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“T hank you, . These are beautiful.”
“Of course, Miss Morton. Please give your sister my congratulations.” I hand my long-time customer a bouquet of peonies, her face alight with joy when accepting them. She cradles them on her way out, exactly how I imagine she’ll hold her newborn niece, and doesn’t look up again until Ben opens the door for her to exit.
At one point in time, her happiness would have been a conundrum to me.
Contrary to what people might assume, plants have never brought me joy. Not once have I seen a bright sunflower and smiled. Smelled fresh cut roses and marveled at the divine scent. Or gazed about a bundle of daisies and dreamt of blue skies.
No. For me, plants have simply been a form of service that brings me refined contentment. A connection to both my mother, long dead and gone, and the one at my feet. Nature grounds me. At least, that used to be true.
Over the past few weeks, that’s changed. In fact, a lot has changed. So much so, I barely even recognize my routine compared to this time last year.
Before, my first thought in the morning was whether I should start my day with a warm cup of coffee or opt for herbal tea. Now, I check a device to see if Jessica sent me a silly picture in the middle of the night. Before, I’d look over my week’s schedule to see how many deliveries or orders I had and which boys to send where. Now, I see when I’ll have pockets of time in which I can spend them with her.
And until about two months ago, I wouldn’t have gone long without finding someone to kill. Someone whose death would mean Mother Earth would be a little less littered. Now, I haven’t had the desire to spend those extra moments looking for them, when I could spend them elsewhere. With someone far more important.
So many things have changed, including how I look at flowers.
Now, the colors and their vibrance remind me of the agent, and bring a warmth to my chest I never before experienced. That’s why when I glance through the window at Miss Morton getting into her car, I smile at the bouquet in her grip.
Perhaps things haven’t changed.
I have.
Ben, Mrs. Ward’s son and delivery boy by day, my personal clean-up crew by night, huffs, his eyes flickering from mine to the floor he’s sweeping.
I lift a brow. “What is it?”
He shakes his head, his mop of dark curls swaying over his forehead as he opts to remain silent. Ben is and always will be a reserved observationalist. He watches everything and takes notes. It’s because of this that we haven’t been caught disposing of bodies at the river.
“Go on, speak your piece.” I walk from around my counter, hands on my hips as I narrow him with a gaze his mother has given us more than a few times in our lives.
The corner of Ben’s lips tilt, but when I think he’s not going to say anything, he simply shrugs. “You deserve to smile.”
His genuine kindness causes me to melt a little bit, and while my natural reaction would be to reject the idea that I deserve anything good in this world, I don’t.
Perhaps it’s a little self-righteous that I, a woman who has taken more lives than I care to admit, can stand here and welcome the thought that I have earned the right to be happy. The right to receive good fortune. And yet, I have. I am .
I part my lips to thank him, but am interrupted by the loud roar of an engine. The familiar sound makes my heart flutter, and my feet immediately begin propelling me to the door, anticipation making my steps quick.
Jessica’s hotrod turns into the lot and is quick to fill Miss Morton’s vacant space.
When she gets out, my eyes instantly rove over her, taking in the cute black jumpsuit and cropped tan sweater underneath. Bare skin peeks from the sides, though even that part is mostly covered by her long soft curls. She’s wearing her hair down today, and I have the powerful urge to comb my fingers through it.
“Agent.” I greet her at the door, my gaze flashing to the small brown bag in her hand before pressing a kiss to her lips. “What do we have here?”
She beams. “Sourdough. It just came out of the oven. Well, like an hour ago.”
“Thank you.” I accept it from her before backing away from the door, allowing her room to come inside. “I’ll make us a slice with some garlic butter Mrs. Ward made for me.”
“Yum—Oh. Hello!” Jessica’s smile is bright as she waves at Ben.
He puts the broom away and takes off his apron, the close of business only minutes away now. He holds out a thick hand.
“This is Ben, Mrs. Ward’s son. He helps out on occasion with big deliveries and what not. He also took care of me during my awkward teenage years in high school after being homeschooled for so long.”
If I wasn’t looking directly at her, I would have missed the way her smile drops a centimeter. The way her shoulders sink and how dullness steals the sheen of her bright eyes. It’s a look I’ve never seen the agent possess, and oddly enough, have no idea what causes it.
She corrects her expression by the next blink, however, her smile returning even wider as she shakes his hand. “I’m sure there wasn’t an awkward bone in your body, Red. And Ben, so great to meet you. Your mom makes the best croissants.”
Ben lowers his head in thanks, his voice a deep rumble. “Thank you.”
Still curious as to where that odd response came from, I dismiss Ben, asking him to let his mother know I’ll be by the next day to help with her pathos. He nods to us both before leaving. I’m quick to lock up the shop and flip the sign to closed . When I turn back around, Jessica is on her tiptoes, humming a song while inspecting a new leaf my Adansonii monstera just put out.
“Larry’s getting huge.”
I step toward her, trepidation working through my nerves. I can’t place it, but something’s askew, even if only slightly, I can feel it.
“How was your day?” I walk behind her, wrapping my free hand around her waist so I can place a soft kiss to the curve of her neck.
A shiver presses her into me. “Better now. Yours?”
I chew on my bottom lip, trying to ignore the way those two little words feel like a lie. Perhaps this is what insecurity feels like. But why on earth would I be experiencing it? “Busy.”
She hmms , twisting in my hold to face me. Placing her hands around my neck, she kisses me twice, both times slowly and softly. Her eyes gaze into mine, the pupils expanding to wash out the gorgeous blue color as she searches mine, but for what I’m unsure. When she speaks, her voice is low, sensual. It slices right into my veins and invades my bloodstream. “Let’s go upstairs. I’m starving.”
“Are you trying to distract me, Agent?”
Her head cocks to one side. “From what?”
I’m honest, a rarity with how I’m feeling a tad more open—more vulnerable. It’s odd that a person can establish such a hold on one’s life that they soon can affect their very mood. “Something’s happened. What aren’t you saying?”
It’s her lips this time that give her away. The corners twitch with the words she wants to say, but die in a thick swallow she does before clearing her throat.
There it is .
“Actually nothing. I’ve been bombarded with a lot of information lately and possible leads on closing two cases I’ve been working on for a while.” Jessica exhales a short laugh, dropping her arms to grasp my free hand and begin leading me toward the back. “It’s just…the closer I get to figuring everything out, the more I question if I should.”
My brows lift as we ascend the stairs. “I’m confused. Why wouldn’t you want to finally be done with something that’s consumed so much of your life?”
I recall vaguely how much relief—how much more free—I felt after finally meeting with my father in prison. Who ever said revenge heals no wounds must not have done it right.
Jessica shrugs before opening the door to my studio. “I don’t know. It’s just, life has changed, and I see things in such a different lens than I did a while ago. I’d hate to have that ruined.”
Curiouser and curiouser. “I never knew you to be such a cryptic.”
Jessica pulls me inside, hitting the door closed behind me before pressing me up against it. My heart comes to life with the proximity of her and only increases in pressure when she leans forward, her mouth a mere inch away from mine. Again, her eyes search mine for something and when she either finds it or doesn’t, she smirks. “We all have our secrets.”
With that, she takes control of my mouth, her kiss fierce and direct as she consumes me. The bag drops from my hand and I immediately reach for her hair, but she stops me, threading her fingers in mine and pushing them above my head.
She deepens the kiss, her tongue slipping out to tangle with mine. I allow her to explore, to do as pleases without giving into the desire to take over.
It’d be a lie to say it isn’t challenging, though. Particularly when she leaves my mouth and runs her tongue along the column of my neck.
A moan slips free as my finger tightens in hers, a push of adrenaline making my breath come quicker. Fueled by the sound, she moves down, her hot mouth trailing over my collarbone and dipping into the top of my tank. She kisses my breasts from the outside, stopping where my nipples poke through the thin material of my bra and the shirt, and bites down.
I buck away from the door, my hands coming down to latch onto her waist. “Oh, sweet girl. I’m not one to be teased.”
Jessica’s eyes meet mine, the fire morphing her dark blues to light ice. “Who said anything about teasing, Red? I told you, I’m starving.”
Without another word, she tugs my hand, leading me to the end of the bed. I allow her to readjust us, positioning me until the back of my legs press against the bed frame.
“You look gorgeous today, and this skirt…” Her eyes drip down my frame, and I have to admit her little show of dominance is incredibly sexy. “Did you wear it because you knew you’d see me today?”
One corner of my lips hitch up. “Perhaps.”
“Is that so?” Jessica pushes a finger into my chest, knocking me back onto the bed. “And tell me, Red, did you know I’d be between your thighs later?”
Unable to resist, I cock a brow. “I might have even planned it that way.”
Her eyes widen, that natural submissive nature of hers peeking from behind the curtain. “What exactly did you plan?”
Even though I’m looking up at her, I tilt my head to the side, sliding back into my natural role. “You on your knees.”
Jessica immediately sinks, dropping to the floor in one fluid motion. “And then?”
I open my thighs, allowing her to settle between them. A redness creeps over her cheeks when she realizes there’s nothing under my skirt. “Then your sweet little tongue makes a mess of me.”
She dips lower, her hands coming up to grab the hem of my skirt. She bunches it in her hand before disappearing under it, kissing either side of my inner thigh as she works her way up.
Tingles radiate from where her lips touch, my eyes fluttering shut from the sensation. It’s been too long since I’ve allowed myself to feel good, and now, it’s all I crave.
She makes it to the apex of my thighs, where she nips, causing me to jolt with surprise. I lean back, letting myself fall onto the bed. “Yes, something like that.”
“But not exactly?”
“Not exactly.” I play into her little game, wondering where she’ll go.
I don’t have to wait long for the answer, however, because in my next breath, her tongue slides along my cunt, the pressure hard and shockingly precise.
My mouth parts with my groan, the pleasure that emits from the spot overwhelming. At least, I think it is until she does it again, then again. She lashes at my entrance as if angry, closing her mouth around my clit to suck it into her hot mouth. My hands latch firmly onto the comforter beside me to anchor myself in place. It doesn’t work. She continues her pace, and with every pass and nibble, I’m pushed further into the abyss.
It isn’t long until I’m shaking, my body engulfed with sensations I’ve gone too long without feeling.
Jessica stops for a fraction of a second, and in it, my entire body deflates. “Like this?”
“ Yes .”
She releases a satisfied purr, grabbing one of my hands from its place beside me. “Open these lips for me, Red. I want to see my meal while I devour it.”
I suck in a sharp breath, surprise and arousal twisted inside me like a tornado. It ravages my body, threatening to tear me apart, but I do as she requests, letting the hand she took slip under my shirt.
My fingers part the wet lips, the slickness a mix of her and I.
Jessica groans. “Oh, she’s pretty.”
I swallow, my body seconds away from unraveling.
“Let’s see how she clenches for me when you come.”
Without another word, Jessica returns to my cunt and laves it with hard licks and even harder bites. When I’m shoved to the edge, it isn’t gradual or soft, but rough and jarring, my orgasm crashing against me so violently, I cry out her name.
She uses it as motivation, not relenting, but sliding in a finger to fuck me in tandem with the pulsing. She doesn’t stop until the muscles in my legs shake, and my breathing slows.
When Jessica pulls from my body, I’ve never felt so empty, yet so fucking full and I don’t squander a second.
I lift from my position and grab her, yanking her from her spot and tossing her onto the bed.
“What’s wrong?” she laughs, her giggle sweet and arrogant as it bubbles over me.
“Nothing, sweet girl.” I shake my head, jerking open my dresser drawer and pulling out a rabbit I bought just for her. “So please understand, when I break you apart in the next few moments, it’s not because I want to erase that cocky look from your face, but…”
I smile, my heart swelling as I look down and realize how much this woman has me all bent out of shape.
“Well, it’s because I want to erase that cocky look from your face.”
And I most certainly do.
* * *
After showering and eating a slice of sourdough, we end up in bed, our limbs tangled around each other. Jessica’s head rests on my chest, her finger tracing over the peak of my nipple.
My flesh pebbles under her touch, the urge to strap her to the bed and fuck her again becoming increasingly strong.
I remove my hand from where it rests on her biceps and let my fingers walk up to her hair. I swipe the hair from her forehead and in three seconds’ time, four things happen simultaneously.
One, my eyes latch on to the green thread holding skin at her hairline together, barely concealed in makeup.
Jessica sits straight up, her hand immediately going to cover the spot on her forehead.
My heart erupts in an anger and confusion I haven’t experienced since learning my life belonged to Alexi.
And my hand begins to itch. An itch with a burning that can only be alleviated by one thing.
“What is that?” My voice is calm, though the unbridled rage making my skin tight is clear with every word. Clumsy as my girl is, I doubt she’d hide an accidental fall from me.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head, forcing the curls back over her head.
Something pinches in my heart. “So we lie to one another now?”
Her eyes widen, but not of shock…of skepticism . But before I can address it, she sighs in resignation, almost as if whatever she was tempted to say wouldn’t be worth it. “We got a tip about a possible location and my uncle sent me to go look. I think it was a setup because nothing was there, and three punks were waiting for me. Luckily, my trainee and uncle were there to run them off.”
“Why would they send you? You don’t work in the field.”
“It's complicated and really messy, but it wasn’t supposed to be credible information. We didn’t want to waste resources when I could just go check on it.”
“But you are a resource.”
“With nothing to do right now. My profiles have been built. Right now, I kind of wait for when people need me. Kind of like a floater. It’s been all hands on serial killer central, so nothing else has really come through.”
I nod, but questions still linger. “And who were these men? Was the setup specifically for you or whoever was supposed to show up?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t a big deal and I’m fine.”
Frustration pulls at my insides, the itch in my palm growing stronger. “You’re not fine. You have stitches. Who were they?”
Jessica climbs on top of me, straddling her legs on either side of my thighs. I know she’s trying to distract me but when I narrow my eyes letting her know I’m not letting it go, she huffs. “Why does it matter, Red? Ya gonna go round them up and throw them in jail?”
This gets a sarcastic laugh out of me. “My type of justice doesn’t involve the judicial system.”
The words slip free, and when they do, I know it’s too late to take them back. In fact, the notion that one day I’ll have to tell this woman everything and pray she stays only burrow in deeper, wrapping around my heart like barbed wire.
Jessica leans down, her lips so close to mine I can taste the mint on her breath. “And what is your type of justice, ?”
My eyes move back and forth between hers, the temptation to be honest so she can see me—the real me—so great I almost tell her the truth. But the sharp cut of the wire digs in and I realize with a sickening ache I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to potentially lose her.
So instead of saying that I like my justice at the bottom of The Savannah River, I keep it simple. “Absolute.”
* * *
It’s ten minutes past midnight when the sound of a text shatters the thin veil of silence that’s covered my studio.
Normally, I wouldn’t mind Jessica receiving a message so late, but with how heavy my chest is from learning about everything that happened to her, I can’t ignore the grating against my nerves. The persistent tapping of a warning that yearns to be heeded.
Without giving it much thought, I slip my hand from around Jessica’s waist, careful not to disturb her as I maneuver out of the bed.
I find the phone in a pile of her clothes not too far from the couch and am quick to type in the code—a number I learned on our second date from simple observation.
Fikey Fikes 12:09
There was a tip that came through while I was still at the office with information on the men who attacked you. We have a known location. Want me to send it to your uncle?
My brows furrow as I read the message over again.
From my understanding, this Fikes person is a trainee to be a forensic psychologist. What business would he have receiving tip information? Not only that, but if by some coincidence he had, why wouldn’t he immediately take it to his superiors? Instead, he sent the information to Jessica. The hotheaded victim who might go confront the attackers herself.
The notion that this man may have his own agenda prompts me to test it out with a quick text. A second later he replies and he’s just made himself my next target.
I’m quick to get dressed, fury and adrenaline making me clumsy in the dark room. But within minutes I’m dressed, have the required tools, and have Ben on the phone before leaving the shop.
There’s a new type of feeling twisting through me that I can’t quite understand, but I know these men won’t simply be for Mother Nature that I kill them.
They’ll be for pleasure.