by S. J. Drum
A smile grew on Abbey’s lips until she shone with a full grin. “Yeah, you’re back. You had us all scared this morning with your blank-eyed, detached routine. This is good. Now I won’t have to slap you around until you snap out of it.”
Abbey led her down a hallway and into an open, spacey country kitchen. Dez stood near the sink, reclined with his ass pressed to the counter and his arms crossed over his chest. He might have been posed like a scary biker but there was mischief in his eyes and a small smile on his lips that drew attention away from the scar on his face and to his straight, white teeth. “Well, shit. I stayed up late on the promise of a cat fight.” He focused his gaze on Abigail. “You sure you don’t want to slap her around, just a little? We got the bikinis and baby pool full of Jello all ready to go.” He aimed a wink in Lucy’s direction. “Seems like shame to waste it.”
“Asshole,” Abbey grumbled but smiled to soften the curse.
Jed reached out from his seat at the table to snag Abigail and pull her onto his lap. She landed with a “hmmph” and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Well, let’s see it, honey,” Jed said, motioning to the box Lucy held. “Best to get it over with sooner rather than later.”
Lucy’s hands began to tingle and her feet felt glued to the floor. He wanted her to reveal the contents of her nightmare, right here, now, under the bright light of the kitchen ceiling fan while they all looked on? She began to tremble and her eyes burned with tears.
She didn’t want to look at the pictures alone but she didn’t know if she could handle these nice, normal people seeing the depths of her depravity. God only knew what exactly they’d find inside the box. Beyond the obvious, she’d rather not have her new friends presented with a money shot of her crotch. It was entirely possible a picture like that could await her displeasure beneath the square black lid.
Lucy jumped when Dez’s hand landed on the small of her back, not having seen him move across the room to her. She forced a swallow and closed her eyes.
“Lucy?”
She shook her head, not able to speak.
“Lucy, look at me,” Dez demanded.
She dared a peek at him out of the corner of her eye, barely turning her head toward him.
“Whatever we find in that box, whatever we see, no matter how awful it might be, it won’t change how we feel about you. We’ll still be your friends, still help you through this, no matter what. Let us help you.”
Dez gave her a gentle push and steered her to the table before swiftly divesting her of the box that’d been locked against her chest by both of her arms. After sitting the box in the center of the table, Dez turned to her. “We’ll see what we’re working with, then decide what to do with it. I have a connection in law enforcement a bit higher up than Ross Vance’s tiny, bumfucked precinct. If there is anything in here that can be used to nail your ex’s balls to the wall, I’ll call my contact first thing in the morning.
Lucy nodded but still stammered, “Maybe we should wait. Until tomorrow. Or later. Just wait to open it until we have a plan.”
Three sympathetic faces stared back at her but no one agreed with her plan.
“Do you want me to open it?” Abigail asked in a soft tone.
“No. No, I should do it. Don’t you think? I’ll just…” Lucy sucked a deep breath in through her nose and blew it out slowly between pursed lips. At the end of the exhalation, she leaned over the table and flipped the lid off of the box in one quick motion.
Jed, Abigail and Dez spat curses as soon as the contents were exposed.
“Fuck!”
“Oh, God.”
“I’m gonna kill that motherfucker.”
Lucy stared down into the box, feeling curiously lighter, as though a weight had been lifted from her soul. She hadn’t imagined her abuse. It was real. All of it. And she finally had the proof.
* * * * *
Dalton, hands gripped on either side, hefted the heavy steel post-hole digger as high as his strength would allow before using gravity and what felt like every muscle in his body to slam the digger into the ground. He didn’t really need a fence strong enough it could double as a horse corral surrounding his garden. Hell, he didn’t even need or want a garden all that much, but repetitive action combined with brutal physical labor was the only thing that had gotten him through the last week. This and the regular updates on Lucy provided by Dez.
He lifted the post-hole digger, knuckles white on the handles, and held it high until his shoulders started to shake before slamming it into the ground again.
Dez. The prick. Dalton’s foreman sure hadn’t put up much of a fight when Dalton had tasked him with the job of sticking close to Lucy while he was still in the doghouse. Lucy hadn’t allowed him to explain about Rachel. The stubborn woman wouldn’t even let Dalton get close enough to speak to her about anything. Though Jed swore he and Abigail had explained the situation, which admittedly still made Dalton look like a dick because he had fucked up just a bit, Lucy still wasn’t taking his calls. Despite Jed and Abigail seeming to be on Dalton’s side, they did damn fine impressions of a guard dog and a mama bear whenever he tried to slip into Lucy’s office to kiss some sense into her. Apparently she’d given a “do not disturb” order which his friends were inclined to enforce no matter what.
He slammed the digger again then paused to wipe sweat from his brow with his forearm. Flexing his fingers, he cursed at the ache caused by his fierce grip and lack of work gloves. Pulling a pair of leather gloves from his back pocket, the pair he’d intended to put on before he started digging holes, he cursed himself. Shit. He needed to get his head on straight before he fucked something up and got himself or one of his crew hurt when he went into work the next morning.
No one would tell him what was inside the box Lucy had retrieved from her ex’s house. All they’d say was that it was bad, but Lucy was handling it better than expected. Dalton knew Dez had turned some of the evidence over to the state investigator he knew from his time in the military and all signs suggested Ross was lying low. Not being on the front line in Lucy’s protection, having to trust the word and actions of others with her safety, was a kick to the nuts of Dalton’s pride. Everything in him rebelled at taking the backseat.
He was used to being in charge, damn it. Slam! Another strike of the post-hole digger resonated through his bones. And if he had to be subjected to one more too-amused smirk from Dez he was going to break his best friend’s face. Slam! He’d already come close to ripping Dez’s tongue right out of his stupid face when the guy had the nerve to ask Dalton if, since Dalton wasn’t getting anywhere with Lucy, he’d mind if Dez gave it a try himself. Slam! Hell yes he fucking minded! Only knowing all his friends had done to keep Lucy safe kept Dalton from tearing into the guy right then and there.
Leaving the post-hole digger perched upright in the hole that was probably too deep for a fence post, Dalton spun on a heel and strode toward his house. Fuck this. He was going to straighten this shit out with Lucy, today. Right now. Whatever problems they had, they’d work out together. No more of this hide-and-seek avoidance bullshit.
He slammed through the back door, yanking the sweat-soaked shirt over his head as he stomped through the kitchen.
And no more sleepovers at Jed and Abigail’s. If it wasn’t safe or she didn’t feel comfortable staying in her apartment, Lucy would have her sweet ass in his bed, her crazy mess of red hair splayed on his pillows, her intoxicating scent on his sheets. Even if he had to sleep on the couch, it would still be better just knowing she was within his reach where he could protect her and love her like she needed.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor, a hand on the heel of one dust-covered work boot while the other boot sat sprawled on the floor where he’d tossed it. He squeezed his eyes shut, finally processing the emotions that had been eating him up and swelling inside his chest since he first laid eyes on the curvy, sweet-smiling redhead.
Dalton had never
imagined falling in love. If he had, he sure as hell wouldn’t have imagined it hurting so bad, pissing him off so much or filling him with the contentment and excitement and joy he felt whenever Lucy was in the room.
“I love her.” Dalton said it out loud to test the words on his tongue. “I love her,” he said again, this time with more conviction. For the first time in a week his thoughts stopped skipping and grinding and driving him mad. It felt as though his gears and sprockets had finally caught and begun spinning in sync.
He pulled off the remaining boot and climbed the stairs, determination pushing him forward. He would shower, throw on some clean clothes, then he’d get his woman. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror over the bathroom sink as he moved past it to the shower. His grin was feral, a baring of teeth with no room for the softening effect of dimples. As much as his friends meant to him, he’d mow the motherfuckers down if they stood between him and Lucy today.
Chapter Eighteen
It was Sunday afternoon, a time Dalton knew Lucy wouldn’t normally be at her office, but he decided to try there first. Abigail and Jed opened Hart’s Ink from Noon until 5:00 p.m. every Sunday for piercings and tattoos, so there was a better than good chance Lucy would be there with them now.
I hope to hell she’s at the shop…
The other two options of her whereabouts if she wasn’t at the shop made Dalton’s blood pressure jump until he felt a vein throb across his temple. If Lucy hadn’t come to work with Jed and Abigail, it meant she was either somewhere alone and unprotected, or she was somewhere alone with Dez enjoying his “protection”.
Dalton pocketed his keys as he crossed the street in front of Hart’s Ink. He slung open the glass door and strode straight down the hallway toward Lucy’s office.
“Whoa!” Dalton palmed the wall to keep from landing on his ass after colliding chest-to-chest with Jed. The man had stepped out of his piercing studio and right into Dalton’s path with no room to spare.
“Dalton,” Jed drawled after they’d both composed themselves.
“Jed. Is Lucy in her office?”
Jed scrubbed a hand over his chin, a chin which looked as though it hadn’t seen a razor in a good two days. “Well, she is and she isn’t.”
Dalton, not in the mood for any bullshit, moved to push past him but Jed threw his arm up across the hall to bar his way. Taking a calming breath, Dalton turned back to Jed. “Listen, man, I appreciate everything you’ve done for her. I consider you a friend and if you ever need something, I’ll be there.” Dalton leaned closer to Jed, nearly close enough to touch noses. “That being said, if you don’t get the fuck out of my way and let me see my woman…I. Will. Break. You.”
The blood rushing through Dalton’s veins felt too hot, the breath in his lungs too heavy, as he stared down the man standing between him and Lucy.
“So, that’s how it is,” Jed said, not a question. He gave a nod, body relaxing as he slouched to lean against the wall, giving Dalton room to pass. “Don’t hurt her, man.”
“You know I won’t.” Dalton turned to continue down the hall but halted when Jed kept talking.
“She’s been through some fucked-up shit, but my advice? Don’t handle her with kid gloves. Gentle but firm and consistent will you get you where you wanna be, on the right side of her trusting you.”
Dalton thought it was good advice, but he wasn’t going to tell Jed. “Thanks for the advice, Hillbilly Dr. Phil. I’ll keep that in mind.”
A laugh rumbled from Jed’s chest. “Not Dr. Phil. More like the horse whisperer. I use the same technique when I start training a skittish horse.”
Dalton smiled for the first time in days and started walking toward Lucy’s office. Jed called out behind him, “Hey, don’t go telling Lucy I compared her to a farm animal!” Jed must have gone back into his studio because his next words were muffled. “If Abbey hears about it, she’ll be bustin’ my balls for a week.”
When he reached Lucy’s office, the door was closed and he debated knocking, ultimately deciding to open the door and walk right in without giving her a chance to refuse him.
The door being unlocked, he pushed it open, stepped into the large room serving as Lucy’s office and was immediately surrounded by her scent. Fuck, he’d missed her scent almost as much as her touch. Like lemons and sunshine, comforting, clean, exhilarating.
Lucy’s head snapped up, her eyes wide and startled as she peered at him from behind her desk and over the screen of her laptop. “Dalton.” She breathed his name so softly he almost didn’t hear it.
Without a word, he turned, closed the door and turned the lock. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Lucy jump in her seat when the lock caught—a quiet click that sounded like a gunshot in the silent room. Turning back to her, he studied his woman.
Her springy red and blonde curls were held back from her face with a wide headband. He was glad to see she was still letting it down instead of scraping it back into the messy bun she’d worn constantly when they first met. She was hot either way, but when those curls were wild and free she seemed more relaxed and comfortable in her own skin. Her skin was pale and creamy, her eyes more gray than blue today with dark half-moon shadows underneath as a testament to sleepless nights.
Dalton did not like seeing the evidence of the stress she was under etched onto her beautiful face. He hoped he wasn’t responsible for any part of her unrest, though he knew his fuck-up with Rachel was probably responsible for a shade or two of those dark circles beneath the wary grays watching him from across the room.
He walked to the front of her desk, thought better and walked around behind it to stand next to Lucy. She peered up at him, her chest rising in quick shallow breaths. Dalton studied her reaction, deciding she was wary but not scared. Good.
“What are you doing here?”
“You wouldn’t take my calls, darlin’. Wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?” Dalton watched as anger swept over her features, adding a blush to her cheeks and blue heat to her eyes. The sight went straight to his dick.
Lucy stood, coming toe-to-toe with Dalton, hands crossed over her chest. “How’s your girlfriend?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
“You’re in the wrong place, asking the wrong person,” Lucy hissed.
“Darlin’,” Dalton flashed a smile, which only served to piss her off more if the fierce frown on her plump limps was any indication, “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Lucy rolled her eyes, her lips pressed into a tight line before she spoke. “Last time I checked, my name was still Lucy, not Rachel. I don’t have time for games, Dalton. In case you were too busy playing ‘The Dom and the Submissive Barbie’ to notice, I’ve got a lot of shit going on right now and the last thing I need is another asshole screwing up my life.”
Dalton took a breath, drawing in her scent and hoping it would work to calm his temper. The last thing he wanted this visit to accomplish was giving Lucy any more reasons to send him packing. He felt a small spike of triumph upon the realization Lucy wouldn’t be so pissed off about Rachel if the woman didn’t have feelings for him. Jealousy wasn’t love, but he’d take it for a stepping stone.
When Lucy would have spun away, giving him her back, he placed his hands on her shoulders, enjoying the softness that met his palms and cushioned his fingers instead of the bony, skeletal shoulders he’d felt on his previous women. He found lots of women attractive but had always gravitated toward the tall and thin, like Rachel, like so many others whose names he hadn’t bothered to commit to memory because they were all copies. When every woman in his bed had been interchangeable, his lust for control and his passion for fucking had been fed, but his soul had remained starved, slumbering as if in hibernation.
He waited until Lucy met his eyes then slid one hand up to cradle the side of her delicate neck while lifting the other to smooth over her crazy beautiful tumble of curls. Staring into blue-gray eyes the color of an approaching storm, Dalton kne
w.
This woman wasn’t his type. She wasn’t tall. Hell, the top of her head barely met his chin. Her breasts weren’t a product of surgical skill but crafted by nature. Her hips flared with a gentle curve and he knew from experience when he grabbed hold of them for leverage, his fingertips would sink in just a bit instead of pressing against skin stretched tight over bone. Lucy wasn’t a piece of polished silver to be brought out to serve a particular purpose only to be put out of sight and rarely considered between uses.
She was nothing like the sort of women he’d always sought out.
Lucy was something different.
She was everything Dalton should have been looking for and hadn’t known existed. Soft but strong, fragile but challenging, sexy but mostly unaware of her appeal. Lucy was his everything.
* * * * *
Dalton’s fingertips drifted over her cheek and trailed over her temple, causing Lucy to shiver. The way he was looking at her, his eyes alight as if he’d never seen something so precious, made it hard for her to hold on to the anger she’d been cultivating all week.
“I didn’t fuck her.”
Lucy felt her eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline. The bold statement was at odds with Dalton’s featherlight touch and gentle expression. His words jarred her back on track. “You told me before that you did. Multiple times over the course of months, years maybe.”
His frustrated, mint-scented huff ruffled a few tendrils of her hair as it washed over her face.
“I mean, I didn’t fuck her that day. The day your parents were in town. The last day you let me see you. I haven’t touched her since the moment you walked in my back door and dropped a mess of cookies all over my porch.”
Lucy’s cheeks heated and she wished she’d never thought to thank the big jerk with her cookies—which were awesome and he would have loved. Walking in on that scene, Dalton standing tall, strong and shirtless over Rachel’s skinny ass was equal parts mortifying and arousing. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
