Bad Boy Soldier (The Bad Boy Series Book 3) Page 8

  There was no answer, so I rang it again.

  Finally, I saw the outline of a figure through the frosted glass pane in the door and realized someone was peering out the eyehole.

  "What do you want?" came a male voice. Spencer.

  "I need to talk to you about Celia," I said.

  "What's the problem with her?" he asked, not opening the door.

  "I don't want to talk on the front porch. Let me in. It's private."

  "You really think I'm that stupid?" Spencer replied, laughing. "Go away, little boy."

  "She's been badly hurt," I said, trying to sound really upset. "She wanted me to talk to you."

  "Get lost before I call the police. You're not here about Celia. You should know one of my staff is here. My assistant, Stuart. He's a witness."

  "No, you're right," I said, stalling for time. "I'm not here about Celia. I have something you might want to see," I said, trying to think what I could do to get him to open the door. Then it came to me. "I got it at the cabin in Alexandria. You know, the one near the bay?"

  "What cabin?" he said, but now his voice wavered. "I don't own a cabin in Alexandria."

  "Oh, really?" I said. "That's funny, because I saw the property title and it's clearly in your name. I have a tape here that I found there. In the room in the basement? In a locked cupboard? You might want to see this. Your assistant might want to see it was well. In fact, your entire office might want to see it."

  I reached to my jacket and patted my pocket meaningfully, as if I really had something in it.

  When he didn't respond, I smiled. I heard him talking to someone, his voice hushed and soon, the door opened and a pasty-faced young man came out, slipping on a jacket.

  "Stuart, I presume?" I said, smiling coldly.

  "Yes," he said. "I know you're here and I know who you are, in case anything happens to Mr. Grant."

  "Go home," I said and turned back to the door, which was closed once more, but I suspected that Spencer would be so curious about what I had, so worried about what it could be, that he'd let me in. I was counting on it.

  Once Stuart left, his car backing down the driveway and driving off down the street, I turned back to the door.

  "You can send me away, but I thought you and I could negotiate about this tape. We could find a mutual price. If not, I can always take it to the police."

  Good, that would make him open the door. He'd think I was just a thug wanting to extort money from him instead of a thug wanting to beat his face to a pulp.

  He opened the door and I pushed inside, knocking into him in the process before closing the door behind me. The force sent Spencer sprawling onto his back.

  "What the fuck?" he said, struggling up to his feet. "What did you do that for? I let you in." He frowned, adjusting his clothing. "Show me the tape."

  "You think I'm that stupid?" I said, and then I ploughed him one with a right hook that struck squarely on the chin. It knocked him back three steps and he ran into the back of the sofa, holding his hands up in protection—and maybe supplication—but I didn't let that stop me.

  "This is for Celia," I said and punched him again, striking him in the gut. He grabbed his stomach and bent over. Then, I hit him in the nose. By now, he was cowering, blood pouring out of his nose, which I assumed I had broken. "And this," I said, holding up a fist, "this is for all the little girls you hurt."

  Then I punched him one last time. That punch sent him back over the sofa and he crashed onto the floor. I stood and watched, my heart pounding in my chest. I hoped I hadn’t killed him, but I couldn't be sure. I usually knew my limit in a fight, but I was still furious about Celia. About Sean. About Donny. About everything that he had ever done to Graham and Celia and everyone he hurt all those years…

  I went over to where he lay and turned him over. He was conscious and held up his hands over his face.

  "No, please!" he cried, blubbering like a baby. "Don't kill me."

  I saw Celia's mom standing in the doorway, or should I say leaning there. She looked like a corpse, her skin grey, her hair a mess. She was dressed in a long nightgown and robe, slippers on her feet.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered, seemingly unable to raise her voice up enough to really speak.

  "I was just meting out justice," I said and gave Spencer a kick in the ribs. Not hard enough to injure him seriously, but hard enough to hurt. "He's lucky I didn’t kill him outright. He deserves it."

  Then I went over to her, because she looked like she might fall over. "You should pack up your things and come with me."

  "Who are you?" she asked. "I'm going to call the police."

  "I'm Hunter," I said, surprised she didn't recognize me, but I'd been persona non grata for years. "Celia may have spoken to you about me before. I was Graham's friend. Celia's staying with me at my apartment. I'm protecting her. She wants you to come and get away from Spencer."

  She frowned and backed away. "Spencer told me about you. You're with the mafia."

  "There's a lot you don't know," I said, frustrated that she believed all Spencer's lies. "Celia's staying with me. Call her if you want. I can wait."

  "I'm not coming with you," she said, shaking her head, her eyes wide.

  I shrugged and went to the door, deciding to leave. Before I left, I turned to her. She was over beside Spencer, who had rolled over and was grimacing.

  "I'm calling the police right now," she said and grabbed a portable phone off its stand.

  "Don't call," Spencer said, holding his hand up to her. "I'll deal with this. You go back to bed."

  She put the phone down and waited while Spencer stood up, a hand to his bloody nose.

  That was how I left him, going to his sick and drug-addicted wife for comfort, who was herself barely able to stand up. I didn’t want to leave her there, but there was only so much you could do to help some people. They had to choose their own hell. She hadn't chosen hers—it had been thrust on her when her husband was killed in a car crash and she was disabled by chronic pain. Spencer had been right there, waiting to take over and she was probably happy to have a man look after her.

  I walked down the street to my car, knowing that Spencer wouldn't be calling the police about the assault. He thought I had a tape of him molesting little girls, and would probably pack a bag and leave for Malaysia if he was smart. We’d see how smart he really was or if he was stupid enough to think he could talk or bluster or abuse his way out of the mess he was in.

  I had a feeling I should prepare a room at the warehouse for Celia's mother, and soon. I knew Spencer's type. He was a coward, full of bravado when standing behind his desk or when in control over a child, but when faced with the reality of his crimes, he'd run.

  It would be up to Celia—with my help—to clean up the mess he left behind.

  I cooled down considerably on my way back to the warehouse. As I drove, I thought about what I would do, and how I would approach turning Spencer in.

  Given the evidence of child prostitution I found at the cabin in Alexandria, I knew something would stick to Spencer.

  He'd be arrested and charged with making child pornography at a minimum based on the tapes I found and collected—and who knew what else there was in that cabin. I had told my handler about it, and he promised to send a team out to collect evidence but it would take a while to get a warrant for search and seizure of evidence. I wasn't sure if the place would be wiped clean by then, but before I’d left that day, I had taken some evidence with me that I could use for leverage if I needed it.

  The FBI worked at its own pace on cases, so I had to let things go and let them take care of what needed to be done to bring the guilty parties to justice.

  By the time I got back to the warehouse, I was almost calm. I parked the vehicle at the rear of the building, checking in with the sentry who was responsible for the alleyway, and then sat in silence for a moment, thinking of what I'd do next. What was my move with Celia? Seeing her with wounds on her neck had almost made m
e homicidal. I knew she mattered more to me than just an easy fuck. That much was clear now. I tried to keep a distance from her, tried to treat her like a mere fuck toy, but that had obviously failed.

  I wanted her.

  I wanted her to be mine and not just to pay back a debt. Not just obeying my orders.

  I wanted her to want me back just as much as I wanted her.

  I was in deep.

  Chapter 9

  HUNTER

  I took the freight elevator up to the third-floor apartment and let myself in. George was in his office space, watching the video feed of the building and surrounding area. He was already packing up when I arrived at the desk, expecting that I'd be staying the night.

  "I go downstairs and sleep," he said, nodding when he saw me.

  "I hope the bed downstairs is comfortable enough for a sultan," I said. "I feel bad that you were forced out of this space. I initially intended it for you."

  He shrugged and made a face. "I am old soldier. I am used to hard living. This is vacation compared to some places I have slept."

  "Thanks," I said and clapped him on the back. "Is she asleep?"

  George nodded. "She went right to bed, and I have heard no peeps out of her."

  "I'll call you tomorrow when I need you."

  Then he left me with Celia and I watched the video feed as he took the elevator and went to the first-floor apartment that had been hastily furnished for his use when I was at the apartment. It wasn't nearly as nice as the top floor, but as George said, it would do. We were both solders, and had slept in the worst places possible—on dusty back roads in Afghanistan and Iraq, beneath oily and greasy armored vehicles, in holes we’d dug in the ground.

  A soft bed in a warehouse was like heaven in comparison.

  I removed my shoes and walked as quietly as possible to the bed and watched Celia, wondering if she was awake or was really sleeping. Her breathing was slow and deep so I assumed she was truly asleep.

  I left her there and went to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes for a shower. I needed to wash off the day's sweat and dust, and most of all to wash off the sick feeling I had from dealing with Spencer.

  Then I went to the kitchen, with only a towel wrapped around my waist, and had a long drink of orange juice. I needed something stronger but didn't want to drink. I didn’t want to lose control. I'd have to be completely in control of myself if I was to successfully deal with Celia and her issues.

  I grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and then switched off the extra lights, leaving only a single light on in George's office. Finally, I went to the bed where Celia was sleeping and stood in silence for a few moments, watching her, listening to her breathing to see if she was awake. She seemed to be sleeping so I slipped off my towel and slid under the covers and into the bed beside her. She didn't wake up, so I lay there quietly on my side facing her back, and tried to go to sleep.

  Of course, lying naked in bed with her beside me had only one possible conclusion—a raging hard-on. I wanted to slip closer to her and pull her against me, wake her up for a nice long fuck, but that was my man-brain talking, and not my neo-cortex. She'd had a very bad day, week, and probably life since her father died and Spencer moved in. The last thing she needed was some horndog man pestering her when she really needed understanding and patience.

  So I decided to let things wait until she came to me. I'd be patient. I knew she'd been through hell, with Graham's attack and everything that happened after. So, instead of trying to wake her up and arouse her enough that she'd want to have sex, I decided to try to sleep. I sighed, nestled down into the pillow, and tried to blank my mind of anything to do with Celia's delicious body—a body that I had come to know much more intimately over the past while, and instead thought about my next move with Spencer and with Victor and Sergi Romanov.

  After what felt like an hour, I turned over and lay on my back, my erection having died a natural death after focusing on business rather than pleasure. I was almost asleep when Celia turned over, the sheets rustling. I kept my eyes closed and tried not to respond, but I heard her sharp intake of breath and knew she'd awoken to find me in bed beside her.

  Now what would she do?

  We lay there in silence for a moment, and I thought she might pretend to be asleep, probably hoping not to wake me.

  Then to my surprise, she spoke, her soft voice almost a whisper. "Are you awake?"

  I turned over to face her, but kept the space between us. I could barely see her face in the darkness, but could just make out the curve of her cheek, and a brief glint of light in her eyes.

  "Yes," I said, keeping my voice low. "Sorry I woke you. I tried to be as quiet as I could."

  "I hope you didn’t do anything rash."

  I smiled. "Me? Do something rash? I'm insulted."

  I caught her smile even in the dim room, and a surge of something went through me.

  "I mean, rash like killing my bastard of a stepfather."

  I shook my head. "No, I didn’t kill him, but I did give him a beating."

  "Hunter!" she said, her voice shocked. "You beat him?" She rose up and turned on the light beside the bed. She looked deliciously seductive in the low light from the tiny lamp, her hair mussed, her eyes sleepy.

  "He's fine. Maybe a broken nose, but nothing he didn’t deserve. I should have sent him to the hospital, considering everything he's done." I held out my hand, and saw that the knuckles were scraped pretty badly. "I think I injured myself in the bargain."

  She reached out and took my hand, holding it up in front of her face. "Oh, God, Hunter…"

  Then, she kissed my knuckles.

  She actually kissed my injured hand.

  She turned my hand over and kissed my palm and then looked in my eyes.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  "For what?" I replied, my throat constricting.

  "For everything," she said. Then, she crawled over to my side of the bed and pushed me onto my back, lying on top of me, her mouth finding mine.

  I didn’t fight.

  Why would I fight the one thing I had wanted for most of the past five years?

  Celia.

  Her body on top of mine made me instantly hard as a rock. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her tightly against me, grinding my hips up so she knew how much I wanted her.

  How much I needed her.

  We kissed, our mouths devouring each other, her fingers gripping my hair like she needed me desperately.

  Then she sat up and pulled her nightgown off to reveal her beautiful curves, full and rounded breasts, her nipples hardening in the cool air. I couldn’t help but reach up and cup them with my hands, admiring their heavy fullness, my thumbs and fingers tweaking her nipples. I sat up and took one into my mouth, sucking firmly, the nub hardening against my tongue. In response, she moaned and arched her back, her eyes closing.

  "Oh, God, I need you," she whispered. When I lay back, she leaned down and kissed me once more. "Fuck me, Hunter."

  I didn't make her say please.

  Instead, I did everything I could to please her. It should have been me begging her, because no matter how much I tried to deny it to myself, I wanted her. I'd always wanted her.

  With every woman I'd been with since that first night with her, back before I joined the Marines, I'd compared them to Celia. None could measure up.

  She needed me. She'd been through so much shit, with Graham being beat up, with the loan shark threats, the loss of her inheritance, and Spencer's abuse, she needed pleasure to blank her mind of all of it.

  I was happy to provide her with it. I may not have been her first, or even twentieth, choice when it came to a lover, but I'd do.

  I rolled her over onto her back and kissed her deeply, my hand roaming over her body, from one lush breast to her softly rounded hip, to the lips of her sex, which I parted with my fingers to find her hard little clit. She moaned into my mouth when I stroked it, opening her thighs to accommodate my hand.
I pressed more deeply, pushing my fingers inside to stroke her and felt her body clench around me.

  "So hot," I whispered in her ear. "So wet for me."

  She pressed her hips up, hungry for sensation. I didn’t deny her.

  I kissed a trail down her jaw to her collar bone and lower, claiming one nipple while I thumbed her clit, circling it slowly. I moved lower, licking my way down her belly to her pussy. I glanced up, enjoying the sight of her body arching with each stroke of her g-spot, her body trembling with lust.

  "I'm going to eat you," I said, smiling as she gripped the sheets in her fists, pressing her hips up to meet my hand. "I'm going to make you come with my tongue."

  She licked her lips but said nothing, her eyes closed, her focus entirely on my fingers. Then I licked her clit while I kept my fingers inside of her, stroking inside her with two fingers while I stroked her clit with my tongue.

  "Oh, God," she gasped, and it wasn’t long before I felt her body clenching around my fingers as her orgasm began, her body shuddering. When she reached down and tried to pull my head away, I knew she'd had enough of my tongue and fingers.

  I pulled away, letting her recover a bit.

  Usually, I'd make her suck me for a while, warm me up even more, but this time, I didn’t. I was already harder than rock and dripping. I wouldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait.

  "Are you safe?" I asked, because I didn't have a condom on me.

  "Yes," she said. "I'm on the pill. Are you safe?"

  I nodded. "I've been tested."

  Then, I pushed inside of her silky wetness, the sensation so amazing, my eyes almost rolled back into my head.

  "Oh, God, you're so wet, so tight," I said, unable to help myself. I stroked inside of her, pleasuring myself while I watched her body beneath me, her breasts jiggling in the most delicious way. Her eyes were half-lidded, her face flushed from her orgasm, and I thought at that moment that she was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen.