by Jo Raven
“It will take time, girl.”
“I know. It’s fine.” I stand on tiptoe to kiss his beautiful mouth. “As long as it takes. I’ll be here.”
“You’re crying.”
“Just kiss me.”
And he does. It starts out gentle, but then he deepens the kiss, hijacking my body and mind, until I’m moaning against his lips, my legs trembling.
He pulls back, the thick hard-on pressed between us. “Damn…”
“Love you,” I breathe.
He closes his eyes, and his lashes look damp where they rest on his cheekbones. What’s going on?
Before I lift my hands to check if those are really tears, he sits down on the bed, hauling me down with him.
“I’m not a poet,” he whispers. “Never been to fancy schools or read many books. But you’re my sunshine, Dakota Madden.”
That makes me cry harder, and it’s a good, cleansing flood. I giggle between my tears and straddle him, pressing my body to his, needing to feel him as close as possible.
It’s been too frigging long.
“Stay,” I tell him. “Stay in our bed tonight.”
Even if he’s not ready to move back into our bedroom yet, even if the nightmares torturing him mean he’d rather sleep in the living room like a guest, not my husband.
He says nothing, but he rolls me onto the mattress and pulls the covers over us, gathering me in his arms again. I fall asleep to the beat of his heart, steady and strong.
When I wake up early in the morning, he’s gone.
***
Summer is giving way to the fall. The difference is small, but it’s there—like with everything in my life nowadays.
Like Zane going to bed with me, even if he left later, not to wake me with his bad dreams.
Like finding the kids in that basement, but not catching Kenneth Shaw.
Okay, so these aren’t small differences. Failing to catch Kenneth Shaw is a heavy blow. I thought that he’d be in prison by now. In a dungeon, like he deserves. Like the basement where he kept those poor kids.
God, when I remember that place, and those young faces, those frightened eyes…
I wipe at my face. Enough tears. I want to blame it on the hormones from having a baby, but truth is, this has been one of the worst emotional rollercoaster rides of my life.
Besides, Zane is here. He’s sitting in the living room when I enter with Lee in my hands, reading something on his tablet. He’s sprawled back on the sofa, bare-chested, one arm folded behind his head, the other scrolling down on the screen.
I stop and stare.
So sue me. He’s gorgeous, and honestly I can’t remember the last time I saw him bare-chested, let alone naked.
Holy crap, the way his biceps bulge, stretching the colorful ink covering his skin, the dragon rearing on his muscular chest, the barbells shining in his small brown nipples… the fine treasure trail leading into his sweats… his Mohawk and the hoops in his brow, his strong jaw, his full lips, and that intense dark gaze focused on the tablet…
Heat spreads up my body, making my breasts tingle and sending an ache between my legs. I want him. I want him so much. I’m dying to feel him inside me again.
“Morning,” I say, and he puts the tablet down, his lips curving in a faint smile.
Missed that smile, too. God, I missed everything about him.
“Come here.” He puts the tablet down, opens his arms, and I crawl on his lap, our baby between us, blinking curious dark eyes up at us. “Hey, girl. And you, little buddy.”
My eyes close when he kisses me, his intoxicating taste sending another bolt of lust through me.
I push the lust back down. Now is not the time.
God knows he had issues with sex because of his past back when I met him. Oh, he had sex all right, lots of it—but on his own terms only. I wasn’t allowed to touch his back, or kiss him. Wasn’t supposed to touch him anywhere, in fact, while he made love to me.
And although things changed since we got together, I doubt that he’ll be in the mood for sex any time soon, after reliving every second of those traumatizing childhood memories in his dreams.
After giving birth, sex wasn’t the first thing on my mind. Far from it. But now it’s as if a switch has been flipped. Getting him back, having hope again is the best feeling ever, and my body shares it.
I want him, body and mind and soul, and I’ll wait until he’s ready.
“I can hear you thinking,” he says, one of his hands on Lee’s head, his thumb stroking the little forehead tenderly. “Is it something I can help with?”
He looks tired, dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks hollow, but that’s normal these days.
Still the sexiest man I know.
Always will be.
“I’m thinking that I’m going to make us some breakfast,” I say, trying to remember what I have left in the fridge. Not much, I think. Since Emmanuel was born, Zane has been in charge of shopping, but lately neither of us have gone.
“Breakfast sounds good.” He smirks, a lazy tilt of his lips that almost makes me forget all that has happened.
That he spent days eating nothing, unable to hold anything down. That for a while I found him every morning passed out on the bathroom floor. That often during the day I’d find him spaced out inside the apartment, standing without purpose in any random room, staring into nothing.
That I was scared to death this might happen to him while working, or walking, or driving. That he’d have a flashback and step in front of a car because he wouldn’t see it, lost inside his own head.
“Hold Lee while I cook?”
“Sure.” His gaze warms when he looks down at our baby. He receives him from my arms and grins. “So you fed him and now you wanna feed me, too?”
“Sounds fair to me.”
“I wanted…” He glances up at me, his gaze troubled. “To thank you. For your patience with my fucked-up self.”
“I love your fucked-up self.” I wink at him, snickering at his shocked expression. “Hey, I learned to swear from the best. Now…” I give him a quick kiss and stand up. “Get your sexy, perfect self to the kitchen.”
“Sounds good.” He gets up, lifting Emmanuel in the air and making him fly. “We have to talk about the kids we found in that basement.”
I didn’t think he was ready, but the steel in his gaze tells me he’s determined, that he’ll try his damnedest to end the vicious circle.
He’s pushing himself hard, like always. And I’ll be by his side, like I promised.
Chapter Thirty
Zane
“We’re here to see the children rescued from Kenneth Shaw’s house two days ago.” Rafe is dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark pants and is flashing the police officer a winning grin.
I’m letting him do the PR because I’m not good at this politeness crap, and I figured seeing him first, all polished and shit, wouldn’t hurt.
Megan is by his side, in a pretty blue dress, holding baby Zay in her arms.
Zay. His name is Zane like mine, but the guys decided it would be confusing, so they tweaked it a little. Confusing, how? Not like he has a Mohawk, is it? Or like anyone would call out to the kid, “Hey, Z-man, get your ass over here, motherfucker,” would they?
I’d bust their balls if they did.
And Rafe’s grin doesn’t seem to be doing the job.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Who did you say you were?” The grizzled police officer pushes her glasses up her nose and glares at him, strangely immune to what I’m told is a killer charm.
But what do I know, right?
“We are involved in the case,” Rafe says. “We—”
“The answer is no.” She pats her gray hair that’s pulled back in a bun that looks bulletproof. “This isn’t a social event. If you were needed for the case, you would have been formally called in.”
“But—”
“Rafe,” I tap his shoulder. “Let me talk to her.”
&nb
sp; He shoots me a look that says he thinks I’m crazy. Yeah, no arguing with that. There’s a reason I wanna go back to that therapist, something I’d avoided for years.
Dakota strokes her hand down my arm. “Explain it to her.”
I squeeze her hand and step in front of Rafe to face the glaring woman behind the desk. “I’m Zane Madden.” Her eyes widen as she looks up and further up, taking in my piercings and hairdo. But I don’t give her a chance to get worked up about my appearance. “I’m the one who filed a report against Kenneth Shaw and stirred up this case. We were the ones who found those kids in his basement. We are involved and need to speak with the officers in charge.”
“I see.” The police officer leans back, both her brows raised. “Interesting. But you have already given your testimony about finding those kids, haven’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why are you here, Mr. Madden?”
“Those kids…” Dakota presses her smaller body to my side, a warm presence. She makes me stronger than I ever thought I could be. “There are things that need to be discussed.”
“Detective Wesley Logan called us about it,” I lie to the woman. “I think we are expected.”
After all, there is still the case of Tyrese Weir that Wesley did call us about.
The ruse seems to work. She sighs and lifts the receiver of an old gray phone and barks something into it. Then she leans back, seemingly satisfied, and jabs a finger at me.
“Detective Wesley is waiting for you. Building next door, first floor, room two hundred and twelve. And…” She nods at me. “That’s a cool Mohawk. Love your style, boy.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
What the hell?
Rafe hauls me out of there, thumping my back, his shoulders shaking, and the girls giggle all the way out.
“See?” I finally manage as we climb the steps to the building next door, and pull Dakota closer to me. “Some women have damn good taste.”
***
“This is highly irregular,” Wesley Logan says, sounding like a constipated old man, although he doesn’t look a day over thirty. A constipated thirty-year-old with a parting in his dark hair. Very Clark Kent. “And I’m not the person you want to see.”
“Says who?” I mutter, pulling chairs for Dakota and Megan. “I’m pretty sure we asked for you by name. As for irregular…this whole case is a fucking mess, right?”
He straightens the collar of his shirt and gives us a wary look. “Mr. Madden, you and I didn’t talk on the phone at all. I tried your number, but—”
“His phone was off,” Rafe interjects, “so you called me. You told me about your intention to investigate the disappearance of Tyrese Weir.”
“Oh, you’re Mr. Vestri.”
“Call me Rafe.”
Detective Wesley Logan doesn’t seem too pleased with this development. “Nice to meet you in person, Mr. Vestri. As a matter of fact, the main reason I called you was to inform you that Kenneth Shaw might be a dangerous person and to steer clear of him. And what did you do? You went straight to his house and broke in.”
“We did.” Rafe is completely unapologetic. He actually looks kind of scary as he leans over the desk to glower at Wesley, eyes blazing. “And we saved those kids who would have died waiting for the police to take action, so don’t tell me we shouldn’t have done it. Saving those kids wasn’t a mistake.”
“Whoa.” He lifts his hands. A pencil drops to the floor. “Never said it was. Look…” He lowers his hands, though he pushes back from the desk, putting more distance between himself and Rafe. “We never thought he had kids in that house, all right? If we had, we’d have pushed for a search warrant on the spot. And yeah, I’m damn glad you found them. That’s why I’m willing to bypass regulations and protocol and see you today.”
“So fucking nice of you,” I growl, starting to get pissed off at the guy’s self-righteousness. “As if you—”
“We thank you,” Dakota cuts me off, jerking on my hand that’s still wrapped around hers. “Detective.”
Shit. She’s right, I’m ready to pick a fight, and we’re not here for that.
“We just want to ask how the kids are,” Megan says, grabbing the pacifier that’s slipping out of her baby’s mouth and sticking it back in before the wailing starts. “We feel kind of responsible, you know? We found them, and…”
“And I’ve gone through the same thing they did,” I say, forcing steel in my voice. It’s damn hard talking about my past, and I’ve done nothing but during this past week. “With the same son of a bitch. So I thought I’d talk to them. It might help them. And they might give us some clue where to find him.” I nail Wesley with a look. “Unless you caught him and haven’t told us about it.”
“No, we haven’t found him yet.” He tugs on his collar like he’s choking. His eyes dart between me and Rafe, then at the door as if thinking of making his escape. “We found his car, though. It was abandoned in Fitchburg.”
Fuck.
I exchange a glance with Rafe. “He ditched his car, to make it harder for you to find him,” he says, a growl in his voice.
“Look now, Mr. Vestri,” Wesley hurries to say. “This is police business, and all of you shouldn’t get involved in any of it.”
“Oh, this is just a social call,” Rafe says, giving the man a wolfish smile.
Megan gets up and hands the baby to Rafe with a warning glance. “May we meet with the children before their parents take them home? Are they from around here?”
“Ma’am, this is not information we’re supposed to give out to the wider public. However,” he cringes back from the force of our glares, “you’re not the wider public. Uh. You know you’re not supposed to intimidate an officer of the law, right?”
“Do you feel intimidated, officer?” Rafe drawls quietly.
“Mr. Vestri!” Wesley Logan thumps his hand on the desk, and it brings down silence.
It also switches on something inside me, something that’s too close to the surface these days, and a dark veil falls over the room, like a curtain.
Then Dakota calls my name, and the curtain draws up before the darkness fully swallows me.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I breathe as she gets up and drags me down onto her chair. I don’t even know what triggers these goddamn episodes sometimes. How am I to ever beat them when a sudden noise can send me headfirst into the twilight?
“Shh.” She inserts herself between my legs and perches on my thigh. She drags my arms around her. “You’re fine.”
She doesn’t even try to hug me, or touch my back in any way, not to trigger another episode. She places a hand over my racing heart and smiles up at me. Waiting until my vision clears and the sweat dries on my face.
God, I love this girl.
Belatedly, I notice the silence around us. Wesley is frowning at us, looking as if he’s about to say something.
Rafe leans against the desk. “So, Wesley. Where were we? Ah, yes, I believe you were about to tell us if the children have been reunited with their families.”
Grateful for his distraction, I draw in a deep breath, dispelling the rest of the cobwebs and taking a moment to appreciate the feel of Dakota in my arms. Her scent is the best drug, the best remedy to the madness lurking in my mind.
“The, uh, the kids…” Wesley tries to loosen his collar again, and he seems torn between staring confusedly at me and nervously at Rafe. “The kids don’t have families. Not families who cared enough to notice they’d been missing, anyway. Apparently Kenneth Shaw kidnapped them from foster homes in nearby states and brought them here a couple of months ago. They were believed to have run away.”
Months. Bile rises in my throat, burning acid. Jesus.
“Does that mean the kids are going back into the system?” Dakota asks, wiggling on my leg, distracting me from my thoughts.
Landing me back in reality.
“That is correct,” Wesley says and grabs a pen from his desk, clenching it in
his hand as if he’s thinking of stabbing something with it.
I think we got under his skin.
I shouldn’t find it so funny.
“Then can we talk to the social workers that have been put in charge of them?” Megan says. “We would like to be involved in their future.”
“Also,” Dakota pipes in, “there have been thoughts of adoption.”
“Adoption?” The pen pings on the desk. “Whoa, one second.”
Wesley is not having the best day of his life. Maybe a good shock will turn him from Clark Kent into Superman.
“Yeah, adoption.” Dakota glances up at me, and I nod reassuringly. We talked about this possibility. “Not by us, but close members of our family have expressed interest. That way the kids could stay together, should they wish to. Sometimes… sometimes this kind of experience forges very strong bonds between people.”
“Dear God.” Wesley sighs tiredly as he leans back in his chair. “Slow down. You want to adopt these kids? Into your family?”
“That’s right,” I say. “If they want it, too.”
Maybe I’m crazy. I barely even remember their faces. Maybe they don’t want to see us again, or stay in this state, or see each other.
But Asher said something when I called him this morning to ask his opinion. He said, “There are five of us, five Damage Boyz, and now these five. I think it’s fate.”
I don’t believe in fate, not really, but it was the confirmation I needed.
“That’s funny.” Wesley shakes his head.
“What’s funny?”
“The kids have been asking for you.”
My breath catches, and I cover it with a curse. “When the hell were you gonna tell us?”
“I’m not in charge of their case, like I told you when you stepped inside. I’m only in charge of your case, Mr. Madden.”
“Zane,” I tell him. “Just Zane. Did you search the house in Wausau?”
He frowns. “About that, I—”
The phone on the desk starts ringing, and I jolt as if electrocuted. Dammit. Can’t wait for my damn brain to unwind a little.
Faintly, I hear Wesley talking. He even swivels around in his chair, giving us his back, trying for an illusion of privacy.
