Aaron's Kiss Series Boxed Set (Books 1 - 7) (62 page)

“I need an address to call a cab, please? And for the hundredth time, I’d like my gear.” They were making her very nervous the way they were staring at her, and she wished that she had a coat and hat to pull on.

“Your gear, miss? All you had with you are the things that you have on now. I’m not sure what else there should have been.” Penny had answered as Duncan was still staring at her with his mouth hanging open.

“She means her gun and bullets, Penny.” Sam turned at the voice behind her. “David has them. He didn’t want to leave them with you in my house with children about. He said that he’d return them to you when you called. He also said you’d have to produce a permit before you got them back.”

Ah
, Sam thought,
the woman of the house
. Of course. She’d wondered how long it would be before she showed up and started throwing her weight around. Sam turned around and looked at the woman fully.

“Smart man, he’s probably thinking someone would shoot you with it. I still need an address so that a cab knows where to come and rescue me. Unless of course you’d like to try and hurt me again first. I’m sure I can be your equal this time. I’m not weak from blood loss.”

Duncan hissed at Sam, but she didn’t turn to look at him. She was too busy staring daggers at the mistress of the house. Though she had to admit, the woman was giving as good as she got.

“I don’t like you very much.”

If the woman thought to make Sam back down, or apologize, then she didn’t know Sam all that well. She laughed instead. “Well, that’s good. I’d hate to think all this animosity and ill will toward you was one-sided.” Sam was not much of a socializer, but knew that she was being very nasty to Sara. She didn’t know what it was about this beautiful woman that set her off, but this woman just rubbed her all wrong. The sooner Sam could get away, the better she would feel.

“I’ll take you home, miss. There is no reason for you to pay a cabbie. I need to run into the supermarket for a few items as it is and I will dispatch you as well.”

Sam looked at the man. She thought it was cute the way he was always so prim and proper. She knew somehow that it was not out of character for him to speak this way and she thought that if he was okay with dispatching her, then she was fine with it as well.

Ten minutes later, Sam and Duncan were on their way. He had leant her his cell phone to make a call and had also provided her with the phone number to the pack house so she could make arrangement to get her gear.

“I’m supposed to meet Lieutenant Wolff at the shop tomorrow and he’ll give me back my gun and ammo. I guess that’s the best I can hope for under the circumstances. Thanks for taking me home, Mr. Duncan.”

“You are very welcome, miss. It is my pleasure.” He looked like he wanted to say more so Sam waited. “Miss, if you don’t mind my asking, what sort of gear, err gun do you carry?”

“It’s just Sam, not miss anything. I carry a modified Glock forty with a silencer, fifteen in the magazine with one in the chamber, plus three extra clips. I have been known to carry thirty-eight chiefs special as well, but I like the weight and balance of the Glock better. It’s also easier to clean and load. They make the handle small enough for my small hand and I can reload it in the dark.”

He had asked
, she thought. She was also sure he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. After she had said the word “modified,” she had lost him. She wished that she could show him what she meant, but actually was not sure if that would confuse him more or make him more leery of her. She decided that if she ever saw him again, she would make sure to show him her weapon. Everyone needed to have a healthy respect for guns, and a working knowledge if they were ever around one.

Duncan dropped Sam off in front of the bakery twenty minutes later. After his refusal of gas money he drove off. She was able to persuade him to return the next afternoon and pick up some fresh baked goods for all his trouble. Sam figured it was the least she could do under the circumstances.

~CHAPTER FIVE~

Tucker had watched Sam leave the mansion with Duncan and followed them to the bakery. Tucker didn’t let her see him, but he had needed to make sure she got home safely. He stood outside the store front for three hours waiting to see if she left again, and if she did, who with.

Tucker James was a very old vampire, having been turned when he was twenty-six in the year twelve-fourteen, and in over eight hundred years, he had done many things he was not proud of and had seen many things that he wished that he hadn’t. But the woman in the building across from him at this moment was the most terrifying thing he had ever encountered. All because he didn’t have a clue what to do with her or how to live without her now that he had given her his blood.

He knew that he couldn’t mate with her, with anyone as a matter of fact. Tucker had a mistress, his maker. The woman had ruled his life since she turned him, without mercy or love. She’d been telling him that she owned him, and that he would never escape her unless she allowed it. She was cruel and unforgiving. When she found him again, and he had no doubt that she would, he would pay the price for trying to escape her again. Marta Lipscomb was a horror and a whore. She was what nightmares based their horrific cues off of. And he would die the death of his kind before going back to her again.

Oh, she was pretty enough, Tucker supposed. She was plump in a way that said she had had money before she became vampire, enough of it to have kept her well fed and pampered. She was not much older than Tucker, maybe fifty years at the most—not all that many to a vampire, who measured their lives in centuries and lifetimes. But she was as different as day and night to him when it came to their personalities.

While Marta was domineering and cruel, Tucker was quiet and reserved. He would and could sit for hours just watching and listening to the things going on around him. Watch the people of the night flow around him, observing them without interfering. She was flighty and loud, often relying on others to entertain her rather than trying to amuse herself. If left on her own for too long, she would stir up or start something heinous then sit back and watch the bloody outcome, literally.

When Marta was in the mood for sex, which was several times a day, the only way she could climax was to torture and maim with beatings and bloodbaths and days without release for her partners. And no matter what the gender or sexual preference, if they found their release before she let them, she would suck them nearly dry of blood and leave them to live or die in a cell until she forgot them, or they finally succumbed to death. How it ended for them, she didn’t care. Any time she wanted sex, it was the same, only the people had changed over time. Her cruelty knew no limits and he’d finally had enough.

This was his last attempt to get away. Tucker had already decided that if he didn’t succeed this time, he would walk into the sun. He simply couldn’t take it anymore. Eight hundred years was truly enough, more than enough. And now this had happened. A woman he would give anything to have yet couldn’t touch.

Tucker had thought to talk with Aaron, to apply for his release on Aaron’s behalf. Everyone had heard about how he had saved Dominic Marshall from the same sort of fate, bringing his friend Colin Larimore in and standing by while he had challenged the old master. His defeating him and becoming the master of that realm hadn’t just saved Dominic, but all of the vampires of that realm from certain death and starvation. Both Colin and Aaron were men to trust, men to be loyal to.

But Tucker knew that he couldn’t do it now. He needed to get away from Sam and all that she would mean to him. If Marta was to find him, and again, of that there was no doubt, Marta would kill him and his true mate and anyone who dared defy her or get in her way. He couldn’t let that happen to her.

When Tucker saw a light go on above the little shop, then go off again an hour later, he waited before crossing the street to her shop. He couldn’t help himself; he needed to see her again. Tucker moved through the door without any problems. Then moved into the apartment above the same way—by magic. He knew the way; her scent called to him. Her blood called to his. As his mate there were no boundaries.

Sam was sleeping soundly. Tucker’s breath caught at the vision before him. She was naked, bared to the moonlight spilling over every inch of her lush body. He touched her gently with his mind and hit the wall she had erected around herself. When he pushed a little harder, she stirred slightly in her sleep. He backed out and stared down at her. She was lovelier than he had ever thought her to be.

Her left breast was exposed and even though he knew he would regret it, Tucker leaned down and licked her nipple then blew a soft, warm breath across it. Her nipple puckered and her breast tightened immediately. It was a tantalizing sight and one he couldn’t resist. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. He wanted one more taste, he thought, just once more small taste.

He bent lower and pulled the pebble-sized delight into his mouth, suckling gently at first then harder when she moaned quietly and arched up toward him. He pulled away, knowing that it was much too late now to stop. He needed to have a taste of her. Moving her legs apart gently, he moved between them and touched her nether lips once, twice, until finally, he pushed his long finger inside of her. Both of them moaned at the sensations. The tightness of her nearly made him want to wake her for more, so much more. As he moved his fingers inside of her, he watched her body respond to his movements and hoped that she wouldn’t wake up. His need for release was making him take chances that he would never do normally. Instead of leaving like he should have, he reached down with his free hand, unsnapped his pants, and pulled the zipper tab down. His cock, stiff and achy, sprang forward into his fist. He moved his fist up and down his shaft in time with the movement of his finger. As he felt her wetness soaking his hand, he pushed two, then three fingers in her wet heat, her body moving with him, undulating and pushing against him, her sheath milking his fingers like he imaged her doing to his cock. Their moans filled the small bedroom, his deeper, hers a sensual concert over his already fevered body.

His body was ready to explode, so close he knew he may come at any second, and he could feel her release was close too, and smell it on her. He needed to taste her creamy essences, her spicy juices overwhelming. Just a taste, he promised himself, and leaned down to take her pussy into his mouth. He licked hard against her clit, gathering as much of her cream as he could on his tongue, and drank, lapping more and more into him and down his throat. As she jerked up into a hard release a loud scream, Tucker came as well. His cum jettisoned onto his shirt and hand as he continued to taste her until the last tremor died away.

With her climax, her scent, her special smell for him, strengthened by her release. It poured into him. He could smell the peaches and cream as though they were spread out before him just as she was. With a final lap of her juices on her thighs, he leaned his head against the mattress for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath.

Tucker had never meant to take her like that. What he had done was akin to rape and he knew then that he had been no better than Marta when it came to taking what she had wanted. He felt guilty about it, felt as if he had betrayed her with what he had done. He promised himself that he would make it up to her. Tucker raised his head to see if she still slept and looked right into her beautiful eyes.

He didn’t move, didn’t even so much as breathe. When she turned her head on a heavy sigh, closing her eyes as she went, he pulled the shadows around himself and dematerialized from her room before it was too late. He was nearly to his lair when he thought maybe he was already too late.

~~~

Sam was downstairs the next morning when Betty and Sally showed up at five-thirty. Their voices and general moving around while they came in the back door together sounded like a herd of elephants and a bunch of chattering monkeys. She wondered if the two of them ever did anything quietly, then she smiled. She sincerely doubted it.

Sam hadn’t slept well after she woke sometime after four this morning and had gotten up to sit on the window seat and watch the street start to wake. She wondered about the man in her dream, a very erotic wet dream. She couldn’t shake the feeling of near complete satisfaction and wasn’t sure she wanted to. Her body was relaxed from the orgasm, but she was still tense and on edge. As if she hadn’t gotten enough of whatever had made her climax like that. She blushed at how hard she had come and how much the man in her dream had seemed so real. She tried to shake off the feeling of connection to him, the overwhelming need to find him. Silly, she thought. Just plain silly.

She showed the women what things to take up front and also let them know where any orders were that were to be picked up this morning. Sam told them that she had a few things to finish up but if they needed her for anything just to shout. She had missed working a full day yesterday and the day before and needed to make up for it. The timer went off for another tray of baked goods and she pulled them out to cool.

Sam was decorating a layer cake with pink roses when the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She put down the tube of pink frosting and went to the one-way mirror that looked into the main part of the shop. Something was…wrong. Someone was in a great deal of pain, both mentally and physically. She watched the people standing there waiting for their treats and baked goods, reached out to them, and found the one she was looking for. There, she thought, the woman in the blue top and spandex pants. She looked frightened. Then she realized it was terror the woman was feeling—terror and pain, immense pain. This woman was being beaten by someone close to her and quite frequently too.

Settling deeper into her mind, Sam could feel the woman’s pain and she took a quick inventory of her injuries. She had six bruised ribs and one broken one. Her jaw was also bruised and hurting, but she had tried to cover it with a good amount of makeup. Whoever the beater was had snatched this woman’s hair at one point and she had a large raw place on her scalp from it. Sam was sure that blood scabbed in the area and the woman was terrified that someone might notice. Blue top, as Sam called her in her mind, was wearing long sleeves and a sweater to cover the hand prints left there around her biceps. She was nervous and terrified. The heat and weather alone would be enough to alert most that she was hiding something.

Sam touched her mind deeper still. She wasn’t surprised what she saw there. The woman was going to kill herself when she returned home. Just a simple as that, something she had added to her list of things to do—make the beds, do the dishes, fold laundry, put gun to head, and pull the trigger. Of course this was after she saw that her husband’s meal was cooked perfectly for him and the whole house was spic and span. Anger surged through Sam, hot and sharp.

Sam planted the urge for Blue-Top to call Sam before she made the beds. She would need to call not just think about it. When she got home, she was to go directly to the phone and call. Sam then gave her the phone number of the cell phone that no one knew about but a very select group of people. There were no small children involved. The woman had a son, but he had long since written his mom off, the woman thought. Sam wondered fleetingly if the son was like that father. But dismissed it almost immediately. That, Sam thought, was not her concern. Satisfied, Sam went back to work on the pink frosted cake.

Sam had been helping people for nearly ten years. And contrary to popular belief, not all abused spouses were women. There were a great many men as well; women were just as mean as men when they wanted to be. While Sam didn’t have any direct contact with the underground system she used, she knew all of the participants by first name and voice. No one had been caught in all the time she had been a part of it and Sam never took risks with either the people she helped out of terrible situations, or the people she relied on to make it possible. Once they entered the system, they never made contact with anyone again. Their lives officially ended the day that Sam or one of the others got them out. Sam liked it that way.

She finished the cake she was working on and concentrated on the perfection of each tiny flower as she created it, not the job she was to do later. After it was boxed up and tagged, she went to tell Sally that she had an assignment tonight and to close up for her. Lieutenant Wolff was going to be there in half an hour to bring her the weapon and ammo he had taken for safe keeping. She wanted to be completely ready to go when he left. He was a typical male wolf when he finally showed up.

“This is a big gun for a woman, Sam, don’t you think? I don’t mean that you can’t handle it. Nope, not what I mean at all. In fact, I’ve no doubt that you are likely a better shot than me. But I would like to know what are you doing with it?” He wasn’t even trying to be clever about asking.

Sam knew that David was a good cop. Just like she knew he was a were. Recently, she had heard that his brother was the alpha of the pack in this area too. And she figured that he had already run ballistics on the weapon. She didn’t care; she knew that it would come up clean. All her weapons would. She got rid of the ones she used by ways that no one would ever find them.

“There is also some gun powder residue on it. Want to explain why that is? I know it’s not from yesterday. You said yourself you didn’t fire your weapon. Sara and Shade said the only shot had come from Andrew Ship’s gun.”

Raising her brow at this tone, she decided to try and skirt around him. “Is there a problem with my permit, Lieutenant?” When in doubt, answer with a question. It was better to have them frustrated than to give away information she hadn’t meant to. She also knew she had never used this particular gun for anything other than target practice anyway.