Kerri leans back like I slapped her. She blinks at me, confusion clouding her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re saying this.” Her voice is barely a whisper as she keeps blinking until her confusion clears, replaced by something that is a knee to my gut.
Hurt.
She pulls out of my hands and I let her go. She shakes her head at me. “I thought you were different. I thought you weren’t like him. I—” Kerri presses her lips into a thin line. “Go.” She points to Butch and Hawk. “Take them with you.” She rushes into her bedroom and I hear the lock click on the door.
“You’re a dick, Evan.” Shelly stands up from the couch with her glass of wine. She points to the pile of biker on the floor at her feet. “For the record I’m the one who slipped Mr. Personality here a little sparkle in his punch this evening.” She tips back a long swallow from her glass. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt anything and he was being so damn serious.”
Hawk points up at Shelly. “You’re really pretty.”
I could swear her skin pinks up just a little at the compliment. She opens her mouth to respond but Hawk cuts her off. He points at me.
“I think King knows you don’t like him.” He rolls around for a minute, struggling to sit up. Finally the big man manages to angle his upper half off the floor. “You wanna know a secret?” He waves me down close.
I look back at Kerri’s closed bedroom door then I squat down next to Hawk. He rests his hand on my back and leans into my ear.
“I don’t like him either.”
12
I STARE UP at the ceiling of my bedroom, blinking at the tears trying to fight their way out of my eyes. Damn things are acting like we cared about him or something.
The apartment has been quiet for a couple hours now. Shelly texted me an hour ago to let me know she made it to her apartment and that Butch was sitting outside her place in his ugly-ass yellow car because apparently he thinks now there is a chance she could be targeted too. Just for hanging out with me.
That was fucking great news.
I roll to my side trying to ease the pressure of a bladder full of wine pushing against my abdominal wall. It doesn’t help. I throw off the covers and slide off my bed. I unlock my door and walk across the hall to the bathroom, do my business and then go to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. Between Shelly, Hawk and me we finished off three bottles of wine and I am going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow if I’m not careful.
I walk back toward my bedroom to go back to wallowing in my own stupidity. It’s only then that I notice the shadow of a man on my couch. “Jesus fucking Christ.” I throw my open water bottle square at where his face should be and rush back into the kitchen for a knife.
Why did I send everyone away? Now I had to kill someone on my own. I can’t carry a body. Where would I even take a body to dump it?
A dumpster. That’s where I’ll take it. But only after I’m sure Violet’s asleep and won’t try to get in on the action. No witnesses. They’re always the weak link.
The shadow jumps off my couch, sputtering. “Kerri, stop.”
The knife is already clutched in my hand when the voice registers. I spin around. “I told you to leave.”
Tracker comes toward me, wiping his face with one arm. “And I told you I would do anything you asked me to do except that.”
I consider putting down the knife in my hand. I look down at it.
Nah.
Right now he deserves to think I would stab him. And he might not be as far off as I wish he was. I point the blade at him. “You are an asshole.”
“Just stop.” He keeps walking until the tip of my butcher knife almost touches his stomach. He’s close enough I can smell him. The spicy richness comforts me which only pisses me off more.
He holds his hands up, palms facing me. “Please, just let me try to explain.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to hear it.” My grip on the knife handle tightens. “I won’t live like my mother.”
“Fuck.”
The word is barely a whisper. One Tracker probably doesn’t realize I heard. May not even realize he said. But he will. I nod my head at him. “Yeah. Fuck.”
I still kinda want to stab him, just a little, not enough to damage anything important. But that wouldn’t solve anything and it would get blood on the carpet I work really hard to keep clean. I set the knife on the counter. “And it’s all for nothing because I really didn’t drug your friend.”
“I know.” His head drops. “Shelly told me what happened.”
I blink in the dark, wondering what Shelly had to explain. “I mean he drank a bunch of wine but he’s a big dude so I didn’t think it would be an issue. And it’s not like we forced him.”
Tracker’s head lifts a little, his eyes slitted in confusion. “He didn’t just have wine, Kerri.”
No. Shelly wouldn’t do that. I walk to the trash can and flip on the kitchen light. The tiny baggy of sparkle I tossed in earlier is still sitting where I put it.
Minus the sparkle.
My friend drugged Hawk. And she didn’t even give me a heads up about it. “Is he okay?”
“Okay?” Tracker wipes at the droplets of water still clinging to his jaw line. Now that the lights are on and I can get a good look at him I realize something I didn’t before.
He looks like total shit.
And it bothers me.
“He’s probably going to be pissed as hell tomorrow but other than that he’s fine.” Tracker steps toward me.
I back up.
“Kerri, I’m sorry.”
I wrap my arms around myself to keep from reaching for him. I don’t feel good. My stomach is queasy, my head is already starting to throb, and my chest feels like someone is standing on it. I want him to make me feel better.
But he’s the reason for two out of three of my problems.
“Why didn’t you leave? I told you to leave.” I wanted him to leave. I still think I want him to leave.
His head tips to one side as his eyes study my face. “It would take more than you telling me to leave to make me go.”
I look up at him. “I also had a knife.”
He shrugs. “I would’ve deserved it.” His hand drifts to a spot on his chest.
My eyes are glued to the place his fingers are rubbing and the sick feeling I have in my stomach grows like a wildfire, burning through my belly and up my esophagus. “Have you been stabbed before?”
He ignores me. “I stayed because we need to talk.” The hand over the spot I’m sure has felt the slide of a knife drops to his side. I want to push his shirt up and see for myself. Look at the place someone hurt him.
So I do.
I grab his t-shirt and shove it high on his chest until the spot I’m looking for is exposed. If I didn’t know what I was looking for I would miss it. Hidden into a thin line on an image of the reaper is the raised pucker of a scar. I lift my hand and run one finger over it. I look over his skin, running my fingers across the dark images of death and destruction. I feel a patch of circular scars no bigger than the head of a pencil.
Or the lit end of a cigarette.
I swallow hard and let his shirt fall back into place.
I’m angry with him and the images in my mind of a little boy being hurt and abused shouldn’t change that. He still screwed up. “I’m still mad at you.” I say it out loud hoping to make it true.
“You should be.” Evan’s voice is soft and calm. “I fucked up, Kerri. Again.” His hand starts to reach for me and then falls back to his side. “You don’t have to forgive me but I’m not leaving you until all this is over and I know you’re safe.”
“How long will that be?” I try to imagine him going, leaving me. What would it be like to go back to the life I had before? The life I fought so hard to achieve. A life filled with smart, boring men with 401K’s and college degrees who drove sensible cars and lived sensible lives. The kind of men I tried to force myself to be fulfilled by. Turned on by.
Bu
t I’m not.
“That’s what we need to talk about.” He steps back and I miss the smell of him. “Can we sit down though?”
I look over at the couch where Shelly, Hawk and I were laughing and drinking just a few hours ago without a care in the world. Especially Hawk. I close my eyes and cringe.
“I should have realized something was up when he started singing Single Ladies.”
Tracker lifts an eyebrow. “I’m going to need you to put a pin in that because I would be interested to hear that story.” He rests his hand on the small of my back and directs me toward the couch. “Later.”
It’s the first time he’s touched me since this morning and I missed the feel of part of him on part of me. I focus on the way his body heat soaks into my skin as I drag out the short walk to the sofa.
I’m still mad at him though.
I just like it when he touches me is all.
I sit down on the end cushion of the couch and tuck my legs under me. Tracker sits close beside me and I wonder if he feels like he’s walking across a frozen pond right now. Trying to see how far he can get before falling through the ice and freezing to death.
“I’m still mad at you.” I throw it out there not only to remind myself but also to keep him to the thicker parts of the ice for now. I don’t want him to fall through and die.
That would be sad.
“I would hope so.” He lays his arm across the back out the couch behind me. Not touching me, but still surrounding me in a way that makes me feel safe. Like I always do when he’s there.
Even now.
Because never once has Evan been mad that I’m upset. Never once has he tried to convince me not to be mad about what he did. Never once has he made what happened my fault.
Which is bad because now I feel guilty for basically saying he is like my father. He’s not. Evan is nothing like my father.
But I am.
My eyes burn and the tears I’ve been holding in spill over, running down my cheeks. Jerks. I don’t have any extra hydration to spare right now.
“Kerri, I’m so sorry.” He runs right to the middle of the metaphorical frozen pond and pulls me into his arms, risking life and limb to comfort me.
He doesn’t die. He doesn’t fall through. The ice doesn’t even crack.
Because as much as I’m trying to be, I’m not still mad at him. Now I’m mad at myself.
I bury my head against his chest. “I’m sorry I said you were like my father.”
He pulls me onto his lap and tucks my head under his chin. It feels so good to be in his arms again and for some reason that only makes me cry harder. Maybe I’m still drunk and that’s what’s making me emotional. Maybe I’m just tired.
Or maybe I just really, really like him and the idea of not having Evan in my life makes me a stupid, ugly-crying mess.
Yeah. That’s the one.
His hand rubs up and down my back in long, slow lines. We sit like this for a minute, him quietly soothing me while I curl against him listening to the sound of his heartbeat.
He takes a breath.
“I was scared to death tonight, Kerri.”
I lean back a little and look up at him. “Why?”
He pulls me back tight against him. “There are things going on in the club now that make it a dangerous group to be involved with.”
Yeah. That’s why he’s here. “I know. My father’s taking over territory and pissing everyone off.”
Except me for once. I’m glad King did what he did. Not glad enough to stop wishing he was dead, but glad enough I don’t still want to do it myself. If he hadn’t, I would never have Evan.
And I think I might like to have him.
“How much do you know about how your father runs the club?” Evan’s voice has an edge to it that wasn’t there before.
“I know he took over when I was still in elementary school. I remember the other men coming over and hanging around in the garage at the back of our house. My dad was the club mechanic so they all brought their bikes for him to work on.” It was always strange to me how kind the other bikers were to me and my mom, especially as I got older. It was a marked difference from how my father treated us. I wondered if those men were like my father behind closed doors. “As I finished high school, right before I left, there weren’t as many men around.”
“Do you know why?”
I shrug. “I didn’t care enough to wonder. I was almost free. I couldn’t wait to put all of them behind me.”
Evan stiffens under me.
It’s a topic I’ve been trying not to think about. I don’t want to. I want to keep on going like we are. Me happily pretending Tracker isn’t what he is.
“I can’t leave the club, Kerri.” His hand strokes down my hair. It’s almost as soft as his voice in my ear saying words I didn’t want to ever hear him say.
I’m not stupid, just trying to be in denial. I knew Evan couldn’t leave The Knights. Not if my father had anything to say about it, and that pecker had something to say about everything.
Now I was back to wanting to kill King myself. For taking away one more thing that means something to me. First my mom.
Now Evan.
“But...”
My heart skips a beat. There’s a but.
“I think there are some big changes coming.” He slides the hand stroking my hair down to cup my cheek and tip my eyes up to meet his. “Can you still trust me?”
I chew on my bottom lip. I feel stupid admitting it easily, especially considering I wanted to stab him a little just a few minutes ago, so I drag it out, pretending it’s not an easy decision. Like I wouldn’t blindly follow him into a burning building if he told me to.
And I probably would.
Especially if he was naked.
Definitely if he was naked.
“I trust you.”
The tension in his body eases a little at my admission. Evan leans in and brushes a kiss across my lips. “Why don’t you go to bed and get some sleep.”
I check the clock on the DVD player tucked beneath my television. It’s 3am. Luckily my classes tomorrow are later in the day. Hopefully I can sleep off the ache building behind my eyeballs from too much wine and too much crying and I’ll feel better in the morning. But I’m not doing it alone.
“What about you?”
Tracker leans back. “I’ll sleep out here.”
“No.”
“I fucked up tonight, Kerri.” He pushes me off his lap. “Go to bed.”
“No.” I plant my feet. If I have to drag his ass down the hall the man is sleeping in my bed. “We both fucked up. Maybe we should both sleep on the couch.”
His eyes darken. “If I come to your bed you won’t be sleeping, Numbers.” He gives his head a little shake. “Not after the night we’ve had.”
“Maybe that’s why I want you there.” I’m a little ashamed at the breathy way it comes out of my mouth. I meant to sound confident and sure but instead I sound needy and desperate.
Probably because I am. I’m desperate to have him hold me. I need to believe he can make everything okay.
I need to know we’re okay.
He’s silent for a minute and I hold my breath, certain he’s going to send me off on my own and I’ll be alone. Without him.
Evan stands and scoops me up in one smooth move, pulling my legs around his waist as he walks toward my bedroom. We go down to the mattress together, a jumble of limbs, fighting to yank clothes off each other and ourselves. He’s inside me before I can take a full breath. No wasting time. No slow-burn. Just his body inside mine.
I hold him tight as he fills me, his lips dragging along my neck.
“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs it over and over as he pushes into me, his hips pressing into my thighs with every stroke, dragging me closer to the edge with every glide of his cock, pushing harder and faster until I’m barely hanging on.
His mouth is on mine as one hand moves up to cup the fullness of my breast before rolling the n
ipple between his fingers. I come undone around him, calling his name as he impales me with one last deep stroke, finding his own release with my name on his lips.
Evan kisses me. My lips, my cheek, my neck. He nuzzles my ear. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever slept with, Kerri.”
Between the orgasm and the wine I’m a little groggy so I am quite confident I heard that wrong. “What?”
“I’ve never slept with another woman. In a bed. All night.” He leans up and looks at me. “Only you.”
Why does that make me sad?
What if this man has never known real love? Or even real affection?
I’m not sure about the first one yet but the second? I have that. Lots of that one.
I smile up at him. “I guess that makes me special then.”
Evan brushes his thumb across my cheek and smiles back.
“You have no idea.”
13
I ROLL OVER in Kerri’s bed and slide my arm across her side expecting to feel the soft warmth of her body beside me.
I don’t.
I lean up and look at the pile of cool rumpled blankets where she should be. “Kerri?”
I listen for a second, expecting to hear the sound of her moving through the apartment.
I don’t.
I get out of bed. Maybe she’s in the bathroom and can’t hear me. I reach the doorway. The bathroom door is open and the room is dark.
“Kerr?” The first tickle of concern reaches my belly as I walk into the living room and find it as empty as the rest of the apartment.
Her bag and keys sit on the dining table in the exact spot where they were last night. I walk to the front door and twist the knob, my heart picking up speed with every passing second I don’t hear her voice. I pull and the door swings open.
It was unlocked.
I know I locked it last night after everyone left.
The seed of concern in my stomach grows into a gnawing fear as I step out the door into the morning light. Her car’s here, parked right next to Hawk’s pickup. He sits slack jawed in the seat, his head tipped back against the headrest. I walk to the driver’s door in my underwear and bang on the window. He jumps. “What the—” Hawk looks around the parking lot, squinting his eyes against the sun. He looks at me. “What the fuck happened?”
Tracking Numbers: A Bad Boy Protector Romance (Lost Boys Book 1) Page 10
