But not for long. His lips released my tongue. His teeth dug into my lower lip. And then he was pulling away from me. Releasing my hair. Pressing me back against the wall. And stepping away.
I took a deep breath, my eyes fluttering open.
To find him standing there.
Fucking eye-smiling at me again.
“Dunno, doll,” he said, and the smile spread to his lips, “might not like how I look... but seems you like how I feel.”
Oh my god.
Okay.
I needed to not rise to the bait.
I needed to, for once, have control over my temper.
“Oh, get over yourself,” I said, affecting a bored tone. “You don't feel all that great either.”
The smile didn't falter. He closed the space between us slightly, his eyes glued to mine and it took everything in me to not look away. To not chicken out.
“If I took my hand,” he said, the offending appendage slipping down my side slowly, “and slipped it inside your panties... how much you wanna bet that sweet little pussy would be nice and wet for me?”
“You wouldn't...” I started, then his thumb pressed into my hipbone hollow, making my air rush out of my lips.
“Wouldn't I?” he asked, the tips of his middle and ring fingers dangerously close to toying with the material of my panties over my yoga pants. “I wouldn't have to, though,” he said, lips twitching, “if you admitted it to me.”
I swallowed hard, both turned on and terrified of him... seeing for himself. But also absolutely horrified at the prospect of admitting I was turned on. “Admit what?” I asked.
“Admit that your pussy is wet from me just kissing you.”
Just. Just ?
That wasn't just anything.
I was pretty sure the world bent off it's axis for the duration of that kiss.
“I'm equally happy with the other option,” he offered, his hand sliding to the waistband of my pants.
Holy hell.
Okay.
I needed to shut this down.
Because if his hands got down my pants...
No.
Wasn't letting my mind go there.
Because if my mind went there, I was pretty sure I'd want his hand to go, well, there.
I felt my cheeks getting hot, knowing they were getting beet red. My eyes fell from his. I could say it. I had the mouth of a sailor. I could push out the words. I just couldn't look at him while I did so. I felt myself leaning forward, my forehead bumping into his chest slightly.
“I'm wet from you kissing me.” It came out as a strangled croak, but I got it out.
His hand slid away from my waistband and to my utter relief, he didn't laugh. He didn't rub my nose in it.
His hand traveled up my spine until it landed at the back of my neck, settling there for a second, squeezing, then releasing me.
“Alright. Let's go see Mallick.”
And then his body was gone and he was moving toward the door, not even bothering to see if I was following behind. But, with very little choice, I did.
“Um, Breaker,” I tried as I made it to the top of the landing.
“Yeah?” he asked, moving to look out the front windows.
“I don't have any shoes.”
His head snapped back to me, dropping to my feet where his (I was assuming they were his) huge socks were swallowing up my feet. “Right,” he said, making his way toward the door. “I'll be right back.”
“Ah... you're just going to leave me here? Not locked up?”
He turned back, giving me a small smile. “You didn't seem too keen on being locked up when I wasn't around.”
“So you're just going to... trust me to stay here?”
“Where else you gonna go that Lex can't get to you?”
He had a point.
He nodded at me, then walked out the door.Alone, I considered running. I wasn't an altogether unforgettable girl. I was average in most ways. I could slip into a crowd and disappear. I could take off somewhere. Lay low. Stop hacking so I didn't have a trail. Adopt a new identity.
But, honestly, what were the chances that I could give up the only thing that mattered in my life?
If I got away, I'd still try to take him down. And he would find me. And that time I wouldn't have someone else (a big, hulking, bad guy) who obviously wanted to help me. Or get me heroin to off myself with.
I wouldn't even know where to get heroin.
Well, that's not true.
I knew where to get it.
The problem was that all the places to get it were people who Lex, in one way or another, owned.
I took a deep breath, pulling my hood back up, putting my face into its depths, and moved over toward a window to look out. There were none of Lex's cars on the street. He had four different ones his surveillance guys used. A early model Ford that resembled an old cop car, a slick silver late model Mercedes, a teenager's typical orange hatchback, and a beat up blue pick-up truck. A car for every kind of neighborhood.
But all I could see on the street were people milling about. Teenagers mostly, obviously skipping school. The cars that were around had no one inside them.
Lex wasn't keeping tabs on Breaker?
That didn't sit right.
Something was off...
“I didn't have a size,” Breaker said, coming in, a shoebox in his hands. “But these should fit regardless. Unless you have feet like a man,” he said, popping off the lid of the box and producing a pair of faded brown combat boots. New, but they looked distressed.
I might have maybe loved them a little bit.
“I'm an eight,” I said, watching him move toward me, placing the boots next to my feet.
“These are a nine. They should be fine.”
With that, I slipped into the boots and watched, in maybe a little bit of amazement, as he laced them up for me.
I don't ever remember anyone tying my laces.
In fact, I remembered my shoes until I was almost a teenager having velcro straps. I'd never even seen my mother bent over my feet when I was growing up.