Mad Love (Guns & Ink Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  When I didn’t say anything, he let me go, sighing gruffly. I felt the shaking in my body a second before it took control of everything. I was torturing him again. But he was torturing me too. Making me feel things I didn’t know I could feel, and then making me fear them and him. It was mad.

  The front doors opened again. This time two men came in. Large men. Older men. In dirty jeans and mustaches. They saw me, and one of them grinned. My heart went flying into my throat. Terror broke out across my skin. All I could see were their large fists.

  “Go in the back,” Klay whispered in my ear, giving my backside a soft pat.

  I did one better. I ran for the stairs, up them, and then slammed his door shut. I fell to my knees with my face in my hands. I didn’t want to keep barfing up my insides. The stench of cigarette smoke swirled around me. I managed to get to the bathroom, spewing up the sushi, the fear.

  When it was all out of me, I sagged on the bathroom floor, eyes blurry from my tears. I’d tried so hard to scream. But he’d laugh at my attempts before he forced me into those dirty sheets. I heard pounding and then a door close. Mad begged me to close the bathroom door. She didn’t want Klay to see her like this again. I closed it and locked it a second before he knocked. He tried the handle and then pounded harder.

  “Let me in, Mad.”

  He was angry. I could hear it in his voice. Please stop being mad.

  “Madison, open the door. Come on, baby. I want to help you.”

  I pulled in a breath through my sobs. “I’m fine,” I lied. “Go back to work.”

  In response, he punched the door, making me shriek. “Open this damn door. What is this shit? Crying in a bathroom? Hiding from me? Open the door.”

  “Stop,” I said, but he was yelling. He couldn’t hear me.

  “Madison,” he growled, coldness seeping under the doors. “Don’t make me kick down this door.”

  I sobbed, wanting something, I didn’t know. To free myself from those filthy sheets, bloody from me, and from every other woman who’d been forced on to them, and probably never escaped. I wanted to stop being a burden to Klayton. But I didn’t want to leave him either. His arms, his protection, his ability to make me feel human—those feelings only existed around him. I didn’t want to go home; my family would never look at me the same again. I would be a stain, and worse, it wasn’t even my fault. I sobbed so hard I thought I’d pass out.

  “Please open the door.” Softness came from the other side. “I want to hold you. You don’t have to do this on your own. Please, baby.” His voice broke through the door.

  Without the anger, I was able to process his words for what they were. Fear. He was scared. Hurting because of my hurt. I couldn’t see through my tears. I managed to crawl to the handle and turned the lock. The moment I did, he shoved it open and pulled me into his arms. I was suddenly in his bed, in his arms, and my nails dug into the parts of him I could reach.

  “You need help,” he said, his words thick with tears. “You can’t live this way. I can’t let you live this way. I’m not helping you. I’m only making you worse.” This seemed to bother him the most. He pressed his face into my hair and breathed through his tears.

  He scared me, but all men scared me. He wasn’t making it worse. He was the only person in my life that made me feel like I still belonged. I held him to me as tightly as he grasped me. We were limbs and tears, muffled sobs that the other could hear.

  “We’re getting you help tomorrow.” There was no budging in his tone. “We’re going to do whatever it takes to get you better. Even if that means letting you go.” His sadness was as thick as mine.

  “Don’t let me go.” It sounded like that was a possibility. In what world? Not this one. Not the world we existed in now.

  He didn’t say anything, but he nodded, or shook his head, denying me, promising me—I didn’t know. I didn’t deny his desire to help me either. I couldn’t. Eventually, I’d stop eating again, stop sleeping, I’d go back to my nightmare, and probably lose this. I’d refuse his touch again, his hold—I couldn’t go back there.

  After a while, my exhaustion won out. I relaxed in his arms.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Klayton

  I scrubbed a hand down my face, emotionally exhausted.

  Cat didn’t look any better. She wrote down one more name, and then sat back, eyes grave. “They all want ID, insurance. The second she tells them what happened, they’ll contact the police and her parents. Are you ready to do that? Ashley said she could see her in two days. No questions asked.”

  “She won’t last two more days.”

  “She’s lasted this long.” Cat got up and then sat on my lap, grasping my face. “What she went through was horrendous. We don’t have to know everything to know that. We have to expect that she won’t be … normal, at least for a while. Even if she goes to therapy, it can take years before she’s half-way there. Getting her help in a few days won’t make a difference. She can wait, maybe even prepare herself.” Then she held me to her like she knew what I was feeling.

  Normally, I’d push her off. I didn’t need hugs. I hadn’t ever had them, and I didn’t need them. But it didn’t feel terrible to have the support. I hugged Cat back. Madi was passed out in my room. I’d barely been able to unwrap myself from her grip without waking her. I couldn’t shake the sounds of her sobbing alone in the bathroom. The pain of her sobs was so deep, so dark; I fell right along with her again. I’d never willingly fallen, and definitely not for another person. But with Mad, I wanted to hold her hand and brace myself for impact when we landed.

  “Let’s go to bed,” she suggested. “I’ll crash on the couch. It’s too late to drive.”

  I kissed her cheek and then shuffled into my room, pulling off my shirt and jeans before crawling into bed. In my briefs, I pulled Madi’s body against mine, thinking better of taking her clothes off. She was scared of me again. Any progress we had made would have to start afresh.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t entirely wrong. She woke up a few hours after I’d gone to bed, saying nothing. She wouldn’t move, or sleep, or respond to me other than with a nod. My arm was numb from where it lay crammed between us. The next night in, and I was losing patience. I was starving; she had to be too. She’d been unable to keep anything down for days.

  When she finally managed to sleep, I took my time getting out of bed, and then went to cram some food down my throat. My mind was fuzzy, my eyes too. I was still in the middle of her breakdown. The only good thing, if I could even call it that, was her inability to discern her surroundings. On Saturday, I got her out of bed and into the bathroom. I took her clothes off. She looked at me with bland, broken eyes. I got her into the shower, giving her a dark look until she grabbed the soap bottle.

  “Get dressed when you get out.”

  She gave me a hesitant, guilt-ridden, empty look. I missed the electricity in her gaze, the sight of them so empty left me feeling the same way. I couldn’t stand it. “You mind if we shower together?”

  She handed me the soap bottle.

  When she turned straight, she situated her lips. It was then I realized the main reason she probably hadn’t spoken. I tore my clothes off and stepped in behind her, pulling the shower curtain closed. The steam wrapped around us. Her pale, thin body hung inward on itself. I washed her hair, massaging her scalp until it was lathered and thick.

  “Does your tongue hurt?” She’d kept her pain hidden after we’d gone over how much I disliked that time and time again. “Show me, baby.”

  She turned to the right and stuck out her tongue. Luckily, it didn’t look infected. It was swollen, and it was draining, but they all did. When she spotted the displeasure in my gaze, she instantly froze. I grabbed her face between my hands and looked into her eyes. “Can I tell you what I’m feeling?” She nodded as best she could. “I’m pissed that your mouth hurts and you didn’t say anything. That you were suffering for days, when you didn’t have to, upsets me. I don’t want you to suffe
r, Madison. I don’t want you to hurt. I’m trying to do my best.” She had to go home. I could feel it in my bones. And it reached inside and ripped out pieces of my heart. Days at my place, weeks with me, she’d fade completely away. I closed my eyes as the depth of my feelings ran over me, and rested my forehead against hers. “I’m so worried for you. I don’t know what to do.”

  She hugged me around my waist. Hot water rained down on us, blurring my sights. Sometimes doing the right thing meant doing the wrong thing. So I eased her off, and resumed washing her. When my hands traveled down her stomach after lathering her tits, she opened her legs slightly so I could wash her there too. She trusted me again. It was heady, intoxicating, consuming—it made me want to keep her forever. I washed her entire body, and then I took the shower head and rinsed her off. “Go get dressed. I’ll be out in a minute. Wash your mouth out with the blue mouthwash on the counter.”

  She got out naked, dripping and silent.

  When I finished and came out with a towel wrapped around my waist, she was putting on her bra. She wore a pair of my sweats. I noticed that on bad days she wore my clothes. On good days, she wore her own. The dirty laundry on the floor needed washing. I got dressed as emotionlessly as she did. Once clothed, I tried to psyche myself up. She needs this, not you. You’re making it worse for her. Without anger as my fallback, I felt like I did as a child. Inferior, empty, depressed.

  She opened her mouth for the first time. “Is there aspirin?”

  “I’ll get it.” When I returned, I handed them to her with a glass of orange juice. She drank it all down and then placed the cup on my dresser. “Can we talk?” I asked. “We’re going to a therapist today.”

  “But it’s hard to talk.”

  I didn’t want to hear it. “Twenty-two-twelve, tenth street in Boulder, or therapy. That’s all you have to choose from.”

  She looked trapped and empty, like she’d fade away at any moment. “Can I keep you if I choose therapy?”

  Hell. “You don’t want to keep me, do you, Mad? I’m not good for you.”

  She was already shaking her head before I’d even finished. “There’s no one else but you, Klay.”

  She had no idea that it was the other way around. “Let’s go.” I gave her my hand, wondering what she’d think if I asked the same question. Could I keep you, Mad, if you chose me?

  She followed, only with me tugging her after me. In the kitchen, there was breakfast already set out. Something light, just in case. I waited for the anxiety meds I’d slipped her to kick in. I felt horrible for giving them to her, but she was too wired and yet too reserved. She’d never talk to anyone in this state. Slipping her a little pill that would calm her for a couple hours seemed harmless at the time Cat dropped them off. Now it felt like betrayal.

  I sat beside her, watching her tight muscles relax. She ate her egg whites and yogurt slowly, and I had a feeling she was only doing it for me. Which pissed me off, and I could do nothing about it but swallow the rage. Shit. Maybe I had a problem too. Was it right to be this pissed all the time? Before Mad, it had been even worse. I didn’t want anyone around me, so I didn’t know if I had pushed anyone away, but that could’ve been the case. That could’ve been my point all along.

  And as much as it burned to admit, my father was the same way. He was a prick ninety-nine percent of the time. He loved nothing and no one, not even himself. I resented him from early on. My mother doted, but she was broken, and she wasn’t allowed to love us in front of my father. So, she didn’t. I got used to ignoring the desire to be wanted. I got used to feeling nothing. With Mad, I felt something for someone; I didn’t know what to do about it. I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to feel this way, let alone have it too.

  “I’m done,” her soft voice said.

  I blinked myself from my past. Her food was gone, her plate licked clean. She had been starving.

  I grasped her chin delicately, turning her face toward me. Her bruises were completely gone. In their place was a beautiful soft face with full pink lips and bleeding gray/blue eyes. The look in them punched me in my gut. Yet I still asked for what I wanted. “Can I kiss you?”

  A spark of emotion flashed in her eyes. Irritation. “Of course.”

  Her answer went straight to my dick. Which kindly reminded me of how soft and creamy her pussy had been in the shower, how the soap had lathered in her hair. Shit. I kissed her deeply, savoring the taste of strawberry yogurt still on her breath. I was surprised how roughly she kissed me back. I imagined knocking everything off the kitchen table, pulling her sweats off, and burying myself to the hilt into her tight, wet heat. The sounds she’d make, the look she’d give me—I wanted to cover her in lust.

  She pulled away, frowning. “I feel weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  “Like my brain is quiet. I’m not as afraid as I usually am. And it’s foggy like I’m tired, but I’m not.” She looked herself over, lifting her arms and then meeting my guilty eyes. “Did you give me something with the aspirin?”

  I simply stared at her.

  “Klayton.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s dishonest.”

  I wanted to respect her so hard right now. On the table, on the floor, bent over my couch. I must not have hidden it well because her eyes widened slightly at the heated look in mine. I bit down on my piercing, drawing her attention to my mouth. If we didn’t get out of here, I’d do something I’d regret. Something I wanted. “Finish your milk.”

  She shifted in her seat, breaking the contact. “Yes, father.”

  What …? There went those wise-ass comments again. I had a feeling that was a part of who she’d been. Even in her pictures, she’d been playful and teasing. But she had a bad habit of mentioning our age difference. “I wouldn’t mind being your daddy, Mad. Frankly, you probably deserve a spanking after that wise-ass remark.”

  She gasped, her cheeks the color of fresh berries. “My father never spanked me.” She yawned hugely.

  The mention of her father sent a flood of guilt through me. The anxiety meds in her yogurt did too. But it had to happen. I shoved the impending break inside of me by kissing her once more, a soft, gentle, please don’t leave me kiss. “Daddy needs his daughter to go put her shoes on.”

  She scrunched her nose up, making me smirk. “Gross, Klay.”

  “Do you want a time out?”

  She rolled her eyes, getting to her feet. “Now those, I remember.”

  As she passed by me, I gave her ass a hard smack. She whirled around, mouth agape, eyes electric with humor and outrage. “Klay!”

  “Don’t disobey your daddy, you hear?”

  She gave me a wink. “Yes, daddy.” And then she took off, leaving me with my mouth agape and my dick as hard as a baseball bat.

  Lucky for her we weren’t playing. I’d knock it out of the fucking park. The playful back and forth felt worse than the punch to my eye. A pain constricted in my chest. I almost blabbed the truth. I wanted to blab the truth. I wanted her to go back to bed. At least then I could keep her. There was a large chance after today that she’d never want to see me again.

  “Ugh,” she groaned, yawning as she came back out. She already looked lethargic. Tired. Ready to pass out for the drive.

  It wouldn’t be a long drive, but if she figured it out any time along the way she’d bolt. She’d break. She’d change my mind. That couldn’t happen. Therapy wouldn’t work right now. There was no way they’d take her without knowing her identity, and once they knew her story, they’d do what I had done. An internet search would turn up her story, and soon her parents would be involved. In the time being, she’d get worse. A few hours of good would be lost in days of bad.

  I had to help her down the stairs and into my truck. She put her seatbelt on, and then passed out. The moment she did, I let the charade go. Heartache beat me down until it felt like she’d already left. I’d packed a bag for her when she was unaware, and Cat had put it in the back. I thought she’d want a piece of
herself there; where she was going there was only the Madi who grinned at the camera with those gorgeous whole eyes.

  I called Cat as soon as we got on the road. “Tell me to turn around.”

  She sighed, mumbled something, and then the sounds in the back of the shop lessened. “You have to do this. There’s no other choice. If I had a family, you’d have done the same thing for me.”

  I wasn’t sure she was right. But then again, there was no way for me to know that. The only family Cat and I had was each other. I hung up without saying anything more. I turned the radio on as Madison snored in the front seat. I thought the real reason Mad couldn’t relax, why she couldn’t go one day without panicking about who would be around her, was because the man who took her wasn’t far away. She’d never get better looking over her shoulder.

  When I got to my destination, I parked across the street and watched. She could get better there. Even the neighborhood was perfect. The sun shone down on the verdant front lawn. Newer model cars were parked in the driveway. The purple trees out front were heavy with plums. The brick façade of the house was clean and maroon; pressure washed no doubt. In the distance, mountains acted as a backdrop. As Madison slept, I dug out a napkin from the McDonalds bag from a few weeks back and a pen, and sketched it. When I finished, she was still passed out.

  If I didn’t do this now, I’d never do it.

  My hand itched to turn the key and drive back home. We’d get back in bed, and I’d get to try out her tongue ring. Maybe taste her again, earn the lust in her eyes. Instead, I got out of the car and jogged across the street. I’d worn long sleeves. Mad’s parents were clean-cut. If some brute covered in tattoos came into their home toting their baby girl, they might have him arrested. I couldn’t hide the tats on my hands, but I’d worn a black button down and clean jeans. I’d even done my hair, sweeping it back after I shaved. All to lose my houseguest.