by P. Jameson
“Yeah. Me too,” he murmured. “I get less horny for the salad, but the chicken is fucking delicious. And if we’re lucky…” He dug into the bag again, coming out with bottled water and one last rectangle container. “Aw, yeahhhh. Cheesecake. It’s the good stuff. Homemade. This is going to make you purr, little lamb.”
She stared at him. Was he always so… sexual?
Lamb. He’d called her it a few times.
“Why do you call me that?”
He glanced at her and then back to the food, shrugging one shoulder. “Do you hate it?”
Did she? No. When he used it, it was always sort of… sweet. Like a pet name.
Or did he call every woman lamb?
“Not really,” she answered. “But why do you?”
He pulled out the plastic utensils and passed them and one warm container to her, and then busied himself with his own.
“Well… I didn’t know your name at first.”
Marlee settled in cross-legged and eased the lid off the container, letting the scent of warm food soothe her better than a warm blanket.
“And you looked vulnerable,” he muttered. “Like a lamb. Stuck right in the middle of a den of lions like us.”
Vulnerable. She hated being that.
“I’m going to be strong one day.”
Ratchet eyed her, stirring his pasta but not eating. “You’re already strong. Being vulnerable just means you’re helpless. Not weak. There’s a difference. It means there are people stronger. Meaner.”
And she wasn’t that. The years should have made her so. The things she’d endured should have made her leather. A time or two, she’d wanted to be. Mean. She’d wanted to scrape eyes out, and claw skin, and hurt people like she’d been hurt. But the only thing keeping her her was her heart. And somehow, she had never let it go black.
Small miracle maybe.
“Stronger then,” she said. “One day, I’ll be stronger.”
He cocked his head, staring at her, and she met him straight on. She wouldn’t look away. This was practice. Her being stronger. Every little bit counted.
“I believe you will.” His gaze glowed, one side of his mouth turning up in a soft way. It was a stark difference from his snarl, but genuine nonetheless. “One day you’ll be the lion instead of the lamb.”
His blind faith in her stunned her still. It wrapped around her heart, folding in tight and warming it in a way she’d never felt before.
“You mean it?” she breathed.
Did he really think she could be strong enough to never be a victim again? Because she told herself things like that all the time, because she had to, to make it through the night or to wake up the next day. And maybe she even believed it some, for the very same reasons. But if someone else believed it, that changed everything. It made it real.
If he really believed.
His barely-there smile faded. “I do,” he said, dipping his head in a serious nod. “I’m going to help you be stronger, Marlee. You’ll see. And I’m not letting anyone hurt you again.”
She looked out across the roof, taking in his words and letting them out on a long breath. She wanted to believe them so damn bad. She closed her eyes.
“What if you can’t? What if the person is too powerful?”
His long silence made her open again. He looked disturbed, choked even, emotions flickering in every wrinkle of his expression. In the dark, his blue eyes seemed to almost glow.
“Watch and see, female.” His voice was gritty, barely sounding human. But like his grip on her neck earlier, it didn’t scare her. It soothed her. It sounded like a beautiful promise wrapped in crumpled up paper. “Watch and see what I do if any person tries to harm you.”
Again, his words surprised her. Did he mean this too?
But she couldn’t ask because in a softer voice, he ordered, “Eat, lamb.”
So she ate. Because her stomach had stopped cramping and jerking. Because her lungs didn’t feel like they were breathing through a vise. Because Ratchet was standing guard, and she felt safe.
And he ate too.
They dug into the food, and she tried to remember not to scarf like a starved animal. But no matter how much she tried to slow down and eat like a lady, she ended up with white sauce dribbling down her chin and strands of pasta hanging from her lips.
God. He probably thought she was disgusting.
But why should she care.
Because. You like him.
Even though he wouldn’t… or couldn’t… let her leave.
Ratchet made a noise that sounded like it was trying to be a laugh. A snicker almost.
Marlee looked up to find him watching her, amused.
“The food’s better if it ends up in your mouth, lamb.” He reached forward, and this time, she didn’t pull away. She let him swipe the noodle from her chin with a gentle flick and watched as he brought it to his own lips. He sucked it down, slurping the pasta like a kid would, and somehow… it was the single most intimate thing she’d ever shared with anyone.
How sad was that?
But also, how wonderful.
It was like that movie Lady and the Tramp. Sorta.
Except instead of an alley, they were on a roof.
And instead of red sauce, they had white.
And instead of a lady, she was something else.
And instead of a tramp, he was… what? A savior? He had saved her from being found in the shed. He’d given her this little bit of freedom tonight. He hadn’t tried to take a thing. Only give.
Maybe… just maybe it was time she started treating him like one, and not like a captor. Maybe if she trusted him a little, he could help her save the others. It was worth a try.
Maybe.
Risky.
She’d think about it.
Chapter Thirteen
Ratchet watched as Marlee tucked the empty—and half-empty in her case—food containers back into the bag, making sure she got every utensil and napkin before folding it closed and setting it aside. She liked to keep things tidy, he’d noticed. Probably a habit from being cooped up. Or something she’d done to keep busy. Maybe a little of both.
She sighed and leaned back on her palms to stare up at the sky. The view of the stars wasn’t as good as it was out in the country where darkness was thick and black. Here on the fringes of the city, the sky was a deep shade of charcoal, dim night lights peeking through just enough to let you know they were around. But Marlee seemed to enjoy it.
He wondered when she’d last sat like this searching out the stars on a calm night. But he knew the answer. Or close enough. It had been longer than ten years for damn sure.
He watched her, his broken beast loving the content sigh she made. Loving the way her expression was relaxed, not afraid. It transformed her from something already beautiful to extraordinary. Her bow lips didn’t make a frown. They tipped up on the sides. Not quite a smile, but enough to make his heart thump double-time in his chest. And her eyes… so green. More so in the dark as she stared upward like she wanted to fly away.
Keep her. Show her you.
But he didn’t want her to know who he’d been all these years. He wanted her to know the man he was becoming. The one that would move heaven for her because she was making him a better person.
She has to know both. She has to accept both.
Shit.
Ratchet dug into his pocket retrieving her gift and held it out to her. She stared at it in his fingers, a small line forming between her dark brows. “For you.”
She shook her head, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Your marble. You want me to try the toothpaste thing?”
“No. It’s for you. To keep. I…”
The longer it stayed in his hands, the worse of an idea it seemed. Why would she want something he’d collected from the garbage? Why would she want anything from him at all?
“I found it today and it reminded me of your eyes. Green like a jewel. So I kept it to bring home for you. Uh…”
> Her breath was coming faster as she stared at the marble, wide-eyed. Panic. She was getting afraid again. Shit.
This was too fast. Or… or maybe just the wrong move altogether.
He hadn’t thought it through. He collected things all the time. This time, she’d been on his mind, and he’d wanted to share.
“You don’t have to keep it,” he looked away to keep her from seeing his disappointment. “It’s silly.”
He closed his hand around it, hurrying to put in back in his pocket.
“No, wait!”
Marlee’s arm shot forward to pull his hand into hers. Ratchet froze at her touch. She pried open his fingers until the marble was revealed again, and then just stared.
Didn’t let his hand go. Didn’t touch the gift. Just stared.
“That’s why it was in your pocket. You got this for me?”
He held his breath and gave her a nod.
Her big eyes went to his. “Where?”
He hesitated. What if she didn’t get it, the way he searched for treasures in the trash because he needed to find worth in the things people felt had none.
But her little hand cradled his so perfectly and her touch was like catnip to him. He wanted it all over. His hair, his chest, skin, anywhere, everywhere. It made him loose. Made him blurt out the truth.
“To make the days more hopeful I search for treasures in the trash.”
She frowned, but not in a way that looked disappointed. More like… intrigued. “Do you find many?”
He relaxed at her question. “Tons. But sometimes they aren’t obvious. You have to look hard to see the beautiful parts. This one was easy. Because it’s the exact color of your eyes.”
She bent to stare at it again, tilting his hand sideways and back to let the thing glisten in the spare light from the security lamp. Her full lips curled at the sides until she was smiling.
“You’re right,” she whispered, her voice all full of wonder. “It is.”
Fucking hell. She was smiling. He’d made her smile.
Shit, now he wanted to kiss it off her face. Yeah, he wanted to do that. Taste it. Test the way it curved around his mouth. Kiss the hell out of her, and see if it was still there when he was finished.
Mine.
She looked up, and he swallowed back the growl in his throat.
“No one’s ever given me such a thoughtful gift.”
He cleared his throat, trying to brush it off. “No big thing.”
She picked up the marble, holding it between her fingers, still smiling as she stared at it. “You do nice things, Ratchet. Why do you?”
He shrugged. “I like you.”
It was more than that. So much more. It felt wrong to reduce it to those three words. But how could he tell her all the insane things he was feeling and how much he needed to bond with her?
Careful with mate.
Her hand dropped his. He felt the absence of her touch like a weight in his chest.
Fisting the marble, she stared at him again. “How did you end up here?”
“How did you?” he countered.
“I mean… you’re different than the others. I know who the Alley Cats are. Know what you do. That you’re organized crime. A mafia of your own, but you work for the king. Do his dirty work. Like everyone in Memphis does.”
“You know all that, huh?”
Marlee snapped her mouth shut, realizing she’d revealed too much.
He sighed. “I know he was the one who hurt you. Bastian.”
She flinched at the name, and Ratchet fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her. Instead, they both got quiet.
Instinct guided him now. The way it did before the curse. His lamb had to be coaxed. Slowly. He was building trust, and like Rome, it wasn’t built in a day.
Even though he really fucking needed it to go up like one of Bastian’s shitty office buildings. The construction crew could knock one of those out in three days flat.
Huddling into her sweatshirt, Marlee rubbed the marble between her thumb and finger. Like she was using it to keep calm.
“You know,” she murmured to the wind. “Does this mean he’s coming for me?”
“Damn well better not be.”
Her gaze flipped to him.
“I told you, I won’t let him hurt you ever again. I mean it. It’s a promise. As real as that marble.”
“But he’s your boss.”
“He doesn’t own me. I only answer to my leader. Felix.”
“Will he give me up?”
Ratchet dipped his head. “In a heartbeat.”
Her shoulders slumped.
“That’s why I have to hide you. Just until Felix isn’t a danger anymore.”
The faintest wisp of hope filled her eyes. “How will that ever happen?”
“He’s sick, and getting weaker. There’s a change happening in our clan. A storm that will either break us apart or bring us together. Either way, Felix will have to buckle. And me and you, Marlee? We have to wait it out. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I can tell you I’m going to make you safe. So safe you’ll never worry about anything ever again.”
It was a steep promise, but if nobody could muster up any faith for him, he’d have to do it himself.
She stared at him for so long, blinking over and over until he wondered if he’d gone too far.
“I believe you,” she murmured. “But I still can’t figure out why. Why do you want to help me so much?”
But he didn’t know how to answer her.
Because you’re mine.
No. Too claimy. She hadn’t been her own for a while, she wouldn’t like being reminded she still wasn’t.
Because I need to.
No. Too vague. And there was too much of that between them already.
Because I want to right my wrongs and do one fucking noble thing in my life, and I want that thing to be you.
True, but he wasn’t ready to explain his need for redemption yet.
He settled for simple honesty.
“Because something inside is telling me to. And because the idea of you hurting makes me burn on the inside. I’m not a good man. You can see it. I haven’t cared about anything in a long damn time, but I care about you. And when something jerks me to attention like that, I’m not in the business of questioning it. I just go with instinct.”
“And instinct tells you… what?”
“To be careful with you. To go slow. To give more than I get.”
Her eyes went glossy, emotions spilling off them. His girl was so damn expressive. How had that not been worked out of her by her circumstances? How was she able to stay tender, when he’d found it impossible.
“Maybe you’re a better man than you think.”
He didn’t argue with her. She was wrong of course, but he wanted to believe what she said. And maybe someday, really be better.
He was trying. He was going to do it. If it took his entire life.
And maybe if he was lucky, Marlee would be next to him when he finally became a good man.
***
Give more than I get.
Marlee couldn’t get Ratchet’s blunt words out of her mind as she lay on the blanket staring up at the dim stars. They were faded, but still the best night sky she’d seen in years.
Give more than I get.
That was the exact definition of love, wasn’t it? Caring more for someone than you cared for yourself. Thinking of them first, even when it didn’t benefit you. She’d seen her mother make that choice over and over again. For Marlee. For her father. And it was a fine line, caring for yourself enough to not be taken advantage of. Sure. But it was the purest form of love when another person’s well-being mattered more than your own.
The idea that Ratchet might feel that way about her was baffling. It wasn’t normal for a person to care that much that fast, was it?
Then again, what did she know about love. She’d been without it for a decade.
He laid beside her, keeping
a thin boundary of space between them. Sticking to her rule of no touching. Except she’d broken the rule several times now herself, so it was pretty much moot.
If Ratchet wanted to hurt her, he could. Rule or none.
But he wasn’t going to.
She moved her hand along the blanket, a centimeter closer to him. Now that she was convinced he was safe, she couldn’t help wanting more of his touch. He was tender with her, and it was like food for her soul. She’d been starved of good things for too long. Smiles, touches that didn’t harm, the beauty of the outside world. Now she wanted to gorge on it all until she was so full she couldn’t remember being without.
She needed to let him know… what? That she needed him? That she took back all that don’t touch me stuff now that she was trying to trust him.
Closer she moved, until her pinky bumped up against his hot hand, and then she held her breath.
Several moments ticked by. The honk of car horns somewhere below drowned out the thumping of her heart while she waited to see what would happen.
Then Ratchet moved. Carefully, slowly, he curled his pinky around hers.
And that was all.
But it felt more intimate than any kiss could surely.
He didn’t ask for more. And even though she wanted more, it was sort of a relief he didn’t. She was a ping pong ball again. Needing things and not. Wanting them, then not.
This was good. This was enough for now, pinky holding.
“You never told me how you ended up here.” She wanted to know about him. And this is the only way she knew how. It was how she’d started up with the other girls. It was the first question she asked them when they were brought to the basement.
He’d turned away from the sky and she could feel his eyes on her.
“Born here, lamb,” he husked. “Born a monster like the rest of them.”
“No one is born a monster.”
He was quiet. She traced the stars with her eyes.
“You’re right. I wasn’t born a monster. I just had one waiting inside me for someone to bring it alive. My father made sure that happened. Along with the other fathers.” His breath wisped out the rest. “They taught us how to be cruel. By being cruel. Always.”
She thought of the brutal scars on his back.
“They put the S in your back?”
