Everything she’d unearthed pointed to the fact that North and his older brother inadvertently killed the young man, beating him in an attempt to get his admission of guilt. North had been eighteen years old at the time. His brother not much older. Their actions weren’t right. She wasn’t condoning them, but she could see how something like that could happen.
The fact remained: she did not believe herself at risk from her neighbor. Her ears might throb from the sounds drifting from the other side of her bedroom wall, and she might feel stabs of annoyance when his motorcycle crept onto her side of the driveway, but that wasn’t reason enough for her to sell her new house and move. He’d served his time and was entitled to a place to live. Wasn’t that how the system worked?
She moved through the rest of her day in a fog, making calls and filling out paperwork as her mind churned over this new development.
She took a late lunch outside on one of the benches in front of her building, not even tasting the ham-and-cheese croissant sandwich she had packed. The birds found her. They always did. She broke up bits of the bread from her sandwich and tossed them out for them.
She snorted at the image she must make, a single woman tossing food for the pigeons. The only thing missing was a shawl and an old-lady hat. She needed to get out more. Maybe if she was socializing more, making new friends and dating, she wouldn’t care so much about one neighbor, felon or not.
She straightened her spine and reminded herself that she had a date coming up. Maybe things would start looking up and changing then.
“Hey, Faith,” Wendy called on her way inside the building. “Drinks tonight at Willie’s! Flor and I are going. They’ve got a hot new bartender. Something nice to look at as we drink our margaritas. You in?”
She hesitated, chewing and swallowing her bite. “Sure,” she called out. It beat going home and staring at her walls.
“Thata girl! See you inside. Staff meeting in thirty.”
Faith smiled slightly as her friend disappeared inside the building. She finished the last bite of her croissant sandwich and dusted off her hands, then headed into the building. She just had to make it until Saturday.
She felt relaxed by the time she got home from Willie’s. She wasn’t much of a drinker and since she had been driving, she hadn’t overindulged. She wasn’t about to pull a Serena move, but one mango margarita was enough to put her in a more relaxed state. Additionally, Wendy and Flor had kept her in stitches. Hard to be tense when you couldn’t stop laughing. Flor, twice the bartender’s age and mother of three, had flirted shamelessly with the younger man. She was inspiring. Faith needed half that woman’s confidence.
North Callaghan’s bike was missing from the driveway. At least she wouldn’t hear him having sex again. She snorted at that.
She entered her house and dropped her things on the table. After kicking off her shoes, she moved into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine. She was home now. Not driving anywhere. She might as well continue with her state of relaxation.
After changing into shorts and a supersoft T-shirt, she took her glass of wine and dropped down on her couch, where she channel surfed until she landed on a rerun of The Big Bang Theory.
During her second glass of cab, she decided dessert was in order. She’d shared some wings and nachos at Willie’s with the girls, but there was always room for something sweet. Grabbing an ice cream sandwich out of the freezer, she settled back on the couch for an episode of Cupcake Wars.
A bike growled outside. Faith jumped up, holding her wine glass out in front of her so that the liquid didn’t slosh over the rim. She hurtled herself to the door and pressed her eye against the peephole. Sure enough, there he was. She glimpsed the large dark outline of him through her window before he passed out of range. The door clicked shut.
Huh. She stood back, her blinds snapping into place. Alone on a Friday night. That must be a first for him.
She stood there for some moments, listening. It was silent on the other side of the wall. She tossed back her wine, then moved into the kitchen and poured herself a third glass. Or was it a fourth?
Shrugging, she set the bottle down on the counter with a satisfying clink. She wasn’t going anywhere. If she wanted to get soused in the privacy of her own home, then that was her right. She had tomorrow to sleep in, after all, and all afternoon to recover before her date with Brendan.
EIGHT
North woke up sweating with a curse on his lips. Sitting up, he swallowed his gasps and ran a hand through the loose strands of his hair.
He dragged his hand down his face to his chest, stopping directly over his heart. He pressed his palm there, where it pounded with frenzy beneath his perspiring skin. Moments like this reminded him of before. Of all those nights in his cell. Sometimes he’d wake to the sounds of men crying, being beaten or assaulted. His cellmate was neither friend nor enemy, but the same couldn’t be said for everyone else. For other inmates, nights were the worst. The longest. When the strong preyed on the weak.
He lifted his hand from his pounding chest and dragged it over his face. He should be over this shit by now. He wasn’t locked up inside there anymore. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder. He didn’t have to stand silent witness as others were broken.
His breathing gradually slowed and evened. He shifted on his bed, the mattress creaking slightly. The sheet slid low on his hips, rasping against his skin.
He slept naked. That was the luxury of being a free man. He could sleep naked. Walk around naked. Eat leftovers in front of his fridge buck-ass naked. Walk in his backyard and stare at the moon without a stitch on if he wanted. He had the freedom and privacy to do whatever he desired in the confines of his own property. So why the fuck did he still have nightmares?
Suddenly his bedroom felt claustrophobic. After flinging the covers back, he rose from the bed and walked downstairs. The nightmares were the same in that they always varied.
Sometimes it was Katie, sobbing, wild-eyed and shell-shocked in her ripped-up dress. Sometimes he was with Knox and they were beating on Mason Leary, North’s knuckles stinging and covered in blood. That was a common-enough nightmare. Leary under him, taking his punches and blows, but then the bastard would transform into someone else. Often it was Katie. Sometimes it was his brother. Sometimes North himself.
Other times he dreamed of the riot at the prison—the one that nearly killed him and left his face cut up. At the time, he’d thought he would die in that riot. The swell of writhing bodies had been like a storm around him and he thought surely it was the end. But it hadn’t been. He’d survived.
Scarred, but not dead.
The worst days actually came after the riot. Knox was gone; paroled. Reid, the leader of their crew, escaped Devil’s Rock, abandoning North, too.
The crew he ran with was weaker, more vulnerable to the other gangs in the prison. It was a testing period, to see how North and the remnants of Reid’s crew could stand up to attacks without Reid or Knox. North had survived. At a price. There was always a price.
He pulled open his fridge and grabbed a beer. Shutting the door, he turned and headed out back. After opening the back door, he stepped outside into the night. Dry air crackled around him as he walked through the yard, indifferent to the sensation of his bare feet crunching over dry grass. A slight wind stirred his hair and rolled over his exposed skin. He took a long pull on his beer. With a sigh, he stretched his neck muscles and looked up at the night, at the blanket of darkness studded with stars. He’d never seen a view like this from his prison cell. He was always shut in before dark fell.
He stood there, slowly nursing his beer, enjoying the sensation of air moving over his body. Freedom. As close as he could get anyway.
Gradually a prickly sensation worked up his spine. He knew better than to ignore it. Paying attention to that sensation had kept him from getting shanked in prison. He wouldn’t ignore it now even situated in the seeming safety of Small Town, USA.
He turned slowly o
n his bare heels, his sweating beer clutched in one hand as he surveyed his yard. He missed nothing in the flat expanse of grass—he probably needed to mow again—or in the quiet slats of fence boards staring back at him. His gaze drifted upward, scanning his house and then drifting over to his neighbor’s house.
That’s when he saw it. Not it. Her. Faith.
He watched her outline standing in the upstairs bedroom window. The blinds were open and she was backlit from a source of light somewhere in her house. Again, he couldn’t make out her features, just the long shape of her.
But he felt her stare on him. On all of him . . . naked as a jaybird.
He had no idea what she wore. If she wore anything at all. There was the chance that she was as naked as he was. The idea aroused him. There was no denying it.
He took another long pull from his beer, his gaze never leaving her window. Never leaving her shadow. He couldn’t imagine her face. But he heard her voice in his head. He saw her shape. He imagined those endless legs.
He felt her eyes on him. He knew she was watching him. She probably thought she was invisible to him up there. He smiled slightly, his free fingers resting on his abdomen, sliding down incrementally. He wanted to shock her. Maybe somewhere deep inside she was getting excited, too . . . watching him. Watching him touch himself in front of her. For her.
His cock jutted out at full mast. His hand slid lower, closing around himself. Hell, this was for himself, too.
He knew what he was doing was messed up. She could call the cops and lodge a complaint. They could be knocking on his door in under twenty minutes. That was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop. He couldn’t go inside. He couldn’t stop tormenting her. Tormenting himself.
He gripped hard. Felt his balls pull up tight, begging for his hand to move up and down, fast and rough. But even that wouldn’t be enough. It wasn’t what he wanted.
He didn’t want to simply jack off. He wanted to sink deep into a woman’s softness. He wanted long legs wrapped around his hips. He wanted the mystery of her face resolved.
Christ. He was about to lose his load like some teenage boy with his first girl. This was insane but he couldn’t stop himself. Not as long as she was watching. His fingers tightened around himself, squeezing until his dick throbbed harder.
He registered that. Processed it. She had not moved away from her window. She was still standing there. She couldn’t be too repulsed. Could she? Maybe she was touching herself, too. From this distance, with the obstruction of her blinds, it was impossible to know. But God, that thought got him more aroused.
He was close just like this with one hand squeezing his cock. The only thing more appealing to him than getting himself off was the thought of jumping her fence, yanking open her back door and marching inside her house. Finding her. Claiming her. Riding out his climax inside the woman watching him.
Christ. He didn’t even know her. Not her face. Not anything about her. He dropped his hand, that glaring truth scalding him.
He still felt her stare. It practically peeled the flesh from his bones.
It was the nightmare. That was the only explanation for this sudden dive into insanity. The nightmares always put him on edge. Made him as anxious as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.
With a curse burning on his lips, he strode back inside his house, letting the back door slam shut behind him. He was done with this crazy fixation on his neighbor. She was just a woman with all the usual parts. Same as any other.
He was going to bed. Tomorrow he would get laid. Find some willing woman to slide inside and take off the edge.
One thing was for certain: after what had just happened, he doubted he would ever have to face her. She would be giving him a wide berth from now on. He snorted. Hell, she would probably be calling her Realtor to move first thing in the morning.
And that, for some reason, rubbed him in all the wrong ways.
NINE
Holy hell, what just happened?
Her neighbor had stood naked as a jaybird in his backyard. Looking right at her window. Almost like he could see directly through the blinds to her. Even though she knew that wasn’t possible.
No, he wasn’t just naked. He was naked with a full raging hard-on, which he gripped in that big fist of his. A fist not so big, mind you, that she missed how large his . . . er, member happened to be. It was as impressive as the rest of him.
And then he stopped. He walked inside his house like nothing happened. He’d turned away. Not Faith. No, she had stood there gawking, peeking through her blinds, her breathing raspy, unable to look away.
“So unfair,” she muttered as she marched downstairs and refilled her wine glass—even as she contemplated digging out Mister Perfect from her nightstand drawer.
Mister Perfect was the name she had given her vibrator. Like North Callaghan, her vibrator was impressive in size . . . but Mister Perfect was battery operated. At the moment, that did not offer much enticement. Not after staring at the flesh-and-blood form of North Callaghan.
She swigged back her glass of wine in one more gulp and then grabbed the bottle to top it off again. Her head was spinning—and it wasn’t just because of the alcohol.
He was even sexier fully naked. Naturally. She snorted in disgust. Her best look was when she wore jeans and a turtleneck. She lived in Texas. So she could pull that look off two days a year. So unfair.
Life was unfair though. She was living next door to a man who looked like that. And the man happened to be a felon. And a jerk.
She sighed.
Taking her wine, she plopped back down on the couch. Muttering under her breath, she picked up her phone off the coffee table and scrolled through her contacts until she found his name. Or at least what she had decided to name him before.
With one final sip, she deleted Asshole Neighbor and changed it to Cock of Wonder. That produced a fit of giggles . . . all alcohol induced. Probably. Or perhaps she was losing her ever-loving mind.
She had just finished saving the change when a text popped up on the screen.
Like what you saw?
She squeaked and flung the phone across the room. It was an instinctive reaction born of horror and shock.
He was texting her. How on earth . . .
Understanding dawned. She had seen the crumpled notes on her porch. Her crumpled-up notes that he had tossed on her porch. Evidently he had saved her number from those earlier notes. Apparently he wasn’t so indifferent to her attempts to communicate. He had thought to save her number.
But why? And why was he texting her now?
Her fingers were shaking as she gathered up enough composure to text him back. You’re horrible.
So you were watching.
She winced at his reply, instantly regretting revealing that tidbit to him. She could almost hear the smugness in his voice. I walked by the window and glanced out.
Sure you did.
She replied with: I should have called the police. Masturbating naked in your backyard had to be against the law, right?
But you didn’t. You won’t.
I wouldn’t be too sure.
He didn’t know about her ties to law enforcement. She’d hang on to that information. It might be useful later. If she dropped it on him now he might read it as a threat. She wasn’t big on threats. Besides, she had long ago vowed not to rely on her father and brothers to fight her battles. They’d done that enough in her life already.
Although it would serve him right if she called her brother right now. Knowing Hale, he’d drive right over. If she told him the specifics, he’d handle North Callaghan himself—and it wouldn’t be through the proper channels. She grimaced. Forget about arresting him. Her brother would go old-school and wipe the floor with North Callaghan. Or he’d attempt to anyway. She wasn’t so confident that it would be an easy fight for Hale. He might be six feet five and made of muscles, but North Callaghan had come out of prison. And he was built, too. She’d hate
for her brother to get hurt.
No, she would handle North Callaghan herself.
Feeling bold, she texted him back. No company tonight? Or you just felt like putting on a show for the neighbors?
Tilting back her head, she downed the rest of her glass. “God, I really am an idiot,” she muttered. Even half lit, she knew better than this. Drinking and texting did not mix.
Her phoned buzzed in her hand and she glanced down.
Just one neighbor. Just you.
The smug grin on her face faltered and her stomach dipped in a way it had no business doing. She managed a reply. Should I be flattered?
Three dots danced before his words appeared. Are you?
So you kept my number.
She nodded approvingly at her nonanswer. It made her appear indifferent to him and his little display—okay, big display. Maybe she even came off as tough, too. Probably tougher than she’d looked in her green avocado mask last night. Considering what she’d found out about this man when she had done her digging today, she didn’t want to appear a pushover. Her text also implied that she thought him rude and inconsiderate. He’d ignored her attempts to have a conversation up until now. She gave herself a mental pat on the back.
His reply finally came. Yes.
So he got her notes and thought it was okay to just blow her off. Fuming, her fingers flew. And were you ever planning to respond? Before now?
Before he decided to give her a peep show?
He texted back. Been busy.
Not too busy for other things. After hitting send on that, she stared at her words, regretting them almost immediately. So much for appearing indifferent. She sounded angry.
Dancing dots appeared. He was texting her back. She held her breath and waited. Listening at walls again?
Fury on Fire Page 7
