Page 54 of Saxon

She smiles to herself. Thinks in silence.

"I told him I wanted him to be my first voluntary fuck. Because I trusted him. I knew I could trust him to not hurt me. Honestly, if it wasn't for him, I'd probably be one of those women who hates all men with a violent passion. But Ricardo proved to me that not all men were like the men who'd raped me. He took me to a motel away from everything, gave me a couple shots of whiskey to take the nerves off, and was just…so sweet and gentle. Let me set the pace. He seemed to just know when he needed to back off, and when I was too scared to take the next step and needed him to help me past it."

Her smile is happy and wistful and sad all at once. "I think he may have been in love with me, looking back. But I think he was savvy enough to recognize I was nowhere near ready for that, so despite whatever he may have felt for me, he gave me exactly what I needed and left it at that."

"What happened to him?" I ask.

She smiles, genuine and affectionate. "He moved to Puerto Rico for a girl he met online. They're married and he has four kids. He works with a nonprofit dedicated to keeping kids off the streets and out of gangs. I'm actually pretty sure he found Jesus somewhere along the way. Good for him, truly. I'm happy for him. I'm grateful to him, eternally." She pulls her hair back in both hands, shakes it, and fluffs it out with a gusting sigh. "After that, I went well and truly bananas. Pursued sex like a woman on a mission. Which, I was. My mission was to feel good because sexual pleasure is infinitely better than wallowing in such emotional agony that cutting your wrists into ribbons with a razor blade is preferable."

"And where are you now?" I glance at the GPS and note that we're fifteen minutes from our destination—somehow, the miles have vanished as we talked.

"In a weird place, honestly. Wanting something more." Her glance at me is wary, careful, and shuttered. "I'm at a point where hookups have sort of…gotten boring, I guess. Not boring. Um?" She rolls a shoulder. "I dunno. I just feel like there's something more, something I'm missing, like there's a puzzle piece missing inside me and I don't know what its shape is, I just know it's missing. That doesn't make any sense, maybe."

"No, it does," I say, exiting the freeway and gliding into suburban Jersey City. "It makes perfect sense."

"Saxon, I'm not saying—"

I grab her hand. "I know." I squeeze. "We're a few minutes out from Luka."

She straightens in her seat and nods. "What should I do?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure. If my plans worked out timing-wise, the flatbed with the car should be at his place already. But Luka is one hell of an odd duck. Paranoid, with good reason, and just fuckin' weird. So we gotta play this carefully. I guess just follow my lead and play along. Just…keep your eyes open and be ready for anything."

She nods. Glances at me. "Can I have a gun?"

Luka

Terra

He chews on the inside of his cheek. "Ever use one?"

"A few times. Ricardo let me plink cans occasionally."

"With what?"

"Like what kind of gun?" I shrug. "He had a bunch. He gave me a little one, it was silver and I could hold it one-handed, although he never let me shoot it that way. Two hands, always."

"Probably a Walther PPK," he muses. "Well, all I’ve got are nines, and none are that small. But if you've shot before, then sure." He jerks his head at the rear bench. "Bag on the floor behind your seat."

I twist and reach blindly behind my seat—the bag my hand finds is heavy. I drag it awkwardly to the center between the seats, struggling to open it while still buckled.

"Fuck this," I grouse, and unbuckle.

I twist onto my knees on the seat and lean over the console—presenting my ass to Saxon in the process. I feel his gaze.

"Enjoying the view?" I say over my shoulder, wiggling my ass side to side.