Page 28 of Protector

I closed my eyes and nodded. “Fuckin’ hell, Slim. You’re supposed to slow down in your old age—”

“Quit the drugs. We clear?”

My stomach churned from the adrenaline and the effects of his fists, leaving me ready to hurl on the carpet. I worked on getting my breathing under control before answering. “Slim, why are you even here? Thought you went Nomad.”

Using his hand, he shifted his jaw from side to side before popping it back into place. “Seems without Wolverine and Angel around, I’m the only one who can talk any goddamn sense into you. I guess that makes me your handler. Now, get up and get your ass in the shower. We got things to discuss.”

I got up and slammed the bathroom door shut behind me like a bratty child. So, maybe my drinking and using had gotten a little out of hand; I was still doing spades better than most of the fuckers around me.

Comedian had fucked off on a week-long bimbo bender after Betsy and Mike disappeared before sampling every drug we sold. Hell, when Bear found out Molly was knocked up, he’d promptly attempted drowning himself in vodka.

But, oh no.

“John ‘Fuckin’ Killjoy’ Greene can’t let me escape reality for one goddamn second,” I grumbled to myself as I stepped under the showerhead.

The water pressure was shit, raining lukewarm water down on me like a weak stream of piss one second and stripping the skin off my back the next.

By the time I worked the soap into a lather, my cock was demanding attention again. With a grunt, I slapped a palm against the tile wall to steady myself before taking it in my fist.

Instead of conjuring up one of my usual fantasies of Celia, I kept coming back to Slim’s confession. Imagining her doing the books wasn’t working, so I tried picturing her decorating cakes before the rational part of my brain took over.

I saw her, as if she was right in front of me, wearing nothing but an apron. Her hair fell across one shoulder as she looked back at me before leaning over the long metal table in front of her.

In a fantasy that felt more real than anything I’d experienced over the last six months, Celia reached back and untied the apron, giving me an even better view of her perfect ass. When she slipped it over her head and tossed it aside, I began pumping my cock in desperation. She ran her tongue over her lower lip before hopping up onto the table and spreading her legs, inviting me in.

This was the best high I’d ever had.

I imagined positioning her on the edge of the table until her ass was damn near hanging off before burying myself to the hilt inside her tight pussy.

My teeth scraped over the white substance that coated her nipples, and I decided it was powdered sugar, not blow. My girl was good enough to eat.

More.

Vivid scenes played out in my mind, each one hotter than the last. I spread cake frosting on her belly and sucked chocolate sauce off her clit until the pressure in my spine increased, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I let out a low growl as my dick jerked against my hand, coating the tile in front of me.

Shame immediately flooded my body, and I let out a ragged breath before dropping my chin down to my chest. I was so far beyond fucked up that there wasn’t even a word for it.

It felt wrong imagining her like that, knowing what those bastards had done to her.

Knowing that I’d caused it.

I shut off the shower just as there was a quiet knock at the door. “Grey?”

“Yeah, Slim. I’ll be out in a second.” I wrapped a towel around my waist and stared into the mirror until the truth was staring back.

The king of death and the goddess of life.

She’d never belonged with me.

I just hadn’t wanted to see it back then.

I saw it now though.

* * *

“Why are you so goddamn cheerful?” I snarled, as I passed Comedian coming up the stairs with a plastic ice bucket in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

He stopped whistling and grinned down at me from a few steps above. “Life is good, Pres. Life is good.”

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