Page 17 of Bought

I kissed her because I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to know what it felt like.

What she tasted like.

Now, I sit on the edge of the bed, drink untouched on the table, my hands clenched between my knees. My chest aches.

I broke my own rules.

Christ, that kiss.

It lingers like smoke in my mouth, thick and impossible to swallow. Her lips were soft, but she didn’t give me softness. Instead, she offered resistance, heat, and defiance, pressing back against my control.

She kissed me as if she wanted to prove she couldn’t be owned, even while she let me in.

And touching her was pure heaven.

Her body was so responsive as if I knew exactly what she needed.

Unclenching my hands, I run my hand over my shoulder, like I can still feel the scrape of her nails digging into me there. I loved the way her body arched against mine, the heat of her skin against mine, bare breasts pressed to my ragged scars.

I hear the quiet catch of her breath when my tongue slides against hers on repeat.

I wanted more.

I sent her away.

She walked out my door, a slight tremble in her defiant chin that I know she didn’t want me to see.

Enemies circle like sharks. Ghosts haunt me.

Love is the most dangerous weakness a man in my line of work can have.

I should have felt relief when she left. All I felt was need.

A buzz from my phone pulls me out of my torment. A message. From the agency.

You have a new secure message from:

ERIN CROFT

Below her name, the agency offers me a choice to accept or decline.

I don’t even get to read the message first.

A coin sits on the ground by my shoe. A shiny copper penny. I pick it up, pinching it between my thumb and forefinger.

Safety, reject, tails. Gamble, accept, heads.

I flip a coin. Heads. Accept.

Erin: Meet me again. No payment. Just you.

Looks like that kiss ruined us both.

I put the phone face down. She’s already too far under my skin. And if I let her in any deeper, she’ll have me scratching off my own skin to heal the itch. To scrape away the guilt I feel for surviving.

Years ago, before I became a Bachman, an operation went wrong. My decisions led to loyal men dying, along with someone who wasn’t even supposed to be there that night.

My first love.