Dodging The Bullet, page 3
I trail my mouth down her neck and slowly lift her skirt, giving her every opportunity to say no — but she whispers, “Yes,” and slips her hand inside my pants to grip my cock. “Gonna give it to me?”
Grunting at the feel of her slender hand around me, I watch her as her pupils glow and I reach into her panties and play with her soaked pussy. “All this for me?”
“Maybe.” She tips her head back as she squeezes my cock and spreads her legs further. “Is this for me?”
“Fuck yes,” I growl, biting her skin and throbbing in her hand. “How about you let me see what else that mouth is good for, and then I’ll show you mine.”
“You’re rude.”
Yet Olivia drops to her knees, back pressed against the brick side of the building as she pulls me out completely, and my cock disappears between her plump lips a moment later.
It feels like fucking Heaven, all hot and tight and exactly what I’ve been craving for weeks. “Fuck,” I groan. “Knew that sharp tongue would feel like fucking silk wrapped around my cock.” Her gaze flicks up at me as she leans forward to take more of me, her jaw needing to adjust to my size, but I can tell she can take it.
I try not to mess up her hair as I place a hand on her head and she takes me deeper, but fuck, it’s hard not to. Not when this whole situation is so insane and stupid that it shouldn’t be happening at all — it just makes me want it more.
As she chokes herself on my cock, it hits me that this won’t ever happen again. I can’t blow in her mouth when I’ve only got one chance to sink inside her, can I?
God damnit, I can’t think straight.
I have to fuck her, own her, claim her right here, but I don’t have a damn condom and leaving my DNA behind would probably be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. But I don’t care, I only care about feeling her pussy walls clench around my cock as she comes. “Mouth feels so good, baby, but I want that sweet pussy. Stand up for me.”
A wicked laugh fills the alleyway, sending an icy chill down my spine as I yank myself out of her mouth and prepare for a fight.
But there’s no one around.
“Who’s there?”
Shoving my cock away, I hold a finger to her lips so she’ll keep quiet even as she scoffs and tries to push my hand away. “It’s probably just some perv watching. Relax.”
No. This is no perv. I can feel it in my bones. “Shh,” I hiss, stepping away as I lean down slowly to pull out my blade, but I’m facing the wrong way. Movement behind me makes me spin around, but it’s too late. Clown is here, creepy mask and all, and he has a gun pointed directly at her. “Fuck. Don’t!”
His laugh echoes along with the bang of a gun, and without thinking, I throw myself in front of her just in time to keep her from getting shot. Only it isn’t like the movies where someone dives forward and knocks the other to safety. Instead, that bullet rips its way through my torso as we both fall to the floor, and a shrill scream makes clown boy take off in the opposite direction.
Excruciating heat and pain spread out from my wound, and all I can think about is how badly I just fucked up.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Chapter Five
Dry Like the Sahara
Olivia
My heart beats violently fast as I try to make sense of what just happened. One minute I was taking Eleanor’s advice and letting a stranger ravage me in an alley, and the next he’s bleeding all over my favorite flats. God, my taste in men is impeccable.
“What the fuck?” I hiss, watching the psycho in the clown mask dart away as people start to stare. “What kind of shit are you into that someone just shot you?”
The man gapes at me like I just slapped him. “Fucking kidding me?” he growls. “I just took a damn bullet for you, and somehow it’s my fault? My dick is still hard, dumbass.”
“Me?” I screech. “He wasn’t here for me, he was clearly here for you!” Balking, I turn to walk away, but I fucking can’t. He needs help. Groaning and terrified, I drop down and rip his t-shirt to put pressure on the wound. “You’ve just been shot and you admit you still have an erection. I’m pretty sure that says more about you than me.”
“Yeah?” he chuckles humorlessly, his body tense like he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s in pain. “You gonna kneel there with blood on your hands and tell me you’re not still wet? Felt it myself, sweetheart. Your panties are soaked.”
What a fucking asshole. Seriously? “Um, no. Not anymore. All dried up like the Sahara, buddy. Don’t move.” Glancing back toward the hoard of onlookers, I yell, “Are one of you idiots going to call 9-1-1 or not?”
A woman presses a phone to her ear, her voice frantic as she tells them our location, and the man below me groans.
“Nah, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. No need for an ambulance.”
“Just a scratch?” I press a little harder as his blood soaks right through the shirt, dripping down my fingers. Adrenaline pumps so forcefully through my system that I don’t have a moment to be grossed out — but dumbfounded? Yeah, I can be dumbfounded. “Who are you?” I demand.
“A fucking idiot, apparently.” He looks around us hastily to ensure no one else is listening and then meets my eyes. “I need you to do me a favor.”
He’s got to be kidding me. But there’s nothing on his too-perfect face with his thick eyebrows, stunning golden-brown skin, pouty lips and deep-set brilliantly dark eyes that suggests he’s kidding. “What?”
“Get the blade from my ankle and put it in your purse. Sheath, too.”
“Seriously? You want me to take your — fine.” I let him go to tug his jeans up and grab his blade, scrambling over to shove it in my purse as he grunts from the sudden loss of pressure. “What!” I snap, startled and afraid as I move back over and try to find a new piece of t-shirt to rip off. It’s entirely coated in blood, so without thinking, I yank mine open until the buttons fly off and hastily tug it off.
The man has just been shot and he still has the audacity to check out my breasts. “Still want it, Olivia? Gonna take me a second to get back there, but you only have to ask.”
“He’s right over there!” some lady yells, and we can hear the crowd closing in as the ambulance arrives.
“Can one of you give her a shirt or something?” he growls at them, but not one of the onlookers or paramedics pays me any mind.
“Honestly, I’m not surprised anymore that someone tried to shoot you. You’re an ass.”
His gaze is still on me as they patch up his wound. “Didn’t seem to mind it five minutes ago. Guess both our mouths are better for other things.”
A paramedic hides a chuckle under a cough, making me scowl. “It’s not funny. I wouldn’t know what else your mouth is good for, we didn’t get that far. And we won’t, either,” I say pointedly. “I don’t make a habit of fucking people who get shot at on a random Wednesday by psychos in clown masks.”
I’m pushed out of the way a moment later as they get him up on a stretcher, then wheel him toward the ambulance. Logic tells me to run far away from this — but something he said is nagging in the back of my head.
Was it me the clown creep was aiming for? Did Ben hire someone to kill me instead of just giving me a divorce?
There’s at least a chance that’s true, and if so, this stranger really did take a bullet for me. Either way, I have a million questions I’ll never get answers to if I don’t go with him.
Hurrying forward, I climb up in the back of the ambulance with him, pursing my lips in anticipation of an argument.
“Ma’am, you can’t ride w—”
“She’s my fiancé,” he interrupts. “We were just doing a little role play when some maniac ran up on us, right, Olivia?” He gives me a look that tells me to play along, and all I can do is hope they don’t ask me what his name is.
Oh my god, what the hell is even happening to me?
“Yes, I — I’m his wife,” I correct, noting how the paramedic’s eyes drop down to the dual bands on my finger. “Our wedding was a disaster, so he likes to pretend it never happened.”
“Whatever... keeps it spicy. She can actually just take me home now that I’m all patched up.”
“No, you have to see a doctor, Mr...”
His jaw flexes before he answers. “Camilo. Joseph Camilo.”
There is no fucking way I almost let a guy named Joe fuck me raw in an alley. Oh, holy. Grimacing, I sit back and try to smile even though I feel like I’m in the middle of a fever dream. “Olivia Camilo. Will the police meet us there?”
His brow furrows at my question, but he doesn’t say anything as he waits for an answer.
“Most likely. They’ve been notified of the situation and will either already be there or will show up while he’s being looked over. My guess is they’ll want to keep you tonight for monitoring.”
At least it doesn’t sound like he’ll need surgery or anything. Relaxing slightly, my knee bounces as I beg myself to stay quiet and not ask any of the million questions I have burning in my gut. This isn’t the time, but I’m not leaving his side until I have answers.
When we get to the hospital, it’s a mad rush getting him inside and into a room, and I’m forced to pace the waiting room until they’ve got him stitched up and resting.
Storming back in, I sit down on the edge of his bed so I can make him look at me. “I’ll ask again. Who are you?”
He groans, pain medicine making his eyelids heavy as he meets my gaze. “I’m no one. You heard my name. ID is right there in my wallet if you want to check.”
He nods at the small table to his right where a plain black wallet sits next to his cell phone, and I’m surprised to see it isn’t a smart phone. Quickly, I open it up and flip through it. Sure enough, his name is Joseph Camilo, he’s thirty-three and lives across town from me. He’s got two credit cards, sixty bucks cash, and absolutely nothing else.
“What kind of guy doesn’t have health insurance?” I ask. “Especially one who gets shot.”
“Believe it or not, this isn’t part of my daily routine. I’ve never been shot before. Have you?”
“Of course not,” I mumble. “Do you really think that crazy clown was after me?”
“Do you really not believe it?” he levels. “Did you move in front of a bullet for me, or did I move in front of one for you? Play it back in your mind.”
I don’t want to. I know what I’ll find.
Clown guy walking right toward me, eyes fixed on my face as he raised the gun.
Looking away, I put his wallet back and pick up his cell, flipping it over in my hand. “Maybe it was random,” I offer. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be either one of us.”
“Maybe not.” Joe lets his head fall back and closes his eyes. “Think we could get outta here without being seen?”
“Why?” I ask, nonchalantly putting my number in his phone and calling myself, hanging up quickly once I feel the vibration where it’s tucked into my waistband. “You need help. Why would you try to leave?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Bullet went through and missed everything it shoulda missed. Gonna hurt like a bitch for a bit, but that’s not something they can help with, anyway. They’ll just keep me drugged.” He blinks up at me lazily a second after I set his phone back. “Why are you still here, Liv? You don’t have to be.”
That’s an excellent question. I’d also like to know why my stomach just flipped so hard it made me nauseous. It’s just a damn nickname — one everyone calls me. It’s not a big deal. “Do you not want company? Most people don’t want to be alone right after they’ve been shot. Is there anyone I can call for you?”
For the briefest of moments, I see the man behind the mask he probably always wears, and he almost looks sad. His gaze drops down to the IV in his arm as he shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll just give them all a call once I’m home.”
Home.
What a concept.
It’s where you should feel safe, where your loved ones are. But my home is neither of those things anymore. If this really was Ben, then going home is almost certainly a quick way to end my life. I doubt he’ll be satisfied with one failed attempt, especially once he finds out it hasn’t swayed me in the slightest.
Home isn’t safe. I’m not safe... but maybe Joseph Camilo can help me. It’s selfish to expect him to jump in front of a second bullet for me, but I have to do something.
I just have to prove to him I’m worth helping.
Chapter Six
Joey’s Last Day
Cyprus
She’s still here.
I don’t know why, but I have a strong feeling she knows exactly why that clown was gunning for her and doesn’t want to go home. She knows she isn’t safe.
It doesn’t mean she actually wants to stay here with me, but something about being preferred feels fucking good, even if the bar may as well be on the floor.
How did I get here?
Every single step I took today was wrong, starting at 6:00 this morning when I almost jacked off to her doing yoga. I lost focus, and now I can’t even begin to find myself back on course until I get out of this fucking hospital.
I spotted my route when they brought me in, but the only way I can get out is by this beautiful girl going home and never setting eyes on me again.
It’s not like she even knows my real name.
“Will your family be worried about you?”
“Me?” she huffs, shaking her head. “Not hardly. And I have my phone, so it’s not like they can’t call me.”
She’s still just in her bra, and I can tell she catches my gaze every time it drops to her chest. I can’t fucking help it. “You never got to eat that bagel.”
“Really? You took a bullet for me and you’re worried about my bagel?”
She’s right, that’s a weird thing to be focused on, but I can’t keep staring at her without remembering where we were before the bullet. “Just thought you might be hungry. I didn’t get to feed you either.”
I smirk, earning me a gentle smack. “Shut up. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to never, ever speak about that again. Clearly, I’ve lost my mind.”
“Clearly I have too,” I agree, then tell a little white lie to see how she’ll respond. “Just took a bullet for a stranger and I only know her name because of a coffee cup.”
Olivia’s face falls. “I’m so sorry, Joseph. I had no idea... I’m sorry. I have money, I can pay you. The hospital bills, pain and suffering, whatever you need.”
And what about the pain and suffering in my balls? I’m actually surprised that none of that bothers me as much as the fact that she’ll only ever know me as Joseph. That I’ll never hear my name spill from her lips, moaned or otherwise. “Nah, I’m good, thanks.”
My gaze drops to the ring on her finger and then back at her, making her blush. “Yeah, I’m married. I’m sure you think I’m a terrible person running around cheating on my husband and getting strangers shot. Maybe I am.”
“Believe it or not, I don’t think that.” I can’t explain why, and if this had been some random encounter, I probably would, but it isn’t. Even if she’ll never know. “Guess me taking the bullet ended up being your reward instead of the orgasms I planned.”
“Eh, that probably wouldn’t have happened, anyway. It takes a long time for me to get off. There’s no way it would’ve happened in the alley. That wasn’t really why I was out there.” She chews the inside of her cheek as she fusses with my IV line, and the hurricane behind her eyes has me curious.
“Why then?”
The fight she has with herself is obvious, and I swear, I can see her thinking about her husband telling her she’s too emotional. “Nothing,” she mumbles. “You should get some rest.”
Even though the bullet wound is on my left side, I grunt in pain as I reach for her hand with my right, noting the level of surprise in her eyes at the gesture. “Just so you know, you would have come for me. I’d have made sure.”
“And instead, you got shot. That sounds unbelievably on par with my luck,” she jokes lightly. “I think I owe you about a million orgasms.”
I can’t help it. Not even a bullet wound can stop those visuals. Her on her knees, her bouncing on my lap right here in the hospital bed, her — fuck... now I’m getting hard and this thin ass blanket isn’t going to help me hide it at all. “Maybe this goes to show your luck is actually beginning to turn around. We can hope at least, right? Either way, you can make me come later, wife. You’re gonna get us kicked out if you keep giving me those fuck-me eyes.”
“Excuse you? I’m not giving anyone fuck-me eyes,” she argues. “You’re in a hospital bed, Sir.”
“Mmhm,” I tease, licking my lips to see if she’ll look, and when she does, it makes me grin. “See, there it was again. Sweetheart, we can’t right now. Be patient.”
Her eyes widen. “I’m not — you’re the one — ugh.” Folding her arms, she sits back and blocks my view of her tits. “I wouldn’t say yes if you begged.”
The laugh that pulls from me is painful, but worth it all the same. How long has it been since someone actually made me laugh? Two years, maybe? Jesus, that’s sad. “Are you pouting now because I told you to wait?” I taunt. She’s too damn cute when she’s aggravated. “Fine, come on. Climb on up, baby. You know I can never say no to that face.”
I shouldn’t be fucking around with her right now. I should get out of here before the cops show up, but even if they did, this is Joseph Camilo’s last day alive. I’ll have to kill this identity entirely, so I may as well have a little fun first.
“You’re absolutely delusional,” she mumbles. “Even if you could handle me on a good day, you’d pop your stitches if I came anywhere near you.”
“Yeah, okay,” I concede. She’s right, they’d absolutely split open if she rode me today, but that only makes me angry the wound exists at all. I need to get out of here and take out that fucking clown. What kind of fucking hitman wears that obvious of a mask, anyway? “Can you wrap my blade up in that gown they set over there? It’s my favorite one.”
