Hottest Mess Page 11

  "I know you are. That's part of what I'm trying to say. I've thought about things one way for years. Vigilantes are dangerous. Men like Benson--they put innocent people at risk in order to chase a dollar. And that's bad. Hell, it's evil. And even Deliverance is cutting corners. Stripping away due process. Stepping in where it doesn't have the right and playing jury and executioner."

  "Jane--"

  "No. Let me finish." I draw a deep breath. "That's been my core premise for so long, Dallas. And it's so, so hard to let it go. But now ... I think about what they did to you--I don't even know what all they did to you--and I want ..."

  I trail off, blinking back tears. And then, finally, I force out the words. "You're right," I say instead. "You shouldn't work with WORR."

  The tears spill out, and I brutally swipe under my eyes. "Dammit."

  "Jane?"

  "Don't you get it?" I turn on him, my voice as sharp as a slap. "I want whoever did this to us dead, too. I want to watch you put a bullet in his head. In her head. I want them to fucking suffer."

  My voice hitches, and I swallow back tears as he pulls me close and holds me tight. "I want that," I manage to say, finally admitting the truth that has been dancing in my head. That talking with Bill finally drove home. "I want it so badly, and I'm not sure I like the person that makes me."

  I'm shaking, but in his arms I feel safe, and I cling to him as he strokes my back and kisses my head. "Oh, baby. Sweetheart, it makes you human." He shifts so that he can look at my face, then gently strokes my cheek. "It will be hard on you," he says softly. "Christ, it's going to be so damn hard on you."

  "Because I'm not as strong as you are?" I can't help the sharp edge in my voice.

  "God, no. You're strong--you're even stronger than you know. And no matter how hard it gets, I'll be beside you."

  I nod, considering his words. "I need to know the rest of it, Dallas. I need to know what you and the guys find out about who's behind our kidnapping. I need to feel like I'm part of the process. But even more than that, I need you to tell me what that bitch did to you. I need to hear the truth of it. All of it."

  "So that you feel justified in wanting to eradicate that slime off the face of the planet?"

  "Damn right. They're evil. They're pure, walking evil." I draw a breath. "But it's not just that. I want to know because I don't want there to be any more secrets between us. I need for there not to be any more secrets. Please tell me you understand that."

  His hesitation is so brief it's barely noticeable. But I notice.

  "I do, baby. I understand. I know that you need it. And I understand why."

  He's saying all the right things, and yet his words chill me. Because saying that he understands isn't the same thing as promising to tell me.

  I start to call him out on his evasion, but some instinct holds my tongue. Instead, I tilt my head back and force a smile, needing to lighten the moment, even if just a little. "I want to know everything about you. Sexually. Emotionally. All your secrets." My voice is teasing, but my words are serious. And Dallas knows me well enough to realize that.

  "I will, you know," I say with certainty. "The whole story of Dallas, body and soul."

  "I know," he says. "And you will. Eventually you'll know everything."

  The words are exactly what I need to hear, but there's something in his voice that scares me. Sure, he's acknowledging that he's holding something back, and that's a big deal. But I'm no longer sure that this secret he's keeping is about what the Woman did to him.

  All I know is that it's something important. Something huge.

  And for the first time, I'm terribly afraid that I don't really want to know.

  Dirty Little Boy

  All your secrets.

  Dallas paced the basement ops center, Jane's words still running through his head.

  It was still early, not much past eight, and when she'd suggested going to the kitchen for some breakfast, he'd lied and told her he had to take care of a couple of things first.

  He didn't have shit to take care of. Or, rather, he didn't have anything to take care of that wasn't inside his own head.

  Secrets.

  God, they just kept piling up. She'd flat out asked him what they'd learned by investigating Ortega. And though he'd told her the literal truth--because they had nothing concrete on Colin yet--it was still a goddamn lie.

  And although she hadn't pressed when he'd essentially admitted that he was holding things back, that didn't mean that she'd be okay with his silence about Colin once the truth came out. Hell, even if Colin was innocent, Dallas was going to catch shit for staying quiet. And he could only hope that she'd understand his reasons for keeping her removed.

  But he was holding back more, too. Things she deserved to know because they affected their physical relationship. All the shit in captivity that had fucked him up. That had ripped away any possibility that he'd have a normal sex life, a normal relationship.

  Those were the big ones. But there were other things, too. Like the letters--he should have told her before about some crazy female sending him stalker letters. At least he'd rectified that last night. But he still hadn't told her about Adele; about the strange attraction they'd shared, and the way Adele had understood his need for kink, for the dark. She'd gone there with him willingly. Maybe even too enthusiastically--because eventually she'd crossed the line, and Dallas had been so disgusted with her and himself that he'd called it off.

  But that had ended months ago, and it wasn't as if Jane needed a rundown of every woman who'd shared his bed. But where Adele was concerned ... well, the woman was practically family.

  He bit back a derisive laugh. Family.

  Apparently sleeping with his family was his goddammed MO.

  Christ, he was screwed up.

  He was standing at one of the workstations, and now he pressed his hands to the cool metal and bent over, giving himself a moment to just breathe.

  He heard her the moment she stepped into the room, and he expected it when she came to him. When she put her arms around him and held him close, her face pressed against his back.

  She said nothing, just held him, and it was her touch that gave him strength. This was Jane, after all. The woman he loved. And even though it would hurt, he knew that he could tell her the truth. Not about Colin. Not yet. Not until he was certain.

  But he had to tell her about what happened to him. He owed her that. More, he wanted her to know, even if he didn't relish the thought of actually talking about it.

  But oh, Christ, where the hell did he begin?

  He didn't know--for that matter, he was still pondering the question--when he heard himself saying, "She raped me. Over and over, and in so many ways."

  Jane's arms tightened around him, silently giving him support. But she said nothing, and he was grateful. If she'd offered him even the tiniest of condolences, he thought he'd clam up for sure.

  Instead, he spoke into the quiet of the room, knowing that she was there, but still speaking for himself. For the sensation of once and for all, finally, expressing what happened.

  "That wasn't the first thing she did, but it sure as hell stands out the most. She had a dildo. She said I'd like it. I didn't. But damned if I didn't come. And damned if she didn't tell me she knew I'd enjoy it. That it would make me hard."

  He sucked in air and closed his eyes, fighting back the memories. He could handle them singularly, but not the flood. Not everything rushing at him at once.

  "She'd stroke me, too. Get me hard. Sometimes she'd use a cockring. Keep it on." He almost turned to look at her then, but didn't. Instead, he said, "I won't use them, you know. Won't even try, even if it would keep me hard. Even if I could be inside you. I can't. Just the thought makes me sick." Hell, he felt ill just thinking about it.

  "I understand," she said, her voice low and soft. "I do."

  "I didn't have a choice then. She'd do whatever she wanted, but in the end, I'd be hard. And she'd get on me. Ride me. She said I
wanted that as well. That I wanted to fuck her. That she was a woman and you were a girl and that with her I was a man."

  Behind him, he felt Jane's body shake, and he knew that she was crying. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about her pain. About his. Trying to just force the words out, because if he let emotion get to him, he wouldn't be able to go on.

  "Those were the good days. On the bad ones, she'd stroke me and make me hard, then slap my face and tell me I was nasty. That I was thinking about you and that I was a sick little boy. She'd pour ice water on my genitals. She'd use electric shock on my cock and hold a knife to my balls. If it was vile and painful, she'd do it.

  "And if I was hard, she'd tell me I was a pervert. If I was soft, she'd tell me I was a pussy. And every time she made me come, she'd tell me to close my eyes and imagine it was you touching me." His voice was hard, the words coming fast, heavy with fury. "You hitting me. You jamming some goddamn dildo up my ass."

  "Dallas, I--"

  She broke away, and he mourned the loss of her warmth against his back. He wanted to turn to her. To comfort her. But he was terrified of the disgust he'd see in her eyes when he turned around.

  He had to, though, and when he did, he saw her curled up on the concrete floor, her body shaking with tears. He froze--he just fucking froze.

  But when she looked up at him, it wasn't disgust he saw, but rage. Not at him, but at the Woman.

  "That fucking bitch," she whispered, and the words were like a trigger. He sank to the ground, and when she crawled to him and held out her arms, he collapsed into the comfort of her embrace.

  "The fucking bitch," she repeated.

  "Not disagreeing," he said.

  She released him long enough to lean back and study his face. "Are you okay? Right now, I mean. Is this--do you want to stop talking about it?"

  He considered saying yes, but he shook his head. "I can't say I want to talk about it," he admitted. "But I think I need to. I think I've needed to for a long, long time."

  She nodded, then bit her lower lip uncertainly.

  "It's okay," he said. "If you want to ask me questions, it's okay."

  "Did you try to fight?"

  "I tried. I couldn't." He sighed. "You know how you crave control now?"

  She nodded. "Avoiding crowds. Taking my self-defense classes." Her smile when she met his eyes was tremulous. "You're the only one I let go with. The only one I really feel safe with."

  He knew that, of course, but still the words were like a knife. Safe. Safe with him was a goddamn joke. If he let himself go too far--

  Stop.

  He pushed the thought away. He needed to move, and so he stood, holding on to the worktable until he had his bearings again, then he started to pace. "You surrender that control to me," he finally said. "I don't. I don't surrender it to anybody. Not anymore."

  "I know. I get that."

  "You don't. Not really. I don't think you can."

  "That's bullshit, Dallas. But you have to tell me. You have to lay it out for me."

  "But that's just it. I don't know if I can. She changed me, but I'm not sure even I understand how. I mean, Christ. Why the hell can't I fuck a woman? What's the correlation between what that bitch did to me and the reality I'm now living with? I thought it was you, Jane. I thought that if I ever had you in my bed, that little problem wouldn't be a problem anymore, because she'd tied sex up so tightly with the thought of you that I figured you must be the goddamn cure. But you weren't. You aren't. Shit."

  He gritted his teeth and turned away. He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that. To cover her with all that bile.

  Across the room, she climbed to her feet and came to him, then gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "What do you mean she tied sex up with me?"

  A shiver cut through him--he didn't want to go there. Didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to bring her down into all of that. But goddammit, they were already halfway there. "Like what I was saying earlier. She'd touch me. Do things to me. And she'd tell me to close my eyes and imagine it was you. She'd tell me you liked it. Wanted it. But then later she'd flip it around and she'd say you were a nasty girl who liked nasty things, and on another day she'd say that you were an innocent, and I was tainted now, and why the hell would you want me?"

  "I do want you. Desperately."

  "She changed what I want sexually. What I need. I like it rough, baby, and that's on her--"

  "A lot of people like rough sex. Including me. Don't tie everything you feel back to that bitch. Don't give her the power."

  "She already has it. She's between us every time we're together because she planted you in the middle of every fucked up need she created in me. So how the hell can we ever be normal, Jane? How can we ever do this right?"

  "Normal?" she repeated. "Right?" She stepped back from him, and damned if the compassion hadn't faded from her face, replaced instead by anger. "You like it rough? You like it dirty? Well, guess what, Dallas, that's your normal. And that's okay. I mean, seriously, what's normal anyway? Because all I know is that you make me feel good. You make me feel better about myself than I ever have. And all I really care about is do you love me? Do I make you happy?"

  "Yes," he said, reeling a little from the force of her speech.

  "Well, then what more are you looking for?"

  He shook his head, not sure how to explain. He believed her words, but also knew that she didn't really know what she was talking about. How could she when he didn't even know how far down he wanted to drag her?

  "I'm serious, Dallas. What else do you need?"

  He drew in a breath. "I need her out of my head."

  "Then do it. You couldn't fight back then--but now you can. Overpower her. End her."

  "Why do you think I founded Deliverance?"

  "Not like that. Right here. Right now."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Go back. In your head. In your memories. Let me be her. Fight me. Fight me, then fuck me. She took control? Take it back."

  His blood ran cold, and he remembered the times that Adele had suggested Dallas pretend that she was Jane. That idea had horrified him. So did this one, but for a completely different reason. "Do you have any idea what you're asking? What kind of door you could be opening?"

  "Yeah," she said. "I do."

  "You're basically saying that I need to rape her. I need to act out my fantasy, overpower the bitch, and hurt her the way she hurt me."

  "Pretty damn politically incorrect, I know. But that about sums it up."

  "With you playing the role of the Woman. No. No fucking way." He couldn't. It was a screwed up idea. But that wasn't what scared him. No, what terrified him was how much he wanted to do exactly that. Not because she was a standin for the Woman, but because he wanted to claim Jane fully and completely. He wanted to make her his. He wanted to be that damned Neanderthal and drag her by the hair around after him.

  Because how else could he be certain she wouldn't pack up and leave the moment she finally got through her thick head just how screwed up he was?

  He heard her voice in his head telling him that she'd give him whatever he needed. But how did he know what he needed until he went there? Even in The Cellar, he hung back. Didn't matter that it was a full-on kink club and he could indulge any whim there. He still pulled it in, because those weren't the women he wanted on their knees. That honor belonged to Jane, and until he had her--until he took her--how would he know how far he would go? How much he would crave?

  And the thought of going too far--of breaking her limits, of scaring her, of having her look at him like he was broken beyond repair--he couldn't risk that.

  He had to hold back.

  Had to fight for normal.

  Had to draw a line in the sand and not cross it.

  Everything they'd done had brought them together.

  But everything they couldn't--that he wouldn't--do would keep them that way. Crossing the line just might rip them apart.

&nbs
p; He needed time to think. To regroup. This was too much too fast, and he was reeling.

  He pressed his fingers to his temples and rubbed, fighting a building headache. And then, regretfully, he raised his eyes to hers. "Anything I need, right?"

  "Of course."

  "All right." He swallowed, hating what he was about to say, but knowing that he needed to say it. That he needed it. For a little while, at least, he needed it.

  He drew a breath, then said, "I need you to go."

  The hurt that cut across her face was like a physical punch to the gut. "Dallas, no. I didn't mean--I didn't want--" She sucked in air. "I pushed too hard. I should never have suggested--"

  "No. We said no secrets, right?" God, he was a hypocrite. He was keeping some damn juicy secrets. But that secret was about Colin. That secret was to protect her. But this? This, he had to tell her.

  "No," he said again, forcing the word out. "What you said makes sense. I just don't--"

  "Want to try it," she put in. "I get that. But--"

  "Jane, no." He drew a deep breath. "That's not the problem," he said flatly.

  "Then, what?"

  He met her eyes, certain his were as cold as ice. "The problem is that I do."

  She'd been gone for less than fifteen minutes, and already the house seemed desolate. He'd watched the pain cross her face, and then seen the true depth of her strength as she'd schooled her features and nodded.

  "You want it," she'd said. "You want to play out the fantasy. You want to use me as a standin for that bitch. You want to take her. To win."

  He'd nodded, feeling sick even as he did. "Yes. I do."

  "But you won't do it? Even though I've told you it's okay? That I understand? That I'm consenting, fully and completely? All that, and you won't, even when we both know this is important? Critical, even."

  He'd met her eyes, and he'd held fast. "I won't," he said. "I can't."

  She'd nodded slowly. "Okay, then. I'll drop it. We can just forget I said anything. But I don't have to go."

  Once again, he'd held firm, even though all he'd really wanted was to pull her close to him. "You do. I need time. An hour. A day. I don't know. But I need to clear my head. Besides, things will have piled up at the Sykes offices that I need to take care of. And you have a screenplay to finish."

  She'd scowled at that, but it was true. She'd done no work for almost a week, and he knew she had to be pushing up against a deadline. "Go home," he'd insisted. "You have work, and so do I. We should both step out of the bubble for a while. You know I'm right."