Chapter Nine

She was standing in the middle of the street. Not any street, but *the* street. The edges of her vision were fuzzy and dull and there was a loud thumping in her head-- da dunk, da dunk, da dunk-- like a drum or one of those boats down by the water, rocking against the pier.

In the distance, down at the intersection of 13th and Van Ness, where the street was shaded by the cover of the highway overpass, were two mangled cars, twisted metal, and smoke. There was a moment of realization, then she was floating there, hovering above the cars, and peering into the shattered windshield of the blue Honda. There were two figures slumped over in the seats, but she couldn't see their faces, it was just a black fog where their heads were supposed to be.

Suddenly everything was melting away, she was back on the ground, but the scenery around her morphed into trees, low hanging vines that she had to push through to get to a clearing, where she could just make out a man standing near a large rock.

Javier.

She tried to call his name, waved to him, but he didn't seem to hear her. She tried to move closer, but her feet weren't working, it felt like she was stuck, ankle deep in quicksand. Then there was a bang, sharp and loud, and suddenly Javier was hunched over, his hand pressed into his side, blood pouring out from between his fingers. She screamed, but nothing came out. She tried to run to him, but she still couldn't move.

Emma shot up in bed, her body coated in a thin sheen of sweat, her heart hammering away in her chest.

She dreamt about her parents every so often, not all of them nightmares, but the theme that carried throughout was their faces... or lack thereof. They were always missing, blank, foggy. She couldn't remember what they looked like even after she awoke. That was for the best. She saw enough of them in her own features, sometimes slipping into a strange dissociative state when she stared into the mirror for too long. Was it her mother who'd given her the sloped curve of her nose? Her father's eyes had been the same shade of blue... hadn't they?

She'd never dreamt about Javier, though...

The panic that had flooded her body during her dream felt the same as the alarm that had rung out in her head when she'd first seen those scars on his chest the week prior. They'd fucked almost every day since then, and every day she stared at those scars, and every day she forced herself not to say anything, not to ask, not to break their deal by letting the questions swirling away in her head show on her face.

It was all connected, she knew that. The secrecy surrounding his job, Columbia, that invisible gun in the back of his pants, the way he jumped at sudden sounds, the scars. Still, even with all that information, the little clues she'd gathered about him, she couldn't figure it out, could never be certain.

A little inkling in the back of her head, a blinking warning sign that all women are familiar with, cautioned her that he might be a bad man. The mystery that shrouded him was not inherently safe... He'd been in Columbia, fighting something, something that left scars on his body and even more devastating ones on his mind. He refused to tell her, or anyone, about what had happened, or what his full name was, or why he was suddenly living in a small neighborhood in San Francisco. All of that was a recipe for disaster. If she had any friends... or a mother, she knew they would berate her for what she was doing with him, urge her to never talk to him again, ban him from the bar and get a restraining order.

Even still... she couldn't get that flashing, red warning light to overwhelm the tugging neediness she felt in her core toward him. He wasn't bad. A larger part of her knew that. It was apparent in his infuriating tendency to want to protect her, in the gentle way he held her face after he kissed her, in his insistence on walking her home after she closed the bar by herself.

And if he was bad..., did she care? She should, she knew that... but what did it matter? They were just fucking. That was it.

He could've murdered someone out there... multiple someones.

She shook the thought away, tried to shake away the replaying of her nightmare with it, but couldn't. Her eyes kept flashing between the scars and the blood and as she sat there in bed, still in that murky state between sleep and being fully conscious, she started to feel ill, woozy at even the subconscious rendering of blood pouring out of his side.

She was reminded of that day, a couple months back, when she'd cut her finger at the bar. Javier hadn't been even slightly agitated by the sight of blood trickling down her finger. At the time, that hadn't seemed strange. Most people weren't as bothered by blood as she was... but now, all things considered, the scars on his chest, the large one that stitched itself up his side, it was much more curious. Wouldn't someone who had been hurt so badly, watched their own blood pour out of them, be more affected?

Perhaps not... perhaps there was some level of jadedness that came with being exposed to so much violence. But... he wasn't entirely unaffected. That was obvious, considering his secrecy, the way he jolted and moved her hands away from him when she tried to touch one of those marks.

He was never going to tell her.

She knew that, tried to abate her curiosity, reminded herself constantly of their deal. No emotions, no labels, just sex.

Just sex.

So why had the sight of those scars evoked so much anger inside of her, such a profound sadness that whenever he pulled his shirt off-- something he was getting more and more comfortable doing-- she immediately turned around, letting him tug her hips up and fuck her from behind so he wouldn't see the glossy sheen that coated her eyes in response to those marks.

What happened to him? Who hurt him?

She groaned, letting her head fall into her hands as she inched closer and closer to a secure sense of consciousness. She wanted to forget about all of it-- the dream, the scars, the annoyingly complex state of their deal. But she couldn't. The images just kept replaying themselves over and over again-- car crash, blank faces, jungle, Javier, blood.

Why had he been in a dream with her parents? Why did her subconscious have to lump them together like that? She had tried, so goddamn hard, to keep her parents separate from everything else in her current life. They existed only in the murky state of her past. It was the only way she had managed to go on. She never went to the other side of the city where the accident had happened, she didn't keep any photos of them, she didn't talk to any of her extended family, she existed as a sole being, untethered to anything that could possibly leave her like that again.

There had been a moment, with Robert, with Macie... where she thought she might find some stability, some sense of sanctuary within people again... but that had only put her right back where she started. The sense of betrayal, dark and thick and unrelenting, that had sucked her down after her parents, after Robert and Macie, was too much to ever have to experience again. She wouldn't survive a third time.

She kicked the blankets off of her, going through the grueling motions of getting ready. It was uncharacteristically warm out for once, the sun high in a cloudless sky. Surely the fog would roll in later in the evening, but she wasn't going to miss out on the chance to wear actual summer clothes.

When she walked into the bar about an hour later, Javier was already sitting at his usual spot, his eyes darting to the door the minute she walked in.

A low groan echoed out of his throat as he involuntarily turned toward her on the stool, his cock jumping to life in the confines of his jeans.

A sundress, she's wearing a goddamn sundress.

The little yellow thing was tight at the top, hugging the plump shape of her tits, outlining her waist and fluttering down at her hips, cutting off a few inches above her knees.

He wanted to rip it off, or better yet, tug it up and see what pair of pretty panties she was wearing underneath, bend her over and fuck her with the thing pooled up above her ass.

He shifted a bit in his seat, trying to get his growing dick into a more comfortable position.

He tried to catch her eyes when she walked past him, headed toward the back room to clock in, but she kept her attention straight ahead, gnawing anxiously on her bottom lip.

Had he done something wrong?

He tried to wrack his brain, replayed the day before, when he'd met her outside the bar, walked her home and fucked her on her couch, but that only worked to make his dick even harder.

She exhaled sharply in the privacy of the back room, trying to get the images from her dreams to fucking stop. Part of her had hoped he wouldn't be there when she arrived, so she would have more time to rid the vision of him bleeding out, of her parent's blurry, blacked out faces. She had no time, though... just enough to clock in and drop her things off as the afternoon bartender departed before she was forced out of the back room.

She could feel his eyes on her as she checked the kegs and filled a glass with Jameson for Ethan. She wished it were busier, for once, she could use the distraction, but besides Ethan and a couple college kids back at the pool table, he was the only one there.

"Chiquita." He voiced, his low baritone a pinch higher than normal.

She tried to act like she hadn't heard him as she reached into the fridge and gathered a bowl of pre-sliced oranges for one of the garnish jars, but he saw the way her mouth twitched in recognition, and his stomach sank, his brain once again rifling through the past couple days, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong.

"Emma." He said, a beat later, a decibel louder.

She forced her eyes up, her throat growing thick as soon as her eyes met his, her brain once again constructing that image of him crumbled over, hand pressed into his side, blood pouring through his fingers.

"Everything okay, bonita?" He asked, his voice so soft, his dark eyes flickering over her face, then down to each exposed bit of skin, like he was trying to find something glaringly wrong, a cut or a bruise, something he could mend without the emotion they had both promised they would keep out of their situation.

She nodded urgently, whirling around, and busying herself with an invisible spot on the back counter, so he wouldn't see her face crumple up.

Oh, you fucked up Javier...

He felt his chest tighten, his stomach whirling with a tense bit of anxiety. What the fuck had he done? And why couldn't he remember?

She was frustrated, angry at herself for not being able to control her emotions as she furiously wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She just needed some space, a little fucking space so she could push away that nightmare without him hovering over her the entire time.

He didn't know what to say, what to apologize for, so he asked for the only thing she was obligated to provide for him at that moment, the only thing that might get her to turn back around.

"Could I get a drink please, Em?" He asked softly, cursing himself as her shoulders sank.

When she turned around, her eyes all glossy and red, he immediately stood up, so fast the stool wobbled, nearly falling down at the force in which he'd gotten up.

"Hey." He whispered, his heart clenching painfully at the sight of her, tears glistening against the porcelain of her cheeks. Oh, it's agony. He cleared the side of the bar, standing helpless at the edge, a mere foot away from her. "What happened, chiquita?"

She shook her head, keeping her gaze down where she was pouring bourbon into a glass. "Nothing, I'm fine." She warbled, her voice weak and shaky and fuck what did he do?

"Talk to me, did I do something wrong-- I don't--" He started, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his body so desperate to clear the space between them that his body ached.

"You didn't do anything, Javier. I'm fine, okay?" She spat out, placing his glass down on the counter, and without looking at him, squeezing past to push her way into the back room.

"Fuck." He muttered, rubbing at his temple, about to go sit back down and keep his mouth shut before he heard her muffled cries from the back room.

There wasn't a force on earth that could have kept him from barging into that room.

Her head snapped up as the doors swung open, she had been leaning back against the sink, trying to get the images to stop, just fucking stop. But they wouldn't, her parents, the car, Javier, the blood, god, the fucking blood.

"Go away, please." She blubbered, wishing she sounded more demanding as he cleared the space between them in two large steps.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong. Did someone hurt you? Did I do something? Is--"

"Nothing happened!" She spat out, hot tears rolling down her cheeks, collecting under her chin and dripping down onto the yellow fabric of her pretty dress.

Oh he could've died at the sight.

"Nothing happened, okay? I'm fine and it's not any of your business, anyway. We're not supposed to-- you're not supposed to care, remember? So, j-just go back out there and drink your stupid bourbon and when I'm off work you can drag me back to my house and fuck me, but that's it! You don't get to ask me what's wrong. Y-you don't get to ask me anything when you won't tell me shit about you!" Her chest was heaving at her outburst, her cheeks red with both embarrassment at her candor and fury at the fact that she was still fucking crying.

He just stood there, his hands feeling arthritic with the need to touch her as they dangled useless at his sides. She was right... that was the worst part. She was right. He didn't get to ask her what was wrong, didn't get to ask her why she didn't have any photos in her house, didn't get to ask her why she was spending all her free time fucking him instead of going out on dates or watching movies with friends or visiting her parents.

So then why... why was the need to hold her through whatever it was that was going on so fucking debilitating?

"J-just let me-- then let me--" He sighed, unable to say anything worth uttering as he gave in and tugged her to his chest, enveloping his arms around her tiny form, curling himself around her like he could shield her from whatever it was that was making her so upset.

She let out a ragged breath against him, knowing she should push him away, knowing that this crossed some boundary they laid out but being unable to care as she slipped into his warmth. He was here, he was okay, he wasn't getting shot at in Columbia anymore.

"Don't tell me anything, just let me hold you for a minute." He muttered against her hair, breathing in deeply, the scent of honeysuckle making the knot in his chest unwind a bit.

She clung to his sides, burying her face against his chest, and drenching the fabric of his shirt with her tears. They didn't stop coming, in fact they increased, hot and heavy and flooding out of her as the images finally ceased, her senses too overwhelmed by the strength of his body holding her unrelentingly against him, the woody scent of his skin, the gentle way he was running his hand up and down her spine.

Relief, that was what she was feeling, fucking overwhelming relief.

"Let it out, I'm right here, I won't let go until you're done." He whispered, pressing a firm kiss onto the top of her head.

This was all wrong, but he couldn't bear the thought of letting her suffer alone. No, not when he was here, not when he could hold her until she stopped crying. He'd seen terrible, awful things. Things that most people couldn't even begin to imagine. But as he held her there, he thought, the sight of her crying might be just as abhorrent, just as devastating... How ludicrous.

"Javi." She blubbered his name against his chest, the sound ripping something open inside of him.

"Yeah, baby?" He answered, petting the back of her head, loosening his arms just enough so that she could look up at him if she wanted to.

She did, her eyes all red and puffy, her cheeks wet, but her body not nearly as tense as when he'd first pulled her into his arms.

She wanted to say something, despite her earlier outburst, her emotional state was leaving her vulnerable and weak and she wanted to tell him about her dream, wanted to tell him that she knew he wouldn't open up to her, but that she needed to know that he was safe now, that the people that had hurt him wouldn't come here and find him.

She couldn't say anything though. This was already crossing the line, she didn't need to blow past it by telling him that she was crying over a dream that involved him getting shot, didn't need to mention her parents or anything about her past. That was all off limits.

"Never mind." She whispered, biting down on her bottom lip as she stared up at him, his dark eyes plagued with concern.

Just sex.

He was silent for a moment, an undeserving bout of disappointment rising in his chest as he watched her decide against telling him whatever it was that she had been about to utter.

Just sex.

He nodded, his lips in a tight line, his eyebrows furled together as he reached up and brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks with one calloused thumb.

"I'm okay now." She sniffled, swallowing hard and trying to convince herself that her statement was true.

He wanted to kiss her, make sure she was okay by making her forget about whatever it was that upset her, but that would have to wait. He couldn't just keep it to a kiss... not while she was wearing that fucking sundress he'd almost forgotten about, not after she had been crying and clinging to him and yelling about how he wasn't supposed to care.

He wasn't supposed to care.

Why was that beginning to seem impossible?

She exhaled slowly, brushing her tiny fingers through her hair and pulling away from him, straightening her pretty, little dress and pushing her way back out into the bar.

He wasn't supposed to care. Not about whatever had made her upset, not about her piece of shit ex, not about all the men at the bar who tried to touch her, not about the lack of pictures in her home, not about the little worry lines that etched themselves between her eyebrows more often than not, not about the fact that they both knew essentially nothing about each other's pasts.

But when he walked back out into the bar and reinstated himself at his spot, his eyes immediately locked on her, absorbing the way she brushed her dark hair out of her face, glued to the way her hips swung as she walked across the bar to take one of the college kid's orders. And as she turned back to him, her dark, blue eyes-- the ones that reminded him of before, of home-- locked on his, the only thought in his mind, overwhelming and impossible to suppress, was mine. She's mine.

_________

They crashed through her door, already grabbing at each other, her hands in his hair, tugging at it as he took hold of her generous ass, using the hold to lift her up into his arms as his mouth ate at hers.

"This dress was killing me all fucking day, bonita." He grumbled, leaving her lips to bite at the bruise on her neck that he still hadn't let fully heal.

She whined, giving him full access as her head tilted back, the sensation of his hot mouth on her skin made her panties immediately flood with arousal.

"S-sorry." She spat out, fingers digging into the taut skin of his biceps.

"Don't apologize." He insisted, voice buzzing against her neck.

He needed her now, needed to be inside her, needed to calm that nagging voice in the back of his head that was screaming mine, mine, mine.

He hoisted her further up, blinding walking over to the couch and collapsing down onto it, directing her onto his lap by a tight hold on her waist.

"Let me see." He ordered, grabbing the hem of her dress, and yanking it up.

He groaned, low in his throat, as his eyes absorbed the beautiful sight between her legs. A light blue, silky thong fucking drenched, clung to her pussy, the outline of her lips just visible through the fabric.

Mine.

"Oh, pretty girl, so wet already. You need my cock, don't you? That'll make everything better."

She nodded urgently, clawing at the wide expanse of his shoulders. His words, the dark state of his eyes, making her pussy clench with need.

"P-please Javi." She whimpered, the sound causing his dick to jolt.

"I'll give you what you need, chiquita. Always give you what you need." He rumbled, pushing her back a bit to unzip his pants, reach down and yank his cock out, carefully sweeping his heavy balls out along with it.

She whined at the sight, the red hot head of him glistening with precum. She needed him inside her, needed to feel him at the very end of her, where no one else had touched. Then she thought, she would be fully convinced that everything was okay, that he was okay, that they were okay... Not that they had any meaning beyond this.

"One second, baby. Gotta get a condom." He grunted, trying to keep her steady on his lap as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

"I don't want it." She spat out, stopping him in his tracks, his dark eyes snapping to her and flickering with hunger.

"What?" He asked, his voice so low it was nearly a growl.

"I- I don't want it. I'm on the pill and I'm clean just p-please." She spat out, trying to pull herself closer to him, grinding her aching clit against his length and letting out a crying moan that made him shudder.

"Mmmph-- fuck-- baby, are you sure?" He forced himself into some bit of composure, grabbing her waist and pushing her back a bit.

"Yes, just p-please Papi, I want you." She whimpered, pupils blown out, puffy lips parted.

Fuck.

Oh fuck.

He groaned, then grabbed her waist, bringing her onto her knees and yanking her thong out of the way. Then she was being slammed down onto him, his devastating length ripping her apart as he hit the end of her, the thick head kissing the mouth of her womb as his lips absorbed her scream.

Nothing will ever be this good, nothing, fuck nothing.

It was overwhelming, the feeling of her tight, hot walls surrounding him. Him. Not a condom, nothing to separate the two of them as he tugged her up and slammed her back down.

"Feel so fucking good, chiquita. Fu-fuck baby. You take cock so well, such a good girl for me. Tell Papi how good it feels."

"S-so good. Oh, Javi, I-- oh you're so big, it feels so good." She cried out, fingers clawing at his chest and his arms as her head tilted back. Her pelvis was already buzzing, the angle made it so her pussy couldn't push him out as she started to flutter against him.

"Cum on my cock, baby. Let me feel you." He grunted, teeth bared as he moved one of his hands to her swollen, little clit, circling that sensitive bead as he began thrusting up into her.

She wailed, her head rocking back on her neck as the pressure in her lower belly turned wicked. It was almost too much; his cock was so big and the calloused skin of his fingers on her clit was rocketing her toward a heavy release.

"Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me." He encouraged her, nipping at her neck, his mustache tickling her skin. When he licked a hot stripe up her throat that was it, she was pulsing around him, crying out as she collapsed onto his shoulder.

"Th-at's it, bonita. Such a good girl coming for me like I asked." He praised, feeling his balls tighten, her wetness seeping out and pooling up at the base of his cock.

When she managed to sit back up, he ripped his shirt off over his head, needing to feel her fingers on his skin, no matter the consequences.

She gazed up at him, looking fucked out and so devastatingly beautiful.

Mine.

"Where do you want me to cum, chiquita? Answer quickly." He spat out, eyebrows furled together, hair sticking to his forehead as he started thrusting up into her in harder, faster strokes.

"Inside." She wailed, "Oh please, inside."

He was going to die.

"F-fuck." He moaned, nearly whimpering as he held her waist tighter.

She felt so small, so safe like this. His big hands nearly encompassing her waist, his broad shoulders dwarfing her form. She kept her eyes on his, dark and needy, so she wouldn't glance down at his chest, at the scars.

"P-perfect pussy," He hissed through his clenched teeth as he felt his release simmering, so close to the surface. "Made for me." He stammered, everything disappearing beyond those dark, blue eyes. The same color as the water at home. "Mine." He growled, without even considering that he was speaking aloud.

At the word mine she was pulsing again, moaning out as her forehead collapsed against his.

"F-fuck baby-- you like that, don't you? Like when I call you mine."

She dug her fingers into his shoulders, mewling wildly.

"You are mine." He grunted, then he was cumming, spilling into her and increasing the pressure in her pelvis as her pussy milked his cock, desperately sucking it into her womb.

He had marked her, in that place no one else could reach, let his seed spill into her and reinforce his utterance of that word he should've never said aloud... should have never even thought.

And even yet, there was another thought, one even more disastrous.

I never want to let her go.

She collapsed onto his chest, physically spent, but her emotions still in overdrive. She kept her eyes shut, as to not look at those scars, but the minute her fingers brushed one of them she let out a sputtering cry, the images from that morning back with a vengeance.

Her parents, the car, Javier, the blood, god, the fucking blood.

The sound of her crying made his entire body tense, his mind frantically trying to piece together what could possibly be wrong.

"Hey, hey, chiquita." He stammered, his voice tight and a tad higher than normal as he rubbed her arms, "What's wrong? Was I too rough? Did I hurt you?"

He would rather die than either of those statements be true.

She shook her head against him, her face rocking against his chest, her little hands clawing at his arms.

"Fuck, then what is it?" He asked, gently gathering her face in his hands, and lifting it from his chest.

She couldn't answer, and he shouldn't have even been asking. She finally let her eyes open, desperate to get away from the replaying images that had been plaguing her all fucking day, but when she was greeted by his face, his dark eyes glossy with concern, his eyebrows crumbled together, all she could see was him hunched over, blood pouring from his side.

What if whoever hurt him came here? What if they found him? What if they hurt him again? What if they killed him?

She wailed, tugging at his arms, trying to get closer to him as he just stared at her, wide-eyed, his heart pounding so heavily in his chest he thought he might vomit.

"Emma, baby, what is it? You're scaring me." He stammered, letting her collapse back against him, her face pressed into his neck, where she was breathing in heavily, sobbing against his skin.

It was quiet for a moment, besides the sounds of her sobs. He held her, his mind racing, thoughts tumbling over each other until he finally spoke, so void of volume it could barely be heard over her cries.

"Just forget about the deal for a minute, okay? Just for a minute. You need to tell me what's wrong, because if you don't, I'm going to assume the worst, and believe me, you don't want me to do that." His voice turned to nearly a growl at the end and she shuddered against him, pushing herself up by his shoulders to find his eyes nearly black.

"Why not?" She whispered, tears still rolling down her pretty cheeks.

"Because" He started, and she watched his Adam's apple bob in the thick confines of his throat. "The worst-case scenario involves someone hurting you, and if that's the case I'll tear this entire city apart to find whoever did it."

His voice was stern, unyielding, and his statement made her quiver in his lap.

Maybe Javier wasn't bad... but something told her he could be dangerous.

"Tell me, bonita. Right now. Deal is off for the next ten minutes."

She was going to regret this, and he was going to regret ever asking her.

"I had-- had a nightmare." She whispered, gnawing on her bottom lip, her eyes flickering across his face, trying to decipher if he could read her mind from that simple statement.

He didn't say anything, just waited for her to elaborate.

"Y-you were in a jungle... and you-- you got shot." Her voice cracked, her eyes welling with fresh tears as he felt his muscles spasm and tense.

Of course... of course she wouldn't tell me. She knew what my reaction would be.

She felt his body stiffen and immediately started blabbering, trying to remedy the barrier she knew he was about to put up.

"I'm not-- I don't need to know anything, you don't have to tell me what happened j-just tell me, just-- I need to know that whoever did this to you--" She glanced down, hot tears spilling onto his chest and searing his skin as she traced one of the small circular scars. "I need to know they're not going to come here... that they're not going to hurt you again."

He shuddered, the scar she was tracing burning.

We're not supposed to care.

Just sex.

"Baby." He whispered, tugging her chin up, his chest ripping open at the sight of her red eyes, the frown tugging at the corners of her lips. "They're not going to come here, and they're not going to hurt me again."

She swallowed hard, letting her hands slide up to rest on his broad shoulders. "You promise?"

He nodded, once, firmly, "I promise."

"Okay." She whispered, letting her head fall back onto his chest, her mind whirling with this new information.

She knew it wasn't fair, she hadn't been entirely honest with him, but he hadn't told her anything about what had happened... so it only made sense that she keep the part about her parents to herself.

"Nothing is going to hurt me, pretty girl." He whispered, running his hand up and down her back. "Nothing."

Except you. His brain screamed at him. You could hurt me so fucking easily.