Monster - Gadziala Jessica - Страница 37

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Then fucked me until I came two more times.

He walked away then came back, making the bed feel like it was suddenly filled with water it wobbled so hard. He climbed in next to me, hauling me onto his chest in a way that was new but still somehow deeply familiar. One arm was locked hard around my hip, the other sifting through my hair.

I felt sleep pulling at my eyes.

“Glenn died today,” I whispered quietly.

“I know, baby,” he said, his arm squeezing me.

“We got drunk and we shared stories and we fucked.”

“Yeah, doll.”

“I think maybe I can move on now,” I said, turning my face slightly to plant a kiss at the center of his chest.

Both of his arms went around me, squeezing me tight.

“Yeah,” he agreed. And I could have sworn I felt his lips at the top of my head before I drifted off.

Sixteen

Alex

Four days.

Four days since Glenn died. Since I got stupid drunk and probably admitted way too much to Breaker about god-knew what.

I say 'probably' because the night had a vodka-blanket laying atop of it.

I woke up the next morning with jackhammer splicing into my brain, making me groan and roll onto my side, cradling my head in my hands as Breaker moved off of the bed chuckling.

“'s not funny,” I grumbled, rocking my body to try to ease the ache.

“From where I'm standing it is,” he said, coming back in and pushing me onto my back where he deposited three ibuprofen into my hand and gave me a bottle of water. I threw back the pills with a sip of water and he shook his head, tipping up the bottom of the bottle. “Down it all. You need to hydrate.”

“I need to be left alone to die,” I objected, but I chugged the water. After all, he knew more about hangovers than I did. I threw the empty bottle toward the foot of the bed, pulling myself up until I was seated against the headboard. I chanced a look at Breaker who looked way too amused and un-hungover. “Did I say anything stupid last night?”

“Yep,” he said immediately, looking close to laughing.

“Great,” I said, running a hand through my hair.

“It was cute.”

“Whatever it was,” I objected, “was not cute. Embarrassing? Sure. Cute? No.”

“How do you know? You don't even remember,” he said logically and I glared at him. Which only made him laugh. “I'm gonna go make you some eggs and toast. Heavy on the butter and grease. Go catch a shower and meet me in the kitchen for some caffeine.”

With that, he left.

And I followed instructions.

After the clanging in my brain became a steady but tolerable banging, I went to the laptop and spent the day answering responses I got about Glenn. There was still nothing on the post about Lex.

And the part of me who knew the underworld of the dark web knew that there was very little to no chance of getting a bite after so long.

The next two days taught me more about Breaker. Not Breaker, the muscle. Or Breaker, the verifiable sex god. But Breaker, the man.

He got up early. He drank too much coffee. He worked out (duh, with a body like that!). He showered. He cooked. He watched movies. He dealt with household chores. He took time out to fuck me.

He was just... a normal person.

It was a weird thing to realize. Men like him, they seemed above the little everyday things like taking out the trash or washing out the coffee pot. But I had seen him do those things more than once.

Which somehow made him more relatable to me.

On the third day, he got a work call. I didn't ask who it was but he confirmed that it wasn't Lex, thereby making the rolling in my stomach subside.

On the fourth day, he walked up to me while I was leaning against the kitchen counter drinking coffee.

“I gotta run out,” he said, as usual not bothering to ease me into anything. It was a habit I found almost oddly comforting. I was never the kind of girl to be handled with kid gloves. I appreciated that he respected that about me.

“For work?”

“Yeah. But we also ran through all the food,” he said, taking my mug out of my hands and pressing a kiss into my neck. I made a murmuring sound in my throat as my body came alive. That was all it took with him. Sometimes I didn't even need a kiss. The night before, his pinkie finger accidentally brushed against my thigh and I was ready. He chuckled as if knowing what was going on and moved away from me. “Ain't got time to fuck you again,” he said, moving over toward his weapon pantry and reaching in. He tucked his gun into his waistband where I learned it lived if he was leaving the house. Then he came back holding another gun.

“What's this?”

“A gun. For you,” he said, pressing it into my hands. “Don't plan on you having any trouble, but you need to be prepared. This is the safety,” he said, slipping it off. “You hear something, see something, you take off the safety and you point. Put your finger on the trigger and pull. Don't think about it. Don't hesitate. No one belongs here. Anyone here but me? They mean trouble. You take them out then you call me,” he said, reaching into his pocket for one of the burners he kept with his weapons. He flipped it open and punched in something. “My number is in there. Got it?”

“Got it,” I agreed, taking the phone and tucking it into my pocket then reaching for the gun, trying not to think about it too hard. He was right. I needed to be prepared. So I needed to get over whatever hangups I had at the idea of using a gun.

“I won't be long. Two, three hours. Mostly because of the commute. Stay inside. Lock the door behind me. And keep the phone and gun within reach at all times.”

I felt my lips curving up. “I said I got it.”

“Just making sure,” he said, reaching for the back of my neck and hauling me toward him to kiss me. Hard. With lots of tongue. Then he pulled away, grabbed his keys, and walked out the door. “Don't hear the lock, woman!” he called through the closed door and I laughed as I ran to the door and pushed the locks into place.

I stood there listening to his truck pulling away for a while, feeling a strange surge of disappointment.

Which was ridiculous so I moved back toward the kitchen, nabbed my mug, and made my way over to the living room, grabbing my laptop and waking it up.

Then my heart flew into my chest.

Because there was a response.

On the post about Lex.

There was a response.

I clicked the post, scrolling down over all the information I had uploaded to find a comment by someone with the screen name “Jstorm”.

I can help. We need to chat.

I slammed my mug down on the table, not even noticing that the coffee splashed all over the surface as my hands flew across the keypad.

Where? When?

It was only a couple minutes before another comment was made. Like whoever Jstorm was, was sitting and waiting for me to get back to them.

Now? Secure webcam?

Of course.

SN: Jstorm.

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