it. My hand felt for the back of the one chair and I gripped it tightly. “But it's scaring the hell out of me.” The words came out in one breathless gasp.
“Okay,” Stephen said. His eyes slipped from my eyes to my lips and back. “We don't have to do that again.”
“I want to,” I said, too quickly. “I just don't know if we should. I need to focus on finding Claire, and you need to help Hannah. When we kissed, I wanted to forget it all. I felt like I was slipping away from here.”
“Yeah. I felt that too.” He took a half step back and I wanted to reach out and pull him against me.
“So we don't kiss again,” I said, even though I wanted to kiss him again right that moment.
“No more kissing.” Stephen ran a hand over his hair again; a gesture I was fast realizing meant he was nervous. “At least not until we figure everything out.”
“Okay,” I said. I moved closer until I was standing pressed against him again, his back to the counter. My hands gripped the counter behind him. I refused to let them move around him. “No more kissing.”
“No more,” Stephen muttered, even as he leaned toward me again. His arms snaked around my waist, and my arms looped around his neck, our lips moving like magnets to each other. Before they touched, the front door came crashing in.
We jumped apart. Stephen ran for his sister and I followed two steps behind. We stood together, hands clasped, in front of Hannah. She woke up and huddled against the wall in the silence that followed the sound of the door hitting the floor.
A tall, paunchy man wearing a pin stripe suit and matching hat stepped through the doorway. He had small dark eyes framed by crow’s feet, and bushy gray eyebrows that matched his hair. A scar split the left side of his upper lip giving him a permanent sneer. He wasn't a good looking man, but next to the two guys who stepped in behind him he was a ten.
The guy to his left had a sweaty red face under his hat, with a wide, flat nose, and ears big enough to pick up radio signals. His dark suit seemed a size too small for his massive frame. In his hands he gripped a large gun; the knuckles on both his hands were covered in pink keloid scars.
The other guy was just as big, but looked more muscular than the first guy. His face was a map of pockmarks and red pimples. He wore no hat, and his blond hair hung greasy around his face. The dark suit he wore fit him well, but looked like it had seen far better days by the way it was fraying along the seams.
“Hello my friends. I hope we aren't interrupting, but you see you have my favorite girl right there. Perhaps she’s told you about me?” the man in the pin stripe suit asked. His voice was like artificial sweetener masking a bitter taste. “Quinton Jones? But I suppose she would just call me Mr. Jones. I do prefer a bit of respect from my girls. Hannah, come with me.” He stepped forward and Hannah tried to go to him.
Stephen put out a hand, stopping his sister. “She's my sister, and she isn't going anywhere with you.”
“I think my friends here can change your mind,” Mr. Jones said. At his signal, the other two raised their weapons.
“Whoa.” I held up my hands. “No need for that. I am sure we can work something out.”
“Hannah, come to me.”
Hannah climbed off the bed at Mr. Jones’ command, ducking under her brother’s outstretched hand. He grabbed for her, barely catching her arm and pulling her back.
“She wants to come to me,” Mr. Jones said. “I suggest you let her go.” His thin facade of patience was cracking.
“She doesn't want to go to you,” Stephen said. “You’re making her come to you because you own her soul.”
“Hannah, you weren't supposed to tell anyone about that,” Mr. Jones said. “Deals made behind closed doors are meant to be kept in confidence.”
“He's my brother.” Her voice sounded defeated. She held tightly to Stephen's arm. “I want to go with him.”
“When you have paid off