Trey - Shandi Boyes Page 0,17
have an ounce left to give.
“Here, let me.”
When she grunts while snatching the matchbox back, a smile tugs at my lips. She wants Vladimir to burn in hell as much as she wants to take credit for helping with his demise. That isn’t the reason I’m smirking, though. Her grunt—Fuck. Me. I’ve only heard one noise more seductive than it. It was years ago, and it cost me everything, so a second-best noise shouldn’t make me as hard as it does, but it does. I’m so hard, my cock’s head is knocking at the zipper in my jeans, begging to be freed.
After warning my cock to calm down, I say, “We’ll do it together.”
With sirens growing louder, I grab her hands a little more roughly than intended. She stops shaking when our joint drag of the matchhead down the flint sparks it to life. She stares at the flickering flame for what feels like hours before she tosses it out the window.
With Nikolai’s men being super friendly with their gasoline cans, it only takes seconds for flames to lick the walls of Vladimir’s private compound. They race up the wooden shutters before engulfing the thick rafters holding the roof up.
Within minutes, the entire building is lit up with hues of orange and red.
Confident no amount of water will douse the raging inferno, I plant my foot onto the gas pedal of my Shelby. With recent rain making conditions muddy, the tires slip and slide in the wet conditions before they eventually grip the tiny shards of gravel Vladimir laid to ensure none of his guests at his house of horrors would get bogged down.
The knowledge of the courtesies he offered his ‘guests’ has my jaw working side to side. The woman seated next to me has clearly been used and abused, yet, I’m still putting my needs above hers. And for what? Because she reminds me of a girl I hardly knew and a past I’d give anything to forget.
Clearly, I need to cut back on the drugs. My head is getting too fucked-up.
Six
Trey
For most of our trip through the sloshy fields, the blonde in my passenger seat keeps her eyes fixated on the side mirror. She watches the black plumes of smoke rising from Vladimir’s compound until it becomes one with the pitch-black night.
Although hues of orange are seen for some time, within minutes, her focus shifts from the past to the present. She stares at her reflection for several long seconds, moving closer the more the sticky night air combs the knots out of her hair.
The wind whipping past her face from my fast speed makes quick work of her tears, but I don’t need to see wetness on her cheeks to know she’s crying. I can smell the saltiness of her tears lingering in my nostrils. It’s an addictive scent that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is.
When I take a right at a T-intersection, I spot what the muted blonde wrote in the condensation her heavy breaths made to the side mirror. It’s the letter K.
“Is that what your name begins with? K?”
The tightness in my jaw grows when she scrubs her fingertips over the gleaming glass. I’m not frustrated she’s putting massive barriers between us. I wouldn’t have expected any less from a woman who’s been through what she went through. It’s the thinness of her wrist that has my molars grinding together. I could circle her wrist with my thumb and index finger, and I guarantee there’d still be a gaping hole between us.
“When was the last time you ate, K?”
She’s shocked about me calling her K, however, it’s barely seen through the truth on her face that it’s been a very long time since her belly has been full.
Her bright blue eyes snap to mine when I slam on my brakes before completing an illegal U-turn. Although Clarks has enough food in its industrial confines to feed an army, it’ll take the once-whores a good twenty to thirty minutes to rustle something up. I can’t wait that long to put food in K’s stomach. If I do, guilt will eat me alive, and we’re not going to mention the ghosts of my past, or I’ll force her to eat until her stomach pops.
With the night still early for Vegas locals, I pull straight up to the Sonic drive-in speaker without needing to wait. “What do you want to eat, K? You can have any fucking thing you want. Beef, chicken, wings. You can