Scorch: A Soldiers of Fortune Romance (Military Bad Boy Romance) (13 page)

It's so forbidden, and so wrong, and so bad that I- that-

Oh
God
; what in the
world
am I doing?

The sudden realization that this isn't just "bad", it’s
very fucking
bad, hits me like a splash of cold water to the face. I gasp as I suddenly push him away, my chest rising and falling with my panted breath; "Stop!"

He growls and moves to kiss me again, but I push him away harder this time, grabbing another towel and holding it over my topless breasts as I shake my head. I wince, furrowing my brow; “No, oh my God,
stop
. We can't do this!”

Javier's eyes narrow and he takes a half step back from me; “
Yes
, we
can
.”

"
No
, we
can't
!" I say sharply; “
I
can't!" I step to the side, away from him, and hold the towel tighter to my breasts. A million scattered thoughts swirl through my head, and I shut my eyes tight, trying to stop myself from drowning in the vortex of regrets suddenly twisting through my thoughts.

"Chelsea-"

"I'm the
C.I.A.
, Javier! And you’re a fucking
target
! You’re wanted by-"

"You?" He says it with a smirk, and I know he's trying to lighten this mood, but there's nothing that would take back the horrible mistake I just made in kissing him.

"No." I shake my head; "This isn't happening, Javier. Not with someone like
you
."

The words sound far harsher the second they leave my lips, and I wince as my eyes dart to find his; "I'm- shit, I didn't mean-"

"Well what makes you think I wanted anything to do with an uptight bitch like you?" His words are cold, and he pushes past me into the motel room, grabbing his shirt as he heads to the door.

"Wait, where the hell do you think you're going?"

"
Out
, princess."

I sputter, storming after him as I try and wrap a towel around my naked chest; "Hang on! You can't just
leave!
”

He whirls on me, his face tight and his eyes blazing fire; "Where the fuck am I going to go, princess? Its a damn island, and I can’t seem to get away from you anyways."

I open my mouth, but the words don't come as he strides out the door.

Javier shakes his head before he storms out the door, slamming it behind him.

Fuck this.

My head is still swirling with thoughts as I storm back downtown to the little shopping area where we were earlier. I march right back to the same fucking bar I was in before with Benson and his assholes. It may seem like tempting fate, but this time I can actually see people in there; people in Hawaiian shirts and touristy fanny-packs and startled looks on their faces when I slam the door open and stomp up to the bar.

"Tequila," I growl, slumping over my elbows on the wooden bar-top. I chance one dart of my eyes around the room, looking for any sign of the Blackriver douchebags. But of course they're gone now, and I know I'm just being an idiot.

The bartender slides me a glass, which I instantly tilt back before sliding his way and nodding for another.
 

I sip the second a bit more slowly than the first shot, brooding about what just went down in the motel room with Chelsea. I rake the fingers of one hand through my hair, grimacing as they slip through the unfamiliar horter length. I can't believe I let her cut my hair like that.

I snort and take another sip. Right, like I "let" her do anything. I know the altering of our appearances, however small a measure, is necessary, but it still makes me mad that I let
her
do it now, after that whole bullshit back there. It's more than just the general situation, too. I'm not a little pussy bitch that cries about the world not going his own way. I mean,
believe me
, I’ve had the world not go my way plenty of fucking times. Actually, I’m not sure its
ever
gone the way I wanted it to.

But I’m pissed because I can't think straight. No matter what happens in life, even when shit goes sideways, my head is always clear. I know where I want to go, it’s just a matter of picking the right path to get there, sometimes no matter what the toll is.

Except right now, for the first time ever, I’m lost. And I’m lost because now there’s something else in my damn head blocking my view of where I need to go and what I need to do; something young, blonde, and way more innocent than I should be fucking around with.

How the hell did I let that fucking C.I.A. chick under my skin? And now here I am griping and moaning about it like a pussy. I've lost my power and my edge somehow just fucking
being
around her. I smile thinly as I sip the rest of the glass in my hand, thinking about some story I vaguely remember from church when my grandmother could drag me there. I spent more time most Sundays trying to steal alter wine to sell to the older kids, but I do remember Sampson and Delilah.

And here I let that bitch cut my hair and break my throne.

Another memory takes over then as the tequila starts to mellow me out. Only this one isn't me as a kid, holding abuela's hand and going to church. No, in this one, I'm holding a gun. I'm in a concrete room in some shitty little smuggler stop-off outside Tallahassee, and I've got Logan Dempsey and Chelsea's sister Quinn tied to chairs.

And I hate it.

I hate that it's come to this and I hate how being what I needed to be has brought me to this place where I have no fucking idea who I am anymore. I don't know how I got to be the Goddamn bad guy, but when you’re up against a wall and out of options, its the only route sometimes.

I'm hitting Logan, not even knowing why I am. I'm threatening them both, trying to bend him to do what I
need him
to do, only because its the only option I've got. I'm in too deep with the wrong fucking people, and Logan's a way out of that. So here we are.

I remember turning towards Quinn and just seeing the
hate
in her eyes; just pure fucking loathing and hatred, and for one brief second, I almost stop. There's a moment there, staring at Chelsea's oldest sister where I see the monster I've become reflected in her eyes. For one brief second, I see every mistake I ever made; every wrong turn and every poor decision that brought me right here to this very moment. I want to apologize; I want to say I'm sorry and find a way to change my ways.

And then she stabs me.

I can still remember that blade slicing into my skin and entering my damn throat; I can fucking
taste it
.
 
I’m drowning then. I'm drowning on my own fucking blood, which is maybe the worst feeling in the world by the way.

And then, I die.
 

I'm dead, and I know it. When I’m drowning on the coppery taste of my own life-force, I know I’m dead.
End of the road, Toro.

Except, she saves me.; that doctor, Chelsea's sister. She stabs me, and they could just walk away from all that, but she doesn’t. For some fucked up reason that I still don't understand, she saves my sorry ass. I will never understand that moment and what possessed her to do that, but fuck, here I am.

I snort a laugh to myself; thinking of one of the brief conversations I ever had with Chelsea's father; “
Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”

And I'm roasting out here.

The bartender slides a bottle of something nice-looking in front of me, breaking my thoughts; "What’s this?" I eye the golden añejo sitting in front of me, squinting at the label and realizing just
how nice
it really is.

"Your friends bought it for you."

"Excuse me?"
Friends? Clearly, we don't know each other, bud.

"Yeah, your friends." He shrugs, like he doesn't really give much of a shit; "I think they headed out back for a smoke or something, but they wanted to buy you one."

"What, a drink?"

"A bottle." The bartender shrugs and passes me a fresh glass; "You want me to hang on to it back here?"

"Leave it."

He nods and pours me a shot before he sets the tequila on the bar top and walks away. I bring the glass to my lips and inhale the sweet burn of it before I knock it back and let the amber fire slowly leak down my throat. I allow the burn to settle in for a second before I stand and grab the bottle.

This is a fucking
real bad
idea, but fuck it. I head through the bar towards the back door, knowing perfectly well now who my "friends" are. It's a shit move, walking out this door, but I knew they were going to check in on me sooner or later, and it might as well be here and now without Chelsea around. The way I figure, the more heat I can draw away from her, the quicker we can figure out what the hell we're going to do.

Hands grab and slam me up against the wall the second I step out the door. I wince and my head rings as it knocks off the bricks of the alley wall, and there's the now-familiar feel of a gun against my back as a
very
familiar voice rasps in my ear:
"Where are we at, Toro."

I grit my teeth and strain against the two guys holding me down, and I turn to sneer into Benson's stupid piggy little face; "Fuck you,
cabron
."

"I'm not sure you're understanding me, you dumb fuck," Benson narrows his eyes at me, the veins in his neck sticking out and throbbing; "Get Chelsea Archer for us, and I
won't
dump your ass back in La Muerta,
comprende
? It's a fair trade."

"How 'bout I trade you for another shot at your mom’s ass?" I spit out, forcing a grin to my face.

Benson's fist crashes into my mouth and white stars flash in front of my face. Yeah, I'm not sure what other response I expected from him; grunts like him aren't exactly the witty banter type.

"I'm gonna try and impress this upon you one more time, shithead," Benson leans closer, his face red and his eyes looking crazy as he pulls out his gun, cocks it and presses the barrel into my cheek; "Chelsea Archer, by tomorrow morning, or you're a dead ma-"

"Drop it."

That wasn't Blackriver
-

All four of us jerk our heads up to the front of the alleyway, and I can’t stop the grin that starts to spread across my face.

"I said, fucking drop it!" The gun in the newly brunette Chelsea Archer's hands is leveled right at Benson as she stands there with her feet shoulder length apart and staggered. Benson and his goons freeze, and I almost want to laugh;
is this chick saving my ass?

There's a coldness in her eyes, and I’m suddenly realizing as I hear the three idiots around me chuckle that they don’t take her seriously.

From the perspective of a guy who’s
had
her pull a gun on him, twice, they
really
should; even if they don’t know the gun is unloaded.

Benson chuckles and smiles at Chelsea; "Listen sweetheart, why don't we put down the gun before you hurt some-"

"I said let him go. Special Agent Archer, United States Central Intelligence Agency, and for the last
motherfucking
time;
drop the-
"

One of the guys holding me suddenly shoves me away and reaches for a gun on his belt holster. It's a blur of motion, but he barely gets his hand on it before the gun in her hand
roars
.

Holy fucking shit!

I don’t even have time to wonder where the hell she got ammo from before the man grunts as his shoulder rocks backwards with her shot, knocking him to the ground.