DEFENSE

by Glenna Sinclair

  If Roland could impose a punishment on himself that was as extreme as refusing the proper treatment for a horrific wound and secluding himself away from the world, allowing everyone to believe that he was nothing more than a beast, then I could come up with something similar. I was so much worse than he was. I could drive my car out into the woods and live there among the trees, eating moss until I slowly withered away. It would probably be a much more peaceful ending than I deserved.

  I deserved to be unhappy and lost, to drive through these tears splashing down my face, mirroring the rain that pelted my windshield. I deserved the way my heart ached. I deserved to think about what Roland looked like when his face fell at the realization that I was a horrible person.

  The rain intensified as I parked in front of my building, but I didn’t care. I got out in the heaviest downpour, letting it soak my clothes through almost immediately, like standing under a showerhead wearing a full outfit. I squelched up the stairs and to my apartment, shivering in the cool air, wondering if this was how you got pneumonia, hoping that pneumonia was a more gruesome ending than starving to death.

  Without bothering to even take off my wet clothes, I fell face forward into my bed and laid there, breathing hard, willing something to happen, for me to just start crying or start breathing or go to sleep so I didn’t have to feel the way I was feeling right now.

  The old itch was back, the part of me that wanted to get back in my car and go, and yet I didn’t answer it. Seattle had become my home, and I was just going to have to find a way to be miserable in it. The rain was a help, the rain and my wet clothing. I didn’t want to go anywhere else because this city felt like something I used to have, and I wanted to have it again. I wanted it both helplessly and hopelessly.

  I’d ruined my chance at finding a home again. I would never learn how not to hurt people and myself in the process. Roland had felt like home to me, the way my body fit with his even though I didn’t deserve it, even though I was strangling whatever life we could’ve had together with my utter cowardice. I hadn’t wanted to tell him the truth, but the truth had needed to be said this whole time. There was no other way forward than the truth, but I hadn’t been able to understand that.

  Maybe I could’ve salvaged this situation a long time ago, when Roland had first told me about his role in the wreck, but that ship had long since sailed. If I’d told him, right off, how I’d been the one who was responsible, he probably never would’ve stopped to think that he might have feelings for me. He probably would’ve even fired me on the spot, especially since he only hired me as a gesture of pity for what he thought he’d done.

  Given the chance to do it all over again, I didn’t know what I’d do. I would’ve liked to think that I could’ve done something better, but right now, I was just so emotionally exhausted, and so cold, and so tired of feeling sad and conflicted that I wanted to close my eyes and sleep for as long as possible.

  There was one thing to be said about how it all went down. At least I wasn’t hiding anything from anybody anymore. Things had gotten shittier, sure, but at least they weren’t as complicated.

  I suspected I slept; it was hard to tell with my turmoil playing on loop, but I sat up suddenly. My bed sheets were damp and my clothing was slightly less sopping and I listened for something I thought I’d heard.

  There it was. My intercom buzzed again, and I heaved myself out of bed, wandering over to the device, wishing I could so much as feign an interest in who could be asking for me. However, I felt dead inside, utterly adrift. Everything had come crashing down.

  “Who is it?” I asked, but there was no one there. Just as well. There wasn’t a single person in the world I was expecting, not a single person I cared to see.

  I was alone, yet again, and as always, because of my own stupidity.

  I shuffled off to lie back down in bed when there was a knock at my door. Again, utter apathy. I shuffled back over to the door, flicking a lamp on, since the light outside had deepened into evening and the rain continued to fall.

  I didn’t so much as check through the peephole. It didn’t matter who was out there because everything was over. I twisted all of the locks and threw open the door. Standing there in my hallway was a dripping wet Roland Shepard.

  “I have to know one thing,” he said, his chest heaving so hard I wondered if he ran all the way here from the Shepard Shipments building.

  “Okay.” I felt slow, thick, like this wasn’t really happening. What was a dream and what was real? Was I still asleep in my wet clothes, over in the bed, wishing that Roland had come through the rain to talk to me at my apartment? It had to be a dream. He hadn’t left the penthouse in nearly five years. What reason would he have for leaving the fortress of solitude now that everyone he’d trusted had betrayed him?

  “Your feelings for me,” he said, casting his eyes on the ground. I realized that this was the first time I was really seeing Roland since I’d been here. The lighting in my apartment building’s hallway wasn’t great, but it was much better than how dimly lit he kept his office, and up until this point, that had been the only place I’d known him. The scar was thrown into greater contrast, now, but it was better, somehow, to see it like this, fully illuminated, instead of hiding in the shadows, becoming something worse than it actually was.

  “Were the feelings real?” he demanded, looking at me piercingly. “You said you were falling in love with me. Was that part of the scheme my brother cooked up? Or was that real?”

  “It was real,” I said, my face screwing up, the tears I’d wanted earlier falling now, fast and of their own volition. “I’m so sorry, Roland, for everything else. But that was real.”

  “Okay,” he said, and nothing else. Then, he put his arms around me and kissed me—true and deep and hot in spite of the cold rainwater dripping off of him, pooling around our feet.

  “You’re shivering,” he said, almost angry about it. “Beauty, these are the clothes you were wearing at the office, and they’re still wet. You didn’t change out of them?”

  “I guess not,” I said, numb, still convinced that this wasn’t happening, that it was just a dream. “And you’re wet, too.”

  “This is how people get hypothermia,” he fussed, closing the door behind him, walking me backward toward the bedroom, keeping me in his arms. “It’s freezing in here. Didn’t you realize it?”

  “Not really.” I was still crying, my tears dropping onto my ruined shirt.

  “Stop that crying,” he admonished gently. “Let’s get you warm. Come on.”

  I couldn’t stop weeping even if I tried to, letting his deft fingers unbutton my shirt, wriggling obediently out of my trousers, and squirming as he picked off my still-soaked bra and panties. I cried so hard that I didn’t even care I was standing naked in front of Roland Shepard. I only barely registered that he was naked, too, when he pressed our bodies together, their shared warmth making my teeth stop chattering. I noticed that his scar stopped just over his heart. How close had he been to death that night? It had to have been an awful injury.

  “What can I do to get you to stop crying?” he asked, bending slightly before lifting me up, cradling me against his chest, his hot mouth kissing my forehead, then my cheeks, then my lips, then my neck.

  “Will this work?” he murmured, laying me on the bed, his mouth continuing its downward travels. “Will this get you to stop crying?”

  “Why do you want me to stop crying?” I asked, gasping as he planted a kiss between my breasts.

  “Because I love you, is why.” A kiss on each of my nipples made me arch my back. “I don’t like seeing you cry. I don’t want you to be sad.”

  “But I betrayed you, and I lied to you,” I said, panting as his lips tickled my bellybutton, his tongue flicking out for just a moment against my skin.

  “That’s not what I want to talk about,” he said, kissing my hipbone, then inside, on the delicate, sensitive skin there.

  “What do you want to talk about?”
I asked, then gave a long moan as he dragged his tongue between my labia and tenderly sucked my clit.

  “That,” Roland said, smiling up at me from between my legs. He stroked me there with one hand, sliding effortlessly, telling me something I already knew—just how turned on I was. “That’s what I want to talk about. Let me know all about that.”

  I keened, as he pressed his thumb against the side of that magic nub, against and around, over and over again until I was breathless and thrusting my hips upward in rhythm to his attentions.

  “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his touch gentle but electric, everywhere at once on my body. His palms grazed my hardened nipples, his full cock brushed my thigh.

  “I want you,” I said, running my hands over his hard torso, down his abs. “But…but you should know. It’s been a long time—a really long time. I wasn’t with your…I never did with Dan….”

  “Hush.” Roland’s fingers were inside of me, now, in and out, over and over again, making me spread my legs as wide as I could, wanton, uncaring. “What did I say I wanted to talk about?”

  I moaned into his mouth as he dipped down and kissed me, clinging to his biceps as he continued to finger me until I was sure I was going to come. He kissed my neck and reached, guiding something harder—and bigger—into me than those fingers had been.

  I cried out at the slow invasion, at being stretched, at that inexplicable beauty and hunger of being filled to the brim by another person, joining two bodies into a single vessel. I shuddered against him; all memory of being cold vanished. I only felt the heat of his cock, buried deep inside me.

  “Okay?” he asked, the shiver in his voice, barely restrained, doing strange things to my heart.

  “Yes,” I moaned, putting my legs around his waist, squeezing as hard as I could. “Please.”

  “All you have to do is ask.”

  He started to thrust, one hand still between us, relentless against my clit, circling and circling. The other cupped my breast, rolled my nipple between his fingers. He captured my flailing hand and kissed my nipple.

  I came loud and long, sure that all of Seattle could hear me even over the rain that continued to drive down outside the window, grabbing onto Roland anywhere I could catch hold, screaming as he saw me through to the very end of it, pushing against my clit in tandem with his thrusts.

  Then, and only then, did he come, burying his face in the crook of my neck, groaning as he pumped inside of me, filling me with such a sweet, sticky warmth that I was certain I’d never be cold again. I held on to him until he stopped groaning, stopped thrusting, and just breathed hard against me…until he was able to hold himself on his elbow and gently extricate himself from me.

  Even in the fade of afterglow, after that beautiful fucking, guilt overwhelmed me, and I began to weep once more.

  “Stop,” he chided me, wiping my cheeks with his thumbs. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because of everything I’ve done to you.”

  “You were only trying to protect yourself,” he said. “My brother’s a motherfucker, Beauty, and I’m sorry for him.”

  “What’d he tell you?” I asked, hiccupping from all the sobbing.

  “Nothing.” Roland shrugged. “He was gone when I got upstairs. Probably off getting drunk somewhere and sulking. I really don’t care right now.”

  “But the spying and the wreck and the lying.” I covered my face with both of my hands. “Roland, how can you not hate me?”

  “How could I be here if I hated you?” he asked, gently pulling my hands away. “Beauty, I love you. I never want to be away from you. But you need to stop crying, now, or I’m going to have to do something else to try and make you stop.”

  His hand trailed between my legs, sampling the foreign slickness there, still managing to make me gasp as he flicked the pad of a finger against my clit.

  “I’ll stop crying,” I panted. “Promise.”

  He laughed and withdrew his hand.

  “I’m going to go to the bathroom and get some water,” he said, kissing my temple. “Try not to worry so much and relax. Do you want anything?”

  “I guess I’ll have some water, too,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Roland walked away, but I couldn’t shake my sense of unease. I fell onto my back and threw my arm over my eyes. I was probably just tired, exhausted from the events of the day, the rollercoaster of emotions I’d been on for months and months. I needed a good night’s sleep—which would be even better with Roland’s arms around me—and I’d be back to normal, or whatever my new normal would be. What it was to be with someone you loved, and who loved you in return, would be brand new territory for me. It was a journey I was looking forward to.

  “Don’t go to sleep yet. The fun’s just about to start.”

  I pushed myself up to a sitting position to see Dan leering at me from the end of the bed, holding a huge knife.

  Chapter 19

  It was stupid, but I drew the sheets up to my chin, as if they would protect me from Dan’s slightly crazed stare, or the intimidating knife he was wielding. Both of those weapons seemed like they could cut through the sheet as if it wasn’t even there, but I still cowered behind it. What the hell was he doing here? I wanted to scream out for Roland, who was still in the bathroom, but I was so shocked and frightened that I couldn’t make a sound.

  “Nothing there that I haven’t already seen,” Dan sneered at me, making me feel even smaller and more vulnerable.

  I swallowed hard and somehow found my voice. “You need to leave right now,” I said. “You’re not wanted here, and you’re not invited.”

  “Brave words from a naked girl trying to hide beneath a blanket,” Dan said. “You know, I never really got to take in an eyeful of you before. You going to show me what I missed out on, or am I going to have to make you?”

  There was movement behind Dan. Roland, thank God, had to have heard our voices from my bathroom, but I wanted to make sure the man with the knife was good and distracted to give his brother a fighting chance. So I dropped the blanket and let Dan have an eyeful as Roland crept closer.

  “Now, see?” Dan crowed, his eyes raking up and down my body appreciatively, making me feel like I’d never be clean again. “If you’d just been a little more cooperative before, maybe we would’ve gotten along better. And you certainly wouldn’t have had to make yourself into sloppy seconds for my brother.”

  “Fuck you, Dan!” Roland roared, landing one good punch but spoiling the success of any sort of sneak attack. Dan whirled wildly, slashing at the air with the knife, and I scrambled off the bed as Roland yelped and went down, covering his face.

  Time slowed down. Dan was winding up, bringing the knife over his head, prepared to sink it into whatever body part of Roland’s that the blade might find desirable, and I did the only thing I could do. I leapt up and grabbed the glinting blade before it could descend and hurt Roland any more than it already had done. It was all I could think about. I had to protect Roland. He’d been through enough. This was what I could do to prove to him that I really loved him and save him from the monstrosity his brother had turned me into.

  This is what I could do to prove to myself that I was worth a damn.

  My hand closed on the blade, and I gripped as hard as I could, taking Dan by complete surprise even as pain like I’d never known before exploded in my body. I yanked the knife so hard that it came loose from Dan’s grasp, so I pulled even harder. My pain and the wetness dripping down my wrist were rewarded by the sound of metal clattering over my floor.

  “Beauty, no!” There was blood on Roland’s face as he reached toward me, then Dan elbowed me in the jaw and I crumpled to the floor.

  Two heavy bodies scuffled around me, grunting and cursing, and I cradled my injured hand to me, unwilling to look at it, to see just how dire the cut was. I knew it wasn’t good; I knew that it had been stupid; I knew that maybe I’d die if the wrong brother won the fight.

  And for the first time in a long t
ime, I found that death wasn’t what I wanted.

  It was a strange revelation for me, especially since I’d wanted nothing more than to slip into a black abyss after the wreck. For what felt like the first time in many years, I had something to live for. It was love of Roland, yes, but it was also faith that I was capable of doing the right thing. I’d saved him from getting hurt further by Dan, and whatever happened, I knew that I could be proud of myself.

  Someone fell heavily near me, but I couldn’t tell which Shepard it was. I wasn’t feeling well, and it was hard enough to wriggle away from the fight with the slippery, wet floor beneath me and my mangled hand.

  There was a loud grunt, a long string of curses, and then finally, I was in somebody’s arms, warmer than I had been.

  “Beauty? Stay with me.”

  The pain in my hand was really bad, and I was very tired, and there was red everywhere that I hoped someone else would clean up. Then, I didn’t think of anything at all.

  After what seemed like a very long time, I opened my eyes and blinked several times, waiting for them to adjust.

  At first, I thought I was having a nightmare. I was waking up in the hospital again after causing my parents’ and Caro’s deaths, having escaped death even though I was the one most responsible for others’ demises.

  But this was different, because that had happened a long time ago. There was a dull ache in my hand, and a man sitting in a chair beside my bed who only looked vaguely familiar. He was watching me, waiting for me to become fully awake.

  “I’ve seen you before,” I murmured, my mouth dry, my voice cracking. “I don’t know where, though, but you’re familiar.”

  “I’m Jones,” he said. “Mr. Shepard’s head of security.”

  “You brought us Chinese takeout late one night,” I said, nodding to myself. “That’s what it was.”

  “You have a very good memory for faces,” he said kindly.

  Then, everything came rushing back. Dan had attacked Roland and me. My hand—it was heavily bandaged, but as far as I could tell, still attached to my wrist.