by P. Jameson
She cringed when he answered, “Yes. And more.”
“Who taught you how to be kind?” But she already knew the answer.
When he said nothing, she turned her head to look at him. Their faces were very close but they were still only linked at the pinky.
“Who taught you how to be kind, Ratchet?”
“My mother, I guess. She stayed.”
“What do you mean she stayed?”
He blinked, his lashes shielding his eyes, his brow frowning.
“When the other mates left, she stayed, knowing my father would hurt her. She stayed to watch over me instead of leaving me alone with him. Fang, Skittles, Monster, Felix and Gash… so many. Their mothers escaped but left them behind. Mine stayed.”
Mates. Funny word to use. It must mean something to his brotherhood. Bastian had his own terminology too. It had taken her years to get it down.
“She’s strong, to do that for you.”
“For all of us. She was a mother to us all, as good as she could be.” He pressed his lips together. “Yeah. She’s a strong female.”
“She must love you very much.”
Ratchet frowned at that. “I think she did once. Then I think it changed to something else.”
“To what?”
His breath stalled between them. “Fear,” he rasped.
And she could hear the regret in his tone that told him Leah wasn’t free here either. But if she was reading his eyes right, he wanted to change that. A storm was coming, he’d said. Changes that would make all the difference.
Ratchet squeezed her pinky with his. “Your turn. Tell me how you became his prisoner.”
Her stomach twisted just thinking about it, and she looked back to the stars.
“I was there as payment for somebody’s debt.”
“Whose?”
She could hardly make the words come out. “My father’s. Casino debt. So much of it.”
“Shit.” His whispered curse gave her strength.
“I thought he’d come for me. Pay what he owed so Bastian would let me go. I was his daughter. He was supposed to… to… care. But he never came. I was told he said Bastian could keep me. That it made them even.”
An angry growl rumbled in Ratchet’s throat, but he didn’t move. Not a muscle except his pinky.
“My mom tried to find me. Went to the police. Went to the news.”
“They did nothing,” Ratchet guessed.
“No. Bastian has too many arms in this city. Too many people owe him.”
“Did he sell you?” he ground out, his voice doing that gravelly animal sound again.
Tell him the truth. Get it out.
“He tried. Because I had nothing else to offer him. Couldn’t hack computers like Nyla or cook meth like Vegas or play arm candy like Skye and Janet. But I refused to use my body to pay off a debt that wasn’t mine. Besides…” Her voice got real thin. “I’d only been with one boy in high school and it was awful. Couldn’t imagine doing it with strangers. And Bastian said he wasn’t in the business of selling his customers a woman who would cry the whole time. That I had to say yes, go willingly, before I could start paying off.”
“And you wouldn’t?”
She shook her head. “So he started counting. Every morsel of food I ate put me farther in debt. Every bar of soap, scrap of clothing. The heat it took to warm the basement. Blankets I slept on. Pretty soon I was nearly as in debt as my father was. Bastian thought it would convince me, but…”
It had done the opposite. It had made her want to fight. Not just lie there, his prisoner, but shove back.
“But what?” Ratchet pushed.
Now was the time. She had to lay it out there and see what he’d say. If he really wanted to help her be stronger like he said, then he would help her free the others too.
“It made me tougher. I used only what I needed to stay alive so he couldn’t hold any of it over my head. Ate so little I was starving… because one day, somehow, I was getting out of there. Didn’t bathe. Slept on the floor without blankets. The girls helped me some. As much as they could without him finding out. And when the time came, they made a way for me to run but only if I did something for them in return.”
She turned her face to look at him. Her ear was pressed against the blanket just like his, and her heartbeat thumped hard making every sound seem like it was rolling through a tunnel.
His furious snarl was in place, but she wasn’t afraid of it anymore. It steadied her. The way his touch did. Made her feel like with him at her back, she could conquer every demon. If this feeling was real, if it didn’t come crashing down in the morning when her eyes opened… if it wasn’t a dream like every time before when she’d thought she was free…
Then she was never letting it go.
“The picture,” he said, jerking her to attention. “Skittles found a picture in the shed after I found you. Four females. They’re the ones who helped you? The other dolls.”
She chewed her lip, nodding. “Now they need my help. I was supposed to get far from Memphis, from the people under Bastian’s thumb, and then give that photo to the authorities. I didn’t make if very far.”
Ratchet frowned. “That won’t work, lamb. Any rescue would involve local law enforcement. Bastian would be tipped off.”
She wilted inside. He was right. With her head clear of the drugs, she should have realized it. But she’d been on a mission and only thinking of completing it.
“I can’t leave them there,” she whispered.
He pulled her hand up by the pinky, bringing it to his lips while his thunderous gaze held hers. He brushed a kiss there and she felt chills break out all over her skin.
“Give me time, Marlee,” he promised. “I’ll free them. Free you all. I’ll do it for you. I just need time.”
She let out a shuddering breath. “Okay.”
Silence fell between them, but she couldn’t pull her gaze away. And he didn’t look away either. Ratchet turned on his side and this put them even closer. Their hands were still linked, nestled between her shoulder and his chest.
“Trust me?”
“Trying to.”
He slowly brought his other hand to her cheek, barely touching it with the pad of his thumb. He felt like velvet sliding down her jaw. Rough skin, moving so very carefully. His eyes followed the movement as he paused at the corner of her mouth. Softly pressed in. Like he was testing it.
And she watched his face, the way his eyes flicked between heat and awe. Three heart beats.
And then he took the journey back to her cheekbone, repeating the same exploring touch with the tender skin beneath her eye.
She closed them, letting the breath ease from her body. He was relaxing her. Soul food. Making things inside settle and feel right again. How did he do that?
“You like this?” he whispered. His voice was quiet like he didn’t want the night sky to hear him.
“Yes.” She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to break the spell.
“Can I touch more?” It came out rough, and again, she got the impression he wasn’t used to asking, but he did it just for her. He was used to doing whatever he wanted. “If I’m careful?”
She wanted to say yes. Wanted more of his velvet hands on her sensitive skin.
But she had to know she was in control of herself. Had to know she could choose, and he would accept it.
She blinked open to find his eyes had softened. He was raw right now. She was too.
Still, she said, “No.”
Please be okay. Please don’t make me.
Ratchet’s hand froze and he frowned hard. “No?”
“No.” She held his gaze. He was puzzled. But this was important.
Seconds ticked by. So many. She hardly breathed waiting to see what he’d do.
“But… you do like it?”
“Yes.”
His brow eased even if he looked disappointed. “Okay, lamb. I won’t touch anymore.”
He laid back aga
inst the blanket, keeping their pinkies hooked. Her cheek felt cold without his hand there. Bare. Kind of sad. But inside she was soaring.
Her no meant something to him. She said it, and he’d respected it.
It was a test, and he’d passed.
Tears pricked the back of her eyes.
Did he even know what he’d done just now? He’d given her power back. Even if just a little. Even if just when she was with him. She was in charge. She could say no and he’d listen.
“Ratchet.”
“Yes?”
“I like holding pinkies too.”
“Then I’ll hold your pinky until you tell me not to.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ratchet stood in the center of his room, not sure what to do. Marlee was in the shower. She’d taken one while he was at work but insisted on another after they’d climbed down from the roof. He didn’t blame her. She was coming from a place where she’d had to save her baths so she wouldn’t owe anyone for them.
Bastian was a shitty motherfucker.
Now she wanted to take advantage of her choices.
Ratchet knew she was testing him, and he didn’t mind. He’d show his little lamb all the freedom he could give her until she didn’t question him anymore.
He looked around.
He’d fixed the bed, straightening all the sheets until they were crisp, and folded back the big blanket. Fluffed the pillows. Turned all the lights off except the lamp. Set the remote on the side table so she could reach it.
He stared at the floor, then to the chair.
One of those two would be his bed tonight, and he was debating which when the bathroom door opened. Steam rolled out from the crack, but no Marlee.
He frowned, stepping forward.
But then she appeared in the doorway, juggling the used clothes and towels in her arms.
His breath went to hell. She took all his oxygen. Her choppy shoulder-length hair was wet and tousled, and her face was dewy like a rose in the morning—
The fuck?
She made him think the softest things. Dangerous things.
It wasn’t that he wanted that to change. It was just… could he afford to be so vulnerable when there was an impending war on the horizon? When he didn’t know how to deal with Felix or Bastian or the rest of the cats.
It was a tightrope he was walking. He needed to bond with her and heal, but he needed to be brutal and fierce. Both, in order to protect her.
No wonder his sick animal had withered away.
It takes a new kind to do what needs to be done, the beast murmured.
She dumped the clothes in the laundry basket and yawned.
Shit. Why did that make his middle throb?
Mate needs touch.
No. If she did, she would tell him. It was just his instinct running amok.
Marlee looked up, meeting his gaze with those deep green eyes.
“Ready for bed, lamb?”
She nodded. “I can take the chair this time.”
Ratchet snorted.
She blinked.
What the hell.
She wasn’t serious. Was she?
“You’ll sleep in my bed, Marlee.” He wasn’t letting his mate sleep anywhere but the best. He was the male, he’d take the less comfortable spot. Unless she wanted to share.
Did she?
Damn, he was out of his element with her. He’d never asked to touch a woman before. Never been told no. And he didn’t give one his bed unless he was meeting her in it.
She let you touch her face. Hold her pinky. Worth it.
It was the tiniest victory. It was the hugest victory.
“Where will you sleep?”
He shrugged one shoulder. Jutted his chin toward the chair he’d thought was pretty damn comfortable until last night.
“Okay.” She moved toward the bed. Did she sound the littlest bit disappointed?
She climbed in and he pulled the covers up to her chin.
“You’d make a good dad,” she murmured.
Fuck.
A dad? The only one he had turned him into a monster. And… she didn’t know a good one either. No. Being a father wasn’t in his future. His mom thought that’s what he wanted from Marlee, but she was off.
“Strong and safe,” she slurred.
And if Marlee was thinking of him like a father, he was doing things all wrong. He wanted her needing him, the way he was needing her.
No sex.
Yeah, he’d set that boundary. But that didn’t mean he wanted her thinking of him like a father figure. And he wasn’t so sure his new animal was on board with the stipulation.
Bond, his inner beast insisted. Listen to her heart, what it says to you. When she’s ready, mate. Mark. Claim.
When. His beast said when. As if she would be ready eventually. And he wanted to believe that. He wanted in that bed with her. Wanted her in his arms so bad his throat ached. Wanted to feel her small body shielded safely by his while they slept.
But it was probably for the best.
The way his animal churned inside for her… it left him with a semi-constant hard-on. She made a fire inside him. Hot until he touched her. Then he went cool. Like she was the balm for whatever burned away at him. At times, he wondered if he’d turn to ash. But her little looks, touches, they cooled him enough he didn’t.
Was this how Malcom had felt when his curse burned away? And how long did it take?
He’d ask, but the cat wasn’t taking his phone calls.
“Night, mate,” he rasped, but she was already dozing off.
He settled into the chair, kicking his feet up on the edge of the bed so his long legs were almost touching hers. There. He was a little closer this way. It was enough to fool his animal. Or maybe just his mind. Whatever.
“My bed, my mate,” he grumbled. “Chair’s just fine.”
She let off a snore and his scowl softened.
His girl slept so peacefully under his watch. Meant she was trusting him.
He’d sleep in a chair every day for the rest of his life for the feeling that gave him. More satisfaction that burying himself in her body. Because this meant he was winning her heart. And maybe that never meant anything to him before, but it did now. With her.
He fell asleep basking in it. Fell hard, and slept like the dead. Better than he had in years. Until he woke to Marlee’s terror-filled scream.
Ratchet fought his way out of the deepest slumber, dragging his eyes open to find his mate still asleep in the bed. She thrashed and kicked, whimpering, “No, no.”
A nightmare.
“Marlee.”
He didn’t think about what he was doing. He flew out of the chair, kneeling beside her on the bed. Her head moved side to side, tears rolling from her closed eyes. He put his hands on her cheeks, brushing her hair away and held her.
“Marlee. Wake up,” he urged.
Her eyes snapped open, looking glassy and confused. And scared.
“Lamb?”
Was he too close? Was she okay? Was she awake or still stuck in the dream?
“Ratchet?” Her voice was hopeful and soaked with tears.
“Yeah, lamb. I’m here. It’s over. Just a dream.”
She blinked again and again, leftover tears still rolling. “I was back in the basement,” she whispered. “Trapped. Alone.”
Ratchet shook his head, thumbs brushing each of her cheeks. “You’re not there. You’re here. Not alone. With me.”
She nodded quickly, like she was trying to convince her body what her mind knew was true.
“Safe,” he rumbled, continuing to pet her cheeks to calm her. “Safe.”
They were close. They were touching. He didn’t know if it was the right thing but his new beast was purring a fiery approval in his chest. And he watched his mate closely looking for signs she wanted him to back off.
“Safe,” she repeated, her voice not even making a sound.
Seconds ticked off and he could feel her panic retr
eating. But shit, he didn’t want to pull away. Not when her cry had rattled him out of sleep. His animal was fired up and ready to go. Ready to fight or…
Fuck.
Would she let him hold her? Just that much?
“Ratchet?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you… can you… um…”
“Anything,” he growled. “Name it.” He stared into her eyes trying to understand what she needed.
“Stay?” she blurted, and then clamped her mouth shut. Like it had escaped unwillingly.
“Stay.”
She nodded. But what did that mean? He wasn’t going anywhere.
“In… in the bed. Here. While I sleep. Can you?”
Can he? Fuck, it was all he’d been wanting.
He nodded, and her breath rushed out in relief.
He eased to the bed, stretching his body out beside her, trying not to touch more than the mattress made him. Even though everything inside him was demanding touch. He damn near needed the comfort as much as she did. Soon, she would have to let him closer.
For both their sakes.
But hell, he was so rough. Could he do things right with her? Take his time, be gentle.
He didn’t think he could.
He was a thorn, she was a petal. The two were kept apart for a reason.
But no longer, his beast purred. Now the fire makes new, and mate makes clean.
The thing was like a fucking fortune cookie. Maybe one day it would all make sense.
Marlee turned on her side to face him. She inched closer, pulling the covers up. It made them seem even closer. He could smell her sweet scent. Wanted to lick it from her skin. Pick a spot and just go at it. Until her taste and her smell were so entwined that he couldn’t tell them apart.
He stared at her neck. It looked soft. But he’d only touched the back. He wanted to feel the front. Wrap his palm around her throat. Squeeze just a little to show her he was in control and to prove to himself he could be careful.
Kiss her jaw.
Whisper something in her ear that only she would ever hear.
Swallow her gasp as he kissed her.
Pray that she moaned when his hands wandered, feeling her small curves.
Shit. The bed was a bad, bad idea.
Ratchet clenched his jaw, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs.
He could do this. Hold it together for her.
