Spider

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  He’s reached me by now and his sharp face looms down, a sullen look flitting across his face as he rakes his eyes over me.

  “I don’t have time to play games, Garrett. Go find Aria if that’s what you’re looking for.” I pivot and make to head inside, but he grabs my arm.

  “Not so fast. I’m not done here.”

  His breath smells like whiskey, and I turn my face away and jerk my arm out of his grasp. “Don’t put your hands on me—”

  He holds his hands up and waves at me. “Or what, you’ll tell on me? For what? I’m not doing anything wrong. We’re just having a conversation.”

  I square my shoulders. “You’re wearing a black beanie when it’s seventy degrees. You followed me from the parking lot and hid in the bushes. That’s what I call stalking.” I say the words with bravado, but inside I’m scared. I don’t really know him, don’t really know what he’s capable of.

  All I want to do is run.

  But something tells me that’s what he wants.

  My hands shake as I slowly inch backward toward the door. On my insistence to Anne, I’ve had a year of self-defense training in Krav Maga, but in this moment, I can’t recall one defensive maneuver.

  I swallow, running through the basics.

  Don’t show fear.

  Keep it simple.

  Be the bear.

  Go for soft tissue.

  My eyes dart behind me to the front door. There’s a buzzer there to hit in case of trouble. If I could just reach it before he—

  He jumps at me, clamps a hand around my wrists, and jerks me toward him until my chest is pressed against his. My purse falls to the sidewalk, the contents flying, including my Mace. The scent of his sweat wafts into my face. I wiggle to get away but he tugs on my scalp until my head is bent back, forcing me to look up at him. The odd angle stretches out my vocal chords, preventing me from doing anything more than wheeze as I try to scream.

  My feet kick at him, searching for purchase in his groin area even as my heart races and my eyes careen around, looking for help. My breathing quickens, becoming shallow and rapid.

  Shit.

  At this rate, I’m going to pass out.

  He clenches his teeth together. “Don’t ever toss baseball in my face again. You don’t know shit about what you mouthed off about—”

  One of my wrists wrangles free from his grip and I throat-punch him.

  He staggers back and goes straight to his knees, holding his neck.

  Anger and fear mingle together, making my fists curl. My chest expands as I suck in air.

  Beady eyes narrow as he wheezes, getting to his feet. Before I can get my breath to run, he’s already coming at me.

  I widen my stance, preparing for him to tackle me—but Garrett lurches to the side as a shadow collides with him, sending him flying to the ground.

  Spider is a blur as he takes him down.

  Where did he come from?

  His fist slams into Garrett’s face, whipping it to the side. Twisting around, Garrett manages to get to his feet. Spider punches him again, this time in the stomach, causing an oomph to erupt from Garrett.

  “Don’t you ever come near her again!” Spider yells, hitting Garrett in the jaw.

  Garrett curses and shakes it off, a wild look in his eyes as he rushes at Spider, knocking him down and pinning him to the ground. He gets in two good shots before Spider wriggles out from under him.

  Spider lunges and jerks the beanie off, using it to wrap around Garrett’s neck, whose eyes bulge. It’s obvious he can breathe, but barely.

  “If I ever see you within a hundred yards of her again, I’ll kill you, motherfucker. You understand?” Spider bites out as he releases him, pushing him away from us with a kick to his backside. “Now get out of here, you fucking bloody arsehole, before I change my mind and beat you senseless!”

  Garrett takes off across the grass, his long legs flying as he heads for the quad and the athletic dorm.

  My chest heaves as Spider turns to face me. I run up to him to check him out, using my phone to get him in more light. There’s a cut under his right eye and blood on his cheek.

  “We need to get that looked at,” I say, my heart still flying from the adrenaline.

  “I’m bloody well fine.” His gaze brushes over me to check me out and I can tell he’s still hyped up, his eyes bouncing from my face to my arms. His chest heaves. “Did he leave bruises? Are you okay?”

  I don’t even know if he did. I don’t care. All that matters is that I’m okay and Spider is too. I nod. “Thank you for that.” I push out a laugh, adrenaline still pumping as I say, “I was doing pretty good on my own, right?” I swallow. “It felt good to throat-punch him.”

  “I wanted to kill him,” he mumbles as he clenches his fists.

  He paces around me, looking distracted and anxious. “We should call campus security.”

  I shake my head. “Won’t work. He’ll deny it and put it all on me. His family has too much money and too much influence around here. He’s a superstar athlete and people will blame me somehow. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen time and time again. Plus, he’s seventeen, and you’re not.”

  “Fuck.” He scrubs his face, his eyes uncertain. “Are you sure?”

  I nod. I don’t want to put him in a weird situation where he looks like the aggressor when he clearly wasn’t, and part of me doesn’t want this incident getting back to Robert and Anne. I know they’ll judge him for it, and my protective instincts are at their highest when it comes to Spider.

  I don’t even know why.

  I exhale, rubbing my arms. “The truth is, it’s not the first time I’ve had to defend myself. I lived in foster care for two years before Anne came along.”

  “What if he tries again and I’m not here?”

  “Forget him. I think you scared the shit out of him.” I grab his hand, noticing that it’s swelling. “Does it hurt?”

  “No.” He stares down at his hand as I cradle it in mine. His eyes come up to capture mine. He swallows.

  I study him, recalling his earlier comment about not being able to meet me after work. “What happened to going to a club tonight?”

  He takes his hand back, almost reluctantly, and lets out a breath, wiping at the blood on his face with the hem of his shirt. I get the perfect view of his hard abs and the deep V that leads down to his jeans. He’s rock solid, lean, and perfect. “My plans changed . . . obviously. I followed you home from work. I would have been here sooner, but Father called me just as I parked.”

  Oh.

  “Why did you follow me?”

  He gets this cautionary look on his face. “I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”

  Oh.

  I push out a smile, still feeling off from Garrett. “Come to my room so we can get you cleaned up.”

  He chews on his bottom lip, the indentation of his teeth mesmerizing. “I should go.”

  “Maybe that would be the smart choice.”

  “Definitely,” he says, his eyes on mine.

  “But you’ll come anyway,” I say. “You want to.”

  A few seconds pass as he stares down at me, his eyes at half-mast, those lashes so thick it should be illegal. “Is my stepsister inviting me up with an ulterior motive?”

  Hell yes.

  Spider is a bright, hot sun and I’m Icarus, flying way too close.

  “What if I said yes?”

  A small smile plays around his lips. “Then I’d say show me the way.”

  How can one human man be so hot?

  Spider sits on my toilet, shirtless, while I dab at his swollen eye. I’m doing my best to keep my eyes averted from the ink on his body, the way his tattoos swirl underneath his jeans, the way his chest is carved from stone.

  Of course, I’m the stupid person who suggested he remove his shirt so I could see if he has any bruising on his chest. A cracked or broken rib can cause a lot of pain, and I want to be thorough, that’s all—I swear to baby Jesus.
/>   He grinned at my request and whipped it off—which is the reason I’m now a mess.

  There’s hardly any room to breathe with him in my small bathroom.

  I wipe at the spot of blood on his cheek as he watches me stoically, never taking his eyes off me, tracking my every movement.

  “This will look worse tomorrow,” I murmur, just to ease the tension. I stand between his spread legs, acutely aware of his fresh scent, his pure magnetism. My hands shake and I have to focus to push an image of me straddling him, both of us naked, out of my head. I want to run my tongue over the tattoo on his neck. I want to bite him like an animal while he slides into me—

  Good grief, Rose, stop the fantasy!

  Right. I’m a virgin, and I don’t have much of an idea of what happens after that anyway. Sure, I’ve had a couple of boyfriends, but nothing serious. I don’t have much in common with the boys in Highland Park.

  “You’d make a good nurse,” he says softly, his long black lashes fluttering softly against his chiseled cheekbones.

  “Doctor of Psychology,” I correct him.

  “From NYU?” His voice is inquisitive, and I guess he’s over the jealous thing with Trenton and I at NYU together.

  “Oscar and I both want to go. It’s . . . everything to me.”

  “Your dream?”

  “Yes.” Although right now I’m dreaming of him . . .

  “I know that feeling. That’s how music is to me.” His golden-brown eyes watch me as I reach over to the medicine cabinet for more antiseptic and antibacterial cream, my chest perilously close to his face. I swear my nipples are reaching for him.

  “Why psychology?”

  I nod, pretending like I’m not all discombobulated. “My granny mainly. She loved to read people—literally. She ran a little palm-reading business out of her home before she died. All the old ladies of the neighborhood would come to talk to her. She’d make them coffee and they’d just . . . talk, and then she’d tell them what they needed to hear while I sat on the floor next to her and listened. There wasn’t any magic involved of course.” I laugh. “But . . . she was incredibly intuitive. She just got people. If someone twitched or looked left or right while they were talking, she’d have a reason for it and she’d tell me all about it after they left.”

  He smiles. “How on earth did you get to Highland Park?”

  “Through foster care, until Anne.” I toss the cotton ball I used to dab at his eye into the trash.

  “What happened to your real parents?” There’s softness in his gaze, as if he’s felt the pain of being alone.

  I sigh. “Well, Granny raised me, but she died when I was ten. The lady who gave birth to me had gotten pregnant by a man who ran off a few months later, so I’ve never met my real dad. The last I heard, he was in prison in Florida. The only guy I knew was Mama’s boyfriend Lyle. One night he hit her a little too hard and broke her neck.” I inhale sharply at the memory. “The cops pulled him over for questioning, and he pulled a gun on them. One of the cops shot him and he died too.”

  His face has hardened as I speak, and I clear my throat. “I’m not a victim, so don’t get that in your head. Granny raised me to look for the good in everyone and to never let the past get me down. She said it didn’t matter where I was from, just where I was going—and I’m going places. I’m getting out of this town if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “I think I would have loved your granny.” He curls an arm around me, tugging me close until my chest is a hair’s breadth away from his face. I recall our epic kiss on the plane. I feel the pressure of his taut thighs and my breath quickens as desire unfurls inside me, wrapping me up and inching me closer to him.

  “I don’t doubt for an instant that you’ll be a doctor someday,” he murmurs. “You’ve got a chip on your shoulder, which means you’ll fight tooth and nail. You’re a tad bitter and have people to prove wrong. I see it on your face.” He smiles wryly. “Obviously you’re not the only one who likes to analyze people.” His full, sensuous lips curve into a smile.

  A hum warms my blood. I want him—desperately.

  And it’s entirely foolish.

  He’s my stepbrother.

  He doesn’t call girls back.

  “How do you know so much about me?” I ask, feeling myself gravitating closer.

  He thinks about it, pushing a piece of hair out of my eyes. Cupping my nape, he pulls me in tighter until our noses meet. The back of his hand caresses my cheek and the heat from his touch burns, yet there’s a tautness in the roped muscles of his arms, as if he’s holding himself in check.

  “Because I am you,” he says softly. “We’re so much alike, it’s staggering.” He pauses and stares deep into my eyes. “With one exception: you’re better than me. I tossed away my teenage years on drugs and booze.” He bites his lip. “I’m still doing it. I can’t stop, Rose. Some days I want to stop—fuck, I really do—but I’ve never had anything that was enough to give me the strength to do it. Does that make sense?”

  I nod. I can’t think. He’s so close to me, his eyes burning into mine as he tries to get across what he means.

  He closes his eyes and exhales. “I want you, Rose. You’re intoxicating.”

  I suck in a sharp breath, our lips inches apart.

  Is he going to kiss me? I want him to.

  His eyes open after the silence has gone on too long, a smirk forming around his mouth. “You scared of me, Rose?”

  Never.

  “I’m scared you’ll rip my heart out.”

  He stares at the LOST tattoo on his hand. “I probably will.”

  He stands, and my small bathroom shrinks even more. Inhaling a steadying breath, I stuff everything back in the cabinet and lead him into my bedroom.

  He looks around the space, still bare-chested, taking in my small corner room. His gaze lingers on the full-sized bed then moves to the desk and my wall of books. Pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge and the Empire State Building are my only art.

  “No roommate?” he asks as he picks up a photo of Oscar, Lexa, and me at the Friends of the Library mixer last year.

  “No. It’s private, one of the perks of having Anne on the school board.”

  He runs his fingers along my collection of paperbacks. “Which one’s your favorite?”

  I move to stand next to him and pull out the dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë then press it into his hand. “You should read it.”

  His brow arches. “Maybe I already have.”

  I get excited. “Really?”

  He laughs. “No, sorry. Am I not as cultured as you thought now?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Read it now. Take it, please, as a gift from me to you.”

  He cocks his head as he thumbs through the pages, some of which I’ve highlighted and underlined. “Why? What’s it about?”

  “An orphan girl who searches her whole life for love. It’s about how she finds it, finally, in the arms of a man she’s been told she can’t have.”

  His chest expands as he looks from me to the book. “You have a lot of attachment to this character?”

  I nod. “She’s poor and struggles with other people’s low opinion of her social class.” I pause, feeling unexpected emotion tugging at me. “I-I guess I want what Jane gets at the end of the book: happiness in spite of everything she’s been through. She deserves it. I deserve it.”

  He studies me, awe in his gaze, the emotion so apparent that right then, I lose my heart.

  “You’ll find it,” he says. “Someday, Rose. I promise.”

  I swallow. “Perhaps I already have.”

  His expression changes, becoming torn.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” He shakes his head.

  I touch his arm, letting my hand drift down to his fingers. I’m tired of pretending. “Spider . . . there’s something here between us. You know it.”

  He exhales, staring at the floor for a few ticks before raising his head to meet mine. His chee
ks flush a lovely color, and I start.

  Confident and cocksure Spider is shy—by his feelings for me?

  The world really is tilting on its axis.

  “I don’t want to rehash old shit, but I want you to know that I’m really sorry for . . . what happened on the plane with the flight attendant. It’s what I do—let people down constantly. Just ask anyone. You’re a sweet girl, Rose . . . too sweet for me.”

  My heart aches. “I don’t want to talk about the flight attendant. It’s over.”

  He looks up. “I hurt you.”

  “We didn’t even know each other,” I say, trying to put the thoughts away. I want to box those images up, throw them into the ocean, and then pile a bunch of cement rocks on top. “Let’s forget we met that way.”

  He nods, raking his hand through his hair and tugging on the ends. “Start fresh, you mean? Friends, like I said in the diner? I’d like that.”

  I close my eyes. Friends is not quite right. I want . . . hard and wild and reckless.

  He doesn’t wait for me to answer.

  I don’t know why.

  Maybe it’s what he sees on my face.

  He exhales. “I’m only twenty-two, but I know a lot about losing people, Rose. I lost my sister to an early grave. I lost my mum when she ran away to be with someone else, and I lost my dad even longer ago. I don’t let people leave me anymore, and you . . . you have just a little bit of power over me. It’s enough that it messes with my head. I need calm and music and my band mates. Do you understand?” His voice is excruciatingly soft, the words chipping away at the fragile glass that is my heart.

  I understand perfectly. He’s letting me down easy.

  I suck in a deep inhale.

  “I’m sorry about Cate.”

  He leans his shoulder against the wall and crosses his legs, studying me.

  “If you ever want to talk about her, I’m here for you.”

  He falters and studies his hands, a tremor there. “I let go.” Pain flits across his face. “I let her go. It’s my fault she’s gone.”

  I get queasy at the images his words bring up as I start to understand. I don’t know how Cate died, but my imagination is going crazy. “You let her go?”