by J. R. Ward
But another driver of her choice had been something darker.
Vin shook his head. “You can’t look back and cross-examine everything. You did the best you could with where you were—”
“I think I wanted to punish myself,” she blurted. As he looked over, she met his eyes. “I blame myself for what my son was put through. I picked the wrong man to marry and that was my fault—and I feel like my son suffered. Being with those…men. I hated it. I cried every night it was over and sometimes I was physically sick. I stayed with it for the money, true…but I was hurting myself deliberately.”
Vin took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it fiercely. “Listen to me. Your ex was the asshole in this—not you.”
“I should have left him earlier.”
“And you’re free now. You’re free of him and you’re not doing that…other shit anymore. You’re free.”
She stared out the front window. Except if that was true, then why did she feel so trapped still?
“You’ve got to forgive yourself,” Vin said roughly. “That’s the only way you’re going to get past this.”
God, she was so self-involved, she thought. Assuming everything those men had said back at the duplex was true—and given what she’d seen in Devina’s eyes she’d be an idiot to think otherwise—Vin had just found out tonight that he all but murdered his own parents.
“You, too.” She squeezed his hand. “You need to do the same.”
The grunt that he made was a stop sign and a half, and just as he’d respected her privacy, she respected his: As much as she wanted to get him to talk about that what he’d been told, she wasn’t going to push.
Leaning her head back against the rest, she stared at him as he drove them along. He was quick and comfortable behind the wheel, his brows low and his lips tighter than usual as he concentrated.
She was so glad that she’d met him. And grateful that he’d had faith in her when it had mattered so much.
“Thank you,” she said.
He glanced over and smiled a little. “What for.”
“You believed me. Instead of her.”
“Of course I did.”
His answer was just as steady as his hand on the wheel, and for some reason that made her tear up.
“Why are you crying?” He pushed a hand into his jacket and took out a pristine white handkerchief. “Here. Oh, love, don’t cry.”
“I’ll be fine. And better to get the leaks now instead of later.”
After wiping her cheeks with her fingertips, she took the super-soft, super-thin linen square and spread it flat on her lap. She had some mascara on still from how she’d made herself up for church, and she wasn’t about to mar the delicate cloth by actually using it—and yet she liked having the thing. Liked running her finger back and forth over the raised stitching of his monogram, VSdP.
“Why are you crying?” he repeated gently.
“Because you’re amazing.” She touched the V that was done in block font. “And because when you say things like you love me I believe you, and it terrifies me.” She touched the S. “And because I’ve hated myself for so much, but when you look at me, I don’t feel like I’m so dirty.” Finally, she touched the dP for his last name. “Mostly, though, it’s because you make me look forward to the future, and I haven’t done that in forever.”
“You can trust me.” His hand found hers again. “And as for your past, it’s not what you’ve done—it’s who you are. To me, that’s all that matters.”
She wiped more tears away as she stared across the seats at him, and though his handsome face went blurry, she was getting to know his features by heart, so it didn’t matter.
“You really should use my handkerchief.”
“I don’t want to mess it up.”
“I have plenty of others.”
She looked down at his initials again. “What does the S stand for?”
“Sean. My middle name is Sean. Mother was Irish.”
“Really?” Marie-Terese’s eyes watered even more. “That’s my son’s real name.”
“You two assholes stay here.”
Eddie slammed the driver’s-side door so hard, the whole truck rocked, and as the guy stalked over to the Hannaford’s entrance, people went out of their way to get out of his.
Jim’s balls still hurt. Bad. Kinda felt like he’d rolled ’em in cut glass—all tingling and painful at the same time.
On the seat next to him, Adrian was rubbing his shoulder, his expression one of disgust. “Bastard telling us to stay here. What the hell—like he’s grounding us? Fuck him.”
Jim stared out his window and watched as a mother with a baby in her arms walked by the truck, got a look at his face, and shied away. “I don’t think we’re fit for visual consumption.”
Adrian reached up and cranked the rearview mirror his way. “Whatever, I’m gorgeous—wow. I…”
“Look like shit,” Jim finished. “But at least you could walk straight if you had to. Did you have to go for the jewels?”
Adrian prodded his nose. “I think you broke this.”
“And now I’m probably shooting blanks for the rest of my life. At least your swelling’s going to go away.”
Adrian leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. In concert, both of them took a deep breath.
“You can trust me, Jim.”
“Trust isn’t something you can cold lab. It has to be earned.”
“Then that’s what I’m going to do.”
As Jim made a noncommittal noise, he shifted delicately in the seat and his ’nads didn’t appreciate the repositioning. After he negotiated a comfortable arrangement, he went back to watching the people in the parking lot. There was a predictable rhythm of them getting out of their cars, going into the store, and returning with filled carts or a couple of bags hanging from their hands. Witnessing it all, he was struck by how great the divide was between him and the rest of the planet. And not just because he was now playing in a paranormal game most of these fine patrons of the supermarket wouldn’t have believed was real.
He’d always been separate. Ever since he’d found his mother on that kitchen floor, it was as if his root system had been plucked out of the soil and carried across the road to another plot of earth. His job hadn’t helped. His personality hadn’t either. And now he was seated beside a fallen angel who might or might not actually exist…who fought dirty.
Shit, it didn’t matter if he was sterile. He was never getting a shot at having kids now, and keeping his crappy DNA out of the gene pool was no doubt the nicest thing he’d ever do for the human race.
About ten minutes later, Eddie emerged with a cart full of plastic bags, and as he pulled up to the bed and started transferring the shit, Jim couldn’t stand his own thoughts anymore and got out to help: All the mommies and dear little kiddies were just going to have to suck it up if they didn’t like the way he looked.
Eddie didn’t say one word as they worked together, which was a clear indication that whereas Jim and Adrian had kind of made up, Eddie was not on the “Kumbaya” train. Frankly, he looked like he’d had it with everything and everyone.
And no offense, the guy had one bizarre frickin’ grocery list.
There were enough containers of Morton salt to deice a highway. Countless bottles of hydrogen peroxide and witch hazel. Vinegar by the gallon. Lemons. Fresh sage packed in see-through boxes.
And four huge cans of Dinty Moore beef stew?
“What the hell,” Jim asked, “are we going to do with all this?”
“Plenty.”
It took them about fifteen minutes to get back out to Jim’s place, and the silence was a little less tense. As they pulled up to the garage, Dog’s face parted the curtains at the big window.
“You need the stuff to come up?” Jim asked as everybody got out.
“Just one bag, and I’ll get it.”
Jim hit the stairs with his keys in his hand, and the second he unlocked the door, Dog
was all about the OMG-you’re-backs, running around in circles on the landing with his tail going propeller.
When Jim glanced down over his shoulder, he frowned and patted the dog absently. On the driveway below, Eddie and Adrian were standing close together and Eddie was shaking his head and talking as Adrian focused on a point by the guy’s left ear—like he’d heard it all before and hadn’t been interested the first time.
Eventually, Eddie grabbed the guy’s neck and forced some eye contact. Adrian’s lips moved briefly and Eddie squeezed his eyes shut.
After they embraced for a quick moment, Adrian roared off on his Harley.
With a curse, Eddie grabbed a bag from the truck bed and clomped up the stairs. “Your stove work?” the guy asked as he came inside and Dog circled and wagged at his feet.
“Yup.”
Ten minutes later he and Eddie were sitting down to two huge bowls of stew—which explained the Dinty Moore.
“Haven’t had this for years,” Jim said as he spooned up.
“Got to feed yourself.”
“What’d you say to Adrian?”
“None of your business.”
Jim shook his head. “Sorry, wrong answer. I’m part of this team, and I think considering the amount of shit you two know about me, it’s time to start returning the fucking favor.”
Eddie smiled tightly. “It’s a marvel the pair of you don’t get along better.”
“Maybe we would if you guys would talk to me.”
The long quiet that followed went unbroken until Eddie put his bowl down so Dog could go to work with what had been left.
“There are three things I know about Adrian,” the guy said. “One, he will always do exactly what he wants, when he wants to. There’s no chance of reasoning with him or changing his mind. Two, he will fight until he cannot stand for something he believes in. And three, fallen angels don’t last forever.”
Jim eased back in his chair. “I wondered about that.”
“Yeah, we’re not infinite—just relatively so. And that can’t be ignored when it comes to him.”
“Why?”
“Death wish. One of these days…his luck’s going to run out and we’re going to lose him.” Eddie slowly stroked Dog’s back. “I’ve shared a lot with that bastard over the years. Known him better than anyone, and I’m probably the only person who can really work with him. When he goes up in flames, it’s going to kill me….”
Eddie didn’t go on, but he didn’t have to.
Jim had lost a partner once, too, and that shit sucked the will to live right out of you.
“What’s he going to do with Devina tonight?”
There wasn’t even a pause on that one: “You don’t want to know.”
CHAPTER
37
Before Vin had left the duplex, he’d packed a quick semi-picnic for him and Marie-Terese, and the remnants of it were scattered across the chipped table in his family’s old kitchen: The tinfoil that had been around the sandwiches and the Cokes that were now mostly empty and the bag of Cape Cod potato chips they’d shared were going to be quick to clean up.
Dessert was the single Granny Smith apple he’d had at his place, and he’d been cutting off pieces of it and alternating one to her, one to himself. At this point, the thing was more core than apple, and as he cleaved the last viable slice from around the seeds, it was going to her.
For no apparent reason, he thought about what he’d said to Marie-Terese:
It’s not what you’ve done—it’s who you are.
He was very sure that was true about her…and also clear that it didn’t apply to him in the slightest. The way he’d been living his life had been exactly who he was—a money-hungry bastard with absolutely no conscience.
But like her, he was leaving his old life behind. He still had the drive deep in his gut—except now he saw it as a problem, not something to act on. And the trouble was, he had no idea what form the future was going to take.
“Here, have the last piece.” He took the slice from the blade of his knife and offered it across the table. “I cut it carefully.”
She reached out her lovely hand and accepted what he wanted to give her. “Thank you.”
As she ate the thing, he cleaned up, gathering the debris, stuffing it back into the Whole Foods bag he’d brought it in.
“When are they coming?” she asked.
“One hour after sunset, they said. This kind of stuff always seems to happen in the dark.”
She smiled a little and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. Leaning to the side, she looked out of the window, her hair swinging loose off her shoulder and bouncing. “Still pretty light.”
“Yeah.”
As he looked around, he imagined what the place could be like. Granite countertops. Stainless-steel appliances. Bust out the wall to the right and throw up an addition to make a family room. Rip out all the carpets. Paint. Wallpaper. Face-lift the shit out of the baths.
Young family would be happy here.
“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.
Marie-Terese put her palm in his. “Where to?”
“Outside.”
He took her through the garage and into the backyard—which was hardly a showpiece. The lawn was about as attractive as an old man’s beard, and the oak in the back looked like the skeletal remains of a once gracious tree—but at least the temperature wasn’t as cold as it had been.
Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her close and gently closed her eyes with the tips of his fingers. “I want you to imagine we’re on a beach.”
“A beach.” Her lips lifted.
“Florida. Mexico. South of France. California. Anywhere you like.”
She put her head on his chest. “Okay.”
“The color of the sky’s changing to peach and gold and the sea is calm and blue.” Vin focused on the setting sun as he spoke to her, trying to picture it going behind the horizon of the ocean instead of the asphalt roof of the ranch house next door.
Vin started to move, shifting his weight from side to side, and she followed his cue, swaying in his arms.
“The air is soft and warm.” He put his chin on the top of her head. “And the waves are doing that thing on the sand, up and back, up and back. Palm trees are all around.”
He rubbed her shoulders, hoping that she saw what he was describing, hoping she was lifted out of where they really were: the crappy-ass backyard of a shitty little house in chilly Caldwell, New York.
Closest shoreline they had was rocky and on a river.
He closed his own eyes and just felt the woman he held, and what do you know: she was what transformed his landscape, not his words. For him, she was the reason he was warm.
“You’re a wonderful dancer,” she said into his chest.
“Am I?” When she nodded, he felt it on his pec. “Well, that’s because I have a good partner.”
They moved together until light began to bleed out of the sky and the temperature dropped too far. As Vin stopped, Marie-Terese lifted her head and looked up at him.
When he put his hand on her face and just stared at her, she whispered, “Yes.”
He led her back into the house and up to his bedroom. When he closed the door, he leaned against it and watched her as she took her fleece off over her head and then unbuttoned her simple white shirt. Her bra was next, which meant that as she bent down to shuck off her jeans, her breasts swayed.
Vin had been hard before she started to undress, but the sight of her so natural and beautiful made him strain against his slacks.
And yet this was not about sex.
When she stood before him naked, he came at her slowly and kissed her long and deep. Her body beneath his hands was warm and supple, so small and smooth compared to his own—and he loved the contrast and the cushion of her. Loved the way she smelled and tasted.
Capturing her breasts in his palms, he took one nipple between his lips to suck while he rubbed the other with his thu
mb, and as she arched against him, his name came out of her mouth in a rush.
Man, he loved the way that sounded.
With his free hand, he stroked her thigh and moved behind, sliding between her legs.
She was oh, so ready for him. Slick and hot.
Cursing under his breath, he carried her to his old bed and laid her out. A moment later, he was naked as the day he was born and he stretched himself beside her, tucking his cock up onto his stomach as he brought their hips together.
More kissing. Hands on his skin. Hers.
Hands between her legs. His.
Marie-Terese ended up on top, her thighs split over his hips, her sex parted for him. After he was covered by a condom, she covered him in a slow, devastating decent that robbed him of breath and sense. In response, he jacked into an arch, his back curling up off the bed, the shift pushing him even deeper.
Planting her palms on his shoulders, she braced herself and swung her hips up and back, falling into a shattering rhythm.
As Marie-Terese took him, he was more than willing to give her anything she wanted of him. He was panting and desperate underneath her as her body worked his to perfection.
With her lids down low as she watched him, her eyes were like blue fire.
But they consumed him without any pain.
“This is Vin’s address.”
As Eddie pointed to a Happy Meal–sized house on the right, Jim pulled the truck over and put it in park. Out of habit, he scoped the area. Typical lower-middle-class residential neighborhood, with cars mostly in their driveways, street lamps every twenty yards, and lights coming on in small-scale family rooms and kitchens. No pedestrians because everyone was in for the night. Not a lot of cover because the bushes and the trees were leafless.
As he and Eddie got out and hit the bag stash in the back, the glooming light turned everything into a variation of gray, the landscape like a black-and-white photograph.
Vin’s BMW was in the drive, and there were lights on inside, so as they came up to the front door, they knocked. The response was an immediate holler from upstairs, but it took a while before they were let in, and the reason why was pretty clear: Vin’s hair obviously had had fingers running through it, and his cheeks were flushed.
