by Marata Eros
I whip my face to him, a geyser of adrenaline singing through me.
“Ah.” Noose tips his head back, eyes glinting with humor. “You’re feeling it, pal. That kind of visceral reaction about another male laying pipe in your girl does not play, right?”
Right. My hands fist. “No.”
“Uh-huh.”
Shit.
“Whatcha gonna do, braniac?”
I glare at Noose. “You’re such a dick.”
He cocks his head to the right, blowing smoke in my direction. “And I’m not wrong.”
Fucker. “No, you’re not wrong.”
“If it makes you feel better, you already knew all this shit. You just had to say it all aloud.”
“I guess.” Salt in the wound.
“You know it. And if I’ve gauged you right, you’ve already tagged her car.” His eyelids dip as he assesses me.
“That’s illegal,” I state automatically.
“We gonna play that angle? Thought we were being real.”
I shift my weight, kicking a small pebble off the step. When the entire step doesn’t have any gravel left, I lift my eyes to Noose. There’s no condemnation there, just acceptance and patience.
Dammit. “I was worried about her since that prick clobbered her on the job.”
“Ah-huh. How about her busting his finger. Nice move, by the way. I like those spitfire types.”
I frown.
He lifts his palms, more ash dumping from the latest smoke. “I’m not into your fantasy girl, bud. Just saying my preference out loud.”
“Rose isn’t a spitfire,” I point out.
Noose shakes his head. “Didn’t say I wanted to marry one. Said I like ’em. Hot in the sack.”
Hmm.
Neither one of us talk about Rose beyond that. If she’d been a girlfriend or clubwhore, there would have been words about all kinds of intimate details. Wives are off-limits. though.
I wouldn’t talk about my wife with anyone.
If I had one.
“Since you’re illegally tracking her car, ya know where she’s at. Just go there and come clean. Say you were in the neighborhood.”
My eyes flick skyward, noting the rare absence of clouds. “Thanks, Noose. Real helpful.”
He laughs, tramping out his tenth cig, and runs his fingers through his shorn hair.
“She won’t think you’re a stalker or anything.”
I punch him in the bicep, and faster than a snake, he grabs my fist. “Don’t hit me, fucker.”
Our eyes meet, and I see the killer within, lurking in those stormy gray eyes.
“You deserve it.”
His eyes become narrow. “Probably. But you’ll have to do better than that to get me unawares.”
I smile, and so does he. The expression reaches his eyes, because we’re club brothers. Hell, he and Trainer beat each other up, and they’re best friends.
Hard men live different than easy ones.
I’m glad, because I wouldn’t want to be Noose’s enemy.
Fuck, I’m giving myself the creeps. What am I actually doing here, hanging out right outside Temp’s friend’s apartment building?
Get a life, Puck.
Of course, that’s the funny thing. I canceled with Perry and two clubwhores who wanted to hook up tonight after the “consultation” gig I was supposed to have with Perry.
I had plenty to suck up my time. Just not the right things.
But I couldn’t get Temp’s wounded face out of my mind. Can’t think with wanting to make what I didn’t do, right.
And when I hugged her against me. I lost it, had to get the fuck out of Starbucks before Temp got a glimpse of my stunned face. Before she gleaned the truth.
That I give so many fucks. That I care. That I’ve been caring.
So here I sit, like the stalker Noose accused me of being earlier, feeling foolish and desperate.
Until I see something that has me sitting up ramrod straight in my seat.
Temp.
A drunk Temp. I frown. Don’t like that. Not sure why she’d be wasted. Probably not good for her to get wrecked after what her body just went through.
Temp makes her way down the steps like she can barely navigate, even though her hand is planted on the railing.
My hand’s on the handle of my driver’s-side door, quietly opening it before I realize I’ve done it. Stepping out with slow deliberation, I shove the heavy door closed, latching the lock quietly.
Temp begins a lengthy stagger across the parking lot, and seeing her VW rabbit, I realize she might try to drive.
Fuck that.
She would kill herself for sure.
I hop over a green boulevard strip then make my way across the street. I move to the edge of the parking lot just as the streetlights click on with the approaching night.
A man comes out of nowhere and approaches Temp, hood pulled low over his face.
Instant needles of anxiety march across my skin, and I go from striding into a full sprint toward them.
No man approaches a woman in a dim parking lot at night with anything but nefarious intent. My cop instincts flare, and I was always one to listen to them.
I run harder.
Three yards close to two. My voice breaks as I holler her name at the exact moment she hits the guy in the throat.
Fuck!
She flies backward when he backhands her.
Temp lands hard on the ground, and I land hard on the assailant.
This perp is going down.
I step into him like I’m doing a waltz. One foot forward, I swing my other into his kneecap, smoothly dislocating the joint, then drive my fist into his solar plexus.
He was already learning how to breathe again after Temp’s love tap. I just helped that shit along.
Pivoting, I scan the area for Temp.
She’s less than a car length from my position, and I can make out blood running from her cheekbone.
Shit.
I race to her and sink to my haunches, adrenaline surging through me so hard, it makes my teeth ache. I gingerly roll her body to the side, getting my arms positioned, then lift with my legs.
Temp begins to thrash.
I say, “Shh, I got you.”
Hell, she weighs maybe a hundred pounds; I got her into next week.
I walk Temp back the way she came and pause next to the sack of shit who hit her.
I kick him in the head, jarring Temp.
She moans.
Sorry, I think but don’t take the time to say.
I take the steps two at a time and approach the door I guess belongs to her friend. With one hand, I rap on the door with my knuckles.
A girl around thirty opens the door. With a smile, she says, “What took you...”
Her translucent-brown eyes, almost the same color as her hair, widen in shock, looking first at me then Temp. “What’d you do to her?”
“Nothing, now let me in.”
She cocks a hip and puts a hand on the bony protrusion. “No, dickhead. Who the hell are you?” she practically growls.
I lean in close, and she holds her ground. “I’m Puck.”
A hand rises, fingers curling around a strand of wavy hair that’s escaped from a bun thing on top of her head.
“It’s okay, Kendra,” Temp croaks, still in a stupor.
Without a word, she opens the door, and I walk into Kendra’s apartment—and Temp’s life.
Chapter 7
Temp
My head feels squeezed by a vise. And my face. God. I groan, rolling over and nearly falling off the couch.
I hear Puck talking quietly in the background, and instead of being stupid and trying to move again, I eavesdrop.
“Yeah man, I don’t know if the dude’s still out there. I was taking care of the vic.” There’s silence while he clearly listens to the guy at the other end. “Don’t start.”
A rough exhale shoots out of Puck. “I did—do not grow a uterus on me. Just
come, okay?”
I can’t see out of one of my eyes so I don’t bother trying, but my one uninjured eyeball tracks him.
Kendra moves into my line of sight, blocking my view of Puck, holding a steaming mug of coffee.
“What time is it?” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
“Almost midnight.”
“Holy shit!” I croak. “I’ve been unconscious?”
Kendra nods rapidly, blinking back tears that threaten to join the crystalline path already running down her face. Kendra’s not a crier.
And I never am.
Except apparently, when white knights show up and save the day, or night.
I can hear Puck before I see him.
Mortification doesn’t cover it. Puck has now borne witness to me at my worse—twice.
Wonderful. Who was that nimrod anyway? And what message did he have for me?
“Temp?” Puck says in a low voice.
I sort of want to flip him off and sex him at the same time, which makes me want to cry again because I’m all messed up. I’m still tipsy and nothing but time will sober me.
Shit.
He needs to go so I don’t do something really dumb, like try to kiss him while I look like a cyclops.
I move to sit up, and the apartment tilts.
Puck is just there, holding my shoulders.
“Kendra, go get a washrag and stuff it full of ice.” Puck looks at me with critical deep-brown eyes. “Want to get this swelling down.”
“That bad?”
His eyebrows rise slowly. “What do you think?”
“Well, the jerkoff that beat on me the first time fractured my cheekbone, so this didn’t help things.”
A pent-up breath slowly releases from Puck’s lips. “I could kill that guy.”
“You’re hurting me,” I say quietly.
He softens his hold on my shoulders. “Sorry,” he mutters.
I turn my head toward the window, wince at the movement, and ask, “Is that guy still out there?” I don’t generally live in fear, but I’ve had enough excitement in the last day that the unfamiliar emotion has begun to sink in at the edges.
I’m used to taking care of myself.
I roll my lip between my teeth and physically stop myself from asking Puck to stay with me. I’ve never asked a man to protect or defend—for reasons I’d rather not explore at the moment. But I’m still filled with alcohol, and my body is injured, sore, and tired. I couldn’t fight my way out of a wet paper bag at the moment. All of that has combined to make me feel a rare streak of vulnerability.
Puck quickly scans my face, and I can tell by his next comment, he read my thoughts that fast. “I’m not leaving you.”
Great, just great.
A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips from the sour expression I wear. “Your face. Even beaten up, I can still read you.”
Shit.
I look down, and he gently captures my chin with his finger, mindful of my injury. “Hey, it’s not a bad thing, Temp.”
My eyes well. “He would have hurt me if you hadn’t been Johnny-on-the-spot,” I admit without hesitation, grateful and pissed at the same time.
Puck nods as though I’m restating Biblical fact.
I frown then smooth my expression when pulses of pain rein that in.
I give him a sharp look. “How did you happen to be here at just the right moment?”
Kendra returns with the washrag and wordlessly hands it to him.
Puck turns back from taking the rag and presses the rough terrycloth against the biggest wound of my cheek.
I hiss from the gentle contact.
Our eyes lock.
“I’m sorry, Temp.”
After a deep inhale, I say on the exhale, “You keep apologizing, so stop.”
He smiles. “Actually, I wanted to find you and straighten some things out. Clarify.”
Heat infuses my face. God, the misery of embarrassment goes on. “You were pretty clear earlier, Puck.” I’m proud of myself that I check my tone at the door. A snide response is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not petty by nature, and just because I want something, doesn’t mean the other person wants the same thing.
Free will, I guess. But it sucks.
I wanted Puck to feel what I did. Wanted it for weeks. Then, when it seemed like he did, I felt free to articulate my feelings. Nope, just made an ass of myself instead. That’s where transparency got me.
My gaze shifts to Kendra, who says, “Hear him out, Temp.”
Really? My eyebrows shoot up, and the expression causes a throbbing misery to start up. “Oh my God.” I groan, wanting to cover my face but not able to touch it.
“Listen.” Puck holds the icepack to my eye, his other hand cupping the back of my head.
That tender touch gets my attention.
“My friend Perry is coming in a sec, and I have to get this off my chest.”
“Wait.” I hold up a palm then place it on his chest. I’m surprised that his heart is beating so fast under my hand.
Our eyes meet again. Well, my one eye. I’m screwed on peripheral vision.
“I’m—I can’t take any revelations right now, Puck. I’m tired and kinda still drunk. If it’s something negative you need to expound on, can it wait?” I can’t take any more rejection. Call me a wimp, but it’s been a day.
He releases my head and wraps his much larger hand around my small one, twining our fingers as they lay between us.
“It’s not bad. At least, I think it’s not bad based on what you told me earlier today. A friend knocked some sense into me.”
I’m thoroughly confused now. “I know you don’t want...” Me. My inhale is sharp, but I finish my comment with “A relationship.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he concedes slowly.
I’m smart now and don’t move any facial muscles. “Okay,” I say really slowly, “I won’t lie. You’re not making sense.”
“I’ve got some signals crossed, but I was hoping to straighten my shit out and try something new.”
I wait while Kendra lifts her shoulders in a little shrug in the background.
“What?” I finally ask.
He squeezes my fingers, and thankfully it’s the one I didn’t use on the guy who backhanded me, because my knuckles hurt. “I’m going to try to go with my feelings on this one, Temp.”
“I guess it’s possible guys have feelings,” Kendra muses behind his shoulder.
Puck half turns, giving her a look I can’t see.
She gives a vicious tug on her loose messy bun, tightening it, and says, “Fine, fuck. But forgive me if I’m suspicious. You were a dick to my best friend, and we were tying on some conciliatory alcohol time—which got interrupted by yet another psycho. So. Bite. Me.”
Puck turns back to me, ignoring Kendra, who stalks off just as the doorbell rings.
“Fuck,” Puck says under his breath then points at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be driving anywhere soon.” I do a careful snort and instantly regret it.
This is awful. My face just hurts.
Another big guy shows up at the door as I turn, gripping the back of the couch.
This guy looks like a Viking. Long spiraled hair falls just past his shoulders. Dark brows slant above deep brown eyes, giving him a perfect villain look. Those slashed brows help his expressive face, which at the moment is pissed. His coal-dark eyes glitter with anger.
“You dumped me to play white knight?” He swings a palm in my general direction.
Oh, shit. This guy just said aloud what I’d been thinking. Still white-knuckling the couch, I use it sort of like a walking stick, heaving myself out of the well of deep cushions and clutching the perimeter of the thing as I walk around it.
They’re arguing, and I interrupt. “Puck helped me, whoever you are.”
Nausea swamps my guts. Maybe I should have stayed on the couch and sipped coffee.
His gaze swings
to me. “I’m Perry, his partner, Miss Beat-up.”
My one eye widens, and I want to grab my head.
“The perp is long gone, because Puck was up here nursing your wounds instead of nailing that guy.”
What a clown.
“Okay!” Kendra says, marching over to the new guy and staring up at him. “Get out, ya butt munch. Nobody comes in here and gives my beat-up friend a ration of shit without getting the facts straight. Out! Out! Out!”
Kendra shoves Perry in the chest, and he stumbles back a step. Leaning in, he tries to intimidate her.
Good luck with that.
“Why, you’re kind of a bitch, sweetheart,” he says.
He has no idea.
Kendra’s delicate jaw juts out.
Oh boy. “Hey, um, let’s just chill. Maybe you”—I look at Perry as Puck stands silently with his arms crossed, clearly pissed—“can stop dissing me for two seconds while I figure out what’s happening.”
He sneers. “This is what’s happening. You got your ass handed to you. My friend saved you, and now the perp is gone before I can nail his hide to the wall. Legitimately.”
Kendra huffs, “I’m trying here, Temp, but this guy’s too much asshole for me to deal with.” She scowls at Perry, who scowls right back.
Yeah.
“Only because you haven’t met Storm,” Puck offers randomly.
Storm?
God. “Okay,” I launch my arms up, and the alcohol shoots up like rancid pre-barf. I’m just barely keeping things in check as my stomach does a slow flip, and I’m resigned to quick-swallowing.
In fact, I’m not going to make it.
Covering my mouth, I race to the bathroom and kick the door shut. Dropping to my knees beside the commode, I slam up the lid in the nick of time.
Puking hurts my face.
Breathing hurts.
Everything hurts.
I fist my hair behind me as I heave into the bowl.
When I’m done, I lie down on the old tile floor, liking the way the uninjured side of my face feels against the cool tile.
I hear loud arguing coming from just outside the bathroom door and shut my good eye.
It’s a nightmare come to life.
“Thank you so much for helping Temp. Now leave. And take your asshat friend with you. Because damn. He’s fucking up my karma forever, I think.”
