I tried not to visibly wince. Because ouch.
“Come on, let’s dance.” She towed me to the living room and I obeyed.
An hour later, I’d been dragged into a conversation with a guy who called himself Turner and a girl with the blondest hair I’d ever seen. It was practically white. I forgot her name. Brittany? Bridget? I wasn’t sure. They seemed nice enough; we just didn’t have anything in common. Tasha wasn’t wrong about me not knowing what college was like. Besides taking a few community college courses, I couldn’t relate to living in a dorm and attending wild parties every weekend.
“…until this one stripped off his toga.” Brittany-Bridget snorted and shoved Turner, who brayed like a donkey. His laugh revealed luminescent teeth, which was kind of terrifying.
“Sounds… uh, fun.” I scanned my surroundings for an exit.
I’d lost sight of Tasha some time ago. And since she was the only person I knew here, I was stuck with these two.
“Oh, look at that. Empty cup.” I drained my drink in one huge gulp. “Excuse me.” Brittany-Bridget wasn’t listening. She leaned into Turner, who pulled her close and cupped her ass with one giant palm.
I took advantage of their preoccupation to sidle by them and out of the kitchen. Seriously, what did girls see in these morons? Alas, much as I wanted to mock them, I couldn’t. I’d been about six months away from becoming one of them. Joshua had been headed to Ridgeway University on an athletic scholarship, and I’d been filling out applications. I planned on following him here. I’d have followed him anywhere. Instead, he’d followed me… to his demise.
I dropped my empty cup into a trashcan, stomach tossing at the unwelcome memory. The night of the accident he’d come to pick me up at a party because I’d gone and he didn’t want to. When he arrived, I’d been drunk and bored and crying like an idiot.
Since that night, I’d been plagued with thoughts like: if I’d never called, if he’d never picked up, if he hadn’t offered to drive me home at that exact moment… If I hadn’t been yelling and distracting him from the passenger seat—
Someone bumped into me, nearly knocking me off my feet. I shot a nasty look over my shoulder, then I realized it was Tasha.
“Oh, hey!” My eyes traveled down her arm to her hand—linked with Tony’s. They were heading for the staircase—for a bedroom, I assumed.
“Rena. Hi.” Her voice was tight, like she feared I might bend her over my knee and spank her for misbehaving.
It was no secret how I felt about her beau. He gave me the stink eye. The feeling was mutual.
“We were just”—she pointed weakly—“heading upstairs to talk. Um, privately.”
Tony’s hands slipped around her waist. He tugged her against him with propriety. Tasha blushed and a sweet smile crossed her face. And for whatever reason—be it the melancholy over thinking of what could have been if Joshua had never died or the sheer happiness in my friend’s eyes—I couldn’t blame her.
I’d been without someone to touch, to hug, to kiss for four long years. Being alone was… well, lonely. If I’d had the opportunity to make out with my questionably moral boss in the walk-in cooler, I’d have totally done it. Grabbed the moment—and his ass—with both hands. Because being alone sucked. And being good all the time sucked more.
“I can wait around for you if you want,” I offered, meaning it.
“No, you don’t have to do that.” She palmed my arm. “Tony and I might be a while.”
He smirked. I narrowed my eyes. I could still blame him. The bastard.
“He’ll drive me home,” Tash said, then to me, “Are you sober?”
“Yeah.” Ridiculously so.
“Great.” She tugged Tony to the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “Text me when you get home, okay?”
Right. Like she’d be in the position to read that correspondence.
Chapter Three
Rena
Home from the party, I changed out of my tight clothes and into a pair of black yoga pants and a long-sleeved gray hoodie. I’d spent a lot of Friday nights home alone. The girl whose boyfriend died was a downer at any party, so it wasn’t like I’d gotten a lot of invites back then. With the exception of Tasha dragging me out to be social. Kind of like she’d done tonight.
I wasn’t mad at her for ditching me, but I didn’t look forward to the phone conversation we’d have in the near future about how I’d “never believe what Tony did!” or her declaring she was going to become a lesbian because all men were jerks.
My reason for swearing off men was more organic. The love of my life had died and left me here with enough guilt and remorse to last two lifetimes. I hadn’t so much as been on a real date in four years, despite the fact that I’d been asked out and Tash had attempted to set me up. I tried a sort-of group date, but the setup had felt unnatural. Wrong. Which had made me consider Tasha’s pretend-lesbian option more than once.
It’d sure as hell be easier.
Sketchbook and graphite pencil in hand, I settled on my couch and had drawn exactly two lines when there was a knock at my front door. I looked to the window. It was sleeting outside, just enough to spit on the windows and smudge my glasses, which I was now wearing, since I’d peeled the contacts off my eyeballs when I got home.
Warnings ricocheted in my head about not opening the door to strangers. About being careful. All in my mother’s overprotective voice. A young girl living on your own needs to be careful. You could be raped or robbed or—
I peeked through the venetian blinds because the peephole was too dirty to see through. A figure hunkered on my porch wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. No coat. I hesitated even though I knew curiosity would win out.
Armed with my drawing pencil and a bullshit-o-meter in prime working condition, I yanked open the door and faced the man on my stoop. I cocked an eyebrow at the stranger whose head was angled downward as if he was studying his shoes. No, not shoes. Boots. The lace-up kind, not the cowboy kind.
When he didn’t look up for several long seconds, I said, “Yeah?” because I was oh-so refined. Then he lifted his head and I nearly swallowed my tongue.
Blood. Blood everywhere. Oozing out the side of his mouth, from the corner of his eye, slashed across his knuckles like a Jackson Pollock painting.
He swallowed thickly before speaking. “Can I use your phone?” His words were garbled, coming from between the split edge of his lip and a swelling jaw. His hand rested on the doorjamb while he waited for my answer, leaning toward me but not in an intimidating fashion. More like he’d fall over if he didn’t hold himself there.
“I’ll stay outside,” he vowed. Long ink-black hair covered the other half of his face, but my attention was riveted to the mess on the bloodied side. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face and I gasped.
“Devlin?” His hair wasn’t slicked back the way he wore it at work. My eyes traveled to where blood and weather had darkened his black T-shirt. He wasn’t wearing a suit and tie, but it was him, all right.
Those long black lashes closed slowly over his eyes and he tipped forward. Before he succeeded in falling into my house, I rushed to his side and clasped his body with one arm. He was freezing. And solid, so solid. If he collapsed, I’d have no prayer of dragging his muscular body over my threshold.
“Go inside,” I grunted when he leaned into me. I shoved the pencil into my hair and wrapped both arms around his waist. This wasn’t the way I’d envisioned holding him for the first time, that was for damn sure.
Against me, he smelled of cold and snow as he stepped into my house. He wasn’t quite dead weight, but almost. I attempted to guide him past the coffee table, but he stumbled and whacked his knee. His mumbled curse coincided with the wobbling of the jar candle burning on the table. I held my breath, briefly considering that a raging apartment fire was not ideal, but thankfully, the jar settled.
I plunked my boss down on the couch inelegantly, lifting his arm off my neck. He collapsed into t
he back of it, his chest heaving from exertion. His arms shook as he shivered.
I turned to close my front door, came to stand in front of him again, and stared in disbelief. Why was Devlin Calvary bleeding and outside without a coat? What was he doing at my doorstep?
Especially that last part.
“Phone,” he demanded, holding out a shaky hand.
“I can dial for you,” I told him as I palmed my phone. I was shivering, too, but my jitters were more from nerves than the cold. “The hospital or—”
He snatched it out of my hand.
“Hey!”
He punched in some numbers and then lifted the phone to his ear. I stood over him, mute, and considered the condition he was in… did he even know who I was? And what was he doing here? That was most perplexing of all. Had it been chance that he’d stumbled to my apartment? I really didn’t think so.
I slid my gaze down his long frame resting on my couch, across broad shoulders, and to the chain wallet hooked to his jeans. Biceps bunched as he wiped his lip with the back of one hand. Part of a tattoo peeked out from a T-shirt sleeve.
He looked so… different from the way he normally looked. Yet no less attractive. Gone was the slick, suited man who barely acknowledged me at work. For a second I wondered if Devlin had a scrappier younger brother—or an identical twin. With the same thick dark tumble of hair my fingers ached to touch. I studied the half of his face that wasn’t oozing. The carved cheekbone beneath one of his electric blue eyes. The blue of summer. But it wasn’t summer. It was freezing. As evidenced when he shook again.
After several silent seconds, he ended the call and returned my phone. He licked the blood from the corner of his mouth, a slight wince crinkling his face. “Thanks.”
I accepted my only means of communication with the outside world wondering what to do next. He attempted to stand, and before I thought, I put my palm on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”
He glared up at me. Like a large cat at the zoo who’d been caged too long that if out of the enclosure would maul you for fun. My heart kicked extra hard at the thought. The thought of Devlin mauling me was a far more attractive prospect than it should have been.
Don’t interfere, Rena. That wasn’t my mom’s voice but my own this time. The smart voice. The voice that warned me not to leave the club alone, not to accept the possibly laced drink from the too-good-looking bartender. The voice of survival and reason that Joshua hadn’t possessed. If only he’d delayed coming to pick me up by five minutes… one minute. Hell, thirty seconds.
The voice in my head had protected me from dangers real and imagined since Joshua died. This time I ignored it.
Leaning over Devlin, I tried to look as intimidating as I could, which wasn’t easy considering I had a pencil poking out of my hair and weighed all of 130 pounds. He could squash me like a bug on his best day. But today wasn’t his best day. Clearly.
“You need medical attention.”
He lifted his chin to take me in, the eye that wasn’t swollen shut widening with surprise. Then the corner of his mouth tipped into a half-grin, and a dry chuckle stuttered past his chattering teeth. “You offering to be my nurse, Rena?”
He knew my name? I was flattered, and a little warm. I had no idea he knew who I was other than the dim waitress who couldn’t operate the touch screens or find the butter. But he totally knew. He’d said my name.
I liked the way it sounded coming from him: all raspy and breathy. Then I mentally slapped myself. There was no reason to be swooning when he was such a mess. Shaking my head to clear it further, I snatched up his wrist and turned his palm over. Gravel-torn and red, his knuckles were beat to hell—like his face.
“I can take care of myself.” It wasn’t quite a growl, but he hadn’t spoken gently.
“Yeah, well, apparently you can’t or you wouldn’t have come here,” I snapped. My eyebrows lowered as I studied his face. “Why are you here?”
Gingerly, he licked his lip. When he looked up at me, my heart raced. Just pounded there as hard and as fast as it ever had. Faster than when I’d first seen my high school sweetheart in Advanced Math, faster than when I kissed him for the first time, faster than when I spun into my first anxiety attack after placing a rose on the casket that had become his final resting place.
Devlin pushed off my country-blue floral-patterned sofa. I backed up, both to give him room and to position my body in the path of the front door. I wasn’t letting him leave without a coat, bleeding and freezing.
“Bathroom?” he asked, holding his body at an awkward angle.
Evidently he wasn’t going to speak to me much more on my home turf than he did at work. The blood was beginning to dry on his face, but I could see he was trying not to drip on my carpet.
I pointed down the hallway to the tiny bathroom with its matching slate-gray toilet, tub, and sink. “Are you—do you need first-aid stuff? Or did you just have to”—I gestured weirdly. I could feel it, how uncomfortable I was around him—“to go… to the bathroom?”
Smooth, Rena.
He shuffled past me, then turned. Faced with the non-beat-up side, my thoughts ceased. My head went as blank as the sketchpad I’d pulled out before his knock came. In the soft lighting of my living room, I caught a glimpse of the Devlin I saw at work. Godlike and beautiful, his back straight and strong, his expression sharp.
“I’ll need a couple of towels you don’t mind me ruining.”
Hearing his voice in the intimate quiet of my apartment made me wish he’d say more. I could listen to his raw, low timbre forever. A drove of chills raced up my forearms.
Since Joshua died, no man had caused my arms to chill, or my neck to prickle, or had tied my tongue. But now Devlin had. I was intrigued by what this meant.
I (apparently) couldn’t speak, so I pointed down the narrow hall to the tiny linen closet and then followed my finger. Rows of mismatched towels and a few sets of sheets sat neatly folded on the shelves.
“These,” I managed as I handed over two towels: one dark green and one navy blue.
His fingers brushed mine as he took them, causing gooseflesh to light on my arms.
“Bandages are over the sink, and I think there’s some Neosporin or something. Whatever you find is fine. Use whatever you need.” Oh, there was my voice. The dam had apparently broken.
He nodded once, keeping his not-swollen eye on me while he shut the door.
Devlin
I tested the inside of my mouth with my tongue as I shut the door. I thought I knew what to expect in the mirror… until I faced my reflection.
Fucking hell.
Much worse than I’d thought. One eye was swollen almost shut, bright red and turning purple with a few impressive broken capillaries. Dried blood coated the side of my face, and I’d lost skin on my palms from falling onto Paul’s driveway. How I looked was nothing in comparison with how I felt. My head pounded like I’d rammed a wall skull-first. Every time I swallowed, a bit of blood trickled down my throat and my stomach lurched. Overexposure to the cold caused my skin to ache now that I was warming up. I flexed one fist, wincing at the way my abraded knuckles burned. I didn’t remember getting a hit in, but I must have. At least some of the blood on my hands appeared not to be mine. I felt a swell of pride at landing a hit or two on Paul’s goons before they took me out.
I shook my head at my reflection. Given how I looked, I was surprised Rena Lewis let me inside. I wouldn’t have let me in. I wouldn’t have opened the damn door.
The water barely came out of the spigot, the pipes rattling something awful. I’d been in worse apartment complexes, but not by much. God only knew what issues the rest of the place had.
I cleaned myself up as best I could, washing with hand soap and tenderly mopping at the cut by my eye. I had butterfly bandages at home, but since the jerk-offs who beat me up stole my coat with my house keys in the pocket, I was going to have to call a locksmith.
If
I got there. The call I’d made to my ride had gone to voicemail and I hadn’t bothered with a message.
A thought about getting anywhere made me wonder for a fleeting second how I got here. Not here as in Rena’s too-small bathroom, but here as in at this juncture in my fucked-up life. Bloodied, freezing, after my friend turned on me for his own gain. Hands braced on the porcelain sink, eyes focused on my busted knuckles, I considered how I hadn’t chosen this life. Choice never factored in.
I snapped out of my moment of contemplation and bandaged the cut, mainly so my hostess wouldn’t faint from seeing the size of the gash across my eyebrow. There wasn’t much I could do about my eye other than ice it and pray for the best.
There was no way I could work the front of house of Oak & Sage until I healed. Sonny wouldn’t appreciate his bettors seeing me looking like this—like I’d had my ass handed to me. A certain amount of respect was lost when the guy who was there to take your money looked like a brisk wind could knock him over.
Shit. What a mess.
And what was I supposed to do about Paul? Seriously. I couldn’t believe he jumped me. Having his kneecaps bronzed and dangling from the rearview mirror of my SUV crossed my mind, but the revenge fantasy faded fast. My job was to collect his payment, not his kneecaps. Moreover, I wasn’t sure what to tell Sonny. And, yeah, I was conflicted. Despite what happened tonight, Paul had been the one who’d taken me in all those years ago. I owed him.
Who said there’s no honor among thieves?
Maybe the kneecap thing was an optimistic thought on my part. Sonny might have Nat do far worse if he found out. Sonny didn’t take kindly to his employees being beat up and, even though I didn’t need it, he was protective when it came to me. Up until tonight, Sonny and Paul were the only two people in my life who hadn’t died or bailed.
Now that Paul had officially bailed, Sonny was all I had.
I decided, despite what Paul had done to me, to keep this incident to myself. I needed to find out what he was up to. Now that I knew the lengths he’d go to, I could handle him myself. He’d had the element of surprise tonight. It wouldn’t happen again.
Daring Devlin Page 3
