Despite all that, I liked sex rough, hard, and fast. I stared into Dillon’s whiskey-colored eyes that dripped with trouble, the good kind, the kind that was sure to please me in every way, and I knew he was the right man for the job.
I itched to play with his tousled hair that had waves going in all directions—a look that suited him to a T. Then there were his lips. I took a breath. His full and perfectly shaped lips softened his rough, tatted, pierced, bad-boy appearance.
His hands went on each side of me. “If we’re going to work together, then I think we need to come to an understanding.” He untied my scarf before he dipped his head. As he did, a lock of hair fell forward, grazing my face as softly as a feather.
I shivered.
He chuckled as he kissed my scar—the part that was sticking out of my shirt. “I do want to murder Calderon for doing this to you.”
Cory’s name should’ve jolted me back to reality, but as Dillon lightly pressed his body against mine, all that made sense was to not think, just feel—feel his lips grazing my neck, his erection pressing against my abdomen, his breath tickling my skin.
My body became like warm saltwater taffy, pliable, bendable, soft, and gooey.
His lips traveled up to settle on my ear. “You’re absolutely breathtaking.” He grabbed hold of my braid then tugged, causing my head to fall back. Then he nibbled on my ear and my neck, almost biting me in some places, which was enough to make me push my hips into him.
He groaned.
I moaned.
“I want you, Dillon. From the moment I saw you the other night.”
I could feel him grin against my jaw. “I’d like to say the same, but I think I’ve admired you since our gang days.”
I tensed.
He let go of my braid, allowing me to right my head.
His hooded gaze was full of so much emotion. “Did I scare you?”
Words were on my tongue, but my jaw wouldn’t work. I didn’t scare so easily, not anymore. Oh, I’d been a timid soul after Cory did a number on me. But Lou had made damn certain that I would never be afraid to walk in the dark.
I wasn’t afraid of what Dillon had said as much as I was afraid of myself—of feeling for someone. I studied him from head to toe, silently berating myself for what I was about to say. “You’re right. We do need to come to an understanding, and as much as I want you, my want I think is different than yours. I’m not into relationships, short or long. I hook up with a man, and then I walk away. No strings.” Then why were you holding his hand in his car and then again at the park? Why do you feel this intense connection with him and feel like he gets you?
He stepped away, far away. His jaw hardened. “No strings. Right. So let’s keep sex off the table. We work together. I help you with finding out more about the Black Knights, and you… well, you’ve already given me a great lead with the tattoo shop. I guess you held up your end of the bargain.”
I liked his bluntness. What I didn’t like was his tone, the finality that we would not have sex, and the pouty lips. Sure, he looked kind of hot with his bottom lip jutting out, but he couldn’t possibly think that we were about to run off into the sunset and live happily ever after. In my world, there was no such thing as happily ever after.
As though he knew the war going on in my head, he said, “I’m not into anything steady either. I do like you. I do think you’re beautiful. I am extremely attracted to you. But I’m not asking you to marry me. My sister comes first. Not you. Not me. Not anyone else in my life except the shelter.” He held up his hand. “I’m sorry if I read you all wrong.”
Whoa! My tongue was tied into a knot the size of the globe. I had to be a thousand shades of red, and my cheeks felt hotter than the sun.
He buttoned his shirt.
The air in the room thickened to the consistency of honey.
My stomach felt weird, as if someone was inside poking me with a sharp, pointy object.
I pushed off the counter. “Dillon, I’m sorry.” I let out a huge breath. I really didn’t know why I was sorry. I had to say something, though. “I agree too that we keep things platonic.” I knew that would be difficult. I’d gotten to feel his hard body, his hand in mine, his arms around me. Hells bells, his scent was still clinging to my nostrils. “Despite the lead on the tattoo shop, I still want to help you find Grace.” That was no lie.
Deep down, I believed her trail would open some doors for a good story, whether it was about the Black Knights or not. Plus, I had a huge soft spot for helping women. Dillon did too since he’d opened a shelter. I also didn’t want to ruin building a friendship with him either, and sex would do that. Of course, my body was yelling at me that I was a doofus for not having a wild and crazy night with him in bed.
“Friends it is, then.” He delivered the words evenly, with no emotion at all.
That sucked. I would’ve liked to have heard a little bit of disappointment. Then again, I was the one who’d backed off. He’d shown me a little bit of his so-called hand, but now he had his poker face painted on tightly.
His phone danced on top of the table near the window. He waltzed over and snatched it up. “Hello. Yeah. This is Dillon Hart.”
I wasn’t sure why I shivered when the color drained from his face. Maybe the cops had found Grace’s body like they had Nadine’s. The news was reporting that Nadine had been found with a bullet in her neck and that she’d bled out. I had yet to confirm that with Ted.
Oh crap, Ted! I needed to boogie out of there and fast. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ted showed up at Dillon’s door.
“I’ll be right down.” Dillon ended the call. “I need to go.” The anger on his face said whatever news he’d gotten was bad.
“Can I help?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It’s family business.”
The word family rubbed me the wrong way. It always did. I hated to see how mothers doted on their children or fathers played catch with their sons. I’d done a story on a family who had lost their son to a drunk driver, and they had given me pictures of him in a baseball uniform for my article. I’d stared at the picture for hours on end, crying at how tragic the story had been. But I’d also been envious of the dead boy who’d had parents that loved him dearly.
Jangling keys eroded my quandary.
“I know we were going to the Crow, but I have to postpone,” Dillon said.
“Yeah, I forgot to mention before I walked in that Ted is waiting for me down at the precinct.” I followed him out. “You didn’t say anything about Nadine, did you?”
As he locked his house door, he said, “Not at all.”
My nerves did a little jig. Guilt was setting in hard, particularly knowing that Dillon had lied to protect me. He’d sounded a bit irritated when he mentioned Ted’s name earlier. I wondered if he was upset with me or if he’d had words with Ted.
I was about to ask him, when my phone beeped with a text from Ted. Not only that, Dillon was ushering me down the porch steps. So I made a mental note to visit the topic of Ted and Dillon later.
15
Dillon
I despised the bleach scents of a hospital. The aroma reminded me so much of all those nights my mom had cleaned up my old man’s puke on the kitchen and bathroom floors. I’d found her several times on her knees with a bucket on one side, a bottle of bleach on the other, and a sponge in her hands.
Fucker.
I squinted at the invading fluorescent lights that rained down like a lightning storm on a summer night. An older lady sat behind the information desk, with her glasses perched on the tip of her nose, reading a book.
Anger cemented my jaw. I’d ground my teeth from my house to the hospital, mainly because of Maggie’s presumptive nature that I’d wanted to whisk her off her feet. She was bold and so fucking sexy. My dick was still sporting a semi.
To say the woman was driving me to drink was an understatement. On top of that, my old man wasn’t helping my mood either.
“I got a
call from here telling me my father had been admitted,” I said with so much scorn, the lady’s gray eyes began swimming in fright. “Jerome Hart.”
Her nails hit the keys, tapping at the speed of light. The sound ground on my every nerve. I didn’t have time to coddle my father. What was I saying? I’d always left his ass in jail when he’d reached out for my help to bail him out. If he thought I was paying his hospital bill, the drunk had another thing coming.
“Room 242. Elevators are that way.” She pointed an arthritic finger to her right.
“Stairs?” I asked. Fuck the elevator. I needed to keep my legs moving and collect my thoughts, one stair at a time.
The nice nurse who’d called me had been cryptic, only sharing with me that my father had been in and out of consciousness since he was admitted last night. She said she’d found my name in his wallet.
The old lady behind the desk said, “Stairs are next to the elevator.”
I hotfooted down the deserted hall. At nine at night, the hospital had little activity from what I could see. I pushed in the door. Once I was inside the stairwell, the bleach odor wasn’t as strong. In fact, I could smell cigarettes. Someone was disobeying the rules. I doubted smoking was allowed with all the chemicals in the hospital. But what did I know? I tried to stay away from hospitals since I’d been in and out of them when I was in a gang, yet here I was.
I blew out a breath, trying to figure out why I was coming to my father’s rescue.
Grace, man. Grace.
In light of the news I’d gotten from Syd about Grace being alive six months ago, I wondered if my old man had seen her. I didn’t think she would return home, but maybe she’d gone there looking for me, Duke, or Denim. I wasn’t sure if she knew about Denim’s predicament. He’d gotten arrested about the same time she’d left home.
The hospital was the perfect environment to corner my old man because at least he wouldn’t be drunk.
I climbed one step, then two, thinking of dancing dogs and jumping ponies, any stupid thing to keep me from replaying the scene with Maggie. A platonic relationship was good, yet not so good. I didn’t know how I would be able to keep my hands off the woman. I would’ve suggested a friends-with-benefits deal between us, but I was afraid that the more I touched her, the faster I would fall. Plus, with the breaking news on Grace, I needed my head clear. I also had to get my head clear to see my father.
I walked the second floor until I found room 242. I hesitated, or rather, I came to an abrupt halt.
A nurse came out of the room across from me. “Visiting hours are almost up,” the short woman said as she glided down to the nurse’s station at the end of the hall on the right, her white tennis shoes squeaking on the shiny floor. She was halfway there when she doubled back. Her brown eyes appraised me. “Are you Dillon Hart?”
I nodded.
She tucked a chart underneath her arm. “I’m Anita. I’m the one who called you. Your dad was found outside a bar last night, seizing and vomiting. He reeked of alcohol when the paramedics brought him in and was on the verge of being almost comatose. We’ve been giving him fluids. I’m sorry we didn’t call you sooner. Apparently, his wallet fell out of his pocket in the ambulance. The paramedic brought it in earlier. Anyway, we found that he has alcohol poisoning.”
No surprise there. “Thank you.” She didn’t need to know I hated my father or that I’d put up with enough of his drunken ways. Frankly, I was surprised he was alive. His liver had to be corroded.
“I’m down at the nurse’s station if you need me.” Anita bounced away.
I gritted my teeth and fisted my hands at my side. I hadn’t seen my old man in a year or more. I’d gone home to find out if Grace had returned or if he’d seen her. But each time I saw him, he had a bottle of booze in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
I pulled out my phone. I should call Duke. He was the older brother. He should have been the one taking care of our father. On second thought, reaching out to Duke wasn’t the best idea. He and I would get into a fight like we had the last time I’d spoken to him, although I did want to share the news that Grace could be alive and ask him if she had contacted him recently. Now that I was thinking of Duke, I wondered if he might have some insight on the Black Knights since he operated in the world of illegal activity.
Someone inside my dad’s hospital room coughed.
I rolled back my shoulders and walked in.
A light from the wall behind his bed glowed. Tubes were stuck into my father’s arm as the IV dripped. His eyes were closed as the machine near him took his blood pressure.
The man had aged fifteen years since I’d seen him last. His blond hair was ninety percent grayish-white. His skin was wrinkled, leathery, and ashen. Dark circles stained his eyes as though someone had punched him. His lips were chapped, and booze permeated the air around him, burning my nostrils more than the bleach.
I gripped the rail at the bottom of his bed, trying to figure out how I could possibly be related to him. In the looks department, we didn’t match. Denim was the only one who had the same features as our father. In morals, we sure didn’t jive. My old man believed that abuse was the only way to run a household. I couldn’t recall a time when he’d been a father who cared. Every day after work, he had sat in his chair, drank beer, and watched TV. Then beer had morphed into whiskey. Then he’d become a monster.
He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. When his blue gaze landed on me, the heart monitor came alive. I probably had a look that could kill as I towered over him.
He snarled like a rabid dog. “What are you doing here?”
I hate you too, old man.
I was holding on to the bedrail as if I were holding on to a ledge eighty floors off the ground. “Nice to see you too, Father.”
He glanced around before he started pulling out the IV line. “I can’t stay here. What happened?”
That was the thing with him. He drank to the point where he couldn’t remember squat.
“You about killed yourself.” I lifted a shoulder. “I’m surprised you’re not dead.”
“Leave me alone. I don’t need you,” he growled like an animal about to attack. He probably would have if those tubes he couldn’t take out weren’t taped to his hand.
“The feeling is mutual. But here I am.”
Grace. Grace. Grace.
Her name was the only reason keeping me glued to the fucking tile floor.
“Get the fuck out.”
I angled my head. “You can’t possibly be embarrassed because you drank yourself into a coma.”
He bared his nicotine-stained teeth. “Son.”
“Don’t call me that. You had a hand in making me, but that’s as far as our relationship goes.”
His throat bobbed. “I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?” That tone of disgust that I’d been accustomed to while growing up dripped from each word.
“I learned today that Grace could be alive. Has she been home?” I knew it was a shot in the dark.
His face twisted into something far beyond anything I’d ever seen on him—regret, despair, and sadness. He averted his gaze to his lap.
“Has she?” My tone was hard.
“How’s Denim doing?” he asked.
I moved from the bottom of his bed to the side and got in his face. “We’re talking about Grace.”
His puke-laden breath about knocked me backward. “If you boys would’ve stayed out of trouble, then maybe your sister wouldn’t have run away.”
If I hadn’t left for the merchant marines, Grace would be with us. If Duke and Denim had kept an eye on her, Grace would be with us. If my old man weren’t a drunk, a bastard, and an abuser, Grace would be with us. Hell, if the latter were true, then we wouldn’t be a fucked-up dysfunctional family, our mother wouldn’t have taken off as if she were being chased by the devil, and our family would have had a thread of hope of being like the one family I was envious of—the Maxwells. But I wasn’t going down that road tonight.
/> I’d brooded many nights over how I longed for a family like the Maxwells—tough, solid, protective, loving, caring, and the list went on. My brothers should’ve had Grace’s back.
Steam came out of my nose as I shuffled away two steps, letting out a laugh of all laughs—hard and evil. Rage pumped through me along with the need to ram my fist into my father’s jaw. My gut hurt. My heart rammed against my chest, and I gritted my teeth to the point that I swore I heard one crack. “Says the father who deserves an award for worst father of the year.”
“It’s not my fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s your mother. She left her children behind.”
My nostrils flared, even though I agreed with him in part. “You drove her away. Therefore, you’re at fault for everything that has happened to this family.” My stubby nails poked holes into my palms. “Have. You. Seen. Grace?” I enunciated each word with a pause in between to prevent myself from going ballistic on his frail, old ass.
“Yes.”
I cracked my neck, blinked about a hundred times, and winced. “Come again?”
He sighed as if he were shedding years of regret. “She came home about five months ago. Or maybe it was four. Or maybe it was the other night. I can’t remember.” His voice dripped with anguish.
Fuck his anguish. Hopefully, he was seeing the light, although I wouldn’t wait up for him to get sober.
“Of course you can’t,” I mumbled. “You’re a drunk.”
He didn’t look at me as he continued. “I got up off the couch to take a piss. I think it was two in the morning. I heard a noise like someone was shutting drawers. So I checked the rooms. When I opened Grace’s bedroom door, I flicked on the light. She was standing there with a flashlight, rummaging in her dresser, stuffing things in a bag. She wasn’t the innocent girl I knew. She had tattoos on her arms, her neck, and her hands. Her long hair was gone. That pretty hair she wore in pigtails is now shorter than yours.”
Hart of Darkness Page 11
