Page 17 of Make Them Bleed (Pretty Deadly Things #1)

The world goes quiet enough to hear our own breathing. Behind the mask, I close my eyes.

“I know,” I say. “I’m right there too.”

She opens her car door. Her hand lifts, hovers, then lands lightly on the edge of the mask where the jaw would be. Slowly, like asking permission, she traces the curve with her fingertip.

“Thank you for not letting me do this alone,” she whispers. “Even though you don’t have to.”

I catch her wrist before I do something reckless like lift the mask an inch and kiss her like we both want. My thumb settles over her pounding pulse. I speak to that rhythm.

“You’ll never be alone. Not as long as I’m around.” I open my own door and step out at the same time she steps out.

I meet her on her side of the car, wanting to walk her to her front door.

She leans her head back against the car, closing her eyes as her breath comes out in a tiny pant. Her slender neck calls to me, and like a slave, I reach up, touching her. My fingers glide over her skin, and I do something reckless.

I remove my glove, letting my fingers glide over her soft skin. “Keep your eyes closed,” I tell her, not wanting her to recognize my hand, or something crazy like that.

I’m being greedy, taking what’s not mine, but I don’t care. It’s as if this mask has made me braver than I’ve ever been before. For years I’ve wanted to touch Juno like this, but I’ve never had the courage.

Well, not now.

Now I’m taking what I want.

She keeps her eyes closed, her breathing picking up speed slightly as I press against her pulse point. It’s almost like she’s giving me permission to keep going.

So, I do.

I glide my hand down between the valley of her breast, sneaking beneath her hoodie to run my fingers over her t-shirt. She sucks in a breath, and I keep going.

“I can feel your heart beating just for me,” I whisper, and the sound of the modulator makes the words come out all husky and low.

“It is,” she whispers, running her straight white teeth over her bottom lip.

I’d give anything to kiss her. To feel her lips pressed against mine, but that’s a line I’m not ready to cross. If ever.

My hand continues the trek across her breast, squeezing lightly, wishing I could be underneath her shirt and bra, but thankful I even get to touch her this way at all.

My body grows harder by the second, and I keep my hand traveling south. I can’t believe this is happening.

“Keep going,” she croons as her mouth falls open, begging me to kiss her.

Fuck. This is Juno, my best friend. The woman I’ve dreamed about being intimate with since I was a horny teenager.

I glide my fingers over her torso, letting my fingers drag across the hem of her shirt and I’ve got a decision to make here. Slip under her shirt? Or keep heading lower?

I need to touch her. I need to feel how wet she is. I unbutton her jeans, and lower the zipper. Her eyes snap open, and I swear she can see right through the mask. However, I know she can’t.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

If I wasn’t wearing this mask, I’d remove my hand…apologize… and pretend none of this had ever happened. But something snaps deep within me.

“I’m going to erase the past few months for you. I’m going to make you feel so good you won’t feel like you’re falling anymore, you’ll feel like you’re finally living again.”

She closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the top of her car. “Please, Hoover.”

I flinch, thankful she can’t see me when the name Hoover falls from her lips.

I pray for the day she screams Arrow instead.

However, she’s begging me to make her forget, and I focus all of my energy on her need.

I slide my hand down her jeans, slipping past the waistband of her panties, and nearly pass out by the feel of her bare pussy.

Fuck me.

She’s wet. She’s dripping. And she’s so ready for me.

I hate that I’m wearing a mask right now. I hate that I can’t lay her down properly and rip her clothes off like I want to.

Instead, I press the heel of my hand to her clit and drag my finger through her wetness. She grips onto my shoulders, spreading her legs slightly to give me more room to play. And play I do. I grip her waist with my other hand, tugging her closer in one tight yank.

“Mine,” I growl, no longer recognizing myself.

I push my middle finger deep inside her, hooking it when she moans out. Yes. I lean closer, pressing my hardness raging to break free behind my jeans against her hot center.

Her hands run down my shoulders, across my chest, and then she rubs along the ridge of my jeans where my cock is begging.

“Oh fuck,” I whisper and it comes out so robotic that I hate it.

I finger her as she runs her palm against my dick. And then she does something unexpected. She undoes my jeans and I nearly hyperventilate at the feel of her warm skin against my cock.

“Take it out,” I tell her, and she fucking obeys. This is madness.

I keep playing with her, fucking her with my fingers as she gets wetter and wetter. I’d do anything to fuck her right here against Render’s car. That’s how horny I am. Forget decorum. Fuck everything.

I press against her clit, wishing I could get my mouth on her. Wishing I could suck her clit between my teeth. She strokes my cock with one hand and reaches her other hand out. She places her fingers at the edge of my mask, like she wants to take it off.

I tilt my head, and then shake very slowly like the Ghostface is known for doing in the Scream movies.

She laughs lightly. “You’re no fun.”

I stop my movements with my hand, and she mewls. “Want me to stop?”

She shakes her head violently from side to side. “No, please. Make me forget.”

“Then keep stroking my dick and I’ll fuck your little pussy with my fingers, and you can imagine it’s my thick cock fucking you instead.”

Her eyes widen, and I silently curse myself. I would never speak to Juno this way without this mask. However, not only does she like my dirty talk, she fucking loves it. And I’m here for all of it.

She keeps moaning as I play with her pussy.

Her fingers wrap around my cock as she tugs gently, and then she does something that surprises me again.

She spits into the palm of her hand, and when she touches me, I nearly buck out of control.

She focuses on the head of my cock, letting her pinky swipe along the slit on the head.

“Fuck me,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

We’re right here in a parking lot where anyone could be watching. Anyone could drive by and catch us. Sure, it’s late and there’s not a soul around, but still. We could easily move this up into her apartment, but where’s the excitement in that?

I keep toying with her, making her mewl and cry out obscenities and other crude words that make me smile. “You begged for this, so fucking ride my hand.”

“I’m so close,” she says in a breathy, throaty whisper. “Ah, so close.” Her words turn unintelligible, but I swear I hear her whisper a single word. No, not a word… a name. My name. Arrow.

The sound of her makes my body turn to molten lava, and my own orgasm is barreling straight toward me.

“Yes, come all over my hand.”

She closes her eyes, leaning her head along the back of the car hood as she keeps stroking my cock.

I’m tempted to stop everything and start fucking her right here and now, but I know she’s close.

So, I chase her orgasm, searching for it, hooking my finger deep inside her to reach the spot that makes her scream.

And when she does the sound is music to my ears.

It’s glorious, and even more than I ever could have imagined.

Her tight cunt clamps down around my fingers, and her juices flood my palm.

Tremors wrack her body, and just experiencing her orgasm like this makes my own orgasm slam through me all at once.

My release covers her hand, and we’re both breathing in tandem as our pleasure exposes us both fully.

“Juno,” I say on a groan as my heart slams around my ribcage.

Her eyes open slowly, a small smile gracing her features. “Wow,” she whispers. “I really needed that.”

“Me too.”

Thankfully Render has tissues in his car, and we clean up in silence. It’s not an awkward silence, it never is with her. Once we’re done, I walk her to her front door.

“Standing order, you get some sleep,” I say, tone gentler than the vocoder makes it. “Tomorrow we start pulling on Valentino’s thread until his whole suit comes apart.”

“Tomorrow,” she echoes.

She inserts her key into the lock. “Thank you, Hoover.” She enters her apartment, and I wait until I hear the familiar click of the lock before I turn around to head back to the Riverside loft.

“You’re lying to her to keep her alive,” I tell myself. “You’re lying to her to keep her alive.”

It doesn’t soothe as much as it used to.

By the time I’ve scrubbed the comm logs and encrypted the footage to two different offsite vaults, it’s almost three.

Ozzy texts a string of victory emojis and a gif of a raccoon stealing a doughnut.

Knight sends, Pulled a bottle of ‘Surge Reserve’ from the catering crate.

Testing for poison at dawn. Render adds, Valentino’s public calendar shows a ‘breakfast with Gray’ at the Marina Club.

Dress code ‘discretion.’ Gage appends two stills that make my breath catch: Valentino, mid-sneer. Gray, mid-smile, eyes like a shark.

We have our next target. We have momentum. We have a team that feels like a misfit family.

I have a best friend who nearly kissed me with my face covered by a scream.

Tomorrow, I’ll be the mask again. Tonight, I let myself be just Arrow Finn for three minutes, leaning against my own car parked two blocks away, staring at the river lights, and imagining a universe where I can be brave without hiding who I am.

When I get home, I write an op plan titled MAKE THEM SING , because if I can’t be honest with Juno yet, I can at least ensure the men who said funeral jog into a courtroom in cuffs—and make sure the next time she hears that word, it’s in the context of justice finally, finally ending.