This Is War, Baby

by K. Webster

  Tears well in my eyes again as realization washes over me.

  I ran from someone who needs me. He needs me in his world for it to make sense. I may not understand why my parents haven’t gone public with my missing whereabouts. I may not understand how I am to outsmart Gabe. And I certainly don’t understand why I feel guilty for running from War.

  But I do.

  My chest aches and I long for his possessive touch around my wrist.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, a quiver in my voice as I blink my eyes to drive away the tears. “I shouldn’t have run.”

  He mumbles. He’s counting. Each scrub back and forth along the smooth marble. Numbers in the hundreds.

  “War,” I say louder. “It’s clean.”

  He jerks his head over his shoulder and for a moment, his gaze scares me. His normally beautiful eyes have turned dark with mania. With a quick tug, he draws the respirator down and his jaw clenches in an angry fashion. But the look is fleeting. The scrub brush clatters to the floor as he stares up at me.

  “I was fucking terrified, Baylee.”

  Guilt trickles through me and I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying again. His gaze softens as he glances down at my mouth and then back at me again.

  “You promised me,” he chokes out as he stands. “You promised me you wouldn’t leave me.”

  I let the tears fall again and glance down at my feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through. All I wanted to do was find my parents and figure out why they aren’t looking for me.”

  He lets out a sigh and I look over at him. Dark shadows under his eyes tell me he’s exhausted. Because of me.

  “What did you step on?” he questions, changing the subject.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Glass or metal. Nothing is left and I cleaned it thoroughly.”

  He groans and his hands begin to tremble. “The metal—” he curses, “—it could infect you. Poison you.”

  “I had a tetanus shot last year and I poured half the bottle of alcohol on it before bandaging it up. I’ll keep it clean.”

  My words seem to calm him and he relaxes a bit. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Get some rest, Baylee. I’m going to shower again and then go to sleep.”

  Without another word, he turns and strides down the hallway away from me.

  “War,” I call out. I hate myself for asking this question but I need to know the answer. “Are you going to punish me for leaving?”

  He jerks his head over his shoulder to stare at me, an incredulous look on his face. “No, Bay. I could never hurt you. I’m not like him. When are you going to understand that?”

  And with that, he disappears into his bedroom.

  I flip off the lights and crawl back into my bed where I cry myself to sleep. And for some reason, I’m crying for him.

  For making him do things he can’t handle.

  Chase me.

  Touch me.

  Brave the outside world.

  Clean my blood.

  I cry because despite everything, I’m already starting to care for him and that scares the hell out of me.

  I could never hurt you.

  Then why do I ache for you, War?

  FOUR DAYS IS a long time not to speak to someone living in your home. I mean, we’ve spoken, but we haven’t talked—really talked. Every time I think about the way she left that night, hell bent on going home, I get angry all over again.

  I trusted her. I gave her the fucking code to the house for crying out loud. I gave her the chance to spread her wings a little and boy did she fly. She flew right out the goddamned door, nearly into oncoming traffic, and directly into harm’s way.

  A shudder ripples through me as I recall how truly terrified I was that night. Not only for her safety but for my own as well. I’m not the kind of man who leaves his house. Only in emergencies. And even then, I take every precaution to protect myself. But that night? I couldn’t think straight. All that mattered was getting her back home safely.

  My mind had zeroed in on her and nothing else mattered.

  Nothing.

  It wasn’t until she was locked back up in my home that anger began to set in. This is the main reason we haven’t spoken much in several days. Each time I start to bring it up, I can feel my blood practically boiling. I’ll give myself a heart attack if I’m not careful.

  The horrifying thought of having surgery—the cracking open of my chest, the tools working beneath the flesh—damn near sends me over the edge.

  Luckily, Dad sent some program requirements for his new client from New York and wanted to know if I could come up with some customized programs for them. Of course I could. It’s taken all of my energy and focus, but I’ve finally come up with something I’m sure the client will love.

  And for the tune of four million dollars, they should love it.

  I’m tapping away on my laptop in my office when a soft rapt on the door distracts me.

  Dragging my gaze to the doorway, I frown to see Baylee standing there. Not because I don’t want to see her but because when she’s around, all I can do is stare at her. Angry or not. She’s a vision. A piece of art. Something too pretty and too pure for this world.

  Today, she’s wearing a pair of yoga pants that hug her toned legs and a bright yellow fitted sweater. My gaze travels over her perky breasts all the way down to her bare feet, the right one still bandaged.

  I snap my gaze back up to hers. “How’s the foot? Did you clean it today?”

  Same questions every day.

  “Yep,” she says with a frown.

  “Did your dad reply?”

  More of the same daily questions.

  Her eyes well with tears and she plops down in the chair in my office. “Yeah. He’s being really weird, War.”

  I clench my jaw together to keep from blabbing the fact I’ve been in contact with the local police department of where she lived. Stark has reached out a few times after our initial contact, baiting me to come see her. Each message has been left unanswered.

  With my palm, I scrub my cheek and sigh. “What’d he say?”

  She swipes a tear away and my eyes zone in on the wet part of the back of her hand. It glistens in the light and I become fixated on it, ignoring everything she’s saying.

  “…and basically that’s it.”

  I blink one, two, three times before lifting my stare to her face. “So he still simply demands you come home or to tell you where you’re at? Never divulges anything as to why he hasn’t reported your missing whereabouts?”

  I’m hoping it was the same reply as it has been for the past few days since I wasn’t paying attention to anything other than the soft, wet flesh of her hand.

  “Nope. He’s leaving me in the dark. His harsh tones though remind me of Gabe. Have you found out anything?” she questions and then looks past me to the screen that’s filled with complicated code. “Never mind. I can see you’ve been busy with something else.”

  She stands quickly and storms from the room.

  With a groan I follow after her. Her blonde hair is the only trail she leaves in her haste to make it to the small room I long ago converted to a gym. I stand, filling the doorway, as she picks up two weights and begins rotating, curling them toward her breasts. Once again, I’m drawn to staring at her body. The way the black pants hug her nice ass. So much for being pissed at her.

  “When you’re done pouting, I have something for you.”

  She stiffens and throws me a confused look. Her eyebrows are pinched together and though she’s mad at me, I can tell she’s curious about what I have for her.

  Leaving her, I head for my bedroom and retrieve the box from the delivery that came in earlier this morning. I’d gone a little crazy, and for a moment, I hope she won’t think I’m a fucking lunatic.

  “I’m done pouting.” Her amused voice from the doorway warms me and seeing her bright smile has me forgetting all about why I’ve been upset with her. I’ve missed her smile.

  “G
ood,” I say with a grin, “now close your eyes and don’t open them until I say you can.”

  She arches a questioning brow but I don’t budge until both eyes are closed. I saunter over to her and get a closer look at her. Her soft pink lips are slightly parted and I crave to run my finger over her bottom one.

  “What do you think it is?” My hot breath, inches from her face startles her and her eyes flutter. “Don’t open them.”

  Her nose scrunches and her brows furrow together as she thinks. “I don’t know, makeup? Perfume?”

  Maybe I should have bought her something girly instead. I didn’t ever consider she’d want something like that. Does she really feel like some abused prisoner? My heart is pounding as I quickly rethink my gift to her.

  “No.” My tone is gruff, aggravated even.

  She frowns, most likely from my mood change, and not the fact I didn’t buy her those things but now it’s all I can think about. I’m going shopping just as soon as I can for both.

  Dragging myself from her alluring presence, I make my way over to the bed and pull open the flaps of the box. Then, I carry it over to her and set it at her feet. Panic washes over me. I hope she likes what I got her.

  “Open them.”

  Her eyes find mine first and they twinkle with excitement. It’s in this moment I decide I want to buy her gifts all of the time. Every single day.

  When her eyes fall to the box, she frowns but reaches inside. She retrieves a pink pair of flip-flops and when her eyes meet mine there are tears in them. “You bought me shoes. Lots of them.”

  Uncomfortable with her lack of enthusiasm, I shift from one foot to the other. “I thought that maybe…I assumed that after, you know…that you—”

  “I love them.”

  We hold each other’s gaze for eighty-six seconds and then she breaks away to try them on. Every single pair. The enthusiasm I assumed wasn’t there is in full force as she babbles on with glee. I’ve never been so captivated by her. So utterly engrossed in everything that is her.

  The lingering scent of her body wash.

  The animated way she waves her hands in the air when she talks.

  The cute way she walks down her imaginary runway and pivots just as a model would.

  “Why did you buy me shoes? I mean,” she says softly as she approaches, “I can’t go anywhere anyway.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and glance out the window. The window which points to the road she once ran from me on. Suppressing a shudder, I turn my attention back to her.

  “The code is still 1200. I never changed it.”

  She gapes at me, her pouty lips parting and then closing again as if she’s trying desperately to formulate words. “B-B-But you were so mad. I betrayed your trust.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “And I bought you. Let’s call it even.”

  Biting down on her bottom lip, she contemplates my words. The woman can think all day if that means I can stare at her unabashedly. I love watching the way her eyes sparkle with excitement or the way her cheeks turn pink when she is embarrassed. Simply put, she’s beautiful.

  “Listen,” I say, my voice gruff, “I was serious when I said you weren’t my prisoner. I want to keep you safe from that asshole and to enjoy your company. Even though we had an agreement that you’d stay as long as I sent money for your mother, that doesn’t mean under duress. If you want to leave, you can go. I’d fucking hate it but would understand.”

  She shakes her head adamantly. “No, the money is important to Mom. It could get her the lifesaving surgery she needs. My dad may be acting strangely and Gabe may have a hand in that, but I won’t jeopardize what you’re doing for her in order to get back home to them. Quite frankly, I’m struggling to understand how they haven’t ever reported me as missing. I don’t think running home will give me that answer. In fact, I worry it could be detrimental to me in the end,” she says softly and smiles. “Besides, I kind of like it here. Now that I have shoes of course.”

  My heart soars when I realize she really isn’t going to leave me. At the moment anyway. She’s staying by choice which means, even with all of my bizarre afflictions, she isn’t completely disgusted by me.

  “In that case,” I tell her with a smirk, “I better buy you more shoes.”

  “Aren’t you going to move your queen?”

  She stares down at the board and chews on her lip. The wheels are turning as many different moves flip through her mind. “I don’t want to,” she says finally and lifts her gaze to mine. Her cheeks tinge pink and she gives me the look—the embarrassed one. I’m beginning to recognize each and every expression on her pretty face. The defiant ones when she’s not in the mood for tofu but instead insists on anything with peanut butter in it. The happy ones when she’s recalling stories about her past or tales of how she’s unbeaten at her school in the high jump. Even the fearful ones when she’s deep in thought, haunted by Gabe and all he did to her. My favorite expression, though, is her embarrassed one. Her full bottom lip gets toyed with by her top front teeth. Those gorgeous blue eyes become hooded, almost as if she’s trying to hide the expressiveness in them from me. And her nose and cheeks change colors just enough to reveal her shyness. All in all, it’s fucking cute.

  For two weeks now, our days have been predictable. We spend a good amount of time working together trying to make sense of what’s going on back in Oakland. Her dad still demands for her to come home, although less often and there is never any mention of her mom. He’s confirmed he’s receiving the payments but that’s all he’ll elaborate on. When we’re not focused on that, we hang out. Just as I originally bought her to do. But now, it’s becoming less about our negotiation and more about each other. Bottom line is, we have chemistry.

  Too bad I can’t do anything about it.

  So many times I’ve longed to reach across the chess board and stroke the back of her hand as she makes her move. I’ve caught my gaze lingering on her smooth, bare legs in the mornings when she’s still wearing her gown. And I can’t keep my eyes off her ass when she struts around the house in a pair of fitted jeans.

  It’s her mouth, though, that I dream about day in and day out. The one kiss we shared was an accident and it damn near sent me over the edge but lately, it’s all I can think about. I’m too much of a pussy to broach the subject—to see if she’d let me try again. I know she would. I see the mutual glint of need in her eyes matching my own. Problem is, I don’t trust myself. I can’t guarantee that I won’t flip out on her again. This time, I believe it would hurt her feelings more so than the first time. And I don’t ever want to hurt her. Ever.

  “Let me think,” she says softly and moves her pawn back. “War?”

  I sit back in my chair and take in her new expression. Worried. Unsure. Something on the tip of her tongue.

  “Yeah?”

  “This is probably terribly rude but I need to ask.”

  I swallow down the unease forming in my throat. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t asked sooner.

  “What did they diagnose you with?”

  When I don’t answer, she moves her pawn instead of the queen and I’m once again baffled at her strategy. But I don’t stick around to question it. With a huff of frustration, I stand and stalk back toward my bedroom. We were having fun. I was focused on her. There wasn’t a need to start yanking out my skeletons for dissection.

  “War!”

  Ignoring her, I stomp into my room and slam the door. I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t for her to sling the door open and charge over to me. When she grabs the back of my T-shirt and yanks it toward her, I freeze.

  What the fuck is she doing?

  “You can’t just run away in the middle of a conversation when you don’t like where it’s going,” she seethes.

  My skin erupts into invisible hives that begin to burn and itch but I refrain from clawing at them. For the moment.

  “Let me go.”

  “Not going to happen until you tell me.”


  I jerk away from her grasp and spin around to face her. I’m sure she’s taken aback by my furious glare because she stumbles back a step. Prowling toward her, I take satisfaction in the way she retreats until her back hits the wall. The craving to kiss her again is intense. Slamming both palms to the wall on either side of her head, I dip close to her and inhale her sweet scent.

  She licks her lips and my cock thickens with need. My reactions to her are becoming more and more unpredictable. I’m not myself around her and that’s a good thing.

  “Tell me,” she murmurs, her hot breath upon my own lips.

  Each breath is ragged and uneven. Nearly impossible to count or predict how many she’ll take in a minute.

  “I’m dark inside. Ugly. And broken. Ruined. I don’t need labels to tell me that,” I hiss and lean into her another inch. So badly I want to scoop her into my arms and kiss her like she deserves to be kissed.

  “I don’t think you’re any of those things,” she whispers. “In fact, I happen to think you’re a good man. Beautiful on the inside and out.”

  I close my eyes and let her words wash over me. Jesus, I want to taste her again.

  “Baylee.” Her name is a grunted prayer on my lips. “Will you kiss me again?” My cock twitches and I let my mind go blank. The vortex that is her sucks me in easily and I let it.

  “Yes.”

  At her whispered response, I take my hand from the wall and tentatively run my fingertips along her jaw. Her bright blue eyes blaze with a need that matches my own. She lets out a gasp when I run my thumb along the other side and grip her face in my hand. Those perfect pink lips part open and her eyes flutter closed.

  God, she’s alluring as hell.

  Dipping down, I barely brush my lips against hers. The action sends wild excitement buzzing through me. My brain struggles to grab statistics about mouth-to-mouth germ transferring but I snuff out those thoughts.