Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  They slid the pocket door open and every eye in the room cut over to stare. Ignoring her residual embarrassment, Gwyn left Lucy to brief the group.

  She needed to get to Thorne.

  Fourteen

  Hunt Valley, Maryland,

  Monday 13 June, 7.45 P.M.

  Thorne stared out into Clay’s backyard, lit up like the middle of the day with floodlights as the sun began its descent. This was so fucked up. Clay and Stevie had worked so hard to create a safe space for their little family, for Cordelia and baby Mason.

  And because of me, they’re on alert once again.

  It wasn’t right. But he knew what he needed to do about it.

  He’d known Tavilla was behind this. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it, because, quite frankly, the man scared the everliving shit out of him. I was a coward. And now innocents are paying the price.

  It was time to call Tavilla out. To take him out.

  It was a dangerous game they’d been playing, and he’d known it. Watching each other, dancing around the fact that Tavilla wanted him dead. Dancing around the fact that it was just a matter of time before the snake struck.

  It had also been just a matter of time before Thorne’s man inside either gave up, gave in, or gave up the ghost. He feared it was the last one, because Ramirez’s texts were not normal.

  He stared at the new message on his phone’s screen. He and Ramirez had devised a code phrase to indicate trouble. Thorne had used it in his message to Ramirez, asking to meet him. Ramirez had not responded appropriately.

  Meet me at 11 p.m.

  That was all Ramirez had replied, so something was wrong. Wrong in Ramirez’s world meant he was probably dead. That could be because he had been passing information to Thorne, or it could be that he had simply been caught in the kind of situation that normally killed a drug dealer’s right-hand man.

  Ramirez had been willing to risk himself because he hated Tavilla more than he hated Thorne. Thorne had been willing to risk himself because he wasn’t about to cave to monsters like Cesar Tavilla. Once he caved to one, the others would swarm, all demanding he represent their incredibly illegal enterprises. No. Just . . . no.

  But this was no longer about only him. He’d drawn innocent people into the fray. Innocent people he cared about.

  One that he loved.

  And, as if he’d conjured her just by thinking of her, the scent of lavender tickled his nose. He stiffened. Everywhere. And cursed himself. I should never have said a word. He’d only added unnecessary drama to this rapidly unfolding shitshow that had become his life.

  Her small hand pressed into his back and rubbed gently. He had to swallow back a groan. He wanted her affection. Her support. Her friendship. But he wanted so much more. But now . . . even if she succumbed to his ‘vast charms’, he thought bitterly, anything she gave him would be suspect. He’d always wonder if she’d given in because she felt guilty. Or worse, pitied him.

  He couldn’t deal with that. He wouldn’t.

  He deserved more. They both did.

  ‘Thorne,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He swallowed again. ‘For what?’ he managed.

  ‘For being selfish and insensitive, mostly. For other things too.’ She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his back.

  ‘What other things?’

  She laughed quietly. ‘You’re not going to protest my being selfish and insensitive?’

  He found himself – unbelievably – smiling. ‘Nope.’

  ‘I . . .’ He felt her body shift as she drew a breath, heard her exhale. ‘I think we need to talk about what you told me last night. In my bedroom.’

  His smile vanished. ‘I wish I never had.’ Because this was headed toward rejection. He could hear it in her voice.

  ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I’m glad you did. I needed to hear it. I needed to wake up.’

  He held himself perfectly still. Waiting for the axe to fall. He hoped she’d be quick about it.

  ‘Stop,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not saying no. Stop waiting for me to say no.’

  He kept himself upright through sheer stubborn will, because his knees had gone wobbly as a newborn lamb’s. ‘Are you saying yes?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  He couldn’t stop the laugh that rumbled out. The answer was so Gwyn. ‘Maybe?’

  She sighed. ‘I . . . want to tell you some things. Good things,’ she rushed to add when he tensed again. ‘Mostly. I mean, I hope. But, um, most of that’s going to have to wait a little while.’

  He cleared his throat, clawing for control when he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. ‘Why are you here, Gwyn?’

  ‘Well . . . I’d started to come to find you for the good reason. And then I got waylaid by a really bad one. You need to hear both.’

  He turned, gripping her arms gently when she leaned back so that she could see his face. He always worried she’d topple backward on those damn high heels of hers when she did that. One side of her mouth lifted, acknowledging the move.

  ‘I wish I were taller,’ she said with another sigh.

  ‘I like you just the way you are. Short and selfish,’ he added, just to see her smile again.

  She obliged him, her smile sweet and shy. He hadn’t seen that smile before. He would have remembered it. He wanted to think that only he had seen it, that she’d never smiled like that at anyone else. ‘You sweet-talker, you,’ she said, but not with her usual bite of sarcasm. Her words were soft. And uncertain.

  He wanted to close his eyes, to just breathe her in, but he knew that this was . . . important. He also knew that this uncertain Gwyn was not the woman he wanted. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  ‘Can I ask a boon?’ he asked quietly.

  She blinked, the word surprising her out of her uncertainty. ‘A boon? Really? Did we fall back into Victorian England?’

  ‘No, we did not. And yes, a boon.’ He let go of one of her arms to run his thumb over her bottom lip, caressing.

  Her eyes softened, and that was fine. He liked soft Gwyn. Just not uncertain Gwyn. ‘What is this boon, Mr Thorne?’

  ‘I’d like to hold you just for a minute before you give me the really bad reason you’re here.’

  Instantly she reached for him, going up on her toes to cup his face between her palms. ‘Yes. We deserve that, I think.’

  Not waiting to pick that statement apart, he ran his hands down her back, lifting her effortlessly, hiking her skirt up so that he could urge her legs around his waist. She sucked in a breath, then seemed to surrender, just as she did after a long argument that she knew she’d already lost but wasn’t quite ready to concede. Her shoes dropped to the floor, first one, then the other, as she tightened her legs around him.

  Shuddering, he buried his face in her neck. And breathed her in.

  She rested her cheek on the top of his head, her fingers threading through his hair, petting him. ‘I always wondered,’ she murmured.

  He had to search for the simplest of words. ‘What did you wonder?’

  ‘How it would feel if you held me like this.’

  ‘I’ve held you before.’

  ‘Not like this. It was different before.’

  ‘How?’

  She brushed her lips over his temple and he shivered, head to toe. ‘I was broken before. I’m not broken anymore.’

  His chest contracted with a strength that had him fighting not to gasp. He wasn’t going to breathe hard. He wasn’t going to tremble. He wasn’t going to do anything to disturb this moment. Because it was important.

  She pulled back far enough to see his face, her expression wary. ‘You don’t believe me.’

  He gave in and let go of the air in his lungs. ‘No. I mean, yes, I do. I mean . . .’ He gave up trying to find the right words, because there was something off. Sh
e wasn’t telling him the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway. He’d known her long enough to know her tells. His heart felt suddenly brittle, his mind shouting at him to put her down and walk away. He gently pushed at her legs until she released her hold. She slid down the front of his body until her bare feet hit the floor and she stood looking up at him, her eyes filling with something that looked like panic.

  ‘You don’t believe me.’

  The panic in her eyes had his own dread rising. ‘I want to.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I want to so damn much. But . . .’

  ‘But?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t want you saying this because you feel sorry for me.’ His voice went raspy as his throat grew too tight. ‘I couldn’t survive that. It would kill me.’

  Her breathing became shallow. ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said, trying to keep his tone gentle. ‘I promise. I said we would stay friends, no matter what you chose. I meant it, so you don’t have to—’

  ‘Stop,’ she hissed. ‘I’m not feeling sorry for you. I’m trying to tell you that this . . . that I . . .’ Her hand shot out, grabbing hold of his shirt, and her eyes closed briefly as she muttered, ‘I don’t have time for this right now.’

  He frowned, feeling a mix of hurt and irritation. But before he could say a word, she opened her eyes, tilted her head back and met his gaze directly. The panic was gone, replaced by the grim determination he saw in the eyes of clients who’d decided to fight in court to prove their innocence.

  ‘I . . . I need to tell you some things,’ she said firmly. ‘Important things.’

  He braced himself, certain he wasn’t going to like any of those things. ‘The bad reason you came.’

  ‘No. Just . . . Well, that too, but this first.’ Gracefully she lowered herself to kneel on the floor and patted the carpet beside her. ‘Sit with me, please.’ Uneasily he did so, remaining silent because he had no idea of what to say. Still kneeling, her hands gripped his face and she visibly braced herself, just as he had done. ‘I wasn’t drugged the whole time.’

  He blinked at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Evan. I wasn’t drugged the whole time. Before he abducted Lucy. Things . . . happened.’

  For a moment he could only stare as the full import of her words registered. Then he was struck by a wave of horror, of rage. Of the need for disbelief. ‘No,’ he whispered. But it was true. He could see it in her eyes. This was what she’d been holding back.

  No. No, no, no, no. He could hear the chant in his head. Had to bite his tongue to keep it from coming out of his mouth. Because she was watching him, waiting for his reaction.

  This was important. He knew that. His reaction could break her into small pieces. Break her again. And that was something he would not do.

  Except he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to howl. He wanted to scream. He wanted to dig Evan up and kill the motherfucker all over again.

  But none of those things was going to help Gwyn. Not right this instant anyway. Not when she was looking at him with hope in her eyes.

  Hope that he could accept it? Hope that it wouldn’t matter?

  But it did matter. It mattered. Tears burned his eyes and he forced them back. He reached for her and she came into his arms willingly, trembling as he settled her on his thigh. He held her carefully. So damn carefully. Because if he held her as hard as he needed to, he’d break her into pieces.

  He tipped up her chin so that he could see her face. ‘Like what?’ he asked, and it sounded harsh, even menacing, to his own ears.

  But it must have been the right thing, because relief flashed in her eyes. ‘Things I can’t talk about here and now. But things that make it hard for me to tell you how I really feel.’ She dropped her gaze. ‘Because I am afraid.’

  He blanched. ‘Of me?’

  ‘No.’ Her eyes flew to his, her hands tightening their grip on his face. ‘Not of you. And that’s one of the things I need you to understand. Never of you. You’re my safe place. You’re . . . mine, Thorne. Mine. And I didn’t want you to . . .’ Her expression twisted painfully. ‘I guess I didn’t want you to worry about me. Or think I was irreparable.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘I know that. I do know that. But I also can’t let you go on thinking that it’s you that I’m afraid of. Because I’m not.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘I don’t even have words for it.’ She faltered. ‘Maybe I’m afraid that once I tell you, everything will shatter. That this is just . . . borrowed. And I know it doesn’t make any sense.’

  But it did. It really did. ‘You might be surprised,’ he murmured.

  She considered him, pain in her beautiful eyes. ‘Maybe I would be. And we will discuss it, I promise. Just know . . . know that I feel. I do. I have trouble putting words to it, but Thorne, you are mine. I promise. If you still want me.’

  His mouth went dry. Bone-fucking-dry. ‘How could I ever not want you? You are here. With me. Whatever that bastard did to you, you survived it. And nothing will change that. Nothing will change how I feel.’

  Relief flooded her eyes. ‘I have to confess one more thing.’

  He drew another breath, trying to ready himself. ‘Go ahead.’

  She leaned close, brushing her lips over his cheek. ‘I dream about you. Really good dreams, Thorne.’

  He released the breath he held in a hot rush. ‘You tell me this here? And now? Is this some new kind of torture?’

  He felt her smile against his cheek. ‘No. I just wanted you to know. Because, you know, I thought everyone felt this way about you. But as it turns out, not everyone does.’

  He frowned a little. ‘I have no idea what to think about that.’

  She hummed, and the vibration rippled over his skin, straight to his cock. ‘It means I used to think that what I felt for you was normal. You know, like maybe ninety-nine percent of the women out there want you too?’

  ‘I don’t care about ninety-nine percent of the women. I want you. I’ve always wanted you.’

  He felt her smile again. ‘Good to know. But for me, finding out that other women don’t feel that way let me know that this is . . . special. And I wanted you to know. Because I’m not saying no. I’m not even saying maybe.’

  ‘Then what are you saying?’ he asked, his voice hoarse.

  She slid her lips over his cheek to his lips and kissed him. Chastely. More like a teenager’s shy kiss. But it was so much more. He froze, a growl deep in his chest.

  ‘God, Gwyn,’ he whispered when she lifted her head.

  ‘I know.’ Her smile was as sweet and dreamy as her kiss had been. ‘I was asleep for so long, Thorne. Why didn’t you wake me up?’

  There was no recrimination in her voice. He swallowed hard. ‘I didn’t know how. I was afraid I’d . . . hurt you. Permanently.’

  She was still touching him and he wanted to close his eyes and purr like a cat, but he held back, keeping his gaze focused and watchful.

  ‘You’ve been patient.’

  ‘You’re worth it,’ he whispered.

  She swallowed hard. ‘Thank you.’ Then she drew a breath and he knew the moment was over. ‘I needed to be able to tell you this much. I wanted to be able to tell you a lot more, but . . . This is going to have to last us for a little while.’

  He shook his head hard to clear it, fighting the urge not to dig his fingers into her soft skin and take what he craved. But something stopped him. Her words stopped him.

  Patience, asshole. Remember what she told you. That things had happened. Things that still frightened her four years later. Fucking Evan. For the millionth time, Thorne wished the man weren’t dead so that he could kill him himself. With his bare hands.

  ‘Shh,’ she whispered, and he realized his teeth were grinding and he wore a scowl. ‘It will be okay.
You’re mine. That means I’m yours too. It will be okay, Thorne.’

  ‘You promise?’ he said, feeling ridiculous. Like a damn child.

  ‘I promise,’ she whispered, brushing another chaste kiss over his lips. ‘I need you with me, though, because we have another situation. Tell me when you’re ready to listen.’

  He dropped his brow to her shoulder and held on until the rage had passed, until the desire had passed, until the sheer euphoria of hearing her say that he was hers had passed. ‘All right. Tell me.’

  He listened as she told him about the club, about the two dead bodies, about the implication that the owners of Sheidalin had retaliated against the Circus Freaks.

  ‘Oh my God,’ he breathed when she was done.

  ‘I know. And this is not your fault.’

  ‘No, but I know whose it is.’

  ‘Cesar Tavilla.’

  ‘Yeah. He tried to get his rival’s son charged with grand theft, but that didn’t work, so now he’s trying to get the Freaks to attack us. He wants to get his hooks in a rival gang and incite them to hurt the club.’ He leaned his head against the wall. ‘So what is everyone doing now?’

  ‘Don’t know. Lucy was filling them in. I wanted you to have time to come to grips with this before you had to put on your Mr Teflon face.’

  His lips twitched, despite the gravity of the situation. ‘Mr Teflon?’

  ‘Yes. The one that says nothing fazes you. Everything just slides off.’

  ‘That face fools most people,’ he said lightly.

  ‘Most people don’t know you like I do. Most people don’t . . .’ her cheeks pinked up so damn beautifully, ‘feel for you. Not like I do.’

  Emotion overwhelmed him, foreign and intense. Yes, she’d told him that Evan had hurt her worse than he’d known. But she’d also told him that he was hers. And she was his. He knew this woman. He’d loved her for years. She needed him to focus on the strong woman she was today, not the broken woman she’d been before.

  He tipped her chin up, staring at her mouth, hoping his intent was crystal clear. ‘Please?’