Chapter 16
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye.”-Jim Henson
My sunglasses are on, the music is jacked and I'm driving with one hand on the wheel and one around Mags. She's stiff in my arms as if she doesn't trust me still. She's holding back. There's a little sun left to burn in the sky, and a breeze blows into the open window and whips her hair around. With nothing but the two lane country road ahead I let myself slip into the ease that is me and Mags. I want to give this to her, to us. I want what was stolen from us. She sighs quietly and as she exhales I feel the tension and stiffness in her release. She molds to me and swipes her thumb back and forth across my thigh. It's everything and not enough all at once. My brain doesn't compute our reality, how we got here. There is nothing left outside of the two of us. I need her more than I need air to breathe. I thought I was living the last year, but now it's painfully obvious that I was merely existing. I was simply not dead. I squeeze her to me gently and relish the feeling of her pressed into me. Her silence worries me, she’s holding back so much, I can sense it. We’re both feeling each other out. Testing boundaries. It’s strange to feel this way after sharing our lives for so long.
“So where are we going?” she asks.
“I thought we could do Nashville, Lexington, maybe check out Virginia...” I stop because I don’t want to mention home. We both know what that means and I don’t want to bring it up now.
“How 'bout Blacksburg, Virginia?” she suggests.
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s where I got my tattoo,” she admits quietly.
“Yeah? Tell me about that,” I push. She moves out of my arms and leans her back against the passenger side door to face me. I watch from the corner of my eye as she tucks her legs under herself and starts to blabber on about some tatt shop in Blacksburg. She’s animated, smiling and vibrant. She is just as I remember, just the way she was when I fell in love her. I listen to her go on and on about the woman who did her tattoo, her daughter and the two hot men she met there. I grit my teeth a little listening to her gush about these two apparently super-hot men but I keep myself in check for her benefit. She’s mine. She always will be, but now’s not the time to get into that. My shirt hangs on her so much so that you can’t even see her shorts. We’ll have to remedy that soon. I can’t have her wandering around shoeless and dressed like a vagrant. She’s got her hair braided loosely over one shoulder, no makeup on, and wearing pretty much just my t-shirt, yet she couldn't be any more attractive right now, even with her cuts and black eyes.
“So what do you think?” She cocks her head to the side waiting for an answer.
“Huh?” I say glancing at her again.
“Cane!” she squeals before chuckling. “Were you even listening to anything I said?”
“I was too busy watching you to listen,” I grin. Her face falls slightly but I don’t know what I said wrong. She raises her fingers to her face and tentatively touches her cheekbones and nose. Shit. I should’ve known.
“You’re gorgeous, Mags. Always have been, still are right now,” I say determinedly.
“Yeah...” she mumbles, readjusting herself to face her window. The next hour is silent except for the radio, which she adjusts every so often to find a more suitable song. I try once to rest my hand on her thigh. She used to love it, but she casually removes my hand, pretending to fiddle with the radio to avoid seeming offensive. How will we overcome what we’ve each turned into? We pull into the Walmart parking lot in Jackson, Tennessee at eight pm. I kill the engine and contemplate my options. There is still a chance she might run and I can’t have that, but she needs some clothes and shoes and she can’t go in barefoot.
“Uh, can you grab me a bra while you’re in there?” she asks hesitantly.
“Yes.”
“I need a thirty-four...” I cut her off, remembering well what her size is. “C. I know, Mags. I know you,” I say gently. I want her to know that I remember every detail of our life together. That I never forgot her. No small detail was over-looked on my part. I want her to feel my love for her.
“Right.” Her tone is short and indifferent.
“Mags?”
She sighs before turning to me. I reach my hand out and cup her face, moving my thumb gently across her beaten face. She definitely can’t go into the store with that face. “If you want this trip to be all roses and romance you’re gonna have to work with me.” Her mouth quirks up one corner at a time.
“Roses and romance, huh?” she snorts.
“Just cut me some slack and tell me what you need,” I beg, feigning irritation. Her eyes spark with mischief.
“A bra. A dress. Shorts. Two tank tops and a long sleeved shirt, all smalls. And panties and tampons,” she rattles off quickly. I mentally check off everything she listed and stop short at the last item.
“What?” I squawk.
“What?” she shrugs.
“Wait? Really?”
“I have a vagina...generally speaking that means tampons are needed every once in a while,” she deadpans.
“Right. So, uh, is there like a brand or size you need?” I choke out.
“Super jumbo sized for heavy flows. If you can't find them, ask one of the sales people.” She quickly turns her head to face the window and goes silent. Of all the things we shared, and it was mostly everything, she never, ever, would admit to having a period. She said it made her unsexy and she didn't ever want me to think she wasn’t hot. I’d laughed then, but secretly had been happy with her little confession. It seems now she was no longer concerned with holding up that facade. Crap.
I pull out a set of handcuffs from the glove box and hold them out to her. She eyes me warily and makes no move to take them from me. Her arms cross over her chest.
“Mags. Come on, there’s no guarantee that you’ll be in the car when I get back,” I say trying to stay calm. Jesus, fuck this is hard. Do I trust her? Can I trust her?
“I won't run,” she states.
“I can’t know that for sure.”
“You can because I’m telling you,” she offers softly. I sigh and press the heels of my hands to my eyes.
“You always do that when you’re stressed.” Dropping my hands, I look over to her.
“What?”
“Mush your eyes, you do it when you’re stressed. I have no shoes, barely any clothes, no phone or money, Cane. I’m not going to run,” she states matter-of-factly. I let her words sink in and finally just take it for what it is. I exit the car, slamming the door shut behind me in frustration, and head into the store. She better be there when I get back.
Goddamn tampons. There is an entire wall of those things. Tiny, medium, large, super large, scented, unscented - it’s like Bubba reciting a million different kinds of shrimp to Forrest. Gross. Shrimp-talk and tampon-talk should never enter the brain at the same time. Super jumbo for heavy flows doesn't seem to be printed on a single box and I’m losing my mind trying to pick out the right ones. Applicator or no applicator? Jesus, what is the need for so many different sizes and kinds? A vagina is a vagina, right? How hard can this possibly be? In pure frustration I grab one box of each super-sized kind and throw them all into the cart with the clothes I’ve picked out. I push the cart to the checkout lady and toss all the boxes on the conveyor belt along with the clothing, shoes and undergarments.
“First time?” The forty-something clerk chuckles as she rings up all the stuff. If I could shoot laser beams from my eyes and kill, I would. Instead I just glare at her and stay silent. One hundred and sixty three dollars later, forty eight of them being for tampons alone, I schlep all the bags back to the car. Mag’s head isn't in the passenger window where it should be. Panic flares and I sprint the rest of the way to the car. Dropping all the bags on the asphalt I tag the keys from my pocket and unlock the doors. Her head pops up from the back seat and gives me a confused look.
“What the shit?!” I huff, yanking open the door to the back.
“What?” she asks bewildered. My heart is pounding in my chest from thinking she disappeared on me. I crack my neck and roll my shoulders to try and settle myself down.
“I didn’t see you.”
“I was tired. I laid down,” she gestures to her sprawled out form running the length of the back seat.
“I see that,” I clip before turning and picking up the dropped bags. I toss them into the back seat with her not caring about her surprised ‘Hey!’ shriek before slamming the door shut and folding into the driver’s seat again. The crinkling of plastic bags fills the car before her cackles do. I turn to face her and find her lap filled up to her chest with at least ten boxes of tampons. Her shoulders are heaving with her laughter and she snorts a few times for good measure.
“What is all this?!” she finally gets out between cackles.
“Tampons,” I deadpan. Her shoulders start to shake again, her swollen eyes squeeze shut and her hands grip the seat edge tightly as she tries to control her giggling. I can’t take it. Her mouth opens and the biggest, loudest roar of laughter gushes out of her. My lips turn up and my ribs start to shake uncontrollably and just like that I lose it right along with her. The stack of tampon boxes tumbles from her lap as she fully on body laughs. As she tries to catch her breath she almost inaudibly says, “I don’t even need them....” I catch her eyes and realize this has all been a huge joke on me. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard. Somewhere during the ab workout we shared she climbed into the front seat again and now she playfully smacks my arm to get my attention. Her breathing, hell my breathing, is finally under control. I swing my face to hers and before I can utter a sound we both fall into a fit of hysterics again. My girl is funny.
*****
At almost eleven pm we pull into downtown Nashville. Mags has been asleep, head on my lap, for the last forty five minutes. I swing the car into the Hilton Downtown. Before the valet gets to the car I gently shake her awake.
“We’re here, baby girl. Time to wake up.” I brush the hair from her face and watch the way her nose crinkles adorably as she comes to. She sits up slowly and stretches. I hop out of the car, toss the valet the keys and grab the bags from the back before opening her door for her. She yawns and slides out before gasping and looking around in awe.
“Wow...” she breathes with excitement. “Look at this place, all the lights! Listen!” she shrieks. “You can hear the music!” I chuckle to myself at her show of awe. I grab her hand, lace her fingers through mine and tug her close to my side. When she’s up against me I lean in and kiss the spot just below her ear. Her body convulses at the contact and she stills. “My girl likes Nashville,” I whisper into her ear. I fucking love the blush that creeps up her neck to her face. Standing up, I tug her behind me into the lobby so we can get a room.
The looks I got in the hotel lobby, in reaction to her clearly beaten face, almost made me lose my shit. As if she could sense it she’d placed her palm over the back of my hand and started rubbing her thumb back and forth methodically while wedged into my side. It was enough to keep my bubbling anger at bay. The key card makes a quiet click, the light goes green and I push the door open to our suite. One of the many perks of gun-running is having more money than I know what to do with on a regular basis.
“Whoa...” she whistles from behind me as we enter. The living area has taupe leather couches that are sleek and all angles. It’s not her shabby chic style but I know she’s impressed. Off to the right is the bath, complete with granite and a glassed-in large shower. To the left is the bedroom. The king-size bed looks lush with pillows piled high and a heavy down comforter. I watch as she walks the room, checking everything out and commenting on each miniscule detail. So. Fucking. Cute.
“Why don’t you shower, change and get ready to go out?” I suggest as she brushes past me.
“What, and not make use of this amazing suite for the night?!” she squawks in horror.
“We’re in Nashville, baby, we should see it,” I remind her. She walks to the window, parts the shades and stares down below to the cityscape. I walk up behind her, wrap my arms around her middle and kiss her sweet spot again. I don't think I'll ever get tired of that spot. It’s like its unhidden but that nobody can see it but me. It’s mine. One of her hands comes to rest over mine at her belly and she lets out a big sigh.
“What?” I ask.
“Look at me, Cane. I can’t go out like this.” Her words make me feel like the biggest scumbag on the face of the planet. Probably because I am.
“Do you want to go out?” I ask.
“Yes, but...”
“Then we’re going out. My girl wants to go out, it’s going to happen,” I state.
“Cane...” she breathes, body going rigid in my hold.
“Shut up and get cleaned up, Mags.” I demand. She turns in my arms and stares up at me. Her black eyes won’t really be hidden all that well with any amount of makeup but she’s still gorgeous. My stomach churns with disgust at the knowledge that I did that to her. She pops up onto her toes and stops just an inch shy from my mouth. I feel clammy and needy with want but I can’t do anything without her permission. I never could.
“Say it,” she whispers a centimeter from my mouth.
“It,” I joke. She narrows her eyes at me playfully. We’ve done this dance before and I love being able to push her buttons. I’ve missed it.
“Tell me,” she pushes. Her voice is all business as she flattens herself against me and I like it.
“How many times do I need to tell you? If there's anyone in this world that I could love, it's you. Why is that never enough?” I admit. I’m warring with myself. Do I go all in and defy Ezra or do I just give enough for the next few days to get us home? Everything seems so complicated now. I want to tell her that she’s my world. That I will never give up on her, but I don’t. She’s different now too. She’s holding back still and I don’t know why. We’re both avoiding any discussion which might break this fragile balance we have currently. I don’t want to ruin this limited time we have together by asking the hard questions. I watch her face go all soft on me before she gently caresses her lips over mine. She’s giving me sweetness and tenderness. She’s giving me truth. She’s giving me something I thought I would never get from her again.
“It was always enough, Cane and it always will be.” She pulls away and moves around me snagging her shopping bag from the couch on her way to the bathroom. I’m hard from her words and want nothing more than to follow her into the shower, but I’m not sure we’re there yet so I leave her to get cleaned up on her own. Hell, three minutes ago I was sure I’d never get to taste those incredible lips again.
Legend’s Corner is a long narrow bar. The stage is set up in the corner right by the front door and it’s packed tonight even though it’s almost one in the morning. Radio Romance is on stage performing and they’ve got the crowd going wild. Magnolia’s smile is infectious. She managed to hide her mangled face, sort of. I’ve never seen her wear so much makeup before but she’d come back from the lobby shop with a fully stocked bag of it. Eyeliner painted on thick, dark smoky eyes, thick lush lashes and her lips painted to perfection. She looks hot and badass and completely not like my girl. Her tank top shows her tattoo off and she’s got her hair swept off her back piled high on her head with some long pieces hanging around her face to cover up my marks. Men keep staring at her and I want to beat each and every one of their faces in for looking at her.
“Stop it, Cane!” she calls out over the music giving me the evil eye.
“What?” I feign innocence.
“I’m used to it, you know. The attention. I’ve been slinging drinks for a year,” she sighs, pressing a kiss to my ear lightly.
“I should’ve bought pants. Those shorts should be illegal,” I whine jealously. She quirks an eyebrow at me and smirks. I love it when she does that.
“What do you want to drink?” I ask, ignoring her look.
“Bourbon,” she states. Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow at her. Bourbon?
“They have beer and wine,” I inform her. Before I know what's happening she’s pushing her way to the bar and squeezed between two men. One looks down at her and grins before leaning to her ear and whispering something. She says something back and throws an elbow in his side discreetly before hollering her order to the bartender. The force of her elbow was great enough to make the man wince and move away. The day Magnolia White showed any kind of aggression was the day hell would have frozen over. My head pounds with all the changes. It’s too much to take on. Too much to deal with. I want my Mags back. Sweet. Gentle. Innocent.
“Here.” She thrusts a beer at me, holding a bourbon for herself.
“Bourbon?” I shake my head confused. Since when does Magnolia drink hard shit?
“Bourbon.” She shrugs and lifts the glass to her lips to drink.
We resort to drinking in silence and watching the band. I can’t stop warring with myself. I want this time together to just be as effortless as it always was between us but I know what waits for us at the end. I still don’t have answers over why the hell she shot me, or Ezra, or whatever the fuck she was aiming for that night. There are too many variables and I’ve lived with the hate that I harbored for too long to just let it go. I can see it eat at her too but for whatever reason, she seems to deal with it better than I do. Watching her sway back and forth, the music blaring turns me on. Instinctively I lean to her and brush my lips just under her ear and watch as goose bumps pop up along her arm. I’m so sick and twisted. Is it possible to love someone so deeply that you can hate them as well?
“I’ll be right back.” She twists her head to mine as she speaks. Unease bubbles in my stomach. Would she run? “Cane. I have to pee.” She rolls her eyes at me and starts towards the back of the bar. I can’t help but notice all the dudes staring at her ass as she walks away from me. I redirect my gaze to the stage. She’s just peeing. She won’t leave.
“Hey, hawtie,” some young thing drawls, breaking me from my thoughts. I look over the young face next to me. She looks tanked. Her eyes are glazed over a bit and her curly blonde hair looks a little too bleached for my taste. But she’s got a screaming body that just last week I would have taken advantage of, but now, now I don't really have interest.
“Hey,” I reply dully as she drinks me in. Her finger comes to my bicep and trails its way down the beer in my hand.
“Need a refill, sugar, or are you ready to get outta here?” she says pointedly while moving closer. I feel like a deer in headlights. I want to move, but I can’t seem to. “Let’s go home.” She pulls the near empty bottle from my hand while moving in front of me and wrapping her arms around my neck. She’s molded herself firmly against my front pressing her pelvis to my crotch. My hands are hanging limply at my sides while she hangs off me. This isn’t good.
Her head tips backward sharply and she lets out a howl before disengaging from me. Stunned I snap my gaze up to find Mags dragging her away by her hair. I advance on Mags as quickly as I can when I catch on to the situation. I’ve never seen her violent. I’ve never really seen her aggressive at all.
“What the FUCK!” the blonde screams.
“Keep your dirty paws off him!” Mags yells, throwing her by a clump of hair to the floor of the bar. Her muscles are taut and her eyes look wild. She’s hot as shit. The blonde looks up to her and glares before adjusting her too-short skirt and standing up to face Mags.
“Maybe he likes what he sees!” she screeches. Magnolia’s shoulder slump a little and she shakes her head.
“He sees an easy whore. Of course men see you, you’ve made yourself hard to ignore for all the wrong reasons. Get lost,” she clips, irritated but seemingly calmer. There is a strange moment of silence that blankets the bar. The band has stopped playing and there is a crowd circled around us.
The blonde swallows hard and her body stiffens. Mags clearly hit a sore spot in her ego. Her hands clench into fists and I know what's going to happen next. I cringe and close my eyes momentarily just before the blonde launches herself at Magnolia. I’m about to step in to block the blonde from getting to her but Magnolia changes her stance. She almost looks peaceful, calm. She watches the blonde carefully and just when she is within arm’s length, Mags throws out the heel of one hand, keeping her elbow slightly bent to counter the force of the impact. The hit lands directly between the blonde's eyes, stopping her momentum entirely.
The multiple gasps that ring out around us pretty much confirm my feelings. What the hell?
The blonde drops to the floor like dead weight and Magnolia hasn't even moved. When the girl doesn't get up, Mags lets her arm drop back down to her side and looks over to me. Her features show calm but there is rage burning in her eyes. She smirks at me slightly and I feel...scared.
“It’d be useful if you could at least try to keep your dick in your pants, asshole.” She turns towards the exit, the crowd opening up a path for her, and stalks outside. Fuck. What the hell was that?! Magnolia doesn’t cuss! She doesn’t hit and she definitely doesn't cause a scene in public. Women are clapping as they watch her exit. I shrug my shoulders at a couple of guys staring at me before taking off after her.
She’s not on the sidewalk when I get outside the bar. I scan the street to the left and right looking for her black locks piled high on her head. Was this a ploy? Is she gone? A loud whistle rings out across the street that draws my attention. I look over and heave a sigh of relief as I watch Magnolia turn around and confront the man who whistled. He puts his arms up in retreat and stumbles back a step.
“Mags!” I bellow while trying to get across the four lane drag. Her gaze snaps to mine and back to the guy in front of her. She pulls back and lays the guy out with a single hit to the crotch. I swear my eyes are about to explode from my head. Who is she? I chase her back to the hotel. She doesn’t stop and wait, and she doesn't hold the elevator door for me either. I catch up to her just as the hotel door is swinging shut. How’d she get in?
“Dammit! STOP!” I scream. She stops mid-step and turns to me, seething.
“Why?” she barks.
“Mags, what the fuck was that?” I ask, feeling out of place. She was my voice of reason, always; this role reversal has me confused.
“It was me,” she snips. Something deep inside me hardens at her statement.
“That’s not you. You don’t swear, and you don’t hit,” I remind her. I feel like a nagging mother.
“No, Cane. That’s who I was. Who I am now is an ugly, well trained ball of anger. If you want to... you know...go check on the girl, please, go right ahead,” she spits before collapsing onto the plush leather couch looking utterly lost and defeated. I stalk over to her, charged. I don’t understand this new Magnolia and I’m not sure I want to. I yank one hand off her thigh and tug hard, forcing her to stand. She might be able to hold her own with a chick but she’s got nothing on me. She squeaks in surprise and scowls at me. Rather harshly I drag her to the massive bathroom in front of the mirror.
"What do you see?" I grind out, holding both her palms flat on the counter so she can't move.
"A mess," she whispers.
"I see beauty. Try again. What do you see?" Using both hands I hold her head towards the mirror, forcing her to take a look at herself.
"A hurricane..." she whimpers after a few beats of silence.
"I see the clear blue sky in the eye of it." Her eyes dart to mine in the mirror.
“Again," I demand.
"I...I see...what’s left." She cries. Tears start to stream down her face. "I see the broken remains of what's left of me. There isn't a whole. Just pieces. I'm not who I was, Cane, can't you see that? It was all stolen from me." Her chest shudders and jerks with fast, uneven breaths. I want to hate her. I want to be objective and harsh to finish this. I do, but my heart is so twisted up seeing her tears that I'm spending every moment trying to figure out what she's thinking and why. And right then it hits me. The past doesn't matter. It never will. I. Want. Magnolia. There is no loyalty that runs deeper to anyone; not my uncle, not the crew, no one owns me like she does. There is no way I will be able to complete my task. There is no way I will be able to hand her over. Fuck.
"Steal it back then," I declare before dropping my hands and stalking away angrily. I need time to think. I need to figure out a plan. I get as far as the balcony door when she rushes me from behind, tackling me to the ground.
“What the fuck?” I squawk in surprise as she seamlessly repositions herself on top of me. Her thighs straddle my waist and her hair is haphazardly hanging loosely from her elastic. I’ve never seen anything more attractive. I buck my hips to dislodge her but she adjusts her weight to stay where she is. She rears back and punches me in the face harder than I’ve ever been hit by any guy before. My hips buck wildly and my hands fly to my face to try to avoid more pain. FUCK. My face hurts. Blood trickles in the back of my throat, no doubt from a broken nose.
“There is no stealing it back, you animal! I loved you. I loved us! I died the day I thought you died!” she wails, beating my gut like a speed bag. She’s strong and determined and she’s pummeling me.
“MAGS!” I boom. I startle her just long enough to roll one hip to the side while pushing her in the opposite direction. She loses her hold on me and scrambles to her feet. She’s not fast enough though. I grab her, wrapping my arms around her and pinning her elbows to her sides. I hoist her up and carry her to the bedroom.
“Dammit, Cane, put me down!” she squeals, kicking wildly at me.
“As you wish,” I grunt and throw her on to the bed roughly. She scurries onto her knees and stares wild-eyed at me.
“What the shit!?”
Are you done with your pity party now?” I bark back.
“It’s not a pity party, you ass, it’s my life!” Her arms flail wildly as she squawks at me. I approach the bed with swift determination. She doesn’t see it. I have to make her see it. I put one knee on the end of the bed near where she sits and reach out to her. She leans away escaping my touch and it snaps something in me. Diving head first at her I tackle her to the bed with her legs pinned under her butt.
“You are fucking beautiful,” I growl, inches from her mouth. She’s silent and unmoving as she stares up at me, mouth hanging open. “Your eyes are pure sex. Your lips are like silk.” I dip down and brush my mouth over hers lightly. Her breath is warm and light. “Your heart, Jesus, Mags, your fucking soul is what saved me.” Her neck cranes forward as she attacks my mouth. She bites my bottom lip, drawing it out and I lose it. She wrecks me. I unpin her arms and they immediately come up wrapping around me, pulling me to her. Her kisses are vicious and rough like she has something to prove. I kiss her back just as hard. When she runs her hands up under my shirt, dragging her nails, a deep groan escapes me. I yank her shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind me before rearing up and jerking her shorts down her smooth legs. She pulls her bra off and attacks me, lunging forward until she's squashed against me. Her hands are everywhere, moving too fast. My shirt is lifted over my head and tossed aside. There is so much time lost between us, so much pent up sexual tension, it seems to be flooding us both. Her movements show her need for me. She may have changed but so have I, we can still make this work.
I can’t process all the different sensations as she mauls me. Her lips hit my earlobe, neck, and work their way to my chest. Jesus, she’s trying to kill me. I’m panting and need to gain my control back. I push her back roughly, stopping her exploration, and shuck my jeans off. “Lay back,” I demand. She does as I wish, reclining onto her back and watching me heatedly. I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties and pull them off in one swift motion before crawling over her. “Don’t move,” I command. Her eyes bug out and she shudders slightly but stays still. I trail my finger lightly from her mouth to her collarbone, down over her breast, and flick her hard nipple. She squirms but doesn’t really move. I continue dragging my finger from her breast down her taut belly to that sweet spot where her hip meets her upper thigh. I shove my knee in between her legs, spreading her wide, and let my finger lightly run down her center. She’s so wet. Goddamn. She whines and wiggles her hips. “I said don't. Move,” I clip, moving my finger back up her belly. She’s panting hard and looks like she’s being tortured. I hover over her and lick her neck slowly from collar to ear. “Cane,” she whimpers. One hand goes between her legs and I slip a finger inside her while I lightly bite her neck and work my way south.
Her hands come to my head, clutching my hair, and shove me lower. I stop everything and glare at her. She lets her hand fall to her sides and closes her eyes. “Cane?” she whines as I move away from her. I jump up and grab my shirt before returning to her. “Sit,” I state. She complies, curiosity taking over her features. I reach behind her head and tie the shirt over her eyes. “No...” she whispers.
“Trust me.” I lay her back down and start my crusade to taste every last inch of her body again. Her body trembles the lower I explore. I swirl my tongue at the sensitive spot just at the top of her inner thigh and relish the way her body shakes. I spread her wide, using my fingers, to expose everything. Fuck. Her scent is sweet. Her thighs are quivering as if strained. I dive in, tongue first, tasting her. She cries out something inaudible but I don’t pause or stop. I can get enough of her taste, the way she's shaking and whimpering. I’m hard as a rock from just the way she's wiggling under my tongue. I nibble, suck and lick her clit repeatedly until her back arches up off the bed and she lets out a low groan of pleasure. Kissing my way back up I move the shirt from her eyes and kiss her. “Do you taste how good you are?” I ask. Her nails drag down my back painfully before she slips a hand between us and grabs my dick firmly. I look down between us and can’t help but suck in a sharp breath. Her small soft hand methodically moves up and down my shaft until my hips start pumping into her hand on their own. She angles her hips up, pushing her heels into the mattress and slips me inside of her.
“Unnnnnnnnnhhhh,” I groan, unable to stifle myself.
“Do you like that, Cane? Is my * wet enough, is it tight enough for you?” she murmurs low in my ear. I’ve never heard her speak like this. I never expected it, but it turns me on so much that I don’t bother to take my time. I’m going to take what I want, and I want her. I pump furiously into her. Her eyes glaze over and I know I’ve got the right spot.
“Harder,” she demands in pleasure. The room is silent but for the sound of my balls slapping against her and heavy breathing. I’m close. God, I’m close. She shoves my chest hard, breaking my concentration. I look into her eyes – they're playful.
“My turn,” she pants. Pushing me so I roll onto my back, she straddles me taking my cock into her hands and then plunging herself down on it. My body jerks at the sensation involuntarily. Her hands come to her breasts, massaging them, as she arches back, lifting herself up and down. I reach up and around her and pull the elastic from her hair, letting her black locks spill down her back. At this angle her hair barely brushes my thighs when she slams down on me. “Fuck,” I groan through gritted teeth. She is so beautiful, everything in motion, olive skin glistening with sweat. She lurches forward, at hand at either side of my head and stays closer, grinding her hips in circles and back and forth. I can’t tear my eyes from hers as her hair tumbles around our heads. She leans down and bites my lower lip as she pushes harder and faster. My fingers curl into the flesh at her hips and move her even harder against me. She feels so good. This is angry, harsh, passionate sex, a far cry from the lovemaking of our past.
“Come,” I grind out and bite her neck. She speeds up for a moment before her entire body convulses and she falls slack against my chest, panting. It only takes me one more thrust before I find my own explosive release. She’s still shaking slightly and I can’t seem to catch my breath. “That was...”
“Something...” she finishes, her fingers lightly trailing over my biceps. I stroke her back gently as we lay there in silence.
“Did you know Misty went to your funeral?” she asks. “I hate Misty. I hate that she showed up and tried to claim to be the most affected by your death,” she grunts. Okay. Random. I sigh and roll her off me so I can see her face. Her eyes are soft and warm again. I can’t help but wonder where she hides her rage.
“I didn’t know that, actually.”
“You weren’t watching from a secret room or something?” She laughs but it’s a hard laugh, not easy and light like I’m used to from her.
“I wasn’t even awake at that point.” I sigh. “Misty, huh?” I muse.
“I wasn’t there. Aster told me,” she says weakly. I’m not surprised. What murderess attends the funeral of the person she killed? “Tell me what happened,” she whispers as I brush a stray hair from her face.
“I died,” I tell her. I don’t want to think about that night, or about waking up over a week later in some back room at a veterinarian's office. I don’t want to relive any of that shit right now.
“Please. I need to understand.” Her voice wobbles a fraction and I realize I’m going to give in anyways, so what the hell?
“Ezra moved me. Or rather, some of the guys moved me while he tried to find you. I woke up eight days after you...after I was shot.” She cringes at my words and I want to stop telling her this, but the hopeless look on her face makes me continue. “I woke up in a veterinarian’s office, in some back room. I had no idea what happened. Ezra, he told me...” She nods for me to carry on. “He told me he stopped by the apartment and overheard you on the phone saying you were leaving as soon as you had the money. He said you shot me, took the bag and ran.” She lets out a puff of air and blinks rapidly. Her swollen lips move just barely, almost as if she’s counting or reciting something. I pull her closer to me. “I didn’t really remember what happened. He wanted to send someone to hunt you down and kill you but something just, I don't know, Mags, something felt off. I hated you. Really. I believed him for so long, but I still volunteered to be the one to take care of you. He said that I couldn’t come home because everyone thought I was dead and it served us all if it stayed that way. If I was dead the whole thing was just pinned on the shooter. I could be used elsewhere where no one knew me. The longer it took to find you the more time I had to think. I still can’t figure out why Ezra was even at the apartment that night. Your phone records showed your last call was to me and mine was to you. And I wasn’t allowed to go home. I became the new liaison for Lynchburg, Virginia for Ezra. He kept me out of the loop. I had no idea what was happening at home in Baltimore. I had doubts but his story seemed to make sense, for a while anyways. I still can’t sort out why you did it, Mags...” I look at her, my head shaking back and forth, willing her to give me the answer, but she stays silent. Her eyes fill with tears that she won't let fall.
I don’t know if I want to shake the answers from her or hold her close until she's ready to tell me herself. Her being here in bed with me, it messes with me so friggin’ badly. I’m the hard ass. The asshole. I’m the one who does horrible things to other people. I don’t find joy in it. I don't like it, but it’s my job, and I do what I’m supposed to. But with Mags, shit, with Mags it was always different. I was always different. She made me a better person, inside and out. The last year I’ve felt nothing but lost and like I’m just numbly floating through my own life. Then the moment I found her something came back. A spark. Feeling. She’s a need, like an addiction. I need her to survive and to get out and to be a worthwhile human being.
“How’d you find me?” she finally mumbles.
“The P.O. boxes. I found them all,” I inform her. “Thank you very much by the way for the wild goose chase there. I finally hired a shithead punk to hack the account online that you set them up through, and your IP address showed up in Arkansas. It still took me a while to find your exact location, not to mention that, when I got to the area, I was still looking for Cypress. It was luck really. I stopped at the bar for a drink, and saw you.”
“The cypress branch night...” she says realizing.
“Before that. I watched you for a good month after I first saw you,” I admit sheepishly. She gasps and nuzzles her face into my chest again.
“I never meant to shoot you. It wasn’t supposed to be you...” Her voice breaks and I wrap her up in my arms tightly.
“Then who, Mags?” She shakes her head no but says nothing else. What the hell isn’t she telling me? Irritation bubbles in my gut but I know it won’t help right now. I push it down until I can’t feel it anymore.
“Okay, well then where the hell is my bike?” I retort, trying to lighten the mood. She snickers into the wall of my chest.
“At my trailer.” Her voice is muffled from the way she's face-planted into me.
“What?! Seriously?” I croak at her, pulling away to see her face.
“Yup. Right out back under the tarp,” she says smartly.
“Damn. I loved that bike.” I let out on a breath.
“Why haven’t you asked?” she pipes up.
“About?”
“The money, Cane. The bike wasn’t the only thing I took,” she says seriously.
“It was never about the money to me. Ezra seems more concerned about recovering the backpack, to be honest.”
“That ratty black pile of thread?” She quirks an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Maybe just because the money was in it.” I shrug. I have no idea why the money is so important. Ezra makes hand over fist and it was chump change in his book. He wanted it all recovered. The money, the pack. And he wanted Cypress gone.
“You really don’t want to know?” she asks quizzically. I can’t help but notice all the little changes in her. Her eyes are harder. Her demeanor is armored. Her light is gone. She’s still stunning. She’s still in there - somewhere. And it's becoming more and more clear that I’m the reason it’s all changed. That because of my life, because I involved her in it, I stole all the very best parts of her. I push all the morbid thoughts from my mind and focus on her battered yet beautiful face.
“What? About the money?” I chuckle.
“Yeah. I mean, it’s a lot,” she says pointedly.
“It is. There is a lot more than that though. There’s always more money to be had.” I sigh. She stares at me hard. It makes me uncomfortable and nervous. I’m never one to fidget under pressure but Magnolia makes me someone I never thought I could be. It’s her allure.
“Okay.” She rests her head at my shoulder, tracing tiny shapes along my torso until I pull the blankets over us and she drifts off to sleep. I’m fighting sleep tonight. It feels like this is all too good to be true. Like a dream. I'm terrified to wake up in the morning and have her be gone.