Читать книгу Crossing The Line - Kierney Scott - Страница 10
ОглавлениеBeth couldn’t remember where she had parked but then she realized she was looking for her SUV not the small red Prius she had rented at the airport. She took a deep breath and looked around at the bare trees. The leaves had already turned and most had fallen. This was California, her home; the place she had worked so hard to come back to. But it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the same. This wasn’t her home. For over a decade every decision she made was about getting back here. But now all she wanted to do was get back to Texas to her sassy five-year-old and her scary-looking tattooed husband. They were her home now, for as long as Torres chose to be there, he would be her safe place.
As she slid the key into the lock, there was a sharp tug on her ponytail. Her head snapped back.
In an instant Beth spun around, just in time to see the peroxide blonde from inside swing at her.
Without having to think, Beth stepped to the side, preventing the punch from landing on her face. She used the momentum of the swing to spin the woman around. Beth slammed her hard against the side of the car. She still had a hold of her arm; that alone was enough leverage to keep the woman in place. Suddenly she saw the little girl staring up at her.
Beth shook her head. “Seriously? You attack me in front of your kid? Some people really should not be parents. I told you not to mess with me. You really should have listened.”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
Beth pulled up on her arm. It was a small movement designed to inflict maximum pain.
“Ouch, you mother fucker,” the woman howled.
“Please stop swearing in front of your child.” Beth turned and smiled down at the little girl. She reminded her so much of her own daughter. “Mommy is having a hard time remembering her manners. But I’m helping her remember. That is nice of me, isn’t it? Good manners are very important.”
The little girl’s dark brows knit together, not sure what to make of Beth.
Beth lowered her voice to a whisper so the little girl could not hear her. “You’re not very tough now without your gang. Bet you wish you had a gun right now or a baseball bat.” Beth gave her arm another small pull upward. “Did I forget to tell you I have a black belt in karate? Yep I did. Must have slipped my mind. Also forgot to mention I am a special agent with the DEA. So you just assaulted an officer of the law. Never a good idea. The court frowns on that. Do you have anything sharp in your pocket I could cut myself on?”
The woman didn’t answer.
“You really need to learn to play nice.” Beth pulled up on her arm again, not stopping until the woman bellowed. She hated that she had to do this in front of the little girl. Life would be so much easier if parents put their children before their need to be assholes.
“No, no I don’t have anything.”
Beth loosened the pressure on her arm. “Good. See how much easier things are when you play nice. It’s all about human decency.” Beth reached into the woman’s pocket, finding a California State driver’s license. “Pleasure to meet you, Tasha Baker. I will be sure to tell your parole agent how we became acquainted.”
“Bitch, I don’t got no parole officer.”
“Really? Because that ugly tattoo on your neck tells me you’re with the Crips. And the one on your wrist told me you served time. So don’t lie to me. You have a parole officer. Chances are you just got your kid back. So right after I speak to your parole officer I’m going to speak to your kid’s social worker. All this because you couldn’t listen. Next time when someone says don’t mess with them, don’t mess with them. Or better yet just don’t mess with people. It’s all about human decency. Get some, Tasha.”
Beth turned to the little girl. “Baby Girl, listen to me. Make better choices. Your mama has a hard time. She will probably let you down a lot along the way. Be strong and make better choices.” Beth could only sigh. The cards were stacked high against this poor kid. But she could still make it. She had to tell herself that.
Beth returned her stare to Tasha. “I am going to let you go now. You are going to take your child and walk back to your car. If you try anything stupid, like say trying to hit me again, I will hit you back. Hard. And that would be embarrassing. In front of your kid and all. And then I will take you to the ground and I will sit with my knee in your spine until the police send someone to arrest you. All very embarrassing for you, Tash. Can I call you Tash? I feel like we are at that level now. Since you’ve pulled my hair and I’ve made you scream. So Tash, walk away and don’t look back. And buy your kid a clean pacifier. I personally think she is old enough to do without but you’re her mama, so I’m going to cut her some slack.”
Beth sighed as she settled into the driver’s seat. She sat and just stared out at the bare trees. God this had been a shit day. But still nothing, she felt nothing. No that was a lie, she felt like the trees, bare, stripped down to the point where life was merely nominal. But the leaves would be back. There would be a spring and the flowers would bloom.
She would too. She had to believe that, the same way she believed the little girl had a chance.
She shook her head. Once upon a time she had been better at lying to herself. Maybe it was this place; it was hard to believe in a happy ever after when you were sitting in a prison parking lot.
She really wasn’t going to miss California any more.
Beth reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a bag of M&Ms. This day called from M&M therapy. She knew it would and had planned ahead and bought a family size bag. There was no way four ounces was going to cover it this time. She remembered there being a time when half a dozen pieces would do the trick. She sucked on them one at a time, never biting into them, letting them dissolve on her tongue. The combination of slow breathing and the spike in her blood sugar always lifted her mood, at least temporarily. Like any drug, the effects were short-lived and she needed more and more to get her fix…but they would do until she could get home and see Torres. He was a far more powerful opiate. The withdrawal from him would be a bitch…
It was just after 9pm when Beth arrived home. She was still having a hard time adjusting to calling her new house home. She knew it would take a while before she stopped thinking of her small bungalow as home. They had moved to a nicer house, a bigger house in a gated community. The move made sense, Torres barely fit in her bungalow and the new house had the security they needed. There was a protective detail assigned to Alejandra around the clock. After what happened to Paige, she was taking no chances. Alejandra would grow up shadowed by a bodyguard until Beth brought down El Escorpion.
Beth tiptoed up the stairs to Alejandra’s bedroom. She was lying on her tummy, arms above her head, fast asleep. Beth pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and leaned down and pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “I’ve missed you, Pretty Girl,” she said to her sleeping form. She had been gone less than twenty-four hours but it was too long. Beth stood and stared at her child for a while, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.
She is safe. The tight knot in Beth’s stomach loosened a little. She is safe. Beth repeated the words to herself over and over until she almost believed them. She never fully would, and that was OK, because that meant she would never let her guard down again. She couldn’t save Paige, but she would protect Alejandra.
Eventually she kissed her cheek again and then went to look for Torres. She knew where he would be. Where he always was, in the garage working, cutting or sanding. A rush of anticipation shot through her when she thought of her husband. That was one emotion that has not been dulled, the thrill she got when she was with Torres. Sometimes it was the only way she felt alive.
Beth held on to the cold wrought-iron banister as she rushed down the steps.
“Hey,” Beth said when she reached him. He was bent over a workbench. His shirt stretched taut over his biceps. His skin looked darker from the contrast of his white shirt.
He looked up and gave her his trademark half smile. Her heart faltered. He was so perfect, scars and all. She didn’t even notice the slash on his cheek any more. It wasn’t until people reacted to his appearance, that she remembered. Objectively he was a terrifying sight, he was six feet of scars and muscles and tattoos. But to her, he was just Torres, her gorgeous husband; the one who held her when she cried, and kissed her until she was breathless. He was hers for now and that was all that mattered tonight.
“Hola, Mami.”
Beth crossed to him wordlessly. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his. His lips opened to her, returning the same urgency. His hands dropped to her hips, pulling her hard against him. She reached between them, pulling up his shirt. She needed to feel him, the smooth knotted scars of his burned chest.
She pulled back just enough to speak. “Take off your shirt.”
“Giving orders now, Gatita?”
Once upon a time she did give him orders. He was her recruit; she had trained him. And now he was her husband. “I just want to see you.” She didn’t wait for him to lift his arms before she started pulling up.
“Hard day?”
Beth didn’t look at him; instead she studied the think black lines of his Santa Muerte tattoo and the scar it covered. She hadn’t told him she was going to Folsom to see her dad. She told him she was in the office catching up on paperwork. “Yeah,” she murmured. That much wasn’t a lie; it had been a hard day.
She had lied to him and she did not regret it even a little. Torres knew about her dad, that he was in prison. That was more than she had ever told another man. He didn’t need to know that she went to see him today. That would make it too real. It was done now, that was all that mattered.
Beth circled her index finger trough a loop in his belt and pulled him closer to her. She needed him. It wasn’t lust or desire, though they were there, it was something deeper; she needed him to feel alive, to feel anything that wasn’t wrapped up in fear and anxiety.
With Torres, everything else disappeared. There was no room for anything else.
“Let’s go to bed,” she murmured against his lips, pulling him towards the door.
Torres never slept more than four hours a night. Every night after she was asleep, he got up again to work in his shop until 2:00 or 3:00. Sleep had never come easily to him, but it was worse now since he escaped from Colombia. He never said anything. She just knew. She could feel it in the tautness of his muscles, never relaxing, always ready to move, to strike. He always waited until he thought she was asleep, and returned before she woke, but she knew, they just didn’t talk about it. They both had their secrets. And they both knew not to push.
What they had now was good. It was solid and passionate and fulfilling, but it was also delicate and new and most likely unsustainable. They had known each other for six years, but this, the new permutation of Beth and Torres as a couple, was new, born out of necessity and devastation, formed from their broken pieces. Eventually they would crack, everything did. But right now they were in the moment before everything turned to shit. She couldn’t go back to that moment with Paige, or with her mom, but she was living in that moment now with Torres, and she would enjoy it until it was gone.
The Torres that came back from the jungle wasn’t the same man that left. And what he returned to was more different than he could have imagined. There was no warm welcome, just resentment and regret.
But they found their way back together. It was inevitable. The pull was too strong, their connection too intense, so they were together, scars and all. Was it love or addiction? The answer didn’t really matter, because he made her feel good and quitting him now wasn’t a choice.
She had waited for the “I love you” when he came back, but it never happened, not even when he proposed. After Paige died, when she was at her lowest point, he was there for her. He told her that she was going to marry him and he was going to take care of her. That was the closest to a declaration she was going to get and it was more than she deserved.
They had loved each other once. She truly believed that. But now, what they had now, what was it? Could it still be called love after so much pain had been inflicted? Torres leaving, Beth turning to Patterson, the abandonment and the betrayal… So much had happened, but still Torres was the one who made her forget.
Beth pulled his hand and led him to their bedroom. She had more to forget tonight than usual. She pulled him closer and ran a hand over the raised skin of the slash on his face and then lower to the Santa Muerte tattoo that covered the left side of his chest. His muscles grew taut under her touch. Her hands dropped lower still, to his wrists, which were now wrapped around her waist. They were encased in thick scar tissue, a remnant from his imprisonment. His whole body told his story, it was written in the scars and tattoos. He looked like he could be an inmate; that is why she had picked him. She needed someone who could infiltrate a drug cartel, but his looks alone had not done it, his ruthlessness had.
He was a killer and a drug runner and a gang member and he was the only person who could make her forget all of that.
Torres pulled her hard against him. His body was a solid wall of muscle. Physically he could overpower her without even trying. If he wanted, he could break her; snap her in two. And she liked that; there was nothing to fight against with Torres, because she would lose. All the control was his. She didn’t have to think or fight or rationalize, all she had to do was feel.
She was already wet and ready for him. A shot of desire ran through her as she traced the deep lines that defined the muscles of his chest. She licked her lips. There were so many places her mouth wanted to be: his full lips, the flat plane of his belly; the thick end of his cock. She couldn’t decide which she wanted first but in the end the decision was taken from her. Torres pushed her down against the mattress, his solid body creating a cage around her. And then his mouth captured hers, hot and exploring, his tongue slid between her lips.
Her body clamped in anticipation. She felt so empty, only he could fill the need in her. She was ready, she didn’t need kissing or foreplay, she just needed him, his cock buried deep inside her, the connection: the fullness.
Frantically she pulled at his jeans, trying and failing to pull them over his hips. She pulled her mouth away so she could concentrate on the buttons keeping her from her goal.
Torres pushed his hips against hers, effectively pinning her to the bed. “Why the hurry, Gatita?” he asked. His voice was thick with his own controlled desire. He held her wrists hard against the mattress.
She could not verbalize it. The words didn’t make sense, even to her, but she was in a hurry. She was always in a hurry with Torres, desperate to have every moment with him, before it ended.
She pulled against him, trying to free her hands so she could reach him. She needed to feel him.
Torres lifted himself off her. His dark eyes hooded with desire. “Stop fighting me, or I’ll tie you up,” he warned. His tone was neutral but there was no doubt that he was deadly serious. Torres had the control here, he always did, and she willingly gave it.
Another wave of desire crashed against her. She gave her head a terse shake. She didn’t want to be tied up, not tonight. Most nights there was nothing she liked better than being tied to the bed so he could fuck her in any manner he deemed fit. Nothing was off limits with Torres; she had soon learned that. She had come into the relationship naïve. She had had her fair share of partners, but once she slept with Torres she realized she was far from experienced.
He used her body any way he wanted. Sometimes she was reticent, but in the end she always begged for more. Between them, words like dirty or taboo had no meaning. All her inhibitions had been stripped away. Torres didn’t allow them. He wanted all of her body, all of her. There was never a question, no room to protest, he took and she gave. There was nothing more erotic or liberating than being tied down and fucked hard.
Torres kissed her neck, his tongue darting into the delicate hollow of her neck. With agonising deliberateness he slowly undid each button of her blouse, rewarding each exposed area of flesh with a lick. She moaned when he reached her belly, so close to the centre of all her sensation. She licked her lips again. Her mouth was so dry. She needed him inside her now. Her hands fisted the sheets to keep from clawing at his jeans. He had told her to stop, and Torres didn’t ask twice. The warning was purely a courtesy; if Torres wanted her tied up, she would be bound to the bedframe before she had time to protest.
She needed her hands tonight to run along the scarred surface of his skin, and pull him closer. Torres undid the front fastening hook of her bra. He didn’t move, he just studied her breasts, his eyes drinking them in. They were too small, she knew that, but he said they were perfect. The way he was looking at her now, gave her no doubt that he was telling the truth. Gently his hand brushed her breast, his calloused thumb circling her nipple. Blood rushed to the dusky peaks, the sensitive skin strained to meet his touch. It was so gentle now, she could barely feel it, but her body responded just the same, demanding more, but he wouldn’t, not yet. He wanted to watch her; that was what he wanted. The lights were on, and he had every intention of watching.
For reasons that escaped her, Torres was mesmerized by her body, every response, each moan, he took it all in, transfixed, especially her orgasms. He loved to watch her come; that more than anything had taking some getting used to. Before Torres, she had never had an orgasm with a partner. She thought she couldn’t, she was far too inhibited; that is what she had told herself. Turns out, she just hadn’t been doing it right or, more to the point, she hadn’t been doing it with the right person.
Torres had once told her that people weren’t good or bad in bed, it was their chemistry that mattered. She still didn’t believe him; some people were just good, like him. He was even good enough in bed to overcome all of her shortcomings. Her body would never respond to anyone else the way she did to him.
His touch became stronger, still soft but now she knew she was not imagining each stroke. Gently he pulled on her nipple, rolling it slowly between his thumb and forefinger. Her breath came in small pants. She could come like this, with nothing but the scrape of his calloused skin against her nipples, but he wouldn’t let her, not yet. She bit back a moan so Torres wouldn’t know how turned on she was. If he knew, he would stop and then move to another part of her body and kiss and lick her until she was near breaking point before moving on to start again. It was torture pure and simple, and she hated it as much as she craved it with every fiber of her being.
“Don’t close your eyes, Gatita.”
She immediately obeyed, not wanting him to stop.
“Torres,” she moaned. “Please… Please” She could not formulate a sentence. She didn’t even know what she was asking for. She pulled down her pants and threw them in the corner along with her shirt and underwear. “Torres, I need to feel you.”
“Oh, you will,” he said, half his mouth rising in a crooked smile. Her heart momentarily forgot to beat. She loved his smile, his lopsided grin, always smirking, and his straight white teeth. “You’ll feel me here,” he said lowering his head to her breast. Beth’s breath caught. He flicked her nipple with his tongue before he took it in his mouth. When he sucked, another wave of sensation rocked her, taking her to another level. “And here,” he said as he took her other nipple between his teeth. He pressed down with just enough force to blur the lines of pain and pleasure. It took all her energy not to moan again. Her lips rocked against his, seeking relief, it would only take a few strokes and she would be coming, hard and fast, but Torres prevented her from moving. He was in control. She forced herself to take a deep breath and focus on each sensation, the heat of his breath, the sharp graze of his teeth, the rush of blood, the scratch of his stubble. With another deep breath, she relaxed into it. There was no need to rush with this. With her body, she trusted him completely. No matter what he did, it would feel good. He would push and tease and make her scream with frustration and desire, but he would always make her come. Beth didn’t trust most people, but she trusted Torres to make her feel good.
Torres licked his way down the valley between her breasts and over the plain of her stomach and then to the thatch of curls at the top of her thighs. He pushed her legs open until her knees rested against the white duvet. “And here, Gatita. You’re going to feel me here,” he promised.
She sucked in a sharp breath as his finger slid up her, parting her folds, exposing the throbbing point at her centre. Slowly he ran his finger up and down, admiring her. She didn’t dare try to shut her legs. She belonged to him, all of her. “Do you want me to kiss you here?” he asked.
There was no question, he was going to do it; the only uncertainty was if he would make her beg for it. She would, she was shameless when it came to Torres. There was no room for pride where he was concerned. But she wouldn’t need to beg tonight, because he wanted it as much as her. Torres had reached his point of no return too. She could tell because he had slipped into Spanish. The switch in language was involuntary; she doubted he even knew he did. When they had sex he always spoke Spanish to her, whether he was whispering praise or telling her all the ways he was going to defile her, it was always in Spanish. She would never tell him he did it, because he might stop, and it was one of her favorite things about going to bed with Torres, that and the full body orgasms that made her legs shake and her toes curl, those were nice too.
“Que linda,” he murmured. How beautiful. Beth wasn’t beautiful, she knew, she had a mirror, but to Torres she was and she feared for the safety of anyone who said differently.
The light above them was too bright. There was nowhere to hide, no dim lighting to soften her edges. It was just her spread open for him. She could close her eyes now, he wasn’t looking at her face, but she wouldn’t because she wanted to watch as his head lowered and his tongue found her clit. There was nothing as erotic as watching Torres lick her pussy, his dark head nestled between her pale thighs, the muscles of his broad shoulders contracting under tan skin, as his mouth worked to bring her to climax, the sight alone was enough to make her come.
His head lowered. Gently he licked her thighs, and then the delicate folds, and then the wet opening of her body. Her hips bucked as he made intimate contact. The sensation was almost too much and it was made greater by the feeling that he shouldn’t be doing it, it was too intimate, too personal. She would never consider doing it with anyone else, but nothing was off limits with Torres, there were no rules. His tongue darted in and out of her, making love to her with his mouth.
Her hands fisted in his hair. Higher, she needed him higher. She needed him to suck on her clit, just one stroke of his tongue. That is all she needed. He knew it but he wouldn’t do it, not until he was good and ready. If it were possible to die of desire, she would be six feet under.
Oh God she needed him higher. She arched her back, trying to reposition herself, open her body further to him. “Please, Torres,” she begged. Her hands fisted in his hair pulling his dark head higher. “Please.”
Torres raised his head. On his face was a lazy smile. He was enjoying this, making her suffer. He was a sadist. “Please what, Gatita? What do you want from me?”
“Make me come,” she begged.
“You know I will. When are you going to learn to trust me?” His smile was devious but his eyes were hooded with desire. This was torture for him too, he wanted to be inside her, but he was proving a point…a frustrating…erotic…exquisite point.
Her head fell to the side. This wasn’t an argument she would win.
Moments later, he returned to the top of her thighs.
She groaned. This might kill her. She needed to come soon, the pressure that built was nearing painful but he was keeping her there, in a holding pattern, not allowing her to make her final ascent. She thrashed about, rubbing herself against his face. The course stubble of his chin bit into her flesh. It hurt but it felt too good. God she needed more…the pain the pleasure…him…she just needed him.
“Torres,” she moaned.
With that cry, his tongue found her clit. She sucked in a ragged breath. It was good, too good. Her legs shook, bright colours flashed behind her eyes as she came hard against his mouth. Her whole body shook with it, as wave after wave of pleasure hit her.
For a precious moment, the world stopped, everything was good. She remembered what happiness felt like.
She closed her eyes and tried to capture the feeling so she could remind herself that she still could feel something.
Beth didn’t have long to languish in the peacefulness of the moment. In seconds Torres was above her, his thick cock at the entrance of her body. With one powerful stroke he was in her and the carnal assault on her senses began again.
She was climbing again, each stroke pushing her higher. “Oh God, Torres, I’m going to come again,” she cried. A powerful spasm rocked her body as she came around his cock, her flesh moulding around him, merging with his, becoming one. Tremor after tremor rocked her until her body could give no more, but still he thrust into her, his cadence merciless, his restraint gone.
She bit into her lip to stop from screaming. Her flesh was too sensitive. Every stroke was agony…and bliss. She loved this part, when it was just about him. It hurt but she loved it. He was using her, fucking her. It was hard and fast, no finesse, just frantic need. She felt used…and sore…and needed…and cherished…and loved. They didn’t say the words, but her body knew. There was no amount of physical pain too much for this.
She watched his face. She loved that face, the scarred bearded face. She ran her hand along the slash on his cheek. With a low animal grunt, he came and warmth flooded her.
He collapsed onto her. He rolled over, so he did not crush her, their bodies still entwined.
Gently he pressed a kiss to her temple.
Beth smiled. She was home.
Beth was draped over his chest, her head resting just above his heart. He ran his hand over her thick blonde hair. He waited for her breathing to change, become slower and deeper, a sign she was asleep.
She was asleep but he didn’t move. She wasn’t dealing with her sister’s death. Nobody dealt well with death, but they dealt with it. They cried or got angry, or in his case he joined the DEA and made his life’s mission to destroy the man who had killed his best friend. He still missed Moses Archila, he always would. He still thought about the sound of the gun. Waking up in the hospital and knowing his best friend was dead and he could have prevented it was the hardest thing he had ever endured. It was worse than his flesh being burnt off in the roadside explosion, worse than being a prisoner in the Colombian jungle.
The guilt would never leave him but he dealt with it.
Beth wasn’t even dealing, she was ignoring. It was what he expected; it was what she did. At first she surprised him, she cried and shook and swore. She grieved.
And then she shut down; all her emotions were gone, pushed down and turned off. She was ignoring the fact her sister was murdered. But she couldn’t ignore this forever. Eventually it would come out and it would be raw and brutal and ugly and she would have to fight to not be drawn under. But he would be there.
He gently pulled his arm out from under her head, replacing it with a pillow. He crossed the room. He needed to work.
But first he needed to pick up her clothes. He could only smile. The woman was completely incapable of getting clothes is a hamper…or wrappers in the trash. In her defence, she got them close, sometimes within a few inches but she never could fully commit. Lucky for her she had lots of other talents, some of which she had just demonstrated.
Torres put Beth’s shoes beside the closet door and before he reached for her pants. As he folded them, a pamphlet fell out, the cover catching his eye: Helping Your Child Understand Prison, Advice from the California Department of Correction.
Torres took a deep breath. Her dad. She had gone to see her dad. He folded the pamphlet and put it back in her pocket. She didn’t want him to know, so he would pretend he didn’t.
