Last Breath (Hitman #2)(60)
Author: Jessica Clare

“Is this how you want it?” My voice is so hard and rough that I barely recognize it.

“Yes,” she snarls back. “I want it harder, faster. I want more.”

My hips move with such force that she’s sliding across the mattress. Her hands and feet are scrambling for purchase as she seeks some way to push back. I grab her around the hips and pull her toward me. I may have started out with gentleness, but my self-control has left me and there’s only one way out of this maelstrom. Her hands latch on to my wrists. As if there’s a jackhammer driving through my spine, I thrust inside of her relentlessly. My fingers are leaving bruises on her skin, but the way that she’s clawing at my arms tells me she is with me all the way.

“I’m close. Soooo close,” she cries. I maintain my rhythm, hard, fast, and steady until she’s exploding. Then I lean over, one hand braced by her head, both her legs over my shoulders, and I hammer furiously into her wet tight glove until my orgasm comes.

“I’ve got you,” I shout. “Let go.”

When I’m spent, I collapse by her side, pulling her into my arms. We rub each other’s backs and arms and spread soft, drugged kisses over the skin available to us.

“I love you,” she whispers in between caresses. No matter what happens tomorrow, we’ll have this. I clutch her body closer so I can feel her heartbeat against mine.

Regan

I’M PRETTY GOOD AT LYING to myself, it seems.

I told myself that after I left the brothel, I never wanted another man to touch me. Lies.

I told myself that I’d never be vulnerable again. Lies. I’m vulnerable every time Daniel looks at me with that wicked grin on his face and my heart jumps in response.

I told myself I’d never go back to the brothel. But here I am, volunteering to go to Freeze’s house because that’s where Naomi is and I’m what we need to get her out. I know Daniel wouldn’t judge me if I chickened out. He doesn’t want me to go. But I need to go. If not just for Naomi, for all the other girls that have been stolen and disappeared behind those walls, never to appear again. It’s not just for Daniel.

But . . . there I go again, lying to myself.

I smooth my hands down his spine, enjoying the feel of his sweat-slicked skin against my own. In Daniel’s arms, I’m whole. In Daniel’s arms, the world is safe.

And I’m leaving his arms for the enemy tomorrow. I shiver and burrow my face into his neck, breathing in his sweaty scent.

“You okay?” Daniel asks, running a hand down my arm.

“If things go bad tomorrow,” I ask in a soft voice, “you’ll come and find me, right? No matter what it takes?”

He props his body up on his elbows and gazes down at me, all relaxation gone from his body. He’s practically vibrating with tension now. “Nothing’s going to go wrong, Regan.”

“It’s just . . .” I swallow hard. “Hudson’s not right in the head. I don’t think I could deal with two months with him. I lived through two months in the brothel, but I don’t think I could do it with him. If you can’t come get me, I’ll figure out a way—”

“A way to what?” Daniel’s voice is harsh.

“To make them shoot me,” I say. But my voice is very small in the face of his anger.

“No,” he growls, and he grabs my chin in his hand and forces me to look at him when I avert my eyes. “You think I won’t come after you? You think I’d let that fucker touch one hair on your head while I’ve still got breath in my body? You don’t do anything but what we outlined in the plan, Regan, because I swear I will fucking come and rescue you like some goddamn knight in shining armor. And you don’t believe otherwise until they roll my dead body at your feet, all right? Because the thought of you killing yourself because you don’t have any hope left eats at my fucking gut, and I’m not going to be able to let you go in there if that’s even on the table.”

“All right,” I tell him softly. “All right.”

“It’s not all right.” There’s a fierce possessiveness in his eyes as he pulls me close and begins to press feverish kisses to my skin. “You’re mine, Regan Porter. You don’t get to decide if you die or not. Because if you do, you’re destroying me, too.”

“It was just a suggestion,” I say and drag my fingers through his messy hair. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

But there I go, lying to myself again.

Twenty-three

Regan

IN THE MORNING , I’VE BEEN trussed up like the present I’m supposed to be. One of the ladies in the favela took me aside and gave me a white shift to wear that’s practically see-through. Underneath, I’m wearing a white lacy panty and bra set. I don’t know how they managed to get these things in such a short period of time, but Mendoza’s people are incredibly efficient. Once I’m dressed, the woman curls my hair, fixes my makeup, and then works a GPS tracker the size of a pearl into the seam of my bra cup. It’s utterly invisible, but I can feel it there, and it makes me anxious. I wish I had my gun, but I’m not allowed that. I’m not even allowed shoes.

When I head out to the car, Mendoza, several of his men, and Vasily Petrovich are waiting. They’re all armed to the teeth. Daniel is crouching on the ground, raking a hand through his hair over and over again, and he gets to his feet at the sight of me. He approaches, a dark expression on his face.

“How do I look?” I keep my voice light so he doesn’t know how scared I am.

“Like a fighter,” Daniel tells me grimly. His hand brushes down my arm, and he keeps looking me over, as if making sure that I’m still okay.

I force a smile to my face. “That’s not the object here, Daniel. I’m supposed to look sexy.”

“Regan,” he tells me and grabs the back of my neck, dragging me against him. My breasts mash against his tactical vest that is studded with weapons. While I’ve been getting ready, he has, too. “Look, just because we’re sending you in there doesn’t mean that you have to do whatever that sadistic bastard wants, okay? You fight him if he touches you.”

I shake my head. “Daniel, you know that I can’t. I was sent to Gomes because he wanted me obedient. If I’m not obedient, he’s not going to keep me around.”

“I don’t care,” Daniel grits out, and his voice is hoarse with barely contained rage. He presses his forehead to mine. “I’m not sending you in to get hurt. I can’t take that—”