Alexis looked at her with a slow nod before she turned back to me, her expression so sincere and overwhelming. That single glance conveyed so much without her ever saying a thing.
Finally, she broke the connection that seemed to bind us and let her sister take her by the arm. Her head dropped toward the ground, and her sister glanced over her shoulder at me as she led her toward the station door.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, her own gratitude sliding out.
I shook my head at her. Saving her was something anyone would do. But something about my involvement felt like more. Like in one of those fateful moments last night, it’d become something different.
Something I couldn’t ever allow it to be.
I watched until they disappeared inside, and I heaved out a strained breath, the connection severed.
“Well, hot damn.” Ash’s voice suddenly cut through the dense air, the guy acting the fool the way he always did. “Look at that. I do believe there’s hope for our boy here, after all.”
Uneasy, Anthony shifted on his feet.
I tossed a glare at Ash, probably harder than it needed to be. “Don’t even go there. Not today.”
I knew he was only messing with me. That he was just pushing me in a direction he thought I should go. But I couldn’t stand for him to rub it in, to taunt me with what I might want.
Didn’t matter how badly I wanted her. She was something I could never have.
Chapter Seven
Alexis
“He’s out there, Avril, and I have no idea what he might do to you.” My voice dropped to a pained whisper as I spoke into the phone, clutching it as if it might be a lifeline. “I have no idea what he has done to you. Call me. Please. I need to know you’re okay.”
I ended the voice mail and my gaze automatically moved to the bay window that overlooked the tiny garden on the side of my even tinier house. My chest ached, swamped in sadness and worry, this overwhelming grief that gripped me and refused to let me go. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt a hopelessness like this.
She left me.
Chelsey had warned me for years Avril was only using me. Using guilt to bend me to her will.
But I’d always held out hope that one day Avril would finally see. That she’d finally land at rock bottom, and somehow it would make a difference that I was there to catch her when she fell.
I’d always believed our connection was stronger than the addiction. Regardless of anything else, I’d chosen to believe our bond—our friendship and our devotion—meant more.
She left me.
To be broken. Violated.
Terror shivered down my spine when I realized just how deranged that man had to be. I didn’t know his name. I only knew he somehow had brainwashed my sister into believing she owed him something. It was hard to even think about what would have happened to me at his vile hands had my deliverer not intervened.
I was still having a hard time processing the kind of control that monster had over my sister with just a low command.
I rested the phone on my pursed lips, fighting tears as the realization finally took hold.
Avril’s fear was so much greater than all of those things. So much greater than our love. Maybe it had been bred by her addiction that still held her hostage, but those chains were controlled by that disgusting man.
Maybe it made me the biggest fool of all, but I’d never felt more committed to freeing her than I did now.
A shock of surprised air shot from my lungs when three sharp knocks sounded at my door, jerking me from the silence.
God, my nerves were frazzled. Shot. Which was so not like me.
I felt scared and vulnerable and timid. I usually embraced life, not ran from it.
Doing my best to shake it off, I inhaled, straightened my shirt, and ran my fingers through my bangs, as if fidgeting and stalling might straighten out the mess of emotions laying siege to my spirit. Then, I slowly moved across the floor.
A quiet dimness held fast to my living room, save the waterfall of light pouring in through the single bay window that faded into a pale, dusky glow as it spread out through the room.
Almost warily, I hiked up on my toes so I could peer out the peephole.
I stumbled back and my heart galloped out ahead of me.
An onslaught of emotions rushed and sped and churned at who was waiting on the other side, this mix of unknown gratitude and confusion that had chased me for the last three days.
I felt frozen by the fact he was there as another soft but pleading knock sounded at the wood.
Swallowing hard, I gathered my wits, twisted the lock, and slowly cracked open the door.
He was standing there on my small stoop. Larger than life and filling it full. Capturing sight and mind and reason.
I stood at his feet, staring at him while he stood there staring at me.
Brown eyes potent and kind and somehow unyielding and hard.
My knees suddenly felt weak as I was flooded with this foolish kind of fascination that made me want to reach out and touch his face. To explore him, body and soul and mind. This man, who’d rushed in to hold together all the splintering pieces of my world and forced them back together before they were completely destroyed and unrepairable.
Maybe this feeling was purely gratitude. Or maybe it was wholly due to the trauma. How I felt bound to him in an unfathomable way.
As if when he’d been holding those splintering pieces together, the man had managed to chip away a small piece of my soul. A piece that would permanently belong to him.
He rushed a hand through his hair, a hand that was big and tattooed. His arm muscular and covered in ink.
I had a fleeting thought that I should be terrified of this stranger standing in front of me and shouldn’t relish in this confused comfort that struck my bones and touched those secret places in my spirit.
“Alexis,” he said. The word might have been a question had it not glided across my skin like familiarity and warmth.
I barely nodded, my response a whisper as my heart fluttered and sped. “Alexis.”
His gaze dipped for a moment, tracing me head to toe. As if he needed reassurance I was there.
Something about it felt so intimate and private. As if maybe he was aware he now held that piece of my soul he’d chipped away.
His tongue swept his lips.
My eyes dropped to follow it, a slow heat lighting in my belly as they roved. I took in his face, glancing across the short beard I had the urge to scratch with my nails, memorizing the way his cropped light brown hair was really bronze when it was struck by the sun.
It was a little longer on top, and a silky lock flopped over the lines on his forehead that I ached to reach out and smooth away.
“I hope it’s okay I’m here,” he said, forcing my attention back to his eyes.
A lump grew heavy in my throat and I swallowed around it, nodding as I tried to find my voice. “Of course it’s okay.”
Maybe I should have been hearing warning bells. A thousand caution flags tossed in the air and raining down around me. Because there was something about this brilliant boy that screamed trouble and mayhem. Undoubtedly, he wore his own beautiful brand of destruction.
And I was the fool who always seemed to run straight for it. Diving right in to the middle of it without having the first clue what was waiting for me.
“I’m Zachary Kennedy. Friends call me Zee,” he said, shifting on his feet as if he were wondering what he was doing on my doorstep.
I could feel the pull of the soft smile at the side of my mouth. “I know who you are.”
“Is that so?” he asked. Something about it rang with a tease.
I nodded.
Of course I did. He was the drummer for one of the biggest rock bands in the world.
And I realized that probably put both of us at a disadvantage. No doubt he had women throwing themselves at him any time he walked off a stage or into a room. Wanting a taste of fame or maybe a name to drop,
I could only imagine the number of women who salivated over this boy simply for who he was.
It didn’t help he had to be the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.
But this was different. The staggering need I felt to know him more. Not the boy pinned to Pinterest boards labeling him a sexy, tattooed bad boy. Not the boy splashed across the tabloids with their speculations and judgment.
The real man.
This man made up of flesh and bone. The man who rushed into an alley in the middle of the night to defend a complete stranger. The man who’d tenderly rocked me in his arms while I’d felt the controlled rage radiating from his body.
The one who stood in my doorway, spinning my mind with how he could both look so powerful and vulnerable.
My insides shook, and I took a step back and widened my door. “Would you like to come in?”
A smile crept to his mouth, this tug of full, soft lips framed by his beard. God, that expression alone would be my complete undoing. He tilted his head to the side. “You’re awful brave to be inviting a complete stranger into your house.”
I lifted my chin and met his gaze. “A complete stranger who put his life on the line. A stranger who stood between me and a gun. You could have died, and I very well might have if it weren’t for you. Trust comes in a lot of forms, and I’m pretty sure you’ve already earned mine.”
His strong throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he looked down at me with those brown eyes that should be nothing else but plain. All except for the flecks of bronze that perfectly matched his hair. They shimmered and flashed in the sunlight, like treasures secreted away. I had the urge to discover them all.
His tone dipped in severity. “What if I don’t deserve it?”
“What if you do?” I challenged.
He shook his head as if he couldn’t make sense of me. His gaze stole a little more of my breath as it grazed my skin like a rough caress, and his slow perusal sent a scatter of chills down my spine.
Tension rose between us. Bottled and shaken. Questions churned in the air. Each of us in limbo.
Somehow, I knew we were standing at either the beginning or the end. Neither of us seemed to know whether we should stop or start.
What had happened between us wasn’t normal. I knew that. And maybe everything I was feeling was a result of it. Maybe every single emotion rushing through me was dependent upon the fact that this man had saved me.
But standing in front of him, I didn’t care where it’d been born. The only thing that mattered was I felt it stronger than I’d ever felt anything in all my life.
I widened the door even farther, taking my stance.
I wanted to start.
“Please come inside.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have noticed the way his jaw clenched and all those muscles bristled, as if he were holding himself in restraint, or maybe he was cursing himself, because something dark moved through those eyes before it was gone.
He angled his wide shoulders to the side as he stepped inside, the movement sending a flash of heat against my skin when he passed and stepped into the quiet sanctuary of my home.
I latched the door shut, pulling in a steadying breath while I faced away, before I slowly turned to find the man standing in the middle of my living room with his back to me as he looked around. I got the distinct sense he was studying, learning little bits of me.
Silently, I watched him there, larger than life in my small, small space.
He was tall. Arms masculine and thick. His back strong and wide. A white tee was stretched across the expanse, hugging his sculpted shoulders and tapering down to his narrow waist and his perfect ass, his dark jeans snug in all the right places.
No. The Pinterest boards weren’t wrong.
This gorgeous man was the epitome of sexy. Tempting. Tattooed with a tapestry of ink littering the entirety of his exposed skin.
Delicious and dangerous.
Attraction heated my blood. It was an onslaught of need that had me itching to run my fingertips across every inch of him, to discover, reveal, and unearth.
That desire felt forbidden. As if my thoughts had strayed into territories that might be dark and perilous.
He turned to look at me, his arms lifting up at the sides, a soft puff of air escaping between those full, full lips. “This is exactly what I pictured.”
He stared back at me with his captivating face, almost catastrophic in its beauty.
At least that was what I felt when standing beneath the intensity of it.
Destroyed.
Wrecked and unsettled in a perfect, absolute way. Every inch of the man was a sublime contradiction.
His entire demeanor serenity and war.
Peace and strife.
As if the man bore the scars of a thousand battles and still managed to look past the brutality of the world.
I fumbled through a self-conscious laugh. “You were picturing my house?”
He gave a short nod. “Yeah…I guess I was. Trying to imagine what I’d find when I came here.”
I wrung my hands. “Are you pleased or disappointed?”
The smirk that curled his mouth was self-deprecating, laced with something bitter. “Only in myself.”
I blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He laughed low and rubbed a hand across his bearded jaw. “Nothin’,” he mumbled.
Uneasily, he glanced around before he looked back at me. He seemed to struggle to find words. “I was worried about you. Spent the last three days trying not to be. Trying to stop thinking about you.”
As if it frustrated him, he shook his head. “In the end, I couldn’t stay away.”
Emotion clogged my throat, and I warred with how much to give him, with what to say. Wondering if it was too soon or maybe it was already too late.
But I was a girl who’d never been afraid to take a chance.
No fear. Just life.
“That’s good. Because I’m really, really glad you’re here.”
Chapter Eight
Zee
Energy brimmed and bristled in the atmosphere, so thick I was sure I could see it carried on the motes that floated and danced in the bright rays of light slanting in through the only window in the room.
The rest of the modest space was dimmed, the lights cut, all except for the girl shining like a beacon where she remained by the door, wringing her hands. Like maybe she was physically restraining herself from reaching out and sinking her fingers into my skin.
Didn’t matter.
I could feel them piercing me, anyway. Forging a bond that never should’ve been established.
God, what did I think I was doing? Chasing down something I couldn’t have? Taking a chance that wasn’t worth the risk?
Yet, there I was, staring at this girl who was just about the best damned thing I’d ever seen.
I turned away when I spoke, wandering deeper into the room. “You think it’s just because of what happened?”
I could sense her confusion, the shift of her feet as she contemplated taking a step forward. “What?”
A low chuckle rumbled in my chest. I swiveled a fraction, enough so I could gesture to that space between us that came alive every time we were in the other’s presence.
“This. The fact I can’t get you off my mind. The fact there was nothing I could do to stop myself from coming here. You think it’s only because of what happened, the stress and trauma of it all? Or do you think if I’d run into you at a bar it would be the same?”
All of it bled out in some kind of frustration. But I figured if she was talking trust, I owed her the same.
“I honestly don’t know,” she finally admitted as a flush of red touched her cheeks. This sweet simplicity that coalesced with the greatest kind of courage.
There was no missing it where it welled from the depths of those mesmerizing eyes, twilight and the deepest sea.
Amusement made its way into her tone. “Considering I don’t frequent bars all that much, I’
m not sure I’d be the best judge.”
I chuckled again, this time lighter, feeling the tease that touched her words. “Are you implying something, Alexis?”
She glanced to her bare feet, which were just about as fucking cute as the rest of her, and her bottom lip got caught up in her teeth again. When she peeked back up at me, the sweetest smile hinted on her face. “You do run with a crowd that has quite a reputation.”
A grin tugged at my mouth. “And that didn’t change your opinion of me?”
She laughed, a tinkling, self-conscious sound, and a delicate shoulder lifted to one ear. “No. Not at all.”
“That’s awful brave of you.” There was no missing the implication behind it, the silent question I was desperate for the answer to.
What the hell were you doing down there?
Her head shook. “I wouldn’t call it brave. I was just doing what I had to do.”
“You want to tell me about that?”
Couldn’t help pushing, unable to keep from digging deeper.
She sighed and looked to the wall like she was contemplating. Then, after a beat, she returned that powerful gaze back to me with some sort of resolution on her face. “Why don’t I make you a cup of tea?”
“Why do I get the feelin’ I’m not going to like this story?”
Her voice was small. “Maybe because it’s not a story I like to tell.”
“How about I do my best to listen?”
She nodded, this shaky gratitude quivering in her chin as she did. “I think I’d like that.”
She headed toward the arch cut out at the far end of the room that led to the kitchen. The girl kept peeking over at me the whole time, something strong yet shy about her as she went.
Her white hair was again piled on her head in some kind of messy twist, and she was dressed in a thin sweatshirt and sweatpants—all of it pink. It hugged her curves and made her appear innocent and sexy at the same damned time.
Stand: A Bleeding Stars Stand-Alone Novel Page 4
