was a scrap of knowledge some lurid part of her wanted to file away.
This is what it feels like when he pins me to the ground, that part whispered, making her hyperaware of how large his hands were, how easily his fingers encircled her wrists. How even her frantic, determined struggling hadn't forced him to tighten his grip to the point of pain, as if he had such finely tuned control over his body and hers that he could judge just how hard to squeeze without hurting her.
Her body was carrying on some lewd conversation with his, one she didn't want to hear and couldn't fucking ignore if she tried.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stop struggling, to lie passively beneath him. "So what do I do next time?"
He released her. "Don't let me get you off your feet, that's--"
She struck before he could finish the sentence, throwing herself up and back while he was off balance, caught in mid-rise. So easy to slam into him, spill him to the floor, but she didn't dare risk losing control of the moment. In a heartbeat, she was straddling his stomach, her knees crushing his arms to the mat as she curled a hand around his throat.
He stared at her, frozen, for a handful of heartbeats. Then the bastard started to laugh.
She was damn tempted just to choke him.
Instead, she dug her fingernails into the side of his neck. "You're a crazy bastard."
"I know." He slipped his arms easily from under her knees and sat up. He caught her as she slid down, locking an iron grip around her waist. "I have a favor to ask. You don't have to do it, though."
This is what it feels like to have him between my legs. She batted the thought away, but not before the feel of straddling his hips had impressed itself on her memory with a vividness that would probably haunt her. She fought to focus on his face, and not on how close it was to her own. "What favor?"
"Dallas is sending me to Sector Three."
That shut her hormones down. Numbness took the place of desire, and it was almost a relief. "Time for me to make myself useful?"
"You know more about the place than any of us." Simple. Straightforward. "Not just the sector, but the people in it."
After five years surviving on the streets, she knew every bolthole and business inside the boundaries that made up her private slice of hell. Wilson Trent hadn't picked her out of the mud by accident. Even at seventeen, she'd known things he could use.
The only thing she hadn't known was how many ways he could use her.
Bren was still watching, quiet and intent, so she nodded carefully. "I know a lot."
"You don't have to go," he said again. "I want that clear, all right?"
She couldn't help her doubtful little laugh. "You sure about that? Why else has Dallas been putting up with me all this time? This is where I pay him back, and that's okay. Better like this than some other way."
Bren glowered as he shifted her off his lap and dropped her to the mat. "I don't lie."
"I know." Scrambling to her feet gave her the advantage of height, if only for a few precious moments. Bren wouldn't lie, but what could she say that didn't sound worse? That she didn't believe the same about O'Kane? That she didn't want Bren fighting with his boss over her? After last night, maybe she was stupid to assume he'd even bother. "I just meant...it makes sense. I can do it."
He watched her, expressionless. "It's not only a fact-finding mission. If bad shit is going down over there, Dallas wants me to clean it up."
Her fingers curled instinctively toward her palms, forming fists she didn't try to hide. Her heart was racing--with hope, maybe, though it was too unfamiliar for her to be sure. She chose her words carefully. "There's bad shit going down over there. Really, really bad shit."
Bren rolled to his feet and nodded. "Then I need your help."
The same words Wilson Trent had spoken to her more than four years ago. She'd believed them, and they'd been true enough. It was all the words that had come after that had been littered
This is what it feels like when he pins me to the ground, that part whispered, making her hyperaware of how large his hands were, how easily his fingers encircled her wrists. How even her frantic, determined struggling hadn't forced him to tighten his grip to the point of pain, as if he had such finely tuned control over his body and hers that he could judge just how hard to squeeze without hurting her.
Her body was carrying on some lewd conversation with his, one she didn't want to hear and couldn't fucking ignore if she tried.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stop struggling, to lie passively beneath him. "So what do I do next time?"
He released her. "Don't let me get you off your feet, that's--"
She struck before he could finish the sentence, throwing herself up and back while he was off balance, caught in mid-rise. So easy to slam into him, spill him to the floor, but she didn't dare risk losing control of the moment. In a heartbeat, she was straddling his stomach, her knees crushing his arms to the mat as she curled a hand around his throat.
He stared at her, frozen, for a handful of heartbeats. Then the bastard started to laugh.
She was damn tempted just to choke him.
Instead, she dug her fingernails into the side of his neck. "You're a crazy bastard."
"I know." He slipped his arms easily from under her knees and sat up. He caught her as she slid down, locking an iron grip around her waist. "I have a favor to ask. You don't have to do it, though."
This is what it feels like to have him between my legs. She batted the thought away, but not before the feel of straddling his hips had impressed itself on her memory with a vividness that would probably haunt her. She fought to focus on his face, and not on how close it was to her own. "What favor?"
"Dallas is sending me to Sector Three."
That shut her hormones down. Numbness took the place of desire, and it was almost a relief. "Time for me to make myself useful?"
"You know more about the place than any of us." Simple. Straightforward. "Not just the sector, but the people in it."
After five years surviving on the streets, she knew every bolthole and business inside the boundaries that made up her private slice of hell. Wilson Trent hadn't picked her out of the mud by accident. Even at seventeen, she'd known things he could use.
The only thing she hadn't known was how many ways he could use her.
Bren was still watching, quiet and intent, so she nodded carefully. "I know a lot."
"You don't have to go," he said again. "I want that clear, all right?"
She couldn't help her doubtful little laugh. "You sure about that? Why else has Dallas been putting up with me all this time? This is where I pay him back, and that's okay. Better like this than some other way."
Bren glowered as he shifted her off his lap and dropped her to the mat. "I don't lie."
"I know." Scrambling to her feet gave her the advantage of height, if only for a few precious moments. Bren wouldn't lie, but what could she say that didn't sound worse? That she didn't believe the same about O'Kane? That she didn't want Bren fighting with his boss over her? After last night, maybe she was stupid to assume he'd even bother. "I just meant...it makes sense. I can do it."
He watched her, expressionless. "It's not only a fact-finding mission. If bad shit is going down over there, Dallas wants me to clean it up."
Her fingers curled instinctively toward her palms, forming fists she didn't try to hide. Her heart was racing--with hope, maybe, though it was too unfamiliar for her to be sure. She chose her words carefully. "There's bad shit going down over there. Really, really bad shit."
Bren rolled to his feet and nodded. "Then I need your help."
The same words Wilson Trent had spoken to her more than four years ago. She'd believed them, and they'd been true enough. It was all the words that had come after that had been littered
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