Last Breath

Thirteen

Regan

THIS MAN IS SO FULL of shit. I won’t leave you behind, Regan. You can trust me, Regan. All lies. All stupid lies. He’s still trying to ditch me.

“It’s not safe for you to go with me,” he tells me, those blue eyes asking for me to understand.

I stare at him.

“I didn’t come this far for you to be killed.”

“And I didn’t come this far to end back up in a whorehouse,” I hiss at him, anger getting the best of me. I used to be such a nice girl. I never argued with anyone. Now I’m constantly screaming at Daniel. But it’s his fault, damn it. If he wasn’t so fired up to ditch me, I wouldn’t lose my shit so often.

He glances over at Pereya, then back at me. “Not here.” He calls over his shoulder, “We need our room again for a bit. See if you can find those jeans and boots for me.” And with that, Daniel grabs me by the arm and hauls me back to the safe room where we’d spent the night.

I let him drag me. That’s fine. His hand is pinching my arm, but if he’s hauling me along, he’s not leaving me behind. That’s all that I ask.

We shuffle back to the safe room, and Daniel flings the door shut, then turns and glares at me. “Okay. We need to talk.”

I adjust the heavy vest he draped over my shoulders. It’s bulky and doesn’t hang right over my boobs, but I’m not going to point that out. Fiddling with it gives me something to do without looking at Daniel. “So talk.”

“This place I have to go today? It’s a dangerous shithole.”

“As opposed to all the other nice, safe playgrounds you’ve taken me to so far?”

“Damn it, Regan, I’m serious. I need to get a tip from a guy in a soccer field that’s the favorite place of the local gangs for microwaving.”

I look up at him, puzzled. “Microwaving?” Somehow I don’t think he means Hot Pockets.

“Yeah. Someone fucks up, you take him out to the field, throw a few tires around him, douse him in gasoline, and set the whole thing on fire. Leaves a nice smoky skidmark to warn everyone else not to make the same mistake.”

I swallow hard. That sounds worse than awful. And Daniel wants to go to this place? Alone? What if he never comes back? What if he leaves me here and I’m sitting with Pereya for weeks, wondering what happened? How long before Pereya decides to sell me to the highest bidder? “Sounds like a shitty place. I’m still going.”

“No,” Daniel says. “I’m in charge of keeping you safe. Taking you there won’t keep you safe. We’re in the middle of some primo gang territory around here.”

“I don’t care!”

“Well, if you don’t give a shit about your life, I do.”

I gasp. How can he say that to me? I’ve clawed and scrambled for every inch of freedom in the last two months. I’ve survived hell. In fact, I’m still trying to escape it. The fact that the one person I can trust is secretly trying to ditch me? It fills me with anger and fury and more than a little hurt. I slap his chest. “You think I don’t care if I live or die? Really?”

Daniel closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “Regan, you know what I’m trying to say here…”

“No, you’re saying shitty things to try and get rid of me. I know how you work. You lie and you try to piss people off so they’ll go away. I’m not going away, though. Remember your promise? ‘I’m not leaving you, Regan. I’m going to stay at your side and protect you, Regan.’ What happened to that?”

“It didn’t involve taking you to a killing ground when you can sit here quietly—”

“And what?” I cry, beating a fist on his chest. I’ve smacked him a few times as we argue, but he doesn’t raise a hand to me. I know I shouldn’t hit him; I’m just so fucking frustrated. “What happens if you don’t come back? How long before someone sells the cute American pussy to the highest bidder again?”

His mouth flattens. “You have to trust me, Regan.”

“Trust? Now who’s crazy?” I laugh bitterly and throw my hands up in the air. “You said I was acting crazy when I jumped you, but I’m not so sure. I can guarantee that if you were getting your dick wet, you’d move heaven and earth to make sure I stayed at your side, instead of trying to ditch me. So now who’s crazy, huh?”

He reaches out and grabs the front of the flak jacket. I start to pull away, but he’s only tying together two strings at the neck that will keep it closed. “So,” he says flatly, “you want to talk about trust? How about you jumping all over me as soon as I close my eyes to try and manipulate me into keeping you around? How am I supposed to trust you after that?”

I’m shocked at his words, that he can turn the whole “trust” thing around on me and still make me wince after all this. It hits home. I have been manipulating him. “But . . . you like me,” I protest. “You think I’m sexy.”

“I do,” he agrees, tying the cord into a bow and then reaching for another one under my arm so he can fit the flak jacket tighter to my body. “I think you’re beautiful. I also think my appreciation of you is completely inappropriate, and I would never act on it. Have I done anything at all to make you uncomfortable? Acted inappropriately?”

Other than a few smacks on the ass and referring to me as baby doll? I want to point this out, but we both know it’s to rile me up and distract me, and he’s not serious about it. He’s right. He’s been nothing but good to me even when he doesn’t have to be. If he snapped his fingers, I’d be on my knees sucking his dick out of gratitude because I’d feel like it would get me somewhere with him.

How fucked up is that? And how fucked up is it that Daniel’s the Boy Scout in the situation and I’m the one throwing my body at him? Not that it matters. Sex is ruined for me. I don’t think I could ever touch a man again without thinking of the brothel.

But then I look at Daniel’s frowning mouth. He’s been straight-up appalled that I never had an orgasm. Curls his lip at Mike’s name as if he’s done me some sort of disservice. As if everyone else is the problem and not me. Not Work-Harder-to-Make-It-All-Better Regan who refuses to see problems in a relationship. Not Head-In-the-Sand Regan who tries to ignore the world so her little bubble isn’t disturbed.

That Regan’s dead now.

Daniel finishes tying one side of my jacket and then the other as I watch him move. He’s got long eyelashes, and a strong jaw, and he’s . . . really attractive.

I wonder briefly what it would be like to kiss him. Really kiss him. It might be Stockholm syndrome speaking, but that can’t possibly be any worse than what I’ve already been through. And suddenly, I’m curious.

If I kiss Daniel, will it be like kissing men at the brothel? Will I want to vomit if his mouth touches mine? Or will it be . . . Daniel? The man with a pretty mouth who desperately wants me in his bed and won’t touch me because he knows I have Issues, with a capital I.

I lick my lips, thinking.

“What?” Daniel asks, and I realize he’s looking at me again.

I’m suddenly nervous. I step a little closer to him and put my hand to one of the buttons on his wrinkled shirt. “Can I . . . can I try something?”

“Shoot.” He’s watching me warily, but he doesn’t move away.

I stand up on my tiptoes and press my mouth to his. He stiffens, and I part my lips, letting my tongue graze his mouth. I feel absolutely nothing. I might as well be kissing a stone for all that he participates, and after a moment, I pull away, frowning. “Why aren’t you kissing me back?”

“I’m trying to figure out your angle.”

For some reason, that hurts my feelings. I lower my heels and try not to feel stupid. “I wanted to kiss you and see if it was like kissing guys at the brothel. If it’d be different because it’s you. Or if everything’s totally ruined.”

He groans and closes his eyes, then presses his forehead to mine. His hand cups the back of my head. “You’re killing me, Regan. You know that, right?”

“I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice.

“Shh. Nothin’ to be sorry about, darlin’. If you want a kiss, I’ll oblige you. You have some shit timing is all.” He glances at the closed door behind us, then shrugs and turns back to me. “A kiss. Nothing more, though. You’re not ready, and I can’t afford a distraction. All right?”

“That works. I just want to see . . .” I trail off without finishing the sentence because it can’t really end in a great way.

I just want to see if I’m broken.

I just want to see if I’m really fucked up in the head.

I just want to see if you taste good.

I just want to see if I’ll puke.

“Okay. No pouncing, though. You ready?” His hand touches my cheek. “Feel free to push me away at any time if you freak out.”

I nod.

Daniel leans in and his nose brushes mine as his face angles in. I start to close my eyes because every kiss is usually better that way, but I worry that if I close them, I’ll see the wrong faces. So I keep them open as his mouth carefully grazes mine. His lips move gently over mine, and then he’s sucking at my lower lip, kissing me with careful presses of his lips against my mouth.

He’s so tender that I’m surprised. I expected Daniel to be all talk and no finesse, but the man kissing me is infinitely gentle. His eyes are closed, as if kissing me right is the only thing that matters at the moment.

And...I’m not hating it. That’s good.

He continues to press soft kisses to my mouth, and I let him, exploring my feelings. I’m not grossed out and I don’t want to vomit. If anything, I wish he’d kiss me a little harder. Mike was never a big kisser; he only wanted to do it if it’d get him somewhere, and I’d accepted that. But Daniel . . . I suspect Daniel could kiss a girl for hours to watch how it affects her.

The thought sends a shiver through my body.

Daniel’s mouth continues to nuzzle mine. “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” I breathe against his lips.

“You want tongue?”

Oh god. For some reason, I find it arousing that he’d ask me. Like it’s all totally my call. He’s only giving me what I ask for, and that makes him safe. So I breathe out a quiet, “Yes,” and wait for the kiss to change.

A moment later, Daniel’s mouth opens wider against mine and his tongue brushes against my closed lips, seeking entrance. I part and let him in, tensing as I wait for the invasive feeling to return, for the sickness and revulsion.

But his tongue only gently laps against my own, coaxing me. It’s as if he’s asking me if I want to play. And I realize that I do. I bury my fingers in the front of his shirt. And I kiss him back.

And . . . it’s pretty damn amazing.

Daniel’s tongue strokes against mine, soothingly at first, then with little flicks that seem to pulse all the way through my body. He kisses like he has all the time in the world to savor me, and I melt under him. This isn’t the hungry kiss of a man who’s throwing me a bone so he can get his dick sucked. This isn’t a man who wants to dominate me and show me who’s boss. This is a connoisseur, and he wants to show me how good he can make it. It’s kiss and invitation all at once.

I’m responding with lust, my own tongue meeting his, and I make a soft little noise in my throat that comes from sheer bliss. I hadn’t realized until now how much I really, really like kissing and how much I’ve missed the intimacy of it. I’ve even closed my eyes to savor the caresses of Daniel’s mouth, and I didn’t even realize it. I feel like this is what I have always needed.

And it makes me confused. Shouldn’t I be totally fucked up right now? Throwing up at Daniel’s touch? But he’s not touching me like everyone else. He’s making love to me with his mouth.

I pull away, dazed, and notice that his eyes are narrowed with desire, his lids heavy. How have I never noticed before that Daniel is so sexy? So masculine? This must be Stockholm syndrome; I’m falling for Daniel because he’s the only constant in my world.

That must be it.

I lick my lips—tasting him—and say, “We can’t separate. Every time people separate in a horror movie, the girl always has a horrible death.”

He looks surprised at my words, and then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Name one movie where that happens.”

I begin to tick them off on my fingers. “Cabin in the Woods, The Descent, Tremors—”

“Okay, okay.”

“Ghostbusters—”

He shoots me a look. “No one died in Ghostbusters.”

“Scooby Doo—”

Daniel throws his hands up. “All right. You can come with me.” He eyes my hair. “We need a baseball cap to stuff your hair in. Maybe we won’t seem as out of place if no one can tell from a distance you’re a woman.”

I smile. “Quit trying to get rid of me, all right?”

“I’m trying to save your life. Excuse me for being cautious,” he says, and there’s a teasing note in his voice.

“I’d rather die next to you in a gun fight than be sent back to the brothel,” I answer. And I’m a hundred percent honest about that. I’m not going back. Ever.

Daniel gives me a sobering look then shakes his head. “You know, you have Daisy fooled.”

This strikes me as an odd thing to say. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” His mouth quirks up on one side, and he begins to tuck knives into my flak vest and adjusts it again. “She told me you were sweet and agreeable and wouldn’t give me any trouble.”

I can’t help it; I giggle at how rueful he sounds. Maybe I was sweet and agreeable before, but I’m not now. I’m tired of the world crapping on me, and I’m going to stand up for myself. “I guess she didn’t know me very well.”

“Guess not,” he says with amusement. “Maybe we should get to know each other better if we’re going to be glued to each other’s sides for the next week.” And his gaze slides back to my mouth, as if he’s considering all the ways he’d like to get to know me better.

And for some reason, that makes me feel good. “Well for starters, I like horror movies. And I don’t like to be left behind.”

Daniel laughs. “Darlin’, I already knew that.”