For the first month, we were the hot story—two vigilantes hunting down child rapists, a sex trafficking ring brought down by two of its victims. Hell, I think a few reporters wanted us to be caught just so they could get an exclusive. They haven’t painted us as horrible as I suspected they would, but it hasn’t exactly been favorable.
By the second month, with no leads to find us, the news reports lost most some interest, and now we’re a ten second spot once or twice a week. And the search continues for Abigail Johansen and Brian Morton is the extent of our story.
“This will end it, and then we can really be free. We can leave or we can stay.” Brian lets go of the railing and cups my chin. “Our real life starts right after this meeting.”
“There’s enough money left from my dad’s closet for us to leave right now,” I argue. “We don’t have to talk to him. We don’t have to risk it.” Why can’t we just run away without chancing never seeing each other again?
“If we leave, we might not know if they are going to keep hunting down the other people involved. This was bigger than Bossman and Romero. Bigger than the department.”
He’s right, and there was a time I wanted to hunt down every last one of them to make them pay for what they did—what they are still doing. But do I now, when we’re so close to absolute freedom?
Brian’s waiting for me to say or do something. He’s waiting for me to mull everything over and come to the right conclusion. His conclusion, most likely. Bossy man.
“You’re going to go with or without my blessing.” I decide to stand neutral.
Both his eyebrows raise, and he lets go of my chin. “Yeah. I am.” He nods.
“Well.” I exaggerate a sigh. “I suppose we should get one more fuck in before you leave. After you meet him, you’ll be playing bitch to some big monster in prison.” I dance around him and run through the patio door into the bedroom, leaving him on the balcony.
“You think so, huh? You better be naked with your legs spread wide for me when I get in there.” It’s meant to be a threat, except nothing Brian does scares me. And he’s proven to be as dark and devious in bed as out of it.
I wiggle out of the tank top and shorts I’m wearing and toss them across the room before jumping onto the bed. I’m barely comfortable before his hulking body lands on top of me.
“One last fuck, huh?” He yanks my thighs apart. There’s a savage look about him when he gets like this. A primal energy surrounds him as he cups my ass, pulling me toward him. He’s already stripped, and his hard cock impales me in one movement.
I cry out, not because of the pain, but because of how easily he fulfills that need in me. How quickly the dueling demons in my soul settle when he takes everything over.
His mouth crushes mine, and I grab hold of him to keep him from pulling away. Urgency burns within me as he bucks forward again and again, driving hard into me.
He breaks the kiss, but doesn’t leave me. He trails kisses down my jaw.
“Abigail,” he growls, but it sounds like an accusation. “Fuck. Abigail.” He presses me hard into the mattress, pumping into me over and over. The springs squeak beneath us, the headboard hits the wall, but it’s just the music we dance to.
“Don’t.” I wrap my legs around his waist, stopping him from pulling away.
He laughs.
“You’re telling me no?” He tugs on my earlobe.
“No. I’m telling you don’t stop,” I correct him, though how I manage words when my breath is caught in my throat is unknown. “Don’t stop. Ever.”
He brings his gaze in line with mine, back to serious.
“I’ll never stop loving you, Abigail.” He hasn’t misunderstood my words; he just knows me better than myself sometimes. He’s more in tune with my heart.
I swallow back the rush of emotion. How do I respond without sounding silly? How can I ever make him understand the depth of my feelings?
“I swear it too,” I say softly. Not eloquent, but the truth.
He grabs ahold of my wrists, pinning them above me, and drives into my sex with all the force I can handle.
“This is our bond,” he says in his raspy voice, his breath hot against my ear.
“Together,” I moan, bucking my hips upward.
“Forever.”
As though the words stroke me better than his touch, my body lights up. Pulling my knees up and farther apart, he grinds his hips until I lose control. Nerves burst, screams erupt, lights flash, and while I’m in the midst of heaven, he pumps his cock faster and harder than before, bringing me away from the edge only to plummet me back. Only this time, he’s with me. Screaming his release in time with mine. We find our relief, we find our home, we find our love in each other.
Together.
Forever.
Thirty
BRIAN
Pierce sits in a corner booth, as far away from the entrance as he can get. I pick him out of the small crowd easily. He’s the only one in a suit.
When I pulled into the diner, I noticed the cars in the lot. It seems he came alone. My guard is still up, no matter what he promised on the call.
“Brian.” Pierce inclines his head as I approached the booth.
A waitress appears, a pot of coffee in hand. “Need a menu?” she asks while pouring me a cup.
“We’ll both have the BLT club,” Pierce says, handing her the oversized, laminated menu he had in front of him.
“Be out in a few minutes,” she says and disappears.
“Thanks for meeting me.” Pierce folds his hands on the tabletop and keeps his gaze locked on me.
I glance around the diner again, then out the window at the parking lot.
“No one but me. I swear.” He splays his hands out.
I roll my shoulders, but the tension doesn’t ease. If this goes south, Abigail is going to be on her own. She’s a strong woman, she can handle herself, but she shouldn’t have to. She’s had enough people in her life let her down. I won’t be like them.
“I was surprised when I heard you on the television.” Pierce had given an interview a few weeks back. He’d looked right in the camera and talked about needing to find Abigail to be sure she got the care she needed. He wanted to be sure she was safe after all the horrors she’s been through. Apparently, they’ve been watching the tapes.
Pierce isn’t dumb, at least not as stupid as I thought he was. He knew playing the Abigail card would get to me.
“I meant what I said. I do want to be sure she’s okay.” He looks away for a brief moment. “And you…the things…” He clears his throat.
“Yeah, we’ve been through some shit.” I save him from having to spell it out. Why should we both have the discomfort of my serial rape? I can’t muster the contempt maybe I should have for his discomfort. I wasn’t any different when I was the one on that side of the table. Thinking I had the answers, the right words to make the victim feel better. As though they could heal with a few well-placed syllables.
“Is she okay?”
“Where was this concern during the initial investigation?” I change the subject.
He blows out a low breath. “Todd did a fan-fucking-tastic job of derailing us. You were only there a day, and the day you were there wasn’t our best. We’d been combing through useless websites, reports, and pictures for months when you and Cathy showed up.”