“You were telling me about—”
There’s a thump against the door, and someone tries to open it.
My pulse jacks up.
Amelia aims her gun at the front door. “Answer it. Tell them to go away, or I’ll start shooting.”
I go to the door and raise my voice enough to be heard through it. “Stand back, I’m turning the deadbolt.”
Pressing my hand against the wood, I unlock it—and a ball of fury pushes through, knocking me down.
The gun goes off, smashing the light bulb over our heads.
“Do not shoot,” I yell out as loud as I can. “Everyone stand down, we’re fine in here. Right? Amelia? We’re fine.”
The ball of fury pops up, and my heart stops.
Taylor has crashed my hostage scene, and that is so not fucking okay.
“Mother,” she says coldly. Now I know where she gets that tone. I like it on her—and hate it on Amelia. “What the actual fuck are you doing?”
Way to calm down the lady with a gun, Taylor. Between her overt hostility and the tumbleweed entrance, I think it’s safe to say that my princess makes a terrible commando.
She turns to me, giving Amelia a wide target on her back. My heart starts again, racing triple time now.
“Sarah said I couldn’t let you know I was here,” Taylor says, the words tumbling out fast and furious. “But when I found out it was my mom, I needed to trade places with you.”
What the fuck? “No,” I growl out, shoving her behind me. I lock the door again, a show for her mother that this is fine. We’re fine.
“No,” Amelia says coolly. “Get away from the door, both of you.”
Taylor tries to get around me and glares at her mother. “Yes,” she says. “Let him go. He doesn’t know anything. He’s no use to you. I’m your vessel of secrets, right, mother? I’m your dirty little girl, just like you. So here I am. You’ve got me. You can let him go.”
“I think I’d rather hang on to both of you.” Her mother sneers, and my heart breaks for Taylor.
She really thought that would work.
But I know that’s not how it goes. Hostage takers don’t trade people. They shoot people. Especially when startled.
Amelia’s finger trembles against the trigger. “Or maybe I don’t need either of you after all,” she says softly.
Fuck, no. That’s the sound of someone giving up.
I twist around, throwing myself at Taylor, taking her down to the ground as the gun goes off twice. I hear it, I feel it, and then the whole house erupts in noise as darkness takes over.
38
Taylor
I’m still screaming. The window exploded over my head, the door behind me was busted open, and the room is full of cops in body armor and face masks. Dark shadows swarming, but I can’t focus on them. All I can see is Luke, still on top of me.
“Officer down,” one distant voice says. “Repeat, we have an officer shot on the scene. Suspect is shot. Two gunshot victims. Send in the medics, stat.”
Gloved hands roll Luke off me and I scramble to my knees, sobbing as I realize he’s been shot in the side. His hoodie has a hole in it, and I reach for him, but I’m dragged back.
His face is white and he’s not breathing.
He’s not breathing.
I scream again, his name now an agonizing prayer hanging on the air. No. No. Luke.
Different uniforms rush in now. Paramedics. They block my view, and then instead of getting busy saving his life, they just stop.
They just stop, and then they stand up again.
Why aren’t they working on him?
I sob uncontrollably as they move aside.
Luke holds out his hand and gives me a weak smile. “Come here, baby. I’m okay.”
I surge forward, falling on my knees at his side.
“Vest,” he whispers, his eyes closing again. He tugs at the bottom of his hoodie. “I’m okay. Hit my head on the way down, that’s all.”
That’s all.
Oh my God.
I’m moved out of the way again as the paramedics take over again. Another team is working on my mother, across the room, and I try to stand up, to go to her and see, but I can’t walk.
I turn to the cop holding me back and say something, but it’s garbled.
“We have another gunshot wound here,” I hear someone say.
It takes me too long to realize they’re talking about me.
39
Taylor
The next thing I hear is a beep.
Beep, beep, beep.
My mouth tastes like ass. Dry ass, the worst kind of ass.
I try to open my eyes, but those feel like sandpaper, and that’s not happening. I crawl back into my sleepy hole, because it’s easier there.
I think I might hear Luke’s voice, for a second, but then it’s gone.
Someone is touching my hand. Cool fingers.
I groan.
“Taylor?” That’s Luke’s voice. I try to find him, but my eyes are gummy now. Is gummy better than sandpaper?
“Here.” A woman’s voice. “I’ll turn off the light. Is that better?”
“Ye—yes.” Oh. That’s me. I try to smile, but my lips crack. Ow.
“Shh. You’re a bit dry, dear.” I blink again, and this time my eyes open all the way.
I’m in the hospital. Luke is on one side of me—looking like absolute shit, and gorgeous at the same time—and there’s a nurse on the other side. She’s holding a cup, and a washcloth.
“Water?”
She nods and daps the cloth at the corners of my mouth. Oh, Lord, that feels good.
I try to sit up, but Luke stops me.
“You’re covered in monitors, baby. Stay still.”
“I’ll get the resident on call.” The nurse disappears, and then we’re alone.
“Hi,” he says, his voice crazy soft.
A tear slides down my face. How can I make tears when I’m this freaking dried out? “Hi.”
“You gave us a good scare.”
“Back at you, Detective.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“What happened?”
“Shhh. I’ll tell you everything later. Right now, just stay still. They won’t let you sit up and move around if you set all the alarms off.”
It’s coming back. My mother. God. My mother. How could I be born to that hellbeast? “Is Amelia dead?”
He gives me a stricken look. “Yes.”
“Good.”
“Taylor—”
“She tried to kill you. Because I love you. That’s fucked up.” My voice cracks. I sound super rough, but I need to get this out. “I’m not going to pretend to be sad about that, Luke. I don’t care if the alarms go off, so you can tell me—”
The door swings open and a troop of medical professionals stroll in. “Nice to see you awake, Taylor,” says the person in front. A woman. Maybe the resident. “I’m Dr. Jackson. I did your surgery, and everything went well. You’re going to make a full recovery.”
I look at Luke. I had surgery? Full recovery from what?
He squeezes my hand. “It’s been a long few days. You needed some serious sleep, apparently.”
One of the other doctors introduces themselves as a rehab specialist and asks if they can look at my toes.
“Sure, but I need a pedicure like whoa,” I mutter.
That gets a laugh.
Hey, maybe I’m funny now. Does getting shot by your own fucking parent make you funny?
They poke my toes and ask me to push against that touch. “Good.”
“Where was I shot?”
Dr. Jackson sits on the side of my hospital bed. “The bullet went through your side. It nicked your kidney and got pretty close to your spinal column. You had a lot of swelling, and we were worried—were, past tense—about mobility.”
I shift my legs, relief coursing through me. “I’m going to be okay?”
“Full recovery.”
; “Can I drink some water, then?”
She laughs. “Yes. And you can eat a little bit today. Soup, jello. Let’s ease you back into things. After you eat, we’ll get you up and try some walking.”
They all leave, and Luke just sits there. He’s looking at me strangely.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’ll get you some water.”
He disappears and returns with an oversized mug with a straw sticking out the top of it at the same time as a different nurse, a guy this time, comes in with a small bowl of jello.
I wait until he leaves to make a face at Luke. “That’s disgusting.”
“I’ll get takeout for you. What do you want?”
“A salad.”
“Soup?”
“Is this a negotiation, Detective?” My voice goes gravelly and rough on the last word, and he hands me the water. I take a long sip and close my eyes.
When I open them, he’s giving me that same, strange look again.
“You’re staring at me.”
“I like to look at you.”
“Stop it,” I whisper
“Why?”
“Because it’s weird. I don’t know how to translate looks like that.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Because you’re not built for emotional intimacy?”
I laugh a little, which hurts. I frown instead. “Sure. Maybe I think you’re about to pick a fight with me.”
“Have I ever done that?”
Jesus. I don’t know. The last week seems like a blur of hostility and fucking that ended in us both being shot, but it’s all buried under an overwhelming sweetness that matches the way he’s looking at me. “No?”
He laughs. “You aren’t sure, are you?”
“I’m a fighter. It’s all I know.”
“Not true. You knew I was looking at you with fondness.”
I groan. “Oh God, that sounds awful.”
His laughter gets worse, and he’s grinning now. Big and bright and happy. “The absolute worst? Me being fond of you?”
“It sounds like something grandmothers feel.”
“Terrible.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Absolutely. What would you rather I say? That I love you?”
I freeze.
I mean, I did say it first. But I’d just woken up from practically being dead.
He shakes his head, his eyes soft. “I know it’s hard to hear. I know for you this is more dangerous than anything else we’ve been through. For you, my beautiful princess, love is a form of edge play, isn’t it? Lean into it. Let yourself ride that edge. Because I do love you. I’m fond of you, and you make me laugh, and you make me happy, which is quite the fucking feat. And most of all, I like you. I like everything about you. And when I thought you were going to die, I wanted to die, too. I made them take me in the ambulance with you, and I fucking cried, okay?”
“No…”
“Also, I haven’t showered in days. Or shaved. So maybe this isn’t the right time to tell you that I love you, even though you said it first. I went with fond instead. It seemed safe, but then you went and decided to be rude about it.”
It’s so much.
It’s too much. It’s too nice, too lovely.
Because I’m fucking fond of him too, and that’s rude.
“This wasn’t the plan,” I say quietly. “I left all my big feelings behind in Washington.”
“Those were different feelings. Nothing like this.”
I shake my head. No. Nothing like this. “This is different.”
He grins. “So different. This is wild, baby. This is love.”
It takes another three days before I’m discharged.
The FBI agent, Ferdinand, comes and explains to me that for reasons that are none of my business, the whole incident is going to be covered up.
He didn’t say it was none of my business, of course. He used other language. Smooth words that mean the same thing.
I don’t care.
I’m going home with Luke. Nothing else matters.
I’ve only ever known one kind of date. Dinner—late, always late in Washington, because people don’t finish work until eight or nine. And then back to their place to screw. Sometimes a cocktail reception subs in for the dinner.
And that’s if there was even a date. Let’s be honest. Few of the relationships I had were healthy enough—or legit enough—to be able to go out in public together.
But even with all of those caveats, going on a date with Luke is something special.
We get ready together at my place. He’s basically moved in with me, because his house is still a crime scene. While I was still in the hospital, he went and picked up a bag of stuff.
Then he dropped it at my apartment and came straight back to my bedside.
It’s been a rough week.
Last night was the first night we’ve actually been able to sleep together in what feels like forever. And I slept like the dead—pun definitely not intended, way too soon.
Luke fussed over me all morning. “Are you sure you’re up for going out tonight?”
“I’m sure,” I reassured him each time.
I don’t know how much dancing I’ll do. Or he’ll do, for that matter. Last night was the first time I saw the massive bruise on his side.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Pretty much healed up.”
“I thought you were wearing a vest? Did I imagine that?”
“Those things slow the bullets down. That’s all. This one still felt like a pretty good kick to the side.”
I traced the bruise as gently as humanly possible. “Holy shit, Luke. It’s such a good thing that you were wearing…” I looked up at him. “Wait, why were you wearing your vest?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he’d said.
As we get ready for the date, side by side, I’m still worrying about it.
“Luke?”
He looks over at me, mid-shave. “Mmm?”
“Last night you dodged my question about why you were wearing a vest when you got home.”
His face tightens up. “I know, baby. I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because I spent every minute sitting by your hospital bed wondering if I should have handled that differently. You were smart. You called 911. I could have done that. I didn’t, and I’ll always regret that.”
Shock rolls over me as I realize what he’s saying. “You knew someone was in your house?”
“I wasn’t lying when I said my security system was good. She was hiding in the shadows, but yeah, I knew. As soon as I got home. I saw the alert on my phone.”
“But you called me to say good night.”
“I promised you I would. And I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I did anyway. I knew something was wrong.”
“See? I should have known that would be the case. And if I’d been smarter, you wouldn’t have been shot. Maybe it could have gone down differently.” He wipes off his face and comes to stand right in front of me. “No, baby, don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? I’m sorry. Fuck, this is all my fault.”
He presses his forehead against mine. “I don’t want you to feel that way.”
“Well, I don’t want you to feel that way.”
“We’re a pair, huh?”
I sniffle, and he wipes my cheeks.
“What’s done is done,” I whisper.
He nods.
“I’ve really brought the mood down for our date.”
“You’re the counselor. You know that we’re going to be processing this for a long time.”
I blink up at him.
He’s smiling.
“You’re right.” I kiss him right on the mouth. “Finish shaving, Detective. You promised me some dancing.”
We head out of town, to a place in Malibu, and the drive is lovely.
Quiet. Peaceful.
&nb
sp; Warm and full of hope, because I’m sitting beside Luke and he’s breathing and smiling and alive.
Our table is outside, under strings of white lights and overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
After we eat, he offers me his hand. It’s not the raucous club scene he promised. That will come later. But it’s still hands-down the sexiest dancing I’ve ever done. He moves me through a few steps, then spins me around, my back to his front.
“One two three. One two three.” He presses his hand flat against my belly, careful to avoid my incisions as he guides me through the steps he’s probably been making since he learned to walk.
“Dancing is in your blood, isn’t it?” I ask, twisting my head to see his profile.
He smiles. “So is lust.”
My breath catches.
“No rush, Princess.”
I’ll be the one to rush things. I miss him.
Spinning in his arms, I show him that I’m okay. Battered, but not broken. Hurt, but not harmed. I can move. I can be moved.
And when we’re ready, I’ll want everything he can give me. Rough, passionate lust. Everything that is in his blood, in his soul.
But I get winded by the time the song is over, and he makes me sit for dessert.
When we’re finished, we drive to a beach access point that Luke knows.
“You know I’ve never come out here? Not once in three years. I’ve never explored up and down the coast at all.”
“We’re going to rectify that. One little hidden treasure at a time. Careful here.” The sun is setting, and it’s glorious. I’m not watching where I’m stepping, but it’s okay because Luke is watching for me.
He sits on a log someone dragged down to the beach, and I sit in front of him, leaning my head against his knee.
We watch the sun set over the ocean, and as darkness sets in, the waves get rougher.
“A penny for your thoughts,” he murmurs.
I take a deep breath. “I was thinking I feel like the ocean right now. Stormy and full of churn. I’m like the ocean inside, but with the sound turned off. All the roiling around inside and I still feel numb.”
Wicked Sin Page 23
