Page 12 of Karma

She leans down, picking it up. “Sure. I got some jerky and crackers. Maybe a candy bar or two. I need to do some shopping.”

She hands me the things she listed.

“Man, you fugitives really know how to live,” I say, biting into the jerky which I knew would be good and is. “I always forget to pack food.”

“But not liquor,” she says, eying the empty bottle I left out here this morning.

“Nope, that I remember.” Another thing I don’t want to talk about. This day could be perfect. Unless we fuck it up by talking about the wrong things.

Maybe she feels the same way, because she doesn’t say anything more, just busies herself with clearing out the coffeemaker to brew some more coffee. She has a whole set of tools for that, including a plastic baggy for the trash and a special, pump-topped bottle of clean water for washing it.

“So where’d you hear about this place?” I ask. “A good review online saying it was a bitchin’ place for fugitives and outlaws?”

She stops the cleaning and gives me a hard look, the kind I was used to getting from her before she landed in my bed last night.

“Stop calling me a fugitive.”

“Why? It’s what you are, right?” I have no idea why I’m doing this, why I’m making her mad and cold, when all I want to do is rip my shirt off her and fuck her until she screams my name. I guess I just want to see how long her niceness to me will hold. I like to test stupid shit like that whenever I find something good because I’m sadomasochistic. And an idiot.

“So are you,” she mutters and focuses on cleaning her coffee maker again.

“Not that I’m aware of,” I say and take another bite of her delicious jerky. “I’m more just your garden variety outlaw.”

She laughs, but it’s not a sing-song pretty kind of sound. “Don’t sell yourself short now, Scorpio. And don’t be modest. It’s not attractive.”

“Sorry.” I stuff some more jerky in my mouth before I say more stupid things.

Not sure why she’s so offended at being called a fugitive, though. It’s what all of them are in that Forsaken Outlaws MC of hers. They’re all on the run from the law and some of themhave even made the FBI’s Most Wanted list. The warrior beauty sitting beside me included. As well as Grim and Reaper.

“I want to get out of that life,” she says quietly, her voice as soft as the breeze blowing across the lake before us. “I’m just so sick of always running, you know? Of not having a place to call home. Of never knowing what’s gonna happen next. Who’s gonna die next…”

Her voice shakes on that last, reminding me of tiny ripples on otherwise calm water. This sadness of hers is just as pointless as those ripples. Because the surface of water always rights itself and wishing for things you can never have sucks all the fun out of life.

“How are you gonna do that?”

She shrugs. “I used to know a guy who knows some other guys that can maybe make it happen. My favorite tattoo artist knows him. I was halfway to Brooklyn to go see her and ask if she can put me in touch with him. But she’s not there anymore. She’s in LA.”

I wasn’t actually expecting an answer. I meant it like a rhetorical question so she’d realize she’s chasing a pipe dream that’ll just break her heart some more. But clearly, she has a whole plan.

“And that also answers your question of why I’m here,” she says, smiling for the first time in what seems like ages. “I’m heading back to LA to find the guy.”

“But you already found me,” I say and take her hand. “You don’t need some other guy.”

She gives me a crooked smile. This time I do kiss it off, vaguely wondering why all her talk of this other guy actually made me feel something very close to jealousy.

Idiotic.

So I forget all about it as I help her into my lap. She comes willingly.

Her kiss is as soft and perfect as the one last night. As tasty as the coffee she made for me and the food she gave me. As healing as the waters stretching out before us and just as wild.

And that’s what life should be all about. Feeling good. Everything else is just pointless noise.

Last night she tasted like the lights that burn late into the night, when passion is high and all stops are pulled. Today she tastes like the fresh morning of a new day. And also of coffee and something so soft and pleasant I have no name for it, just a satisfied feeling in the pit of my stomach that’s quickly spreading outward. Especially as she breaks away from my lips and brushes her cheek against mine.

Then she starts kissing my jawline and my neck, the touch of her lips like the softest breeze. A very fragrant breeze. Her scent is alive around us. Sweet like jasmine, unforgiving like the winter wind. A dizzying combination. And it gets even worse as her lips reach my chest. She doesn’t forget my nipples either, which so many hoes do when they get sweet like this. Which isn’t often. Everyone’s just in it for the happy end lately.

My cock is twitching for the touch of her lips, not gonna lie, but this sweet torture has a charm I can’t deny. She slides down between my legs, her arms holding onto the sides of the chair, her tattoo-covered muscles coiling and uncoiling, making the images come alive.

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