A different kind of liquid dripped down my arm.
"Come here, baby," Jake said, pulling me up by my arm, setting me on his lap. Jake pulled out a first aid kit and started cleaning the blood off my arm with an alcohol swab. "Did I hurt you?" Concern written all over his face.
"No," I said honestly.
"Good. Because I think this will do the trick." I looked down at my arm. Next to the deepest scar Jake had followed the lines of my tattoos and carved a line about six inches in length into my skin. Not deep enough to cause permanent damage, but deep enough to leave a mark.
A visible scar.
Now, when I looked at my arm, I would see my scars and remember that one of them held a great memory.
Jake had given that to me.
Jake pulled out a needle and thread, and to my surprise, he started stitching me up.
"How do you know how to do that?" I asked.
"I had to do it to myself a few times."
"Do I want to know more?" I asked.
"Nope."
"Okay then." I cupped his face in my hands and brought his mouth to mine. I pressed my lips against his, trying to convey my gratitude to him with that kiss. "Thank you."
"No need to thank me. You would've done the same."
"Yes, I would have. So please, when you need to be sliced open, let me know. I'm your girl." I laughed at the absurdity of it all.
"Yes, you are my girl," Jake said softly, ignoring my sarcasm. Closing the first aid kit and setting it aside, he returned my kiss. Sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, he ran his tongue across my lips slowly. The passion from earlier sated, his kiss wasn't sexual, it was sensual.
I looked down at the crooked sew job on my new arm wound then back up at Jake.
"I fucking love you," I said.
“I fucking love you too, Bee.”
EPILOGUE
Abby
Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock
"Just a minute!" I called out to whomever was at the door.
More frantic knocking.
"Just a freaking minute!" I yelled again, setting my open book on the coffee table, hoping it wouldn't close so I could get right back to where I'd left off. I had a thing about my books, and dog earring the page was out of the fucking question. The clock above the TV said it was after ten. Georgia had long been asleep and Jake was on his way home, he'd stayed at the shop late tinkering on my truck which wasn't running AGAIN. I refused to let him buy me a new one no matter how much he pushed the issue. The truck was all I had left of Nan and I wasn't just about to let it go when I knew Jake could work his magic on it. Although the poor thing might have been telling me that it was time to let her go because it was the third time in a month Jake had to repair or replace something to get it back up running again.
Fucking suicidal truck.
I opened the door and had my hand on the handle of the screen door, about to tell Mrs. Flannagen for the umpteenth time that no matter how many times she stopped by on a Saturday night that Jake and I would not be attending church this Sunday or any Sunday after that, when the door flew open and I was met with a massive wall of man.
Dark and scary as fuck.
Jake was easily six feet tall but this guy had at least a few inches on him. His dark hair was cropped close to his head, his eyes shiny black. Where Jake had tattoos up and down one arm, this guy was covered on both arms and hands and even one side of his neck. Jake's light hair and bright blue eyes made him look like the boy next door, almost angelic in a way.
This guy looked like the fucking devil himself.
I made a move to slam the door shut but his boot in the threshold prevented it from closing, he didn't even flinch when it bounced off his foot.
"I need Jake." The man demanded. His voice deep and raspy.
I reached behind the door and grabbed the pistol from the top drawer of the hallway desk, shielding it behind my back.
"He's not here." I said. I made another move to shut the door but this time he used the flat of his hand to prevent it from shutting.
"You're not fucking listening, I need Jake." He said angrily, his nostrils flaring.
"You're the one not fucking listening." I said, producing the gun from behind my back and aiming it between his eyes. "He's not fucking here."
The man actually smiled at me. And if I wasn't about to piss myself I would've taken more time to admire his very white very straight teeth surrounded by very full lips. But it was the way he smiled with his eyes, an evil glare radiating from his iris's that made even his smile scary.
"Go ahead and shoot," he said, grabbing the barrel of the gun and pressing it to his forehead. "You don't have the balls, girl" he taunted, still smiling.
I mirrored his sarcastic smile and was about to squeeze the trigger when Jake's voice stopped me. "Her balls are bigger than yours, man." Jake side-stepped the stranger and joined me in the entry way.
"I see that now." The man replied, sounding more annoyed than afraid.
"Who the fuck is this guy?" I asked Jake. He took the gun from my hand and placed it back in the drawer. "This is Abby, my wife. Abby, this is..."
The man interrupted.
"They call me, King."
Jake
Brantley King had a dirty cop problem.
Not that the notorious gun runner had anything morally against dirty cops, they just weren't on his side of dirty. A few of the fuckers actually made the mistake of going up against him. They either had balls bigger than grapefruits or were truly the stupidest mother fuckers on the planet.
I didn't care either way.
I had a job to do.
Not that I was going to get back into wet work full time, but just this little taste should hold me over for a while and keep me home in bed with Bee at night.
And there was no place on earth I'd rather fucking be, then in bed with that girl.
Logan Beach was just a two hour ride north so it didn't take me long before I was burying one of King's problems in the woods.
Well, parts of his problem.
It felt so good to welcome the devil back, even if just for a short time. I felt so fucking good in fact that I found myself humming as I finished covering the last hole, patting down the dirt with the flat side of a shovel before covering it with brush and branches.
I lit a cigarette.
Pure satisfaction coursed through my veins.
My cell rang.
"Yeah."
"Brotha, you still around?" King boomed through the phone. "I got a situation here I could use your help with."
"Yeah man, what you need?”
"Gotta put the fear of God into some piece of shit."
"Done." I said, flipping my phone shut. I took a deep drag and blew the smoke into the night.
I put the last of the brush I'd gathered on top of the freshly packed dirt. When I stood back I couldn't help but smile.
Life is good.