Chain Reaction

by Tara Wyatt

  “You could get it covered up with something else, couldn’t you?”

  He shrugged, muscles moving beneath his skin, and then shot her a smile. “So you admit it’s ugly.”

  She bit her lip, a smile struggling to break free. “I…It’s not not ugly,” she teased, amazed that, given the nightmare she’d just had, she was smiling.

  Zack’s mouth fell open in mock surprise, his eyes sparkling. “Hey, don’t make fun of Cliff. He’s sensitive about his looks.”

  She started to laugh, but as the images from the dream flashed through her mind again, it died on her lips. She grabbed a paper towel from the counter and laid the piece of pizza down on the island, not sure if she was going to finish it. Gently, she pushed it away, and she noticed that her hand was trembling. Distantly, as though she were seeing herself through a fog, she knew she was on the verge of falling apart. Everything was just too much.

  Zack must’ve noticed too, because he cursed quietly and came around the island. “Let’s sit down. Come on.” He laid a hand on the small of her back, and she relaxed into his touch, his warmth soaking through her thin shirt as he led her into the dark living room, the only light coming from the kitchen and the moon shining through the windows. The moonlight only heightened his chiseled features, deepening the shadows in the muscled grooves of his chest. It was the kind of chest women drooled over and men were jealous of. It was the kind of chest she wanted to touch and explore and claim in ways she had no right to want.

  God, Zack. As they walked into the living room, an ache bloomed in her chest. A tangled snarl of longing and guilt and shame and lust and regret.

  She shivered as he eased her down onto the same couch they’d sat on earlier that day, and he grabbed a throw from the nearby armchair, then wrapped the plush blanket around her shoulders before sitting down beside her. Tucking her legs up under her, she turned to face him, snuggling into the back of the couch.

  “I’m not even sure where to start,” she said, her eyes meeting his in the semidarkness. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, and her eyes dropped to his gorgeously strong arms, wanting them around her instead of the blanket.

  He reached out a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his thumb linger on her jaw for a second. His fingers still smelled like orange, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to smell that scent again without thinking of this moment. She closed her eyes for a second and pressed her cheek into his palm.

  “You’re overwhelmed. Anyone would be. What was your dream about?”

  Really, she should tell him everything so that he’d know exactly who she was and why he should stay away from her. Why she wasn’t worthy of his kindness. Why her own attraction to him was wrong.

  She grabbed fistfuls of the blanket and stared at her hands, knowing she’d be unable to concentrate if she kept looking at him. “I was standing in the upstairs hallway at my parents’ house, and I was wearing a white gown. I heard laughter and gunshots, and I tried to run for the stairs, but it didn’t matter how hard I tried, they never got closer. Like the carpet was a treadmill or something. I found a room with—with my father. I think…maybe it was a memory I’d repressed.”

  He traced the shell of her ear with his fingers, massaging her earlobe gently for a second. Something tight and sharp soared through her and settled between her legs. She pressed her thighs together, trying to stifle the growing ache there, but wanting more of his touch.

  His fingers skimmed down her neck before he dropped his hand. “What happened?”

  She swallowed and forced herself to continue. “He’d beaten a man, and his hands were all bloody. I saw myself as a kid, hiding in the corner. My dress changed from white to gray.” She swallowed again and kept going, glossing over another part of the dream, because, as much as she wanted to unburden herself, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud. “Morales was there, and my father said, ‘How could you?’ and my dress changed from gray to black. I ran, and the stairs disappeared, and I fell. As I was falling, my dress disintegrated around me.”

  “And this is something you remember?”

  She nodded. “I think so. It’s fuzzy, but I remember being in that room that I used to hide out in and watching…” She shook her head slowly. “Growing up in that house was really hard. It was lonely and scary. I felt so isolated, like there was no one I could talk to. No one who would keep me safe.” She glanced up and met his eyes, dark pools that she wanted to dive into and never surface from. “I think I’ve known for a long time that my father is a criminal. I just didn’t want to believe it.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and raised a hand as though he was going to touch her again, but then dropped it just as quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  She nodded, and, as if a puzzle piece had clicked into place, the significance of the dress dawned on her. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve always tried so hard to be the good daughter, to do whatever he wanted me to do, to please him, but I can’t be both a good person and the dutiful daughter he wants. I know that now.”

  She took a shuddering breath as the truth washed over her and then another as panic started to mount, clawing at her insides and struggling to break free. Everything that had informed her sense of place in the world was gone, replaced with a nightmare. She closed her eyes, trying to center herself, and she felt the warm rasp of Zack’s palm on her cheek.

  “I know this is a lot to try and figure out, but you’re still Alexa.” Something hot glowed in his eyes, and he moved a bit closer.

  “And who is she?” she whispered, feeling hollow.

  He pulled her into his arms, and she went willingly, wanting the comfort but unprepared for the perfection of his bare skin under her cheek as she laid her head on his chest. She wanted to melt into him, to lose herself in him, in his body, his warmth, his touch.

  He adjusted the blanket, wrapping it around both of them. One arm held her tightly against him while the other stroked over her hair as she curled into him. A tremble coursed through her when he gently kissed the top of her head.

  “The Alexa I know is sweet, and funny, and probably one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”

  The pain of wanting, and not being able to have, tightened her throat as he spoke.

  “She’s smart, and she gives so much to the people around her. She’s brave.”

  She snorted softly at that. “I don’t feel very brave right now.”

  “You are. You were given a choice earlier today in the detective’s office, and you chose to do the right thing. The hard, scary, brave thing. You made that choice, and, although it cost you, you did what you felt was right. To me that’s bravery. That’s strength. That’s courage.”

  “I feel like I’m betraying my family.” She slid her arms around his waist, snuggling in closer, wanting more of his comfort.

  “I know it’s complicated, ba—” He cut himself off sharply before continuing. “Alexa. I know. But you don’t get to pick your family, and your father threatened to…” He trailed off and cleared his throat softly. “You’re doing the right thing.” He eased back slightly and tipped her face up. “The Alexa I know is beautiful, inside and out.” His lips brushed over her temple, and she closed her eyes as another tremble shivered through her. Words failed her as he brushed his lips over her temple again. All she managed was a soft, raspy moan.

  “I know,” he whispered, tipping her chin up a bit higher so his mouth was close. Close enough that she could smell the citrus on his breath. His eyes found hers. She couldn’t read whatever was flickering through his mind, dark as it was in the room, but his entire body practically vibrated with tension.

  “Zack.” She whispered his name, and she knew she didn’t want him to stop. Just those tiny touches felt so good, so right.

  “I’m here.” He cupped her face with both hands and brushed her nose with his. “I’m here, and I’ll keep you safe, princess.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips over
hers, the tiniest bit of contact. A warm, heavy throb settled between her legs, beating in time with her frantic heart. He brushed his lips over hers again, and then he froze. She held completely still, waiting, her heart sinking when he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and eased her away. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, disappointment curdling through her. She wanted to ask him why but also knew that maybe she didn’t want to know the answer.

  “Sorry,” he said, pushing to his feet and heading for the stairs without a backward glance. She watched him go, knowing she had to. Knowing that as much as she wanted it, it was for the best. Knowing he’d likely gotten caught up in the moment and would regret almost kissing her in the morning.

  It was what she deserved, and she tried with everything she had to cling to that idea as she climbed back into her bed and turned the light off. But alone, in the dark, she let herself imagine what it would be like to curl into his warmth, to feel the strength of his body around her as he sheltered her from everything. She’d never fall asleep in Zack’s arms, and it didn’t matter how close he’d just come to kissing her. The dream had frightened her, but it had also reminded her of who she was, and the pain she’d suffered at her father’s hands. Zack had dated her friend, and she shouldn’t cross that line. And what would he say if he knew the truth about who she was? If he knew that she was damaged?

  A flicker of anger pushed up through her, not at her father and not at herself, but at the idea that because she wasn’t “pure,” she was damaged. It was so deeply ingrained in her, in society, that for the longest time she hadn’t even questioned it. She’d swallowed the garbage society had fed her, subconsciously buying into the fucked-up idea that women could be only whores or virgins. As though her worth were tied to her sexual experience somehow.

  She didn’t want to see herself as damaged. She didn’t want to define herself by her past. All she wanted was to find a way out of this murky situation.

  And Zack. She wanted Zack. Despite the myriad reasons she shouldn’t—he was Taylor’s ex, she was his client, and she had a lot of personal shit to work through—she did.

  She let herself go back to imagining his arms around her and fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 11

  Jonathan snatched his phone and laptop off a nearby table and sank down onto the chocolate-brown leather sofa in his trailer. The distorted reflection he caught of himself in the dark screen of the massive TV on the opposite wall made him look even more tired than he felt. He’d been on the set of Deepest Sympathies, an ensemble drama about a family-run funeral home, since five that morning. He glanced at his phone, grimacing at the number of texts, e-mails, and missed calls that had accumulated during the six hours he’d been working.

  He tipped his head back, letting his eyes fall closed for a second as a bone-weary exhaustion weighed him down. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and forced his eyes open. Even though he was on a break from filming, he still had work to do. He sat up straighter, and as he dialed into his voice mail, he flipped his laptop open with his free hand. After listening to his messages, he called Elijah back. Although the Alexa issue wasn’t the most pressing, it was the one weighing most heavily on him.

  Elijah answered on the first ring. “Yes?”

  “It’s Jonathan. Bring me up to speed.”

  “We’ve finished going through her laptop, and there was nothing suspicious, but just to be safe, I put a tail on her this morning.”

  “And?”

  “She stayed at a friend’s house last night, as did her boyfriend. He also went with her to volunteer at the hospital this morning. He went out alone beforehand too, to a mixed martial arts gym. Worked out for a while, went back to the friend’s house.”

  Jonathan drummed his fingers on the table as he stared unseeing at the computer screen in front of him.

  “What do we know about the boyfriend? The friends?”

  “Not much about the boyfriend, but I’ll see what we can dig up. The friend is Sierra Blake, and her fiancé, Sean Owens.”

  Jonathan’s scalp prickled because this was all hitting a little too close to home for comfort. Over a year ago, he’d made the ultimately foolish decision to help Jack Nikolaidis win a seat in the state senate. The senator—Sierra Blake’s ex-boyfriend—hadn’t been able to pay the Brotherhood back for its services, and he’d come off the rails trying to get the money. Jack had gone so far as to shoot Owens, making an even bigger mess of the whole thing.

  Alexa—sweet, dumb Alexa—didn’t know the truth about who he was, and so neither did her friends. But still, there was that prickle working its way across his scalp again. “Keep watching her and let me know if anything suspicious comes up. I think it’s time for me to meet this boyfriend of hers.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be in touch.”

  Jonathan ended the call and pulled up Alexa’s number, a feeling he couldn’t quite name working its way through his chest as he listened to it ring. A mixture of anxiety, fear, anger, and suspicion churned through him as his gaze swept across the lavish trailer.

  “Hello?”

  “Alexa, honey, it’s me. How are you?” he asked in his most soothing tone.

  “I’m okay. Just finished volunteering at the hospital.”

  “You’re still staying with your friends?”

  A slight pause. “Yeah. After that break-in, I don’t want to be alone.”

  “You should come home. You don’t want to be a burden on your friends.” It would be so much easier to keep tabs on her if she were still under his roof.

  “I’m not.” She snipped the words out, her tone sharper than he was used to, but he let it go. It wouldn’t do to push her away even more, especially because that snippiness had him on edge.

  “In any case, come for dinner tomorrow night. Bring your new boyfriend. Your mom and I would love to meet him.” Meet him, get his fingerprints, run a background check.

  She hesitated before answering. “Um, yeah. Okay. I’ll see if Zack’s free.”

  “Wonderful. Tomorrow at seven.”

  “All right. I gotta go, Dad. See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, darling.” He ended the call and tossed his phone down on the table. He opened his e-mail and sorted through several messages, including the copy of the police report Alexa had filed. He’d had it forwarded to him by one of his men on the LAPD. Quickly, his eyes skimmed down the document, but nothing was out of place. Just a typical B&E report, filed by a Detective Antonio Rodriguez. He saved the e-mail and opened another, pleased to find preliminary acquisition information for Innkeeper Films. With Astor gone, Innkeeper was in chaos, and it was ripe for the picking. With its addition, Fairfax Films would grow and become even more powerful and influential. Increased market share. Increased revenues. Increased control.

  But now he needed to focus on the larger task at hand, which was getting his hands on Crosby, that damn journalist from the Times who knew way too much. He’d been snooping around for years and had uncovered the Brotherhood’s latest business venture: weapons production. After all, why buy someone else’s guns when you could make your own? They’d managed to acquire a factory through one of the Brotherhood’s shell corporations and were set to start up production soon. Producing their own untraceable guns and ammunition would give them control over the arms market, and Jonathan was a little mad at himself that he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

  But he’d gotten wind of an exposé that Chris Crosby, who’d started investigating the real estate transaction for the factory, was planning to write for the Times. Thankfully, their source at the paper had tipped them off before the piece had run. They’d tried the usual intimidation tactics, but Crosby hadn’t backed off and had gone to ground. He knew too much, and he posed the threat of discovery. It was the worst thing that could happen to the Brotherhood, as far as Jonathan was concerned, and he’d do whatever it took to make sure it didn’t happen.

  * * *

  “Don’t freak
out, but we’re being followed.” Zack tightened his grip on the SUV’s steering wheel, cutting his eyes back and forth between the road ahead and his rearview mirror. To protect Alexa, he’d switched out his Jeep—which was registered to Zack De Luca—to one of Virtus’s vehicles. If anyone ran a trace on it, it’d come up as registered to Zack Caruso, with a different address, phone number, and driver’s license number on file. Clay, Virtus’s private investigator and tech whiz, had set everything up for him.

  “Shit. We are?” To her credit Alexa didn’t turn in her seat to look out the back window but stayed completely still, staring straight ahead through the windshield. “How do you know?”

  Keeping his foot steady on the gas pedal, Zack signaled and changed lanes, squinting through his sunglasses as the setting sun emerged from beneath a cloud, piercing the sky with low rays. Glancing once again in the rearview mirror, he watched as the nondescript black sedan did the same.

  “The same car has stayed exactly four car-lengths back almost the entire time we’ve been driving. We picked him up shortly after we left Sierra and Sean’s. I’ve taken a few weird turns, and he’s still four cars back. It’s not a coincidence. He’s definitely following us.”

  “What do we do?” He heard her swallow even over the hip-hop playing quietly through the SUV’s speakers.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. We let him follow.”

  She shifted in her seat, her fingers now wrapped around the shoulder strap of her seat belt. “You’re not going to try to lose him or something?”

  “No. It would tip him off that I’ve noticed we’re being followed, which in turn would reveal a lot more than we want to. We have to act like everything’s normal. I’m a fighter heading to the gym to train, and you’re coming with me to watch. We can’t give anything away.”

  She sighed, nodding slightly. “Right. Of course. God, I am so out of my depth here. My first instinct would’ve been to hit the gas and get the hell away from him.”