Page 13 of Tell Me No
“She doesn’t need it,” Breaker growls, splaying a possessive hand across my hip and tugging me backwards into his chest.
“Okay, calm down, daddy. Nobody’s gonna steal your girl,” Iris says, standing and stumbling down into his chair around the fire.
Breaker turns his head, the scruff of his beard dragging deliciously across my cheek as he drops his lips against the shell of my ear, “Mmmm,mygirl. I like the way that sounds.”
I bite the corner of my lip, not daring to look back at him and shatter the perfection of this moment. I try and fail to suppress the yawn that crawls up my throat.
“Oh shit, birthday girl is tired, guys. Time to head out,” Kelsea says with a sleepy smile.
I say my goodbyes, hugging each of my friends tightly and thanking them for planning this surprise for me. When I circle back around to Breaker, he levels me with a look that says I'm not getting away from him that easily.
“I’ll take you home,” he says, leaving no room for argument. I nod in agreement, sliding my jacket on and following the crowd out to the front yard. A line of motorcycles sits to the left of Kelsea’s shiny black Audi, a wedding gift from Everett who insisted her unreliable Subaru had to go.
Breaker drops down onto the worn black leather seat of his Indian Chief Dark Horse, holding a hand up for me to climb on behind him. I feel like an animal in the zoo with all the eyes watching us right now. I know everyone has been waiting for us to fall into place together, but still, it’s weird. I climb on behind him, my thighs pressing tightly around his hips.
“Ooooh, riding bitch on the back of his bike,” Kelsea announces loudly, her lips turned up in a smirk that has ‘I told you so’ written all over it. My middle finger shoots up just fast enough to salute her before Breaker hits the throttle and tears off down the driveway.
nine
When I tookAurora home Sunday night, I tried to ask her what was bothering her. I tried to pry into the depths of the mind and heart she keeps so tightly guarded, but it was no use. She shut me down, giving me a weak kiss and insisting she was fine. But I'm not an idiot. I saw the sadness hanging behind her smile all evening. If I hadn't had a flight to South America to catch at 2 am on Monday, I wouldn't have let her push me off so easily. I still won't. I just have to take my time with her.
I’ve spent the past three days sifting through the mass of people in Bogota, Columbia. After Figueroa dogged my bullet, I decided to take a different approach to the situation. In looking for his second in command, I was able to discover that the only person he keeps close enough to exploit is his son, Figueroa Jr. The sins of the father have certainly poisoned the son when it comes to these men. I watched him drug and kidnap women every single night from a dozen different bars. If I didn’t have a job to do, I’d have put a bullet between his eyes ten times over. As it stands, I need him alive for now. Luckily, Iris and I were able to get our hands on him, high as hell, getting his dick sucked in a back alley last night.
We split off when we left Columbia. Iris took our new hostage to the warehouse we keep for things like this, and I’m currently making a beeline straight for home. I’ve made trips like this dozens of times, traveled around the world and back again hundreds of times over, but I’ve never missed home as much as I do right now. Rereading the text on my phone for the thousandth time today, I actually think about smiling. I don’t, but the thought crosses my mind.
Plan on being home soon? We should talk… Miss you.
Miss you. Those two words shot straight through any semblance of resolve I was holding to keep me away from Aurora. Not that I could ever stay away from such a siren. I’ve had a taste, a drop in the ocean that is Aurora Harding, and I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied. The craving to be near her overtakes any rational thought I have. Like a meteorite scorching a path through the vastness of outer space, I’ve been pulled in to her orbit and I’m content to never leave. I shoot a quick message back to her.
On the way back to SC now. You working tonight?
I don’t tell her where I’ve been. Knowing information like that is dangerous and honestly unnecessary for her. I’d slit my own throat before I ever let the world I live in touch her. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the steel walls of the C-17 Globemaster I caught a ride home in. For the first time in my life, I can’t get home fast enough. My phone vibrates in my hand faster than I thought it would.
Getting ready to go in now. Be @ Bombshells until 2. Talk after?
Yeah, we’ll talk after. But I’ll be at Bombshells as quickly as my vintage Camaro SS can get me there after we land. Before I can reply, my screen lights up again, a picture of her beautiful face filling the screen. Aurora is a classic beauty, like Audrey Hepburn or Betty Davis, old Hollywood kind of gorgeous. In the picture, her lips are painted the most unholy shade of red and she’s blowing me a kiss.
Fuck, this woman wants to kill me. I’d let her. Shit, I’d load the gun and put it in her hands for just one more kiss. But it’s her eyes that always draw me in. Cerulean blue encircled in long, thick, chocolate brown lashes. They’re like diving into the Mediterranean Sea and letting it pull you down into its depths. The tiniest freckles are splashed across her nose and cheeks, always making her look far younger than she already is. Her long brown hair, usually hanging loose around her shoulders, is twisted into two braids draped across her shoulders. God, she is a fucking beauty unlike anything this world has ever seen before.
By the time we land stateside, I’ve imagined a dozen different ways I could use those long braids of hers to my advantage. I imagine wrapping them around my fists, pulling until her back bows as I thrust into her from behind. Fuck, I cannot get hard in front of a plane full of fucking Marines. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I stand, grabbing my bag and shaking hands with the young pilot before climbing into my car. I quickly reply to her message before pointing my car towards Charleston and flooring it.
See you soon, princess.
* * *
Bombshells is a fucking madhouse for a Thursday night. The bouncer at the door informed me it was some kind of Thirsty Thursday special and they’ve been pushing capacity since they opened the doors tonight. I shove my way through the mass of bodies, sitting down at one end of the bar lining the back wall. My eyes find Aurora as soon as I sit down, her long tan legs on display under short black denim cut-offs. The Bombshells t-shirt she’s wearing is cut into such a deep V, she might as well not be wearing anything at all. She’s taken her thick, wavy hair out of the braids from the picture she sent me earlier, and it falls around her shoulders like a curtain of silk.
As much as the possessive side of me would like to lock her away and never let another man lay eyes on her, she’s her own woman. She deserves to be shown off like the prize she is, as long as no one takes it too far. She gives the group of guys at the opposite end of the bar her fake flirty smile, the one she uses to get extra tips. I can see several of them drifting their eyes over her body like she’s their next fucking meal. One of them, the most confident and obviously the stupidest, makes a move to reach out and touch her sleeve of wildflower tattoos. I clench my fists, knowing she hasn’t seen me yet and not wanting to cause a scene at her workplace. Poor motherfucker is gonna be eating his next meal through a fucking straw if he doesn’t back off.
She takes a step back out of his reach and quickly excuses herself, turning to help the next customer. When her eyes collide with mine, she stops dead in her tracks, her lips frozen in a perfect O. She recovers quickly, a salacious smile spreading across her blood-red lips.
“Well, well, well, Mr. Negan. What an absolutepleasureit is to see you tonight,” she says, leaning across the bar top in front of me, her tits on full display.
“Princess. Miss me?” I ask, my lips quirking up in a smirk.
“Eh,” she shrugs one shoulder as she stands and pours three fingers of Macallan 18 year into a glass. She sets it down in front of me, our fingers brushing as I pull it towards me. Her bottom lips snags between her teeth in the most deliciously innocent expression, though she’s anything but.
“Hey, I got a question for you,” she asks.
