Secret Life Of Amy Bensen: Forsaken Part 12

Aware that I'm in danger, practically inviting Sheridan to grab me again, I can't seem to give a d.a.m.n. Even if Amy wasn't here, Meg would have told Sheridan that this is where I'd planned to take her.

Still. Don't. Give. A d.a.m.n.

Exiting the apartment, I start knocking on doors, and two apartments down, a little old lady answers. The woman, who can barely remember what her own apartment number is, offers no help. I'm f.u.c.ked.

Giving up this strategy, I take the stairs, exit the apartment building through the foyer, and cut to my left, stopping at a cell phone store. Hesitating only a moment, I decide a few stops will give me a chance to find out if I'm being followed. Quickly, I cross the road, hitting up the retailer for several more disposable phones, which I buy with yet another fake credit card and ID. I'm out of the door and walking again, taking a different route to the hotel than I'd followed on the way to the apartment.

My nerves are jumping, my skin crawling as if eyes are on me, though I find no signs that I'm being tracked. Trying to find the source of my discomfort, I weave through the neighborhood, walking inside several stores in a mall, where I intend to let darkness fall before I depart. With a new hat on, I finally exit back onto the street, and that sensation of being watched has eased. Returning to the hotel, I enter through its restaurant and a side door into the lobby.

It's nearly eight in the evening when I take the elevator to our secure, key-coded floor and enter the suite, where I immediately hear "Chad! Is that you?"

"Yes. Who do you think it is? The bogeyman?"

"If his name is Sheridan then yes."

d.a.m.n. I pace a few more times. I seem to be good at pacing. I'm good at a lot of things that don't mean s.h.i.+t right now. I need to fix that, and fix it now. I need to find my sister. I need to destroy Sheridan. Angry, I grab the chair in front of the door and shove it aside.

"Oh, thank G.o.d," Gia gushes, flinging her arms around my neck. "You're in one piece."

Stunned by her greeting, by the way her sweet curves meld against me, I fight the heat that rushes through me, untangling her grip and pressing her hands against the wall. "Tell me what you know about my sister," I demand.

"Nothing, Chad. I told you that. Is she-was she-"

"You know I didn't find her."

"I wanted you to find her. I was terrified for you."

Anger expands in me, seeping into my veins, and on some level, I know it's not about Gia at all, or maybe I just fear it will be about her. I don't want to trust her and be wrong. "You barely know me."

"I know you're in pain. I know what being alone feels like, and I know that's what you feel right now."

Alone.

It's a word that pierces my heart with guilt. It's what I know my sister has felt for six long years. I was all she had, the only one she could count on, even if she didn't know I was there-and I failed her. The pain is a seed that grows and expands inside me in an instant, and suddenly, or maybe not so suddenly, the idea of being betrayed by Gia is not as biting as the idea of failing her as well. My hands come down on her face, and I stare at her. "I have money and resources to hide you, and I promise you, no one will find you. But I won't be there with you. I'm poison to anyone near me. You can't forget that. I can't forget that."

I don't give her time to reply. My mouth closes down on hers, my tongue pressing past her lips, stroking and stroking again, in what is instantly an aggressive, searching kiss. She moans, and I swear the sound of her moan shatters a piece of my soul that is already bleeding for my sister. In this moment, it feels like all I have left is this woman.

I let go of her wrists and her arms wrap around me again and she is small and delicate and somehow brave and bold at the same time. The touch of her, the taste of her, it's like a rush of anger, pa.s.sion, and need combusting inside of me, feeding the same in her. One minute I'm kissing her and she's kissing me. The next we are naked and on the bed, her pretty pink nipples in my mouth, my c.o.c.k buried deep in her sweet, tight p.u.s.s.y, and I am thrusting into her. There was no beginning to this. I don't want there to be an end. There is just us, and I'm kissing her and f.u.c.king her and she's just as ravenous. Just as needy. I am lost in this woman and her moans and soft touches, and she has become the only piece of heaven I have left.

"Chad," she whispers, and in that instant my name matters more than her moans. It tells me that she knows who I am, really knows, because I've hidden nothing from her, shown her all of my good and bad and terrible self.

I answer her by licking into her mouth, softly murmuring, "Gia," letting her know that I too am lost in the moment, but I know who I'm lost with.

Her leg wraps around mine as if I've given her the answer she seeks and now she's fully committed, no holding back. My hand slides under her perfect little a.s.s and I squeeze, lifting her, thrusting into her. Once again, I'm different with her than with the string of nameless women I've known, kissing her, unconcerned about the emotional bulls.h.i.+t that too much intimacy is to me. Gia tastes like the indescribable flavor of escape wrapped in sweet honey. And when she locks up around me, arching upward, her fingernails digging into my shoulders, her s.e.x clenching around me, I am beyond control. I thrust into her, pus.h.i.+ng deeper, and when her body clenches around me, spasms milking me, I too am tensing, shuddering with release. Time and s.p.a.ce fade in and out, and I cling to that hazy, wonderful place where nothing but pleasure exists.

Like a hard slap in the face, the room returns, and with it the moment I wanted to escape that seems eternal. Reality is here, and so is the wet, wonderful feeling of being buried inside her that represents a huge mistake. "f.u.c.k," I whisper. "We didn't use birth control." I am off her in an instant, closing the s.p.a.ce between me and the bathroom, and grabbing a towel that I toss at her before I'm back to pacing. "f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k." She says nothing, and I glance at her unmoving, sitting with her back to me on the edge of the bed. "Why aren't you saying anything? The last thing either of us needs is to bring a baby into this h.e.l.l."

Still she says nothing, calmly standing to retrieve her jeans. Frustrated, I close the distance between us, my hands on her shoulders as I turn her to face me. "What about this being a problem don't you get? I am a target. I can't raise a child."

"You don't have to."

"Like h.e.l.l. If you're pregnant-"

"I'm not. I can't . . . be pregnant."

I blink and shake my head. "What? What does that mean?"

"It means," she rasps, her voice quaking with barely contained emotion, "I had an infection when I was eighteen. It left me infertile."

The pain in her confession is palpable, a deep cutting blade that clearly inflicts itself on her over and over, the way my guilt does me. And on some level, it's the same, that sense of not having a family, of never being able to even try. "Gia-"

"Don't offer sympathy that you know doesn't help. I don't want to bring kids into the h.e.l.l that's become my life anyway." She jerks away from me and I reach for her, turning her to face me again, but somehow I lose whatever I intended to say. What am I supposed to tell her? That alone is better, when I know it sucks? That it gets easier? Because it doesn't. It never gets easier.

"Gia-"

"I said don't," she snaps. "This isn't new to me, and if anything, the 'why me' I've asked myself too many times now has an answer. A child would have made this so much more complicated."

There are no words of comfort I can give her. They'd be false promises, lies. They'd be hope, the kind I have for my sister, despite the doubts I have of her safety. "You are going to survive," I vow. "I'm going to make sure of it."

"Yes. I will survive, but we both know it's not because of you. You're going to get what you need out of me, and then send me away with cash and a new ident.i.ty. Let's keep this real. The s.e.x is just s.e.x, a way we're both coping with our situation."

I despise every word she's just spoken, when I should embrace them. Instead, I want to make us both forget they exist. I need, and I don't even know what I need anymore. I grab her pants and toss them aside, tangling fingers in her hair. "s.e.x is how we cope?"

"You know it is."

"Then let's do a little more coping."

"Yes," she whispers. "Let's."

My c.o.c.k thickens with her approval, my body hard and hot. I can't get enough of her but I'm d.a.m.n sure going to try. I lower my head, antic.i.p.ating the taste of her, the moment I will once again be inside her, when suddenly my cell phone rings. I pause, lost in a haze of l.u.s.t, in a burn for this woman, but the ring sounds again, jolting me back to reality.

Blood pumping fiercely, I release Gia, scrambling for my pants, cursing myself for leaving my phone unattended. Relieved and scared s.h.i.+tless of what I'm about to hear, I dig it out of my pocket and hit the Answer b.u.t.ton in time to hear, "I'm calling you back, motherf.u.c.ker."

TEN.

AT THE SOUND of Jared's voice, the tension in my spine eases only a fraction. "Tell me my sister's alive."

"She is. And she's safe. For now. But we need to talk."

"Define 'safe.'"

"No imminent threat."

"Where is she?"

"Do you really want to do this on the phone?"

"How likely is it that anyone else saw me go to that apartment?"

"The apartment itself, zero. I have it wired with cameras and a silent alarm. You were the first mouse in my trap, but I reset it to see who else might come calling."

I open my mouth to ask if he means Meg, but glance at Gia, who's naked and hugging herself, and I hesitate to bring Jared here for reasons I can't explain. "1732 Wazee Street in half an hour." I end the call and Gia is already getting dressed. "The contact I've been trying to reach left me a number at my sister's apartment. We need to go and meet him."

"We?"

"I have a safe house near here where we'll stay until we decide what comes next."

"Then why come here at all?"

"I knew the maid service would rescue you if I didn't come back from that apartment."

She tugs her s.h.i.+rt over her head. "I don't know if I should thank you or tell you you're crazy."

"Neither." I sit down and start putting on my boots.

Gia sits and does the same with her tennis shoes. "So your sister's alive?"

"He says she is."

"You don't believe him?"

I stand up and grab the duffel. "I need to see her with my own eyes."

She nods and pushes herself to her feet, sliding her bag over her shoulder. "I would, too. Chad. How much do you trust this person we're meeting?"

"I trusted him with my sister's life."

"Right. Of course."

I narrow my gaze. "Why?"

"Because greed is a terrifying thing. What you have, or what people think you have, represents the kind of power that changes people."

"And you know this how?"

"We all know it in our core. It's humanity." She draws in a breath. "You said you'd sell me if the price was right. What would this man do if the price is right?"

My gut clenches and I grab her and pull her to me. "I was trying to make sure you don't trust anyone. I was trying to keep you alive."

"I got the message. You're a treasure hunter. I'm just lucky enough to be worth nothing to anyone-unless Sheridan simply wants to punish me for betraying him. But your sister is another story. She means everything to you, and Sheridan knows that. This man we're about to meet knows that. Meg knew that. Even I know that. Listen to your own advice. Trust no one. Not even this person we're going to meet now."

"He protected my sister."

"Who is the best way to get to you."

"He doesn't even know what Sheridan is after."

"If he's good enough and smart enough to be worthy of protecting your sister, do you really think he didn't dig in and find out?"

"Sheridan hasn't exactly made this public."

"You think that he couldn't have found out, Chad? Trust no one."

"Including you, sweetheart."

"I'm not asking for your trust. I'm demanding your brains. Use them. Now."

"Why does this matter to you?" My fingers dig into her arms and I give her a shake. "Why?"

"Because," she hisses without any hesitation, "if you really have the cylinder, and if it really works, it could save our world as easily as it could destroy it, and that's all in your hands. And mine, too, if I can influence you to protect it."

"And if I have it? What do you want to do with it? Whose interest are you servicing?"

"Not yours, if you want to sell it to the highest bidder. It can't be sold. It can't be given to anyone who will abuse it. I don't know what the h.e.l.l to do with it-but I know you can't sell it like you said you'd sell me."

"I'm not selling you or it."

"You have it. Tell me."

"Trust no one, baby. No one."

Her fingers curl on my s.h.i.+rt. "Convince all of them, whoever they are, that you don't have it-or else they will never stop coming."

"You think they're going to believe that?"

"Make them believe it."

She's shaking. Her lips, her hands. Her entire body. I stare down at her, this woman who has managed to spell out the backup plan I've worked on for six years and never perfected, any more than I've figured out what the h.e.l.l to do with the cylinder.

"Right. I'll just tell them it's all been a big mistake, and we'll all go our own sweet ways. If that was possible, don't you think I would have done it before now?"

"They thought you were dead," she argues. "You didn't have to tell them anything before now."

"Obviously they didn't think I was dead, or they wouldn't have kept looking for me."

"All the more reason to convince them you don't have it. Including whoever we're going to see now. It won't be easy, but there has to be a way."

I glare back at her. "What's your story?"

"It's not my story that matters. It's yours."

I study her another moment, like I'll see some answer in her face I don't find. Shoving my hair back under my baseball hat, I say, "Let's go," and dig cash out of my bag, stuffing it into my pocket for easy access. I also stick the gun in my waistband, instead of my ankle holster.