Page 28 of Crossed By the Stars
She glared and said, “So, instead, you manhandled me into your bed.”
“To sleep it off. Nothing happened,” I insisted. I was surprised she was bringing it up when we’d never once talked about it since that day. She’d left after Ito-san had burst into the room, searching for her, and we’d both acted as if it had never happened. Just like we’d pretended our teenage kiss had never happened.
“You were naked,” she pushed.
“I always sleep naked. I have since I was a little kid.”
But I’d never woken with her perfectly shaped lips around me, egging my hardness into orgasm. It had been too much for my body and heart to handle. I’d flipped her on her back and returned the favor with my mouth on her beautiful slit. And when her body had writhed and her breathing had gotten desperate, it had driven me over the edge, forced me into a submission that I’d gladly given in to. No matter how many times I beat myself up over my lack of control that morning, I was still haunted with dreams and memories of her skin, her scent, and her taste. I was haunted by the look of hurt on her face when I’d pulled away even before Ito-san had come to find her.
Dawson tapped on the window behind us, drawing our eyes to the room and the dark shape of Ken’Ichi Matsuda who’d shown up like a dragon in the mist. Cold. Hard. Determined to win his prize.
That night, Jada had walked away. She’d walked away and went to Ken-Ichi, throwing anger and hatred in his direction. But when I’d tried to defend her, she’d recoiled, lashing out at me and sending me storming away. I’d returned to my parents’ apartment and gotten drunk in a way I rarely did.
What I hadn’t known at the time was that she was protecting me—from Matsuda, the FBI, and the entire undercover op she and Dawson were knee-deep in to bring theKyodainadown. Just like pulling away from me now was her way of protecting me. An attempt to keep me far removed from the threats falling around her.
I wanted to sweep her into my arms, carry her to the airport, and hide her away somewhere her father could never find. But if I did that, I would be tearing a hole in my father’s heart. And yet I still couldn’t help the way Jada’s entire being called to me. How right it felt when I was touching her. How it felt like I’d finally found my way back home whenever I was at her side.
I turned away, returning to the table and the Chinese food. I piled the leftovers into the box.
“You’re right. You’re not stupid,” I told her. “So, tell me why you’d even consider this.”
I stopped what I was doing to take her in. The tension in her shoulders and lips. The dark circles that were only getting worse.
“Otosancalled and asked me to go. Promised it would make things right.” The admission tore from her, and I could tell she instantly regretted it, because her back grew stiffer, daring me to challenge her.
I laughed, darkly, hating her father for still having a hold on her. “And you believed him?”
“I’m not sure what to make of it! You’re the one who stalked in and demanded I tell you what was going on. Why do you bother when you know it will always be things you don’t really want to hear?”
“I want you to truly be free of him.” Even then, I wasn’t sure it would be enough to satisfy my father, to save my family if I brought her fully into my world…into my bed…into my heart.
“I’m not even sure his death would free me,” she said with a sad resignation that ripped holes into my gut.
“So, you’ll just walk to yours instead?” Fear and anger filled me. Losing her was something I wasn’t sure I could survive any more than making her mine was. The two halves of my heart and soul could never be fully joined.
“Don’t be dramatic, Armaud. No one’s dying here, unless it’s you because you don’t leave me the hell alone to get some work done.”
She dismissed me, and I went, the turmoil of my thoughts forcing me to yield, forcing me to retreat just like I had every single time her life got tough and mine beckoned.
Jada
NEVER LOOK BACK
“The present, the past,
Never forget me,
Never look back.”
Written & Performed by Imelda May
“You’re hitting for shit,” Lía saidasshe held the punching bag for me. She was the third person in as many days to tell me something similar, and even though it was true, it still irked me.
Another almost sleepless night had me low on energy and motivation. I didn’t really want to be in the gym at five in the morning, hitting a bag. I wanted to escape to Bora Bora, or maybe just down a bottle of tequila, or go into a tranquilizer-induced stupor like the ones I was good at in my old life. My old coping mechanisms were a constant ache that would never go away.
I stepped back from the bag, undoing the gloves from my hands and throwing them on the floor. Boxing with Lía was a hobby I’d picked up a little over a year ago. Dawson had suggested I take up a physical activity that would make me feel stronger if someone did come after me. And for months now, I’d been proud of my right upper hook and the strength I’d built into my lean frame. But after the last few days, I knew it was futile to even consider striking back.
If theKyodainawanted me dead, I’d never see them coming.
