by Rie Warren
“Wouldn’t kiss that skank if I was you. Don’t know where she’s been.” Her dad volleyed from the couch.
My teeth grinding, I bit out, “Do. Not. Say. One. More. Fucking. Word. If you value your life.”
It took all my control to rein in the beat-down headed his way.
Ripping off my jacket, I slung it around Rayce’s slumped shoulders.
Pressing my keys into her hand, I hushed her. “Go wait for me in the truck. Turn it on. Start the heat. Okay, princess?”
“Princess?” Her dad spat another stream of baccy juice with a loud splat to the floor. “Wouldn’t be callin’ her that if you knew what she did.” He chuckled to himself.
The sickening, all-encompassing urge to kill him filled me.
I needed to get Rayce out now.
I prodded her in the direction of the destroyed door, the rain outside howling and wild.
“Where the fuck you think yer goin’, you little bitch?” Screaming, Leroy stomped off the couch. “You get yer ass back in here, missy, before I fuckin’ beat it black and blue with my belt!”
I stood between them, watching her leave. Her shoulders stooped. Head down. Feet shuffling.
Please, Rayce. Please just go.
I did not want her to witness what I was about to do.
Waiting until I saw her get inside the truck was the longest fifteen seconds of my life as her fucking father hurled nasty insults at her.
The rain slanted through the busted open door, pinged off the metal roof.
The only sound I wanted to hear was her dad’s howls of pain.
I slowly turned, my muscles popping up.
“You think taking it out on a woman—your own daughter—is okay?” My voice was lethal, my stance ready.
“You got no idea what yer talkin’ about.” The asshole was so blasted out of his gourd he had the stones to get in my face.
“Beg to differ. Heard you railing on her enough times. That is done. Starting now.” I towered over him.
He sneered. “You gonna stop me?”
“You’re goddamn right I am.”
My fist landed on his cheek with a loud crunch of bones.
A spray of blood fountaining from his face, he spun once, twice, before steadying himself against a nicotine yellow wall.
Weaving side to side, he raised his fists.
The invitation was too much to pass up.
Advancing, I cranked back and punched him again. Again. Again.
His bloated stomach.
His ribs.
His face.
Bones crunching. Blood gushing. The scared bleats of his voice.
The next time his arms flew up, it was to protect himself, but that wasn’t gonna happen. Grabbing his wrists, I manacled them in one of my hands and made a bloody mash of his ugly, meaty face.
I struck fast and hard until he started whimpering then shouting then crying out in pain.
Still it wasn’t enough.
Hurtling him against the wall so hard the whole trailer shuddered around us as a bright white flash of lightning streaked outside, I wrapped a hand around his windpipe.
And squeezed.
Blood ran from cuts on his cheek, his fat lip, his broken nose.
“You fucking worthless piece of shit slob.” I tightened my grip, enjoying the shocked pop of his eyeballs as his face turned red, and then purple.
He clawed at my fingers, trying to free himself. Air barely wheezed in and out of his constricted throat.
“If you ever raise a hand to her again, I’m gonna end your fucking life.” I dragged him to the other side of the room by his neck.
Pushing him to his knees on the floor, I stood over him as he held his hands at his wobbly neck, gasping for breath.
I watched him struggle for a minute before he looked up at me—true fear finally filling his eyes.
“You’ll think this was just a joyride.” I smiled, right before I kicked him full in the face with the steel cap of my boot.
Knocked that dirtbag out cold.
I breathed heavily for a few beats, regaining my control, flexing my bruised and bloody fists. Then I kicked him over onto his back. If I were lucky, he’d choke on his own vomit while he was passed out.
Fucking win.
In the kitchen that was nothing more than a corner of the main room consisting of a mini fridge, two cupboards, a tiny counter boasting a hot plate, I washed my hands in the sink and sucked in breath after breath.
Gripping the counter, I held onto my last ounce of sanity.
Trying to remember . . . murder? Not a good idea.
I found Rayce’s room. It wasn’t hard. Bathroom, her dad’s pigsty, her room. Distinctly clean. Tidy. Small and nearly barren. Enough to break my fucking my heart all over again.
Her backpack was on the floor of the curtained-off, so-called closet. I quickly set about packing her clothes from the plastic bins neatly lined up against the wall. Grabbing her phone, her personal toolbox, the clothes hanging from a plastic adjustable shower rod in her makeshift closet, I filled another bag. I foraged for her shoes, boots, and books, tossing them into a milk crate before heading to the bathroom for any feminine-looking toiletries.
The time for talking about it was over. Rayce would be staying with me.
I popped my head into her bedroom for one last scan. There was a lone photo set next to her futon that acted as her bed.
A pretty woman with a plump baby on her hip. Her smile practically shined through the photo as she beamed at the pink-dressed girl.
I snagged that, too, gently sandwiching it between Rayce’s clothes.
I kicked her dad on the way out. Still unconscious. Hopefully dead.
Stalking through the rain, I jerked the truck door open and stowed everything I’d packed in the back seat.
“Got your stuff.” Shutting us inside, I slaked my hands through my wet hair. “You’re not coming back here.”
I reached behind and dug out the photo.
Handing it to Rayce, I said, “Thought you might need this. Your mom?”
She collapsed, hugging it to her chest. She nodded as tears streamed down her face. She looked even more hopeless than before, soaked from her few seconds in the pounding rain.
Still paralyzed by rage, I hit the gas and gunned it away.
Every bolt of lightning, every boom of thunder made her jump.
She was on the edge. My nerves were strung tight, too.
I pulled over, the heavy rain battering the truck and mud sloshing under the tires.
“What was her name?”
“Ginny.” Rayce swiped her nose on her sleeve.
“Did he abuse her too?” I clutched the steering wheel.
She sniffled. “No. I don’t know.”
I strained toward her, trying so hard to let the anger go so I didn’t scare her, but I wanted to drive back to that trailer and kick Leroy’s ass through his throat. “What happened tonight?”
Apart from your dad being seriously messed in the head.
“I bought the wrong whiskey.” She curled in on herself. “The store ran out of Wild Turkey and I brought home something else instead.”
The burning rage roared to life inside me. I felt like I could destroy everything in sight I was so motherfucking incensed.
“That was it?” I punched the cabliner. “Jesus fucking Christ, Rayce! Do you even get why I’m worried about you all the goddamn time?”
“He doesn’t hit me,” she whispered in a broken voice.
“Looked like he was about to.”
“He wouldn’t. I’m too valuable to him.”
“What the fuck?” I slit my eyes at her. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Banging my head against the seat rest at her nonresponse, I swore. “It’s verbal abuse. He belittles you constantly. It’s ABUSE, Rayce!”
Tears shone in her eyes. Her lips trembled. She pulled her knees tighter to her chest.
I hit the steering wheel with an explosive, “FUCK
!”
She flinched.
Fuckitall.
Dragging my hands over my face, I cracked my neck. Unballed my fists.
I calmed down the seething anger.
“Sorry, Rayce. I’m so sorry.” Untightening my body, rolling my shoulders, I opened myself up for her and drew her into my arms. “C’mere.”
I hushed her as body-wracking sobs rolled through her.
Skimming her hair back, kissing her temple, I murmured, “Let it all go, princess. Let it all go on me.”
****
When I helped Rayce inside my house—her bags and box in my arms—I steered her upstairs. We were both soaking wet from the rain that continued to beat down like the heavens had opened up. Rayce shivered nonstop.
Shitlock meowed just once and padded after us, but I had someone else to take care of before him.
I put Rayce’s belongings in my room and towed her into the bathroom. One item of clothing at a time, I undressed her as the big bathtub filled with hot steaming water.
Settling her in the tub, I crouched next to it. “Be right back. Gonna go put on some dry clothes. You okay?”
Slight nod. Pale face. But at least she’d stopped shivering. Her teeth no longer chattered.
After grabbing a towel, I walked into my bedroom. I left the adjoining door open so I could keep an eye on her. My wet things piled for the laundry room, I worked the towel over my body. I pulled on some sweats, a muscle shirt, and stuck my head into the bathroom. Rayce gleamed in the tub, her head back, her eyes closed, her arms resting along the sides.
I hit the stairs and started a fire in the living room, watching the bright white flames leap from log to log. Shitlock wrapped around my legs, purring.
Scooping him in my arms, I carried him to the kitchen, scratching his ears as I explained everything. “Listen, dude. My woman’s had a shit night. Okay? So I’ll feed you and all, but you’re not gettin’ loved on anymore tonight. Just so you know.”
I dropped him down and swatted him on the rump.
With his bowls filled, I took the stairs again and stepped into the bathroom.
Rayce’s eyes opened—soft, hazy, hazel green.
She barely moved while I tenderly washed her. After rinsing her hair and helping her from the bath, I toweled her dry with gentle swipes.
“You can’t keep taking care of me,” she said when I wrapped her in the towel and took her hand in mine.
“Yes, I can.”
Leading her to my bedroom, I found my old flannel shirt in one of her bags.
Still smelled like my cologne and a new mixture of her scent. That almost made me smile. I helped her into it, slid the buttons home, and guided her into a pair of her own soft sweatpants.
Downstairs I got her comfortable in the living room, in front of the blazing fire. After handing her a cup of tea and a tumbler of whiskey, I heated up some soup.
With the bowl in hand, I joined her.
She ate quickly with her head down, looking utterly lost and alone.
I brought her another helping, and tucked her feet against my legs. I ran my fingertips up the soles of her bare feet.
“I’m ticklish!” Yelping, she kicked out at me.
“You know, that gives me all sorts of ideas.” I grinned wolfishly at her.
Hearing her laugh was a thousand times better than watching her cry.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
I held my fingers poised, ready to attack again. “You know better than to challenge me.”
Rubbing her calves, I pulled her closer. She set the bowl aside, and as I massaged up and down her legs Shitlock paced back and forth in front of us.
“Someone feels ignored.” Rayce sighed.
“Not you.” I flicked my fingers against her feet again.
Her entire body shuddered, laughter rippling out of her. “Stop. Stop!” Catching her breath, she curled away from me. “Ass.”
I took a long draw of my whiskey and set down the glass. “C’mere.”
Rayce rolled into me, her face against my chest, her legs resting alongside mine.
The fire crackled, warming the room, warming us.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“What the hell for?”
“I’m such a mess, Boomer.”
“Considering what you’ve been through I think you have good reason to be.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?” I pulled her farther onto my lap.
She lifted one of my hands, inspecting the cuts. “You hurt him.”
“He deserved it.”
“You don’t.” After dropping a soft kiss to both my bruised fists, she rose from the couch.
I snagged her hand. “Where you going?”
“It’s my turn to take care of you.”
Finding salve in the bathroom cabinet, Rayce massaged it into my knuckles.
She didn’t know it—unless she was following the cock-shaped metronome in my pants—but her caretaking was taking care of me in a wanna fuck kind of way.
Her slick hands that I imagined on my erection. The deep massage I would’ve loved even more much, much lower on my body. The tip of her pink tongue tucked against the corner of her mouth as her shirt—my shirt—gaped open at the neck.
Honey view.
She looked down at my lap. “Ohhh!”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“You want me? Like this?” She motioned to the loose sweats and her fluffy, still-damp hair.
I snorted. “Princess. If you walk into a room I’m in, if I hear your voice, if I even think about you, I’m horny for you.”
“But—” Her telling eyes came alight.
Placing a finger at her lips, I silenced her. “But, that’s not what I’m about tonight.”
“You’re not?” She quirked her head.
“I’m not.” After dropping a kiss to her lips, I stood up. “We should go to bed though.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I just said. And now it’s time for bed.”
Rayce recoiled, biting her fingernail. “I’m not sure about this, Boomer.”
“I know.” With her hand in mine, I drew her to her feet. “So I did something for you.”
Upstairs, I opened the door to Brodie’s old bedroom.
“Oh my God.” Rayce took a step inside then turned on me. “What the hell is this?”
“Part of the renovation.”
“I saw this room before. Did you do this for me?” She tucked her fingers into the low-riding waistband of my sweats, causing a thick spear of heat to galvanize my groin.
“Look.” I pulled her hands away from the danger zone of my cock and hooked my thumbs at my V-cut. “It’s just a coat of paint and shit.”
The shit being new furniture, curtains, and a couple one-of-a-kind items.
“For me?” Disbelief crossed her features. “Are you completely off your rocker, old man?”
Thatta girl.
My spitfire was back.
“Uh. No. Least not the last time I checked.”
Even though her eyes were a little puffy and red-rimmed from all the crying, she continued to glare at me.
“I don’t think?” I said.
A bright smile curved her lips as she twirled around, doing that feminine thing again.
So goddamn beautiful.
I leaned against the doorframe. I’d transformed the room from teen boy to the most hardcore woman. The one house project I hadn’t let Tail in on. Lavendar-grayish walls. A big white fluffy bed.
Rayce halted. “What the fuck are these?”
“Bedside tables?”
“Made to look like tool chests?” She caressed the surface before opening all the drawers of the one she stood near. “These are the shit.”
Yeah. Those slick slate gray bedside bitches were sweet. I wanted a pair of them for myself. Custom-made. Completely for Rayce.
Her gaze swung to mine. “I can’t believe you did al
l this for me, Boomer. No one’s ever . . .”
I cleared my throat. “So, bed”—huge—“dresser, closet, and bathroom.”
“Your bathroom.” One of her eyebrows arched.
“Shared bathroom.” I flipped her onto the bed and hunkered above her.
Rayce wrangled free. “One condition. Hands off. I can’t . . .” She slipped from the bed. “It’s too fast. I’m not ready to be your live-in lover.”
“Kidding me? Do you know how many women I’ve brought home?”
“From what I’ve heard about your rep, a lot.”
“Zero chicks, princess.”
Her eyes flipped up. “What?”
I captured her chin in my hand. “No other girl. Never. Not before you.”
“I still can’t . . .”
“What?” I held her to me, my arms hugged around her waist.
“It’s too much. Too fast. Too good.” Rayce slinked free. “It’s hard to trust.”
“This is your room.” I spoke to her taut back.
“Platonic?”
“You honestly think I’d force myself on you?”
“The problem is you wouldn’t have to,” she mumbled.
“Housemates. Until you say otherwise.” No way would I take advantage.
“Agreed.” She turned and shook my hand.
Despite the agreement, I lifted her in my arms and carried her to my bedroom. “We can start the platonic shit tomorrow. Just let me hold you tonight.”
Chapter Seventeen
Roomies
RAYCE WAS RIGHT WHERE she needed to be—in my house. She was not however one hundred percent where she belonged—in my bed.
The two of us quickly fell into a routine. A seriously frustrating one. No sex. She hadn’t been kidding, and I wasn’t about to push it. She was here. Away from her fucked up dad. That was enough. For now.
I’d gotten into the habit of dropping Rayce off at Stone’s in the morning and picking her up after work. I liked watching her with the other gearheads—the dudes treated her just like one of the other guys, as she’d said. But they also showed her the respect due both a woman and a highly skilled mechanic, whose advice they weren’t above asking for.
Respect except when I kissed Rayce goodbye or hello. Then all bets were off, and the wolf whistles came out full force.
