by P. Jameson
Stepping out of the shower, he stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror.
Win his mate. That was the mission.
It would break the curse, which would make him strong enough to protect her. Strong enough to save the dolls, and start his clan on the road to recovery.
Monster and Skittles were ready to change. But right now, they were all as powerless as Marlee had been. As the other girls were.
All of them so fucking powerless.
Ratchet was going to bring it back. Restore them all, starting with himself and his sweet, scared mate.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and reached for the door, but then stopped, remembering the clothes he’d brought into the bathroom with him. He typically didn’t give one shit about modesty. It was no big thing to shifters who changed forms often. But he could cover up for Marlee until she was used to him.
Doing a quick dry off, he jerked his jeans up his legs, not bothering to hook the button, and pulled a t-shirt over his head. There. He was covered.
Walking out into the room, he stopped short.
Marlee stood by the closet, the jeans he wore earlier hanging over her arm. She had his wallet in one hand and was staring into the palm of her other.
He cleared his throat and she looked up.
“I was cleaning up,” she rushed out. “Putting the laundry in the basket, and this fell out.”
She showed him what was in her palm, ruining one part of his surprise. The gift he’d found for her in the trash was cradled in her hand. And against her pale skin, it looked even closer to her eye color. It was perfect. But now he couldn’t give it to her the way he’d planned.
“It’s scratched a little. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Was it very important?”
“Kind of.” He cleared his throat again, not liking the way his voice sounded. “But it’s okay—” He was about to tell her it had come from the trash when she interrupted.
“Maybe I can fix it. I saw on the news one time that toothpaste can take scratches and scuffs out.”
Well, fuck. Now she was trying to fix the broken thing he’d brought her. This attempt to court her wasn’t starting out so well.
He reached forward, pecking it from her hand and jammed it in his pocket. Then he took his wallet, shut it in the dresser drawer, and tossed the jeans into the basket.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, escaping through the door before she could say anything else.
He took a deep breath and made his way to the kitchen. Food and drinks. Then he’d show Marlee the rest of the surprise.
He bypassed the lounge. The party wasn’t swinging yet, but he wanted something better than pizza and shit for tonight. If that meant he had to cook something up, then he would. And maybe Marlee wouldn’t mind too bad if it was burnt.
But in the kitchen, he found his mom at the counter, quickly shoving food containers into a large paper bag. Her back was to him as she muttered, “I told you, Fang. The food is for Ratchet, and you can’t have any. None, okay? He’s finally eating, and he’s going to want all of it. So buzz off. I’ll make you some cookies later. Deal?”
“It’s me.”
Her head came around. “Oh, good. Here.” She shoved the bag in his hands. “Take this. It’s drawing too much attention.”
“What is it, ma?”
She wiped her hands on a towel as her eyes shifted to the door and back to him. “Pasta. Salad. Bread. Dessert.”
“You didn’t have to make us nothing.”
“Yes, I did,” she whispered. “She needs good food. Needs to get stronger, whether you like it or not.”
Ratchet snapped his head back in surprise, and her eyes seemed to soften.
She thought he meant to hurt Marlee? Hadn’t he kept his promise not to touch her? Hadn’t he fed her and let her sleep in his bed and brought her a gift?
“Oh, son,” she said regretfully, her shoulders slumping low. “I know what you’re doing. You think you’ve found a mate, and you want to get her with child because it’s what you’re supposed to do. What you’ve been taught to do. But she doesn’t need that, and this clan doesn’t need any young, understand? Let her be. Let her heal. And then let her go.”
Never.
The mere idea of letting Marlee go was a grip around his throat, threatening to choke him out.
“It’s not like that.”
She pressed her lips together, her worried gaze searching him.
“I’ve seen this so many times before, Thomas. I see the change in you.”
He shook his head, staring away to avoid her guilt. It triggered the guilt that had been fading in him with every hour he spent with Marlee.
“She can heal me,” he admitted, and looked back to catch his mom’s expression. “She can break the curse. Give me my power back.”
And that was when he saw it. Something he never saw in his mother. Something she’d obviously spent a lot of time concealing, masking. For what… survival?
Fear. He saw fear.
So blunt and stark. It wasn’t much different than the fear he saw in Marlee. No, it was nearly the same.
His mother was afraid of him being healed? Of him regaining his power…
Ratchet narrowed his gaze.
She’s a captive. Like mate.
The new beast whispered the truth to him, and he couldn’t understand how he didn’t see it before. His mother was a captive to the clan just like Marlee had been to Bastian. She was fed and cared for, and paid for the job she did. But a captive all the same. To their violence and the results of it. To the past and what the fathers put her through. To the future she’d lost sticking around to care for him and his brothers.
She was captive, and Ratchet was the one who’d kept her here.
Shit.
New guilt poured over him.
Why hadn’t he seen it before?
You weren’t ready. Your heart is growing stronger.
And instinct told him there would be more painful revelations to endure before he was completely healed. Before the curse could break and he could give Marlee and his mom back what too many people had taken from them.
He reached forward, wanting to touch her somewhere. A hug, hold her hand. It had been ages since he let her that close.
But it wasn’t the right time. He wasn’t fixed yet. And she wouldn’t understand.
“You said you see changes,” he reminded.
“Yes, but—”
“That’s just the beginning. This clan is going to become something new. And it starts with me. I’m going to fix our wrongs.”
He turned to leave, getting all the way to the kitchen door before she answered.
“Thomas.”
Looking back over his shoulder, he met her sad gaze, and knew she didn’t have faith in him. But he couldn’t blame her. He’d just have to show her.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Chapter Twelve
It’s just a marble. Just a tiny jewel-toned marble. He couldn’t be that mad.
Marlee sat on the chair cross-legged, chewing her thumbnail to a nub while she waited for Ratchet to return.
She’d only wanted to pick up the room a little. It was starting to feel stuffy. And maybe look at Ratchet’s driver’s license to see how old he was. Or to find out something about the man who cared for her.
That’s what she told herself.
But part of her was still looking for ways to escape. Any little crack in the armor that could help her get out faster. Because the other girls were still trapped until she got their picture to the FBI.
The picture she’d somehow lost.
“It’s got to be in the shed,” she murmured.
Which made getting free even more of a challenge, because she couldn’t just run. She needed to find the photo. Then run.
Don’t run.
The thought fluttered through her mind. It was always there, the desire to give in just to make things better, but she chased it off. Stockholm
was a serious thing, and she’d fight it until her last breath.
Until she had true freedom again, she would never be done trying to escape.
Even if this was the safest she’d felt in a decade.
Even if Ratchet’s strong arms had felt like a fortress around her.
Even if he made her want things she’d never had before. Stupid things. Like… friendship. Or more. True friendship that wasn’t forced on her. She loved the other girls as much as she could. Even the ones who’d left her there to endure after they’d paid off their debts.
But she hadn’t chosen any of them. And they hadn’t chosen her.
Her heart raced as she remembered the way Ratchet had gripped her neck. Like he’d stand by her side through anything. She wanted devotion like that.
But then she’d screwed up his marble, so maybe that was enough to make him change his mind.
And… he was holding her here. So there was that too.
And her mind was too jumbled to think straight. She’d slept the drugs off, but there was still so much adrenaline and fear and worry in her system.
Breathe, Marlee.
The door eased open and Ratchet pushed through, carrying a giant paper bag.
Her surprise.
Her gut cramped in warning at the sight. Nothing good was ever carried in paper bags.
He set the bag on the dresser, not meeting her gaze. The snarl he wore as his go-to expression twisted his lips and furrowed his brow. He stalked to the closet, flicking through the hangers until he pulled a gray hoodie sweatshirt free. Then he finally looked at her, mouth open like he was about to say something, but stopped.
His shoulders dipped and he fisted the sweatshirt at his side. “What is it? What has you looking like that, Marlee?”
She liked that he used her name. Liked the way he said it. Careful, like he wanted to make sure every syllable was heard. She’d hated being called Thirteen. As if she was so insignificant she didn’t deserve an identity.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m going to eat you. Like I haven’t kept you safe since the moment I found you. Like you didn’t run to me when I came home.” His voice wasn’t loud. It was low and hard. But he was upset. Angry maybe.
And something amazing happened.
She got angry too. Not scared. Angry.
“I’ve been here two days. I’m not allowed to leave. I’ve been living in a basement with no windows for ten years. Never enough food, and water that quenched my thirst only if I wanted the drugs that came with it. You’re the nicest man I’ve encountered in a decade and I’m trying to understand why. Because everybody—everybody—wants something.” The words flew from her mouth in a quiet tirade that was barely more than a whisper.
And as they did, a funny thing happened. Two things really. One, she felt… freer. A bird testing new wings. And two, Ratchet’s shoulders lifted and his brow eased. As if he liked hearing her mind.
Impossible.
“So just tell me, Ratchet.” She squeaked his name and he went ramrod stiff. “What do you want from me?”
He seemed to think about it, truly puzzled by the question before he answered, “I want you to trust me.”
His words hung in the air while her mind scrambled to make sense of them.
Her lips opened and closed looking for words before she finally muttered the truth. “I can’t.”
“I know.” He let out a breath, running his hand through his hair, frustrated. “Look, can I just… show you the surprise before it’s ruined?”
Marlee stared at the paper bag like it held a monster inside.
“Then if you don’t like it, we’ll try something else. I’ll learn what you like. It won’t take me long. I pay attention.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the bag.
“Here.” Ratchet held the sweatshirt out to her. “Put this on.”
She took it, frowning in confusion as she pulled it over her head and jabbed her arms into the sleeves.
Ratchet dug in one of the drawers for a pair of socks—two—and quickly jerked one pair onto his feet before kneeling in front of her and unrolling the other.
Her jaw dropped at his actions. What was happening?
He met her gaze and seemed to be asking permission. When she didn’t object… because she couldn’t fathom what he was doing… he carefully hooked a hand around one ankle, pulling her foot up to rest on his knee.
He was going to put socks on her? Putting clothes on. Not taking them off.
But he just stayed like that, staring at her foot with her messed up nails. Scrapes and cuts that were either scabbing over or still raw. Ratchet brushed his rough thumb over the top of her foot, the gesture seeming… sweet. Soft. Like she craved.
A soft touch.
Like when he’d held her.
She didn’t realize how much she needed it. Or how good it could feel. It had been too long since anyone had touched her softly.
She remembered the feel of her mother’s hug. But as a teenager, she’d brushed it off so many times, not realizing how much she would long for it again someday.
Now this man touched her softly. And not because she was crying in fear. Not to console her.
It felt... damn good.
“I’m sorry he did this to you.” His voice was a rough whisper as he stared down at her foot. But it screamed loud in her ears.
He. It was the way he said… he. Like he knew who had held her for all those years even though she hadn’t said a word. It sucked all the good feelings away like a morbid vacuum, and brought the fear back.
Sighing, Ratchet carefully slipped the sock onto her foot and set it back on the floor, then repeated the action with the other one. He stood, digging in a new drawer and coming out with a thick folded blanket. He passed it to Marlee before juggling the paper bag into his arms, and started for the window.
“Wha…” She stared after him. “Where…?”
He slid the pane up, peeking out before he turned back to her.
“There are two fire escapes in this building. This one, and the other on the opposite side. If you go down here, you end up in the lot closest to Felix’s door. Don’t ever go down, Marlee,” he warned.
“Okay.” No problem. She didn’t want to be anywhere near this Felix.
Ratchet ducked through the opening and held his hand out for her to follow.
“Wait. Where are we going?”
“Up,” he said. “To the roof. Come on.”
The roof? He was taking her the roof.
She stared at this hand, then found his expectant gaze. He wanted her to come. But why were they going to the roof when she was supposed to be hiding?
“It’s safe?”
Ratchet nodded. “Nobody goes up there except me. And there’s a light, so it’s not too dark.”
The roof. Open air. Maybe stars if the city lights didn’t drown them out. It sounded magical. It sounded like the tiniest taste of freedom.
Was that what Ratchet was offering her?
Tentatively, she placed her hand in his palm. The feel of his strong grip was good. And even though it was completely new, it didn’t scare her, as he helped her out of the window and onto the grate.
With socked feet, they climbed the stairs one level to the top, and Ratchet took her hand again to pull her onto the roof. She clutched the rolled up blanket to her chest as she followed him past the air conditioning units and duct work, mimicking the way he stepped softly.
Socks. So the ones below wouldn’t hear them walking. Smart.
They stopped near what looked like a small utility room. The light attached to the top spread a dim glow over the entire roof.
Ratchet was right. It wasn’t dark, but it was dim enough they weren’t on display.
Marlee glanced around. She couldn’t see the lot. Which meant if anyone came out, they wouldn’t see her either.
Ratchet set the bag on the ground and reached for the blanket. She huddled into the sweatshirt, feeling exp
osed out in the open air.
Would she always be a walking contradiction?
Just minutes ago, this had sounded like a good idea. Now, not so much. She was like a ping pong ball, back and forth. Back and forth. Trying to decide what she needed to feel all right again.
Ratchet unrolled the blanket and spread it on the roof. Then he moved the paper sack to the middle. Like he was setting up a… picnic? He stepped back, hands on his hips, frowning at the scene. They must have identical expressions.
“So… this is it. Your surprise.”
He didn’t look at her.
“The bag? What’s in it?”
“No. Not the bag. This.” He swept one arm wide at their surroundings and let it drop to his side. “I thought you might want to get out of the room for a while.”
“Oh.”
“I come up here to think sometimes. Get away from the clan.”
Clan? Is that what they called his little gang?
Marlee moved closer to the blanket, stepping on the edge with her socked feet. It was warmer than the cold metal of the roof.
“There’s food,” he said, as if that would coax her forward.
Yeah, it worked.
She hadn’t noticed before, but now the scent of garlic and cream and baked bread told her the scary paper bag only held dinner. Not something to torture her with.
Kneeling on the blanket, she opened it, peeking in. The wonderful smell wafted out, assaulting her a way she could appreciate.
“Did you make it?”
“No. I will next time. But this will probably be better, because mom made it.”
Ratchet crouched beside her, hands hanging loosely over his knees. He managed to make everything he did look rugged. But then the few times he’d touched her, he’d been so very gentle.
Maybe he was a walking contradiction too. Maybe they were more similar than not. Maybe they were even perfectly matched.
She didn’t know yet.
But she was going to try and figure it out.
“I like her food,” Marlee said as he started pulling containers out, setting them on the blanket.
“Looks like salad and chicken alfredo. You like that?”
She nodded. She hardly had likes anymore. If it was edible and it tasted pretty good, she liked it.
