No Saint (Wild Men, #6)

by Jo Raven

  “He led me to the ladder. I thought you weren’t here, at the garage. He’s the reason I found you.”

  Okay, so my brain is still not one hundred percent caught up with today. “You were looking for me?”

  “Of course I was. You weren’t at the house. I was worried.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She mumbles this into my chest, dipping her head, hiding her eyes. “I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach. You’ll laugh.” A pause. “Your outburst yesterday, I felt... like it was a sign that you were not okay. That I had to find you, check on you.”

  That wasn’t what I’d been asking. I was only wondering why she should care, why worry. I’m not worth the trouble, but now I’m at a fucking loss for words. Wait a minute... let me get this straight:

  I didn’t scare her off with my nasty words. I worried her. Like... like she thought it wasn’t normal, wasn’t like me to be such a fucking asshole.

  My breath catches again, and fuck, this time drawing air is impossible. What is this girl doing to me? Apart from saving me from painful death, that is. And why can’t I breathe?

  “You’re okay,” she whispers and rubs circles on my chest. “You’re okay now.”

  I’m not okay. I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s sweet and it’s bitter and it’s so fucking painful it’s like growing a new limb.

  Or growing a heart, I think randomly.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  “Never do that to me again,” she says, still in that broken little whisper. “Do you hear? No more stunts like this one.”

  She keeps talking, filling the silence, because I sure as hell can’t speak right now. Then her words register and I frown, not sure what she means. I’m sure I was pretty inoffensive while falling off the roof and hanging from... was that a drainpipe?

  I shudder.

  “You said...” Her next breath sounds like a sob. “You said to let you go. Why were you on the edge of the roof in the first place? It’s dangerous. Why...?” Another sob-like sound. “Why would you do that?”

  I unwrap my arm from around her to touch and pet her curls. “Sorry,” I manage.

  “Were you going to jump?”

  “No, I...”

  I don’t know.

  I’ve been so out of sorts since yesterday, and everything that led to my fall is kinda fuzzy. I remember the dark seeping into my mind, though. The feeling that there was no light at the end of the road. Not for the likes of me.

  I don’t say any of it, but she’s looking up at me, and she seems to read it all, easily. When did she learn to do that?

  “If you ever feel that way,” she says, her voice shaky, “talk to me. Call me. I’ll give you my phone number.”

  “See, my devious plan to get your number worked,” I croak.

  She laughs softly, then scowls and punches me lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t joke about it.”

  Fair enough.

  We’re still kneeling in the dirt, still breathing hard, holding on to each other, the fucking moon hanging over us like a face, watchful.

  “Guess we’re quits now,” I mutter. “I save you, you save me—”

  “Ross, shut up.”

  And she kisses me.

  It’s like an out of body experience. I’m not here, my body a mere outline, a shape in the dark. All I can do is feel. I’m fucking lost in that kiss. I lose track of time, of the hard ground biting into my knees, of the world. Her lips are soft like fresh petals, her taste sweet but also salty as if she’s tasted tears.

  It’s delicious. Gut-wrenchingly good. Agonizingly fucking perfect.

  Suddenly I’m back in my body, really back, feeling the pull of the earth, feeling the curves of the girl pressed against my side. The ice in my veins starts to melt in degrees, some warmth seeping back into my chest, easing the vise wrapped around my ribs.

  The kiss goes on and on, and it’s as if she’s breathing for me, breathing fucking life into me, heating me up from the inside with every movement of her lips, every little sound she makes.

  When we break apart, gasping for air, her hands are in my hair, and her eyes are way too bright.

  “Sorry,” she whispers, cheeks cherry red, mouth trembling. “I don’t—”

  “I’m not sorry,” I whisper back, hauling her against me. “Not for this.”

  She shoots me a faint, watery smile. “Come on, let’s go home.”

  And I still don’t know where the hell that is.

  ***

  In a daze, using the wall as support, I make it to my feet. My knees creak, my leg muscles scream as I straighten—and yet the pleasure of that kiss still travels through my body, leaving tingles and shivers behind.

  Could be shock, though. Definitely shock is a factor. Shock from the kiss, shock from seeing my life flash before my eyes, from realizing Buddy may have saved my life, that Luna did absolutely fucking save my life and is still holding my hand.

  Maybe this last bit is what causes the shock to linger. She didn’t abandon me, and after she got me down, she didn’t say “we’re quits!” and walk away.

  I lift my fingers to my mouth. That was some kiss. I’ve kissed girls, you know, loads of girls, but I’ve never been kissed. Not like this. Not just out of lust, with an end goal in mind, but so fucking sweetly.

  Like it means more.

  I tell myself not to be an idiot as she tugs on my hand to get me moving. We leave the ladder propped against the outer wall of the garage. Hopefully nobody will steal it overnight, and I don’t think either of us has the strength to take it back inside. I, for one, don’t. It strikes me as miraculous that Luna managed to drag it outside in such record time and help me down. Though the time I spent hanging like a Christmas ornament felt like goddamn centuries, it can’t have been more than a minute, tops.

  So strange that the night is so quiet. Feels like I should be able to hear drums and voices. It’s just us, the street deserted as we round the building to enter. I stagger after Luna, mind reeling, catching glimpses of things I’d normally not notice—a bird fluttering overhead, a spot of spreading rust on the tin wall in the shape of a starburst, the glint of moonlight on her hair.

  The door is wide open—not the huge bay doors, but the side door I’ve been using since Dad was thrown into jail. Luna must’ve hauled the ladder through here. Inside it’s kinda dark, gloomy, the space suddenly huge and empty.

  Like the void I dangled over earlier. It had felt as though I’d been hanging over the pit of night, a cliff with the sea crashing below.

  Okay, I need to get my shit together, gather my scattered wits. It’s just that she said something... something important as I swung from that pipe, ready to face death, something that made me hesitate to let go.

  What was it?

  “The people I care about.”

  Yeah, that bit. Did she really say it? Did I imagine it?

  “Ross?” I blink and find her staring at me.

  Fuck, I’m so spaced out. Is it normal not to be able to focus on anything? “Yeah.”

  “Is your arm okay?”

  I shake it out. “I guess.” Seems to be in working order. Muscles and tendons shifting under the skin, joints functioning right.

  Wasn’t so sure about it at first when I landed back on solid ground. My arm had felt as if it weighed a fucking ton, and I couldn’t lift it, could barely move it. Now it seems to be coming back to life. My hand hurts, I realize. There’s a gash across my palm, and another across my fingers. Maybe it’s from when the pipe broke. Blood has run down to my wrist, giving me a dark bracelet of thorns, the color of rust, like the stains on the walls. I’m rusting, like a broken piece of machinery.

  “Sit here,” she’s saying, interrupting my examination of the crusted blood on my hand and wrist. “I’ll just make a phone call.”

  I find myself dropping heavily on a tool bench, blinking dizzily as she walks away and wanders toward the trapdoor leading to the roof. There’s no ladder there anymo
re, and it takes me a moment to remember why.

  Cotton wool, that’s what my head’s filled with. And starbursts.

  But she only grabs a small purse from there. Ah, right, she must’ve dropped it when she went up to find me and...

  Fuck. I scrub both hands over my face. My mind keeps blanking out. She went up, I fell, she came down, dragged the ladder to me. That’s what happened. It happened. It’s over.

  Get a grip. Pull yourself together.

  “Dad, it’s me.” Luna’s fished out her phone from her bag. “Yes, I know I’m late. Listen, okay if I stay over at Dena’s? Yes, Dena Johnson, she works with me at the diner. Yeah. Thanks, Dad! I owe ya.”

  Huh.

  I shake my head as she puts her phone away, swings the strap of her purse over her shoulder and turns toward me.

  Are we quits now? Do I owe her? Why did she kiss me? Why say she was worried? And Buddy? I didn’t see him, didn’t hear him bark.

  What was I doing on the roof? I remember the dark teasing at my mind, tearing at it like a dog with a bone—

  “Were you really going to jump?”

  Hell, my head’s about to split. My pulse is still thumping hard in my ears.

  She comes, takes my hand and gives me a tiny smile. “Let’s get out of here,” she says, and I guess, as plans go, that’s about as good as any.

  ***

  We walk and walk and I dunno why it feels like forever. Probably because I keep forgetting what we’re doing here. It’s like a nightmare, one of those looping never-ending stressful dreams—only she’s with me, and that means it’s not. It can’t be.

  I’m shaking with belated reaction. I feel cold even though it’s a balmy night. “Where are we going?”

  “I told you, to your house.”

  “Shit, okay.”

  She slows down, gives me a quick, concerned look. “I can’t think of another place to spend the night. The garage is giving me the creeps right now, and I can’t take you to my home, so...”

  “It’s fine.” I guess. I dunno why she wouldn’t go to her house. What did I miss?

  It’s not until we’ve entered the cursed house, and she’s dragged me to the ratty sofa, getting up only to close the screen and the door and returning to me, that it clicks that she’s planning to stay.

  I must’ve made an inquiring noise because she sighs and tucks her legs under her, slipping her arms around me once more.

  “I’m staying,” she says. “I told my dad I’ll stay with Dena, so I can stay with you.”

  I don’t reply, don’t ask why, not again. I’d give my right nut to have her stay with me. It’s an unexpected relief in tonight’s chaos, but I should tell her to go. She’s done enough already, and worse still, the way she’s holding me... it’s as if she forgot for a moment who I am.

  “Luna...” I don’t wanna remind her. Her hold on me is light, soft. Not enough. I need her so damn bad. If she stays, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. “I’ve hurt you before.”

  Her arms tighten slightly around my back and stomach.

  I’ve never spent a full night with a girl before, never slept in a bed with one. And with this girl, well... I’ve dreamed of it, locked the dream up in the box where impossible desires go, and now she’s offering. Today of all days, I couldn’t refuse if my life depended on it.

  I wouldn’t want to.

  And still I’m talking.

  “I’m still drunk,” I make myself continue. “Drank myself stupid last night. Today, too.”

  “I know,” she whispers, voice muffled against my shoulder.

  “I’m an asshole. And a fucked-up mess.”

  She hums in agreement. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  It startles a snort out of me. “Just so we’re clear.”

  “No miracles,” she says somberly, and looks up, green eyes meeting mine. “I got it.”

  And the question still wants out, clawing at my insides. “Then why? Why are you still here?”

  She gapes at me. “You jumped off a building and you’re asking me that?”

  “I didn’t fucking jump. You startled me. I fell.”

  “Ah-huh.”

  “... and it was a garage. Not a building.”

  “Garages qualify as buildings, you know.”

  She should run along home. Stay away from me. Certainly not do something sweet like sleep by my side. “I’m a lost cause, Lu. You know it.”

  “No, you’re not. And I’m going to hold you until you fall asleep, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Afraid I might fall off the bed and need rescuing?”

  “I won’t let you fall again.”

  Did I swallow broken glass earlier? My chest, my throat both burn. I do my best to hide it, turning my face away, chewing on my lip, hoping the pain will stop the sting in the back of my eyes. Can’t... Can’t let her see what she’s doing to me.

  It’s been a long fucking evening. Way too long.

  Testament of my exhaustion is the fact I let her tug me to bed, let her pull off my boots and my pants—though I have enough presence of mind to stop her from taking off my T-shirt—and then flop down on my back, barely moving to let her pull the covers from under me.

  Holy shit, she’s coming to bed with me.

  Just to sleep, Ross, I remind myself. Just to hold you. She said so. Those were the terms.

  Yeah, tell that to my cock.

  Down, boy.

  Moonlight spills through the slats, bathing the room in a milky glow, making her skin gleam like marble.

  She kicks off her shoes and pulls off her skirt, too, and despite my eyes closing, I nudge myself awake to watch. Even half-dead I’m drawn to her, my cock hardening. She slips under the covers with me, and I reach for her. I slip an arm under her head and she curls on her side, facing me, her curls spilling over my skin, warm and light.

  “Comfortable?” I ask.

  She nods. “You? I’m not crushing your arm?”

  Her curls tickle my skin, her weight feels good. It’s not the arm I hung from earlier after dropping off the roof and— “Nope.”

  She closes her eyes.

  Her scent is all around me, her hair wafting a perfume of cinnamon and sugar, her skin jasmine and roses. Calming, relaxing me enough to sink more into the mattress—but also damn arousing, making my pulse spike.

  “You know you left your bra on,” I inform her.

  “Hm...”

  My body is leaden, and I’m practically slurring my words, but my cock is fully hard now as she moves into my side, flinging an arm over my chest.

  I clear my throat. “I’m serious. All those straps and wires... It will be more comfortable for you if you take it off.”

  “Really.” One green eye opens and fastens on me. Slender brows knit in a scowl that would have cowed lesser men.

  “In fact, all these clothes,” I continue. “T-shirt, panties... they’re overrated. So not needed.”

  “Is that so.”

  “Yeah, I’m concerned. You won’t sleep well.”

  She laughs softly, then slaps my chest lightly. My bruises protest but I find myself smiling. We lay there in silence for a while and I’m almost drifting off, sinking, when she shifts.

  “You called me Lu,” she whispers.

  “Did I? Sounds about right for a shorty like you.”

  “What? I’m not short, you twat. Just compact.”

  “Squirt.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Hey now,” I say mildly. “That’s not imaginative at all, ya know.”

  A shrug. “I’m still mad at you for being on that roof. For falling.” She shudders.

  I haul her closer, bury my nose in her hair and breathe her in, feel her against me, warm and real. I don’t wanna think about the roof and the harrowing minutes that followed, about the reasons that put me there.

  She wants to sleep beside me, and I want it, too. It’s a pleasure I never imagined I’d be gifted with.

  Because I wasn’t m
eant to grow old, or to find peace, sleep blissfully in a bed with my girl. I wasn’t made for it, wasn’t prepared for it.

  But I’ll be damned if I don’t take it and let myself go for this one night. After looking death in the face, the feel of her pressed against me is all that’s keeping me sane tonight.

  ***

  After dropping into sleep like a rock, it’s a shock to come up for air what feels like a second later, panting hard, my heart pounding, in an unknown bed.

  A bed I don’t recognize at first because I’m not alone in it, and there’s a faint scent of flowers and honey, and a web of silk threads clamped over my face, and—

  Luna.

  We’re in my bed. In my room.

  My harsh breaths sound way too loud in the quiet. I’m winded as if someone punched me in the solar plexus, then kicked in my ribs for good measure.

  Lifting her curls off my face, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, fighting the tremors going through me.

  What was...? A dream. More a jumble of fear and panic and dark things dragging me down in the murk—then that feeling of falling.

  Weightless for a few seconds, stretching into lifetimes, before my hand snagged on the pipe and I swung, almost wrenching my arm out of its pocket.

  My stomach roils.

  Fuck this shit. I’m okay, I’m alive, why the hell do I have to relive the moment in my dreams? As if I don’t have a set reel of nightmares at my disposal.

  She’s so much stronger than me.

  In prison, I gave up. Let the dark get to me. I don’t have signs to show for it. It turns out that having your stomach pumped doesn’t leave any scar. The other inmates gave me the pills. They were helping me off myself. It was entertaining for them, I guess. Helped them feel stronger.

  Sitting up, I swing my legs off the bed and prop my elbows on my legs, shoving my fingers through my short hair. The cold is back, chilling my blood, making old scars ache.

  “Ross...” Her voice is soft like velvet, heavy with sleep. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Go back to sleep.”

  “Were you going to jump?”

  I bite back a groan, close my eyes. Feel her sit up, her arms slipping around my middle, her cheek pressing into my shoulder.

  “Hey...” I like her raspy, sleepy voice, her body draped over my back. Like it way too much. Her tits are so soft, her hair a cloud, her breath warm.