Complicated Creatures: Part Two Page 16

  “You can’t process this, Jack!” she shouted suddenly. “You’re an average citizen, a man with no blood on his hands. You should be stunned. You should be horrified. I weeded out and neutralized threats. I did what I was told. I believed that what I was doing in the name of God and country was right. But when I look at it through your eyes, I see how unbelievable it is—how base the blood on my hands feels. These aren’t things I wanted you to know about me, Jack! My past isn’t something I was ever planning to tell you—”

  “So you keep locked rooms full of your sins and omissions, denying anyone who cares about you access to tremendous and vital aspects of yourself!” Jack heard himself shouting back. “What kind of life is that, Samantha? What kind of dysfunctional, half-lived charade of a life is that?!”

  She succeeded in yanking her wrists back.

  “Get out,” she spat. “Get the fuck out of my ‘dysfunctional, half-lived charade,’ Jack.”

  Samantha turned, leaving him in the hallway as she retreated to her room. She slammed the door, but Jack’s hand stopped the momentum as he knocked it back open on it hinges.

  “Goddamn it, do not walk away from me,” he told her, his voice angry.

  She swung around. “It’s over, Jack! Jesus Christ, what else do I have to say? What else do I have to show you?”

  He advanced on her, each step bringing him closer to the raw edge of her exposed nerve; the open wound of her vulnerabilities. Jack had a feeling they’d just scraped the surface; that he’d just begun to see the cipher behind her eyes, wild and pained as they were beneath all that fury.

  Samantha backed up toward her bed but not fast enough. Jack wrapped an arm around her waist as they fell back against it, his other hand spearing through her wet hair as he pulled her face toward him. She writhed and twisted, nearly throwing him off.

  “¡Ya basta!”21 he told her firmly as she tried to jerk away. “That’s enough, Samantha. Stop it. Stop pushing me away!”

  “Get off me—”

  “No,” he muttered, squeezing her tighter. “I thought I could let you do it. I thought I could let you end it and that doing so would be the right thing, but goddamn it, Samantha, I can’t let you go like this. I won’t.”

  She pushed against him but he held on, resolute. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable, Jack. You and I would never work—”

  “Shut up, Samantha,” he interrupted, lifting his head. “I fucking adore you, but just shut up and give me a damn minute to wrap my head around this,” he told her, breathing heavily as he searched her eyes.

  “Jack—” she struggled, looking away from him, her eyes suspiciously bright.

  “I need to know something. I need to ask you something—”

  “No,” she shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut. “No more questions.”

  “Yes,” he insisted. “I need to know if you enjoyed what you did then.” Jack guided her face back toward him. “Samantha, look at me—did you like it?”

  A tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Tell me, Samantha. Did you enjoy hurting people? Did you enjoy the killing?” Jack brushed the hot tear off her temple. “Please, tesoro—”

  She stilled beneath him, her body taut as a bow.

  “I was good at it.”

  Jack blinked at her whispered confession.

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  “I did what I was asked.”

  “Again—not the same thing,” he argued, staring down at her.

  “I can’t explain it to you, Jack.” Samantha said as she opened her eyes. “You could never understand.”

  “Then tell me, Samantha,” he urged her. “Tell me what it feels like to kill a man—to take a life.”

  They stared at each other for long moments in an unspoken standoff. He shifted off of her, but kept his thumb over the pulse he saw throbbing in her temple, all her emotional distress visible to him for the first time—a certain sign that what she said and how she felt were at odds within her.

  “The first few times, I was sick,” Samantha finally answered, her voice vibrating with emotion. “But then, I told myself it was battle, and it was me or them. So it became easier, more reflexive.” She glanced away, her dark eyes distant. “And then I began to feel a sense of accomplishment—like I’d done something right. And I was rewarded for my kills; I was considered a success in the military. There were medals and commendations, and I started to wonder if I did it all because I was good at what I did.” She paused, swallowing. “And then I began to worry…”

  “You began to worry about what, tesoro?” Jack asked, tilting her chin up.

  When Samantha opened her eyes again, Jack saw clearly the fear she kept so tightly in check.

  “I began to worry that it was my nature,” she whispered, her voice breaking a little. “It was like looking in the mirror and recognizing my features, but I couldn’t see my face anymore. I couldn’t see myself there anymore. I had changed too much.”

  They stared at one another, their harsh breaths the only sound in the room.

  “But you saw the line, didn’t you?” Jack finally asked, brushing his hand down her face. “You’re telling me you saw the line, and you stepped back.”

  “Stop vindicating me, Jack!” she snapped, pushing him back.

  “I’m trying to understand you, Samantha!” he said as he reached for her again.

  Jack felt the sudden and scorching heat of her slap, his head snapping to the side with the surprise and strength of it. When he turned his head back to her, his eyes felt hot, the imprint of her hand burning across his face.

  They stared each other down, each breathing heavily, the silence between them palpable.

  “You want to hurt me more, tesoro?” he asked, his voice a low throb. “You want to cut me down to size?” He shifted back on the bed. “Would that make you feel better?”

  Jack moved quickly, yanking her back into his arms even as she tried to elude him. He kissed her with all the pent up anger and passion he felt roiling within, attempting to break through the barriers she’d erected, forcing her to respond. Samantha bit his lip, alternately pushing and pulling against him, her arms like waves beating against a hull. It was as if she didn’t want to let him go even though she couldn’t stand to be near him. Jack took advantage of her brief indecision to heave them both against the bed, his hands twisting in her hair.

  “Why is it that the only time you let me close to you is in bed?” he muttered against her mouth, kissing her roughly. “It’s the only time you let me close to you. It’s the only time that being close to you doesn’t hurt.”

  “You can’t fuck me into submission, Jack. I don’t break that way,” she panted back, her fingernails raking across his shoulders, sending a delicious riff of pain down his spine.

  Jack yanked her head back, making her gasp against him. Their longing and fury mixed together for a potent cocktail as they tangled and fought, pushing and pulling against each other in a fight for control and dominance.

  “Then how do you break, tesoro?” he asked, his mouth open against her throat. “Tell me how you break enough to let me in? Because I’m not leaving. I’m not turning my back on you. Not again.”

  *

  December 10th—Late Night

  The Whitney, Chicago

  S A M A N T H A

  What the hell am I doing?

  Sam came to her senses, pushing him back roughly as she sat up, shoving her damp hair back with shaky hands.

  “You need to stop this, Jack,” she told him, looking away. “Holding on to me will only get you hurt in the end. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “For Afghanistan?” he asked, staring at her. She glanced away. “Samantha, dammit, look at me,” he insisted, tugging her chin toward him.

  She felt her eyes burning with emotion. She was certain she was telegraphing her soul. It was a rare mistake for her, but she’d already started pulling back the curtain, and he’d stunned her by not running and screaming in the oth
er direction.

  “You’re going to Afghanistan?” he asked again. “There’s no other way?”

  “There’s no other way,” she answered, her voice firm.

  Jack squeezed his eyes shut, clearly struggling with her decision. “I can’t stop you. I can’t help you. You won’t let me have you,” he took a deep, rough breath. “Jesus, Samantha, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to accept this—”

  “You had me, Jack,” she replied, slipping farther away from him. “Why can’t you just take what I gave you and go?”

  “I had you?” he barked out a bitter laugh. “I had a slice of you.” Jack looked up at her, pained. “Why are you pretending I had access to any more than your body? That the minute I was out of your peripheral, this wasn’t just a pastime? Christ, Samantha, I felt like I was stealing the brief periods of time I had with you.”

  “It was stealing,” she agreed, surprising him. “I was stealing time from you, knowing this wouldn’t work.”

  “You keep saying that!”

  “And you keep denying it,” she returned.

  “Why did you tell me you loved me if you knew you were never going to stay?” Jack asked, the red imprint of her hand still visible on his cheek as he turned away from her. “Why did you take me all the way to the edge, only to kick me off of it?”

  Against her better judgment, Sam drew a finger down the cheek she’d slapped, touching the mark sorrowfully.

  “Let me help you, Samantha,” he pleaded, turning his face into her hand. “Let me use all my resources to help you find another way.”

  “There’s no other way,” she shook her head. “I have to go, Jack. This man has massacred men on my team. He won’t stop, and I won’t live in fear waiting for the ax to fall.”

  “But you’ll let the ax fall on our relationship,” he countered. “You’re basically asking me to cut off a piece of myself at this point,” he looked up at her. “You’re asking me to live without what I want—without the one person I need.”

  Sam brushed the tangle of his waves from his forehead. “You’d be amazed at how you’re able to live without all the things you think you need,” she murmured. “I’m trying to end this the right way, and I need you to stop trying to hold on.” He shook his head, but she put her hand over his mouth to stop his rebuttal. “Go home, Jack.”

  “I am home, tesoro,” he breathed through her fingers, kissing them.

  “You’re wandering around in my world, darlin’, and you don’t belong here,” she corrected gently. “Go back to your reality. It’ll hurt for a bit, but I promise you, it won’t sting like this forever.”

  He responded by pulling her into his arms again, his mouth falling to the soft skin under her jaw. She could swear she felt his longing mixed with the hurt, the passion they inspired in one another banking against the painful reality that neither of them would get what they wanted.

  “Say goodbye, Jack,” Sam whispered.

  Jack pulled away, staring at her with those stunning silver eyes of his. She watched him as he mulled through his arguments and negotiations, struggling against the closing door, his mind sorting through all the strategies.

  She loved him all the more for his willingness to fight for her, for his blatant refusal to give up on their possibility. She loved him for not leaving when she’d pushed him away again and again in anger and pain. She had seen his fear, his doubt, as he had stood surrounded by the emblems of her regret, trying to make sense of it all, to comprehend the terrible, unrecoverable pieces of her past.

  He wouldn’t give her up readily. Not tonight.

  He wouldn’t back down gracefully, retreating to the safe loam while she disappeared from his life again.

  So Samantha lay back, relaxing fully in his arms, knowing any resistance would be met with an onslaught, another run at the gate. Because Jack was that way. A conqueror in his own right, used to the currents winding his way, his power and self-confidence a product of his own brand of empire building. Any fight she gave him, he’d endure gladly, because he thought he loved her enough to fight her for her own good, that he alone could beat back the eventualities. And he’d rather fight than do nothing and allow her to leave him again. Even when he knew it was inevitability. Even if he knew it was right.

  Sam ran her thumbs along the high line of his cheeks, sliding down the thick cordons of his neck, over the tensile strength in his shoulders, his skin hot under her fingertips. She pressed her lips to his, luxuriating in the sharp intake of his breath as he opened his mouth to her. Sam took advantage of the movement, touching her tongue to his, skimming the edge, tasting the need and the frustration there as he watched her, surprise and confusion and relief chasing across his features as he kissed her.

  Jack’s hand slid up to her cup her face, while his other gripped the knot of her robe tightly, jerking it loose, then open, his hand skimming up her swimsuit to her breast, like he was trying to reach into the heart of her. Sam saw the craving and the fear in the incandescent shards of his eyes, the look of a man toeing the edge, staring down the cliff at the rocks below, wondering how to avoid them, knowing it was impossible.

  “Say goodbye, Jack,” she whispered again.

  Jack said nothing, his hands winding under the edges of her robe so he could push it offer her shoulders. He kissed her again, their tongues tangling almost violently as he held her tight to his chest, delving into her mouth like he could taste her words. Or prevent her from saying them.

  Sam felt his hands at her shoulders, yanking down the straps of her swimsuit. He pulled back from her, his gaze intense, his fingers purposeful as he jerked the suit and bathrobe off her body, both hitting the floor next to her bed while he tugged off his own trunks, never looking away from her. Jack corralled her to the middle of the bed, his thigh sliding between hers, his calf braiding around her ankle as he pressed her arms against the bed.

  “I won’t let you go,” he told her gruffly, thumbs pressed against her wrist.

  “You have to, Jack,” she murmured, voice catching a little as he bent to lick the salt off her skin before tracing her neck with his teeth. Jack delivered a hot, rapid line of kisses along her clavicle, becoming more tender and reverent as he found the residual bruises of her injury. He returned to her mouth, coaxing her lips to stay open as he delved deeper, so urgent and so relentless that she knew it was more than kissing. Jack was communicating, his passion for her a language and imprecation all its own. He kissed her until her ache for him bloomed, her body pliant and groaning, the defenses she’d been throwing in front of him breached and surmounted. Jack’s hands ran circuits along her sides, her back, and her hips while she braced against him, fingers curving over the hard planes of his shoulders, caught and tangled in the silky hair above the nape of his neck.

  He kissed her roughly, the bristle of his jaw and cheeks abrading her, marking her deliciously with every insistent press of his mouth. And Samantha lost herself to the moment, suspended in the need, aware of nothing outside of her intimacies with this beautiful, mesmerizing man. She relinquished so many of her ever-present worries as she wrapped herself in the intensity of this obsession. Her hands traveled down the smooth skin of his back, thumbs pressing into his hips, melding against the scorch and heat of him, her pulse pounding out a primal rhythm.

  Jack anchored himself against her, whispered something furtively against her skin, his mouth humid against her breast. His broad hands spread around her ribcage before he jerked her up to meet his eyes. Sitting upright, he deftly positioned her over him as he wrapped the strong fingers of one hand around her waist. Samantha stared at him transfixed, open—pliant.

  “I won’t let you go,” he whispered again before shunting deep, forcing a pleasure-soaked gasp from her, his movements long, filling… complete.

  Sam clutched at Jack’s shoulders as she rose and ground back down against him, panting into his mouth with each vivid onslaught, crying out a little as he bottomed out, touching her womb so intimately, she
was certain he’d leave his mark there. She drew up, tilting her pelvis just enough to feel the rub right where she needed it—oh, God—that delicious, heady friction.

  Yes.

  Right there, yes…

  She wasn’t sure if it was her saying the words or him, lost in the moment, lost in each other.

  Yes, yes—

  Jack dragged a flat palm down the length of her torso until it rested against her heart, his eyes glinting with something as he watched her moving against him, reveled in her body’s sincere and honest reaction to him. His other hand slid up her back, gripping her shoulder almost painfully as he leveraged her against him, keeping her tightly impaled as he pushed up and into her while she bore down, each unable to get close enough to each other.

  They powered against each other, skin slickening, their sounds harsh and desperate as they worked out a luscious, rough cadence. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly to her, her fingers creating crescents against his searing hot skin.

  “Fuck, Samantha—I need you—” he told her, anger and desperation making his voice a low thrum. “Tu sei l’unico per me. Sei tutto cio’ di cui ho bisogno.”22

  Samantha lifted her head to look at him, watching his self-control rupture as he rooted deep, his rhythm altering as his eyes darkened to a stormy gray, each stroke becoming ferocious as he stared at her, willing her to stay with him. His intent was clear with every possessive, hard thrust. Jack drove her into a long, nearly unendurable climax, pursuing her to the summit as if his life depended on it, his breath breaking as she flung her head back and released, lost in the inexorable intensity, his name a hoarse incantation.

  Chapter 15

  July 2006—Evening

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  S A M A N T H A

  Even in the middle of her second tour in the Middle East, all of the terrible ironies of human behavior coexisting in one of the most religious and conservative countries of the world still struck her as remarkable. Peace keepers carried heavy artillery, religious zealots waged war for the tranquility of heaven, and an incredibly-prolific drug-and-sex trade thrived despite the exorbitant and often archaic punishments appropriated in the face of getting caught.