Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) (13 page)

“I never said I disagreed,” Smith muttered as he turned one of the grocery bags upside down, spilling out several gallon Ziploc bags. Each bag was filled with tiny bags containing crystal-looking shards. Back when she had stayed with Thomas and the other heroin boys, she had seen them smoke meth a few times, always refusing when it was offered. To see piles of it like this would have been their dream come true.

With a tilt of her head she realized exactly what Smith had said. “Wait, you think I’m a bitch?” she asked as he kicked a few bags of the meth over near Clinton. He dumped the other bag on the poker table, tucking the grocery sacks with his fingerprints away. Setting it all up so the cops would just see a drug deal gone sideways.

There was a faint smile as Smith walked towards her. “I think that men like to use that word against women who they can’t control. Women who are too strong. I’d suggest you take it as a compliment.”

She chewed on her lip, fighting the urge to smile as he got closer. “Thanks, Smith,” Camille muttered and her heart rate tripled as he ran his fingers down her arm.

“Well, if you
did
feel like toning down the attitude with me, I’d appreciate it.” With a shrug he raised two fingers up, swipes of crimson across them, his voice light and casual. “And you have blood on you.”

“Asshole,” she grumbled and brushed past him to stomp behind the bar. Snagging a rag she wiped down her arms and tucked the rag into her back pocket before grabbing a bottle of vodka from the shelf and coming back around. She’d let him get inside her head again.
Dammit
. “Let’s go.”

“What are you doing with that?” he asked, his voice no longer playful.

“Celebrating.” Her gun was tucked away already and she leaned back on the door to open it. “Coming?”

“You’re not getting drunk in the car on the way back to New York.”

“On the way back to New York? You’ve got to be fucking with me.” Camille laughed as he moved to follow her. “I’m going to be drunk before we get back to the hotel.”

He stayed silent as they turned off the lights in the bar, stepped over the bodies, and left behind the bloody scene for someone else to find. Without waiting she opened the bottle in the car, and watched for the tic in Smith’s jaw. His anger, or frustration, or whatever with her was barely restrained, and she found that all she wanted to do was fucking set him off, wanted to hear the kind of open honesty he’d shown when he’d found her on top of her one-night-stand.

Bottoms up.

Chapter Twelve

Two Months Later

The shower had been going for too long, the steam of it making the room feel humid in the boiling heat of summer. Not even the little air conditioner tucked under the window could counteract it all – and since it was only 3AM that was even worse. The day was going to be like being in an oven, or hell, but hell never seemed far away from Camille even in the dead of winter.

She’d had another nightmare.

Another sharp gasp of air that had ripped him from sleep, on alert, reaching for his gun – but then he’d heard it.

Another series of soft pleas escaping her lips that would never be spoken if she were awake. A chorus of ‘
stop’
and ‘
don’t, please
’
that burrowed inside his head and made Smith’s stomach turn.

For weeks after Clinton died Camille had been unstoppable. They’d done three jobs back to back, and she was cold, efficient, fearless. One of the men had even tried to run, targeting her because he assumed she was weak, but Camille had caught him and put him on the ground hard, ending him with a shot to the back of the head. Then she’d looked over at him, a small, proud smile creeping across her lips – and she’d asked him if they could catch a movie.

As if pulling the trigger were as easy as breathing to her.

Death didn’t bother her. Killing didn’t bother her. The intense training he made her keep up with only seemed to fuel the fire inside her. But the nightmares? The memories of what those men had done to her? They were eating her alive, and for the last few months they’d been growing frequent again. Too frequent.

It’s going to get her killed. You know it is.

He growled under his breath and checked his phone again for a voicemail that he knew wouldn’t be there. When he verified no missed calls he tapped in Lacroix’s number, prepared to call and threaten him until he found Roger or Barry. Or both of them. Like he should have already. There were two more names on her list, two more to kill and then maybe she’d be able to sleep. Maybe she could heal,
could
be the perfect assassin. No fear. No mercy.

But she’s not there yet.

Just as he went to dial Lacroix’s number to vent some of his frustration on the man, the bathroom door opened and she stepped out. Her blonde hair was darker from the water, slightly wavy as it hung over her bare shoulders, and the towel was much too small. It stopped so high on her golden thighs that he had to swallow before he spoke so that he could keep the memory of her naked body from appearing behind his eyes.

Focus. You need to help her.

You have to fix this before it kills her.

“Want to go for a run?” he asked.

“I just showered.”

“So?” he asked and her blue eyes lifted, still too empty.

What happens in your nightmares, C? What in the hell did they do to you to?

Questions he could never, would never ask.

For a long minute she stared at him, and then she turned towards the bedroom letting her voice drift back towards him, “Fine. Give me a few to get dressed.”

When she pushed the door closed behind her he knew she needed the space, he knew she really just needed to rest and get back to normal. If he were a good man he would let her do that, he would take her out to a comforting breakfast in the morning, and then train like they normally did.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that. Being gentle would get her killed, and she was too important to him now to let whatever strange version of feelings he felt get in the way of making her strong. The way she had reacted to the nightmare had given him an idea, cold and calculating. Ruthless, but necessary. An idea to take her training to the next level, to make her stronger while she was still raw, still in the worst mental state – and he was an absolute bastard for it.

They crested a rise in the running path, the dark trees around them blocking out most of the road noise even though there was no breeze to make them whisper. Camille was breathing steady, slowing down with him as he stopped, and as he pushed a hand through his damp hair she turned to look at him, unspoken questions in her gaze.

Her lips parted to speak but he beat her to the first question. “Do you think you could outrun me?”

“What?” She laughed, turning towards him in a pool of lamplight. “Um, I doubt it, your legs are much longer and you run all the fucking time.”

“So… if I were coming after you, if
I
were hunting you down, what would you do?”

He watched the way her muscles twitched, the way she unconsciously took a half step back, bracing her foot so she could pivot and avoid him if she needed to.
Smart girl.

“What would you do, C?” He stripped all warmth from his voice, but he was proud of her when she didn’t break eye contact.

“I’d run as hard as I could.”

“And when I caught you?”
When, not if.

“I’d fight.” Another half step back, and her hands were loose at her sides, ready.

“Show me.” He twitched towards her and she darted a few steps away before she stopped, a flash of confusion on her face.
Good, quick, but not enough.
“You need to run, C. We’re starting now.”

Her perfect lips parted for just a moment, and then her face went smooth. Focused, determined, the same look he’d seen on her face when she stared down a target. This time when he twitched forward, she bolted. Her lithe body covered the path fast, and he counted slowly in his head.
One… two… go.

Smith took off after her at full speed and he could see the whip of her white blonde ponytail ahead on the trail, catching the fragmented moonlight. Waving back and forth like a pale surrender flag, and as he started to gain ground on her he tried to ignore the low growl in his chest. The excited thrum in his bloodstream.

Was he enjoying this?

Camille was running hard, but so was he, and she had been right. His gait, and his strength, meant that her speed wasn’t helping her much. He got closer, and closer, and just when he thought he’d be able to take her down, she leapt like a gazelle off the trail. Her leap carried her over some bushes and into the trees. Shifting his own direction he jumped the brush and moved as fast as he could considering he was having to dodge trees, and he was losing track of her as the trunks blocked his line of sight.

Fortunately, even over the dull road noise of the city he could hear her running over the leaves and sticks on the ground. Moving faster in her direction he started to get flashes of her hair again, so he picked up speed. His confidence in the new terrain was steadily growing, but hers was too.

She had always been a fast learner.

They burst onto the manicured lawn of the park, and she was only fifteen yards to his right. Her chest was heaving, the shape of her silhouette making his cock twitch, but he ignored it and watched for what she’d do.

“You’re not running,” he spoke just loud enough for her to hear, the growl leaking into his voice, but it was all the prompting she needed to take off again – and she was so beautiful as she ran in a full sprint. She was smart enough to change direction as he began to close in on her again, forcing him to almost stop in place so he could turn to follow.

Then, like a pale haired spirit she was suddenly in front of him, and on the offensive. Her knee came up into his ribs, and he managed to block most of the force of the impact on instinct, but her attempt at an elbow strike to his face he caught. Grabbing onto her arm he instantly swept her leg, trying to put her on the ground fast, not holding back, but she held onto him and rolled as she dropped, bringing him with her. She threw him in a jiu-jitsu move he had taught her himself, and a moment later they were both back on their feet, staring each other down.

You will not go easy on her. You will show her how hard it can be.

You will show her the kind of people waiting for her.

Making himself go cold, Smith tried to ignore that it was Camille in front of him. Beautiful, and unmistakably feminine, and strong – because she wouldn’t be any of those things if she let someone kill her because he hadn’t prepared her.

When he refocused on her, he didn’t hold back at all.

His first kick was too fast for her to block, and she flinched before landing a punch to his thigh, and another to his midsection, before she tried to kick him back from her. He blocked it, and her next punch, and then landed a hard hit on her ribs, exactly where he’d hit before. The small pained cry urged him forward –
push her, see if she panics
– he landed another kick, but she caught his leg this time, sweeping him and dropping her elbow into his ribs. Smith grabbed for her as he hit the grass, but Camille had already rolled away and danced back from him.

She was smiling. Wild, and oh so
fearless
.

He flipped to his feet and rolled his neck before he charged her, adjusting when she tried to dart away like a sprite, but he managed to catch her and block her first strike, returning with two of his own. When she blocked his next punch, she spun and caught the side of his head with a dizzying kick, delivering a hard strike to his ribs again as soon as she landed.

His ears were ringing, but he’d taken harder hits – and she was going to understand what it was like to fight someone like him before the sun rose.

She over extended on her next punch and he landed one to her stomach, hard. When she bent forward he wrapped his arm around her throat and stepped behind her. As soon as he locked his arm in place she tried to duck her chin, grabbing onto his forearm in her attempt to break the hold, but he was ready for the move he’d taught her. Before she could fight he coiled his fist into her hair and tightened it.

With her head forced back, unable to tuck her chin under his arm to get free, she was trapped, and by his estimates she only had about twenty more seconds before she was unconscious.

Come on, fight me. Don’t give in. Figure it out. Fight.

As if she’d heard him, Camille suddenly dropped her weight, forcing him to support her fully, which bent him forward and let her wind her leg behind his. In an instant she buckled his knee, and twisted out of his grip. Camille’s first gasp of air was followed by a sharp elbow strike that felt like a stab to his kidneys as she landed atop him, before rolling to the side.

Good. A smart move, quick thinking under pressure
.

But then she stayed close to try and finish the fight, and with her on the ground next to him he was able to catch one wrist as she tried to hit him in the throat. He threw one leg over hers to block the kick he knew would follow, a curse escaping her lips as she went to strike with her other arm. Twisting, Smith avoided her fist and was on top of her a moment later, her wrists pinned, his weight settling over her thighs – and as he looked down at her, with her curves under him, his brain short circuited for a moment.

All he could think of was the kiss they’d shared.

They’d been in this same position, her cheeks flushed the same way, and he remembered the eager way her lips had parted for him, how she had pressed upward into the kiss. He still dreamed about it sometimes, dreamed about
more
than just a kiss before waking up rock hard, but he pushed it all away. Pushed away the memory of Bill trying to convince him she wanted him.
Actually
wanted him – because it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what either of them wanted, or how much he wanted to kiss her again. This was about what Camille needed, and more than anything she needed to understand the reality of her situation.

Smith took a moment to catch his breath, feeling the tremor in her muscles as she evaluated his position.
Don’t back down now.
He kept his voice empty, cold, “What could I do to you right now, C?”

“Kill me,” she spoke through gritted teeth, her anger at failing to win the fight surfacing.

“What if I didn’t want to kill you? What if I wanted information out of you?”

“Then you’d fucking torture me.”

“Or?”

Camille went quiet, her muscles still, and he forced himself to maintain eye contact with her as the situation fully settled over her. Crystal blue eyes flickered before she spoke softly, “Let me up, Smith.”