said. “There could be more. Get in.”

She seemed to gather herself and then threw open the door and got in the car. I peeled out, pulling away, hitting the road like a tornado. We flew down the back streets in total silence, driving at least double the speed limit, the crappy sedan barely able to go as fast as I wanted it to.

We flung around curves, hardly braking, and blew through a few red lights. I was in the zone, my pulse pounding in my chest, and I couldn’t let myself slow down. Everything seemed so clear in the post-fight adrenaline high, and I knew that I needed to get myself under control before I made a stupid mistake.

I couldn’t peel my eyes from the road. If I did, I’d look over at Lacey. I’d see the way she was looking at me. I’d see the fear and the disgust in her eyes, and it wouldn’t surprise me.

Because I was feeling that same fear and disgust.

I’d killed before. I didn’t like killing, but I did it because that was my job. But that was the first time I had killed a man up close with my bare hands. It was different when you were right in his face, both of you struggling for survival. It was more primal and brutal and it hit you in a different way. I could tell that was going to stick with me for a very long time. Even though he was a very bad man, and definitely deserved it, I’d still never forget his face.

It helped, though, that I did it for a good reason. I did it to save my own life, but I also did it to save Lacey’s.

We burned our way through the on-ramp to the highway, pausing only long enough to grab a ticket at the toll booth. As soon as that robotic arm was up, I was on the road and driving fast.

I didn’t let myself slow down. My foot pressed down the gas and we moved, blowing past any late-night truckers and other overnight drivers. We sped along, the miles ticking by like water, and my mind remained completely blank. The only thing I thought about was keeping the car under control and moving, moving, moving.

––––––––

“W
e need to slow down,” she said.

I picked my head up, pulled out of my trance. I glanced at the clock and realized that two hours had melted by in the blink of an eye.

“We need to keep moving,” I said.

“Getting pulled over isn’t going to help us.”

“Getting caught would be worse.”

“If they’re following, we’re not losing them on a highway. No matter how fast you drive.”

I blinked and realized that she had a point.

“What do you suggest?”

“Get off at the next exit. Drive around.”

I sighed, slowly coming back to myself. I had been in some sort of trance, obsessed with moving, as if speeding along could keep the demons at bay.

But there was no running from memory. It was a part of you, and no matter what, there was no escaping who you were. There was only acceptance.

I knew she was right. I was surprised that tricks like that came to her so easily, but I wasn’t going to question it. In another four miles there was an exit for some small town I had never heard of it, and as soon as the turnoff appeared, I took it.

We drove through thin, winding streets. My eyes were locked on the rearview mirror, but nobody was following. We were lucky it was night, since headlights would make it much easier to spot someone sticking close behind us.

After a while, we were thoroughly lost.

“Where are we?” Lacey asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Do you know how to get back?”

“Not at all.”

She was quiet for a second. “Pull over.”

“Right here?”

We were in the middle of an empty road with fields stretching in all directions. I hadn’t seen a house anywhere for a few miles. It was pretty clear that we were completely and utterly alone.

“Yes. Now. Please.”

I slowly moved to the right side of the road and came to a stop.

“Okay. We’re stopped.”

I looked at her and frowned. She was staring straight ahead, her whole body rigid and tense. The full moon shone directly through our windshield and I could see every inch of her face, every bit of her skin. Suddenly, she reached over me and cut the engine.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“Camden,” she said quietly, “I need you to tell me the truth.”

I felt my heart begin to pound in my chest. “I already have.”

“No, you haven’t. Why are they after us?”

“Things went down. It’s not worth saying.”

“I just watched you kill two men.” Her voice was flat and unemotional, which actually made me even more worried. “I think I deserve to know. Actually, no, I need to know.”

I clenched the steering wheel. What the hell was I waiting for? My handlers weren’t coming back and I knew it. They were gone and had left me for dead. I was on my own and I had to make my own choices.

They couldn’t hurt me any more than I was already hurting myself.

“I was recruited,” I said softly. As the words came out of my mouth, I could feel a weight begin to lift from my chest. “I didn’t lie when I said I was stealing cars. I got caught, and after some time in jail, these two American guys showed up. They said that if I helped them get information on El Tiburon’s drug cartel, then they’d wipe my slate clean.”

I glanced at her but she showed no reaction. “So I joined the cartel and met Trip. We worked undercover together, getting close to the Mexicans, moving up through the ranks, all for the CIA or whoever it was.”

“You don’t know who you were working for?”

I shook my head. “They said that if it ever got out that they were operating on Mexican soil, then some very bad international shit would happen. I’m guessing it was the CIA, but I really don’t know. Worse, they told me that they could make my life and my family’s life a living hell if I ever breathed a word about what they were doing. I kept feeding them information, and they kept giving me money and supplies. Things went on like that for a while. I hoped I was helping people and was actually going to make a difference, but now I realize that I was just another pawn in their game.

“I worked for them all that time. I got so deep undercover that I forgot who I was and what I was doing at one point. The Americans would show up out of nowhere, though, and demand some piece of intel. I’d always come through, even if it meant putting myself in danger.

“Until one day, that old man I told you about came to my apartment and warned me. He said that the cartel knew who I was. I didn’t waste any time trying to figure out what happened or why, I just grabbed Trip and made a run for it. I headed straight for you guys, assuming they’d come after my family. And now here we are, after all this time. The fucking CIA or whoever is nowhere to be seen, and I’ve been hiding what I was really doing for no good fucking reason.”

As I finished my story, I turned my head and looked at her.

“You should have told me,” she said softly.

“I couldn’t. They said that if I ever told anyone, then I’d be in more trouble than I was before. They said they’d throw me in Guantanamo Bay and let me rot there.”

“All this time, you were working undercover.”

“And it was fucking hell,” I growled, moving closer to her. I watched as she took a deep breath and her lips parted slightly, reacting to me. “I kept thinking about you, about home, and how badly I wanted to see you. How badly I wanted to taste you again.”

“Camden, I—”

“And I’m sorry I brought all this on you. But I’m pretty fucking happy now that I’m with you.”

Before she could protest, I gently took her by the chin and pulled her face against mine, kissing her hard and deep.

There was no resistance. We both knew what we wanted, and we’d come too far already to turn back.