Revenge (22 page)

Allie clears her throat. I look at her. She’s gone white.

“Um, guys. The word ‘wizard’ in Spanish is
b
rujo
. El Brujo.”

“
Oh, my God.” My stomach squeezes. Claudia’s words come to me.
 

“Wizard. It’s Papa’s nickname.”

“
Carrie, you look like you’re about to throw up,” Mark declares, caressing my arm. “What’s wrong?”
 

“Claudia said that’s the dean’s nickname.”

M
ark goes rigid and pulls away from me. “What?”

“When I told her the pit bull’s name,
s
he said ‘Wizard.
I
t’s Papa’s nickname.’”

“Fuck,” Chase says, the word coming out of him like a tire with a slow leak.

“I suspected it for a long time, but...” Mark reaches for the phone he uses for DEA business and stands. “Excuse me.
Allie, can you help Carrie?
”

No one says a word. W
e
all understand as he walks away, tap
p
ing his phone furiously. I imagine his director’s going to hear a few F-bombs herself shortly.

“
Carrie, what do you need?” Allie asks.
 

“A time machine?”

She gives me a wry grin. “We could all use one of those.”

“
How about a beer?” Chase offers.
 

“I could drink a case or ten.”

He pops another one open and hands it to me. “Mark said he needed to borrow our tent. I’m guessing you don’t need to drive anywhere.” He winks at Allie. “And neither do we.”

Color comes back to her face at that comment.

I drink deeply, enjoying the slightly uncomfortable feel of the carbonated beer going in me. Mark’s back is to us and he paces in front of his car. He’s clearly arguing, but quietly. He runs his hand through his hair.
He’s tense, but firm.
 

Dusk is coming soon. The day feels so long. It feels like I just woke up.

I still can’t believe that in two weeks I’ve managed to get fired
from the job that brought me home. The job that was supposed to give me stability. A degree. A future.
 

The job that was supposed to give me answers.

And closure.

I stand, suddenly loose. My skin feels like there are fire ants under it. Chase and Allie are nice, but I need a few minutes to myself. Alone.

“I’m going for a walk,” I announce.

They nod, and soon I’m running on the sand, my tennis shoes filling with grit. I don’t care. I reach the wet sand and kick off my shoes, peel off my socks, and wade in to my ankles. The water feels like a mother’s kiss.

I breathe in deeply and let time disappear.

I have no idea how long I’m here. Too long, yet not long enough.

Mark appears. I feel him behind me. I’m watching the sun set. A blood-
red
orb is half gone on the horizon. The sky has an eerie, dove-grey shade to it.

“Hi,” he says softly against my shoulder. A gentle kiss punctuates the greeting.

I inhale again and breathe out. The saltwater scent and the
crashing
sound of
waves
fuel
ed by the tides feels like a womb.

“Hi.”

“You okay?”

I laugh. “No.”

“Me neither.”

“We can be not-okay together.”

“Sounds good to me, Carrie.” He pulls me back against his chest and I sink into it. His arms wrap around me. We stand there, facing the ocean. Facing our past. Facing the demons that threaten everything.

The
red
sun disappears, a final wink its goodbye.

The wind picks up. I start to shiver.
H
e tightens his hot grip around me. How can he be so warm all the time?

Mark spins me around and gives me a sweet kiss. “This is how I imagined us. When I learned you were coming home. I want more of this, Carrie. I want a normal life with you.
Barbecues
and walks on the beach. I want to settle down and create a home. A family. A
life
. A real one.”

I look up, startled.

“Not a life where I have to lie for a living. And certainly not a life where we’re set up for crimes we didn’t commit by men like El Brujo.”

He pulls back and wraps one arm around my waist, guiding me away from shore. “I set up the tent.”

A zing of thrill runs from my belly down. “You did?”

“Chase showed me a little alcove where no one will bother us. They probably can’t even see us, it’s so well hidden. He said we’ll have plenty of privacy.” His implication is clear.

Privacy
is really a code word for
intimacy
.

When we get to the tent I start giggling.

I
t’s literally the size of two sleeping bags with a tiny roof.

“Is this a tent or a kid’s toy?” I joke.

“It’s a two-person pup tent. Only the best for my honey,” he teases.

“It’s the Ritz-Carlton of tents,” I answer. The wind kicks up and I shudder.

“C’mon. Crawl in,” he urges. “It’s warm in here. I’ll heat you up.”

Oh, he just did.

By the time I’m snuggled in next to him, his hands are everywhere. Our mouths tangle in a kind of desperate passion that strips away any tentativeness. We know exactly what we want.
M
ark knows exactly how to touch me.

The first time we made love he was tender. Careful. A gentleman with a healthy appreciation for my innocence.

The second time we made love we just had fun.

This time, it’s all about the passion. Tenderness and gentility be damned.

I
t’s time to get hot, bothered, and funky. His hands come as close as possible to ripping my clothes off me, the gentle snap of my bra and the sound
o
f it pingi
n
g against the tent flap making me laugh.

I can’t laugh, though—not really. My mouth is too occupied by his tongue, his lips, the not-so-soft bites of my lower lip and his groans making me wet and ready.

“
I can’t believe I went all those years without having sex,” he murmurs against my mouth.
 

“I can’t believe I went t
wenty-two
years without it,” I reply.

He laughs, the sound a low rumble that makes my breasts bounce. He’s pressed so hard against me that any time he moves, I do, too.

“How did you manage?” I ask as I reach down and stroke him.

His answer comes out in a sharp inhale. “Have you seen my right hand? I could arm wrestle a cow and win.”

A
nd those are the last words we say,
thank goodness
.

He bends down, taking one nipple be
t
ween his lips and nipping just hard enough to make me plume with arousal. All the blood in me rushes between my legs. The air is cool. Mark has sleeping bags under us. We’re a tumbling pile of naked limbs, his body a dim outline as the fading light makes it hard to see.

I don’t need to see him as long as I can
feel
him.

My hand strokes him, enjoying the
reaction
of his thick shaft, growing from my attentions. My other hand reaches down to appreciate the fine lines of his muscled ass. I
am
bold, enjoying the exploration. No more shy Carrie.
I’m primal, nude and enflamed, ready to match his touch, his kiss, his lick, his moan.
 

We’re equals in every way.

I kiss his neck, then make a trail down his breast bone, pausing at the spot beneath his navel where his hair begins to thicken. His abs tighten and go concave. His hisses, then groans as I go lower.

“Oh, God, Carrie,” he murmurs as my hand continues to stroke him. My mouth seeks to replace my hand. I’ve never done this. I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that I am driven to try. To give him pleasure. To make him lose control.

To have him feel as good as he makes me feel.

Following instinct, I take him gently in my mouth, careful to avoid my teeth. He’s rock-hard, yet soft at the same time. He groans. I take him in deeper, my hands focused on holding him steady, m
y
mouth unsure but determined.

“This is...oh, man,” he whispers, his body stretched out beneath me, all muscle, bone, and
pure
power.

He arches as I pull up, then move down, the motion wet and wild. And then suddenly he’s moving me,
twisting me,
positioning me so I’m over his face, his mouth rising up to—

“Oh, Mark,” I moan, his tongue touching me where I’m pulsing. We’re giving each other pleasure, our bodies twinned, mouths giving as we each take.
I
t feels equal and awkward. I try to give and accept at the same time, but I feel like I’m failing at both. I wriggle to move away from his mouth, wanting only one feeling at a time.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting up, caressing my shoulder and back.

“
I
t’s, um...too much.
T
oo much sensation. I want to make
you
feel.”

“Oh, no worries, Carrie,” he says with an impassioned look. “
We’re about to feel more than enough.”
 

I’m suddenly on my back, Mark over me, h
i
s mouth on mine. I taste my own musk, his tongue eager and filling, his hands cla
i
ming me.

I open my legs to welcome him, wanting this now.
The sense of urgency is so overwhelming. I feel like I’ll die if I don’t have him in me.
 

“Already?” he ask
s
, poised at the brink, ready to enter me and make this divine.

“Yes,” I whisper, arching up, gu
i
ding him in.
The rush of skin against skin, of the soft and the wet and the hot and the hard, all blend into one sensation.
 

“But I want you to come,” he says against my earlobe, the words a demand.

“I will,” I say, uncertain. As he
moves slowly, then faster, something begins to build deep inside me. It’s both part of me and something outside myself. When he thrusts, it’s like he’s pulling the world into me.
 

T
he flow of our skin against skin, our blood pulsing to find each other, our mo
u
ths kissing sweet and hard, all makes this feeling grow. I become nothing but glorious light, the pleasure infusing every cell of my body.
I feel everything. The brush of his thighs against my inner knee. The touch of his fingers against my cheek bone. The push of his ass as he clenches and presses me into the soft blankets beneath us.
 

The slick of sweat against sweat. How my breasts are flattened against his pecs. The sense of belly against belly, of bodies struggling to touch at every point possible.

The rhythmic movement of his body within mine begins to mimic the ocean’s waves. I feel it, this communion. We become part of nature, the earth our guide to divine love.
All of the love within me for Mark becomes a part of my body.
 

And we use our bodies to show this love.

His neck tenses, his words tight as he moans my name. “Are you close?” he asks.

Close to
what
?

As I open my mouth to ask what he means, he crashes into me, taking me along for the ride. A rip tide of pure kinetic energy envelops us, cocooning us in layers of joy and ferocious passion. I cry out his name over and over, as if it’s the only word I know. He makes me quake, my body splitting and fusing, clawing and clinging.

I clench and release like my life depends on it, his body my only anchor. Mark keeps me here, pinned in place
by his body, his thrusts, his mouth
.

As the wave recedes and my body quivers from the after effects of whatever you call what just happened, I realize I can’t think. The endless stream of words that normally fill my mind are gone.

Gone.

I am my arm. The palm that caresses his ribs. The breasts that press into his
chest
. The ankles that brush his
lower back
. I am the salty taste of his stubbled jaw. He is the raw musk of our lovemaking.

We are the senses.

We are the
now
.

And we are so tired as we fade into the nothing of each other, under the stars.

The door’s there again, and Amy’s crying out my name.
I’m frozen, reaching up and down, my eyes struggling to adjust. The slick coating along the walls of whatever I’m in feels like it’s choking me.
 

I can’t move, and at the same time I keep slipping. Nothing I do helps. Nothing I do makes a difference.

“Carrie! Please! Hurry!” she screams, her voice high and terrified. The screams make me frantic. My nerves all stretch as if they’re trying to escape my skin.

I need to ge
t
to her before it’s too late.

“Where are you? Amy, help me find you!” I cry out.

“Shhhhhh,” she says back. “
H
e’s coming! You have to get me before he does.”

“Who? Who’s coming?” I claw my way toward the sound of her voice, but all I get in return is a prickling sensation.
I
t feels like I’m crawling on nails.

Blood blooms on my hands.

T
hen the ground becomes black roses.

“
It
’s him!
H
e’s coming to cut more!”

Cut more?

“Cut what?”

“Everything....”

Her voice dies out like she’s moving. The Doppler effect is like a train whistle as the caboose runs past.

I start screaming as the air changes. Now it’s dry and cool. I smell metal and alcohol.

“Carrriiiiiieeeeeeee,” she whispers. She’s next to me.

Except that’s not Amy’s voice.

I wake up to the amazing sound of waves crashing on the beach.

And to an empty tent.

I sit up, shocked to be alone. I hear a dog barking in the distance. The water laps at the shore. I’m wearing my t-shirt and jeans. No bra. My panties are in a ball at the base of my sleeping bag.