Jessica Clare - Last Breath

“Lots of them in the favela, but none that are good. You’ll have to go to Ipanema. See a mermao by the name of Luiz Soto. He can hook you up.” Pereya holds out his hand, and I slip him another hundred. It’s an expensive tip.

“So about the girl,” I begin to say, but he holds up his hands.

“No way.” He makes a shooing gesture with his fingers. “She needs to go. Take her down to Copa. No trouble there. There’s os homi by the Rio.”

“Pereya, I can’t leave Regan at the Rio by herself even if there is a police station next door. Let me leave her here.” I pull out more bills and start flicking through the stack. “How much?”

“How much for what?” Regan says behind me. I turn and the expression on her face saying I’ve betrayed her.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” I say, but my words are belied by my fat wad of cash. I feel more exposed here than if I were a john on a street corner with my pants around my ankles and the police headlights shining on the glossy wet of my dick that was polished by the mouth of the street vendor. Officer, I was not soliciting. I was taking a piss and my dick fell into this young lady’s mouth. All a misunderstanding.

The stricken look on her face says that I’ve struck a blow deep, harder than the guy I capped in the apartment we’d left. Cursing, I take her arm and drag her down the stairs, pretending to gain a little privacy. Pitching my voice low so that I can at least make it difficult for Pereya to hear our business, I tell her my plan. “We need to get papers, and out there,” I gesture over my shoulder toward the street, “you’re more likely to be endangered than here in Pereya’s home. People leave him alone on both sides because he’s got quality product. So he’s like the armory in Switzerland. You come in, take out what you need, and leave. It’s safer here than anywhere. You’re safe with his arsenal.”

She doesn’t hear one word I’ve said. “You’re leaving me behind,” she repeats.

“I’m not. I’m taking a detour, and then I’ll be back.”

“All those things you said earlier, they were to pacify me, right? Tell the little victim what she wants to hear.”

“No,” I protest. I realize I’ve fucked up on so many different levels that it will take a land mine specialist to get me out of this mess.

“Take her down to Ipanema. It’s safe there,” Pereya not so helpfully offers from the top of the stairs.

At this, Regan presses her lips together and looks at me militantly.

“I’ve got a tip. A lead on something important. But it’s in a real dangerous place, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She’s not buying it. There’s no way I’m leaving her with Pereya. I can see it all over her face. With a sigh, I give in. I pack all the ammunition that I’ve bought from Pereya and drape my tactical vest around Regan’s shoulders. Maybe if everyone sees she’s armed, they’ll think twice about pointing a gun in our direction. Maybe.

Regan

THIS MAN IS SO FULL of shit. I won’t leave you behind, Regan. You can trust me, Regan. All lies. All stupid lies. He’s still trying to ditch me.

“It’s not safe for you to go with me,” he tells me, those blue eyes asking for me to understand.

I stare at him.

“I didn’t come this far for you to be killed.”

“And I didn’t come this far to end back up in a whorehouse,” I hiss at him, anger getting the best of me. I used to be such a nice girl. I never argued with anyone. Now I’m constantly screaming at Daniel. But it’s his fault, damn it. If he wasn’t so fired up to ditch me, I wouldn’t lose my shit so often.

He glances over at Pereya, then back at me. “Not here.” He calls over his shoulder, “We need our room again for a bit. See if you can find those jeans and boots for me.” And with that, Daniel grabs me by the arm and hauls me back to the safe room where we’d spent the night.

I let him drag me. That’s fine. His hand is pinching my arm, but if he’s hauling me along, he’s not leaving me behind. That’s all that I ask.

We shuffle back to the safe room, and Daniel flings the door shut, then turns and glares at me. “Okay. We need to talk.”

I adjust the heavy vest he draped over my shoulders. It’s bulky and doesn’t hang right over my boobs, but I’m not going to point that out. Fiddling with it gives me something to do without looking at Daniel. “So talk.”

“This place I have to go today? It’s a dangerous shithole.”

“As opposed to all the other nice, safe playgrounds you’ve taken me to so far?”

“Damn it, Regan, I’m serious. I need to get a tip from a guy in a soccer field that’s the favorite place of the local gangs for microwaving.”

I look up at him, puzzled. “Microwaving?” Somehow I don’t think he means Hot Pockets.

“Yeah. Someone fucks up, you take him out to the field, throw a few tires around him, douse him in gasoline, and set the whole thing on fire. Leaves a nice smoky skidmark to warn everyone else not to make the same mistake.”

I swallow hard. That sounds worse than awful. And Daniel wants to go to this place? Alone? What if he never comes back? What if he leaves me here and I’m sitting with Pereya for weeks, wondering what happened? How long before Pereya decides to sell me to the highest bidder? “Sounds like a shitty place. I’m still going.”

“No,” Daniel says. “I’m in charge of keeping you safe. Taking you there won’t keep you safe. We’re in the middle of some primo gang territory around here.”

“I don’t care!”

“Well, if you don’t give a shit about your life, I do.”

I gasp. How can he say that to me? I’ve clawed and scrambled for every inch of freedom in the last two months. I’ve survived hell. In fact, I’m still trying to escape it. The fact that the one person I can trust is secretly trying to ditch me? It fills me with anger and fury and more than a little hurt. I slap his chest. “You think I don’t care if I live or die? Really?”

Daniel closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “Regan, you know what I’m trying to say here…”

“No, you’re saying shitty things to try and get rid of me. I know how you work. You lie and you try to piss people off so they’ll go away. I’m not going away, though. Remember your promise? ‘I’m not leaving you, Regan. I’m going to stay at your side and protect you, Regan.’ What happened to that?”

“It didn’t involve taking you to a killing ground when you can sit here quietly—”

“And what?” I cry, beating a fist on his chest. I’ve smacked him a few times as we argue, but he doesn’t raise a hand to me. I know I shouldn’t hit him; I’m just so fucking frustrated. “What happens if you don’t come back? How long before someone sells the cute American pussy to the highest bidder again?”

His mouth flattens. “You have to trust me, Regan.”

“Trust? Now who’s crazy?” I laugh bitterly and throw my hands up in the air. “You said I was acting crazy when I jumped you, but I’m not so sure. I can guarantee that if you were getting your dick wet, you’d move heaven and earth to make sure I stayed at your side, instead of trying to ditch me. So now who’s crazy, huh?”

He reaches out and grabs the front of the flak jacket. I start to pull away, but he’s only tying together two strings at the neck that will keep it closed. “So,” he says flatly, “you want to talk about trust? How about you jumping all over me as soon as I close my eyes to try and manipulate me into keeping you around? How am I supposed to trust you after that?”

I’m shocked at his words, that he can turn the whole “trust” thing around on me and still make me wince after all this. It hits home. I have been manipulating him. “But . . . you like me,” I protest. “You think I’m sexy.”

“I do,” he agrees, tying the cord into a bow and then reaching for another one under my arm so he can fit the flak jacket tighter to my body. “I think you’re beautiful. I also think my appreciation of you is completely inappropriate, and I would never act on it. Have I done anything at all to make you uncomfortable? Acted inappropriately?”

Other than a few smacks on the ass and referring to me as baby doll? I want to point this out, but we both know it’s to rile me up and distract me, and he’s not serious about it. He’s right. He’s been nothing but good to me even when he doesn’t have to be. If he snapped his fingers, I’d be on my knees sucking his dick out of gratitude because I’d feel like it would get me somewhere with him.

How fucked up is that? And how fucked up is it that Daniel’s the Boy Scout in the situation and I’m the one throwing my body at him? Not that it matters. Sex is ruined for me. I don’t think I could ever touch a man again without thinking of the brothel.

But then I look at Daniel’s frowning mouth. He’s been straight-up appalled that I never had an orgasm. Curls his lip at Mike’s name as if he’s done me some sort of disservice. As if everyone else is the problem and not me. Not Work-Harder-to-Make-It-All-Better Regan who refuses to see problems in a relationship. Not Head-In-the-Sand Regan who tries to ignore the world so her little bubble isn’t disturbed.

That Regan’s dead now.

Daniel finishes tying one side of my jacket and then the other as I watch him move. He’s got long eyelashes, and a strong jaw, and he’s . . . really attractive.

I wonder briefly what it would be like to kiss him. Really kiss him. It might be Stockholm syndrome speaking, but that can’t possibly be any worse than what I’ve already been through. And suddenly, I’m curious.

If I kiss Daniel, will it be like kissing men at the brothel? Will I want to vomit if his mouth touches mine? Or will it be . . . Daniel? The man with a pretty mouth who desperately wants me in his bed and won’t touch me because he knows I have Issues, with a capital I.

I lick my lips, thinking.

“What?” Daniel asks, and I realize he’s looking at me again.

I’m suddenly nervous. I step a little closer to him and put my hand to one of the buttons on his wrinkled shirt. “Can I . . . can I try something?”

“Shoot.” He’s watching me warily, but he doesn’t move away.

I stand up on my tiptoes and press my mouth to his. He stiffens, and I part my lips, letting my tongue graze his mouth. I feel absolutely nothing. I might as well be kissing a stone for all that he participates, and after a moment, I pull away, frowning. “Why aren’t you kissing me back?”

“I’m trying to figure out your angle.”

For some reason, that hurts my feelings. I lower my heels and try not to feel stupid. “I wanted to kiss you and see if it was like kissing guys at the brothel. If it’d be different because it’s you. Or if everything’s totally ruined.”

He groans and closes his eyes, then presses his forehead to mine. His hand cups the back of my head. “You’re killing me, Regan. You know that, right?”

“I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice.

“Shh. Nothin’ to be sorry about, darlin’. If you want a kiss, I’ll oblige you. You have some shit timing is all.” He glances at the closed door behind us, then shrugs and turns back to me. “A kiss. Nothing more, though. You’re not ready, and I can’t afford a distraction. All right?”

“That works. I just want to see . . .” I trail off without finishing the sentence because it can’t really end in a great way.

I just want to see if I’m broken.

I just want to see if I’m really fucked up in the head.

I just want to see if you taste good.

I just want to see if I’ll puke.

“Okay. No pouncing, though. You ready?” His hand touches my cheek. “Feel free to push me away at any time if you freak out.”

I nod.

Daniel leans in and his nose brushes mine as his face angles in. I start to close my eyes because every kiss is usually better that way, but I worry that if I close them, I’ll see the wrong faces. So I keep them open as his mouth carefully grazes mine. His lips move gently over mine, and then he’s sucking at my lower lip, kissing me with careful presses of his lips against my mouth.

He’s so tender that I’m surprised. I expected Daniel to be all talk and no finesse, but the man kissing me is infinitely gentle. His eyes are closed, as if kissing me right is the only thing that matters at the moment.

And...I’m not hating it. That’s good.

He continues to press soft kisses to my mouth, and I let him, exploring my feelings. I’m not grossed out and I don’t want to vomit. If anything, I wish he’d kiss me a little harder. Mike was never a big kisser; he only wanted to do it if it’d get him somewhere, and I’d accepted that. But Daniel . . . I suspect Daniel could kiss a girl for hours to watch how it affects her.