Gypsy Soul: A Bad Boy Protector Romance (Lost Boys Book 3)

by Janice M. Whiteaker

  “I cleaned.”

  “You were pissed I left you.”

  I scoff. “Was not.”

  “Whatever you say, Beanie.” He passes me, catching my hand with his as he goes back to the hall and checks the bathroom, flipping back the shower curtain to reveal only my toiletries.

  Then he gives me the look again. This time I ignore it.

  The only dark room left in the townhouse is my bedroom. Gypsy basically strolls in, obviously fully confident in his intruder perception skills.

  And he’s right. There’s no one in my bedroom.

  “Fuck me.”

  His grip on my hand tightens.

  I stare at my bed.

  What’s left of it.

  “I don’t think they like me.”

  It’s not perfectly clear exactly what’s been done to my bed because of the copious amount of feathers flying around the space. It does appear that a knife was involved, and my pillows and mattress didn’t survive the attack. I grab my duvet and pull it toward me. I just bought this damn thing and I swear to God if—

  “That motherfucker cut up my brand-new duvet.” The lightweight batting is spilling out a number of slashes that go through both the cover and the fabric of the duvet itself. I pull at sheets and blankets until I can see the full scope of the damage.

  I’m going to have to replace all of it.

  I fling everything into a pile in the center of what’s left of my mattress.

  Gypsy’s been silent behind me. I spin to face him. His eyes immediately drop from the ceiling to me. “Let’s go.”

  His tone is too sharp. Too urgent.

  I slowly lift my gaze to the ceiling above my bed.

  Lucky bitch

  “How does he know I’m a bitch?” I curl my lip at the red paint scrawled in the exact spot I look when I lay down at night. For some reason that pisses me off more than everything else combined. “I might be a perfectly nice person.”

  Gypsy’s head spins my way, his brows pushed together tightly. “You should be more scared than this.”

  “I’m not a pussy.” The phrase I haven’t used since I moved here flies free. I straighten, pressing my lips together. “I mean I’m not a—”

  “No. Pussy pretty much sums it up.” Gypsy takes a deep breath and stands straight, shoulders square, like he’s bracing himself. “You can’t stay here tonight, Felicity.”

  “I figured you were going to say that.” I look around my destroyed room. “Well, shit.” I go to the closet and hold my breath as I open the door. I smile a little when all my clothes are intact. “At least he didn’t tear all my shit up.” I pull out a few of my work dresses and turn in a slow circle, looking for somewhere not covered in feathers. “I guess I can go stay with Becca.”

  Gypsy shakes his head at me. “She’s probably going to have to find a new place to stay too.”

  “Oh.” I stand still for a minute, pile of dresses in my arms, staring at the mess I’ve somehow found myself in.

  It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since I moved here.

  “Well.” I avoid looking the one spot my eyes always want to find their way to. “I guess I can go to a hotel or something.”

  Gypsy is silent so I go back to the task at hand and continue collecting clothes, adding to the armful I already have. I’ve been trying to hate him for weeks. Working to make sure to keep a wall between us. One high enough it would keep me from being able to scale it.

  I wish I’d been successful.

  I hook one foot through the handle of my suitcase and drag it from the closet before flipping open the top and dumping the pile in my arms inside. Gypsy walks from the room, leaving me on my own. As soon as I’m done adding in underwear, bras, and pajamas, I fill another bag with my toiletries and set it on top of my packed suitcase.

  I’m at the top of the steps, starting down with my bags when Gypsy reappears. “I’ll get those.”

  “Okay.” I step back and let him take the case. Before he can start down I grab his shoulder. “Are you coming with me?”

  Gypsy’s eyes fall to where my hand rests before lifting to meet mine. “Is that what you want?”

  A sadly familiar emotion squeezes the air from my lungs. It’s the same feeling I’ve worked so hard to keep from having lately.

  Because deep down I’m sure Gypsy will leave, and I won’t be able to explain it away like I have before.

  But damned if I still don’t feel that tiny biting excitement of hope.

  “I just wondered what your plan was.”

  His sandy brows lift. “My plan?”

  I nod.

  He turns from the stairwell, his body twisting to face mine. “Beanie, I’ve never been the one running this show.” He moves closer, sending that tiny bit of hope blooming into something that scares me more than anything I’ve done in my life. “No matter how hard I tried.” One hand lifts, moving slow and steady, until the backs of his fingers trail over the skin of my cheek. “So I’m not trying anymore.”

  “Oh.” It’s what I knew was coming. The whole reason I worked so hard to stop it before it started.

  I failed at that.

  I force on a smile, working hard to keep him from seeing the crush of sadness smothering me. “Okay. I understand. I’m a lot.”

  Three words I’ve said more than I would ever admit to anyone. Myself included. “It’s fine.” I grab the handle to my suitcase, ready to run down the stairs and escape this moment. One I knew would come. One that hurts more than the others.

  One I will remember forever.

  Because deep down I thought this could be different. I fought it anyway.

  And ended up in the same spot I always do because of it.

  “Felicity.” Gypsy grabs my arm, stopping me. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

  “I do. I’ve heard it before. It’s fine.” I try to pull from his grip but he holds me tight.

  “Stop.” He pulls me toward him. “Listen to me.”

  “I heard you.” I blink hard.

  I won’t cry about this. I haven’t done it before. Not with any of the others, and I’ll be damned if I do it now.

  “You didn’t.” Gypsy grabs my other arm and tips his head down, lowering his eyes to mine. “I want you to listen to me. Really listen to what I have to say.” He pauses. “Look at me, Beanie.”

  I force my eyes up, locking onto his.

  Gypsy stares at me for a second. Long enough I can almost imagine what it would be like to have a man like him really see me.

  What it would be like to have a man like him, full stop.

  I blink a few times, trying to keep myself together a little longer.

  I can imagine him being mine later. When I’m alone.

  Again.

  Later I can wallow in the rejection. Bathe in it until I’m sick of it. Then I will pick myself up, brush it off, and go on.

  But this man might take more dusting than the others.

  I bite my lower lip until it hurts, focusing everything I can on that pain. It’s much easier to manage.

  Gypsy’s focus remains on me. He shifts closer. “Are you listening?”

  I nod again. I have jumped out of planes and raced bikes around tracks made of dirt and danger. Faced down potential death more times than I can count.

  I can listen to him tell me what I already know.

  And I will be just fucking fine.

  Gypsy’s hands make a slow ascent, trailing a path of heat as they move up my arms, across my shoulders, along the line of my neck, finally stopping when they curl around the line of my jaw. “I’m handing the power over to you, Felicity.” His body moves flush against mine, pushing me until my back is against the wall. “Whatever happens from this point on is up to you.” He leans close, the tip of his nose running alongside mine. “If you want me to leave, tell me to leave. If you want me to stay, tell me to stay.” His hands skim back, fingers lacing into the collapsing braid barely clinging together
. “But know this. If you tell me to go, I won’t fucking like it. I’ll do it, but don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

  I swallow, trying not to choke on my saliva. “You want to stay with me?”

  His lips barely lift as a breath huffs out in an almost chuckle. “I want it all, Felicity.”

  I’m not sure his definition of all and my definition of all are the same thing.

  But Gypsy doesn’t leave me unsure long.

  “I want to stay with you.” His lips brush over mine.

  “I want to take care of you.” Another barely-there pass of his lips.

  “I want to keep you safe.” His lips press mine. “I want to fuck you until my name is all you can remember.”

  If he wasn’t so tight against me I would be on the ground. In this second my legs are as useless as my brain is.

  Because it can already only focus on one thing. “I don’t know your name.”

  His smile fills out, but he doesn’t move away.

  “You will.”

  8

  I’VE NEVER TOLD anyone my real name.

  Not my brothers.

  Not Jill.

  Not even King knew my name.

  I didn’t want to hear it cross anyone’s lips. Didn’t want to face the past I’ve worked hard to snuff out.

  But Felicity isn’t the past.

  “Where can I take you, Beanie?” I barely touch her lips with mine again. It shows the restraint I’ve perfected over the past few weeks, being so close to her.

  Never touching.

  Never kissing.

  Never more.

  But now...

  Seeing proof of what I believed, having her hold me back, seeing the fear in her eyes when I was going to come in here and find the motherfucker who dared be close to her, it’s changed everything.

  Changed me. In an instant.

  No one has cared what happened to me before. Not like that.

  I run my thumb over her lips, trying to find another way to feed the need to know their feel. They’re so soft. So full. So smooth.

  But knowing how they feel is only part of the need rushing through me like lightening in a jar.

  I need to know it all.

  How she tastes. How she moves. How she moans.

  How she comes.

  For me.

  “I need to get you out of here, before—” I bite it off too late.

  “Before what?” Her lips move under my touch, tempting me like I’ve never been tempted in my life. The words are breathless, teasing me with how it will sound when she begs me for more.

  “Before I end up starting something I’m not willing to finish here.” I try to step away but I can’t.

  Not without something to carry me through the time it will take to get her somewhere safe.

  “I don’t understand.” This time she barely whispers.

  “You do. I know you do.” She’s scared of me. I don’t know why, but I will. “Just trust me, Beanie. Please.”

  Her lower lip barely quivers under the pad of my thumb and that tiny movement makes me want to drop bodies to the floor. Inflict pain in a way I’ve never felt before.

  Someone did that to her.

  Some fucking man.

  “Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” I don’t like being punished for what someone else did. Never have.

  Her head barely moves from side to side, blue eyes wide as they stare into mine.

  “Then just try. Try to trust me.” I learned early not to want. Definitely not to need.

  People have power over you when they can give you what you desire.

  People like King.

  But I want Felicity. Can’t help it.

  I might even need her.

  I meant it when I said she was in charge. She is. Always has been.

  Because Felicity has the ultimate power over me, whether she realizes it or not.

  “Okay.”

  One word.

  A word that is the best gift I’ve ever been given. Not that there’s much competing with it.

  One word that makes me stronger and weaker at the same time. Sends me crashing into her, covering her mouth with mine in the kind of kiss I tried not to take.

  But her lips part for me immediately. Her hands fist in my hair, wrapping in the length of it, making me grateful I didn’t tie it back when I worked tonight. I have my first taste of Felicity and it’s all I need to know that it will never be enough. Not with her.

  I will always want more. Beg for it.

  Do everything in my power to get it.

  Her long body fits perfectly against mine, lean and strong in spite of the soft and breakable woman I’ve gotten a glimpse of tonight. Felicity is all of it. Complicated and sharp and delicate.

  And I want all of her.

  When I finally find the strength to drag my lips from hers, I’m breathing heavy, dangerously close to proving myself right. Starting something I’m not willing to finish. Not here. Not tonight. “We need to go.” I grab the suitcase with one hand and her with the other. “Now.”

  “Okay.” Felicity immediately follows along behind me. It’s the most agreeable I’ve ever seen her. Maybe she’s more scared than I realize. I sneak a peek at her over one shoulder as we descend the stairs.

  Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glazed. The soft strands of her hair are a little wild around her face where more than a few have broken free of the braid laced down the back of her head.

  I might have helped that along.

  The fingers of her free hand press softly against her lips and her blue eyes are wide, thick lashes reaching almost to the dark line of her brows.

  And she’s not saying a word. Not throwing a million questions my way. Not arguing with each answer.

  Not telling me how and what she will and won’t do.

  It’s a complete 180.

  But I’m not complaining right now. Right now I’m getting her the fuck out of here.

  I don’t slow down until we’re back in my car, loaded up and on the road. Then I pull out my phone and start dialing. I call Tracker first. He answers on the second ring.

  “Late calls are never good news.”

  “Someone broke into Felicity’s apartment.” I glance to where she’s sitting stick straight in the seat beside me. “Tore a bunch of her shit up.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She was with me.”

  “Thank fuck.” There’s rustling on the other end of the line. Tracker’s already on the move. The guy can go from asleep to ready in a split second. It’s amazing really. “I’ll make a few calls and we’ll get the place checked out. See if they left anything we can use.”

  “Check the whole fucking place.” I thought I was pissed when they went after Shelly. Thought the level of rage I felt when I saw that piece of shit racing down the highway with her in his car was top level.

  Not even close.

  Because now that Felicity’s safe and getting farther from the apartment with each passing second, I’m starting to struggle.

  “Find them.” I bite down on what I want to say next. “Go over every inch of her place and call me when you know who it was.”

  “Yeah. I’m gonna not do that last part.” Tracker is calm as fuck. It’s the part I usually play in this sort of scenario.

  Not tonight.

  “Don’t get in my fucking way, Tracker.”

  The bastard laughs in my ear. “Take care of your girl, Gypsy.”

  The line goes dead.

  The urge to hit something is almost overwhelming.

  “What’s wrong?” The softness in Felicity’s tone douses the worst of the anger heating every inch of me.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Beanie.” I force myself to gently set my phone in my lap instead of slamming it against the wheel. “Tracker’s going to go to your place and see if there’s something that tells us who was there.”

  “Will he find anything?”

  I take a breath and consider lyi
ng. I always thought women were more prone to fear. More likely to find a situation like this scary.

  But lately I’ve been rethinking that belief. “No.”

  She blows out a breath. “That sucks.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” This lie might be for me. For the preservation of my own shredded sanity. “Tracker will find them anyway.”

  “Is he really that good?”

  I nod. “He is.” That’s not a lie. Tracker is the best at what he does. He can find anyone, and he will find King. That piece of shit can only hide so long. Eventually he will slip and all it will take is the smallest trail for Tracker to follow.

  I glance at Felicity. She relaxes back into her seat just a little. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to the clubhouse for tonight.” I tap my fingers against the wheel, trying to think of a place I can keep Felicity long-term. Somewhere King and his minions can’t find her.

  “Maybe I should just go home.”

  The words are so low I almost don’t hear them. “You can’t go back there, Beanie.”

  She’s staring out the window.

  Is Felicity in shock? I thought she was handling this well, but maybe she’s actually just shutting down. “Your apartment is off-limits until we find King, understand me?”

  Felicity’s head snaps my way. “First of all, don’t tell me what to fucking do, understand me?”

  I know better than to dish out orders, but to be fair, I thought she was going into shock.

  Not in shock apparently.

  She twists in her seat to face me full-on. “Second, I meant my original home.” Her eyes make a quick path up and down my body. “I think I need a little vacation.”

  I don’t like what she’s insinuating. What she’s suggesting. “Vacation from what, Felicity?”

  “Everything.” She flops back in the seat and crosses her arms over her chest.

  I’m betting everything includes me, and that’s not happening. Felicity already got her vacation from me and didn’t like it, but I’m not reminding her of that right now. Right now I want more information. “Where’s home?”

  “I’m not telling you.”

  That’s fine.

  Obviously she missed the part about Tracker being the best there is.

  A few minutes later I’m pulling into the large garage of the old firehouse that serves as the clubhouse for The Lost Boys and has been my home for the past week. Cook’s truck is parked in the bay beside Felicity’s car and bike, which means he took over when I left. We’ve made sure the place is never left unattended since King burning down our clubhouse is most likely on his to-do list.