“Some of Dad’s stuff . . . just his things I couldn’t bear to get rid of.” She climbed the stairs, switching on the hallway light as she got to the top. I glanced behind us at the wooden foyer and the expensive Roman busts on either side of the door. They were probably authentic. “It’s nothing great. Just some flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt.”
I forced my attention forward again. That wasn’t the best idea, though, because I was eye level with her ass—and it was a damn fine ass to be staring at.
Even though I couldn’t have it.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice coming out a bit rougher than I’d intended. “You don’t have to give me your dad’s clothes, though. I can just wear what I have.”
She turned around and eyed me, her focus dipping low, too low, before shooting back up. I gripped the banister so tight it shoulda broken. “Your shirt is in pieces, and your jeans are covered in blood. Call me crazy, but I think we should at least wash them, since some of the blood probably even isn’t yours.”
I shot a quick look down. She was right. Most of that wasn’t mine. Some of it was from the Bitter Hill guys, and some of it was Lucas’s. Gritting my teeth, I forced the automatic swell of guilt down. “It’s not. How does that make you feel, since you invited me in, anyway?”
“The same as I did before I asked you, and every moment since,” she said, her voice even. And she didn’t break eye contact. The girl had balls, despite outward appearances and her prissy outfits. “Now let’s get you out of those clothes.”
“My favorite words to hear from a woman,” I murmured. “Especially one as beautiful as you.”
She flushed and headed down the hallway. I glanced in the rooms as we walked. Each one was fully furnished, beds made, just waiting for someone to climb on in. We passed a room that was feminine, with clothes tossed over the bed. It had to be hers. Hell, I could smell her perfume wafting into the hallway.
She had one of those huge jewelry boxes that stood six feet tall, and I didn’t have a doubt that she had it filled with diamonds, pearls, and God knows what else.
The girl was a prime target and didn’t even know it.
Luckily for her, I wouldn’t be robbing her. But if she made a habit of inviting guys like me into her home? She wouldn’t be so lucky next time.
At the last door on the end of the hallway, she paused. “You can use this room.” Turning the knob, she opened it and stepped inside. A flick of her wrist had the room illuminated, and it was fucking perfect. It had dark wooden floors, a king-size bed, and dark, masculine furniture. “This isn’t a guest room.”
“It was my father’s,” she said. “But it has its own shower, so it makes sense. You’ll need some privacy to attend to”—she glanced at my chest, her cheeks heating—“all that.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s been empty for five years,” she said, her voice soft as she smiled at a framed picture. It was of her father and what appeared to be a younger version of herself. She had braces, and her hair was shorter than it was now, but besides that, she was still the same fresh-faced and innocent girl she was today. “I’m sure.”
“Okay.” I gritted my teeth. “Get on the bed.”
“W-what?” she asked, mouth ajar. “I—I—I—”
“Not like that.” I grabbed her hand and tugged her over to the bed, gently setting her on the edge. She watched me with wide eyes, like she didn’t know whether to run, scream, or beg for her life. “Give me your hand.”
She held out the uninjured one.
I set it in her lap. “The other one.”
Once I picked up her injured hand, she sucked in a breath and fisted the other in her lap. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you,” I said, staring down at the jagged gash. “It’s my turn.”
She swallowed but didn’t say anything as I worked on her hand. Just watched me fuss over her. Her skin was baby soft and smooth and felt like she’d never done a hard day of work in her life. Maybe she hadn’t. After I cleaned and bandaged it, she closed her fingers over the bandage, squeezing. She gave me a small smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. After I’d been hunched over her hand, my shoulder ached even more now, but it was worth it. Glancing down at my filthy body, I cringed. “About that shower?”
“Right.”
She hopped to her feet and headed toward the closed door on the left wall. She walked past the bed and the dark wood dresser and into the other room. I followed more slowly, because the room was starting to spin, and my eyelids felt like they weighed a million pounds, and if I wasn’t careful, I just might fall asleep on my feet.
Water turned on, and I came around the corner, sagging against the wall with a sigh. Yawning, I rubbed my eyes. “This is gonna feel good.”
Buttons came in, meowed, and walked over to me again. He rubbed against me, purring almost as loudly as the water. She peeked down at the cat. “He likes you,” she said thoughtfully. “He doesn’t usually like strangers.”
I stared at the cat and undid the button of my fly. “I don’t know why.”
“Me neither. I—” She turned around broke off. “What are you doing?” she called out, her voice alarmed.
I froze mid-unzip. “Undressing.”
“I’m still in here.”
“I was just undoing my pants, not getting naked. Have you never seen a guy in his boxers before?” I asked, amused at her reaction. It was no different from seeing me in swim trunks. “I assure you, I’m wearing some.”
She closed the curtain, her cheeks red. “Give me a second, and I’ll give you some privacy. Go on and get in, and I’ll bring in a towel once you’re inside the shower with the curtain pulled closed. You’re obviously eager to get in.”
“I’m fucking tired is what I am,” I said.
She slipped past me, her body rigid. I held my jeans in place, since the idea of me in my boxers clearly bothered her. As she passed me, her attention dipped south, and my cock hardened. If she paid attention, she’d see my body react to her scrutiny.
No matter how beat-up I was, or how shitty I felt, nothing would stop me from responding to the heated interest she threw my way. Nothing short of death, anyway.
Maybe not even that.
“Are those from fights, too?”
I glanced down and blinked because my vision was blurring. I saw the knife wound from a fight I’d had when I was sixteen and another scar, courtesy of my father, this one three times bigger than the knife wound. “Some, yes. Some, no.”
“You’ve lived quite the life, haven’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
What the fuck was I supposed to say to that?
“I’ll leave you to get undressed now,” she said softly, still studying my scars. I had a lot more, if she had a thing for them.
After she left, I let my remaining clothes hit the floor, wincing as I leaned on the sink to balance myself. Now that I was alone, I stopped hiding the fact that at any minute, I was bound to pass out and maybe never wake up. Somehow, I managed not to.
Breathing heavily, I stepped under the hot water and groaned. I couldn’t help it. It felt way too damn good not to appreciate. An hour or two ago, I’d been sure I would die in that alley, alone aside from the rats and the roaches, and no one would care. But now I was showering, and it was warm, and it just went to show that good guys didn’t finish first.
They finished last—after the bad guys like me.
No matter how much shit I did wrong, or how many cardinal sins I broke, I just kept coming up clean and grinning, and nothing would stop me. Nothing killed me.
And that kinda pissed me off.
It was time for me to pay my dues.
I placed my face under the water, letting it wash away all the evidence of my wrongdoings into a puddle of dark pink water swirling around my feet. But
I knew, even after all the blood, dirt, and sweat washed away, I would still be dirty. I’d never be clean.
Nothing, and no one, could change that. My dirty soul was embedded in my DNA. I had been fucked since the moment I was conceived. Doomed to be a villain.
“Are you in the shower yet?” Molly called out.
“Yeah, you can come in,” I said, leaning on the wall and running my hands down my face. I glanced at them. They were stained a wet reddish brown, despite washing them earlier. “Did you bring soap?”
“Yeah, and a washcloth.” Her hand popped in, slim, white, and clean. “Shampoo, too. Sorry—I forgot there wasn’t any in there.”
I took the stuff, leaving dirty streaks on her wrist and hand. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who—” I broke off, laughing. “I’m the one who’s getting your tub all dirty.”
“It’s just a tub.”
“Yeah, and I’m just a guy.” I opened the curtain and popped my head out. She gaped at me, her lids dropping as she took in every exposed inch of me as if she’d never seen a wet man before. “You didn’t have to save me, and probably shouldn’t have, but it’s a debt I’ll never forget. Thank you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, rubbing her arms and backing up. She’d placed a towel and a clean pair of pajamas on the sink counter. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Still,” I said, squaring my jaw. “I never back down from a favor owed, and if you need something from me, all you have to do is ask.”
She shook her head. “I won’t be asking.”
“If you say so.” I closed the curtain and stepped under the water again. “Regardless, I’ll be waiting.”
“You have a pretty bleak outlook on life.”
Unable to resist, I peeked out the curtain at her again. “What tipped you off?”
“You’re obviously not all jaded.” She bit down on her lip, watching me. “Back at the pharmacy, you could have stolen my car. My purse. My life.”
“I’m a shitty person, but I wouldn’t do that to you,” I said, my voice thick. I probably shouldn’t have admitted that, but with her, for some reason, I wanted to be straight, no bullshit. She deserved it. “Never to you.”
She rubbed her arm. “Which only goes to prove that no one is all bad, just like no one is all good. I refuse to believe you’re as evil as you let on.”
I gave her a once-over, lingering over her soft lips and sweet curves. “You’re all good.”
“Oh God.” She laughed. “I’m not. I’m so not.”
“I refuse to believe that,” I said, turning her words back on her.
Silence, and then: “I’m going to let you shower in peace now,” she said.
I didn’t mind her chatter, which was funny, since on anyone else, I would have found it annoying as hell. But if she wanted to go, I’d let her. “All right.”
The door shut behind her, and I sank down in the tub, knees folded in front of me, and stared blankly at the wall, not sure how to feel right now. This woman, this unselfish person, saw good in me. I didn’t know why, or how, but it didn’t change the fact that she did. And, God help us both, I wanted it to stay that way. Wanted her to see me as a person worth saving. I didn’t want to let her down, like I had everyone else.
For some reason, it mattered to me that she liked me.
When it had never mattered with anyone else before.
I blinked down at the tub, watching as it turned pinkish red with the blood of my sins, and swallowed, dropping my head back against the wall. Quickly, I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to watch the evidence of what I’d done to Lucas circle down the drain. If she knew what I did—she would never look at me the same.
I’d tried to kill Lucas. My brother. My friend. My partner.
I’d tried to one-up a man who got pleasure out of beating me. A man who would never think I was good enough. Strong enough. Tough enough. Cold enough. And in the process of trying to show him he hadn’t broken me, that I was a strong man despite his parenting, I’d somehow become him. How the hell did this become my life?
How the hell did this become me?
CHAPTER 6
MOLLY
Last night had been . . . surreal. In lots of ways. Some small part of me had expected to wake up and find out it had all been a crazy dream. Dad’s room would be empty, my hand wouldn’t be cut, and there wouldn’t be a hot, injured, likely wanted criminal sleeping under my roof. But I woke up, saw my bandaged hand, and knew none of it had been a dream. It had happened.
I’d saved Chris O’Brien. Dad would be proud of me. But . . .
Now what was I supposed to do with him?
True to my word, I left in the morning, tiptoeing outside so as not to wake him up. On Sundays, I went to church and then worked at the shelter for abused women and children, washing sheets and setting up beds for incoming occupants. Today had been a lot harder to get through than normal.
Last night, I’d stayed up late washing his clothes and making sure he got out of the shower okay without passing out or dying. When I heard the water turn off, I waited fifteen minutes before peeking through the door. He’d been fast asleep in Dad’s bed, wearing my father’s favorite pajamas, a hand flung over his head and his injured arm folded over his chest.
For a second, I stared at him.
And I hadn’t been able to look away.
There was something about him, and the way he made me feel, that called to me. That told me not to write him off or send him away. Maybe it was his utter certainty that he was a horrible person or the haunted emptiness in his dark brown eyes that made me want to help him. Heal him. Change him.
I couldn’t shake the way he made me feel.
It was like he made me feel alive, or like I was finally doing something that mattered. Like I was finally doing something right. Maybe it was just because I was lonely and no one had stayed with me for a while, but having him under my roof felt . . . good. Even if it was dangerous, which there was no denying it was.
I had the undeniable feeling that I’d found him in that alleyway for a reason. Call it fate or destiny or luck. But it seemed like something, or someone, had wanted me to find him. That there was something to be done between the two of us.
Not, like, sex, or anything.
Yes, he was attractive. And no, I wasn’t going to lie or pretend I didn’t want him. I totally did. And he probably knew it. Guys like him always did. But I wouldn’t act on it. Heck, I never acted on it, so I wasn’t about to start now, with him. He’d eat me alive, spit me out, and bury me in the backyard when he was finished.
My life hadn’t been all that exciting, and I hadn’t been in numerous beds with numerous men. The only bed I slept in was my own. And I was always alone . . . unless you counted Buttons. There had been one guy in college. I’d been so sure I was ready. But his groping hands and wet kisses had done nothing to stir any desires, and it had been the worst night, and worst decision, of my life.
If I could take it back, I would. And, God, I wish I could. I would rather be a virgin for the rest of my life than have that memory in my head.
When I pulled into my driveway, I pushed the button and waited for the garage door to open. Either my house would be empty or there would be a man inside. Waiting for me. I wasn’t sure yet which I preferred. But after I’d finished up my day at the shelter, I’d bought him some clothes, just in case it was the latter.
After the garage door shut behind me, I grabbed the wine I’d picked up—because, God, I needed some, no matter what waited for me inside—grabbed the bags of clothes, and headed for the door. Before I could open it, it swung inward, and Chris stood there. Barefoot, and still in pajamas. Buttons was behind him, staring up at him lovingly.
Guess I got my answer. He hadn’t left.
I tried to ignore the surge of relief as I studied him for
any signs of improvement. He still had bruises and scabs, his nose still had that broken look to it and was various shades of yellow and blue, but he was handsome as the devil, smiling, and he acted like a completely different guy from last night. He seemed . . . normal.
And my body responded to it.
God, did it respond.
“Hey, Princess.” He held the door open, that grin never slipping from his handsome, perfect face. I had a feeling that grin was a façade. A way for him to hide what truly lay beneath . . . whatever that might be. “Welcome home.”
I ducked under his hard, muscular arm. He smelled good. Not like the cologne he’d worn the other day, but like coconut shampoo and soap. Like my coconut shampoo and soap. “Th-thanks.” I walked past him and breathed in deep. The house smelled delicious. Like . . . like . . . “Did you—?”
At the same time he blurted out, “I made dinner for you.” He glanced out into the garage, shut the door, and locked it. All the blinds were still drawn, so we had complete privacy. It made sense, since he was hiding out and all. “I had to work with what you had, so I went with homemade fettuccine Alfredo.”
My jaw dropped. “You . . . cook?”
“Yeah. Luc taught me. Since I don’t plan on getting married, or ever living with a woman, I figured it was best for me to learn.” He scratched the back of his head as if he couldn’t believe he’d told me that voluntarily, and rushed forward. When he reached out, he couldn’t hide a wince or his furrowed brow as he dropped his arm back to his side. “Here, let me take those.”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” I said quickly, resting a hand on his forearm. “It’s heavy.”
“I won’t. I’m fine.” He shot me a quick grin, but his brow was covered in sweat, as if he’d taxed himself too hard. “I’m a quick healer. It hurts, but a good night’s sleep did wonders for me. I’ll be out of your hair in no time at all. I just wanted to cook for you as a thank-you for all you did. Oh. And I fed your cat.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I shrugged out of my coat and laid it on the chair by the island, frowning. Buttons stepped between us and meowed. Chris held on to the bags with his good arm, which left only his injured one free. “I’m glad to hear you’re better. I got you some clothes. Go on. Take a look.”
Dare to Stay Page 6
