Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(36)
Author: M. Leighton

“I couldn’t sleep until I knew you were back.”

I don’t know if that means she was afraid of being alone or she was worried about me. I like the thought of her worrying about me, but at the same time it irritates me because I like it.

“Well, I’m back, so go to sleep.”

“I can’t yet. I’m too keyed up. Talk to me. Tell me about your tattoo.”

“I don’t talk about it. Ever.”

“But you can tonight, can’t you? Please.”

Something in her voice, in the vague glint from her eyes that I can see in the darkness, pricks me, pricks my thick scar tissue.

I sigh and close my eyes again, going back in time to places and people and events I’d rather forget. Only I can’t. I’ll never be able to.

“When I first started on the boat, I had no idea what kind of business those guys were into. I thought it was just a cargo ship. I figured we’d haul merchandise from point A to point B and then go back for more. It wasn’t big enough to haul very many containers, and all the ones I got to see the inside of were full of tires. There was no reason for me to think there was anything foul going on.” I pause as I remember the day I first witnessed a deal for something other than tires. “Until we made our first trip into the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea.”

Marissa moves in closer to snuggle against my side and lay her head on my shoulder, her fingers continually tracing the swirling patterns on my bicep.

“The first time, I was more an observer than anything. I stayed on the ship while some of the crew loaded crates that were buried behind the tires onto a smaller boat and took them to shore. It was broad daylight and we could see everything that happened on the beach. I thought it was strange that we were meeting on a near-deserted island, anyway. When I heard the gunshots and saw two of the guys from our ship fall, I knew why. I knew something illegal was going on.

“That night, Dmitry, the one my father put me in contact with, came to my room and told me that if I didn’t keep my mouth shut, he couldn’t protect me and there was nowhere on earth I could hide. He was very matter-of-fact about it, but I knew he was serious. I didn’t ask questions, but I tried to stay out of anyone’s notice as much as I could. It was one day a couple months later that I heard Dmitry arguing with Alexandroff, the ship’s captain I was telling you about.

“As I mentioned, Yusuf had taught me some Russian, so I knew enough to piece together the conversation, especially when I kept hearing Nikolai come up. That was what Dmitry called me, and I was the only one on the ship that went by that name.

“I asked Dmitry about it later. He told me that Alexandroff had become suspicious of me and that I needed to take part in the next deal or he’d put me off the ship, which was code for shoot me in the head and dump my body in the sea.”

Marissa’s gasp is soft. I keep my eyes closed, but I imagine the look of horror on her pretty face. I don’t want to see it because it will change if I tell her the whole story. But it might be best. Maybe she’ll realize I’m a terrible person to get mixed up with. Maybe she’ll demand that I stay the hell away from her.

I don’t know if I would, or if I even could. But she could try.

“What did you do?” she asks softly.

“I had no choice but to agree, so Dmitry made arrangements for me to accompany him on the next exchange. He said he’d do everything he could to protect me, to keep me out of it as much as possible. I just had to go, just to show I wasn’t some kind of rat.

“It was with a different group of bastards, some Dmitry knew to be a little more reasonable, and he thought it might be a safe way to prove myself to Alexandroff. So he gave me a gun, showed me how to shoot it two days before the trade, and then I went ashore with him to sell guns to terrorists.”

Marissa says nothing for a few minutes. I wonder if she’s planning an exit strategy even as she lies next to me with her body pressed against mine.

Her question surprises me. She’s pretty intuitive, it seems.

“Did you have to use your gun?”

I know my answer will likely cement the decision she’s already toying with, but she needs to know. She needs to know I’m toxic. It’s better for both of us this way.

“Yes.”

“Is . . . is that what the tattoos are for? For people you’ve . . . for every time you’ve had to use your gun?”

“No,” I reply. “There’s one band for every trade I lived through. Sometimes my gun wasn’t necessary.” I pause before I add, “But a lot of times it was.”

I feel her shift beside me. Her warmth disappears. Her reaction, her decision stings more than I thought it would, more than I’d like to admit. I figure it’s better now than later, though. I can’t afford to get attached. And it’s better for her if she doesn’t get attached, either.

I keep my eyes closed, ready to give her the cold, silent indifference that comes second nature to me. If she’s gonna leave, she won’t know that I give a shit. I won’t let her see.

But then she surprises me. I first feel the tickle of her hair as it dangles over my chest. Then the light touch of her lips on my cheek as she bends to kiss it.

“I’m so sorry for the life you had to lead. You were so young,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Her hand splays across my chest as she scatters kisses all over my face and neck. I feel drops of warm wetness every so often. I don’t realize they’re tears until one hits my lips and I taste the salt.

She makes her way to my stomach, then down my right leg and back up again, dragging her lips and tongue along the inside of my thigh.

It’s not often I see the goodness in people. Or that they surprise me with compassion. Yet Marissa has. I just told her I’m a criminal and a killer, and rather than running the other direction, she cried for me.

Something burns deep inside my chest. I don’t have time to think about it or deny it, or devise a plan to rid myself of it. Marissa sees to that when her lips close over my engorged head. She makes it so that she’s all I can think about. She erases all other thoughts with the first swipe of her tongue. And I’m happy to let them go.

TWENTY

Marissa

I could watch Nash sleep for hours. In rest, the stern set of his mouth is more relaxed and the anger that seems to burn perpetually in the dark pits of his eyes is absent, leaving him just incredibly handsome. Not complicated.