by Callie Hart
“No,” he whispers. “I didn’t. But he is dead. Probably. It’s a long story.”
I’ve seen Tommy cut open a man’s face and not flinch. When he punched Barrows with those keys, he left him a mangled mess. Where Tommy Kendrick goes, violence and blood follows. I should be running for the hills, desperate to put some space between us. I should at least have developed a healthy fear of him over the past few days, but I haven’t. Both times I’ve seen him hurt someone, he’s done it protecting me. Does that make it okay? Does that make it right? Fuck, I don’t even know anymore. My sense of right and wrong has always been a little skewed. I know what the law states. I know what my training as a psychologist states. But in my heart, and in my head? Everything is so tangled and confused.
Tommy begins to stroke my hair. His hand feels huge on the back of my head. It’s in this moment I decide that I don’t want to give him up. I don’t know where any of this will lead. He might not be interested in pursuing a romantic connection with me anyway. He might ghost me tomorrow for all I know, but I’m willing to set aside the rules I’ve followed so strictly for so many years in order to find out.
I open my eyes, my decision made. Carefully I tip my head back, so that I’m looking up at him. Tommy remains staring at the ceiling, but his hand continues to brush softly over my hair. From this angle, I can see how long his eyelashes are, dark as soot. The broad pout of his mouth, masculine and full, makes me want to kiss him.
“Stop,” he says.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that. I’ve been watching you all night. You have no idea how hard it was to stop myself from climbing into this bed with you.”
“You should have.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t slide into a girl’s bed when she’s fucking drugged and unconscious.” Unlike Mitch and Barrows would have. It goes unsaid, but it hangs there between us like poison. “If you keep on looking at me like that, though, I’m going to kiss you. And once I’ve kissed you, I won’t be able to stop. I’ll want more of you. I’ll want your pussy on my tongue. I’ll want my fingers inside you. I’ll want my dick inside you, and you aren’t fit and ready for that shit.”
“Says who?” I murmur.
“Says me. And you, given the way you keep flinching every time you move.”
“Some things are worth a little discomfort, Tommy Kendrick. Some things are worth a little pain.” God, I hope I’m right. Before I started working at the Parish and I used to provide therapy to regular, law-abiding citizens, I used to wonder all the time why some of the women would remain in toxic relationships, even though they were the first to admit that their partner was no good for them. It was like they found themselves on railway tracks, running in one direction, clearly able to see the train approaching at lightning speeds from the other direction, and yet they refused to jump from the tracks to avoid the head-on collision. Now I’m on the tracks. I can see the train coming in the distance, and I’m running straight for it regardless of the consequences.
Tommy’s hand snakes up the back of my shirt. His fingers skate over my lower back, and a shiver runs up my spine. I want his mouth on me. The promise of his kiss is a heady, dangerous thing. I’m not myself when his lips are pressed against my skin. I’m someone far removed from careful, defensive Nikita, the woman who protects her heart at all costs. My breath catches in my throat, and Tommy shifts.
“My dick can’t get any harder,” he rumbles. “If you sigh like that one more time—”
I do it. I do it on purpose, and that’s it. He spins around, moving so quickly I barely have time to brace myself before he’s on top of me. He brings his mouth down on mine with a ferocity I’ve never experienced before, and suddenly everything falls away. Outside my body, the room fades to blackness. The bed disappears from beneath me. My ears are deaf to anything other than the pitch and fall of our strained breathing. Inside of me, a tempest rages. It threatens to sweep me away, to drown me, to batter and bruise me with its savagery. Tommy’s hands are all over my skin, his lips on mine, his teeth nipping at my neck, and I can’t breathe. It’s okay, though. I don’t need the oxygen. All I need is the solid weight of him pressing down on me, and the rough, lust-filled rasp of his voice in my ear.
“You’re mine, Nikita. Come hell or come high water, you’re mine. Is this what you want?”
“Yes. I want you.”
“I won’t let you go. If you agree to this, I’m not just gonna walk away if you freak out and want to bail. Understand? There’s no ripcord. There’s no get-out-of-jail-free card. No take-backs. No running away. You’ll be mine. That’ll be all there is to it.”
I look him in the eyes, seeing the truth there: he’s serious. Deadly fucking serious. His dark eyes are so intense that it’s hard to even meet his gaze let alone hold it. “What do I get in return?” I whisper.
He smiles, slow and steady. “You get me.”
“Well, isn’t this charming? Should I make an appointment to come back in, say, six and a half minutes?”
Tommy’s eyes widen, and for a second I think he’s going to jump off the bed and grab something to use as a weapon. My own heart has risen up into my throat and is pumping so hard I think I’m going to have a heart attack. There’s someone standing in my bedroom doorway. Someone Tommy and I both know very well.
West Bastien.
“What the fuck, West? Do you want to die? Is that it? You actually want to fucking die.” Tommy sits up, fists at the ready—he looks like he’s about to murder the guy leaning against the wall just outside my bedroom, and I can’t say I’m inclined to stop him.
West tosses something into his mouth, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I thought it was best if I came up here looking for you instead of my brother,” he says. “I’m glad I made him wait downstairs now. He would have shit the bed if he’d seen this. Nikita, you’ve got a little nip showing.”
I look down, ready to cover myself, but my shirt is perfectly in place, my nipples under wraps.
“All right. Maybe that was a little wishful thinking,” he says, tossing something into his mouth again.
“West, are you eating the grapes from my fridge?”
“Potentially.”
Tommy stands up, crossing the room in three quick strides. He grabs West by the throat, pinning him up against the wall. “You’re fucking kidding me,” he hisses. “Alex is here?”
West doesn’t seem even remotely fazed that Tommy has him by the throat. He reaches over Tommy’s arm and feeds himself another grape. “Downstairs, like I said. Sitting on the couch last time I saw him. He might get bored and come looking for us soon, though. You know how impatient he can get.”
“Fuck.”
“Sorry to cock block you, my friend. You should probably wait for your dick to go soft before you go see him, though. He’s…sensitive…about Nikita. Just the idea of her fucking another guy is like…well, it’s not good, put it that way.”
“Like he actually gives a shit,” I snap. “Tell him he needs to conduct his business meetings outside of my house, West. I’ve gone nine and a half years without him stepping foot through that front door. He’s not allowed to just barge in here whenever he wants to.”
West sports the trademark Bastien smirk, raising his eyebrows. “He does own the place, Nikita. Technically, he can come and go as he pleases.”
I growl, deep and low in the back of my throat. “I had the place valued and hand delivered a check to him that was ten percent above market value five years ago, asshole.”
“Ahhhh, yeah, but he didn’t cash the check. I definitely don’t think he signed over the title deed.”
Tommy looks back at me over his shoulder, confusion deeply etched into the planes of his face. “Alex owns this place?”
“Oh, enough already! Get the fuck down here and stop bickering like children!” Alex’s voice is muffled but perfectly audible. A loud crashing sound downstairs has me jumping out of bed. I hold my hand out to brace myself against my c
hest of drawers when my head begins to thump painfully.
Thankfully I’m wearing pants; getting dressed right now would have been a laborious task that probably would have made me throw up. I hurry out of the bedroom and down the stairs, plotting and planning what I’ll throw at Alex’s head first if he’s damaged anything important.
I barrel into the living room, and there he is, standing there like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be here in my house. The last time he was here, he told me he would kill me if he ever saw me again.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss.
His shoes are Italian leather, his pale, dusky grey suit impeccably cut to his frame. He glances down at his fingernails, cracking his neck. “Don’t worry, Nikita. I’m not here to see you. I was reliably informed that I’d find Tommy here, and ahhh look. There he is now, looking very wound up and unhappy. Hello, Tee.”
The man in question strides into the living room, violence in his eyes. “What now?” he demands. “I came to talk to you. I came to you, and you walked away. What could you possibly have to say to me now that you didn’t twelve hours ago?”
Alex laughs softly, an entertained sound. “Whatever the hell I like, surely? I am Alexander Bastien.”
Tommy rocks back on his heels. He folds his arms in front of him, staring Alex down. “Spit it out, then, Alexander Bastien, The Great. Say what you’re here to say so we can all move on with our day. You can go back to killing people and generally being a dick, and I can finish what I was just about to start with Nikita.”
Oh shit. He shouldn’t prod him like that. Not about me anyway. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what went down between me and Alex yet. I’ve been planning on telling him every last sordid detail, but there just hasn’t been time. Alex surprisingly takes his comment on the chin, though.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He speaks slowly. As if the words cost him a great deal to part with. “About family. About how things used to be between us, Tommy. And…about my grief. I realized that you were speaking the truth. We were all close once. You were my brother, and Serena was your sister, too. It was unfair of me to say otherwise.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Alex, admitting he was wrong about something? He’s hardly coming out with an apology, it’ll be a bitterly cold day in hell before that will ever happen, but…he sounds sincere.
Tommy’s face is a mask of surprise that must match my own. He opens his mouth, but Alex hurriedly speaks before he can. “While I’m not exonerating you of all blame for Serena’s death, I am willing to concede that had I not told you to fight, you would have been able to watch her properly. I will also own up to the fact that I do feel a kernel of guilt over what happened, too.”
“That’s very big of you,” Tommy says.
Alex scowls. “Careful. I’m being very magnanimous here. I could always just as easily change my mind.”
“Why are you having this change of heart?”
“I told you. I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I’ve come to a realization. I miss the old days. Things were good back then, when you and I were on the same team. I’ve decided that I’d like to go back to that. Friends instead of foes, if you will.”
Tommy’s eyebrows rise an inch. “I’m not sure that’s possible, Alex. A lot of water has passed under this bridge. You’re forgetting about what you did to Genevieve.”
Alex rolls his eyes, huffing. “Your sister wasn’t forced to do anything. She was offered two choices and she made a judgment call. How about I make a proposal? You help me, and I will let Genevieve come back to you. If it’s what she wants. If she would prefer to stay with me, freely and of her own volition, then you must respect her wishes.”
This sounds like one of those famous Alex Bastien double deals. He performs them daily. Tommy doesn’t look convinced. “Help you how?”
“You help me find and punish the men who are really responsible for killing Serena. You come when I call you. We work together. We get our hands dirty, and you don’t complain. You do as I ask, whenever I ask, and you and I can rebuild our alliance. Stronger than before. An alliance forged in mutual respect and loyalty.”
“I don’t fight anymore,” Tommy says. “I won’t.”
Alex tuts, his eyes shining brightly, filled with excitement. “You will. Just this once. I already announced the event at the last fight, Tommy. If I let you back out, I will appear weak to the citizens of New Orleans. We can’t have that, can we?”
“Heaven forbid,” Tommy says dryly. He stares down at the floor, clearly thinking. He surely can’t be considering Alex’s offer. It’s an invitation straight to hell. A one-way ticket. If he does accept Alex’s terms, he’s signing up for a lifetime of destruction and madness and he knows it. He has to. Eventually, Tommy looks up, meeting Alex’s eye with a hard, unwavering gaze. “I need some time. You wanted me dead a few hours ago, and now you want my help. You see how that might need a little thought put into it.”
Alex waves his hand dismissively. “I can give you twenty-four hours to make your decision. After that, one way or another you and I are going to have resolved our differences.” He pauses, slowly turning his icy blue eyes on me, frowning. “In the meantime, something for you to consider, Nikita. If Tommy joins with me in the mission to avenge Serena, I will return the deed to this house to you. You can keep your money, and you will never hear from me again. Everyone will know you’re off limits. No one will dare even look sideways in your direction again. But you can’t see him anymore.” His eyes flicker toward Tommy. “That is my only demand.”
Goddamn motherfucker. Such a typical move on his part. He tried to use bribery to get what he wants from me. I suppose it’s a step up from blackmail or threats, but the result is the same either way. A cold, seething rage twists and turns in the base of my stomach. How dare he do this. How dare he. This was my grandmother’s house. I grew up here, and I swore I would die here. I don’t care about his guys leaving me alone. I can handle those morons. But the house? The house is everything to me.
“I’ll give you the same time frame I’ve given Tommy to make up your mind,” Alex says. “I suppose that leaves you both one more night together before the hard decisions have to be made. After that…” He purses his lips, sliding his hands into his pockets. He turns and heads for the doorway, where he hovers, looking left then right up and down the street. “I’ll be seeing you both,” he says mildly, then he steps out of the house and is swallowed by the bright glare of the daylight beyond.
West laughs, tossing his keys into the air and then catching them. “Well, shit,” he says, beaming. “Not even I was expecting that.”
END OF PART ONE
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