. . .
Mia
He pullsme onto a little catamaran two rows away from Harvey’s yacht. I don’t dare look behind me. I picture Harvey or one of his henchmen watching our pathetic non-escape from the deck, smoking their cigars, sucking back yet another bottle of expensive whiskey I’ve never heard of.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper when I want to yell once he leads me down below. I shouldn’t have gone with him, but it’s too late now. He always clouds my judgment. “What is this?”
“Home,” he says with a shrug. He reaches for my hand, and I push him away. Do Iwanthim to touch me? Yeah. I do. But I’ve got to get this wire off me first.
I shouldn’t have allowed this to happen, our entanglement: not at his cabin, not in Halo City, and definitely not today. As usual, Armin’s jeopardizing the whole investigation.
And I’m letting him. I sneak a glance at those broad shoulders while his back is to me. He’s busy powering on a digital display linked to a series of small cameras positioned around the boat, I realize.
If somebody comes looking for me,us, he’ll see it first.
He turns, his hands clenched, avoiding eye contact. He’s nervous. I can’t blame him. A couple months ago when he tried to protect me, I drugged him to get away.
If only I had a good dose of Rohypnol on me now, I’d do it again. And we’d both be better off for it.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Down the hall, on the left.” I close myself inside, pausing to wonder if he’s got other cameras, smaller ones, hidden around the boat too. But no, it’s not his style. From the moment we met, Armin dedicated himself to protecting me. He wouldn’t do anything to betray that trust.
My mind flits through all the times Armin has rushed to save my life, and my heart swells in my chest. And there you have it. After a month of blotting him out of my consciousness, he’s under my skin, again. I reach down my shirt and untape the microphone, yank it out from between my breasts and throw it into my purse, disgusted with myself. I’ve let him come between me and the investigation, again.
I pound on the cold hardness of the vanity. At least I can punish the underside of my fist. I want to punish him. But I also want him inside me so bad it’s a need.
“Everything okay in there?”
“Fine,” I call out.
It’s not. I turn on the water and splash some on my face, trying to stop the spiral. While I do, my brain decides to replay all the times I’ve hate-fucked him.
And a couple other times I didn’t.
It’s okay to use him, I remind myself. He’s using me. I’m nothing more than a hobby to him, a project. In his mind, I’m a sex worker who needs to be saved. He’s a bored ex-sheriff who won the lottery, thinks he’s a low-level superhero now. Fell in love with a whore.
That’s all.
If he knew I was an FBI agent, not a prostitute, his dick would drop faster than…
…my panties, when I’m around him, another voice in my head says. A more honest one. One that whispers late at night, in the dark:sorry to break this to you, bitch, but you’re in love.
I ignore it and yank open the door. Armin’s where I left him, slumped on the bed now, peering up at me when I emerge, so I skulk back.
“Can’t stay away, can you?” I paste a sneer on my face. I can’t make this easy on him, not this time. I’ve been too welcoming, and it’s only going to get him killed, or blow the investigation, or both.
“No,” he says, and as usual, his humble honesty disarms me. “Are you okay, Mia?”
“Yes,” I say, without hesitation, but I fail to stifle the sigh that betrays me.
“You’re not tired, or hungry?”
Of course I’m both of those things and more. Tired, hungry, broken, so weary in my soul I don’t ever know how I put one foot in front of the other. I glare back at him. I won’t admit any weakness. Not willingly. He knows that.
“You wanna take a nap? Then eat?” He stands up and eases out of his ridiculous suit jacket, hangs it on an anchor-shaped hook by the bed. Got a dress shirt on underneath. Still looks like he’s headed to a gala in Halo City instead of lounging on the beach.
Well, he’s not, I suppose. He’s working. Here to protect me, yet again.