Objective (Bloodlines #2)(2)

I push off the wall and fight the throbbing crowd towards the exit. I need to get my head on straight. I stop at the bouncer. “Hey. Who’s the chick with black hair and big back tatt?” I ask. He eyes me warily momentarily. He’s huge, black and formidable looking but he doesn’t bother me. Most bouncers are soft. Most men who look like him haven’t done the things I’ve had to do.

“Magnolia,” he grunts. Interesting, I would have thought she’d move away from familiar names if she had the choice, but I won’t lie, the name she’s chosen makes my heart swell in my chest. I push the feeling down until I can’t feel it anymore. I don’t need the distraction.

“Magnolia, huh. Well, can you get this to her?” I ask, and hand him a hundred dollar bill. His eyes widen slightly before he regains his face of ambivalence.

“Sure. Who’s it from?” he questions, tipping his chin up at me and taking the bill. I think for a moment, wondering if I should send her a message that only she will understand but decide against it. It’s too soon.

“Just a tip for a job well done,” I grunt at him, and turn to make my way to the rental car.

As I fold into the car and start it, I rub my chest where there seems to be a permanent dull ache. I don’t know if it’s the injury or my shattered heart, but it always aches. I mentally kick myself for my weakness regarding her. I’ll never get this job done if I let my feelings mess with my head. She’s a cold-hearted bitch, but she’s my cold-hearted bitch, and really, she was never a bitch at all. I pull away from the curb and let out a breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. How the f*ck am I going to pull this off?

“I should really go inside now,” she said into my mouth between kisses.

“You should, yeah. Go.”

“In a second. Don’t rush me.” She feigned irritation and kissed me again.

The memory catches me off guard. I dreamed of her again last night. Her curves in all the right places, ones that feel like home. The small of her back, that sweet spot behind her ears or her full breasts that swooped up into her silky arms. I’d dreamed she’d been in my bed. I can remember so much. The feel of the world...her. Turned on her back, her breasts begging me to taste them. I’d dropped to my knees and crawled over her, pinning her body underneath mine. Her black hair and olive skin pure and untainted. I brushed my dick over her pubic bone, pressing it between us. Her breath sped up while mine slowed down. She wiggled her hips slightly and that’s all the invitation I ever needed. I positioned myself at her opening. Heat radiated off her and there was want in her eyes. I’d never felt so wanted. So needed. A little moan escaped her and I’d pushed into her impossible tightness. I began to thrust deep, hard and fast, relishing in her sighs and moans of pleasure.

Then I woke up. Hard. It took two cold showers to tame the beast but I’d finally managed to rid my brain of her, for now at least. Now I’m sitting at a bar down in the next town over. This particular joint is a shithole. A dive where scum like me hang out.

“I’ve had guys jerking off to me since I was fifteen, but you weren’t like that were you?” the floozy slurs, prowling closer to me.

“The answer is: me and dead owls don't give a hoot,” I drawl.

“Aww, come on, sugar. What kinda girl you like?” she drivels.

“A good personality consists of a chick with a hard little body, who will satisfy all sexual demands without being too slutty about things, and who will essentially keep her dumb f*cking mouth shut,” I sneer at her. I don’t want her. She knows it. I know it. There’s only one woman I want and only one woman I can’t have, Cypress. It’s slowly eating away at my insides. I can feel myself rotting from the inside out without her near me. Without her to balance me out. The smell of this woman’s perfume rips me from my thoughts. It’s repulsive and overbearing. She smiles a bright white smile at me. She’s wearing too much makeup and her vampy red lipstick disgusts me. “Buy me a drink, stud.” She winks. She’s got balls, I’ll give her that.

I lay her on her bed and pull back the covers on the opposite side. I undo her jeans and pull them off. She has cream colored lace panties on. I groan. This was not how I imagined undressing her for the first time. I leave her shirt on, because I can't figure out how to get it off without disturbing her, then move her to the side with the covers pulled back. Covering her up I hit the bathroom, fill a glass with water, find two Advil and place both on the table next to her side of the bed. I brush the hair out of her face and kiss her forehead before climbing into bed next to her and holding her. I’ve never felt so whole my entire life.

The last thing I remember is stumbling out of the bar with the floozy attached to my arm. I wake up on my back spread-eagled on the motel bed. My jeans still on and my button up shirt only half undone. I lift my head gingerly off the bed and immediately regret it. I hear a groan to my left and despite my raging hangover I leap up.

“Get the f*ck out,” I growl at the rumpled mess of a woman lying on the floor. She winces slightly but rolls to her stomach and pushes herself on to her hands and knees.

“You’re a real *, you know that?” she spits, as she stands and slips her shoes back on.

“Yeah, I know,” I grunt. She huffs and storms past me, slamming the door behind her. I drag a hand down my face before cracking my neck. I feel like shit and I’m sure I look worse. Resigning to the fact that I still have a job to do, I amble towards the bathroom to shower before hunting down some coffee. I hate my life.