by Lori Foster
“It was tricky, talking to a guard. Anything close to resembling a snitch was a death knell. Snitches were hated even more than rapists.” He cupped her breast, then ran his hand down her side to her hip. “I did what I could on my own. And I got a terrible reputation.”
“I’m not sure a rep for defending others is such an awful thing.”
“Maybe not. It got to where people gave me a wider path. Some inmates anyway. Others wanted to kill me.”
“Mitch.” She burrowed closer. He was here now, with her, big and strong and capable. He had family and backup and he’d never again be alone. Knowing it made her feel better, so she hoped he felt better too. It’d take time, she knew.
It wasn’t just his years in prison, but the years of neglect and abuse before that.
If she could, she’d demolish Newman for him. She knew Mitch well enough now to know he wanted that honor himself, but to her mind, he should be spared further violence and conflict. He needed peace to move forward.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” He trailed a finger along her thigh. “I told you, it’s all ugly. We should get back to—”
“I want to know everything about you.” She’d always found that talking about things lessened their impact. When she’d lost her parents, Rosalyn had spent many nights sitting up with her, listening and letting her unload her grief and fear.
And then she’d helped her to pick up the pieces of her broken heart.
Could she do the same for Mitch? Yes, it was different, but hurt was hurt, and in her heart she believed it would help. At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt.
Looking up at him, she whispered, “Please?”
A slight frown kept his dark brows together, and he’d set his mouth in a grim line. Finally he nodded.
He didn’t look happy about it, but he did continue. “I gained allies after that first attack—men I wouldn’t associate with now, but back then, they watched my back like I watched theirs. Didn’t matter what we’d done, why we were in prison.”
“It was about survival?”
“That sounds really dramatic, but yeah, something like that.”
“Earlier today, when we talked...what did you mean when you said you’d been hurt?” She’d had all day to think about the conversation, the details he’d given and those he’d glossed over. Now she had more questions than ever.
He took his time, measuring his words, until Charlotte started to think she’d pushed too much again. Then finally, after a kiss to the top of her head, he explained, “In prison, you find everything suspect, every movement, every word. At first it seemed impossible to know if someone was coming in to throw a punch, or just talk. After enough bruises, though, I learned fast. If someone tried to get me alone to talk, I kept my guard up and at the first sign of provocation, I kicked in their teeth. It became a sixth sense, knowing trouble when I saw it. Hell, I could smell it.”
The swell of his chest drew her hand, and she stroked over him. He was such a dominating force, with the same physical attributes as his brothers. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what that type of existence might do to a person. “Sleeping was tough?”
“You don’t sleep, not really. I got to where I’d hear if my cell mate turned over.” He rubbed his chin on the top of her head.
No wonder the room made him uncomfortable. It probably brought back all those tense memories. “The fight you told me about, that was the worst?” She prayed to God nothing else that terrible had happened.
“It was.” Again he went quiet, but not as long this time. He spoke fast, maybe wanting to get it over with. “The minute I saw him looking at me, I knew what was going down and I started fighting.” She felt the tension invading his muscles. “Back then three to one meant I’d get pulverized.”
“Back then?”
He rolled one massive shoulder in a casual shrug, not bragging, just very matter-of-fact. “I learned to bulk up real quick. I learned to be fast and I learned to be stealthy. After that, I never thought about it—someone came at me, I threw a punch as hard as I could with the intent to take someone’s head off his neck.” He tangled his fingers in her hair, gently massaging her scalp. “I know where to kick to cripple a man. I know how to break bones quick and clean.”
The shocking part for her was that he’d come through it all intact. Yes, maybe with some residual issues, but it hadn’t made him cruel, and it hadn’t made him a criminal. “You’ve done that?”
“More than a few times while in prison.” Expression earnest, he touched her face. “Now I avoid violence whenever I can. But you should know, I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you, Charlotte. Whatever it takes.”
She wanted to spare him, not force him into a position of more brutality. Did he care even more than he realized?
Was he too maybe falling in love?
She didn’t press him on it. This, today, should be about him. She wanted to hear whatever he felt compelled to tell her, to show him—in no uncertain terms—that it changed nothing for her.
It was too soon to know it, too soon to feel this much, but he was it. For her, he was everything.
So she tried a smile that had no effect on him. “Will you promise me one thing?”
His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “Anything. Everything.”
Her mouth trembled—and she made her own vow: to hold him to that. “Remember that you’re not alone anymore. You’ll never be alone again.” And she lifted up to kiss him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MITCH COULDN’T RESIST her a second more. There were a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t be involved with a man like him. He’d tried to warn her, but her faith in him didn’t waver. Unable to hold back a second more, he eased her onto her back.
Looming over her, loving the way her hair spread out on his mattress, he looked her over. Already hunger crept into her innocent expression, creating a potent lure.
Their time was dwindling tonight. Soon either Brodie would call, or Brute would come looking for them, but until then, he wanted as much of her as he could get.
He swept his gaze over her. She had a few whisker burns, making him wish he’d shaved again before having her.
“I probably need a shower.”
“No.” He kissed the fragrant skin of her breasts. “I’m not some refined guy who wants you smelling like perfume. Your skin is sweet enough.” He pressed his palm between her legs. “Your musk... I want to fill my head with it.”
And he wanted to fill his life—with her.
Now that he’d taken off the edge, he kissed her, slower this time, determined to convince her that they belonged together. He was just taking his hand on a heated path down her body when Brute went berserk, barking and snarling in a way he’d never heard.
He reared up, reality crashing in.
“What in the world?” Charlotte said, coming up to an elbow.
“Something’s wrong.” Already on his feet and headed for the door, Mitch said, “Stay put.”
“Wait...”
“Lock the door behind me, Charlotte. I mean it.” Not bothering to dress, he rushed from the room, closing the door behind him. “Brute!”
Anyone who hurt his dog would answer to him tenfold.
In seconds he reached the screened-in room, where Brute had settled into low, disgruntled grumbling.
One entire section of the screening was ripped away. The lights outside showed an empty yard. Off in the distance, he heard a car door slam, then an engine rev.
Brute stood looking out, his entire body tensed, muscles rippling.
Mitch saw blood.
On the floor, the screen, the sill...and on Brute.
Heaving, his jaw aching from clenching so hard, he approached Brute in slow, measured steps. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”
His tail wagged.
Taking a deeper breath, Mitch said, “He’s gon
e, bud. Now let me see you.”
The dog turned...with a mangled shoe in his mouth.
When Mitch dropped to his knees, Brute trotted over, all pleased with himself.
Having no idea what to think, Mitch praised him. “That’s a good boy. Come here, let me see where you’re hurt.”
Behind him, Charlotte whispered, “I’ll get a towel.”
Frustration reared up. If there was trouble still, she’d be in the middle of it. How the hell could he keep her safe if she didn’t listen?
Seconds later she stepped back in, somewhat dressed, his jeans over her arm, phone in hand and a damp towel held out in offering.
He didn’t know what to say to her either, so he took it and gently swabbed at Brute’s mouth. The blood came away and he realized it wasn’t Brute’s, but more likely the owner of that shoe.
“Thank God,” she said, followed by, “I called Brodie. He’s on his way so you might want to put on your pants.”
She’d taken over, the same way Brodie and Jack always tried to do. Charlotte’s methods were more effective, but still... “I told you to stay in the room.”
“I did—until I heard you talking to Brute and realized the danger was gone.” Tipping her head, she studied the demolished, bloody running shoe. “You think he took that off someone?”
“Not sure what else I can think. You saw the screen?”
“Yes.”
Rising, he stepped into his jeans, trying to organize his thoughts as he zipped and snapped. Brute acted like nothing had happened, staring up at them with his brown eyes full of happiness.
“You’re just a badass at heart, aren’t you, dude?” He stroked his head. “One hell of a guard dog.”
Brute gave a single woof in reply.
Shaking his head, Mitch took Charlotte’s arm, and led her toward the couch. “I need you to stay here, with Brute, while I look around outside. Do you think you can actually do that?”
“Sure.” Predictably enough, her chin went up. “Unless I think there’s something else I should do at some point—and then I’ll do that.” Smiling crookedly, she gave him a fierce hug. “I’m not an idiot, okay?”
He didn’t know what to do with her, but holding her was a nice start.
“You think it was Newman?”
Yeah, and a hundred unthinkable scenarios crashed through his brain in the time it took him to reach Brute. “I thought someone had hurt him. I half expected to find him maimed or...or worse.” Anger, as well as guilt, left his voice rough. “And then there’s you. I left you alone in the room, no weapon, no landline. I figured your phone was in your purse in here and I didn’t know if you’d think to—”
“I got your phone from your jeans.”
Thank God she was a quick thinker. “I don’t mind that you called Brodie, but we need to call Colvin too.”
“Brodie will do that.” She pressed away from him, then gave him a thump on the shoulder. “If you think it scared you, imagine what it did to me. Hearing Brute like that put my heart in my throat, and then you ran out there—like you said, without a weapon. What if he’d been there with a gun?”
“I’ve never known him to touch a gun.” But she was right. He’d taken chances with her and that was unthinkable. In that second, he made up his mind. “I won’t bring you here again.”
Throwing up her arms, she huffed. “Next time, I’ll have a gun.”
“That you said you can’t shoot.”
“I can shoot—it’s the accuracy that’s in question.”
Brute leaned against his leg, and Mitch couldn’t resist lifting him up for a hug. The dog was an armful, but it didn’t matter.
Charlotte dutifully sat on the couch. “Go ahead and check around outside. But be careful, please.”
He set the dog down with her. Brute circled twice, dropped with a grunt and sighed.
“I think he wore himself out,” Charlotte said, stroking Brute’s ears. Then she too bent for a hug. “Thank God you weren’t hurt.”
Mitch touched her hair, something he couldn’t resist doing again and again. “I won’t go far.”
Ten minutes later, Brodie and Colvin showed up. Jack remained behind with the women, to ensure nothing else happened that night.
Because the storm seemed imminent, thunder booming louder, closer with each minute that passed, Colvin took a series of photos showing the blood in the grass and on the outside of the building, the ripped screen and even the tire tracks in the dirt at the end of the long drive, even though the new arriving cars had ridden over it.
Colvin walked inside to talk to Charlotte, but Brodie lingered outside with Mitch. “It’s getting late, but we could still hit up Freddie’s.”
He nodded. “I just need to get Charlotte home first.”
“We could send her with Grant.”
Yeah, he could do that, but it didn’t sit right.
Voice lower, Brodie said, “He’s a good cop. Don’t let his laid-back attitude fool you.”
“It’s not that.” Hating the truth, Mitch said, “I can’t have her out here again, not until Newman is taken care of.”
“Agreed, but then, I’m not crazy about you being out here either.”
That sentiment caused a smirk. “I can handle myself.”
“Sure, but—”
“In my shoes, would you relocate?”
Brodie stared at him a moment, then snorted. “No.”
“I’ll take Charlotte as far as Freddie’s, and Grant can take her from there. It’ll give me time to talk to her. To explain—”
From behind him, Charlotte asked, “Explain what?” The second their gazes met, she seemed to know. Glaring at Brodie, she said, “Thanks for nothing.” And stormed on down the steps toward Colvin’s car, Brute at her side.
“You’re taking my dog?”
Spinning around, she asked, “Did you want him staying here alone? No, of course not. Especially not after what happened.” Hands shaking, she pushed back her unruly hair. “Go play vigilante or whatever it is Brodie convinced you to do.”
Ah. At least that explained her ire at Brodie. “He didn’t convince me to do anything. It’s a good plan.” The only one they had at the moment.
“When you’re done,” she said, opening the back door and letting Brute climb in, “you can come by the house and get him.”
“And then,” Brodie said low, “she’ll see that you’re okay.” He nudged Mitch. “Play along. It’ll make her feel better. Besides, Dad wants to come back here with you too. You can round him up at the same time.”
Right. He’d almost forgotten that Elliott was his house guest. “Give me a minute with her,” he said to Colvin, and headed after her.
He’d do what he had to, but he wouldn’t leave things like this.
Watching him approach, her face set in annoyance, Mitch decided honesty was the only way to go. She didn’t get out of the car, but she did roll down the window.
Hands braced on the roof, he leaned in and said, “I’m sorry tonight got ruined.”
“Ruined?” Brows shooting up, she snapped, “It was the most wonderful night of my life and some stupid creep won’t ruin it for me.”
Always, every damn time, she took him by surprise. “How do you figure that?”
The incredulous, slightly hurt look she gave him damn near made him back up. Lips stiff, she said, “I was with you. That’s what counted.”
Tonight he’d run the gamut of emotions—lust, anger, frustration, uneasiness... Need. Affection. And of course whenever with Charlotte, humor.
Tension eased, and a smile crept in. “Most wonderful, huh?”
“Yes.”
The way she said that, all snappish and curt... “But you’re still mad?”
“Yes, I’m mad! I... Ugh. I’m mad at the situation. I’m frustrated that we got in
terrupted. I want to stomp Newman into the ground. And I want you to...”
When she trailed off, he prompted softly, “To?”
“I want you to care as much as I do.”
Jesus. How much more could he? Already she consumed his thoughts, and he burned for her around the clock.
Leaning in, he put a firm, quick kiss to her mulish mouth. “I’m already there, Charlotte.”
“You don’t know how much I care.”
She’d mentioned love. Is that what she wanted? He shook his head, saw she took that the wrong way, and said, “I know I’m one hundred percent committed to having you with me. Now, tomorrow, always if I can manage it.”
“Oh.” Her anger faded away and she smiled too. “Well then, yeah, that’s enough.”
* * *
SITTING AROUND THE living room with Mary and Ronnie, her feet curled under her, Brute at her side, Charlotte daydreamed.
Ros, that brave woman, was in the kitchen with Elliott and Grant both. When they’d returned at the same time for dinner, the driveway was already full, so they’d parked down the lane.
And walked back to the house together.
Now that Brodie, Jack and Mitch had vacated the driveway, there was plenty of room, but they’d return eventually, Brodie and Jack to collect their wives, and Mitch to...to tell her good-night.
Rather than dwell on how badly she wished she too would be heading home with the man she loved, Charlotte wondered about Elliott and Grant—and what they’d talked about while walking together that short distance.
Oh, to have heard that conversation! It was obvious they each vied for Ros’s attention, so it could have been acrimonious—except that they also knew Ros wouldn’t put up with any nonsense...so had they behaved with false congeniality?
From what she’d seen since arriving back home, conversation was strained but pleasant. Ros looked like she wanted to boot them both out the door, but so far she’d abided by her sons’ wishes to keep them around.
Charlotte would have stayed with her as a buffer, but Brute wanted to nap with the other dogs, and he wanted her with him, so rather than watch him trail back and forth, she’d settled on the couch.
