Up to Me (The Bad Boys 2)

I hear Cash sigh.

Uh oh.

“I think so.”

He moves away from me to pace to the apartment door and back, his head bent in thought.

“Well?”

“Nash has some…information that we can use as leverage after handing over the books for Marissa.”

“What kind of information?”

There’s a pause, during which it feels like everyone in the room is debating the wisdom of answering me.  I disabuse them of that notion right away.  “If you’re thinking of keeping me in the dark when I’m one of the ones in their crosshairs, you really need to think again.  You need my cooperation, right?  I mean, I could go right to the cops and that would change everything, right?”

I hate to make such a threat.  I think Cash knows I’m just bluffing, but the others don’t.  There’s no way they could.

It’s Gavin who speaks up first.  “Just tell her, mate.  You’re the one who says she can be trusted.”

I won’t lie.  It makes me very happy that Cash has told them as much.  It also makes me feel guilty for the misgivings I’ve had the last couple of days.

“The afternoon of the accident, Nash was coming back from the store with supplies for the trip.  He stopped on the dock of the marina to video a couple of girls lying on top of a yacht, sunbathing topless.  He accidentally caught the trigger man on tape.”

“Trigger man?”

“Yeah, the guy that detonated the bomb.”

I gasp.  “Oh shit!”

“Exactly.  They’d have killed all of us if they’d known Nash had it.  I think Dad was right to hold off for a while.  Something like that is very dangerous.”

“So you’re going to hand over the books and then what?  Use the video to…”

“Keep us all alive.”

“But how?  It’ll be just like the books all over again, only they’ll know who has it, who to go after.”

I feel sick.  I can only imagine the kinds of torture they’d employ upon loved ones to get their hands on evidence as damning as a video.

“Not exactly.  There’s something else at play.  Dad had me send two messages.  Nash was one.  We haven’t heard from the other one yet.  Nash thinks that the video used in conjunction with this other…player might be enough to get us out of this forever.”

“Forever?  How exactly?”

“By eliminating the threat.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?  That sounds like you plan to kill somebody.”

“No. Not us.”

I look between the faces of the three guys.  They’re all very serious.

“Surely you’re joking.”

Not one of them even flinches.

“You can’t really be considering this.”

Still nothing.

My head spins.  It’s just like the movies.  But it’s so much worse in real life.  For a few seconds, it seems surreal.  I can’t wrap my mind around being involved in something like this.  I mean, this is…this is…

Cash moves in front of me and bends until his face is inches from mine.  “Olivia, these are bad men.  And I don’t mean they’ve robbed a liquor store.  These men are killers.  Murderers.  And they won’t stop if they think for one second that any of us poses a threat.  Or could get them something they want.  This is real. And it’s serious.”

I search his eyes.  I guess, considering the conversation, I’m looking for a monster. But I don’t find one.  I see only the guy I’ve been steadily falling in love with.  I wonder if it’s too late to turn back now.

“What are you asking of me?”

His eyes never leaving mine, Cash straightens.  “Give us a minute, guys” he says to Gavin and Nash.  Quietly, they make their way from the room.  Cash takes my hand and leads me through the door at the back of the office, into the kitchen of the apartment area in behind.  When he releases my hand, I lean against the cabinets to keep from falling over.  My heart is pounding so loudly I wonder if Cash can hear it.

Cash’s back is to me. I see him run his fingers through his hair and I hear him sigh again.  “I’m asking you to trust me, Olivia.”  He turns to face me.  “Trust in what you know about me.  Because I know, if you stop listening to your fear, you know who I am.  Deep down.  You know me, Olivia.  You know me.”

His voice is sincere. His expression is urgent.  I close my eyes against his face, his handsome face, the face that haunts both my waking and my sleeping world.  I open them again when I feel warm hands cup my cheeks.  Cash is a breath away, his eyes oceans of midnight, drawing me out into the deep.

“It’s me,” he says softly.  “Stop listening to everything else.  Remember the way you feel when I’m kissing you and touching you.  Don’t think with your head.  You know me.  And when my lips are on yours, you trust me.”  As if to make his point, he dips his head and brushes his mouth over mine.  Sparks fly between us.  As always.  “You trust me, when my hands are on your skin.”  He runs his palms down my arms and then over to my waist where he pushes them up under the edge of my shirt.  Chills break out down my back.  “You trust me when you turn your mind off, when you just feel.”

His hands move further up, skating over my ribs to cup my breasts.  His thumbs brush my nipples then he squeezes them through the thin material of my bra.  I catch my breath.

“See?  You aren’t thinking. You’re just feeling. You’re feeling me.  Right now you trust me.  You know I’d do anything for you, that I’d never hurt you.  You know you’re not like the others.  I know you know that.  And that you want me.  Just like I want you.”

He’s right.  He’s right about all of it.  And I do want him.  I always have.  In a way it makes no sense, that I’d want him right now considering what might be happening in the next few hours.  But in a way, it makes perfect sense.  If things go wrong, this might be the last time I see Cash, or get to be with him this way.

That thought brings with it both panic and abandon.  I swallow the words that want to rush out, words about love and devotion, words that have no place in this moment.  They deserve to be spoken when there’s no pressure and no distress.  And that’s not now.

But we still have tonight.  So I’ll show him.  I’ll give him everything else I have.

“Tell me you want me,” he commands softly, his voice a low growl.

I don’t hesitate.  Reaching up, I drag my fingertip along his perfect lower lip.  “I want you.”

“Tell me you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

He exhales, his warm breath fanning my face.  “Now tell me you want me to touch you.”

His hands are still, unmoving over my bra. But I don’t want them to be still.  More than anything, I want for them to move.  “I want you to touch me.”