They think they can control me.
Wrong.
For the first time I feel like pretending to be something I’m not is paying off.
They underestimated me because of it.
I grab my helmet from its hidden spot in the back of the closet and race down the stairs, grabbing the key for my secret baby from the kitchen drawer. I slide out the back door onto the patio, creeping to peek through one of the seams in the privacy fence screening me from view.
The green space between the back of the townhouses and the line of garages I’m headed for is empty and quiet.
I silently open the gate and step out, taking one last look each way before rushing to the door of my garage.
The garage I told Gypsy I didn’t have.
I let myself into the dark space, waiting to turn the light on until I’m inside with the door locked behind me.
The fluorescent bulbs flicker to life, warming as I check my sport bike over. I haven’t taken her out in a while, and I’m saying a prayer she will be what I need her to be right now.
I need to feel the freedom she gives me.
I pull on my helmet and hold my breath as I press the button beside the door, opening the bay so I can try to start the engine.
The parking lot outside is quiet, no sign of any of the men Gypsy sent to babysit me when I ended up being too much for him.
I’ll fucking show him too much.
I roll my bike from the garage and use the keypad to close the door, then climb on and cross my fingers.
The engine immediately fires up, sputtering just a second before settling into an even rumble.
I’m smiling wide as I round the building Cook will be watching tonight.
It’ll be empty.
But it appears Cook isn’t going to be the one watching it.
His unmistakable truck is sitting at the exit of the complex and a car I don’t recognize is sitting in his vacated spot in front of my place, one of the younger guys I don’t know sitting in the front seat.
So I guess anyone can watch out for me now.
Over my dead body.
Of all the lies I’ve been fed by men that one bothers me the most.
Because deep down I wanted to believe it was the truth. I wanted to think Gypsy was different.
And he was.
He was worse.
Cook’s truck makes a left and a second later I’m doing the same.
Maybe it’s curiosity.
Maybe I’m considering finding an El Camino and keying it.
No.
I’ll take the fucking battery out.
Dismantle the whole thing piece by piece.
I stay a good distance behind Cook, the bright green of his truck making it easy to keep track of him even with the sun setting and night falling around me.
My initial plan was to fly. Race down the highway until I stopped caring that I can add one more man to the list in my past.
But I can do that later. Right now the need to know where Cook is going, see if maybe Gypsy is there, is overwhelming any other ideas I might have had.
We head into a seedy part of town where it’s more difficult for me to stay as far behind him, forcing me to creep up to be sure I don’t lose him when he makes a turn onto one of the narrow city streets. I roll up to a stop sign he turned right at, peeking around the building just in time to see his truck pull against the curb, brake lights flashing off as he puts it into park.
I speed through the intersection before he can get out, racing out of sight just as his door opens.
I kill a little time, circling around, making my way back in the general direction of the place Cook parked. By the time I’m pulling to a stop at the intersection on the opposite side of the block the sky is completely dark, along with most of the street. Each building is quiet. Their broken windows black, gaping eyes looking out onto the sketchy street.
Except one.
The building in the center of the block shines like a beacon. Bright light pours from the brand new windows, sashes open to let in the cooling air of the night.
I bet if I was closer I could hear the voices inside.
Closer and not on a running bike.
I ease from the stop as slow as I can, keeping the rev of the engine as low as possible as I roll to the end of the row of buildings. A dark alley runs behind them. There’s not a single light breaking through the complete darkness, which might normally make me pause.
Tonight it makes me smile.
Because I think I’ve finally lost my mind.
One too many men have cast me aside like I meant nothing.
And I want revenge.
I’m not sure what exactly it will be, but I do know that in order to get it I have to find the asshole first.
I shut off the engine and climb off, rolling my bike down the dark alley. Everything suddenly seems so much more quiet and dark.
I start to take off my helmet but stop.
I will see and hear better without it, but I don’t want to risk anyone identifying me if I’m seen.
So the helmet stays on.
I park my bike in a nook behind the building next to the one Cook has to be in, and pull the key free. Leaving it in would make for a faster getaway, but having it stolen will result in no getaway at all.
I creep toward the building, staying in the shadows as I sneak up to the first window. The large pane makes it easy for me to stay back and still see inside.
The place is trashed.
Well...
Maybe trashed is the wrong word.
Gutted is more accurate.
Studded walls and dangling bulbs fill the space. Heavy wires lace through the two-by-fours that will be covered with drywall. I can’t guess what the room I’m looking into will be, but whatever it is, it will be big.
I edge closer, wishing I could take off my helmet so I could hear the male voices filtering out just a little better.
Be able to figure out if one belongs to Gypsy.
I ignore the twist of excitement at just the thought of his voice, choosing instead to only feel the anger bubbling beside it.
He left me.
Said he would be the one who kept me safe. The one to protect me.
And it was all a lie.
I barely hear the crunch of a footstep before someone grabs me from behind, dragging me deeper into the shadows.
Where no one will be able to see us.
I start to scream, the sound making my ears ring as it fills the helmet I should never have left on. I fight the arms banded around my body, kicking at the legs tangling with mine, still screaming on the off-chance someone will hear it through the buffer of my helmet.
“Stop it.” The deep hiss comes as I’m taking a breath for another scream.
I freeze.
The arms around me release, hands moving to push my helmet up and off. “Stop fucking screaming, Beanie. Someone will call the cops.”
“Good.” I spit it at him, my anger flaming high at the sight of him. I plant two hands in the center of Gypsy’s bare chest and shove as hard as I can. “I fucking hate you.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond. I don’t care what he has to say. It’s all lies anyway. “You are just like all of them.” I shove him again. “I should never have trusted you.” My mouth keeps running. I can’t stop it any more than I can control what’s coming out of it.
“You are a fucking liar.” I push him again. “You said you were going to protect me and you lied.” I press my hands to his chest, ready to shove with everything I have.
Gypsy’s fingers lock around my wrists as his body comes against mine, pushing me back until I slam into the building next door. One big hand catches my head before it hits the aged brick, giving me one free hand to have at him with.
But before I can hit him, Gypsy is pressed tight against me, eliminating the possibility. “Stop.”
His tone is sharp and a little scary. A little on edge.
A little frustr
ated.
His hand at the back of my head fists into the weave of the braid I always wear when I ride.
Except for the night I rode with him.
“You’ve got to stop this, Felicity.” His forehead presses to mine, eyes falling shut. “Please.”
I can’t breathe and I’m not sure why.
I want to fight with him. I want him to be as pissed as I am.
But he’s not.
And that steals some of the wind from my sails.
He doesn’t even care enough to be mad that I put myself in danger.
“Fine.”
He wins. I lose. Like always.
Gypsy’s eyes fly open and the hand in my hair tightens. “Fine?”
“Whatever. I don’t care anymore. I’ll go back home and sit in my house like a good little girl so you can go on with your life and not feel bad about it.”
For the first time in my life I feel broken. Every other time a man left me, I rebounded. Let it slide off. Convinced myself it was him, not me.
I was being exactly what I was supposed to be. Pretty. Smart. Sexy.
I dressed cute. I always had my hair and make-up fucking perfect. I laughed at their jokes.
Sucked their dicks.
I didn’t do any of that for Gypsy.
I was the most me I’ve ever been around a man.
And he left too.
So I’m thinking maybe it really is me that’s the problem.
I’m just too fucking much.
“You think that’s what I want?” The edge is back in his voice. The anger that left me clearly found him. “You think I wanted to walk away from you? Let someone else close to you?” The hand in my hair fists tight enough it almost hurts. “I had to fucking do it. I couldn’t keep you safe. You wouldn’t let me.”
The admission stuns me to silence.
Because of course I thought he wanted to walk away from me.
Gypsy’s body presses tighter to mine. His hand slides free of my hair to curl around my jaw, the pad of his thumb resting under my chin, pushing it up as his other hand mirrors the first. “I left you because I thought it would keep you safe, Felicity.”
His eyes lock onto mine, shadowed and dark.
I hold his gaze, unwilling to back down even though my whole body is buzzing from his closeness. “You were wrong.”
“Clearly.” His thumbs slide over my skin, his touch and words softening more with each passing second. “Why did you come here, Beanie?”
“To find you.” The admission slips out. Pulled free by the feel of him against me. By the softness of his voice.
“You found me.” Gypsy eases closer, his breath ghosting over my lips. “What now?”
“I was going to take apart your car.”
That wasn’t the immediate plan, but it was on the list. It’s also the only part of it I can currently remember.
Gypsy chuckles low and deep, the sound vibrating through me. “That’s my girl.”
My girl.
No man who’s not related to me has ever called me their girl.
“I could do it.” I want him to know it’s true. That I could have done it. Given the proper tools.
An adequate location.
And enough time.
“I don’t doubt that for a minute.” His nose runs along mine, teasing me with a touch I have thought of too many times. “What if I let you do it? Would you still hate me?”
“Probably.”
He laughs again, forcing me to recognize how much I missed the sound.
How much I missed him.
“What will make you stop hating me, Beanie?” One thumb comes to slide across my lower lip, slow and warm as it passes over one of the many spots I’ve imagined feeling his touch.
“I don’t know.” It’s a whisper of truth.
Because I’m not sure I hate him.
I want to.
I should.
Probably.
“Fair enough.” Gypsy’s thumb leaves my lip, and the loss makes me huff out a breath of protest. His eyes move over my face for a second, as if he’s looking for something.
I’m sure it’s not there.
But then he’s closer than he’s ever been, lips barely touching the place his thumb just abandoned.
“Let me make you stop hating me, Beanie. I can do it. I promise.”
6
FELICITY’S SOFT, WILLING body stiffens in an instant.
Her barely parted lips press tight together in to a thin line as the blue eyes that stared into mine seconds ago narrow to slits.
“Your promises don’t mean shit to me, Gypsy.”
I almost had her.
She shoves me away again, and tries to run.
I know it’s not going to help my cause, but I can’t let her go. Not now.
She’ll end up hurt, and it won’t be because of King or anyone else.
I grab her fast, pulling her back against my chest, one arm across her body and the other doing its best to grab her swinging arms. “Stop it before one of us gets hurt.”
I grunt as she catches me in the ribs with an elbow.
“It’ll be you, asshole.”
“I don’t doubt that.” I spin her fast, catching Felicity off-guard and haul her up and over, bracing her belly against my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Her voice pierces the night air as she keeps swinging, connecting with my kidneys more than once.
I carry her inside the old firehouse Hawk bought, past where Preacher and Cook stand, and up the steps we just opened to the second floor, dropping her onto the mattress where I’ve been sleeping for the past week.
Thinking she was safe.
Thinking she was better off without me.
I’ve never been happier to be wrong.
Felicity hits the bed with a grunt, her long body bouncing against the blankets and pillows. I crawl over her before she can scramble off, taking full advantage of the situation.
I shouldn’t.
I’m going to do it anyway.
Because I’ve imagined this woman in my bed more times than I can count. Pictured her under me, those long-as-fuck legs wrapped around my waist. I’ve thought it enough times I’m sure I know exactly how my name sounds on her lips.
But Felicity doesn’t know my name. No one does.
“You can’t just hold me hostage.” She’s not scared. Not even a little.
If anything Felicity is angry.
No.
Not angry.
It was so dark outside I didn’t see it, but I should have heard it in her voice.
“I can, and right now you’ve made me think I should, Beanie.” I hover over her, braced on my hands and knees. She could get away if she wanted. One quick knee to my balls and I’d be down for the count.
But Felicity isn’t going anywhere. She’s lying perfectly still beneath me, hands fisted in my sheets. It’s almost a dream come true.
Almost.
“How in the hell am I supposed to keep you safe when you won’t listen to me?”
Her mouth opens and I cut her off. I wasn’t really asking.
“You fight me every step of the way, Beanie.” I let myself get a little closer, unable to resist the temptation as much as I wish I could. “I tried to take care of you. Tried to make sure you were safe. That you had everything you needed.” I inch closer, elbows hitting the bed, barely a breath of air between us. “And you still fought me. Still shoved me back. Still hated me.”
The last is a trap, set with the most selfish of intents.
I run my nose alongside hers, wishing I could take what I really want from her.
But I won’t. Not yet.
“Why do you hate me, Felicity?” I circle back to the promise I made earlier. It’s one I intend to keep.
Just like all the others.
“I never said I hated you.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You have said it hundreds of times.”
“Not hundreds.” Her voice is soft.<
br />
“Maybe thousands.” I brush my fingers over the softness of her cheek. “Why?”
Her full lips turn inward, sliding against each other in a way that makes my dick stiffen instantly.
“It’s complicated.”
“It usually is.” I can’t stop looking at her. The single lamp sitting on the floor beside the bed casts the room in a soft glow, highlighting the sharp lines of her face. “What did you have to eat today?”
Felicity doesn’t eat enough. I lived with her long enough to know that the woman burns off everything that goes in and then some.
And that was when I was following her around, forcing the food into her.
“I don’t know.”
“Lie.” I should move off her. Get up and take her home. Make sure she has dinner.
But damned if I don’t like the look of her in my bed. “What in the hell am I going to do with you, Beanie?” I breathe in her scent, the soothing sweetness loosening my lips. “How am I going to keep you from getting yourself hurt?” I rest my hands against the sides of her face as my thoughts continue to fall free. “You fight me when I’m there. You fight me when I’m not. What can I do to make you stop fighting with me?”
I stare into her eyes, trying to find the answers I’m looking for.
And I do.
A glimpse of something I don’t expect from a woman who seems so sure.
So confident.
“What are you scared of, Beanie?” I don’t like the fear I see in her blue gaze. The uncertainty when she looks my way.
I’m not expecting an answer. Felicity isn’t the kind to give up anything she doesn’t want to.
“You.”
The word surprises me. For a few reasons.
“Me?”
She barely nods.
I’ve been a lot of things in my life. I’ve caused damage to almost everything you can imagine. Cars. Buildings.
Men.
But never a woman. It cuts deep that she would think of me like that.
“I would never hurt you, Felicity. Never.”
“It’s what you all say.” Her lips barely move. If I wasn’t a breath away I wouldn’t have heard them.
But I am. And I did.
I breathe deep, fighting my instant reaction to the admission. Even after more than a handful of long breaths, part of me still wants to make a list. Find the men who hurt her. Give them what they deserve.
Gypsy Soul: A Bad Boy Protector Romance (Lost Boys Book 3) Page 5
