Sophie Oak - One to Keep

Stef did not miss the final phrase she uttered.

“For now.”

Alexei stopped and stared at the big screen outside his motel room. He felt a smile cross his face. The movie was something in black and white with an old American actor. He searched his memory.

Cary Grant, he thought. It was a screwball comedy that he’d seen before, and it never failed to make him laugh.

There were at least twenty cars out in the parking lot of the drive-in portion of the Bliss Movie Motel. There were even a couple of people huddled in lawn chairs close to the snack bar. They held mugs of something hot and passed popcorn between them. The rooms all around him had open curtains that people watched out of. He’d had to move quickly to not block the show.

Only one room was dark. His. He hoped Ivan was still sleeping.

He paused outside the door because he knew what it meant to go in. It meant he had to go back to work. It meant he had to leave this happy time he’d managed to find. He preferred to stand in the cold and remember the afternoon he’d spent teaching two awkward preteens how to handle a hockey stick. That had felt good. It felt right to teach something that brought joy. He’d even enjoyed the time he’d spent with the crusty doctor, though the man hadn’t warmed to him at all.

It had been very easy to forget for a moment why he was here.

After he’d spent a few hours with the boys and the doctor, he’d headed back to Stella’s, where he had dinner and then moved on to the tavern next door for a drink.

That was where he remembered.

The girl was here. Jennifer. That was her name, and it looked like she wasn’t alone. He’d been surprised when the whole bar had stopped and a good portion of the patrons moved into a small hall where they kept whispering to each other and shushing anyone who became too loud. When the door everyone was interested in had opened, a couple had emerged to triumphant shouts and catcalls, and one large man who claimed they’d ruined his desk forever.

He’d recognized her immediately. She was the brunette from the photo, the one they were looking for. His heart had seized as he realized that perhaps the job would not go as easily as he had hoped.

The man with her had been shocked at first at the large crowd listening in on his lovemaking session, but he’d scooped the woman into his arms and scowled at everyone he passed. He was obviously protective of the woman.

Alexei would have to get her alone. He would have to try to reason with her. Perhaps if he kept quiet about having found her, he could distract Ivan. Once he had the painting in hand, he could force them to leave quickly and with no bloodshed.

Cary Grant took a pratfall that had everyone laughing. What would it be like to live in this small town? Quiet and protected. If he was ordinary, he would march back to the diner and invite Holly to come out with him. He would buy her popcorn and make sure she could see the movie screen. He would treat her like a lady.

Alexei knew that wasn’t going to happen. He shoved the key into the lock and opened the door to his room. The best he could hope for was a good night’s sleep, with no dreams of blood and screams.

He closed the door behind him quickly. The room was warm. He didn’t want to let in the chill. It was very quiet, with the single exception of the faucet in the bathroom running. Ivan was awake. The room had been neatly kept. Only one of the two double beds was slightly askew from Ivan’s nap. He hadn’t straightened it, but his case was open.

A low hum came from the bathroom.

Alexei’s blood chilled. Ivan only hummed after a job, one he particularly loved. He only hummed after he’d drawn blood.

With reluctant hands, he pushed open the bathroom door.

“Watch it,” Ivan said. A wide grin was on his face as he washed blood off his skin. His shirt was off, showing his chest and its intricate tattoos. “Careful where you walk. I don’t want to get blood everywhere.”

Alexei’s stomach rolled. In the bathtub was a pale, slim brunette, her brown eyes open but unseeing. Her throat had been slit by a professional.

“It wasn’t her,” Ivan said gruffly. “I thought I had got lucky. I picked her up outside a gas station when I went to fill the tank. She was trying to hitchhike. I thought she was trying to get away.

Apparently, she’s just some tourist who fought with her boyfriend.

Bah, it looked like her.”

Alexei swallowed but tried to contain his nausea. It was one thing to kill other thugs, but this was different. He’d killed rival mob members who were out to kill him. This was flat-out murder, and he’d had a hand in it.

“We need to get rid of her before the cleaning crew comes in the morning,” Ivan said as he reached for a cigarette. He lit it quickly and seemed completely at ease as he looked down at his handiwork.

Alexei had to give him credit. Ivan was a professional. There wasn’t a drop of blood outside the tub. The woman’s body was small and fit into the tiny, utilitarian tub neatly. They could wash away the blood. They couldn’t wash away the body.

“Come, my friend, don’t look so down,” Ivan said, stretching.

“We’ll get rid of this one and start again tomorrow. She’s out there.

We’ll find her. Don’t worry.”

Ivan walked out of the bathroom, mumbling something about a tarp. Alexei was left with a girl who couldn’t be more than twenty-five. She was about the same age that Mikhail had been when a gangster had murdered him and left his body in the river. He didn’t know her name. His heart ached because someone out there would miss her.

And he knew how that felt.

Sunlight filtered into Jen’s room. She could feel it on her face, but she wasn’t ready to open her eyes yet. She wanted to stay in that amazing dream she was having, the one where Stef didn’t fight her anymore, where he understood she was different and they would be okay.

Unfortunately, that had not been how her evening had ended. She took a deep breath and shifted, her mind playing out the fiasco that had happened after she’d gotten Stef to make love to her.

It had been utterly ridiculous for him to think for a second that she had a thing for James Glen. The cowboy was hot, but he had nothing on Stef. And Logan was even worse. Logan was still a kid. He was barely…twenty-two. Damn it. Logan was almost her age.

It wasn’t the same, she argued mentally. Logan still lived at home, and Jen had been on her own most of her life. Her mom had loved her, but she wasn’t exactly a “dinner on the table at six” mom. Jen had learned to take care of herself at a young age. She was surely more mature than Logan.

Now Zane Hollister and the rest of Bliss—she was questioning their maturity. Who stood outside a locked door and listened in on two people making passionate, beautiful love? Who cheered when the door came open?

Of course, the proper way to handle such an awkward situation was to be brazen through it. Jen would have just taken a bow, but Stef had to play the caveman. Stef, who had public sex in BDSM clubs, if the stories were correct. Stefan Talbot, Mr. Dark and Brooding Sexuality himself, had turned a bright red. He’d hauled her up into his arms and growled at anyone who got in his way. He’d had a few choice words to say, and then they’d been off. He’d shoved her on the back of the snowmobile and told her to hold on.

Then he’d dumped her in her room.

So much for making love.

She wasn’t giving up, though, she promised herself as she tried to pull the covers up. After talking to Callie, she was more certain than ever that Stef just needed a little push. Of course, she’d thought that was what she’d given him when she’d leaned over Zane’s desk and let him use that ruler on her ass. She could still feel it. It had hurt, but there was something erotic about the pain.

There was nothing erotic about the chill, though. She tugged, but the blanket wouldn’t move. Jen sat up, and her heart melted, the chill of the morning gone the instant she saw the man who had fallen asleep at the foot of her bed.

“Stef?”

He came up so fast he started to roll off the bed. His body hit the hardwood floor, and he cursed. His hand came up to hold his head.

Jen held the covers back. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.

He still had to be cold. Though she expected a fight, he immediately crawled under the covers.

“Stay on your side, but open your legs,” he demanded in a husky voice.

The morning was looking up. Jen hauled one leg up slightly to give his hands entry. She screamed when it wasn’t his hand he put there.

Stef’s ice-cold feet found a place between her nice warm thighs.

“Please, Jennifer. I’m so cold.”

Jen growled but lowered her leg, making a nest for his cold feet.

She shivered, but Stef sighed with pleasure. He huddled close to her, his body at a silly angle so he didn’t have to move his feet.

“I hate being cold.”

“Hello, maybe you shouldn’t live nine thousand feet above sea level.” Jen felt her teeth chatter as his ridiculously cold hands settled on her waist.

“I was born in Texas. Heat is in my blood, but I got to Bliss as fast as I could,” he said.

She was still cold, but the idea that her body heat was warming him gave her such pleasure she didn’t complain. “Why didn’t you just hop into bed with me? It’s warm under the covers.” His mouth turned down. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You just meant to come in and stare at me while I slept? That’s very creepy of you, Stef,” Jen said, softening it with a smile. He was weird and intense. She was cool with it. It was just who he was. He could stare at a canvas for hours before he even opened a tube of paint. She remembered one afternoon where he’d stared at that blank sheet, and she’d stared at him, the hours rolling by as they were both lost in their own worlds.