The Choice She Made (The Mercenary Series Book 1) Read online

  I’d only been away a matter of months, but everything felt different, as though I’d never lived here at all, and I was now trespassing. Even the accent sounded harsh upon my ears. I’d done my best to speak without my Brooklyn accent since we’d been put into WITSEC, knowing people would immediately be able to place where we’d come from. Instead, I tried to smooth the accent so I was able to say we were from New York State, rather than the city.

  X’s cell phone rang and he answered it, listening without needing to speak. He hung up again.

  “Okay, we can pick up your visitor’s form. Looks like we got lucky and your name was still on the approved visitors list. Your father must have added it before he found out you were testifying, and just never bothered to take it off again. I guess he figured you weren’t going to want to see him any time soon.”

  “I guess he was wrong. So when is my visiting order for?”

  “Eleven tomorrow morning.”

  My heart sank. “Tomorrow morning? I can’t wait that long. What about Nickie?”

  “There’s nothing more we can do, Vee. Unless we hear something different from Tony the Hound, we’ve got nothing to go on. We know he’s somewhere here in New York, but if we go around asking questions of the wrong people, we’re both going to end up dead.”

  “But you know people. You have contacts.”

  “Not to ask those kinds of questions. I’m a hired killer, Vee. If I start asking where I can find Tony, people are going to think I’ve been paid to take him out. Nothing will get us killed quicker.”

  My frustration mounted. It had already been too long since Tony had taken my sister, and I tortured myself with how frightened she must be, and all the terrible things they might have done to her. I would happily have taken risks if it meant getting Nicole back sooner, but I knew X was right. I wouldn’t be any good to her if I ended up dead.

  Plus, we needed to keep our heads down. If someone recognized me, I didn’t doubt that word would get back to either my father or Tony. I wanted the element of surprise when it came to approaching my father, and I didn’t want Tony to find me before I found him. I thought if that happened, I was as good as dead.

  With no other options, we got ourselves another motel room. We didn’t even bother trying to get separate rooms this time, the question hanging unasked between us in a silent agreement. I thought both of us knew there was little point. Perhaps I was using him, using the sex as a distraction from worrying about my sister, and also from worrying about the meeting with my father the next day, but I didn’t care.

  As soon as we stepped into the room, X pulled me toward him and kissed me as though he’d spent the whole day trying to hold himself back from doing so. I didn’t know. Maybe he had, and I certainly wasn’t complaining. His kiss was forceful and hungry, owning my mouth. I felt myself involuntarily melting against him, my body turning to liquid at his touch. He was all solid muscle and hard lines, and it made me feel soft and feminine in comparison, the total opposite, yet working so well together. His hands slid up under the back of my t-shirt, his big palms spanning the small of my back, before sliding up over my ribs. His touch tickled slightly, making me smile against his mouth, and then his hand navigated between us to cup my breast. His thumb grazed over my nipple, causing it to pucker and peak, and I pressed myself harder against him again, moaning into his mouth. He squeezed the mound of my tit over the top of my bra and then slipped his hand inside the cup to roll and pinch my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. My insides turned to liquid, and that now growingly familiar feeling of tingling pressure flooded down through my lower belly to settle with a pleasurable throb between my thighs.

  I didn’t want the clothing between us. Both times we’d fucked, he’d been fully dressed. I longed to have him naked, to run my palms across every inch of his hard body.

  I pulled his shirt out of his pants and slid my hands up under it, the heat of his skin against my palms. Smooth skin, but then ridges and bumps and swirls. I hesitated. Tattoos, perhaps, though I hadn’t seen any on him so far.

  Continuing to kiss him, I removed my hands from beneath his shirt and started on the buttons at his throat instead. I only managed to undo three before his hand closed over my wrists.

  “No, Vee, don’t.” His voice was a growl.

  I blinked in surprise. “What?”

  “Don’t undo my shirt.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve asked you not to.”

  I knew nothing about him. I’d told him some of my deepest, darkest moments, and yet everything about who he was remained a secret to me. I didn’t even know his real name. And now here was another secret, standing right in front of me, hidden beneath a swath of fabric, and I knew it had something to do with the blemishes I’d felt when I’d slipped my hands over his skin the previous night.

  “X,” I started, “it’s all right. I want to know.”

  I sensed him retreating from me, so I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. His body was tense, but a flick of my tongue across his lower lip, followed by a nibble, and he quickly melted into me again. I reached down to the front of his pants and cupped the hard length I found there.

  “Ah, fuck, Vee,” he groaned as I stroked him firmly.

  I undid the zipper and slipped my hand inside to find him gloriously hot and hard in my palm.

  I pulled him free and dropped to my knees. X had controlled everything the previous times we’d screwed, but I wanted to take charge this time. I was determined to discover the secret he was hiding. A story lay behind it, and I wanted to know.

  I ran the tip of my nose down his shaft and back up again, inhaling the salty musk of him. He was so rawly masculine, and I loved that about him. On my knees, I looked up at him as I parted my lips and took him into my mouth. He stared back down at me, his full lips slack with lust, his blue eyes a shade darker with want. I created suction and slid down his shaft as far as I could take him, the head hitting the back of my throat so I fought back a gag.

  I bobbed back and forth, feeling him swell in my mouth. His hand on my head made me pause.

  “Vee, you got to stop. I’m going to come.”

  I wanted him, wanted to taste him as he spilled his seed down my throat, but he pulled on my arm, trying to drag me to my feet again. I still wanted to see what lay beneath his shirt, not only because I wanted to learn his secret, but also because I was desperate to feel his skin against mine, to run my hands over the lines and ridges of his muscles. From everything I’d felt about X, he was fit and toned, and I knew the rest of his body would be as beautiful as he was.

  I let his cock pop from my mouth, and for him to pull me to my feet once more. He kissed me again, our tongues entwining, and the thought that he would be able to taste himself on my mouth sent a thrill through me, condensing in my core. My hands went to his shirt again, determined not to let him deter me this time.

  I managed to slip a couple of the buttons from their holes, but his hands found mine again, dragging them away.

  “Vee, stop.”

  “Please, I want to see you.”

  He shook his head and stepped away from me. I felt bereft at the air between us, and stood, helpless, as he tucked his cock back into his pants.

  He turned back to me, his lips pressed together, his blue eyes searching my face. “No, you don’t. I would horrify you.”

  “I thought you knew by now that it takes a lot to horrify me.”

  He seemed to think for a minute, his gaze casting away before coming back to me. “If you want to know, first of all you have to tell me what happened when you took your first life. Then I’ll show you what I’m hiding.”

  It was a deal I was prepared to make. “Okay, but you show me first.”

  “It’s been ten years since anyone has seen this.”

  I approached him again, and this time he didn’t step away. “Just show me.”

  My hands went to the buttons of his shirt again,
and slowly, I undid them. His jaw was ridged with tension, his eyes never leaving my face. When I got to the final button, I undid it then reached back up and pushed the shirt from his shoulders. The material slipped from his body and hit the floor.

  I held in a gasp.

  “Oh, X.”

  I hadn’t wanted to have a reaction, had schooled my features into an impassive expression, yet I hadn’t been able to help myself.

  His torso was covered in scars.

  They weren’t just faint, white lines. The scars were thick and ridged, and raised from the surface of his skin. They were lines that crisscrossed each other, circles, and swirls. They decorated almost every inch of his skin.

  I’d never seen anything like it before.

  “My God. What happened to you?”

  His gaze left mine again, sliding down to the floor. “I didn’t exactly have a perfect childhood.”

  “Your parents did this to you?” I knew I shouldn’t be shocked. I hardly had the perfect parenting experience, but the injuries that created that kind of scarring must have been like torture.

  But to my surprise, he shook his head.

  “I never knew my parents. I was dumped in a bag on a hospital doorstep when I was a couple of weeks old. I was healthy enough, but I guess my mother just decided she couldn’t cope with me.”

  “So what happened to you?”

  “I was adopted—something my adoptive parents never failed to remind me of, that I wasn’t their real child. Apparently I was supposed to be grateful that they took me, though I think they adopted a child knowing exactly what they were going to do to him or her. I was just the unfortunate soul who got landed with them.”

  I knew he wouldn’t want my sympathy. That wasn’t why he had shown me. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, pull his head against my neck, and kiss away the residual pain while I laced my fingers in his hair, but I knew he wouldn’t want that. He didn’t want to be pitied, any more than I wanted to be pitied about my past. He had shown me because he wanted us to know each other, and because he knew I would understand. I had my own scars from my parent, only mine were less visible.

  “How did they make these ones?” I asked, tracing my finger down the crisscross of lines.

  “A whip. They’d tie me up and make me count lashes as my punishment. I can’t even remember what I did now—spilled a drink, or perhaps was late getting home, or didn’t get an A on an assignment. They were never big things.”

  I touched one of the circles. “And these?”

  “Cigarette burns, held against my skin until the butt crushed and it burned a hole.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah, I think they looked forward to when I would screw up. They took pleasure in it. They were constantly waiting for me to do something wrong so they could punish me.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “When I was fifteen, I killed them both, made it look like a break-in gone wrong. I was away at the time, on a school trip, but I’d sneaked away during the night when the teachers thought I was still asleep in bed, killed them both, and then made it back again with no one knowing. It was the perfect alibi—several teachers all saying I was with them when the murders had been committed. It wasn’t as though any of them would ever admit to the possibility that one of their charges could have left the premises unnoticed.” He laughed, the sound cold. “My parents’ murder was actually the reason I used for wanting to become a police officer in my initial interview—that I’d lost my parents to a criminal and I wanted to be part of the solution to stop anything like that happening to another child. Part of me was laughing inside when I told them that.”

  I stared at him. Perhaps the idea of him killing his adoptive parents at fifteen should have freaked me out, but it didn’t. I couldn’t imagine the torture they must have put him through—actually, yes, I could. It was written all over his body. I was pleased he’d gotten his revenge, anger and adrenaline rising up inside me at what he’d suffered. They’d made him what he was and they’d suffered the consequences. No, I didn’t blame him for it at all, and I certainly wasn’t one to judge.

  “Sometimes,” I said, “I think we’re so alike it scares me.”

  “Two coldhearted killers together. What could possibly go wrong?”

  We locked gazes, both of us holding back smiles.

  “Now, you promised you would tell me what happened the first time you took a life.”

  I nodded and began, my heartrate increasing as the words left my lips. “Nicole was fourteen when she was raped—a cocky nineteen-year-old asshole who thought women and even girls were only alive to give him what he wanted. Nickie had been flattered by his attention at first, had been excited about an older boy showing her some interest, but then things had started getting serious, and she’d wanted to cool things off. He’d called her a prick tease and spread rumors that she was a slut and was sleeping with half of her school, which was the absolute opposite of the truth. She didn’t want our father finding out ’cause she was worried he’d believe this kid, and then he’d say she had shamed the family. Our pops has a big thing about shaming the family—seems to me that it’s the main thing that causes him to make the decisions he does. Anyway, we didn’t say anything, and then one night this guy followed her home after she’d been at the mall with friends, and he took her down an alley, shoved her up against a wall, and raped her.” My voice tightened as I recounted the events. “It was her first time. That memory will be with her forever. She managed to make it home, and I heard her crying in the bathroom. She’d already gotten into the shower, so she’d washed off all the evidence. You and I both know how these things go. I couldn’t have her dragged through the courts, having every little part of her life dissected. He’d already been spreading the word that she was easy, and her saying he’d raped her would have just been seen as revenge. There was no proof. Plus, we knew how our father would react. He wouldn’t even be able to look at her. He’d put her on such a high pedestal, I couldn’t stand to see what would happen when she fell. But I was furious—blind with anger. I couldn’t believe what this fucking bastard—a grown man—had done to her. She was fourteen, for fuck’s sake. She was a kid, and he took that from her. I would have died before I’d let him get away with it.”

  X watched me, only curiosity on his face. “What did you do?”

  I gave a cold smile at the memory. “The thing was, he was the kind of guy who thought everyone wanted him. I bet he believed Nicole secretly wanted him, even while she was telling him no and fighting him off. So, I did what I could, and used my femininity to lure him somewhere I knew no one else would be. I think he thought I was a bit too tough for him at first, but I flashed my naked ass at him, no underwear under my skirt, and that soon got him moving. It was like luring a fucking dog with its tongue hanging out. I took him down a back alley on the outskirts of town, and as soon as I was sure no one else was around, I shot him in the face. It was brutal, and made one hell of a mess, but I’d been careful to wear gloves, and I burned the clothes I’d been wearing afterward.

  “No one ever suspected me. Why would they? Other than a bit of gossip around Nicole’s school, I had no motive. No one else knew about the rape except Nickie and me. She knew what I’d done. I could see it in her eyes when we heard about his death, the way she looked at me, as though asking me the question without wanting to hear the answer out loud. We never spoke about it, and I haven’t regretted killing him for a single second.”

  “And other than your mother, he was the only other person you’ve killed?”

  I nodded. “My mom was different, though. I’d never wanted that to happen. I’d never wanted for Nicole to be raped and for me to have to kill the guy who did it either, but I’d taken some satisfaction in the act. It was different with my mom, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”

  “That’s completely understandable, you know.”

  “Sometimes,” I admitted, “there are days where I will sit for hours and
stare at my own hands, seeing in my mind the awful act they committed, over and over again. I imagine getting a knife and pressing it into my wrist, and cutting and cutting, not because I want to slice my wrists, but because I just can’t stand the thought of my hands being attached to me anymore.”

  “You wouldn’t do that to yourself, would you?”

  I shook my head and glanced down, embarrassed and ashamed of what I had admitted. “I’m not insane.” I gave a small laugh. “Well, not on that front, anyway.”

  “I can’t stand the thought of you wanting to hurt yourself, Vee.”

  “I can’t stand the thought of ever being in a position where I would have forgiven myself enough not to want to.”

  His voice softened. “Why don’t you want to forgive yourself?”

  “Because I don’t think I’m worth forgiving.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  X

  DID IT MAKE me a total narcissist if the reason I thought I was falling for Vee was because the more I got to know her, the more I felt like she was a female version of me?

  Maybe it did, but I didn’t care.

  She didn’t judge. She knew me, even though we’d only met a couple of days ago, and that hadn’t exactly been in the best of circumstances. I understood her, and I thought she might understand me, too.

  I had never believed in soul mates until I met her.

  But now I was starting to wonder.

  Her story didn’t frighten me, and my own tale of my childhood hadn’t changed the way she looked at me. My scars didn’t repulse her. Instead, she seemed almost curious about them, running her hands over my skin, tracing the lines with her fingertips.

  I reached up and caught her narrow wrists in my fists to stop her, not because I wanted her to stop touching me, but because I figured it was my turn. She’d convinced me out of my clothing, now I wanted her out of hers.