The Good Girl In My Bed (Dangerous Desire Book 2)

by Lexxie Couper

  Rufie wouldn’t be as easy to deal with as Kitchner and Dewey.

  Loaded up, I returned to the living room just as my phone vibrated again in my pocket.

  I read the new message from Lila.

  “Francis and Fluffy will be there in 5. I’m assuming you’re not going to wait for them? Does Veronica know you’re going? Is she expecting them? If nothing else, please leave her a note asking her not to attempt to shoot them.”

  Note. Yeah, I needed to at least let Ronnie know about Francis and Fluffy.

  Chest tight, I scribbled one out, filling her in as well as I could without taking too long. The longer it took me to leave, the higher chance there was I wouldn’t.

  I finished the note with, “Remember, Ronnie, I will love you to the day I die,” knowing that day might be sooner than I’d ever thought.

  Gut churning, I fixed the note to the fridge door with a Doctor Winchester Animal Clinic magnet, and then turned to look up in the direction of our bedroom.

  “She is going to be fucking pissed,” I muttered, trying not to think about Ronnie’s reaction when she found the note, and when she came face to face with the two Fs.

  With resignation born from both guilt and determination I slung my duffle bag over my shoulder and made my way to the garage.

  Ronnie’s clapped-out Camaro sat between the Ferrari and Aston Martin. For a second, I considered taking it. Driving it to my destination would be one way of prolonging my life with her, even if it was in the most disconnected way.

  Shaking my head, I hurried to where my hog sat. The quietest way out of here was via bike. Quiet was paramount if I was to leave without waking Ronnie.

  It didn’t take me long to push the Harley out of the garage, along the driveway to the entry gate.

  My phone vibrated again as I typed in the code on the security panel to open the gate.

  Half expecting it to be Ronnie—awake and no doubt glaring at the note I’d left—I withdrew my cell from my pocket.

  “Will meet you at the normal place. Still think you’re being stupid. See you soon. L.W.”

  I couldn’t help but snort out a chuckle. Lila hadn’t invited herself often into the bowels of my shit past life, but every time she had, she’d made light work of the fray.

  Maybe, just maybe, I might walk out of this alive after all.

  The low rumble of a car engine at the now open gate drew my attention from my phone.

  A pickup sat in the mouth of the driveway, rusted and beaten up and looking like it wouldn’t make another mile before breaking down.

  Appearances can be deceptive. And disarming.

  The driver’s side window lowered and a beefy arm covered in tribal ink extended from the truck’s interior in a low-key greeting.

  I nodded in return, climbed astride my Harley, and turned over the ignition.

  As the truck drew level with me, I fixed the driver a steady look. “Watch her, Fluffy,” I said to the Marine behind the wheel. “She’s feisty. And she’s going to want to fucking kill me when she realizes what I’ve done.”

  Fluffy chewed over my warning for a second and then gave the Doberman sitting up on full alert on the passenger seat a pat. “Francis and I won’t let anything happen to her, Lucas. We’ll keep her safe for you.”

  I nodded again. I felt hollow already. Empty. “Thanks, dude.”

  Francis barked.

  Before I could change my mind, I put the hog into gear and tore up the road.

  I didn’t stop until sunset, and that was only to refuel. I didn’t dare look at my phone despite the fact it had been vibrating in my pocket over and over during the hours I’d been riding.

  I didn’t need to look at the thing to know it was Ronnie.

  I gassed up and took off. The closer I got to my old stomping grounds, the bleaker I became. No, bleak wasn’t the right word.

  The closer I got, the grimmer I became. In my mood, my soul, my intentions.

  Mile after mile of ignoring Ronnie’s calls and texts, mile after mile of riding farther away from her being in my life, mile after mile of obsessing about what Rufie would do to her to get to me.

  By the time I pulled into the driveway of the old house I used to use as a safe-house back in my Trinity days, on the fringe of a tired suburban neighborhood, I wasn’t just ready to end Rufie’s existence, I was looking forward to it.

  Hungry for it.

  Craving it.

  The Lucas Pratt Ronnie had fallen in love with was long gone. In his place was a cold, ruthless, highly efficient man of violence.

  I dismounted the Harley and pushed it past the side of the house to the backyard, the dead, dry grass crunching beneath my feet. After a quick sweeping scan of the yard, I stowed my hog in the derelict garden shed, closed the door, and uncovered the deadbolt lock hidden beneath a dead potted plant next to it.

  Once my bike was secure, I unlocked the back door and entered the darkness.

  Only two people knew of the house’s existence—me and Lila Winchester. It sat at the end of a dead end, the houses around it empty thanks to brutal banks and a fucked-up economy. I’d spent more than one night or three here, recovering from various clashes and MMA matches, off anyone’s radar.

  To anyone who happened to find themselves curious about the house, it would appear as rundown and abandoned as the rest of the street. It was filled with dust and neglect, what furniture in it cheap and broken and unappealing.

  If someone looked closer, they might notice one of the rooms looked smaller than it should. That one of the walls seemed strangely angled. But only if they really looked closer.

  But why would they? In that particular room, a carcass of a dead rat lay on the stained carpet. Vile threats and promises of sexual depravity were spray-painted on the torn wallpapered walls. The room, like the rest of the house, didn’t invite lingering inspection.

  I crossed that room now, heading for the back corner.

  The rat was still there. Just as dead. Just as disgusting in its decomposed state. I’d paid a lot of money for it to look that way. To look so gross no one would want to approach it.

  The mechanism to open the panic-room door was concealed behind the rat’s repulsive body, a small button on the skirting board. I pressed it.

  A soft whirring noise filled the musty room and a hidden panel on the wall opened, revealing a small security panel.

  Outside, the evening breeze blew against the windows, rattling the glass in the frames.

  I listened to the noise, making certain it was just the wind disturbing the house, and then keyed in the code.

  A narrow door opened a fraction on my right and white light streamed through the crack from the other side.

  Chest heavy, I stepped into the room, all too aware I was stepping back into my old life.

  The last time I’d been here, I’d been covered in someone else’s blood and dealing with a broken clavicle. I’d fixed the splintered bone as well as I could until Lila arrived, and washed the blood off me in the small shower located in the room’s corner.

  There was no evidence now I’d been there then.

  Lila had clearly been here in the interim, cleaned it up, restocked the shelves—food, water, triage equipment, and medical supplies—getting the room ready to be used again.

  Fuck. Why did I feel like shit at the thought?

  Because she knew I’d never escape my old life, no matter how much I tried?

  This hidden safe room, independently powered and connected to the net, could keep a person off the grid for a week. It had kept me from those looking for me for longer more than once.

  Tonight, it was only going to be used as a meeting point. A place for Lila and me to plan my next move.

  When I next walked out of this room, it would be to kill Rufie. To end the shit of who I’d once been. To end any threat that might come Ronnie’s way.

  Washing my hands, I studied my face in the mirror above the basin.

  Fuck. I didn’t like the guy lookin
g back at me. Thank fucking God Ronnie would never meet him.

  A soft click behind me made me spin, half crouched, the Glock I’d worn at the small of my back for the trip in my hand.

  “You need to get quicker than that if you’re going to walk away from this alive, Lucas,” Lila said, stepping into the room through the narrow opening.

  “Fuck, Lila.” I shoved the gun back into my jeans’ waistband. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you. A warning would be nice next time.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Your Trinity friends won’t give you a warning. Why should I?”

  Good point.

  I frowned at her. “What are you doing here so soon?”

  “Did you really think I was in New York?”

  Another good point.

  “Do you have a plan?” she asked, moving to the bed. She sat on it, as if sitting on a throne. Only one person in my entire life scared me, and she was looking at me now with a calm interest. Thank fucking God she was on my side.

  Turning back to the basin, I turned off the running water, dragged my hands through my hair, and met her direct gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “Find Rufie. Kill him.”

  Lila chuckled. “Simple. Stupid as well.”

  “Stupid?”

  She looked at me as if I was a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. “You kill him, you can never go back to Veronica.”

  I grabbed the towel beside the basin and dried my hands. “Who said I’m going back to Ronnie?”

  She laughed again. “Ronnie is the reason you live. The reason you breathe. You’re going back to her. So let’s make sure you go back to her, not the Pratt you think you are now, okay? You haven’t been Tripwire for a long time. Do you understand?”

  Tossing the towel aside, I turned to face her. “Exactly how many years did you spend as a psychiatrist between your time as a CIA agent, a bodyguard, a veterinarian, and all those other jobs you won’t tell me about?”

  A delicate snort filled the small room. “Bite me.”

  I studied her. She looked as calm as she always did, but there was an underlying edge to her I hadn’t seen in a long time. An agitation.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  I didn’t believe her. “Is Steve okay?”

  At her ex-husband’s name, she grew still. “They didn’t hurt him. They did hurt his sister however.”

  I swallowed. “That’s how they squashed the info I gave him? About Dewey and Kitchner and Trinity?”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  I could feel her pain. Her ex-husband’s sister was the woman Lila came out for. She loved them both equally.

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s in the hospital, in an induced coma with a broken cheekbone and punctured lung, but the doctor says she will recover.” Her eyes turned flinty. “Car accident, the report says. When I find who is responsible for said car accident, they will discover what it’s like to have a punctured lung. And a ruptured spleen. And a perforated bowel.”

  I swallowed again. I had no doubt whoever had threatened Steve’s sister was now a walking corpse. The fact Lila was here with me, helping me with my Trinity problem made what was coming their way all the bleaker. Lila was at her most impressive when she had time to ponder.

  “I’m sorry, Lila.”

  She waved a hand at me. “You didn’t do this. Now, let’s get serious. What are your plans? I can’t keep you alive for Veronica if they really are as simple as find Rufie and kill him.”

  It took us an hour to plan. Lila kept me grounded. Kept me in the room. Kept my head where it should be. However, no matter how much I wanted to believe she was right, that I would be able to return to Ronnie the guy she’d fallen in love with, I couldn’t. Life didn’t give guys like me fairytale endings. But whatever ending waited for me, I’d face it well, knowing Ronnie was going to be safe.

  My cell vibrated more than once during the hour.

  Every time it did, Lila raised her eyebrows at me, her expression expectant and almost condescending.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I snarled at her. “Blow me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know I don’t swing that way.”

  “You are the scariest lesbian I’ve ever known,” I said. In fact, when the need arose, Lila was the scariest person I’ve ever known, regardless of gender and sexual preference. But I wasn’t going to tell her that and give her a big head.

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  As much as I was focused on the plan for confronting Rufie and Trinity, I couldn’t stop thinking about Ronnie.

  What was she doing? How pissed at me was she? Did she hate me yet?

  Had Fluffy needed to tie her up to keep her at our home? Was Francis scaring her? He was a big fucking dog, after all.

  Fuck, I missed her. Ached for her.

  I craved the sound of her voice, her laughter. Hungered for her smell, her touch.

  “And I think we’re done,” Lila said, straightening from the bed and crossing to the room’s small bar fridge. She withdrew two Millers and tossed one to me.

  I caught it, twisted it open, and downed it in three mouthfuls.

  Maybe alcohol would dull the pain? Numb me against the emptiness in my chest?

  Lila studied me, her expression impossible to read. “You need some sleep. Get some. Now. Doctor’s orders.”

  I laughed. “Do you want me to bleat now? Or wag my tail?”

  She studied me, game face firmly in place. “Don’t make me drug you, Pratt. You know I will. You’ve got two hours. I’ll see you at the assigned place. Don’t forget to call Rufie before you go to sleep. This won’t be anywhere near as fun if he’s not there.”

  Before I could tell her to blow me—again—she left, pulling the door closed behind her.

  I dropped onto the edge of the bed, empty bottle in my hand, my stare locked on the opposite wall.

  Sleep.

  I needed it but didn’t dare take it.

  I had no doubt if I slept, I’d dream of Ronnie.

  Would they be horny dreams? Dreams of fucking her, making love to her? Dreams that would get me hard and aching for her even more than what I felt now?

  Dreams where I lost myself in the curves and dips of her body, the sweet musk of her pussy, the caress of her breath on my flesh?

  Or would they be nightmares? If I closed my eyes and slept, would I see her hating me? Would I see her walking away from me, my heart in her hand?

  Would she look at me with icy contempt?

  Or worse still, would I dream of her in Rufie’s hands? Would I be forced to endure seeing what the new head of Trinity would do to her, over and over in my dreams?

  I couldn’t risk it.

  I couldn’t.

  So I didn’t.

  Instead of stretching out on the bed, I changed into a pair of running shorts and joggers, shoved my Glock into my waistband, and left the room.

  I pounded the pavement, the night air cold on my sweat-slicked skin. I ran dark streets. I ran past houses whose windows glowed with warm light. I heard laughter from some of them. I saw family members coming and going at some.

  And every time I did, the ache in my soul for the life I wanted to share with Ronnie turned into a gnawing agony.

  It wasn’t until I found myself staring at one well-lit house, my gut churning with hate for everything that had put me here on this dark street away from the girl I loved, that I realized I was gripping the gun.

  Ah fuck, I was unraveling.

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I needed to hit something. Hurt something. I needed to feel something break beneath my knuckles. I needed to feel hot blood on my fists, my shins.

  I needed…

  I needed…

  Ronnie. I needed Ronnie.

  With a growl, I sprinted back to the safe house.

  It sat dark and empty, no sign of life in or around it. I hurried inside, straight for the hidden room.

  Locking mys
elf in it, I dug my phone from my jeans pocket and woke it up.

  Twenty missed calls from Ronnie. Twenty voice messages. Too many texts to count.

  A hot lump filled my throat. A heavy weight, like a chunk of concrete, pressed at my chest.

  I read the last text, eyes burning.

  “You’re a fucking bastard, Lucas Pratt.”

  An icy blade twisted in my heart. I closed my eyes, everything I was tearing apart.

  “Ronnie…” I murmured. “Ronnie, I…”

  I what?

  “Fuck.” I pitched my cell across the small room.

  It struck the wall beside the bed and fell to the mattress with a dull thud.

  I stood motionless, fists balled, breath ragged. My head roared.

  Fuck. Fuck, how was I to live without her? How was I—

  My phone vibrated to life, its screen lighting up with an incoming message.

  I threw myself at the bed, my heart racing, and snatched up my cell. The screen was shattered, a spider web of cracks almost making it impossible for me to read the message from Ronnie.

  Almost impossible.

  “If I didn’t love you so fucking much, I’d hate you.”

  A ragged sigh tore from my throat and I slumped onto the bed.

  Pulse pounding in my ears, my whole body tingling with energy I couldn’t fathom or describe, I stared at those ten words and then let out a raw groan as another message popped up onto my screen.

  “I’ll see you soon, Lucas. No matter what you think you’re doing, I’ll see you soon. ’Cause I love you, and you love me, and we’re meant to be together. Got it?”

  I stared at the message. I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. I just stared at the message. Read it over and over.

  And over and over again.

  When my lungs and eyes began to burn, I sucked in a deep breath and blinked rapidly, and then read the message again.

  My thumb moved to the cracked screen.

  Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this, but I was.

  I should put my phone away. Shove it somewhere I couldn’t see it. Hear it.

  Instead, I watched my thumb swipe across the screen. Watched it tap on the glass.