Holding Strong

by Lori Foster

  “There you go. So let’s talk.”

  He wasn’t sure if he could. But Carver was insistent, and the wind blowing over Leese, the sounds of traffic around him, revived him enough to clear some of the ever-growing cobwebs.

  The boot hit him again, this time in his biceps. “Stay with me, damn it. You won’t like it if I have to keep getting your attention.”

  Leese concentrated, but that just made his brain pulse.

  “Where does she live?”

  “Who?”

  “Cherry.” And he sneered, “My sweet baby sister.”

  Oh no, he didn’t want them going after Cherry—not that he knew where she lived anyway. Cherry had been friendly, willing to share a fast dance and a few smiles, but nothing more.

  Leese got several more kicks before he recalled that Cannon Colter and Denver Lewis were her friends, and Cherry was seeing Lewis. That meant they were probably from Warfield, Ohio. Yeah, Warfield. That sounded right.

  “Good, that’s good,” Carver said. “What else can you tell me?”

  So he’d spoken aloud once more?

  This time the boot heel caught him in the ribs, then the hip. “Yes, you’re talking, you idiot. Now answer my question.”

  Instinctively Leese rolled away, but that just left his spine exposed, his kidneys. Fuck. Between the jostling of the old rat-trap truck and the sporadic kicks to his body, he couldn’t get his bearings.

  He needed to fight back, but his arms didn’t respond right to his brain’s commands, too sluggish to do more than fan the air. Getting his legs under him was a no-go, too. He crawled up to his knees, and took a kick to the nuts that had him collapsing hard on his face.

  While pain dug into his consciousness, he tried to understand. He was good in the cage. Why the hell couldn’t he fight now?

  “Because you stupidly drank what I gave you, you trusting, pathetic ass.” Thump. “Now stop wasting my time. You said something about a gym. Where is it?” Thump. “Who runs it?” Thump.

  Curling in on himself, Leese accepted his own weakness. If he could, he’d go down fighting.

  But he couldn’t fight.

  Still, he tried to keep silent, to deny them the answers they wanted, but whatever they’d given him left him babbling. Carver kept prodding him, and with each reply his apprehension grew. It didn’t take this long to make it to his apartment, damn it. Or did it?

  Finally they stopped and he awkwardly, with Carver’s help, sat up.

  “This is it. Time for you to go.” Mitty hauled him out with a complaint. “Jesus, he’s a heavy fucker.”

  Leese tried to get his feet under him, but something was wrong with his legs. Mitty half carried, half dragged him to the front of his apartment building, banging his shins up each concrete step to the landing. He got callously dumped against a wall, arranged more upright than supine, with his shoulders wedged into a corner beside the door and the railing.

  Someone said, “Good enough. If he wants the rest of the way in, let him crawl.”

  A rough palm slapped his face to regain his attention. “It’s been fun, man. Thanks for all the info.”

  Info? Oh God, they’d been asking something about Cherry—

  A meaty fist slammed into his jaw, and a welcome blackness closed in.

  * * *

  WHEN DENVER KNOCKED very early the next morning, Cherry answered the door. She’d called half an hour ago to say she was up, feeling much better and on the mend. He’d just finished showering after his jog, so he threw on jeans and headed over, anxious to see her.

  Taking her in head to toes, he believed she felt better. Lingering shadows remained beneath her dark eyes, but she stood stronger, steadier. Still no makeup, but with her looks she didn’t need it. She must have washed her hair; the scent of hyacinth filled his head when he bent to put a kiss on the side of her neck. He breathed her in and didn’t want to stop. Thoughts of stripping her clothes away so he could again touch that sweet, curvy little body tested his better intentions.

  That wouldn’t suit his agenda, so he shored up his resistance and took a step back. “How’d you sleep?”

  Her gaze skittered away from his. “Okay.”

  Another fib. Had she gotten any rest at all? “No more coughing?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Only a little.”

  “Still taking the medicine?”

  “It makes me sleepy.”

  Meaning no. “Sleep is the best thing for you.”

  Rolling her eyes over his excess concern, she moved back. “Come on in.”

  When he said, “I can’t stay long,” he saw a subtle tension release from her posture. Had she dreaded his visit, assuming he’d press her for explanations?

  She was right, he would.

  Holding out a bag, Denver offered an olive branch. “I brought you breakfast.”

  “You didn’t need to do that.”

  He absently tugged at his ear. Things were definitely different today. Less intimate.

  He’d have to see what he could do about that. Yes, he’d get some answers. But he’d like her to be willing to talk, or at least not so resistant.

  The way Cherry held herself now, the careful way she watched him, he could tell she wanted to act as if nothing had happened, as if she didn’t have three psycho punks hunting her down for some reason.

  Would she try to derail him by claiming herself well, by rushing him out the door? Did she want to call Carver now? Or was it that she felt she had to?

  He looked around at what he could see of the empty house. “Where’s Merissa?”

  “Gone to work about ten minutes ago.”

  He checked his watch. It was barely seven thirty. “Already?”

  “She said she had an early meeting at the bank. I should have gone to work, too. I’m well enough today—”

  “One more day off won’t hurt.” He well knew the level of energy it took to deal with young boys. With preschoolers? He didn’t want to find out. Taking her elbow, he said, “Couch or kitchen?”

  “That probably depends on what you brought me.”

  “A muffin and juice.”

  “Kitchen, then, I guess.” As they headed that way, she peeked into the bag and the scent of warm blueberries escaped. “Mmm, that smells so good.”

  He pulled out a chair for her. “Got your appetite back?”

  “With a vengeance.” She didn’t sit. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I already ate.” He’d have to be at the rec center within the hour. Workouts and keeping up with his remaining accountant duties severely strapped his time. But thanks to his success in MMA, stellar endorsements and good investments, he’d been able to pare back on the job enough to dedicate more effort to growing his fight career.

  So far, so good—but still time-consuming.

  Getting involved hot and heavy now with Cherry put a slight kink in the works, but it was a nice kink, one he’d definitely enjoy working through.

  She sat, opened the juice for a sip, then bit into the muffin with a look of rapture.

  Denver smiled. “Good?”

  “Heavenly.”

  Pulling a chair out, he turned it around and straddled the seat. He waited until she had her mouth full. “How long did you live with the foster family?”

  A vague dread froze her in place. For a few seconds, she even stopped chewing. Time ticked by. She swallowed, picked up a napkin, patted her mouth, set the muffin aside. Took another drink.

  Stalled.

  “Cherry,” he whispered.

  “Four years.”

  That’s all she said, making him frown. “How old were you when you went there?”

  “Fourteen.”

  So she’d been on her own ever since? “You’re twenty-four now, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Six years on her own. “Where’d you go when you first left them?”

  Her eyes flickered away again. “I moved here, to Ohio.”

  Getting answers from Cherry was like pulling
hen’s teeth. “From where?”

  “Kentucky.”

  Eighteen and alone, no job, in a new state... He wanted to know everything between when she’d left and now, but at the rate they were going that could take a while. So instead he got back on track. “When you lived with them, was it just the three boys? No other kids?”

  “Yes.”

  Done with the curt one-word replies, Denver tilted his head. “Why do you despise them so much?”

  She stared him in the eyes. “You met them. They’re terrible people.”

  “Now.”

  “They were terrible then, too!” She snatched up her muffin and took another big bite.

  This time Denver let her eat. The muffin was fresh, healthy, and she needed food as much as she needed sleep. Though she was recovering quicker than he’d expected, a slight rasp still sounded in her voice and her skin remained a little pale. But she no longer looked feverish or ready to keel over. Progress.

  By tomorrow she should be just about there—just about well enough for him to taste her again, to feel her soft skin all over. To sink into her warmth—

  “Am I holding you up?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “You’re just sitting there and staring at me like you’re waiting for something.”

  He smiled. “I was thinking about tomorrow, hoping you’ll be ready for me.”

  The empty muffin paper crumpled in her hand when she braced it at the edge of the table and leaned forward. “I’m ready now.”

  So anxious. It was a very nice thing to be wanted by Cherry Peyton. “Not just yet.” She furrowed her brows, ready to debate it with him, so he threw out his biggest question. “Why’d you freak, girl?”

  Her eyes widened.

  Denver pushed back his chair. “When I admitted I’d met them, you lost it.”

  She pressed back in her seat as he circled the table. “You only call me ‘girl’ when you’re thinking about sex.”

  He confirmed it. “I’m thinking about sex.” But he didn’t relent. “Why’d you freak out?” And just in case she was considering it, “Don’t lie.”

  “Stop accusing me of that!”

  “Then stop fudging the truth.” He took her shoulders and eased her from the chair. So soft and female. Without meaning to, he caressed her. “You thought I had some kind of association with your brothers.”

  “Not my brothers.”

  “I’m glad of that.” He kissed her soft mouth, but kept it brief. “What did you think?”

  The way she tasted her lips with her tongue made him a little nuts. “Kiss me again?”

  “All right.” There were few things he’d enjoy more—other than getting his answers. “After you tell me.”

  Shoving away from him, she wrapped her arms around herself. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to fudge things if you didn’t keep trying to take over.”

  Is that what he was doing? “I thought we were involved.”

  She whipped back around, her eyes big. “We are.”

  “But you expect me not to care? You think I shouldn’t bother to understand?” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her. “That’s the kind of man you think I am?”

  Using both hands, she tucked her hair behind her ears. “I think you’re wonderful.”

  Keeping his stern expression wasn’t easy, not when he wanted to pick her up and hold her and tell her to stop worrying. But he honestly believed the best way to ease her worry was to get to the truth. Once he knew it all, he could help her come up with solutions.

  Breath left her in a defeated sigh. “It’s not an easy story to tell.”

  “You can tell me anything.”

  With a negative shake of her head, she paced away. “It makes me sound stupid and gullible.”

  All that? “I would never think those things about you.” To reassure her, he stepped up close and put his hands on her shoulders again, this time standing behind her. “How about you tell me and together we figure out what to do?”

  He heard her swallow, felt her blond curls tease his chin when she finally nodded.

  Hugging her, Denver wrapped her close and waited.

  “They liked to set me up. A lot.”

  That didn’t make any sense to him. “Set you up how?”

  She put her face in her hands. The silence stretched out, but he didn’t rush her. He could sense her collecting her thoughts, searching for the words.

  And working up the guts to tell him.

  He kissed her temple and just held her, giving her the time she apparently needed.

  Her hands came down and rested on his forearms, which were crossed under her breasts. “They would get guys to pretend they liked me. Sometimes to ask me to school dances or stuff like that. The guys...a couple of times they were their friends. Other times they were just dupes like me. Boys forced to do...mean things.”

  It was the “mean” part that stirred his anger, and the fact she sounded so embarrassed told Denver it was still raw for her.

  Yet what she said didn’t really explain anything. They pretended to like her? How could that have been so bad that she’d never stopped hurting over it?

  He brought her around to face him, but let her huddle close. “Can you give me an example?”

  As if she needed to ground herself, her small hands fisted in his shirt. “The first time it happened was when I was a freshman. A senior asked me to prom and I was...ecstatic. Life with the Nelsons was as far from fun as a girl could get.”

  “How so?”

  She waved a hand. “Small, dirty, ramshackle house. Tons of drunken fights. Foul language and fouler attitudes. For me, getting away from there, being with the other kids at prom, being normal, would have been like a Disney vacation.”

  Everything she said just brought up more questions. Denver thought he could probably dedicate an entire day to interrogating her and still not know everything he wanted and needed to know.

  “I spent two weeks cutting grass for Gene and Mitty, and they gave me a percentage of the money they would have made.”

  “If you cut the grass, why didn’t you get all the money?”

  Leveling a look on him, she said, “It was Gene and Mitty.”

  Right. “What does cutting grass have to do with—”

  “I used what I made to buy a dress and shoes at the thrift shop.”

  Did she have any clue how she broke his heart? “I bet you looked sexy even then.”

  That must’ve been the wrong thing to say because she jerked away and put several feet between them.

  “It was all a sham. I was there that night, stupidly giddy, dressed up and waiting. And then still waiting.” With demons chasing her, she paced the room, always keeping her face averted. “Finally he showed up—in jeans and a T-shirt. I didn’t understand...until they all cracked up, laughing hysterically. It was a joke.” She shook her head, and said with emphasis, “I was a joke.”

  Oh God. He wanted to kill them. All three of them, Denver decided.

  “That game became their favorite sport.” She’d walked to a corner of the kitchen, her hands braced on the countertop. “Prom was the worst, but it happened four more times, each time more convincing than the last. And I guess I was just so...so stupidly desperate for something real, I was easy to convince. But I finally got smarter and I gave up on the idea of dances, or going to the football games or...anything like that.”

  “I’m so damn sorry.”

  She accepted that with a nod, her expression distant with her thoughts. “The last time it happened,” she whispered, “was in the summer when all the neighborhood kids were getting together to head to the lake.”

  A hollowness filled her voice. Worse than the cough, because although her expression was carefully void of emotion, in her voice he heard the edge of hurt...and maybe a hint of tears. If she cried, Denver didn’t think he could bear it.

  “This nice, shy boy talked me into going along and swimming with them. He said all the right things, telli
ng me not to let Carver or the others know, like we had a special secret between us.”

  She looked so delicate standing there, her eyes haunted—but her shoulders were straight and proud.

  “I didn’t own a suit, so I wore a T-shirt and shorts.” Her voice lowered and her eyes narrowed with a touch of anger. “He kissed me in the lake. He...touched me.”

  “You liked him?”

  She laughed without humor. “I think I would have liked any guy that wasn’t one of the brothers.”

  Any guy who’d been nice. “I can understand that.”

  She twisted her mouth with rueful contempt. “I was so pathetically desperate...” The words trailed off and she straightened again. “He was kissing me, both of us mostly submerged in the water, and then Carver applauded on the shore and I looked up and everyone was standing there, some of them confused, some full of pity. Others, Carver and Gene’s friends, laughed until they couldn’t stand up straight. The boy who’d been kissing me like he actually liked me just waded out and I was left there in the lake.”

  Alone.

  Denver took two big steps that put him directly in front of her, caging her in.

  She held up a hand, maybe to deny the need for comfort. Maybe to block him from getting too close. He stepped into it until her palm flattened on his chest. He put his hand over hers and his forehead to the top of her bowed head.

  And he struggled. With himself, with what he wanted from her.

  How he wanted to find the miserable fucks and tear them apart.

  “After that,” she whispered, “I just refused to speak to boys, and I didn’t make friends with girls. Because I stopped participating, Carver was forced to give up that particular game.”

  That game—but had he found other games to play? Denver wanted to know everything, especially whether or not the brothers had ever physically hurt her. But she’d spent enough time reciting bad memories.

  A deep breath lifted her breasts against his ribcage. She shifted, slowly raised her face and looked at him. “It wasn’t until that day at the lake that I realized why Carver did the things he did.”

  Hands shaking from several emotions, but mostly debilitating fury and a staggering tenderness, Denver cupped her head. “Why?”

  “He said he didn’t want to share.”