BUFF Read online

  The slut is sneaking behind her parents back with some stranger, some fuck with a major James Dean complex.

  She needs him. She needs him to find her way again.

  You need to pay for your sins before I can redeem you, Petal…

  He leans forward fingering the stained white transparent curtain. A small frown plays against his lips as he watches the man who’s just fucked his Rebecca slam the door to his motel room.

  Leaning back onto the bed he flips the device in his hand, gripping it for good measure. He has the proof right here and it’s time people know that Rebecca Appleton isn’t the sweet little angel she pretends to be.

  Yes, today he is definitely lucky.

  * * *

  ‘YOU’RE LATE.”

  Kulich smirks, his slippers hitting the slick surface with a slight imbalance. He rubs his eyes, looking at the clock on the wall. “We said 10:30.” He ties the belt of his silk robe.

  Not looking up Colt continues to fish through the newspaper on the coffee table. “Yeah. This place is a mess, Vladimir."

  “Good to have you back, man. You my nanny now?” Kulich leans his hand over the back of the couch. Colt takes it immediately, gripping it and flashing an even quicker smile his way before returning to the newspaper in front of him.

  “Just stating the obvious.” His legs propped up, Colt plops the paper onto the table next to them. He sees Kulich glance there before turning to the wet bar.

  “You know I hate it when you do that,” Kulich mumbles. He’s already pouring himself a stiff drink when Colt finally meets him at his side.

  “Yeah I know."

  Kulich eyes him from the corner of his eye, shaking his head. “Only you, man."

  He walks around Colt sitting at the end of the extended white leather couch. Exhaling a long breath Kulich pats the seat next to him. “Tell me what's going on."

  Colt, instead, comes opposite him, sitting in the lone chair beside the grand fireplace. Shrugging his shoulders he leans into the cushion. “You probably know more than me."

  “True.” Kulich takes another swallow of the dark liquid in his glass. “But I wasn’t the one stuck in my target's basement."

  “Attic,” Colt corrects, looking down.

  “Whatever—how's the side?"

  “Hardly feel it.” Colt presses into the healing flesh and feels the padded gauze. He doesn’t know why he keeps doing that. It’s an unconscious move, but he can’t stop himself from feeling the presence of the wound every couple of hours.

  “Doc’s coming over to give you a once over.” Kulich turns his head toward the door and Colt brings his hand up to silence him from calling a guard.

  “Vladimir.” His boss glances over at him. “I'm fine."

  “Don’t argue." Kulich sets the empty glass down. “You look like shit. When's the last time you saw the inside of a shower? Or sunlight for that matter?"

  “Came straight from the road—gimme a break."

  “That Rebecca Appleton didn’t do such a great fucking job of taking care of you I guess."

  How does he know her name?

  Colt shifts in his seat as his mouth twists. “It's fine. Can we cut this girly-shit and talk business or what?"

  Kulich straightens, pulling the robe tighter around his hairy naked chest as he crosses his legs. “Rebecca Appleton is a part of this mission now. You understand that right?"

  “I understand she saved my life,” Colt says, his voice low.

  “She certainly did and I'm sure you're fucking grateful, Colt.” Kulich’s dark eyes stare at him, peeling back a layer of Colt’s stoic features. “What went on between the two of you up there, anyway?” Colt makes sure not to tense up and waits as silence stretches between them.

  “Don't think I like what you're implying."

  Chuckling, Kulich smooths his hand down the silk material of his leg. “Chill, man. She's a kid, I know.” He shakes his head. "I know you won’t go there."

  Stretching out his legs Colt fingers the line of his brow. He doesn’t like her name coming from Kulich’s mouth. It makes him angry, uncomfortable. But he can’t show his emotions. So he tries again to change the subject. “How’ve things been here?"

  Kulich lingers a beat before answering, “Good. Business is the same but good. No trouble but Spencer fucking Appleton.”

  Colt feels icy awareness quake below the flesh of his body. He ignores it. He’s beginning to do that a lot lately.

  “What’d you want me to do?"

  Kulich scratches the side his face. “Finish what you started."

  “Kill him?"

  Kulich doesn’t blink as he grants Colt a dark look. “And his family."

  Colt swallows. He’d known this was coming. He’d kept repeating the words in his head all the way home, thinking of a million different answers but none of them fitted.

  “Don't think that's possible."

  “Why the fuck not?” Kulich’s words sound quieter than his thundering black eyes. Colt's thumb swipes across the arm of the chair.

  “It's sloppy—they might be expecting it."

  “Right… Aren’t you curious how I know her first name?” Colt shrugs his shoulders, feigning indifference. “Yeah… thought as much… So I had a nice little visit at Spencer and his family’s by the way. Rebecca—oh sweet green-eyed Rebecca—she’s got extraordinary eyes, don’t you think?" Colt squeezes his hand into a fist. “That fucker is arrogant enough to think I’ve no idea."

  Colt leans a bit forward. “You threatened them?” he asks, keeping his voice and face neutral.

  “Just Spencer. He's a bit slow but he got the general message. The little shit is an accountant, Colt. He's gonna try and suck up to me to make this right. He doesn't have a fucking clue."

  “Why the family?"

  “The girl saw you. She knows—”

  “Doesn't know who I am. Never told her,” Colt says, his voice rising.

  Kulich nods, seeming to agree, but on a completely different train of thought. “When that bastard father of hers is dead it won’t be long before she puts two-and-two together. I ain’t taking that chance—no fucking way."

  Jaw clenched, Colt looks away. His voice is harsh and hoarse when he speaks, “How’d you want it?"

  Kulich stands adjusting his robe again, then plays with the gold ring on his finger. When he finally decides to meet Colt's hard glare, Kulich looks colder, more unforgiving and ruthless than Colt remembers him to be.

  “Go to their house, make it look like a robbery and execute them. All of them," he says, his voice is hushed but deadly in its calm. Colt doesn’t respond. Kulich doesn’t hesitate to ask his next question. “Can you do that, Colt?"

  Colt stands, his hard stare never wavering. He licks his lips, swallows the burning lump lodged in his throat and answers with a voice just as businesslike and dead as Kulich’s, “Yes."

  Chapter Thirteen

  FIFTH BEER IN HAND he has no plans of stopping. Not tonight. Colt checks his watch for the third time.

  He's fucking late...

  Sitting in his usual private spot in the back booth he presses his back into the wooden seat, leaning his legs against the booth opposite him. Bikers fill the roadhouse along with a mix of underage teens and the occasional roadie.

  He’s so fucking tired, thinking straight is becoming an almost impossible task. He tried to sleep but tossed and turned. He ate but didn't have much of an appetite. And now, drinking, something he's always enjoyed, does nothing for him.

  Nothing feels right anymore. That click in his head where he knows he’s okay, where he’s glad to be home and away from all the troubles, never comes. He survived death. He should feel on top of the world, but where is the bliss?

  He sighs, biting down, grinding his teeth together with the intent to break something. The unease stirring inside him... it has nothing to do with the job.

  He left her. Alone. Unsafe. Unprotected. And he just... left her. The girl is completely in the dark stumbli
ng around, looking for answers to questions she’s got no clue about and he just left her. With nothing.

  And now he’s being sent back.

  To kill her and her whole fucking family.

  “Fuck.” His hand comes down slamming the table, the beer rattling, spinning on it's bottom. Colt watches it spin a couple times before wedging his fingers between the glass and ceasing it.

  “Bad night?"

  He rolls the bottle cap between his fingers, not acknowledging the woman over him, not needing to. “Tiff."

  She's been eyeing him all night, like every night he shows his face here. And like every other time she takes his drink order, giving him attention, doing little to hide the allusion that she wants a lot more than that.

  “Tina. You know it's Tina.” She twists to lean her hip against the edge of the table where he’s lounging. “I've told you a hundred times,” she teases.

  “And you know you don't care.” He looks up, his usual detailed appraisal of her replaced with a nod. “So why act like you do?"

  A flirtatious grin spreads across her crooked lips. “Missed you these past weeks. Where you been?” She leans a bit more forward, lending an inviting sight for Colt to peruse her fake inked breasts. “You’re not seeing someone behind my back, are you?” she purrs.

  “You know I don't do relationships.” His eyes slip a second for a view of her cleavage. “Tina,” he enunciates, before bringing the bottle back to his mouth.

  She slides closer, twisting her dyed red hair between her fingers as her hip brushes his shoulder in a blatant undertone of need. He's been anticipating this all evening the minute he locked eyes with her. She always flirts with him and they usually hook-up at some point in the night for a quick fuck.

  But when he sweeps his gaze over her and feels nothing, waiting for his body to respond as it stalls on the edge, all that consumes him is coldness. The flare of desire he expects never ignites. He frowns at her, her eyes heavy with makeup, encouraging a reaction. He tosses the cap aside and orders another drink.

  What in the fuck is wrong with me?

  His words comes out shorter than he intends, “Another beer.” His reply douses the simmering moment, cutting off her pursuit of his earlobe as her teeth grazes the shell.

  “Baby, what's the matter with you?” she purrs, nipping his cheek and leaving a red stain from her ruby lips. “Someone cut your dick off?"

  “The fuck?” he says, itching the side of his newly shaved face.

  Her hand comes up on her hip. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?"

  “Nothing,” he shrugs, placing the empty bottle on her tray. “Just thirsty."

  The thick crowd of bikers and groupies part and finally the skinny man he's been waiting for arrives. His blonde eyebrows are knitted together and he has this look that tells Colt he isn’t exactly thrilled to be called here.

  “Hey, man,” he calls to Colt, ignoring the waitress throwing daggers at his boss.

  Colt unzips his leather jacket, tossing a cold glare at Tina who’s having a hard time taking the hint. “You're late, Luis."

  “Kulich wouldn't let me go till I checked the warehouse guards had made the rounds. He's being extra paranoid lately for some fucking reason.” Luis darts a look between Colt and the sassy red-head. “Red Lion, babe."

  “Baby—” she starts.

  Sighing, Colt pretends not to hear her childish whine. “He said Red Lion—still waiting for my beer."

  She kisses her teeth as she digs for her pad. “Whatever.” She turns to Luis, using her charms on him instead. “If you get done early with him, c'mon over to the bar, cutie."

  “Hell yeah,” Luis replies.

  A whiff of perfume permeates the smoky atmosphere just as Tina leaves for the bar. Luis’s eyes trail her legs all the way up to her mini-skirt. Colt smacks the backside of Luis’s head.

  “Put your dick back inside.” Colt leans in, his hand splaying on the wood of the table. “You get it?” he whispers.

  Luis eyes the crowd around them, his hand pulling the papers out of his leather jacket. “Yeah, all here. The house in Aston’s the best place. Jenson’s sorted it all out."

  “Good.” Colt nods. “Everything's set then?"

  “Leave in three days."

  Colt clears his throat and points his finger at Luis. “You know there's no turning back after this."

  “I know, okay,” Luis replies, his answer quick and steady.

  “No going back. Once we get a hold of them—”

  “Boss, I get it. I wouldn't do this unless I thought it right. I'm there, one hundred percent. Royal Reaper till the day I die."

  Nodding, Colt stands and grabs his jacket. “7:00 AM. Have the SUV parked behind back. I'm taking the bike."

  “Got it, Boss."

  Colt stands patting him on the shoulder. “We're doing the right thing.”

  Heading out of the roadhouse the door swings and bangs shut behind him and Colt leaves without looking back.

  Yeah, they're doing the right thing, all right.

  But why does the right thing feel so wrong?

  * * *

  BLANK. BARE. VOID. Her mind is like a tomb.

  She stares into the empty space of her former room. Her brain can’t grasp onto any sort of reality.

  She’s leaving everything behind.

  Her gaze drifts to the rug, then up to the wallpaper she always wanted to change but never did. She can’t think of one good memory she has of her life here.

  Except… dark, devilish eyes.

  “Rebecca, come on!” Her mother bellows from the stairs. Moisture wells in her eyes and the burning lump in her throat tightens her throat. “Rebecca! Did you hear me?"

  “All right! I'm coming.”

  She doesn’t look back as she closes the door and glances at the stairs that lead to the attic.

  Some doors are better left unopened.

  The torment of her reality is hell enough. The memories… Colt… It all needs to stay buried along with everything else.

  She descends the stairs, her worn sneakers scuff across the rug, her stride in pace with her regrets.

  “Standing there and day dreaming isn't considered help, Rebecca." Her mother aims her finger at the box at the foot of the stairs. “While you were upstairs lolly-gagging, your father and I have been working. What is the matter? Honestly, Rebecca, I don't have the patience. Not today.”

  “Sorry,” is all Becky can mutter.

  She grabs the box and leans the full weight of it into the middle of her frame as she waddles outside shifting the heaviness of the box. Becky might not know where she’s going, but it really doesn’t matter in the end. A place doesn’t change who you are.

  She eyes the blue rental minivan like a death trap. “I don't see why we can't take our own car,” she says to her father, who continues to sort through the boxes.

  He’s been acting strange this morning, giving her the cold shoulder like he’s upset with her. She doesn’t know why.

  “A lot of people use rentals when they go on vacation."

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing. When my boss realizes we're not coming back it will be a lot harder to track a rental under an alias name than the family car. This is safer."

  “Right… safer,” she mumbles.

  He leans on the box before standing to his full height and sighs. “What's the matter?"

  The question triggers her frustration but she lets it simmer. “The fact that you can actually say that with a straight face scares me, Dad."

  “I already apologized. I'm doing what's best for this family, Rebecca. You know I'm doing this for all of us—that is something I won't apologize for."

  She feels like she's talking to a distant stranger than her father. She finally makes herself face him.

  “This isn't what's best and you know it. What's best is to stay here and live in our home. Toby should have a stable home unlike I did and I should be going to Stan—”

 
“This is not helping!"

  “Don't pretend you're doing what's best! We're running because we have to, because we have no other options and the kicker is you haven't even told us why. Why, Dad? Why're we doing this? Tell me!"

  “What are you two shouting about?" her mother asks, rushing down the staircase with a plant pot in her hand. "Stop it, the neighbors will hear."

  Her father's cold gray eyes never leave Becky, the weight of his stare cracking the fragile atmosphere like it’s leaning on thin ice. “Your mother's right."

  Becky ignores them both. “What's wrong with you?"

  “I'm not sure what you mean, Becky."

  Becky...?

  Her father never calls her Becky.

  She ventures closer, skating around the unknown elephant-in-the-room, not knowing how to get around it. “Dad, what's going on? You're acting weird." She tries again, confused, wanting answers to questions she’s in the dark about. “Did something else happen? You're acting different. Why?” Her voice is edging close to desperation.

  Her mother sighs. “Rebecca, stop being hysterical."

  Neither of them seem to notice or take in the words of the woman standing in between them with a plant in her hand.

  The small thread of control snaps inside Becky. Her father's gaze grows more and more unapproachable, like she's standing at one end of a dark tunnel and he’s at the other end. She’s reaching out, trying to hold on and he is… It's like he isn’t even there.

  “Answer me!”

  Her father's readied silence breaks the awkward hold unfolding around them. “How could you?" There is no misinterpreting the venomous sting of his accusation.

  Faltering, Becky glances between her mother and father, her eyes moving in slow motion. “Dad… What—”

  “How naïve could you be? How could you allow yourself and the rest of this family to be put in danger like that?” Becky is caught off guard, her chin wobbling as tears rise and fall over her eyelids.

  “Dad, I don't know... I don't understand... Mom?” She chokes back the urge to scream, a pleading look dying at her mother's gaze.