by K. A. Tucker
“And your parents? Did they know what was going on?”
Bitterness slithers through my body and, try as I might, I can’t help but feel the tension coiling tighter. “My dad dealt coke and pot. My mother . . .” I heave a defeated sigh. “ . . . dealt sex. They were scum. If they knew what Lizzy was doing, they didn’t care. Fuck, for all I know, my mother was somehow getting a cut. Lizzy had no one to protect her from them.”
Charlie’s body turns rigid against me, reminding me of what she’s probably had to deal with in her own life. Curling the arm stretched out along the back of the bench around her small frame, I pull her close to me.
The warm night air hangs silently around us as I wait for Charlie to say something. To tell me that it wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t have known what would happen, that I shouldn’t let the guilt eat me up. All the standard things I’ve heard from Storm and Nate, that don’t ease my guilt. But she doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she lifts my hand up to her mouth to kiss it softly before bringing it back down to her lap, where her dress has climbed up even higher.
“It sounds like she’s not the only one who needed someone for protection.”
I don’t argue with her.
There’s a pause and then she asks, “So, how did you end up in Miami?”
“After Lizzy was killed, I lost myself in guilt for a while. I . . .” My mind drifts back to those months after, when I was fighting more than I wasn’t, and each fight was an all-or-nothing stakes, where I laid down every last dime to my name. It was high risk, high reward, and if I lost, I would lose everything. But I couldn’t be beaten, because all of my opponents had the same face—mine. The brother who turned his back on his little sister. Not the sister who cussed and sneered and dropped to her knees for fifty bucks. The little girl with hazel eyes, who sat quietly on that pier bench, eating her ice cream, gazing up at the brother who was supposed to always protect her. Lizzy became that little girl in my mind again. And it was that little girl who lay broken on the dirty, bloodstained shag rug in my parents’ living room.
I pounded the shit out of myself for months.
Swallowing to keep the hoarseness from my voice, I continue. “I made a lot of money fighting. A lot of money.” The hand I have curled around her shoulder flexes automatically, as it always does when I think of all those fights—all those ribs I cracked, noses I broke, guys I beat senseless. The guy I unintentionally killed the same night my family died. “Eventually, I got tired of it. I knew it wasn’t going to make me feel better. So I decided to do something more . . . positive. I can’t turn back time, but I thought if I could help other girls like Lizzy, maybe I’d feel like I’d be paying for my part. There’s always going to be a girl who thinks she has no other choice and there are always going to be dirtbags like Rick Cassidy, who feed off their desperation and turn them into drug addicts and whores. I figured I could do something productive with my money, like open my own club. I needed to get away from South Central, though. I needed a change.”
Charlie turns toward me, until I can feel her breath against my neck. As serious as the moment is, my blood instinctively flows downward. I don’t know how much longer I can be a decent human being with my hand resting on her thigh like that and the swirl of raw emotion hammering in my chest.
“But why Miami?”
“Miami is known for its open-minded laws in the adult entertainment district. A lot of cities out there restrict nudity, or alcohol with nudity, or the types of dances you can get. Not Miami, though. In Miami, you can have a burger in one hand, a beer in the other, and a completely naked woman in front of you. I figured a city like this—with such liberal laws—would breed a lot of Lizzys. It needed at least one club owner who was looking out for the girls. Someone to balance out the worst of them.
“So, I opened up a small club called The Bank. It wasn’t anything flashy or huge. I was just learning about the industry. Hell, I was too young to be opening up a club to begin with. But it did well because I put no restrictions on the girls, as much as I hated it. I still do. I let the girls do anything that is legal but nothing more, and I make sure they’re safe.” Damn, was there ever a painfully steep learning curve over those first few months of owning The Bank! Luckily, I’m a fast learner and I had a great source of information—a Vegas strip club owner. In exchange for one arranged fight—which I won and he made a boatload of money from—he let me essentially live in his club for a month, learning the ropes. He wanted to partner up with me when I left for Miami but I declined. Instead, John fronted the business as the owner, on paper, until I turned twenty-one. I knew I could trust him.
“So I try to do right by my employees, at least. Like I didn’t do right by my little sister.”
“So this is all about a second chance?”
“No. It’s about trying to balance out the good with the bad. I don’t believe in second chances, Charlie.”
There’s a long moment of silence and then she asks, “China reminds you of your sister, doesn’t she?”
I nod slowly. “I get so much grief for keeping her around.” With a sidelong glance, I admit with what I’d imagine is a sheepish smile, “I know she probably hasn’t been great with you.”
“That’s an understatement.” Charlie chuckles.
It’s probably time I let her relax and stop slamming her with my shit. I know I can be intense. In one night, she has learned that I was bred and raised by criminals, that I’m no stranger to brutal violence, that I lie to women and then fuck them, and that I was the world’s shittiest brother.
And she’s curled up against me like she still wants to be here.
I can save the worst of it for another day.
She stands and walks over to lean against the railing of the pier, barefoot. If not for the full moon, I likely wouldn’t be able to see much of her but thanks to it, I can enjoy the view of her silhouette with the ocean in the background. There’s a breeze, just enough to send a few strands of her hair into disarray and the material of her short skirt swirling.
I miss her warmth next to me already. “Have you had enough of me tonight yet?” I murmur, and I hear the gloom in my voice. It’s after three and I don’t want to leave, but I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. I imagine she didn’t get much sleep last night. Ginger told me she came home a few hours after the incident with her assailant with a tear-streaked face.
Turning slowly to face me, Charlie says, “I know you’re telling me all of this to scare me away. But it won’t work. Nothing you’ve told me so far makes me think badly of you.”
An unexpected wave of relief crashes into me with her admission.
I watch her brow knit together as she hesitates, as if she’d deciding whether she should say something. “What if . . .” Again, she pauses and I see her jaw tense. She suddenly looks away, blinking repeatedly. Are those unshed tears I see?
“Charlie?” Worry begins to bubble inside, all thoughts of getting under her clothes gone. “You can tell me, Charlie. Anything. I won’t judge you. God, if you’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that I won’t judge you.” Ronald Sullivan’s name is on the tip of my tongue. I want to ask her, Who is he to you? What did he do? Do you want me to get rid of him? But I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to pressure her and I sure as hell don’t want to send her running from me like I did yesterday.
Just as quickly, whatever it was—the fear, the indecision—disappears. The intensity of her gaze now reminds me of Charlie onstage. The bold temptress. My mind is still reeling with worry, but now my body is back on high alert.
Unavoidably, my eyes drop down to those tits that I’ve seen bared on twenty-two wonderful occasions and I inhale sharply. Yes, I’ve kept track of her shows. What I haven’t kept track of is the number of times I’ve jerked off to the visuals firmly emblazoned on my mind, afterward. Just the thought has me adjusting myself before I can help it.
&
nbsp; And of course she catches me doing it.
She smiles. The coy smile that she gives me as she’s peeling off her top for me at Penny’s.
I believe that I won’t ever be saying no to Charlie Rourke.
I swallow as my blood begins pounding through my veins, as my breathing turns ragged.
As a spider web of tingles skitters over my skin.
I can’t believe it. I’ve never felt this. Not even with Penny.
I’m actually nervous to be with a woman.
chapter twenty-four
■ ■ ■
CHARLIE
Would Cain understand?
Would he see my situation for what it is—that I continue helping Sam in order to survive? To give myself a chance to break free? Or would he see me as weak?
I was so close. It was on the tip of my tongue. But I just couldn’t form the words. I can’t risk it. What would he do? After everything I’ve just heard tonight, I don’t know. Perhaps he’d help me because he craves fixing things, or perhaps he’d walk away because it’s too much of a reminder of his past.
He can’t fix this, though. He can only put himself in danger by trying. No, Cain needs to remain in the dark. And I’m leaving tomorrow, so there’s no point shattering this illusion of me he has created—the abused runaway, looking for a fresh start. Half of it is true, in any case. Or will be, tomorrow.
Tonight is all about accepting that fate has brought a man like Cain to me. I think I may have stumbled upon a saint. I don’t deserve him. Cain is a good man, hardened by too many wrongs in his past. Not his own wrongs, though it’s clear he feels he needs to shoulder much of the blame.
He is as much a victim as his sister, from the sound of it.
As much a victim as I am, I sometimes believe.
Cain has put all of that behind him, though, and is doing something about it. I’m still in the thick of the wrong, and all I’m striving to do is run away and pretend that it never happened.
“I haven’t told you everything yet,” Cain offers softly, as if he’s reading my mind.
I pause, wondering what else there could be besides the enormous personal tragedy he’s just shared. In truth, I don’t think I want to know. “You’ve told me enough.”
And I’ve told you nothing. Half-truths, that’s all. It’s true that there’s a tiny tombstone next to my mother’s that reads Harrison Arnoni. I left out the fact that my mother died along with him, and that his father is a drug dealer who now manipulates my every choice, every decision.
And that memory of the blond lady in the red checkered apron? That’s real. Of course, I left out the part about the screaming match between her and my mother, who dragged me out by the arm, suitcase in hand, only moments later. I remember words like Christian and sinner coming from the blond lady’s mouth. I remember a greasy-haired guy waiting for us in the driveway in a blue El Camino that reeked of cigarettes. I remember waving goodbye to my grandmother for the last time. I remember the tears streaking down her face as she waved at me.
For someone that young, I remember an awful lot.
But I can’t share any of that with Cain now, because it would give away too much about my real self. Charlie Rourke is simply a bundle of lies with a few half-truths to appease my own guilty conscience.
And now I’m eager to silence my conscience entirely.
“Cain?” I take another step forward until I’m standing between his splayed legs.
“Yeah?” He’s sitting, relaxed, with one hand stretched out along the back of the bench and the other resting casually on his knee. The tension in his jaw tells me he’s anything but relaxed, though. I wonder if he has any clue what’s coming. He must. I’ve been rubbing up against him like an animal in heat for the past hour.
It’s now or never.
“Are you always such a gentleman?”
A smirk touches Cain’s lips. “No . . . I’m not. And you’re certainly not making it easy on me right now.”
Swallowing the conflicting thrill and nerves inside me, I ask, “And how would I go about making it impossible on you?”
Lustful eyes stare back at me and I catch something flash in them that I can’t describe. There’s a long pause, and then his hands wrap around the backs of my thighs. With a forceful pull, he directs first one knee up onto the bench, followed by the other. Before I know what’s happening, I’m straddling his lap with my hands loosely curled around his neck and my dress pooled around the top of my thighs. Cain’s hands have found their place around my hips, and he pulls them forward until they’re flush with his, until it’s impossible to miss his arousal against me.
Another wave of heat pools between my legs. I’ve been hot there since the second I woke up on his office couch, but the intensity has reached new levels. I wouldn’t be surprised if I soak right through his pants.
“Are you sure?” His eyes are locked on mine, his lips—only inches from mine—parted, his breathing ragged.
I let my eyes skate over the masculine lines of his face, and my fingertips graze the light stubble along his throat. I inhale that delicious clean, woodsy scent that I will always relate to him. I want to memorize every single moment of this, because no one has ever made me feel the way Cain is making me feel right now.
That what I want truly matters.
And in this moment, I want nothing more than Cain. Intentionally shifting my pelvis even closer to him, until his hardness digs into me, I let my lips trail against that strong jawline—something I have fantasized about doing every single night for weeks now.
I hear the hiss of air a second before his fingers loop around the thin straps of my panties and he tugs at them. His erection is straining against me. Just as quickly, though, he lets go, and his hands force their way up my back—beneath my fitted dress—to press my chest into his. I feel his heart pounding against mine as he catches my bottom lip with his tongue, beckoning me forward.
I accept the invitation, closing my mouth over his greedily, feeling his wet tongue connect with mine in a possessive dance. My hands find his face and urge him closer to me, relishing the light manly stubble beneath my fingertips. As much as I want all of Cain, I could just as easily do this until the sun rises; I love the way his mouth moves against mine, the way he tastes, the small groans he makes.
But I only have tonight, I remind myself.
Without his lips leaving mine, his hands emerge from beneath my dress to pull the zipper down. The material falls. With the skill of an expert, he has my bra undone in a second, exposing my breasts to the cool night air.
And to him.
His fingers waste no time finding their way to my bare flesh, splayed to stroke me, rubbing both hardened nipples with the pads of his thumbs simultaneously. Shivers run through my body. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve thought about doing this?” he whispers into my mouth.
“Weeks?” I tease, but my heart is racing. I can’t help but begin rocking against him, his confession building my own desire to desperate heights.
He breaks free of the kiss with a groan, his hands sliding down to grip my ass. Guiding me up onto my knees gives his mouth easier access to my nipples. He takes full advantage, pulling one into his mouth. I inhale sharply against the almost painful suction, but he quickly counters it with a soothing tongue.
My arms instinctively wrap around Cain’s head, squeezing him closer to me as my fingers wind through his hair. It’s always styled so perfectly that I expected it to be stiff with product. I’m delighted to find that it’s silky smooth.
I press my body closer to him. I can’t get close enough.
“Fuck, Charlie,” he growls, his thumbs sliding under the straps of my panties to yank them down as far as they can possibly go, until I hear the first tears of the elastic in them from being stretched too far.
I’m not quite sure how Cain maneuvers so s
moothly, but in seconds he has me on my back, lying along the seat of the bench, as he stands over me. It’s not the most comfortable thing to lie on but right now, I really don’t care.
With proficient skill, he effortlessly draws my panties all the way to my feet and, removing them, tosses them casually to the ground. Gripping my legs by the calves, he gently bends them and pushes them back, making room to prop himself up with one knee on the bench and a leg on the ground, facing me. His hands land on my knees and begin their descent down the inside of my thighs. Heat rises in my lower belly.
And then he pushes my thighs apart. Wide apart.
Suddenly, the fact that I’ve been taking my top off on a stage for several weeks means less than nothing. I’m lying completely exposed on a pier bench in the middle of the night, for a man that every straight woman lusts after—that I lust after—and the very though has tension suddenly jetting through my body. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. Not so quickly.
Cain wasn’t kidding about not wasting time.
He shifts himself to hover over me, the muscles in his neck and shoulders straining beautifully as he holds himself up. “You’re nervous,” he accuses with a tiny, teasing grin before he leans in and lets his tongue dart out to catch my lip.
“No, I’m not,” I lie, feeling my cheeks flush.
“You tensed up,” he pushes, nipping my bottom lip playfully before laying a gentle kiss on my lips. “You sure you’re okay with all this? We can stop.”
