Point Blank (Love Undercover Book 6)

by LK Shaw

  Oliver stared and then closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and blew it out before opening them again. My cheeks heated with embarrassment. Jesus, Charity, how pathetic. Hastily, I shoved them back in my pocket feeling dumb. Ashamed.

  “I can probably find a t-shirt and a pair of shorts for you. They’ll most likely be too big, but they’ll work temporarily until you find something better.”

  “Thank you,” I repeated.

  He opened his mouth but snapped it closed. Without a word, he spun and made his way down the hallway opposite the direction we’d come, leaving me alone in my new room. I turned slowly in a circle, my eyes traveling around and taking everything in.

  The room was simple, with a double bed jutting out from one wall. Its plain navy comforter was neatly folded down at the head of the bed displaying equally plain, white sheets like you’d find in a hotel room. The sheets looked soft too. Not like the scratchy ones they handed out at the shelter. Two pillows laid next to each other tucked securely inside matching white pillowcases.

  A dust-free chest of drawers graced the neighboring wall. Aside from that, the room was bare. Not even a single picture was hung anywhere. I guess he had to put something in this room. It might as well have been a bed. It also had the closed-off scent of disuse, as though Oliver never had company.

  The smell reminded me that I’d only given myself a quick sponge bath in the hospital. Tugging my shirt away from my body, I stuck my nose under the fabric and raised my arm. A whiff of B.O. traveled up my nostrils, and I grimaced. Oliver had given me free rein of the bathroom, but until he decided to bring me the clothes he’d mentioned I didn’t have anything else to put on except this same outfit.

  The knock made me jump and spin around. In the doorway stood Oliver holding a small stack of clothes in his hands.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, although it was hard to detect the sincerity in his voice.

  “It’s fine.” I waved off the apology.

  He held the bundle out, not moving any further than the doorway. “Here. These should probably work.”

  I strode across the room and took them from his hands, careful not to touch him. “Thanks.”

  It seemed to be the only thing I could say to him. We both stood awkwardly, until finally, Oliver cleared his throat. “Anyway, I assume you want to freshen up, so I’ll leave you to it.”

  Wordlessly, I nodded. Pretty sure I’d used up all my ‘thanks’ for the day. After only a quick glance at me, he disappeared. His footsteps faded as he made his way down the hall and then the stairs until there was nothing but silence.

  I took several steps backward until the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed and my legs gave out. I dropped onto my butt on the mattress. I sat there for several minutes, the borrowed outfit lying in my lap, while my mind raced.

  How the hell was I going to convince Oliver to let me stay?

  Chapter 3

  Christ, what a mess. I shoved a hand through my hair as I leaned against the kitchen counter. The sound of water running and then the shower turning on came through the ceiling, signaling my unexpected, and unwanted, temporary houseguest had made it into the bathroom.

  What the fuck was I supposed to do with this woman, and what in god’s name had propelled me to bring her here? Jesus, if Cap knew that I had one of the assault victims from yesterday’s Los Lobos drug raid in my house, he’d suspend my ass. Maybe even fire me. I wouldn’t blame him for either.

  She’d said I was the only person she trusted. That I made her feel safe. Safe from what? The men responsible for brutalizing her had all been arrested. I felt for her. Truly, I did. But, why me? I didn’t know, nor did I care. I just wanted her gone. The way she looked at me had the hairs standing on the back of my neck. It was like I was some type of hero to her. I shuddered just thinking about it.

  I needed her out of here.

  Above me, the water shut off. Faint footsteps padded down the hall in the direction of her room. I sent up a prayer that she’d enclose herself in there while she made her arrangements, and I wouldn’t have to see her again until it was time to take her to her next destination.

  The memory of her laying my hand on her chest and her offer to do anything if I’d help her flashed through my mind. I grimaced. I wouldn’t take advantage of a woman. Not like that.

  Then I thought about how proud she’d been of those fucking socks. It hadn’t been an act either. I’d glimpsed the excitement in her eyes when she’d thrust them in my face, as though they were a designer bag or shoes.

  A quiet throat clearing jerked my attention to the other side of the room. In the kitchen entryway, eyes focused on the floor, stood Charity with heat-flushed cheeks. Her hands twisted damp and tangled hair she’d swept over one shoulder, and she wore yet another set of too-big clothing. Seeing her wearing my clothes sent warning bells screaming through my head.

  She raised her head and our gazes met. A tentative smile graced her face. A loud rumble disrupted the silence. She slammed her hands over her belly, and her expression shifted to horrified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I was on edge being in the same room with her. I had to get out of here. “I have some things I need to take care of. Help yourself to whatever food you’d like. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “You—you’re leaving?” The question came out almost panicky, that wild look returning to her eyes. She began twisting her hair again.

  “After I run upstairs and change, yes. I’ve got some things to do. As do you. Making your calls, remember?”

  Her face took on a pale hue, making the freckles I’d only just noticed dotting her nose stand out even more. I ignored the pinch of guilt. It was becoming increasingly clear that bringing her here was an even bigger mistake than I’d originally thought.

  I quickly bypassed her, careful to avoid touching her, grabbed my holster from the hook and took the steps two at a time. Once I’d locked up my sidearm and changed, I headed back downstairs and snatched my keys off the coffee table. Forcing my eyes away from the woman standing there with her arms wrapped around herself, I nearly ran outside, slamming the door behind me.

  Having things to do had merely been an excuse to get away from her. Whenever I caught her looking at me, which was constantly, there was this sad, yet hope-filled, gaze on her face. It shifted ever so subtly each time, but each minuscule shift said the same thing.

  I needed to clear my head. Which meant my choices were to either find someone to fight or someone to fuck. They were the only two things that ever worked. Making my decision, I jumped on the freeway. Within twenty minutes, I reached my destination.

  The scent of sweat was the first thing to hit me upon opening the door. It wafted out of the darkened interior, bringing with it the sounds of heavy breathing, feet pounding on canvas, and the muffled sound of leather hitting a solid surface. I stepped inside, letting the door close behind me.

  “Hands up. Protect your head. Elbows in tight. Stay light. Move.” Each instruction was rapid-fired, one after another, by the salt-and-pepper haired, slim-built Black man pacing ringside while he stared up at the two men dancing around each other above him.

  I headed toward the locker room where I yanked off my shirt and stowed it alongside my keys and wallet inside my personal locker. Grabbing some tape, I wrapped my hands. Satisfied with the job, I went back out to the floor.

  My fists were soon slamming into the bag dangling from the ceiling. My lungs burned. My knuckles ached. Sweat stung my eyes. Still, I continued pounding the sand-filled bag, my grunts and heavy breathing drowning out the other sounds around me. My only focus was the target in front of me. Everything was pushed out of my head.

  I lost all track of time.

  “I think you killed it.” The dry voice came from over my right shoulder.

  Steadying the swaying bag with both hands, I turned toward the intruder once it stopped moving. Bent over with hands on my knees, I sucked
in breath after breath and tried wiping the sweat pouring off my face with my bare forearm.

  “You look like shit.” Dark eyes sent me a mocking glare while the owner’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

  I rose upright. “Some of us work up a sweat, actually fighting, instead of pacing the floor outside the ring, merely calling out instructions on how to fight, old man.”

  He barked out a laugh, and I grinned back. He closed the distance and gave me a quick hug and pat on the back despite my wet and sticky skin.

  “Always the little pissant, aren’t ya, Oliver?” he asked as he released me.

  “You taught me well, Sam. How’s it been going?” I asked, unwrapping the tape from my hands.

  He glanced around the place with no small amount of pride. Samuel Franklin had started Franklin’s Boxing Club in the early ‘80s. I’d been coming here for the last five years and had developed an instant friendship with the Black man.

  “Things have been tough this year, but they seem to be improving lately. Not that you’d notice, since it’s been a while since you’ve graced us with your presence.”

  He sure knew how to get his digs in, even unwarranted ones.

  “Work’s been keeping me busy.” It wasn’t a total lie. It also wasn’t the entire truth.

  “And you’ve been avoiding my granddaughter,” he said with a single brow raise.

  I flinched at his statement. “About that…”

  A few months ago, his oldest granddaughter had started coming in. His completely and utterly fuckable granddaughter. Things had gotten heated between us, but her feelings had begun taking a more serious turn, and I’d not only ended it, but quit coming into the gym. I hadn’t wanted to make things more awkward with Sam.

  He held his hand up to stop me. “Son, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I’ve known you a long time, and I know your stance on relationships. You didn’t string her along or offer her any promises, which I appreciate. My Brandy is a grown woman. I’m not happy she was hurt, but in the end she’ll be better off without a man-whore like you.”

  Sam’s words took a load off me, although I should probably be offended. I’d worried that my…activities with his granddaughter had damaged his and my friendship. I was happy to hear I hadn’t fucked that up. It was why I’d debating coming in in the first place, but I always felt at home here. A place for me to let my guard down and clear my mind.

  “I’m glad you decided not to kick my ass when I walked through the door.”

  He glared. “Believe me, I wanted to. Still do, but it’s bad for business. And like I said, you look like shit. I don’t kick a man when he’s down.”

  “I guess I should thank you, then.”

  “Yes, you should,” Sam said, with a great amount of seriousness. He tipped his chin toward the hanging bag. “Want to talk about it?”

  My mouth opened, but then I closed it. Despite our age difference, I truly did count him as one of my friends. Probably my only real friend. Still, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to talk about the woman I’d left at my townhouse. Hell, I didn’t even know where to begin. “Not really.”

  He nodded in understanding. “If you change your mind, you know where I am.”

  “Thanks.” I glanced at the clock on the far wall. I’d been gone nearly two hours. Surely that had given Charity enough time to make her calls and find a place to go. I shook Sam’s hand and headed back into the locker room to grab my things.

  Before I was ready, I’d pulled onto my street and parked in front of the townhouse. It was obvious my time at Franklin’s had done nothing to bank the feeling of dread in my gut. Stop being a pussy. She’s just a random chick. One who will be gone by tomorrow. With that, I exited my car and bounded up the walk.

  I strode through the front door, closing it behind me. My feet froze at the sight of Charity standing in the entryway between the living room and the kitchen. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she appeared lost, but as soon as her gaze landed on me, her entire body sagged in relief and a smile lit her face.

  “You’re back,” she breathed.

  Chapter 4

  The minute Oliver walked out the door, I’d felt the oncoming panic attack. Actually, that wasn’t true. It started as soon as he said he was leaving. The thing about anxiety is that it’s not rational. I was in his house. It wasn’t like he wasn’t coming back. But being alone, especially after the last week, had shifted my brain into instant panic mode.

  The only time my anxiety had been even slightly manageable was while I’d been in Oliver’s arms yesterday. He’d found me chained in that goddamn basement, and he’d been so gentle with me. I hadn’t been able to let go of him. Not in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, nor once we’d made it inside.

  After a different officer had come to take my statement, and the stupid doctor had done his stupid exam, the nurse had given me a sedative. It had taken me far longer to fall under its spell than she’d expected, because the minute I was out, Oliver would disappear, and I hadn’t wanted that to happen. He’d been the only thing keeping me sane.

  After he left to go wherever it was he went, I’d non-stop paced, helpless against the flowing tears as I scratched relentlessly at the invisible itching along my skin. None of my coping mechanisms had worked to stop my attack, so I’d had to ride it out. By the time my brain and body exhausted itself, I’d collapsed into a weightless heap on the couch. I’d managed to sleep for a brief time, but then I woke up, and Oliver still wasn’t home, so the process started over.

  Was that a car door? I hurried over and peeked between the slats of the mini-blinds. Oliver! I raced into the kitchen and threw some cold water on my face. Not that I thought it would conceal the fact I’d been crying, but any little thing helped. I was being ridiculous. He’d made it abundantly clear that I was unwanted and unwelcome. All he wanted was me gone.

  I cursed my weakness and the fact I was falling back into habits all the therapists and drugs were supposed to have cured me of. A lifetime of being fucked up wasn’t going to go away over night. It hadn’t yet anyway.

  The front door opened, and I took the few steps toward the living room until Oliver was in my sight. His dark hair was mussed, damp in a few places, especially along the ends and at his forehead, and there was a slight pinkish hue to his skin. He glanced up and our eyes met. His were hooded, his face blank, so I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “You’re back,” I said on a sigh of relief.

  “Yeah.” He didn’t sound too happy about the fact.

  We stood there staring at one another until finally, Oliver cleared his throat. “Did you find a place to stay yet?”

  I reached up and began twisting my hair. It was a gesture borne of habit. I wasn’t good at confrontation. I wasn’t good at being independent. Relying on myself. Things never ended well for me when I tried.

  “Um, no, not yet,” I hedged. He probably wouldn’t appreciate the fact that I hadn’t even attempted to locate anything, although that wasn’t entirely my fault.

  My stomach made another gurgling sound, not nearly as loud as the one before he’d left, but most definitely noticeable through the thick, silent tension between us. Oliver glared at me as though I’d offended him in some way.

  “Didn’t you eat while I was gone?” he asked in disbelief, and not the least bit of exasperation.

  I avoided his gaze. “I was busy.”

  Oliver threw his hands up. “Doing what? You didn’t find somewhere else to go and you didn’t eat. What the hell have you been doing this whole time?”

  “Stop yelling at me,” I nearly screeched.

  His eyes closed, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose, the way my eighth grade science teacher, Mr. Tripp, used to whenever he’d reached the end of his patience. He took a slow breath in and just as slowly, blew it out. Finally, he opened his eyes.

  “I’m not yelling at you, Charity,” Oliver said with only slightly more calm. “Just go find something to eat. Please.”

&nb
sp; He turned and headed up the stairs, while I stood there doing my best not to cry or scream in rage. None of this was going like it was supposed to. Another hunger pain hit, reminding me how long it had been since I’d eaten. At least I could do one thing right.

  I turned around and stomped over to the fridge, throwing it open with more force than was needed. I didn’t care. My emotions were toiling out of control, and I needed to find some form of release for them. If yanking open an appliance door helped purge some of the anger brewing inside me, then I’d fucking yank it as hard as I wanted.

  Not only did the household decor scream that a single man lived here, but so did the contents of the refrigerator. Was Oliver sure there was food in here? Because it looked like an awful lot of beer. An unexpected giggle escaped as the “99 Bottles of Beer” song popped in my head.

  Letty, from the shelter, would occasionally stumble in after a late night bender singing that at the top of her lungs waking nearly everyone up. All the women grumbled and groaned, trying to hush her, desperate to go back to sleep. She’d sing until she passed out, which usually didn’t take her long. A smile crossed my face, but fell as another rumble filled the air.

  Aside from the beer there were several takeout containers. I opened the first to find a few chicken wings—buffalo from the looks of them. The second contained some type of noodles. I sniffed the contents, but drew my head back, wrinkling my nose, before returning it to the shelf where I’d found it. I didn’t want to know how long that had been in here.

  The crispers were full of raw vegetables of every color. I shuddered and quickly shut the drawer. My mother had shoved them relentlessly down my throat when I was younger to show everyone how hard she was working to help keep me healthy. I slammed the mental door shut that held those memories and locked it tight.