Last Breath

Twenty-seven

Regan

I CLUTCH DANIEL ’S HAND IN mine for hours. He’s asleep, due to the heavy duty drugs they’ve given him, and isn’t aware that I haven’t left his side. I still hold his hand anyhow. They’ve pumped blood into him, and his color is better, his wounds are stitched up, and they assure me he’ll be fine. But I won’t believe that he’s going to be all right until he wakes up and smiles at me and calls me “fighter.” Then, I’ll know he’s okay.

Then, I can tell him that his sister’s gone again.

Vasily has disappeared. Mendoza sent some men to hunt him and try to stop him, but both he and Naomi have vanished without a trace. Mendoza thinks that Daniel will know where Vasily has taken Naomi, and I hope so.

I worry he’s going to be furious at me because I didn’t do enough to stop Vasily from taking her again. And I worry that Daniel will look at me with loathing because I’m still here and Naomi’s gone again.

Mostly, though, I sit and worry.

One of the favela doctors swings in and checks on Daniel. Daniel has a new bruise on his face from when Mendoza came in and clocked him in the jaw to get him to stop yelling. The doctor smiles at me; I think he’s impressed that I never leave. He checks Daniel’s vitals, switches an IV bag, and starts to leave again.

“Is he going to wake up soon?” I ask softly.

The doctor doesn’t look concerned. “Soon. How are your feet?”

“They’re fine,” I say flatly. I have bruises all over, and my feet are torn up from all the glass I had to have extracted from them, but it’s unimportant. Daniel’s all that matters. “How soon is ‘soon?’”

The doctor shrugs and turns to leave. He looks so unconcerned. Maybe he’s used to patching up bullet-holes far too often. He nods at me. “Soon.”

And then he leaves again.

I press my mouth to the back of Daniel’s hand. He’s so still in bed, so lacking that vibrancy that I’m used to seeing. I never realized until now how very alive Daniel is and how much I ache to see that devilish smile of his again.

Instead, I’m here, listening to every breath he takes and hoping it’s not his last.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave me,” I murmur against his hand. “You promised, Daniel.”

He doesn’t respond. Of course not. I press another kiss to the back of his hand, thinking. Then, I smile. “If this was a horror movie, you and I would both be dead, you know.” I pause, as if imagining his outraged response, then nod. “It’s true. Horror movies follow basic stereotypes, and those stereotypes always get picked off. One of the first ones to go is always the slutty blonde. Bad guys love a good, slutty blonde.” I imagine his laugh and smooth my fingers along his skin. “They usually die screaming and running through the woods, only to trip because they wore some ridiculous high heeled shoes. And you, of course, would be the cocky, arrogant asshole stereotype. Those die pretty fast, too. You’re far too competent, too good at what you do, too good looking. I think the movie writers make it their mission to take down guys like you.” I nip at his fingers idly. “Which is ironic because we both know you’d toast anyone or anything that tried to get past you, and you’d do it with a smile.”

“Who lives?”

My head jerks up at the softly worded question, my heart hammering in my chest.

Daniel’s eyes are mere slits in his face, but he’s smiling at me, and the hand in mine squeezes briefly. “Hey, fighter.”

“Hi,” I say, and my vision blurs and more tears stream down my cheeks. I’m so relieved. The doctors said he would be fine, but I don’t trust anyone’s words anymore. All I trust is Daniel.

He’s all I trust, and all I need.

“Hey, hey,” his voice is soft, and he tries to reach for my wet cheeks. “Why you crying, fighter?”

I shake my head, excusing my tears. “Just kinda emotional.”

He looks around the room, dazed. “Naomi?”

I freeze for a moment. I don’t want to tell him what happened. Not right now, not when I know he’d climb out of this bed, unhook his IVs and go after her. He needs to rest. “She’s out,” I hear myself saying and hope he’s not too angry about the lie later.

He nods and relaxes back in bed again, those sleepy eyes gazing at me. “You look tired, fighter.”

I shrug. I’m tired because I haven’t slept a wink since Daniel got shot. But that sounds needy, so I hold it back. “I’ll be fine.”

“How badly was I shot?”

“Once in the shoulder and once in the side. They say that you were lucky it didn’t pierce any organs.” I shudder, my breath catching on the words. “You should be fine in a few days. You lost a lot of blood.”

“Mmm.” His eyes are sliding shut again, and he looks exhausted.

I kiss the back of his hand again. “Sleep, Daniel. I’m not going anywhere.”

He slides his hand out of mine and pats the side of the bed. “Come curl up next to me. I’ll sleep better with your body against me.”

I shouldn’t. There are tubes and IVs and he’s fucking hurt, but I can’t resist. I crawl into the bed on his good side and hope he doesn’t notice that my feet are covered from the calf-down in puffy bandages with big white fluffy socks over them. But his eyes are closed, and when I slide in next to him, my butt leaning off the edge of the bed, he puts an arm around me and nuzzles against my neck.

“Mmm, you smell good,” he tells me.

“And you’re going to sleep, you horn dog,” I tell him in a prim voice.

He chuckles, but goes silent again. I snuggle close and listen to the sound of his breathing for long, sweet seconds of peace.

Then, after a moment, he says sleepily, “Who lives?”

“Hm?”

“In a horror movie. Who lives?”

“Oh.” I think for a moment. “The innocent girl. The virgin.”

He snorts as if this is ridiculous. “I’d take you over Daisy in a horror movie any day.”

I smile and slide in even closer. “Sleep.”

He does, and I sleep next to him.

Daniel

I’M PRETTY MUCH OUT OF it the first day, but by the second, the drugs that Mendoza’s doc has pumped into me are masking my pain, at least the pain in my shoulder—Regan’s sweet kisses and honeyed fingers are driving me crazy.

“Fighter, I need you to climb on top of me, right now.” The pain in my pants is going to kill me if I don’t get relief.

“Shut up, we’re not having sex.”

“How can you say that?” I whine. “I’m a wounded man. You need to render aid and suck on me.”

“Pretty sure that’s succor,” she says, but there’s a small smile running around the edges of her mouth. I’m thinking she could be talked into this.

“My dick is so hard right now that if you don’t cover it with your pussy, it’s going to break off. I don’t think you want to be responsible for that kind of damage.” My right arm is undamaged, so I use it to palm her sweet breast. The nipple firms up under my fingers, and Regan bites her lip. Yup, she’s convincible. I slip my hand around to her back and pull her down. She resists at first, but with a firm tug I have her mouth right against mine. “Pretend I’m Sleeping Beauty,” I whisper against her lips, and she’s laughing until I slide my tongue into her mouth.

She whimpers sweetly in response. I plunge my tongue inside her mouth like how I want to be fucking her hot little pussy. “Climb on top of me, fighter.” My one good hand grips her ass and pulls her on top of me, but her clothes are in the way of us feeling good.

Fortunately, she’s wearing a loose-fitting skirt which I wrench out the way. There’s a tearing sound, but I could care less. The thin blanket covering my lower half is kicked off, and then her hot cunt is sliding against my rock hard dick. The wetness slicks her path, and my body is engulfed in flames. I’m burning up with want for her. “Jesus, I need you on my dick right now.” Taking my aching cock in hand, I center it at her entrance, and she slides down slow.

I can’t take my eyes off our joined flesh.

When her hot, wet heat envelops me, I drop my head back and both her hands crash down on either side of my head. Her hips rise, and she pulls off me almost completely before gliding back down in slow, small torturous increments. It’s like she wants to kill me—but if this is how I go out, then glory fucking hallelujah.

My one hand grips her hip as I try to hurry her along, but she’s having none of it. “Sleeping Beauty,” she whispers, “if you want me to save you from villain Blue Balls, then you need to let me run this show.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, because what else are you going to do when the love of your life is basically telling you that she’ll fuck you to death and then bring you to life again? “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” she answers and tightens her pussy to punctuate her words.

I’m panting because she’s doing a number on my body. Her slick walls against the sensitized bare skin of my cock is killing me. I feel every little vein and ridge inside her cunt, and it’s fucking glorious. Heaven won’t be this good. Shit, this is heaven. Being inside the tight cunt of the girl you love more than life itself is something close to it at least. Nothing has ever felt this good, and I suspect nothing else will. I’ll always be chasing her down, trying to get inside that pussy even when I’m eighty.

I brace my foot against the thin mattress to push up a little, and I’m rewarded with a breathy moan.

“Right there,” she whimpers. I wish I could flip her over and pound into her, but I can’t. Not in my sorry condition. Instead I reach between us and find her little nub of delight. I pinch it lightly and thrust up at the same time. “Oh my God, Daniel,” she screams.

I roll her clit between my fingers and piston my hips upward. If I could hold on to the feeling forever, I would, but we’re both chasing down the hurricane of pleasure. Ignoring the pain, I use my left hand to pull her head down to mine so that we can fuck each other with our mouths at the same time my cock is spearing her sex.

We’re slamming against each other when her orgasm hits. Her walls close around me like an undulating wave, clenching and releasing. Her cunt is a hot glove of power, and I’m completely under her control. The pulsating grip pulls my own orgasm from the base of my back.

“I’m coming inside you in three seconds. Pull off if you don’t want a bunch of my swimmers attacking your eggs.” It’s the only warning I can get out, but Regan bites down on her lower lip and looks me straight in the eye.

“I want it.” And I explode on her command. My hot seed jets into her, and she throws back her head and clamps down again, a second climax chasing my own. We finally stop pumping against each other, and she collapses on her elbows, still careful to avoid my injured shoulder.

“You’re so fine, Regan Porter,” I murmur, running my hand through her cloud of blonde hair. “You’re a motherfucking rock star at this.”

She giggles against my neck.

“No, seriously, you are.” I turn my head and awkwardly kiss her cheek. “Best ever.”

“Really?” she asks, and I sense the question isn’t really rhetorical.

“No shit.” I draw her down flush against me because having her body next to mine is worth any amount of pain. The bullet wound in my shoulder isn’t keeping us apart. Nothing ever is again. “I’m going to need a daily dose of this in order for me to fully recuperate. Maybe two doses a day.”

Even though I don’t mind that she’s resting on top of me, Regan wriggles over to my side, avoiding both wounds. “What’s going to happen?” she asks.

“We’re going to go home. You, me, and Naomi.”

She doesn’t respond, which worries me. “Or I can come to Minnesota with you.” I’m not letting her go. “I hate to tell you this, but you’re stuck with me now. I’m going to follow you around, and if you don’t let me into your house, I’ll sit outside on the porch.”

“Nah, I’ll let you crawl in through the doggy door.”

“That’s good enough for me,” I tell her, giving her a one armed hug. We fall asleep like that, or at least I do. When I wake up, Mendoza’s standing over me. Quickly I look down to make sure Regan’s body is covered up. It is, thank Christ. I don’t think she’d be at all comfortable with even Mendoza seeing her bare.

“What’s up?” I whisper, trying not to wake her.

“Judgment,” he answers somberly.

I nod and ease out from under Regan. She mumbles softly but doesn’t wake up. Mendoza throws me pants and a button down shirt. “You need help dressing?”

“No, I got it.”

He gives me a chin nod and heads out. It takes some effort, but I get the pants on. They have an elastic waist which makes it a heck of a lot easier. The buttons on the shirt presents a greater obstacle, but given I’m not able to lift my left arm, there was no way I pulling a shirt over my head. I decide to forgo the fastening it. It’s not like I’m going to dinner down at the beach. I’m off to see an execution. At the doorway, I pause and look back at Regan. Her hands are folded under her cheek like a schoolgirl’s, but Regan’s no schoolgirl. Her innocence was robbed from her. I’m not sure if I’m making the right call, but I know it’s not a decision I can make for her.

“Regan.” I shake her shoulder slightly. Her sleepy eyes flicker open, and she gives me the sweetest smile this side of the equator. And everything in me rebels at what I’m about to do.

“Hey, honey,” she says, reaching her hand up to cup my jaw. I turn and press a kiss into her hand. My somber expression alerts her that there’s something happening she might not like. “What’s wrong?”

I drop my hand to her forehead, smoothing out the frown lines that have appeared, but I can’t linger. Mendoza’s waiting.

“Fighter, outside Mendoza is ready to administer some justice to Hudson. You can stay in here and it’ll all be over soon or you can come outside and watch. It’s up to you.”

Her hand falls, and she turns her face away. Outside I can hear hammering as the cross is prepared. Soon they’ll be hammering into flesh and bone. “If you stay inside, you’re gonna want these.” I place two foam ear cushions in her palm. “It’ll muffle some but not all of the noise. You can go down to the base of the hill, too. Inside the second to last house, there’ll be a place where they’ll be playing music pretty loud.” Not everyone in Mendoza’s paradise agrees with his methods, or maybe they agree but don’t want to be a party to it. But I made this call. Mendoza gave me the option of shooting Hudson or subjecting him to what Mendoza calls judgment. For the torture of Regan, the kidnapping of my sister, and for my own sanity, I choose judgment. Maybe this is a decision that Regan should have made, but Mendoza came to me and I made the call.

She picks up the foam cushions and closes her hand around them. “Will it be bad?”

“Yeah.” I don’t sugarcoat it. “You may have nightmares.”

She gives me a sad smile. “I’m already going to have those. Maybe this won’t be a nightmare. Maybe this will kill some of my fear.”

I shake my head. “I’m no psychologist. I’m a soldier. I don’t know if this will lessen your fear or make a mark that you can’t shake off. Some things . . .” I pause and think back to my time outside the wire in Afghanistan, some of the secret operator missions I’ve been on, and all the haunted eyes I’ve seen in the girls I’ve rescued. “Some things can’t be unseen.”

“But you’re going out there?”

I nod. “I’ve got nightmares, too. He’s one of them. I’m not sorry to see him die.”

“Me neither.” She puts her hand in mine, and I feel the foam between us. “Let’s go.”