Blood to Dust

“I would have remembered if I saw you before. You’re pretty.”

I turn to face him, smiling sweetly. I want to drink and think about my plans. Not have a quickie in the filthy bathroom.

“Can I just enjoy my drink, please? It’s been a long day.”

“I can make it a long night, too, if you want.” The guy scans me over. He is not ugly, but not attractive either. I wrinkle my nose.

“Doubt it.”

He doesn’t take the hint and instead moves closer, his chest almost bumping into mine. I’m ready with the dagger. Ready to show yet another man that I’m not to be messed with, but I’m hoping not to have to go there. Drawing more attention is the last thing that I need.

All eyes are on me now, and the thought that Godfrey may have moles here after all creeps into my mind. Oh, shit. What if Nate was right? What if I screwed our whole plan in the name of cheap beer?

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Jesus. The guy is still here?

“Yeah, she’s got a boyfriend.” I hear the nonchalant, curt tone that makes my heart quake and overflow behind me. Nate. “He’s a real fucking asshole, too. You’re better off trying to shove your dick into a food processor than hitting that ass. Come on, Cockburn.” I feel his huge hand scoop me into his midsection, his fingers digging into my skin angrily—telling me I fucked up—as he pulls me into him, planting a possessive kiss on my temple. “Let’s get back to our room. Wednesday is anal night.”

I giggle as Nate slaps a twenty-dollar bill on the bar and yanks me back to meet even more of his body, guiding me back out into the humid, scorching night.

I know I need to break free from his touch.

But I don’t.

In fact, as he blankets me with his frame, my back brushing his flexed chest as we awkwardly wobble across the road back to the motel, my guard is down.

So down there’s nothing separating me from my raw emotions toward him.

“What did I tell you about going to the bar?” he whispers into my skull, making my skin crawl in a delicious way.

“You’re not my boss,” I reply, trying to sound indifferent. We enter the crumbling motel, walk past the receptionist and I shake him away, picking up speed. “And now you’re not my captor, either. So I can do whatever I want without giving a damn what you think.”

“Oh, Cockburn,” he says, throwing that stupid nickname in my face again. “When are you going to get over the little fact that I held you hostage in my basement? Stop holding grudges. It’s bad karma.”

When we get into the room, he locks the door behind us and shoves the key in his back pocket. I stand with my knees against the edge of the bed and lift my head.

“I was doing some thinking at the bar. Who are we going to take out first, Godfrey or Sebastian?”

“Sebastian,” he shoots back, unblinking. Now that we’re alone, he doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t seek the warmth of my skin. Is it bad that I constantly crave his? Of course it’s bad. He told me he is ditching me in a week. I need to shake off this stupid crush and realize he won’t be here by next Thursday.

“Explain.” I open my backpack, sifting through my stuff and making sure it’s all there. I haven’t left it once since we started this journey, but doing inventory when I feel stressed or cornered soothes me. Stupid, I know, but I have to keep my hands busy.

“Makes more sense.” Nate arches one eyebrow. “He goes to a gay club in San Francisco every Friday. Irvin’s ex-cell mate sees him there regularly. Perfect opportunity to find out where he lives.” Nate walks back to the window and peeks out. “We’ll be able to follow him back to his place and do it quietly. Also, if we off Godfrey first, Seb would get word and run away. He’s got no ties to NorCal. Godfrey, on the other hand, can’t simply fuck off and hide. He’s got business here. No. He’ll stay, and even wait for us.”

Clearly, he’s thought this out.

“We don’t have a weapon.” I chew on my lower lip, dragging papery skin through my teeth as I mull this over. I used to have a Glock, but Godfrey took it. It’s not going to be easy to get my hands on another one so soon. Archer supervises and knows of each and every unregistered gun that’s on the market in NorCal, and I don’t know anyone who sells here in L.A.

“We’ve got plenty. We don’t have a gun. But guns are for pussies, anyway.”

When he sees the doubt pouring from my face, he snarls with conviction. “I’ve got your back, Baby-Cakes. I can kill him with one arm tied to my back, on fucking roller-skates. Clear?”