Ryan (The Mallick Brothers #2)

by Jessica Gadziala

  So that was how I became a criminal.

  I hadn't gone into it with rose-colored glasses. I didn't think I was untouchable. I always knew that someday it would catch up to me. Though, I thought it would be more along the lines of jail time than a beatdown but it hadn't exactly shocked me that it came to that either.

  But Ryan witnessing it? Ryan stepping in? Ryan cleaning up the mess I had been made into?

  Yeah, that was not sitting right with me.

  His opinion mattered.

  And he was never going to look at me the same.

  I heard him walk out of his apartment as I took my icepack and made my way down the hall.

  I wasn't going to lie; everything hurt. However bad it looked, and it looked bad, it felt about ten times worse.

  I saw another, closed, door in the hall and I figured that maybe it was a study or a second bedroom. But not feeling comfortable opening closed doors in someone else's place, I went into the open door to his bedroom and climbed into sheets that smelled like him- a hint of spice from his cologne and a unfeminine laundry detergent. I got in, pulled the covers up, put the icepack over my face in a way that it covered my eye and swollen lip, and started deep breathing.

  I should have been freaking out.

  I should have been beside myself with anxiety over being out of my apartment, being in his, being in his bed, in his clothes, with none of my comforts around.

  But the truth of the matter was, the second those men put their hands on my stuff, they ruined the comfort I attached to them. Somehow, leaving felt less stressful than staying.

  I guess it was a form of progress in a way.

  I heard the front door open and close and his feet moving around for a long couple of minutes before I slowly drifted off to sleep. But it couldn't have been for long because the next thing I knew, the bed was shifting behind me, a sensation unusual enough to make me jerk awake in time to feel his body sliding in behind mine.

  "Just me," Ryan's low, smooth voice said from right behind me as I felt his legs cock up behind mine and his arm slid gently around my belly, pulling me back against him slightly. "How's the pain?"

  What pain?

  All that my brain could focus on was the fact that he climbed into bed with me, he draped himself around me, he ducked his head into my neck, and asked about my pain.

  He didn't shrink away from me. He wasn't repulsed by me now that he knew the truth.

  "It's fine," I said, shrugging a little as his arm gave me a squeeze.

  "Your cat claimed the TV cabinet as his bed," he offered, making me feel guilty for not checking on him myself.

  "I know you're not a cat fan. If you want me to bring him back across the hall so that..."

  "It's fine, Dusty. Don't worry about him."

  "I don't know how to thank you for tonight," I admitted, hating how weak my voice sounded.

  "You have nothing to thank me for. I'd be a pretty shitty man if I saw a woman being attacked and didn't step in."

  That was true enough.

  "But you let me stay here," I went on, feeling my heart flutter as his fingers started moving absentmindedly across my belly.

  "You're always welcome here."

  There was a sincerity there that did something awful to me inside- it gave me hope.

  "I, ah, didn't know if the other room was a office or guest room. I could move..."

  "Like you here," he said, sounding tired.

  That was the last thing he said because not more than a few minutes later, his arm went heavy on my stomach and I knew he was asleep.

  I, however, didn't sleep for a long time. This was mostly because my mind decided to take the fact that he 'liked having me there' and run with it until, on one hand, things ended with me back to work, in a happy relationship with him, and mostly-normal. But the more likely way it would probably get my hopes up, turn to hell, and leave me more screwed up than before.

  And on that lovely note, I drifted off to sleep.

  I woke up to Rocky jumping up onto my hip and letting out a loud 'meow'. "Get," I whined, whipping off the room temperature icepack and glaring at him with my good eye, somewhat relieved to realize that the other one wasn't completely shut anymore either. It wasn't open per say, but I had a slit I could look out of.

  He let out another meow, somehow with more attitude, and I sighed and folded upward. Rocky jumped up and ran toward the door where he paused as if waiting for me. "I'm coming," I told him, but turned to make a quick stop in the bathroom where I already found a wrapped toothbrush waiting for me. Grateful, I brushed my teeth, wiped off what was left of the antibiotic cream, and made my way back out toward the kitchen.

  "I did feed him. But the stubborn fuck apparently won't eat unless you're around," Ryan informed me, not having even turned away from where he was standing at the stove, looking freshly showered in a tight black tee and dark gray, thick sweatpants.

  As if agreeing to that statement, Rocky sauntered over to where Ryan had set up his bowls beside the front door and started eating.

  "He's finicky," I supplied. "Are you... cooking?" I asked, smelling heating butter in the pan but not quite willing to accept that a guy like him was capable of mundane tasks like cooking. That was why he had his housekeeper, wasn't it?

  His head turned over his shoulder with an amused smirk, no doubt picking up on the incredulousness in my tone. "Omelettes," he supplied. "I stole the eggs from your apartment. And the cheese. And orange juice. Apparently Anita hasn't hit the grocery store recently."

  God, could he possibly get any better?

  Seriously.

  "Alright, so I need," he started, tone slightly more serious, turning to me as he whisked eggs, leaning back against the counter.

  But he was cut off by the sound of two loud raps on his door before it suddenly flew open, making me stumble back a step, my heart flying into my throat before I saw who came walking in.

  One of his brothers.

  Really, there was no mistaking them. They all had the same perfect bone structure, dark hair, and light eyes. They were all tall though their shapes varied. Ryan was tall and lean as was one of the other brothers who I had seen visiting. Another was a giant wall of muscle. This one was something in between. He was a little more broad than Ryan, but not hugely muscular.

  And he had stopped dead three feet in the room, frozen completely in place.

  What had him frozen you might ask?

  Me, apparently.

  Because he had been smiling slightly when he charged in. But in a blink, the second his gaze landed on me, the smile fell, he stopped walking, and a darkness seemed to come over his eyes.

  "Eli," Ryan's voice said, low, deeper, almost like a warning. But a warning against what?

  Eli unfroze at that, reaching into his pocket, but his eyes were still pinned on me. He brought out his cell, holding it up, and I heard the unmistakable shutter of his camera, making me jump back, my gaze going to Ryan.

  "Back off, Eli," Ryan growled, louder, dropping the bowl of eggs down with a clink and switching off the burner. Then he moved to stand somewhat between me and his brother.

  "Just in case," Eli said, flashing the picture at his brother, making me wince at seeing the evidence of my beating so plainly. Then he shut the phone down, slipped it back into his pocket, and looked past his brother at me. And just like that, whatever had overtaken him a moment ago slipped away, leaving him with soft eyes and an apologetic smile.

  "It's okay," I offered, swallowing hard. "I know this is a bit... ah, startling," I offered, motioning to my face.

  "Think the word you were going for there was 'gorgeous'," he said, easily skirting the topic of my face and saving my vanity. "I'm Eli," he said, giving me a smile. "Since my brother here has completely forgotten his manners. Don't worry," he added, moving in so that he was next to me, leaning his head toward me like he was sharing a secret, "I will be informing our mother about not introducing us. She'll straighten him out."

  I smi
led at that, barely noticing the way doing so made my eye and cheeks and lip hurt. "I'm Dusty," I supplied.

  "Dusty. Pleasure is mine. And look, I made it just in time for breakfast!" he declared. "Two bottles of champagne," he noticed, looking over at Ryan's liquor cabinet. "Well you won't be needing two of those later. Mimosas?"

  And that was when I pretty much decided that I needed Eli Mallick in my life. In a friendly capacity.

  Ryan gave me a look I couldn't read then went back to the eggs, switching on the stove, then chopping up veggies to put inside.

  "'Sup, you flat-faced freak," Eli said, snapping my attention back from where I had been staring at Ryan's back to find Eli standing at the island pouring orange juice into flutes... with Rocky rubbing up against his arm. Rubbing against him.

  "He hates men," I blurted out, mouth parted. "Half the time he hates me," I added on a head shake.

  "Now, see, if I weren't in mixed company right now..." Eli started with a wicked smile, "I would make a comment of the risqué nature."

  I snorted at that, knowing exactly what kind of comment that would be.

  "So, Dusty," Eli said as Ryan started filling the pan with egg. "What do you do?" he finished, handing me a mimosa.

  I started for a second, feeling caught before my brain started working and I remembered I did have an answer for that. "I write."

  Ryan's head swung over his shoulder, his brows drawing together, his eyes questioning. And it was then that I realized that while I had gotten closer to him than I had anyone else in years, while he saved me twice and patched me up and kissed me and slept with me (the G-rated meaning of that phrase), we were still virtual strangers to each other.

  "I can read," Eli said with a smirk, making me smile again. "What do you write?"

  "Teen paranormal."

  "Vampires and witches who are all angsty and have love triangles?"

  "So you've read my work," I laughed as he toasted my glass.

  Then we all ate omelettes and drank mimosas while Eli held up most of the conversation with a little help from me because Ryan was suddenly quieter than usual.

  And it was easy.

  It was like I wasn't horribly out of practice.

  Maybe the ease of it could be attributed to Eli and his laid-back kind of conversational skills, but no matter what the reason was, I was having breakfast with two men who weren't my uncle or Bry and I wasn't feeling like an awkward, anxiety-ridden mess.

  To progress.

  That was what Ryan had toasted me to in my apartment on Christmas.

  It was almost like it was some kind of premonition.

  I couldn't hope for magic cures.

  I couldn't hope for miracles.

  But I damn sure could hope for progress.

  NINE

  Ryan

  Eli was hard to predict.

  Like Hunter, Eli had never been truly cut out for the family business. He was always a little softer, calmer, more artistic. He wasn't the one starting shit on the playground like Shane or Mark. He wasn't the first to jump in when a big brawl broke out in high school. He wasn't someone for whom violence came easily.

  But violence was instilled in us from a young age.

  As such, because it wasn't natural to him, wasn't something that was a part of him, that he could learn to control slowly through lower levels of it, his anger was much more explosive than any I had ever seen.

  So when it came up for Eli, it came up in a wild, unstoppable wave. He had his triggers sometimes, like walking into my apartment and seeing Dusty all busted up. But, just as often, he could just flip it on when the need came.

  That was why he was our 'last resort' with difficult clients. When they didn't cough up money with my firm suggestions or Mark's warning or Shane's fierce beating, well, that was when Pops called on Eli. Usually, he couldn't go alone. Because most of the time, he needed to be pulled off before he killed someone.

  But it went off like a switch.

  He walked in, saw Dusty, started to freak, took a picture in case he ever needed to show a cop why he was beating a man half to death for what he did to her, then shut it right back off.

  And Dusty responded to him.

  While, like me, he had never been the slut that Shane and Mark had been, he definitely had a charm that most women reacted to. He paid attention to the small things and could always seem to keep things from getting too awkward. That, for Dusty, was huge. If the conversation slumped for even a second, you could visibly see her tensing up, watch as her eyes went slightly panicked, like she was trying to think of a way to keep things light and easy, to not show that she wasn't the best at social situations.

  Part of me was thankful to him to ease her into being comfortable with someone other than her uncle and me and the Bry fuck.

  The other part was irrationally jealous of how they connected, how he managed to get things out of her that I hadn't even thought to yet. For fuck's sake, I didn't even know she wrote for a living. Holding drugs for her friend was apparently just to supplement her income.

  Her anxiety might have ripped her life from her, but she found a way to live other ones, to have adventures and connect with people.

  After breakfast, Eli split, having his own plans for New Years Eve that put him with Mark and would likely involve too much alcohol and someone to kiss (and more) at midnight. Dusty insisted on cleaning and proved herself pretty damn stubborn in the process, so I answered a few emails in the living room.

  Which was how I heard him when she didn't with the water running in the sink.

  Bry.

  I heard the knock and was on my feet in a blink.

  "Be right back," I called. "Need to take a work call," I added, waving my phone as she gave me a smile and turned back to the dishes.

  I walked into the hall, closing the door with a quiet click just as Bry pulled the door open to Dusty's apartment and stepped in the doorway. His entire body froze as soon as he did, his shoulders squaring, his hand on the knob gripping hard.

  So he didn't hear me as I stepped across the hall. But he sure as fuck felt it when my hand spread wide and landed in the center of his back, shoving him forward hard and making him stumble into the wrecked apartment.

  "The fuck..." he growled, whipping around as I stepped inside and closed the door, leaning against it. "Mallick?" he asked, stiffening. Then, maybe the only thing he could do to redeem himself, he looked around slowly. "What happened? Where is Dusty? She okay?"

  "You know, generally, when you care about a woman, you don't put her in a position where she gets her apartment broken into, trashed, and gets a beating no woman should ever fucking be subjected to."

  "Where the fuck is she?" he demanded, voice a rough growl from between his clenched teeth. He took a few threatening steps toward me but stopped before it became too much of a challenge. "Is she alright?"

  "She's not fucking great with her swollen shut eye and her bruises and busted lip and..."

  "Fuck," he cut me off on a loud growl, reaching out to grab what was closest to him, a book on the back of her couch, and throwing it across the room where it smashed into the wall and clattered to the floor. "Did she have to go to the hospital? She's probably fucking freaking the fuck..."

  "She's not at the hospital," I cut him off.

  So he did give a shit about her. I didn't get to see them together much, just his impatient slamming on her door on drop-off or pick-up days. It didn't give me the best image of the bastard. That and the fact that he would involve her in his illegal dealings didn't exactly shed him in the best light.

  But judging by the way he froze about the wrecked apartment, that his immediate questions involved Dusty's wellbeing and not, say, the status of his stash, well, it said something about him.

  "Then where is she? I want to see her."

  "Why?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

  "Because she's my fucking friend. Because she got beat up and she's not in her apartment. The apartment, I might add, tha
t she hasn't left in years."

  "She's at my place," I supplied, my voice empty.

  "Why the fuck would she be at your place, man? She doesn't even know you. She sure as fuck doesn't know what you're involved in."

  "She knows what you're involved in and she seems alright with that. As for the other point, she does know me. Bought me a Christmas present and everything."

  He looked taken aback at that, his mouth falling open, two lines forming between his brows. "She's never mentioned you."

  If I wasn't wrong, and I rarely was, he had a thing for her. Not just a 'she's my safe house for my drugs and I want her alive' thing or even a 'we grew up together' thing, but an actual thing. He wanted her. That was why he had touched her when he came in. And, knowing her as he seemed to, he must have understood her recoil from him.

  Fucking unrequited love shit.

  I almost felt bad for the fuck.

  Almost.

  But the woman he supposedly loved was in my goddamn apartment with her face fucked up because of a situation he put her in.

  "Yeah, well, I'm a new development in her life."

  His face genuinely fell at that information, taking it the way I meant for him to take it even though me and Dusty, as a thing, were still in the very beginning stage. "You mean what I think you mean?"

  "Probably. And seeing that isn't even a goddamn little bit any of your business, we'll move on from it. Who do you work for?"

  The tension came back at that as his chin angled up. "Don't think that is even a goddamn little bit of your business either," he threw my words back at me.

  Well, if he didn't want to do it the easy way...

  I dropped my arms and closed the few feet between us, hand curling around his throat and slamming him back against the wall, his face in almost the same position the guy who beat Dusty's was, the deep red, almost black dried blood on the wall evident of that fact.

  "It's my mother fucking business when a woman I care about has her face smashed up because of the drugs you got her fucking involved in. And because I know all the players in this town, I know you're just some lackey for some bigger bad. So cut the mother fucking bullshit and give me some goddamn answers or I can show you exactly how the Mallick family got their reputation in this town."