Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Thank you for getting the cell.” Martin followed him out and turned back. “Why are you helping us?”
“Not for the reasons you think.”
“What are—?”
She shut the door in his face.
Ricky made a choking sound in the dark, windowless concrete cell, wishing he hadn’t just taken that weary breath. The sweltering, roach-infested space reeked of human waste and poor life choices.
The socket above the sink didn’t have a bulb, but the door had a lock. Not that he would close it right now and block the only light from the hall.
Two mattresses sat side by side on metal frames, leaving a small walkway to the toilet.
This was where he would be sleeping with Martin for the next three months.
On the bright side, it was a step up from the floor in the common area. The lock on the door would allow them to sleep with both eyes closed.
Martin glanced up and down the empty hallway and stepped into the cell. In two long-legged strides, he reached Ricky’s side.
His bruised face closed in, and his green eyes burned for a fight. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“My problem?” Ricky whispered harshly. “You’re the one who lost your shit. Why did you attack her?”
“It won’t happen again. Can you say the same?”
“About what?”
“You know what.” Martin scraped a hand over his head. “Jesus, fuck, Ricky. You can’t get butthurt whenever I talk to her.”
“Why did you tell her about your past?”
“I told her one thing. Nothing important.”
“It was more than you’ve ever told me.”
“This is exactly what I’m talking about. Your fucking jealousy—”
“Who did you kill?”
Martin’s head drew back stiffly, his lips flattening in a stubborn line. Then he narrowed his eyes. “I’ve killed several men with Camila. You were there.”
“Before her. Before the Freedom Fighters. Who did you kill?”
His silence stabbed with refusal.
“Why her?” Ricky slumped against the wall and wiped the pain from his expression. “Why now?”
“There’s something… Shit, I don’t know. She has this pure sort of openness about her that compels me. Not just her story, but the look in her eyes, the sadness in her voice.” Martin bowed his head, causing the shadows to shift across the sharp angles of his features. “She gave me a vulnerable moment.”
“I’ve never given you that?”
“No.” Martin braced an arm on the wall beside Ricky’s head. “There’s nothing vulnerable about you. You’re confident in your skin and strong as hell. Look at how you handled Van. You and I endured the same hell in his attic. Yet you overcame it without looking back. Fuck, I admire that and expect nothing less from you.” Martin touched Ricky’s jaw. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
“You don’t want me in any way.” He turned his neck, jerking away from the extraordinary touch.
“That’s not—”
“Forget it. I’m just being a dick.”
He’d mastered the art of pretending Martin’s rejections didn’t hurt, but every interaction hit hard and dug deep. For seven years, he suffered in silence, shouldered the agony of wanting what he couldn’t have, and buried the ache whenever Martin rubbed up against his space.
Like now.
He pulled in a breath and focused on the mission. “She’s not as vulnerable as you think.”
“No, she’s not.” Martin’s mouth hovered an inch away, his voice low. “She survived this place for two years on her own.”
“An American high school teacher, and she works for Hector La Rocha. It’s too unbelievable to be a lie. I mean, if she’s going to feed us bullshit, she’d make it easier to swallow, right?”
“Exactly. She hasn’t lied to us.” A muscle twitched at the corner of Martin’s swollen lips. A smile. Barely. But a smile, nonetheless.
“You’re attracted to her.”
“That’s an understatement. But…” Martin’s gaze darted to the hall, and he tipped his head as if listening for footsteps. Then he bent in and put his mouth at Ricky’s ear. “You are going to fuck her.”
Sudden, raw desire spun up his pulse and caught his skin on fire. The gravelly command in Martin’s voice, the heat of Martin’s body against his, and the thought of fucking Tula Gomez while Martin watched—all of it gripped him between his legs, tightening his balls and lengthening his cock.
He pressed himself against the cold concrete wall, fighting the impulse to kick his hips forward and mindlessly grind against the gorgeous man leaning into him.
Martin seemed to sense his inner battle and started to move away.
“Wait.” He gripped Martin’s waist, holding tight to hard muscle. “Let me have this. Just… Just let me feel us for a second.”
The cost of having feelings for Martin had left him needy and destitute. He had no romantic relationships, no interest in finding someone else. His heart wanted Martin or no one at all.
He braced for the bane of his life to push away, his mind already closing itself off to the possibility of a stolen moment.