BUFF (20 page)

“And?” he pushes.

“And nothing. Let's just forget it.”

“You don't forget."

She places the pan down, lowering the heat before she faces him. "I'm turning over a new leaf. Call it a rebirth, starting over, whatever. I'm doing what you want so why can't you just be happy and be quiet?"

“Doing what I want?” he grunts, as he leans in.

“Yes, yes, doing what you want, Colt.” Her hand slaps down on the ledge of the stove. “Playing the good little hostage. I remember my role very clearly, I'm not a complete idiot, I know my part, I'm playing it. Like you said we're going to be here for a while and I'm stressed enough from everything that’s happened, so—I’ll play nice, if that's okay with you?"

He isn’t buying it. “Try being honest."

Jerking back she replies, “I
am
being honest. What else do you want from me?"

“I want you to…"

“To what?” she demands, this time being the one to step forward.

“I don't know but this isn't it. You don't have to pretend with me."

“Just stop.” She holds her hand up in between their bodies. “Not only are you embarrassing me, you're embarrassing yourself.”

His eyes darken, his brows lower in defense. "What's that supposed to mean?"

“We went through this already last night. I think you made yourself perfectly clear, so stop acting.” She goes to turn and focus on her cooking, but Colt's hand snakes around her wrist, putting her back in place.

“I don't act—got that? Anyway, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Her eyes close and she sighs. “I don't like that word."

“Too bad.” he shoots back, not falling for her petty attempts at diversion. “What’d you mean stop acting?"

“Stop pretending, Colt.” She pulls at his hold but it's useless. “Stop pretending to care; I know where you stand. I get it now. Crystal clear. So this whole caring routine you're doing isn't necessary."

He steps closer, close enough that the tip of his toe is touching hers. “You think I'm pretending to care for you?"

“You said last night—”

“Fuck what I said last night—”

“Colt,” she warns.

“Answer the question,” he demands. “You really think I don't care?"

She doesn’t hesitate in replying, “Yes." Her voice lifts then falls. "I really think you don't.”

His bottom lip drops ever so slightly to reveal his hurt. His throat feels dry and suddenly he’s almost too aware of the warm skin underneath his fingers that are unconsciously wrapping around her. He feels her goose-bumps ringing around his hold, her shoulder's lifting.

“You don't, Colt, you don't.” He can hear her giving in. “Right?"

His body drifts nearer, diminishing the distance between them to a sliver of a thread. His stare heats and he can see her burning in slow degrees as the pad of his thumb falls and swishes against the white unexposed flesh of her inner wrist. He licks his lips, the battle of wills warring to life inside him. His thumb presses deeply into her pale baby-soft flesh. His eyes follow her small, nervous movements and he grows more aggressively pleased with each involuntarily shake her body makes.

“Becky,” he murmurs, unsure of what he himself is doing as his other hand comes up to her face.

“Colt…” She breathes his name in a warning, as though wanting him to stop but pleading for him to touch her. She pulls at his hold, twisting her hand so that her palm is facing the ceiling.

“Don't...” His breathless whisper cautions.

“Don't what?” she asks, her words foggy. “Colt?"

There is a knock then a noise that sounds like keys jingling, but neither of them have the strength to look away from each other with the gravitational intensity that climbs between their bodies and pulses in their gaze.

She tries to back away, but Colt won’t let her walk away.

Not this time.

“We... should... get that,” she whispers.

“We're not done here."

Then the door, which must have been stuck, gives in and someone stumbles into the cabin. They both continue to ignore the disruption, even when the sound of whistling couples with the crunching of paper bags. Even when they hear footsteps pad into the kitchen.

“Um... Did I interrupt something?"

*     *     *

“SO?”

"Only just got here, sir."

"Get it done, Roman. Look for anything suspicious."

"Yes, sir."

"Call back the second you're done." Kulich ends the call before Roman can say another word.

He ignores the woman who moves a little quicker than necessary, crossing the street as he makes his way up to the house. It's easy to guess why Roman sticks out like a sore thumb in his black dress coat and Italian shoes.

To the people that pass him on the streets, Roman might appear cool, calm and officially collected, but the mirage is present and set for a reason, belying his very traceable purpose.

Usually sent to kill.

He walks past the strips of leftover police tape that lay stranded on the lawn and enters the house, immediately drawing his gun.

Someone else is in the house.

The noise is coming from upstairs. Slowly and quietly he takes one step at a time. It's been a few months since he last killed for his boss. He licks his lips. He loves a good afternoon kill.

When he peers into the first bedroom he sees the back of a man who seems to be going through a drawer. Clearing his throat, loudly enough for Roman to inject his presence, the blonde-haired man jumps before turning around.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Who're you?" Roman replies, pointing his gun in one swift movement.

The stranger puts his hands up, his eyes bulging out. "I-I—don't shoot! I'm a friend of the Appletons!"

"What's your name?"

"Doctor Irving. Are you a detective?"

Roman lowers his gun. Maybe this friend of the family might have information his boss will want. Roman is almost annoyed he isn't going to kill today.

Well, maybe...

"Yeah..." Roman replies, placing the gun into the back of his trousers. "Yeah, I'm here to investigate what happened to the Appletons. Have a few questions for you." The doctor fails miserably at hiding the suspicion that creeps into his eyes and shoulders. “So. How you know the Appletons?"

“Me and Spencer, we're friends. Close friends. That's, uh, why, I'm here... to see if there are any clues."

“They were robbed, right?” Roman steps forward, crossing his thick arms and staring directly at this Doctor Irving like he’s salivating for an answer.

“Supposedly... I don’t know... Wait, shouldn't you know all this?”

"Just answer the question," Roman says, in a voice that warns not to ask too many questions.

The doctor hesitates a bit, shuffling his feet as though contemplating his next words.

You’re hiding something…

And Roman will do anything to find it. Maybe he’ll get the chance to have a little fun, after all. Torture is Roman's second favorite pass time. First being murder, of course.

“Rebecca—Spencer's daughter—we're pretty tight. She got mixed up with this guy. He was bad news. Think he might have had something to do with it. He was there the morning it happened."

“Really? You know him?"

“Not really, but from what I saw of him he’s a real punk. Becky deserves better. She's a good friend; I just want her to be okay. I mean, that's why I called the cops."

Roman's shoulders stiffen under his big black dress-coat. Neither Jenson or Luis had mentioned that the cops had been called out.

Boss ain't gonna be happy about this.

“Really...” Roman drawls out, slowly.

“Yeah. I saw him there. I knew he was nothing but trouble. Her father didn't approve so I did what I thought was right, you know? And I guess I was because that bastard did something to them, I just know it. I don't know if they're dead or not but he has something to do with they're disappearance, Detective. I'd bet my life on it."

Roman twists his head to the side to hide his annoyance. He really hates snitches. And this idiot in front of him is a snivelling snitch who Roman would be more than willing to pay Kulich to allow him to kill. Fortunately for the doctor, Roman doesn’t call the shots.

"Know the name of this man?"

“No. It's almost like they vanished into thin air.” He shakes his head. “I wish I could have killed that bastard when I had the chance."

Roman cocks a brow, feigning interest. The man opposite is completely unaware of the blood simmering at a steady tempo under the reserved exterior of the man standing opposite him.

“Yeah he beat me up, broke my nose. Piece-of-shit told me to stay away from her like he was her fucking keeper. I tell you, Detective, you think you know people and they totally blindside you. Rebecca… I never would have thought she’d go for some degenerate Neanderthal like that."

Roman shrugs his shoulders, lifting his hand up in a gesture that tells the other man he understands. “Proves you can never really trust people," Roman adds. "No-one really is who they say they are."

“Yeah, I guess so,” Doctor Irving mumbles.

Roman straightens, extending his hand out to the man. “Thank you for your time, I appreciate it."

“No problem.” The pathetic weasel shakes his offered hand and his stare travels the length of Roman's suit, inspecting it like he's never witnessed a well-dressed man before. “I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

“That's cause I didn't give it." Roman looks serious for a second before stunning the man with a gleaming smile.

He's done good today. Promotion is just right around the corner. Looks like they'll be a few vacancies needed to be filled soon seeing as there are a few naughty wolves in the pack.

Hopefully he'll be the one to vacate them permanently.

DEAD MAN.

The guy who just walked in is officially a dead man. There is no mistaking the lethal gleam in Colt's eyes when he shoots the man a murderous look before returning his attention back to her, still firmly grasped in his clutch.

“Um... I can, uh, come back,” the man rambles. “If you want me to..."

Neither Colt nor Becky acknowledges that they hear him. She recognizes the man as one of Colt's brutes; the bigger man with the short beard and long dark hair. His feet move backward before bumping into the hallway wall, staggering in the direction of the front door. “I'll just, uh, get her stuff then."

“Do that,” Colt mutters, his eyes fixed. They never leave hers, never wander an inch away.

The interruption spurs Becky's actions, breaking the spell Colt has over her. She doesn’t fight, knowing it’s useless against his strength, but there are other fears besides his physical closeness that scares her.

“Talk to me," he murmurs.

And that's it.

The way he can read her, it's like he can sniff her out and know which button to push to crack the impenetrable wall she’s taken years to forge. When she’s fighting him, the pull to give in to him is easier to ignore. She can argue back and somewhere between their bickering and anger, her feelings will be forgotten. But when his voice gets all soft and warm, like now, like a cloak of heat is being laid over her body she can’t think clearly. Can't respond the way she wants to.

Ten seconds ago he looked like he wanted to bite her head off. Now he’s sucking all her strength away with just one melting plea.

“Why is he here?” She tugs at his hold and startles when he releases her, making her trip a step back.

“Because I asked him—don't change the subject."

Using her clumsiness to her advantage Becky slides farther away, leaning her hip onto the stove and fails miserably with acting cool. She switches the stove off. The eggs are ruined. Dumping the pan in the sink, Becky runs it under the hot water.

Shrugging her shoulders, she replies, “I'm not."

“Don't lie."

Slicing the knob down she grabs the towel next to the sink and begins scrubbing her hands. “Lying is one of your specialties so don't stand there and talk to me about it."

Unhindered by the words that are clearly delivered to wound, Colt continues. “Keeping things secret is part of my job. Lying to yourself isn’t yours.” He waits until she looks up and makes some sort of eye contact with him. "What you're doing right now is different. You're only hurting yourself."

“Thanks,” she replies. “But that's a risk I'll take if my only option is you."

“You don't trust me."

“No I don't.”

“Fine.” His voice echoes hollow between them. “I'm sorry, Becky… for the pain I've caused you."

Ignoring the spark of an ache she thinks she sees flash in his cold blue eyes she decides to try her odds. “Does that mean I can go home now? I... miss my family."

Colt nods. “As soon as it can be arranged you'll be free of this… of me."

“Okay.” She refuses to make eye contact even though his body and hard glare is demanding her attention.

“Good."

Her body feels tight; she needs space. “I’m tired. Think I'll get some rest."

Colt wavers a beat then speaks, “Wait."

The bearded man enters again, with two suitcases in each hand and two small bags crammed under his arms. He doesn’t stop for a detour of the kitchen again. Becky isn’t sure where he goes but he never returns.

“I'm leaving," Colt says.

She pauses, squinting her eyes. “Leaving?"

“Yeah.” He scratches at the middle of his chest, leaving a red mark. His topless body had unnerved her the first time she saw him, but now it's making her entire body quiver. Every inch of him is lean and muscled. He exudes raw strength and it makes her feel breathless. “I have to make an appearance. With Kulich."

Remembering his gunshot wound her eyes dart to his side. “Oh." She can’t help but lower her gaze to the sexy V-lines that trail to his...

He follows her gaze. “Shouldn't be more than a few days."

Her stare immediately jumps to his face, her skin blazing hot. “So, I'll be here with…"

“Jenson. He's a good guy, he'll take care of you."

“What if something goes wrong?"

For a moment she wants him to reassure her, but instead he steps closer and says, “It won’t. Trust m—” He sighs, closing his eyes and fisting his hand at his side. “I'll make this right, okay?"

“Okay.” She wipes her hands down her jeans. “Is that it?"

“No.” He comes forward, cornering her between the sink and the stove. “Listen to what Jenson says. He reports back to me so if you get out of hand—”

“I get it." Her chin rises, along with the temperature in her face.

“If you need anything—"

“I can take care of myself.”

“That's not the point.” He pins her with a hard glare. "Becky."

“I will,” she vows, her voice rising. When he doesn’t appear pacified she gathers all the leftover strength she has and reciprocates his look. “I promise."

He abandons eye contact first this time, bowing his head to the side, seemingly satisfied. “Okay."

He begins to walk away, his shoulders slightly slump and before she can restrain herself she’s calling out his name, “Colt?” she says, on a whispery gasp.

He doesn’t turn but he stops. “Yeah?"

“Are you…” She searches for words that her brain is in short supply of. “Does your side still hurt?"

He slides her a sideways glance. The profile of his face in that moment is stunning and she has to stifle a shiver. His reaction is impervious as he scrutinizes her.

“No,” he finally replies, with a half smile. When his eyes meet hers again they are soft but stern in their icy-blue warning. “Be careful."

The small rise of panic that enters from his subtle cautioning is not for herself.

But for him.

“You too."

The realization alone frightens her beyond explanation but there is nothing she can do. She is helpless, out of her league, and nothing she is doing or saying makes any sense.

She’s watching the man who has smashed her life into pieces, leave. Knowing she isn’t going to see him she waits for the elation, for the joy to overcome her. But when all she experiences is an empty, sad feeling in the pit of her stomach she decides it's time to stop. Stop thinking, stop pretending to figure out what’s going on in her wacky brain. These circumstances don't define who she is or what she feels. She just has to bide her time, get through this and then everything will go back to normal.

The way it should be.

Becky finds the soaking pan in the drain board and flips it between her hands.

Eggs are a good start.

*     *     *

THE PENTHOUSE
is barely lit when Colt enters.

There are a few candles and a dwindling fire that appears ready to die out when he steps inside, closing the door behind him. When he begins to proceed farther into the room he hears something crunch underneath his boots. He can’t make out what it is, but it looks like the glass vase that usually sits on the fireplace mantle.

Moving deeper into the room, the dim lighting finally gives him some use. His eyes scan the couch and find Kulich slumped over, partially sitting, partially lying down with three naked girls. Cocaine litters the glass table in front of them. Colt sighs into the darkness.

Throwing his leather jacket onto the desk behind him Colt stands, taking in the not-so-unfamiliar setting and shakes his head.

He’s so fucking beat right now. All he wants to do is check in, get a good eight hours of sleep, if his body will let him, and get some normalcy back into his life. Maybe even get a few hours of boxing in, get drunk, get laid—anything to make him feel like the man he was before.

Before… her.

He makes his way over to the wall, flips the switch on. The stark arrival of light makes his eyes squint as they travel back to the couch. He watches, waiting, knowing any second his boss is going to start murmuring curses for being forced to join the living. Kulich’s body stirs for a few minutes before he slowly drags his body up from its sleeping position, pushing two of the girls away from him. Rubbing his eyes, Kulich yawns, arching his back. It takes several more seconds before he looks lucid enough to recognize his surroundings to even realize Colt is there.

His eyes are drooped, three layers of lines bagged with tiredness. His hair is scruffy and wild on his face and hair. His skin is pale and off-colored like he hasn’t seen sunlight in days.

“Colt,” Kulich says, in a rough voice.

Forcing his feet to walk toward the older man Colt gives him a tight smile. “Hey."

"What took you so long, man? I know you like to get some air but I've been dying here. Even got you some pussy to celebrate now that fucker is dead.” Kulich rubs the thigh on the naked brunette next to him, leaning back into the seat, taking a greedy breath like it's his first in days.

“Had things that needed done. And I'm not the mood.”

Kulich eyes him. "Lady's man Colt fucking Lawson not in the mood? Shit. Thought I'd never see the day."

"We need to talk." Colt looks over at the girls who are taking another hit off the table.

"You sure now?" Kulich says. He clutches the brunette’s chin in his hand and yanks her toward his hairy chest with a grin. She winces in pain but makes sure to look like she’s loving every second of it. "This one here fucking lives for sucking dick," Kulich chuckles. "Is into all kinds of kinky shit, aren’t you, babe?" The girl nods, licking her lips at Colt.

Colt sighs quietly. "Maybe later, okay?"

"Upstairs. Now," he orders the girls who obey immediately. Kulich eyes the nearly dead fire, shaking his head. “You all right? I mean after everything."

“Part of the job,” Colt mumbles.

“
'Part of the job’
,” Kulich mimics. “Shut up. You know that's fucking bullshit." Colt tenses. “I know you, man. I know you better than you know fucking yourself. You don't like to feel because it fucking complicates things."

Colt shrugs. “Yeah, so?"

“But it's not that you can't feel.” Kulich waves his hand in the air, brushing the grey hair from his eyes. "You're just better at controlling your emotions than everybody else. You got heart, Colt, I’ve seen it. You get it from your mother. God bless her beautiful fucking soul."

Colt feels his muscles tighten but continues staring into the fireplace, a spark of a flame holding his sole attention. He doesn't want to think about his mother. Not right now. Not while Kulich is watching his every move. Colt needs to hold strong.

“Admit it. That girl got to you."

Colt eyes him. “Vladimir."

“C'mon, I've never seen that before. I mean you're a fucking heartless bastard most of the time. You treat woman like dog shit. You're probably the most selfish guy in the world besides me of course."

“Maybe.”

“
'Maybe'
he says,” Kulich grumbles, chuckling under his breath. “You fuck her?" Kulich smirks as Colt restrains the edges of his features from hardening. “You did, didn’t you? You dog. You fucked her! Oh, man... Gotta hand it to you, Colt, I knew you were hard-up and all but you could've at least waited till you got home. I'm sure those bitches upstairs would've drained your balls, no problem. Fuck, man, I wish I was you now. Shoulda fucked her myself in front of that asshole Spencer. Jesus fucking Christ, the ass on that girl must’ve been so tight. Probably begging for cock, the stupid cunt.”

Kulich is testing him. When it comes to matters of the heart, Kulich is downright psychologically crafty. Testing. Always testing. He knows the way to a man's motives is through his mind. How he thinks, speaks, approaches every subject, these subtleties are what tell a person everything they need to know about the other. The wheels inside Kulich's head are always turning. Colt bets even in sleep.

The urge to rip Kulich’s head off for his remarks against Becky makes his bones set on fire with anger. But he remains indifferent on the outside, brushing off his jeans.

“Let me get you something to eat," Colt offers, hoping the subject of Becky is closed once and for all. He doesn’t want to do something he’ll regret.

Head falling back onto the couch, Kulich sighs harshly. “Hey, as long as you enjoyed yourself, Colt."

Colt heads toward the kitchen. "Go take a shower."

It takes a couple of seconds but Kulich gets up. “You're back for good, right?"

Pausing in the threshold of the two rooms, Colt turns. “No.”

Kulich's easy manner quickly disintegrates. "The fuck you mean
'no'
?"

“I'm taking off for a while—not too long."

“Colt,” he spits his name out like a curse, “need you with me, man."

Ignoring his boss's usual rise of anger, Colt returns his angry words with his own placated ones. “It's not for good. Just for a few weeks."