by Jennifer Ann
The crappy booze wasn’t enough to dull my fears. It only made me eager as shit to see Brooke again. She sent a dozen texts after the hearing while I was in class, making sure I hadn’t done anything stupid. Jordan finally checked in with me on her behalf, and let me know she’d be by in the morning to take me by my old apartment.
“Liam?” she calls out in a voice sweeter than fucking honey. “You ready to go?”
I’d love to invite her in and show her just how “ready” I am to go with her. Spent half the night fantasizing about it after Stone left.
“Give me a minute,” I holler back, rubbing at my throbbing temples.
I throw on the only pair of jeans from home along with one of the gray t-shirts from Brooke before swiping deodorant over my pits. I slip into my shoes and meet her at the door, ready to drag her back into my bed upon first sight.
Pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, her big hazel eyes flicker up to meet my wild hair as I drink her in. Tight, torn jeans, white sweater, hair slicked back into the usual ponytail, short boots that make her a little taller than normal, sweet perfume that blocks out any other thoughts not involving her. She’s indisputably mouthwateringly delicious. Why couldn’t she just be some hot chick from school wanting to get laid?
“Mornin’,” I say, my voice still groggy with sleep.
“Happy birthday,” she breathes out in an equally strained tone. Then she clears her throat and gives me this crooked, cute-as-shit smile. “Rough night?”
She’s acknowledging my hangover, yet she doesn’t seem upset. Interesting. Each time I see her it’s as if she’s one step closer to seeing me as something other than a charity case.
Slipping through the doorway, I stop when our bodies are pressed together. She inhales sharply, heaving her tits into my chest in the process. My chest burns with a need to claim her.
Then our eyes collide. Her entire body trembles as I slowly lick my lips.
Leaning down, I stop when her hot, stuttered breath falls across my cheek. “The only rough thing about my night involved dreams of you.”
She makes a sexy little noise deep in her throat as I head down the hallway. I grin to myself. The bullshit games are over. She’s all mine to violate fifty different ways until she comes and comes again.
From the kitchen, Jordan regards me with squinted eyes as I enter. “Hey, birthday boy. You feelin’ alright?” Just like Brooke, he doesn’t seem ready to read me the riot act despite being clearly hungover.
I flash a thumbs up and a cheesy-ass smile. “Good as gold.”
His gaze switches over to Brooke when she shuffles in beside me. “You should stick around when you bring him back…help us celebrate his birthday. I’ll fire up the grill and make those cheesy potatoes you like.”
Eyes passing over to mine for a sliver of a second, she offers him a stiff smile. “That sounds awesome, but I have plans. Another time?”
I sense she’s worried about leaving Sasha alone. I’m more worried that I won’t get enough time with my sexy-as-fuck social worker before having to return to school Monday morning.
“That’s a shame,” I tell her, jamming my hands into my jeans pockets. “I’m planning to bring a friend by to meet Jordan. Sasha’s a real sweet girl—I’m sure you’d like her.”
From the heated glare she casts in my direction, I realize she’s trying to tell me she still doesn’t want Jordan involved with Sasha.
I give her a half-hearted shrug. “Guess you can meet her some other time.”
Brooke adjusts the strap of her purse as she turns back to Jordan. “On second thought, I can change my plans. I’d like to meet this friend. Count me in.” She opens the front door. “Let’s go, Liam. I’ll be in the car.”
Jordan clamps his hand on my shoulder before I can slip out after her. “Call me if you change your mind about needing help moving your things.”
I nod and slip outside. Brooke marches toward the street so quickly that I have to sprint to catch up. “I didn’t want you to have to miss out on a chance to hang with your old pal on my account,” I explain. “Sasha’s my responsibility.”
“She’s mine now too,” she says while unlocking the driver’s side of her crappy little foreign car. Piercing hazel eyes meet mine over the roof. “And I don’t appreciate you blindsiding me like that. Jordan took you in as a favor to me. I don’t want to betray him by placing him in danger of making King Marty’s shit list. Sasha’s better off at my place, catching up on episodes of Riverdale.”
“I’m sorry.” I hold a hand up as a peace offering. “Won’t happen again.”
She huffs, rolling her eyes and palming her damn hair. “Whatever. You may as well bring her now since you mentioned her to Jordan.”
While she slips into the car, I join her on the passenger’s side. Her body language remains rigid as she maneuvers onto the road. Between her tempting scent and the fact that we’re stuck next to each other like sardines, I become unreasonably agitated and begin fucking with the radio. It’s either that or I start fucking with that ponytail, then her body.
“Go back! I love that song!” she sings.
A deep grin pulls at my lips. I’d only skipped over the opening riff of “Lydia” because I figured she’d be more of a Bieber kind of girl. “You like Highly Suspect?”
“Jordan recently got me into them. I love any kind of rock.”
Well fuck me. The only way she could be any more perfect is if she were to confess she’s in a band. Picturing her in torn jeans, a cropped tank top, dark hair thrashing wildly around her while gripping a mic or stroking a guitar? Doesn’t get any fucking hotter than that.
“You should come hang out next time me and the guys have a gig,” I say. “We have a sound that isn’t too far off from theirs.” Then, remembering our drummer is in jail, I want to punch my fist through the dashboard. “I mean, once this bullshit with Trask is over.”
“It’ll be over soon,” she promises, reaching over the center counsel to squeeze my knee. “Pete told me that yesterday’s court hearing was postponed because Trask wanted to withdraw his not guilty plea, but Pete talked him back out of it. He found an expert that will testify to the fact that Trask’s fingerprints could’ve easily been planted, and Trask has a pretty solid alibi. They wouldn’t need to place blame on anyone, just prove the only evidence the prosecutor possess could be tainted. Pete says they’re missing a motive, so they’d be forced to throw the case out.”
Fuck yes. Although there’s no doubt in my mind Trask wanted to change his mind because King Marty’s presence at the hearing was meant as a silent threat, I didn’t dare dream it’d be over this quickly. Rather than pounding on the ceiling and howling like an idiot, I grab Brooke’s hand still resting on my knee and lock our fingers together. “Thank you…for everything.”
“Just doing my job.” She glances away from the road, beaming back at me with her plump lip caught between her teeth. Her innocence calls to me like a beacon begging to be destroyed. Yet I’m certain there’s so much more to the sexy brunette that she’s not telling me. There’s no other way to explain the vibe of kinship she projects whenever we’re alone.
Sexual energy buzzes through the car with the trajectory of a speeding bullet. I can’t wait any longer to get a taste of those sweet little lips.
I reach out to drag my finger along the smooth line of her jaw. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
Her eyebrows squish together as if she hasn’t heard the compliment before. How the hell could that be possible? How is she even single?
Then her gaze returns to the road, and she slips her hand out from mine to grip the steering wheel. Neither of us utters another word until several miles later when we’re parked outside my apartment complex, each of us staring up at the dilapidated building. Though I figured I’d eventually need to return to get my shit, I wasn’t ready for the rush of hatred that comes with the sight of what I called “home.”
“I can grab your things if you don’t want t
o go inside,” Brooke offers, removing the keys from the ignition.
“Nothing in there I haven’t seen before.”
I open the door and step out onto the sidewalk, ready to hurl when I’m met with the stench of the neighborhood. While I didn’t expect it to have changed any in a few days, I’m surprised by a sudden wave of nostalgia. How fucking twisted am I to miss a life that almost killed me?
Brooke’s right behind me, giving me this side-eyed expression like she’s expecting me to burst out in fucking tears. Grunting to myself, I collect her hand in mine and lead her into the building, putting myself between her and a bum that occupies the lobby.
Dread inflates my chest with every step we climb to the third floor. It’s not the fear of seeing the blood from where I almost killed my old man that’s getting to me as much as the fact that Brooke’s getting a glimpse into my shitty life. Then again, why should I give a fuck what this social worker thinks? She’s well aware I come from a broken home. She still allowed me to claim her hand outside like I’m her damn boyfriend.
Still, I’m holding my breath as I unlock the door to the past and guide her into my bedroom for a preview of my own personal hell.
Met with a clean carpet and the strong odor of disinfectant, I stop short. There’s merely a faded pink spot where my old man lay bleeding out.
“Your landlord let me in last night,” Brooke confesses, pushing past where my feet are planted in the doorway. “I cleaned up as much of the stain as I could. Even though you’re not planning to live here again, I didn’t think that was something you should be forced to deal with.”
A lump the size of Texas lodges in my throat. Outside of the guys in the band, no one’s ever done anything considerate for me. I doubt her job requires her to clean up attempted murder scenes after hours. Though I fucking hate that she was here when the neighborhood creeps are on the prowl, the gesture throws me for a dizzying loop. It was an incredibly brave thing to do. And stupid.
The things this woman does to me…I want to devour every last part of her, and make her body sing. I want to taste her lips so bad that I can’t deal with the amount of physical distance between us. Most of all, I want to lock her away where nothing can hurt her, or destroy everything that makes her better than the rest of us.
I move the rest of the way into the room, allowing the door to close with a click. “Don’t ever fuckin’ come to this neighborhood by yourself again,” I warn, too much of a pussy to properly thank her instead. “You don’t understand the kind of shit you could come across.”
She ignores me as she paces around the perimeter of my room, taking everything in with a curious gaze. Knots solidify in my gut as I try to imagine what she must see aside from the cracked plaster walls and water-stained ceiling. My room’s as minimally decorated as her apartment. The only sign that someone lives here comes in the form of messy bed sheets and piles of clothes scattered around the floor.
Her fingertips dust over the headstock of my bass. “How long have you been playing?”
“Almost five years. Music was the only thing that kept me going until I met Trask and the others. Once I convinced them to start the band, they began to depend on it just as much.”
“Did you take lessons?”
“Taught myself after we moved up here from Texas. I bussed tables at a diner for six months so I could buy it from a pawn shop.”
“That’s a lot of work for something that’s broken.”
I hold back a growl with the memory of my old man telling me music was for pussies before he threatened to break it to pieces. He got one good kick into the body, cracking it right down the center before I tackled him. I was more than happy when he took his anger out on me instead. “That was courtesy of my old man.”
I’m thankful when her eyes dart to my crumpled briefs on the floor. Doubt I could handle it if she gave me a sympathetic look right now.
“Do you have some kind of duffel bag? We can run by the laundromat before we hit the mall for some dress clothes. You can show the judge that you’re tying to live to higher standards…applying for a legitimate job, maybe filling out some college applications—”
I collapse against the wall and laugh in a deep, harsh sound. “College?” Guess she doesn’t understand me so well after all. Kids like me are lucky enough to survive another fuckin’ day without getting shot full of holes or having our skulls beat in. “You really think I can afford to go to fucking college? I can barely afford one meal a day! Look at this shit-hole!”
She comes at me, tipping her chin down a little. “I talked with several of your teachers, Liam. They all told me you’re incredibly smart, even though some mentioned you’re also a pain in the ass. I can help you search for scholarships that would get you the hell out of here—permanently. Just because you’re from the South Side doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a fair shot at a higher education.”
I shake my head, tired of the push-and-pull between us. There are times when I want to shake her just as much as I want to kiss the fuck outta her perfect little mouth. “What makes you think they’d take someone like me?”
“They took me.”
A muscle jumps in my jaw. “What the fuck does that matter?”
“It matters because I was once just like you.” She ducks her head, gazing down at her boots. “I grew up near Taylor and Main with an abusive father and a coward of a mother who stood by and let it happen. After I was sent to foster care, things got worse. I knew I had to get out of the South Side or it would be the death of me.” Her voice cracks when she meets my confounded stare. She reaches up, setting the palm of her hand over my racing heart. “I can’t stand the thought of that happening to you either.”
Violent flashes of light burst before my eyes.
Jesus H. Christ.
She’s a South Sider.
As her truth sinks in, sickness curdles through my gut. I despise the fact that we’re far more alike than I knew. I’d rather believe she grew up like something out of a fairytale, having a mom who braided flowers into her fuckin’ hair and a dad who bought her fancy dresses and goddamned ponies. At one point I’d even figured her parents had given her the expensive bracelet she’s always wearing.
Jaw seizing with a painful clench, I throw my fist into the wall. The painful burn of plaster cracking against my knuckles isn’t enough, so I do it again. And again. I hate that her father beat her the way mine had. I fucking hate the woman who brought her into this world for not standing up for her little girl. I want to gut whoever messed with her in foster care.
“Rook.” The whispered nickname sends a powerful wave of heat rushing through me.
The need to take her, to comfort her and mourn the fact that we had the same crappy start in life, sizzles through my veins.
I turn back to be devoured by those big, beautiful eyes. Carefully pulling her glasses from her face, I set them on my dresser. Then I collect the tears in the corners of her eyes with my thumb and she whimpers. Eyelids closing, she leans into me, silently pleading for more.
Fuck waiting. It’s time to make her mine.
6
BROOKE
There’s no time to prepare myself for Liam’s kiss. He swoops in to claim my lips with a hunger that vibrates against my bones. His mouth is relentless, seeking mine out like he’s starving and I’m his last meal. Fingers dig into my denim-clad ass, shoving me into his bulging erection. Stale whiskey on his tongue melds with the flavor of my favorite mint gum that he must’ve swiped from my car. Whatever cologne or deodorant he wears omits a musky, dark scent that wraps around me with the warmth of an embrace. His short whiskers burn against my sensitive skin, likely leaving my lips raw for days.
He doesn’t kiss anything like a high schooler. He kisses like someone who’s well aware of what he wants, and isn’t dealing with raging hormonal bullshit. He kisses like a grown-ass man. Demanding. Reckless. Unrelenting.
I grab onto his stubbled cheeks, needing the contact to stay grounded, and shamel
essly grind against his cock. It’s a kiss unlike any other. Hot and dirty, tinged with the knowledge that what I’m doing is so wrong that I could end up living back on the streets of the South Side. Then again, if it’s so damn wrong for us to be together, then why does it feel so fucking right?
I’m so wet that I’m surprised my arousal isn’t trickling down my legs. One way or another, this man is going to be my undoing. Both sexual and mental.
Then he stops suddenly, heavy breaths falling onto my lips. “Let this happen,” he commands in a tone that’s equally terrifying and thrilling. “I’m eighteen now. There’s no stopping it, so may as well sit back and enjoy the ride. And I will be riding you, day and night, as long as you can handle it.”
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper, carefully tracing the dark patch beneath his swollen eye. “You’re still hurt—”
He snaps my jeans open, roughly yanking my panties to the side and ripping a gasp from my throat. Thick fingers slip into my dampness with the precision of a heat-seeking missile. I moan from the lovely sensation, collapsing into his arms just as he mutters, “From this point forward, this is all mine.”
With a desperate pant for air, I dig my fingers into his thick muscles and let him take complete control. My hips flex with each lazy stroke of his skilled fingers as they build unbearable pressure against my tingling clit.
“Let yourself fall apart, Brooke. Give me all you’ve got. I’m here to pick up the pieces.”
At first I resist. If I fall apart for him now, there’s no promise I’ll ever be able to pull myself back together. No chance of ever walking away from him in the end. And I’m not sure he’s capable of bearing my burdens when he’s juggling enough of his own. There’s a valid reason I haven’t let a man in the way he’s asking.
Despite my reservations, I give in and take the fall. For whatever reason I trust him, I know he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me. His struggles have already been embedded in my mind and soul, mirroring my past and involving my future. It seems inevitable that we would find each other to embark on this fucked-up journey.
